War Poem
Dulce Et Decorum Est
By Wilfred Owen
Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed
through sludge,
Till on the haunting flares we turned our
backs,
And towards our distant rest began to
trudge.
Men marched asleep. Many had lost their
boots,
But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame;
all blind;
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots
Of gas-shells dropping softly behind.
Gas! GAS! Quick, boys!—An ecstasy of
fumbling
Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time,
But someone still was yelling out and
stumbling
And flound’ring like a man in fire or lime.—
Dim through the misty panes and thick
green light,
As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.
In all my dreams before my helpless sight,
He plunges at me, guttering, choking,
drowning.
If in some smothering dreams, you too could
pace
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing in his
face,
His hanging face, like a devil’s sick of sin;
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted
lungs,
Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent
tongues,—
My friend, you would not tell with such high
zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est
Pro patria mori.
Political Poem

Be Angry At The Sun

by Robinson Jeffers

That public men publish falsehoods Man plays his part; the cold passion for truth

Is nothing new. Hunts in no pack.

That America must accept

Like the historical republics corruption and

empire
You are not Catullus, you know,
Has been known for years.
To lampoon these crude sketches of Caesar.
You are far

From Dante's feet, but even farther from his

Be angry at the sun for setting dirty

If these things anger you. Political hatreds.

Watch the wheel slope and turn,

They are all bound on the wheel, these

people, those warriors.
Let boys want pleasure, and men

This republic, Europe, Asia. Struggle for power, and women perhaps for
fame,

And the servile to serve a Leader and the

dupes to be duped.
Observe them gesticulating,

Observe them going down. Yours is not theirs.

The gang serves lies, the passionate
Occasion Poem

9/11

by Guillermo Veloso

Autumn came early to the summer city;

Trees transfixed in flame
They fell as seeds / spores
From the dying trees
Ash and cloud
Steel and shroud
A quenching of thirst
A candle engulfed
Singular moment
Hammered into existence on an
Anvil of numbers
911
81
102
50,000
8
18< br>8000
300
5000
They fell as leaves from an autumn tree
The passion dance set free to fly
A final leap for the face of God
Born on angels wings and free of insolence
Quiet, resigned
Arm in arm
Delicate in the embrace of the eternal
And brought to earth’s warm bosom
Phone calls
Microwave notes
Final moments in the fierce presence of now.
“Mommy I love you; Goodbye”
Beneath the same sky we share the same life, fears and fragility.
the same terrible moment; the same destined shore.
Autumn came early to the summer city.
They fell as seeds from the dying tree.
Born quietly; arm in arm, angels in flight; To the eternal.
Acrostic

Mathematics

By Funom Makama

Mental stretching, the required sacrifice

Addition, subtraction, multiplication and division

To all exercises, these four are the basics

Hell on paper but sweet in its understanding

Equations and formula, serving as raw products

Mastering the existence of numbers to gain its wisdom

Arithmetics also in a graphical representation

Then its technicalities in shapes and planes

Into life's activities, these applications silently integrate

Calculation of numbers and expressions

Sum up all problems via solutions to an answer.