Publishing since 1970
2008
| Juice Online Poetry & Art
Publishing since 1970 | 2008 |
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Many of these poets have Books. Find them at Amazon Books: Just type in their names. |
"No Pa-s-a-ra'n" When the hour came, who was ready? How does one prepare for death? The machine guns of the Moroccans, peeling round after round, smoked and jammed, then sputtered back to spread a staccato message that rarely needed to be clarified or explained. Bullets ripped through flesh and organs, killing the dream as easily as a clock ticks out minutes in every man’s life. And the message? Machine guns stop time forever. Machines guns sprayed fearless metal in every direction and the dreamers always fell to the ground In full frontal view flesh ripped apart – a dream, dieing by inches. The Anarchists became terrified and refused to fight. They had renounced God, only to be chased, pursued by the hell spawn of Moroccans and Legionaries. Without heaven, you have no hell. So the bloody battle for University City had begun in earnest. The XIth International Brigade was sent to defend the Hall of Philosophy and Letters. Later, Durruti was brought down by a stray bullet. The Anarchist Prince had probably been killed by a disenchanted follower, an Anarchist incensed and angry with the new policy – ‘the discipline of indiscipline.” No one seemed to care that their faith and their politics – their firebrand credo’s would finally make it inevitable that only children would be left. Saddened by yesterday’s all gone with surrender and Frightened by today’s victors - tomorrow’s torments, They were barely human but hardly ghosts, only nightmares that walked and still above the clanging and din of a Republic dieing, their skeletal arms raised with grimy fists clenching the putrid air., while these human sticks sang, “No pa-sa-ra’n. No pas-ar-a’n.” Brian Murphy |