Canto 28: Victory in Europe

The victor will not be ask’d afterwards whether he told the truth or not, in starting & waging a war it is not right that matters, but victory
Adolf Hitler

Death of Il Duce

As paths of glory lead but to the grave,
On haunted men past deeds a heavy load,
Beside the beauty of the Como wave
Rough partisans blockade the convoy road;
Suspicions storm’d!
Amid the gen’ralry,
Luftwaffe uniform’d, dirty Mussolini!

After a brief & angry trial
Weeping Ceasar swiftly shot,
Then driven from that Alpine pile
To be strung up at a spot
Where hungry subjects could revile
His corpse as it did rot…
Piss’d on & spat at & hurl’d with abuse,
Full twenty years of torments letting loose.

She steps into Loreto square
Next to a cursing nun,
Her angry stare turn’d to a glare,
She aims a stranger’s gun
& shoots that bastard man five times, once for each murder’d son.

April 29th


Death of Der Fuhrer

Determin’d not Il Duce’s fate to share,
He sets to his own life unrepentant
From power’s height unto a dream despair,
A dictator dictates his testament;
Herr Hitler hiss’d
(His customary mode),
“Global Jewry resist! Uphold the racial code!”

After simple ceremony
Two true lovers proved as one,
But one hour of matrimony
‘Til her husband clutch’d his gun
& stept into eternity…
She, swallowing poison,
Plants tender kisses on his fingertips,
“My darling!” last words slip from dying lips.

Men paus’d awhile before the sight,
Dowsing them in petrol,
Coupl’d alight, firedrakes in flight,
O Viking funeral,
A captain of a sinking ship, a king lost in battle.



Collapse of the Reich

Only Goebells would join his god in doom,
The Nazi magick sever’d from it’s source,
The rest, like rodents, scurry thro’ the gloom,
Whose single light commands a brave, white horse;
Great Zhukov sits
Proudly in the saddle-
What majesty emits from such Gods of Battle?

He drove his men into the fray
Urg’d one last, ferocious spurt,
Resolute that following today
His men no more shall face hurt,
Let loose is one last bullet spray,
Foes bleeding in the dirt…
Prussian militarism extinguish’d
With one sweet cry, “The fighting is finish’d!”

Thro Brandenburg victorious
Men sang in Zhukov’s drag,
Pallid soldiers stood glorious
By the ruin’d Reichstag,
Upon whose roof bird-flutter’s Russia’s sickle-corner’d flag.

May 2nd


Flight of Eichmann

As Messerschmitts motor thro’ morning sky
In their desperate efforts for safety,
One weary man with yet wearier sigh
Looked low upon dear burning Germany;
No sun, no birds,
Just smoke, just hate, just hell,
No more those mystic words, no more Der Fuhrer’s spell.

Down there… a soldier saw the plane
& wish’d that he flew within,
Instead, manhandl’d off the train
By avenging Konstantin,
Black memories flood-boiling brain,
That scar brought back the sin…
For what this slug did to his Dosia
He drew his knife & slew Gerhart Buscher.

Up there… Eichmann went on in flight,
Touch’d down by sultry port;
By dead of night, with nerves afright,
He boarded a small boat,
For distant Buenos Aires bound, diamonds about his throat.

May 4th


Collapse of the Reich

Only Goebells would join his god in doom,
The Nazi magick sever’d from it’s source,
The rest scurry like rodents thro’ the gloom,
Watch’d by a rider & his snow-white horse;
Zhukov astride,
Majesty a-saddle,
Pyerun personified, mastery in battle.

A citizen enters a train,
But the scar that mark’d his skin,
Saw him manhandl’d off the train
By avengant Konstantin,
Black memories flood-boiling brain,
The face brought back the sin…
For what this slug did to dear Dosia
He drew his knife & slew Gerhart Buscher.

Nervous Eichmann went on in flight
Touch’d down by sultry port,
In came the night, his nerves asprite,
He smiled, boarded the boat,
Bound for distant Buenos Aires, diamonds about his throat.



V.E. Day

Let sanity have strength & men unite
Who in their invididual lives are glad
That what remains of peace may yet prove strong
HB Mallailieu

There is a scent of lilac in the scene,
The birds are twittering, how sweet the song,
Hosts of soft buds lighten the valley green,
Bloom, birds & bees float back where they belong;
Nature disturb’d,
By gruff sound of staff car,
A callous clime soon curb’d… come men, come end the War.

Monty noticed his big gun guest
Still starch-stiff with arrogance,
“Your nation must heed this request
To cease with thy remonstrance
‘Gainst Allied nations, east & west,
& with them phoenix France…”
On tabletop an armistice appears,
Small moment to cut short the Thousand Years.

Admiral Doenitz signs his name
Upon a poignant page,
Accepts the shame, the varlet blame,
Of this most violent age
& with a last, “Heil Hitler!” murder exeunts from the stage.

May 8th


VE Day

Round Fence & Barley, Altham & Burnley,
Bonfires ablaze, day spreading fine & fair,
Towards Pendle’s shepherd solitary,
Sylphs escort joyous mafficking on air;
Gleeful Sumners,
Free from their weary load,
Join the festive numbers flocking to Manny Road.

T’was the greatest of street parties
(Since the Golden Jubilee),
Flags of all the Allied contrees
Fluttering in victory,
Fun, feastings & festivities
As life’s resurgency
Spreads colours lighting up those party hats
Worn both by peasants & by diplomats.

They’d suffer’d War fer six rude years,
Life’s problems growing plump
Thro’ tides of tears, thro’ childish fears,
Dead sons & Tommy’s stump,
The Sumners battled on… young Maggie rubs her baby-bump!

May 8th



The greatest armada in history,
Far from Hawaii’s indecorous day,
Tho’ besieged by swarms of Kamakaze
Deem’d nothing but the, ‘fleet that came to stay;’
Each fit GI
Surged forth victorious,
All-times supported by his forty carriers.

More like chivalric pilgrimage,
Meters recrudescent miles,
Foxholes, fatigue & foliage,
Rallentandoid lizard isles,
From anguine path to rocky ridge
Defenders heap’d in piles,
More snipers fanatical tied up trees,
Sending advancing Yankees to their knees.

Within his divine death-place sat
An angel from the sky,
Some vampyre bat… the ship-deck spat,
But fail’d to swat that fly,
Breaking, exploding bestial to high-pitch howl’d “Banzai!”

Sea of Japan


Death of a Reichsfuhrer

This scrawny, short, Schutzstaffel Mongoloid,
High priest of Aryan supremacy,
Shaves moustache smooth in order to avoid
The scales of denazied authority;
Tho’ unsuspect –
Panic’d false papers thrust…
The photo records check’d, his eye-patch guise was crush’d.

“Are you Himmler?” he deft defies
Gentle interrogation,
When stripp’d & search’d, the doctor tries
A small dental inspection,
Dull glimmers prise the narrow eyes,
Beacons of decision…
Crushing a small capsule of cyanide,
This secret death namore his teeth shall hide.

The Fowler died & with him went
The sad wyghts of Wansee,
Whose wails had sent the innocent
Unto that twisted tree,
Where they would hang from countless nooses’ cruellest misery.

May 25th

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