Power of the Word.

Photo by Aaron Burden

This poem was inspired by the legendary novel, “Fahrenheit 451”. It was the first time I read this book. I could have got my hands on it way before, but funny enough, I would not be allowed to read this timeless classic in my community. Enjoy this power of the word.

Requires burning, worship.

Ink on paper,
Waltz of the black line,
Splitting joy and sorrow
.

Amusing figures on the parchment,
Given life by our meaning.

They bring humor, happiness.
Sometimes they make us suffer,
When reading bitter tale.

Power of the written word,
Accompanied the humans,
Leading us, like a heavy torch,
Through the smoke of history.

Losers signed treaties of the peace,
Giving lands and wealth to the stronger foe.

That line still dancing,
Looking back at the beaten soul,
Creating waves on a yellow scroll,
As well as in their hearts.

Sharper than a butchers knife,
Smooth as Eastern silk,
Dangerous and soothing.
Requires burning, worship.

Power of the Word.

Please let me know what you think of the poem on Twitter @FischerVladimir

Blanket Made of Stars.

Photo by Jeff Nissen 

A little poem about how stars have affected humans throughout the years of our short history on this planet.

We try to imitate the beauty, and dance around bonfires.

Night Sky dotted with the sparkles.
Pretty memoir of times long gone,
Covering the ancient tombs and structures,
Like a charming blanket made of stars.

They dance together through the night,
Creating perfect patterns.
The music, – Sounds of the forest,
The stage, – Whole universe bellow. 
While we,
The lowly creatures,
Are lucky audience of this grand concerto. 

We try to imitate the beauty,
And dance around bonfires.
We beat the drums until they break,
And blow the horns of the ceremony. 

Sometimes we make the sacrifices to the stars,
Like living beings and some formal items. 
But stars need no lamb or human to satisfy their needs. 
They only want to dance. 

We got it all so very wrong.
The sacrifice,
Is our time and effort.

Only those who sacrifice these things,
Will find the favor of the stars. 

The sacrifice is our time and effort.

Please let me know what you think of the poem on Twitter @FischerVladimir

Darkness of the Night.

Photo by Meireles Neto 

Wanted to write a little shout-out to the beauty of our planet. Unfortunately, I don’t have the ability to visit nature often, but it is definitely on my list for the future.

Invite the beast of the forest or the poison of a man?

A day was moving closer to the night.
A tired sun was slowly setting,
Over pointy tops of forest trees.

Time to pack this tiny camp,
Or warm-up for the night?

Invite the beast of the forest,
Or the poison of a man?

A gleam of stars,
Illuminate the path before me,
Warn me of the dangers,
Lurking in the dark.

I look up into heavens,
And see dark clouds,
Spreading over a sheet of the sky,
Like spiderweb up the empty ceiling
.

Then everything got quiet.
Birds stopped chirping their songs,
No more chatter on the ground,
A sense of calmness and some peace,
Filled the souls of living creatures.

I look up,
Stretching muscles of old neck.
Tiny snowflakes,
Melting on my face,
Millions of them,
Falling calmly on the land.

Each snowflake is bearing the imprint of the star.
Filling land with the crispy matter.

Melting stars,
Combine down on the ground,
Create a puffy cloud,
Slightly tingling with cold.

I think I’ll make another fire here,
Warm those bones and flesh a little.
This is the safest place
To calm my soul,
During the darkness of the night.

Just take the moment to feel the nature.

Please let me know what you think of the poem on Twitter @FischerVladimir

The Scribe.

This poem talks about, how individual thought can make our world a tiny bit better as it did throughout history so many times.

Instead of a mighty sword, he wields his plastic pen.

He is just a scribe,
Prisoner of thoughts, emotions.
Instead of a mighty sword,
He wields his plastic pen.
Shielded from attacks,
By thinnest sheet of paper.

He expressed the words,
That were given birth,
In depths of his imagination. 

He tells the story of his truth,
The world,
The way he feels it.

That’s all his warfare,
His struggle and pain.
In search of life itself,
Like did so many,
Mightier than him,
Before. 

