HomePoetryMarch The Children

March The Children

March the children off to school,
for they’ll be criminals and fools
if we don’t fill their tiny minds
before the Russians get inside.

March the children one-by-one;
don’t let them skip or dance or run.
Hose them down with gasoline
and march them into our Machine.

March the children off to work;
turn them into file clerks.
Switch their toys for desks and screens
so we can beat those damn Chinese.

March the children two-by-two;
march the bottoms off their shoes.
Fill them up with greed and fears
so they will march and turn the Gears.

March the children off to war;
enlist them in the Killing Corps.
The Muslims will not kill themselves
so we must send them all to hell.

March the children three-by-three
into the bowels of our Machine.
Wait on the other side to eat
fresh sausages of tender meat.

March the children to their graves
into the holes of bygone slaves.
Pave a freeway overtop
and drive to meet another crop.

This is the only way to live;
it sure beats the alternative
of letting life be free and green
to clog the Gears of our Machine.

So march the children to the end;
march their siblings, march their friends.
March the world to its own edge
then march the whole thing
off the ledge.











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Latest comments


    Weak cult driven men,

    feeble hearted things, a shame on the race of all men.

    They took his young head…accused a child.

    They placed him, proud and with his fearless courage,

    in front of a mad world.

    Taunted him and crucified his valour, like a Christ…

    as example of their only dark talents…terror.

    Too whom do you think you are speaking…

    to cowards…to false men like yourself.

    You are not of the brotherhood of men.

    You who worship an idolize a pedophile.

    You think you talk to other men who enslave like you…

    soulless things with no purpose but the paymasters toil.

    Servants of a cruel Arab King, who shits on gold.

    Terrorism of the weak… in sin you are..

    persecutors of innocence..

    You are hate filled bastards, you will be paid in cold and hungry darkness.

    Your weak bodied fear of women…your theft of their beauty,

    your trembling horror filled and wet pants stance against reality’s men, in the end.

    A child who still defied weakness in adversity of his own pain.

    To fight for his own country…Syria.

    Beautiful Syria.

    He did not cry out when you cut his head,

    did that not make you wonder?

    How could he bear such pain?

    A poor child who stood and shook of,

    what you yourselves could not endure.

    An ambush of cowards,

    on a boy no less…

    an “individual mistake”…you say.

    Nour al-Din al-Zenki…you will remember Abdullah Issa, forever…

    his  young spirit like the Baptist will convert a billion and it will tear down what you


    and make it all waste, and tasteless, and barren of all that is life.

    You want HELL…now welcome it.

    A hate filled place lost of any love, were each preys and eats cannibal,

    standing there in each others failed and toxic light.

    And ten-thousand lifetimes you will live war,

    until your black soul, exhausted arrives,

    and heaven will deny you entrance.

    You will not transcend this…there are no virgins,

    your cruel god turns his back even now and pestilence and disease of spirit invade

    you ranks.

    It will choke the ones you place your lust on,

    with hatred for you,

    it will corrupt the very joy of your own life.

    It will take all pleasure away from you…all that you prize here on this earthly plain,

    that false kings gold, that will not turn to coins,

    and turn it, to a bitterness and ash in old age.

    You end here.

    — MICHAEL BURNS 04/12/2017

  • Do not pay an MBA
    Who wants moola for merit
    Tell him it’s his DNA—
    He isn’t worth a carrot

  • Even the meter not unlike Songs of Experience

    I wander thro’ each charter’d street,
    Near where the charter’d Thames does flow,
    And mark in every face I meet,
    Marks of weakness, marks of woe.

    In every cry of every Man,
    In every Infant’s cry of fear,
    In every voice, in every ban,
    The mind-forg’d manacles I hear

  • Bravo!

  • Thanks Caitlin. We need your poetry so much. You are making soul food out of the garbage of our world.

  • Good poem. Poetry can touch the mind and heart in a way that prose cannot.

  • I love this. In my head I’m hearing it as an industrial-music song with aggressive spoken-word style vocals. Or a punk wall-of-sound song, with vocals screamed angrily…

  • The image encapsulate”the school to prison pipeline” in the US another example of the Land of the Free.
    The poetry reminds me of “Another Brick in the Wall” by Pink Floyd.

  • Try filing for file in “… file clerks”. Fixes the rhythm.

  • We are the world
    We are the toxins
    We are the ones who make a darker day, so let’s keep polluting
    There’s a choice we’re making
    We’re killing our own lives
    It’s true we’ll make an end of days, just you and me

  • Sensational, Caity!

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