All We Want Is Peace (Please) by Gordon David Stacia

 

Peace, Peace, Please,
Please, Peace, Please,

There’s something we should do
That’s not been done
Something we can win
That’s not been won
Something we can SHOUT OUT
To end all their brutal war games
We Want Peace

Case for war was fake,
Don’t let it fade
More lives can be saved
Got to be brave
Something we can shout out,
We want peace, and we want it right now
Talking is Free

All we want is Peace
All we need is Peace
All we ask is Peace, Please
Peace is all we want

All we crave is Peace
All we miss is Peace
All we lack is Peace
Peace is all we want

Something we can ask,
Before it’s blown
Something we can grow
Before it’s grown
Small green shoots of Peace
To educate next infancy
Believe me

All we want is Peace
All we crave is Peace
All we wish is Peace, please

Peace is all we ask
It’s not a big task
Believe me
It’s easy.

All we want is Peace, All we want is Peace,
All we need is Peace, All we need is Peace.
Peace is all we want,
Peace is all we want
Peace is all we need,
Peace is all we need………………

Fish ‘n Chips - Food of Life by Matt Victor Shengou 2010

 Oh how I crave for fish ‘n chips:
Our fine cuisine of world renown.
I dined on such a subtle dish
When QEII received her crown.

Oh how I need some fish ‘n chips;
I'll queue in pouring rain or snow!
What better way to warm my hands,
As soggy chips make fingers glow.

We Brits are famed for culinary finesse,
Like steak ‘n kidney pud no less;
Wondrous tripe; cottage pie;
Bangers and egg in lard to fry!

But fish ‘n chips - the crowning glory -
A dish to trounce the great kebab!
You think I care for chicken masala?
It's cod and chips that grow my flab.

Oh how I yearn for fish ‘n chips,
All poshly wrapped in the Daily Star,
Then caked and drowned in salt ‘n vinegar -
And stinking out my brand new car!

 



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American Rainbow Chickens: Watermelon Poetry

 

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Basquiat-esque love letters
to failed triumphs
and future mistresses.

Fela Kuti anthems and Igbo lullabies
marinate celebratory cannabis
lit under the same trees
strange fruit ancestors were hung.

Sara Baartman and J.Edgar
waltz to the gospel of a mother-focker—
listening to footsteps
of sons in pretty panties
dancing as closet daughters.

Pour whiskey on watermelon,
chew with Vicodin and gulp a cup of Dayquil at midnight
and you'll taste how Tuesday was invented.