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Thousands
Thousands living in fear For they knew Hitler was growing near In Poland her career would soon to be As she helped scared persecuted to flee Gas chambers were yet to come For not all heeded the warnings of this young one Compassion and determination Made her the a first in reporting the War of all Nations A thousand horses and a thousand horsemen A thousand tanks, her story found both ink and pen Hollering of the invasion to be Her worth all would soon well see As German troops invaded Poland Her report the first of World War number 2 The first female War correspondent so new Setting the stage for all the brave lasses who followed through Days long ago when a woman’s job just wasn’t so She led the way, helping thousands begin a new pathway She was the model for those who came after She never quit, until death's battle won its toll Her beauty had faded at the age of one hundred and five Her moxy and determination they stayed vibrant and alive She sipped champagne to the very end, one oh five A tear for the lady, whose bravery defeated an evil campaign Clare au Lune For all tiss worth You were and angel Brave on the front lines of truth Rest in peace, divine, for all time |
In Dedication and In Memory of Clare Hollingworth
That she was the first to report on the start of World War Two may be seem as a stroke of good luck, however, she was before this active in helping many escape Poland and get visa’s to the UK, and her career only started with this event. She reported all over the world, and was a great woman, in an era where this was not the norm. The news article you see was hers, at the time it was not normal to attribute the news to the reporter. It saddens me to see such great spirits go, a deep sadness. From Wiki Clare Hollingworth, OBE (10 October 1911 – 10 January 2017) was an English journalist and author, who was the first war correspondent to report the outbreak of World War II, described as "the scoop of the century". As a reporter for The Daily Telegraph in 1939, while traveling from Poland to Germany she spotted and reported German forces massed on the Polish border; three days later she was the first to report the German invasion of Poland. |
Swedish Shame Nordic Reich Marching in daylight Grown men afraid of shadows Hitting strangers with their poison arrows Marching to defeat the hungry and weak Supremacists with no hearts nor a soul to seek They have no compassion for their fellow man One day, they shall see, the world is humanities land Marching with violent aspirations The blackness of their hearts a sad situation When a sole women in anger stands in confrontation Maria-Teresa, that day was ablazen She is a hero, for taking a stand She is a lady whose heart is so grand One woman with brave hearts courage Made Nazi cowards seem quite malnourished |
Notes: First to be very clear I am speaking about the neo-Nazi marchers in Sweden, The march in Borlänge was organized by the Nordic Resistance Movement (NRM), a political party that opposes immigration to Sweden by non-whites. There were many Swedes there protesting against them as well. Sometimes a title is shocking to provoke the reader to come in and read, however to be very clear, having traveled to Sweden many times, its a beautiful land with beautiful people. I am sure most Swedes would agree with me, they would be ashamed of these marches, as would most people in most countries!
The poem is inspired by a recent event Tess Apslund, 42, stands with a raised fist in front of uniformed neo-Nazis during a Nordic Resistance Movement demonstration in Borlange, Sweden, on Sunday, May 1, Photo will be attached! |
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Unforgettable
No one has ever been like you Another day is a miracle with you Tied by the bond of love and song All the years passed with only us two Love was holding your hand Inside my dreams, that’s where you my idol lived Emptiness when you passed on Could I recover from this misery? Old age has crept also into me Lost and now found, I shall soon hold your hand Eternity, I spend with you poppa, King Cole acrostic Jan 2, 2016 |
Dedicated to Natalie Cole, may she rest in peace
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Queen Tamar
She had a sword To cut of the heads Of subjects not fitting She has a heart That lies upon a cold stone Torn, withered A knight from afar On horseback did ride Passing by the tombstone He glanced, the wind at his back He slowed, for no reason Other than chance He unmounted and strolled over To this old stone of long ago And felt the beating heart Of the past Feb 22, 2013 |
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Heloise on Abelard
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These barren walls
Keep me chaste Vows of silence Diminish nothing of wanton passions of the past Days in silence, looking upwards to God Thoughts linger, to where true love lies I toil in Gods works Knees now as rocks All of Gods floors, so clean Daily rituals, in quiet do I share Our virtues preserved, hidden from worldly sins But I have loved, yes, and long I still do Illusions of piety, they scare me not Love stirs goodness, surely no sin The days of eternal springs Gardens so fresh, flowers in bloom Hand in hand, with his intellect and charm Beauty within, for we dared the philosophical Arms and legs entwined, deep in thoughts My professor of life, and thinker to all He belonged to France Nobility, and all We parted in love, Who sees my tears, behind these walls? Our reasoning lost to passions turn He admits not, the love he yearns His Order condemns, his inquisitive thoughts He burns what he writes Heretic or not A leader of philosophy, a greatness in his time A fate, that brings upon me guilt His torture of manhood, he suffered much pain Questioning his intellect, is love, his very brain Each to our separate, Abbeys’ of god Vows of silence, yet the ink flowed Reliving now, what surely, should have been A love so great, why considered a sin? Has not this society, any compassion at all? Learned I was in Latin and Hebrew And so with the pen, letters did flow And from afar, in pain, our love re-lived Passions in ink, became again exposed Alas he is older by a fortnight or many He longed for love, yet he fights from within His values, his passions, his life’s dedications His soul has been burned, wounded by time Ending his years, thinking seduction undone Redemption shall be waiting, from the heavens above My love Abelard, my tears you never saw I was strong, as you gave me the strength to be And I, was happy, knowing our desires shared The angels will tell you, your fame will endure For the greatest of all philosophies Our love will be |
Bianca of Venice
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Venice, the daughter of the sea
Winding paths, waterways or cobblestones roads Rulers of the renaissance, noblemen would be Her navy full of conquests, her triumphs all would see From nobility rose, a woman fair Her life a whirlwind, with her share of despair Banished from Venice, for daring to speak Her desires and wit, did many a man seek The golden rose the pope did give As she fled to Florence, so young and deceived Her strength in spirit and a mind so refined Her friend Marco, the captain, with whom she dined He parted his wisdom as best he could He sailed victorious, for Bianca he should His secret was safe out on the seas Which is why he and Bianca, could never be Her royal blood would keep her in stead As nobility in Florence would turn their heads Francesco indeed would commission a palazzo For Bianca his mistress, in waiting, his queen The Grand Duchy of Florence, all powers bestowed A seeker of knowledge, of wisdom composed His Austrian wife, alone, cold and barren Could not compete, with his love yet to be They danced, they confided, in each they held A love of intellect, beauty and lust to be feld And sadly, one day, the enemies of Venice Plotted and schemed to bring about a demise The poison was swift, and an era did end In a villa in Florence, Francesco was dead Bianca his love, her beauty unblemished Fell by his side, and whispered to thee My dear, my love, it was meant to be Bianca Cappello (1548 – 17 October 1587) |
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