Stone the Hooded Crows

 

Stone the Hooded Crows

Stone the dreadful Hooded Crows, and their terrible Orcs, from the northeast,

Born in the soft underbelly of madness, breeding all of Putin’s dreadful beasts.

His two-faced politicians, vigorously pontificating, content to conceal the truth,

From the world, all the crimes they commit, explicitly denying, nail and tooth.

Sad, expressionless creatures, with twisted minds, and resentment of the West,

Deceitfulness lurking within each form, behind the blank masks, that we detest.

In deficiency, the state has erased emotion, in coldness bred, that empty stare,

Taken kindness, compassion, empathy, sympathy, and taught them not to care.

So uniform, with insipid countenance cast, upon each face, rotten to the core,

Driven by, an unquenchable thirst, an evil force, as the Crows crave for more.

Like zombies, programmed to spew, standard party lines, from their pit of lies,

Their treachery driven, by an eternal hatred; their motives covertly disguised.

While their Orc beasts execute, an array of unspeakable wrongs, against man,

In their top-secret cells, strategists, and tacticians, plot each ill-conceived plan.

Hell bent, to spread discontent, and sadness, their plagues around the world,

The malevolent wraiths, and evil spirits, from Pandora’s box, in hate unfurled.

Upon villages, and towns, destroying great cities, leaving misery in their wake,

As the evil Orcs, pick each carcass clean, pilfering everything, that they can take.

While the Hooded Crows, flock together, claiming the spoils, of their bitter wars,

Annexing new regions, installing Russian puppets, sympathetic to Putin’s cause.

The world has already borne witness, to this awful plague, so many times before,

Now it shudders, and reals, from the carnage, as it prepares to face a larger war.

Written By: Alan.Clark@WW1POET (May 2024)

In a World Full of Orcs

 

In a World Full of Orcs

Where the call to war resounds, over and again, its propaganda installed,

By duty bound, all sacrificial lambs, for the regime, into allegiance called.

Where all thought is uniform, and alternate views, are prohibited, benign,

And children groomed, from the cradle to the grave, with war enshrined.

Then one day, they come of age, yet in the eyes of many, much too young,

Before the age, of insightful wisdom, yet strong enough, to brandish a gun.

Each raw recruit, from the age of innocence, who could predict the worst,

Out for heroic adventures, with the bubble of adolescence, certain to burst.

Strutting in their uniforms, marching up, and down, soldiers out on parade,

Oh, the glorious thoughts, wherein the foundations, for war have been laid.

Such pride inside, like never before, now the envy of their unsigned mates,

Sights set, their romantic dreams about to falter, where first blood awaits.

Soldier boys, sodomized, and brutalized, in this wicked Orc army perverted,

By desperate convicts, who have traded prison time, for absolution inverted.

In a dangerous bid for freedom, a second chance, or become cannon fodder,

A risk, that they are forced to take, fighting for the cause, as a bullet stopper.

With no surrender, no turning back, no retreat, no way forward, no way out,

Forced to fight for their lives, guns aimed at their backs, should they bailout.

Drunken soldiers, who have learned their fate, despised by the army brass,

Waiting to be sent forward, into no-man’s-land, where their time will pass.

As decoys for the big guns, to draw enemy fire, lined up like ducks in a row,

Where all life is consumed, like popcorn and candy floss, at Putin’s sideshow.

His circus, going round for round, protracted, prolonged, in his bloody war,

As each roller coaster ride ends, in a bloody mess, his fair calling for more.

All perish the thought, that his regime might win, each battle along the way,

With the world destroyed, and overrun, with unruly Orcs! Oh, perish the day!

Written By: Alan.Clark@WW1POET (April 2024)

In the Aftermath

 

In the Aftermath

As each battle takes charge, stripping goodness, and beauty away,

Good souls there torn, of their tender love, in the most brutal way.

