You look at me with such venom and disgust
Like I'm not human and have a contagious disease
But can't you see, I'm just an innocent child
For a moment put yourself in my shoes
Think of me like I'm your child
Why judge what you don't understand?
How would you feel to see your mother raped?
Your father burnt before your eyes?
I used to dream, I used to fantasize,
of a beautiful life beyond my childhood
I still remember my home blown away,
with these games of war that they play
My playground destroyed with their bombs
That had no concern for my ruined toys
I'm just a child, how did I hurt you?
I have no where to go, nobody to care
Living in refugee camps was no luxury
Don't you see the horror in my eyes?
Can you not feel the pain as I tremble?
Where has your humanity gone?
Do you have a heart? What if this was your child?
For days and days I walked through mud and rain
To find a place that I could belong
Now you shun me and forcibly turn me away
Like I'm a dirty diseased animal that may plague you
But I'm only human, I'm just a child
I only ask to be loved and to play again
I've lost so much, yet you won't help me to smile
Where do you suggest I go? Or shall I just rot in hell?
So humanity will you standby and watch?
Or will you find love in your heart and try to understand?
I'm just an innocent, caught up in a war of greed, I'm just a child
The Silent One
10 September 2015
Copyright © Silent One
When the Flowers of Youth Fell
Winter stayed late that year
courting Spring with a fury.
Beautiful gifts of snow
and dazzling ice, he gave her.
It was during such courtship
I found myself lost -- adrift
in a place that once was ....
decades from this century.
Where mud and blood held hands
beneath duty and honour
and kindred flowers fell
to sounds of bugle and drum.
Smoke arose through Spring's tears.
Images of Blue and Grey
pilfered my breath as cannons
rained thunder upon the brave.
How was this happening?
This was not where I belonged!
My time was not this place
and I wanted to go home.
Where Winter courted Spring
and snowmen fell -- not flowers --
upon the muddy ground
as snow reigned upon the brave.
The smell of gun powder
danced about my head and nose
like spirits for the faint --
arousing life ... far from home.
"Get down! Get down! Get down!"
The half-crazed voice plunged me
into the mud and blood
and I lay frozen in fear
beneath his weight ... and the cold.
So cold, no hearts were beating,
no breaths were being drawn,
just the smell of sweat and blood.
The smell of rain and death.
Clutched tightly in his pale fist
a tattered blood-stained note
bore the words, "Please ... for
I tried but could not scream.
And, I felt daylight passing ....
As shadows took the brave,
Winter's folly tamed sweet Spring
with final coats of snow ....
and snowmen fell -- not flowers.
Copyright © Deborah Burch
America the Free ~ America the Brave ~
Freedom with price Capitalism attacked
the many taken hearts broken still
one World try to rebuild
sadness and tears fall hard with fears
guilt by association many accused still
souls evaporated shattered dreams
tears fall on innocence left with anger
The proud fearless knew the inevitable
policeman fireman many lives lost
grieving does not stop 12 years later
New York city once proud & shameless
refusing to let fears in protecting ours
left in shock still question's unanswered
nothing learned nothing gained
ready to attack many left behind
anger greets denial anger meets rage
unacceptable still refusing new love
wanting days to rewind let us go back in time
acceptance allowing the victims leave in peace
the brave taken young leaving us sadly old
haunting dreams lost spirits dwell
no answers to hate never forgetting that day
Evil entered suddenly unforgiving fate
entering our City we stand with the fallen
How to fix how do we Change
This can be read many different ways ~ This is a poem I am so proud to write ~
Copyright © Shanity Rain
Marquees bright, and neon lights, where crowds line up for movie night
We're holding hands, we're in 'The Strand', red velvet carpets guide us in
Popcorn smokes, .. drinking cokes,... cracking jokes with Bing and Hope
Lamour's along, in her sarong,... With luscious lips, and cigarettes,
She fills ashtrays with smoking tips, and tosses guys like poker chips
'Movietone' intrudes with news, which puts us in somber mood
Third-Reich goosesteps march again, ... an evil presence in the wind...
Cary Grant , (a news reporter), loves his girl, and his typewriter
"His Girl Friday", plot is witty, sometimes crazy. But Cary loves this ditzy lady....
William Powell and Mryna Loy..., Asta barks, and finds a toy, ...a ploy? a clue?,....
...an earring gold. The mystery is clearly solved.-- A crimson sun, is rising cold!
Movietone in black and white,... graphic scenes, where soldiers die
Another night, suspense on chart. 'Correspondent' , Joel McCrea.
