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THE LEGACY by SUE HARRIS
5 years ago
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POPULATION, DEAD FISH, METHANE AND BEER!
5 years ago
2846 views
A LEXICON OF SLANG AND DRUG LANGUAGE 1967-1969
10 years ago
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RIPPLES ON THE POND by SEBNEM E. SANDERS
5 years ago
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TEASER FROM MY NEW NOVEL.
5 years ago
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WHO OWNS THE HOLLAND AMERICA CRUISE LINE?
6 years ago
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TALON, COME FLY WITH ME By Gigi Sedlmayer
5 years ago
1866 views
WHEN WE WERE VERY YOUNG…..
5 years ago
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Where The Heart Is (Fiona Macdougall) By Tabitha Ormiston-Smith.
4 years ago
2431 views
Ultimate ebook creator
5 years ago
4947 views
FORTY SEVEN PERCENT OF AUSTRALIANS ARE FUNCTIONALLY ILLITERATE AND INNUMERATE
6 years ago
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IT MIGHT AS WELL RAIN (BOMBS) UNTIL SEPTEMBER
When I wrote this in 2002 I could not have realised how things would turn out. But I was talking about the US military ferrying the heroin down the mountains. Something that has been well covered up now. IT MIGHT AS WELL RAIN (BOMBS) UNTIL SEPTEMBER Once more the heroin flows freely down…
When I wrote this in 2002 I could not have realised how things would turn out. But I was talking about the US military ferrying the heroin down the mountains. Something that has been well covered up now.
IT MIGHT AS WELL RAIN (BOMBS) UNTIL SEPTEMBER
Once more the heroin flows freely
down the mountains on muleback
to Pakistan
and onward to our cities.
In Miami, and New York, and London
The Lords of the Needle rejoice.
The Taliban
lockers were blasted open
and their poison released.
400,000 now starve. No voice
have they. How could they beg
us not to slaughter their livestock,
their lives, with our billion dollar bombs?
20,000 graves of the innocent
200,000 grieving for their loss.
More millions of tears than can be counted,
And still the pretty cluster bombs
draw the eyes of little children
and rob them of their limbs.
And more… our vengeance is unbounded.
Another country, another suspect reason.
Tell me! Tell us all! Tell the Universe!
What is a Weapon of Mass Destruction?
Is it a heat seeking missile?
Is it a fighter plane loaded with bombs?
Is it a bullet tipped with depleted uranium?
Is it a man?
Is it me?
She wore a white nightdress, and bent
With her head on her hands
And whimpered.
The old man, nailed to the wall.
Bullet nailed. The O
Of his mouth still ripe with surprise.
Whimpering, in that stark silence.
A chainsaw sound
Ripping a wound down his back.
“It’s alright” He said, stupid untruths
Ringing bells of grief.
Bodies, all gone, around him.
She was warm, and young, under his hand
On her shoulder
“It’s alright” He said again.
“I am a soldier. This is what I do.”
Rattled around like battle
In his blood-rushed ears.
He pushed, she moved and whimpered
Back against the wooden chair.
“It’s alright” He said again.
“It’s alright” He said again
“It’s alright!” He said again.
“It’s alright!” He shouted.
But the note on her chest said more.
It screamed. It roared!
“Her eyes are in the jar!”
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