Exposed to desolation, of distress stained, upon the baren ground,

Where once, nature unspoiled, used to frolic, with tenderness found.

Burned in the flames, of hell on earth, fragments inflamed, and raw,

The sockets accosted; unsightly visions imprinted on the face of war.

Fate fixed, in the wasteland, now wearing the scares, gouged deep,

While each wave of soldiers, moves forward, and lives come cheap.

Between each wave, a vacuum drawn, as the next wave is primed,

The munitions replenished, soldiers replaced, new orders assigned.

Amid each frightening attack, the aftermath beginning over again,

Counting the dreadful cost, resetting each badly shattered brain.

Clearing the dust, casting unwelcome debris away, grief must wait,

There is no time, there to abide in the past, no chance to hesitate.

No aching for, the way things were, before the cruel war came along,

Inverting all things good, burning and blistering, the world to wrong.

For now, it is, bury the dead, pay respect, on behalf of those bereft,

Put on another brave face, and forge on ahead, with what life is left.

Fleeting memories suppressed, all other thought vehemently blocked,

Minds stunned, and dazed, brains badly shaken, and heads halfcocked.

Caught in war, respite is short lived, as death indeed, pursues its prey,

Driven by the heartless thief, with more sorrow and pain, on its way.

Written By: Alan.Clark@WW1POET (April 2024)

The Sunrise

 

The Sunrise

When will Russia see the sun rise, through all the mist and fog again,

In smog, their minds eclipsed, entrenched within the people’s brain.

The weight of which, has burden placed, a syndrome badly broken,

Blinded by the haze, that has encased all reason, now seldom woken.

Devouring thought, of better times, their souls in apathy, firmly stuck,

Unable to see, beyond the disinformation, with reality masked in muck.

Forced to dream, the same dream, all alternate thought lost, or taken,

Sent off to prison, to repent, to be badly beaten, and soundly shaken.

The awful torture, a breeding ground for fear, reinforcing a precedent,

Designed to eradicate, contemplation of hope, from other minds rent.

As the cloak of confusion, continues to close in, bringing darker times,

Within the depressing shroud of sadness, where the sun never shines.

Beyond the tunnel of obscurity, there is an end, where all the broken go,

There consumed by insanity, writhing around in pain, dying very slow.

In another war, that should never have been, for another broken cause,

For another one who brought madness, a man unable to show remorse.

To spend the rest of time, amongst other spirits, tormented with pain,

Lost in eternity, in total darkness, never to see the sun rise, ever again.

Written By: Alan.Clark@WW1POET (April 2024)

Where the Sun Sets Red

 

Where the Sun Sets Red

Beyond the river, of broken dreams, the mountain of sorrow climbs high,

Above the wreckage, of brutal wars, where countless people have died.

Sadness borne, from North, East, and West, from the Jordan to the sea,

From the Mesopotamian Garden of Eden to the Garden of Gethsemane.

And Lebanon’s Garden of Paradise, all unspoiled, until the passing of man,

The clash of ancient cultures, and religions, inhabiting the land of Canaan.

Conquered by Rome, casting captives into the arena, utterly spine chilling,

Nomadic tribes, and invading hoards, passing through, pillaging, and killing.

The people sacrificed to gods, of different names, and gruesome crucifixions,

Beings bound to live in bondage, and in slavery, under Profits predictions.

The medieval crusades, thousands put to the sword, with many more dead,

Pushing back pagans, and retaking the Holy Land, where Islam had spread

So much suffering and death, that has swept across the globe, distressed,

Each spark of hatred, creating fires that consume, burning the oppressed.

Evangelical followers, of all religions preaching, pitted against each other,

Mankind divided, into festering political mistrust, brother fighting brother.

Empires flourishing, only to be engulfed in greed, destroying other nations,

People living in abject poverty, long suffering, looking to hope for salvation.

With the stack of misery forever growing, into an ugly mountain of bones.