Saves Lorraine, and claims the Day. BUY WAR BONDs !! They'll pave the way
Bogart, Bergman bring to light, a valiant flght , within their grasp
Airline ticket, in her hand, they must part, and do what's right, no questions asked
It's movie night, but you aren't here, a troopship took you far from here
Allied troops are moving tanks. I wait for you..God give me strength
I'm in the Strand, within the dark, there's no one here to hold my hand
I'm all alone...........I heard the news....................You left it all in Anzio
For Contest Chopped III Sponsored by Craig Cornish
Copyright © Carrie Richards
She is ninety-something
A tiny old lady with wizened eyes
She says the hot dog on her plate looks good
“It reminds me of when we roasted them over an open fire.
They tasted so good, hot off the stick.
I don’t have much of an appetite anymore.
I waste so much food, and my mother would never
have approved with so many starving children in the world.
Would you help me put my leg back up on the chair rest?
My body doesn’t work too well anymore.
I wasn’t always like this. I wasn’t always this old and crotchety.
I was young once too, and so was everyone else.
I was a child at my mother’s knee. I was sassy and a brat,
for children of six have such confidence.
I played with an Irish boy two doors down in Illinois.
He hit me in the forehead with a snowball wrapped
around a chunk of coal and I rubbed his face in the snow
until we were wet and cold and our mothers were mad
because we stayed out too long.
I am not as different from you as I seem.
I too had dreams, although I admit
they did not include the events I lived through.
The flu epidemic which swept the land,
where so many took sick, with children dying out of hand.
The big war, the first one. I was still a fairly young child,
but I knew the young men were dying, heard the mothers crying.
Then the depression came, with no jobs, no money, no food.
Each night on someone’s table there lay a posting of jobs,
but there were too many looking for work and too few jobs to fill.
No jobs were fat jobs, you were beyond lucky to get six bits a day.
That is seventy five cents, by the way.
I learned to make do with what I had. There was never any excess.
Not like for the generations who came next.
When World War II came we already had practice.
Only this time my generation was dying, and I was one who was crying.
Look in my eyes, I am still a young girl inside.
A young lady with plans to be a bride, to have my children at my side
and be the loving mother like mine was to me.
But my son took too many risks. I told him to slow the cars down,
don’t drive so fast. He did not listen and he died before me.
That is not supposed to happen.
I did not plan to get old and infirm and alone.
Everyone is gone. I told them goodbye, each and every one.
No one left to hold my hand.
No one left to understand the memories
prompting bursts of girlish giggles.
I never planned on being the one left for last.
never planned on my future becoming my past.
So much history remains alive in my mind.
I lived the events which shaped the world that you found.
Lived them time after time for ninety some-odd years.
No, I was not always this old.
I was young and fresh and in my prime, for a time.”
Copyright © Monterey Sirak
In my country,
Seeing smoky sky
But Killing kids kills
Me everyday, every minute
No matter with
Or lightening rockets;
It is being our daily habit
No more choices:
To die or but to die
Silently without even a whispered Cry,
Or a small bit of a registered grave;
It is happening now just in my country!
Copyright © Bassam Aljasem
You may see me out on the streets
Lying curled up in a foetal position my sleeping bag in a shop doorway
Trying to get a few hours sleep here in my latest home in cardboard city …
I never stay more than a few nights in one place
can never really settle; these streets aren’t safe
You may see me out on the streets
I’m sitting on the cold damp pavement with an empty coffee cup in my hand
Hoping for a coin or two so I can have some real food in my aching belly
Still you hurry past, trying to avoid making eye contact…
Believe me, it’s so degrading rummaging in the litterbins like a wild animal
But some days it’s the only way I can get any food to eat
The biting cold and wet weather is my worst enemy
I can never get warm even when the sun shines
This is no life, just a way of surviving another day
Guess you think I’m a waster, a dirty tramp
You walk on by; judge me without knowing what lead me to life on the streets
Bet you think I’m a druggie or an alcoholic
I guess most people seem to think that
They see my filthy clothes, straggly hair and grey beard
Just five years ago I was like many of you
I had a career, a beautiful wife, and two lovely children
Spent many months away from home fighting for my country
But then I got sent to Afghanistan…
I saw scenes no man should ever have to witness
I was traumatised
Forever suffering flashbacks of the faces of those innocent people
The children, oh those children – made me think of my two boys back at home
I couldn’t cope any more, had a total mental breakdown
I was a broken man …
My wife could no longer deal with the mood swings , the erratic behaviour
The Army did little to help –
discharged me on health grounds, then basically abandoned me
Now I’ve lost everything … my wife, family, my dignity
Many of the people you see on the streets are like me …
We all have a story to tell, but no one gives us the time of day
Passers-by avert their eyes and hurry past like we are invisible
Your eyes may tell you one thing… but please don’t judge me
Because you don’t know me
Contest Any sad poem
Sponsored By Broken Wings
Copyright © JAN ALLISON
The season's first snow
just a dusting but enough
The kids and dogs
delighting in the
new found flakes,
not too cold yet.
