Euro 2014-44

a poem to show history, in case you didn't now, if you're caught up in the 21-century show: The Sarejevo snafu snuffed out simplicity. No longer did the world make sense, if it ever did. One Archduke less in the world and all hell breaks loose.

Scramble, scramble, time to gamble, said Kaiser to the Emperor. Let me see what my generals say: We’ll make the Belgians whimper. That’s it! We’ll hit ‘em where they least expect it. We’ll show those Serbian radicals who’s in charge. Cuz we know the Russians will get possessive with their Balkan pawns. And yeah, they’ll wanna hunky dory with the French. But no! they ain’t a gonna. Suddenly All’s hell on the western front for four dam’d years: mudholes trenched in blood sweat drenched Tears and fears, for sure; yet they did endure until the madness got tamped down, for sure or maybe not so sure. But yes, they did endure! until it all died down Burnt bridges, muddened stitches, doughboy britches mud-slather’d blood-splattered in ’18, squelching out the bad dream. Almanac of Gotha cast aside, forever there to hide in Belgian mud, and so the Royals fell with a thud, except for George the British king! Oh death, where is thy sting? In Flanders Field the bells do ring. Wager not when the dice get rolled. “Ask not for whom the bell tolls. It tolls for thee!” Yes, you, who assumed ye knew what fate would become to you. Did you comprehend when the war grew and grew the way to out-live that ancient Royal fray. How many royals did they save today? But then a low-life corporal slithered from his mein kamph cell to envision a new teutonic thule-school hell and to trash the treaty of Versailles—spitting venom into Euro eyes. With a mere twenty years between the wars Suddenly ’t’was no peace in the stars.

Yeah, I say unto thee, sad but true as blackshirt furor grew and grew Versailles security got ambushed when demon corporal launched his beer hall putsch. Next thing you know all hell break loose Euro heads strung in nazi noose Again! Oh no! Sudetan treaties ripped to shreds as suddenly, while yon highbrows come and go looking for Michelangelo, what they encounter instead is ancient Beast come back from dead. So suddenly, they can’t get their bearings as Euros quake with teutonic swearings: rabid slobbering through an Austrian’s brushy fuzz far more deranged than any emperor ever was uber menschen sucked in ancient thule, ghoul drool. Germany went panting for the ranting fool. All hell broke loose, Europe in a nazi noose ’til the Rus crossed the Oder and yanks crossed the Rhine, Little Austro-maniac self-eliminated, just in time Yanks closed up Pandora’s box: all them german demons pox’d. After all that big-kill, the world stood still for a while. Then came style. (to be continued) Smoke