He’s part of an ancient order,
That teaches individuality of thought.
That your opinion should always matter,
When you decide upon your life. 
Your voice is important and unique,
Don’t let the crowd,
Decide your feelings and your words.

Is it really good for me?
Not because we selfish,
We ask this question every day.
It is,
The holy right,
Of every human,
To lead the life they choose.
Breaking highest boundaries,
Set by tribal thought and dogma.

A right of every person.

Please let me know what you think of the poem on Twitter @FischerVladimir

Metal, Oil, and Rust.

The poem came out to be completely different than what I anticipated first. Most likely the meaning of this version is better than what it could have been.

Like a simple screw, to keep a metal ship afloat.

Electricity,
Buzzing in my body,
Through the wires of my veins.

The time is flowing,
Clock exhilarating,
Like a tired hamster in a wheel.

Enjoy this race,
The finest progress,
Of the people,
Made especially for you.

You keep fighting for your breath,
But must keep running
After lighting,
Before the thunder hits.

Phone ringing,
Cracking silence,
Like metal axes breaking wood.
Reminding you to hurry,
Before you miss your turn.

Like a simple screw,
To keep a metal ship afloat.

Got worn out?
Get swapped out!
The crew likes efficiency and order.

Just hold this flower in my hand,
Feel it’s origins alive.
You see the fields,
Right by the creek,
Chilly mountains in the distance.

No rushing here,
A simple stroll will do,
Like it was meant to be,
Always was,
Before the metal, oil, and rust.

A simple stroll will do.

Please let me know what you think of the poem on Twitter @FischerVladimir

Thinker.

Photo by M.R unsplash.com/@wherearemyshoesdude

The journey of the spirit, towards freedom of thought, expressed in this poem, through the eyes of a tiny mouse. Only truly brave, can step over the boundaries that set to crumble any different ideas and thought.

Stop these questions, silly tail.

Grey fur,
Quick paws,
This mouse is similar to others,
But so much different as well.

It goes on raids together with a clan,
In constant search of food,
For colony back home.

This mouse takes a moment,
Sometimes few,
To look at stars,
Up in the sky.

What mysteries do hold,
Those sparkles,
Above the farm?

What creatures dwell beyond the farm?
What food they eat?

Thinker had many questions,
That no one could relieve.
They sparked suspicion,
And some worry,
From the elders of the clan.

Stop these questions, silly tail.

Said the elders to the thinker.
Our way of life is ancient,
Proven by the time,
Go to eat,
Then reproduce,
Enjoy the pleasures of the world!

Thinker cared not,
For words of elders of the clan.
Knowledge, exploration,
Moved his tiny spirit,
Further than the sun.

Banished in disgrace,
Expelled by his own kin.
Thinker made the journey,
Away from the big, old farm.

Thinker journeyed nowhere,
Surviving on the way.
At times,
Thinking with the sorrow,
Questioning the choice made.

One day,
Exploring forest filled with corn.
Thinker saw huge moving towers,
That reached up to the sky.
Shaking to its core,
Brave mouse approached the bottom of the mountain.

He remembered vaguely,
The days that followed his approach.
Those towers that he saw,
Were people,
Scholars of the science.

Thinker looked up at the ceiling,
Dotted in artificial stars,
Slowly closing tiny eyes,
With a simple smile,
Across the calmest face.

Process of thinking, brave person’s shield.

Please let me know what you think of the poem on Twitter @FischerVladimir

Hitler’s secret diaries hoax.

The last circulating copy of the Hitler Diaries by the late forger Konrad Kujau, sold at auction in Berlin in 2004(AFP/Getty)

Divided Germany. Spring 1983. West-German magazine “Stern”, has just announced that it had recovered, previously unknown, secret diary of Adolf Hitler. It then went on to publish few excerpts from them. According to the magazine, 62 notebooks that were covering period from 1932 to 1945 were discovered in April 1945 among other valuable documents at the site of the plane crash near Dresden. Later it was allegedly smuggled to the West side of Germany and journalist Gerd Heidemann has got his hands on the original.

The diaries were meant to completely rewrite the history of 3rd Reich as well as parts of Hitler’s own life. It talked about Hitler’s relationship of Eva Braun as well as his, rather naive, unawareness of Jewish extermination, that was going on at the time inside Nazi concentration camps.