Each garden of Eden planted, in time destroyed, turned to ruin and stones.

Whilst the people who remain, are left arguing, about which ideology is best,

A poignant sign, over the Mediterranean, the sun setting red in the West.

Written By: Alan.Clark@WW1POET (April 2024)

I Cry Me A RIVER OF PAIN

 

I Cry Me A RIVER OF PAIN

An awful day of terror, and mindless slaughter, has created mayhem,

Horrific scenes, of brutal attacks, the world was bound, to condemn.

Those flashbacks to October 7, that awful day, spawning acts to avenge,

Against those, who worship other gods, following the God of Revenge.

That evoked the God of War, God of Slaughter, and the God of Genocide,

I desperately wonder why, the God of Compassion, has been cast aside.

Now the ground is running red, from so many young hearts, unwound,

That bled out, and dried, mixed by desert winds, dust blown bloody brown.

Fertilizing the seeds of misery, where the awful acts of terror were sown,

Treasured lives undone; flesh ripped and torn; marrow from bone, blown.

Making their last stand, Hamas still refuse, to set the poor hostages free,

While the tears of dreadful pain, and eternal grief, flow towards the sea.

Now famine, thousands of infants, caught in the middle, of the madness,

As awful images are flashed around the world, from the sea of sadness.

Netanyahu’s government, resolute to erase, and both sides at loggerhead,

While inside Gaza, the terrorists hide, amidst the dying, and the dead.

Israel has sanctioned, sins it committed, assassinations fervently denied,

As many more innocent lives are taken, adding intensity, to hatreds tide.

Gone the contentious dream, of “The River to the Sea,” so conflict-ridden,

The makeshift missiles, tunnels of terror, the network so carefully hidden.

The son of God, who taught love, to mankind, now tangled in razor wire,

The land of Canaan, deaf to desperate calls, for unconditional ceasefire.

This not, what The League of Nations foresaw, the mandate of Palestine

The hope, a new world would be built, from ruins of old, and set in time.

Nor the United Nations, partition of state, setting Jews and Arabs apart,

For history has shown, riddled with conflict, bound to fail from the start.

I guess, forever damned, divided by everlasting hate, and never to agree,

As we are left, to cry a river of pain, flowing from the “River to the Sea!”

Written By: Alan.Clark@WW1POET (April 2024)

All Drawn Together in Deep Sorrow Wrung

 

All Drawn Together in Deep Sorrow Wrung

The mourning bell, often chimed, with unforeseen grief, in sorrow rung,

With sallow tones, cast upon each face, to the sounds of sadness sung.

Blinding tears rent, flooding from war torn eyes to eternal grieve cleft,

Distressed people, the shell struck nation, broken hearts, in sadness heft.

Heads bowed in solemn prayer, to reflect upon each soul, sadly erased,

In reverence of each live, that has been lived, lasting images engraved.

In confusion, so many questions enduring, within their minds, “Why?”

Hands raised together in prayer; spiritual thoughts extending to the sky.

Within each heart, poor souls beset, unwanted symptoms of tragic news,

Left to reason, wherefore tragedy struck, their thoughts totally confused.

Eyes set, where the hands, upon the face of time, for a half beat, stopped,

Wretched echoes, fearsome sounds reverberating, from the missiles dropped.

Within the deafening roar, brought by the resonance, off hatreds applause,

Hands of revenge, that in loud thunderclap, to the unwanted beat of wars.

Within the motherland, lives wrenched, to and fro, like pendulums swinging,

Life marking time, all counting down, with shellshocked ears, loudly ringing.

Each person waiting, for dooms hammer blow, the final stroke, of awful pain,

To spend infinity, time eternal, in a grave, where their remnants will be lain.

The fervent bonds of love, so badly broken, with all thought of salvation lost,

Beyond the devastation wrought, together paying the debt, of freedoms cost.

Written By: Alan.Clark@WW1POET (April 2024)