“Stern’s” publisher, has secretly hunted for manuscripts for a year and a half and bought them from Heidemann for about 9 million German Marks, which is about 5 and a half million US Dollars today. In secrecy, three independent handwriting examinations were carried out, which identified Hitler’s hand. In addition, British and American historians were hired by The Times and Newsweek, who were going to reprint the diaries, confirmed the authenticity.

“Hitler’s diaries discovered”. Stern‘s front page on 28 April 1983

Unfortunately, people soon after the discovery, started noticing serious historical inaccuracies as well as issues with Hitler’s handwriting as well, most of the contents in the diaries were also copied from Hitler’s collection of speeches.

For editors-in-chief of “Stern” these news were absolute disaster. Felix Schmidt and Peter Koch were fired in disgrace. Skeptics believed that no one would single-handedly counterfeit 62 notebooks, and they suspected the East German or Soviet government. However soon enough the prosecution found guilty both Heidemann, the forger, Konrad Kujau. Together receiving 42 months in jail.

The scale of the scandal was so large that in 1991 British ITV channel released a movie “Selling Hitler” and later on satirical film ” Schtonk!” was released in Germany.

Memories.

Photo by Dariusz Sankowski unsplash.com/@dariuszsankowski

Like many people, I tend to look back inside the memories in my mind and usually surprised how different of the person I was down the years.

We sole actors of this film, the only person in the audience, during a screening of this play.

Day to day, a vision in the mirror.
Film of memories recorded,
Of hardship, laughter,
Stored safely inside a computer of our brains.

Strangely looking back, reflect,
Upon ourselves,
Through the prism of memories.
As if episodes in life,
Were directed by producer,
Name of whom you can’t recall.

Spirituals tend to say,
That dead relatives of ours,
Observe us in life,
Judging decisions, choices.

I believe that the truth,
Is more sinister and scary.
It is not the relatives that visit us,
But each of us,
Will always be the biggest judge,
Of actions we perform.

We compare and analyze,
Break down and figure out,
Our actions and decisions,
With bitter strictness of a parent.

Few drops of nostalgia,
Are always present in this film.
Mixed with sorrow for wrong choices,
And opportunities long gone,
We create the saddest dish,
Too much vinegar, no salt.

We sole actors of this film,
The only person in the audience,
During a screening of this play.

We must remember of this fact,
Each day, in our life,
Make choices together with the mind,
Never miss a good chance around the corner.

Maybe then we will enjoy the dish,
Without tossing,
All the bitter bits,
At the screen,
During screening of your film.

Memories recorded inside our minds.

Please let me know what you think of the poem on Twitter @FischerVladimir

Spanish Flu and COVID-19

Oregon newspaper 1918- University of Oregon.

It has been more than half a year since the coronavirus pandemic has swept the planet. It has shook the world to it’s core after we started receiving images and videos coming from Italy where pandemic has hit the hardest back in March.

People had to get used to wearing a mask, vodka-smelling antiseptics and social distancing. I remember first days coming out on the street wearing a mask on a scorching, hot day. Trouble breathing and sense of doom cemented on the faces of people passing by. It was rather strange sensation, for everyone, seeing the world change so drastically outside your door, just as it did on the screen of your computer.

Time went by and the virus is still with us. Many countries are preparing for next waves of infected and some, even place new quarantines on the populace.

Let’s explore how people reacted to Spanish Flu or H1N1, that has murdered between 50 to 100 million people, when it hit the world hundred years ago.

The perfect conditions.

It is a year 1917 and WW1 is raging across Europe. On April 6th, United States joins the war. Although much of the US populace was against intervention in European matters, the government led by Woodrow Wilson decides to send and expand it’s fighting force.

In June 1917 – to increase the number of fighting men, a draft is established. The army creates 32 training centers, each housing 25,000 to 55,000 men.

That was perfect condition for the virus to spread. As soon as March 1918 over 100 servicemen at Camp Funston in Fort Riley, Kansas come down with the flu. A week later, that number has grown by 5 times.

Soon sporadic cases start to appear in different parts of the world as well.

In May 1918, US starts sending hundreds of thousands of soldiers beginning the first H1N1 infection wave in Europe. Only neutral Spain is openly speaking about the pandemic, while the rest of fighting countries censor the news.

Austrian National Library
The second wave.

The second wave hit the streets in September of 1918, killing more than before.

In Philadelphia, 200,000 people gather for a Liberty Bonds parade, and days later, 635 new cases of the flu are reported. The city orders schools, churches, and theaters closed. Similar tactics to prevent the spread of the virus will be used in our times.

195,000 people die in the US during single month of October. There is also a shortage of nurses to take care of the sick since many were sent to help the soldiers in the battlefield.

Mandatory to wear a mask in Chicago. Shipbuilding business in New York is struggling without workers.

Interior of a hospital ward at the Base Hospital, Camp Jackson, South Carolina, during the influenza epidemic (1918). Original image from National Museum of Health and Medicine
End of the war.

Great time to celebrate but not everything is festive. Soldiers that came back home brought back the virus together with them. The president Woodrow Wilson comes down with the flu himself but ultimately survives.

The End

By August 1919, the pandemic has almost gone completely instinct due to carriers death or immunity of the rest.

forgotten lessons

George A. Soper prepared a warning text for the respected scientific publication “Science” about possible recurrence of similar global epidemics in the future. The magazine published this material in the March 1919 issue as an editorial titled “Lessons from the Pandemic.”

There are three main obstacles in the way of epidemic prevention.

First, the indifference of society. People are not aware of the risks they are taking. The huge variation in the severity of respiratory illness after infection confuses people and hides the danger. This infection can range from the common cold to pneumonia. It begins as upper respiratory tract catarrh or rhinitis, then can suddenly develop into pharyngitis, tonsillitis, laryngitis, bronchitis, or pneumonia. The severity increases as the infection progresses to the lungs. Sometimes the infection seems to start in the chest, sometimes in the throat, sometimes in the head. It can stop where it started, or go through several phases. This is the story of the common cold: it tends to be more unpleasant than dangerous. Most people recover without much treatment, or any major intervention.

The second factor that stands in the way of prevention is the peculiarities of the human body itself … Discharge from the nose and throat gets into the air and contaminates hands, food, clothing and, in fact, … the entire environment of an infected person. This happens unconsciously, unnoticed, nobody suspects anything … Thus, we get a situation where we have to control those people who are already infected, but those who can transmit the disease can do little to protect themselves. At the same time, the “preventive burden” is unlikely to be easy for a person: in our nature it is not laid down to enclose ourselves in rigid isolation for a simple cold, assuming in advance that there is a chance that it will turn out to be a more dangerous infection.

Third, the high contagiousness of respiratory infections exacerbates the difficulty of controlling them. The incubation period varies considerably … and the patient can become contagious even before he even realizes that he is getting sick.


Afterthought

We did not learn the lessons of WW1 and received WW2. We did not learn the lessons of H1N1 and received COVID-19. Let’s hope that COVID-19 will not be as deadly of a lesson.

Voyage.

Photo by Filip Mroz – https://unsplash.com/@mroz

The poem about the greater future we all believe in. The ultimate journey of life. What should we focus on during this voyage?

Time and life are moving slow, in depths of the ocean that’s beneath me. But above the surface, aided by strong winds, my boat is moving hastily towards the final reach.

A wooden boat is slashing through the waters,
Splitting waves like good old Moses.
He was escaping slavery and purge,
United by idea, feeling lucky with a god.

So am I.

Breeze tingling the hairs upon my hand,
Rushing forward to the glory,
To that fabled land,
So far away,
Where Moon and stars align.

Time and life are moving slow,
In depths of the ocean that’s beneath me.
But above the surface,
Aided by strong winds,
My boat is moving hastily towards the final reach.

This Voyage will have,
So many bumps and failures.
But if I focus on the dolphins,
And breathe the scent of morning waters,
Then surely this journey,
Will be rewarding,
Freeing.

Because reaching destination,
Is not a final goal,
It’s only a little pitstop,
In this grand Voyage called
Life.

Voyage, a journey through life.

Please let me know what you think of the poem on Twitter @FischerVladimir