On the other side
of the world
the day's first drones
The kids and dogs.
but no one
not too cold yet.
Revised 9/8/2014; first written soon after 11/09/2001. I changed a specific county to 'the other side of the world' and 'missiles' to 'drones', but not much else has changed.
Copyright © Dave Will
I, a Red Skin dog, as some may delight to call me,
I have heard the tales of horror, from my dark skinned foes.
I have heard the tales of terror, from others who became my friends.
And I have walked with a dark skinned woman of their tribe.
We walked in the beauty of her courage, together. Tearless.
Tearless we both were as she spoke, for tears, only gods could cry for her.
I am a Red Skin dog.
And yet we walked together and we talked – together, fearless,
I and this swaying ebony sapling, sprung from the roots of my foes tribe.
We talked of the pitiless reality of that life she left behind, of that time
That she has left, far, far behind, like a useless scar
That has toughened over. And made her stronger.
I learned from this daughter of my foes
That true courage is never fearless, but always stronger. Victorious,
Stronger she was by far, to this Red Skin dog
Than the thousand sons who died, in her honor. So they say. Ridiculous,
But I have heard the balance of their sins.
And for all the tales I have heard from those angry young men, and their vengeful fathers
Her horror was a thousand times more sinister. A thousand times more callous.
Horror took up residence in her home but never in her heart.
But for others, I cannot speak.
“…splinters and bursting fragments…in my mind
Ai! Tearing! Memory of tearing flesh, swallowing tears and mucus, blood and bile
…bruising and ripping garments…off my body
…filthy, familiar hands tearing at my dress…
…my legs split and broken like a wild pig slaughter, my screams smashed from my lips,
With the butt of a rifle, just used to kill a Red Skin dog…
Aieee! Clean this floor mama, mop up this spew!
It cannot be mine!
This child is not mine!
It is not mine! It is the devils own creation born in hell fire!
Born in my death!
Aieee! I am dead, I cannot be alive.
I am dead and the Red Skin dogs have eaten my corpse.
Those spirits in their wingless chariot flew over the land and sea, to rescue me?
Rescue me from that black devil who said he was like Jesus to me.
I thought you were my uncle-brother…
Who else could have found us here?
Hidden away from the Red Skins and their Wingless Angels.
Only you my uncle-brother
Only you could have found us
Only you could have killed us.
And now the progeny of your evil deed suckles at my breasts
As I lie dead in the home of those Red Skin dogs you fought.”
Copyright © Michael Dom
There is Nothing to Say About It
There is nothing to say about it
No words to describe it at all
There are no words at all to describe
the mass slaughter of innocents,
the relentless malignant progressions of
the evil black-moving cloud of terminations,
the toxic metastasizing ooze of outright annihilations,
the blood-gurgling regurgitations, and
the blood-spurting decapitations.
There is nothing to say about it.
Nothing to say at all.
No words to describe
the hopeless piercing cries of the infidels
the whimpering terrified pleadings of the condemned
the silent gasping inhalations of the dying
There is nothing to say about it.
No words to describe it at all!
My heart at 62 years has not seen anything like this at all!
Never anything like this at all!
I have not seen this outrageous slaughter before at all!
There is nothing to say, except…
These are the days!
The days of this unkind hour;
the days before the great onslaught!
Before this massive earthly descent to the lowest places,
the smelly dank places,
the rotting miasma of the dead places.
There are no words to describe it!
There is nothing to say at all!
Copyright © stark hunter
This is where I come to cry....
I hold my breath, my mouth is dry
with dreadful words too hard to tell
This is where I come to kneel
The grave where flesh and stone and steel
lie fused as one
A shrine to mourn and shed our tears
and pray for peace
to One who holds the earth in place
The sound of pain blows in the wind
I lift my eyes up high, to Him
and, there I see where dark wings flew
We did not know the world would fall
It came to pass where there is hate
we learned too late to change the end
The smoke will drift as new winds blow
Where does it go, those waves of war?
No one knows ....the time, ..the place, or when,
but it will come, and that is sure
once more with shores to seek and scores to keep
....and then, and then, and then, ....
more will weep!...Will it be here... will it be there?
Will it remain, on far off shores?
Or at our door?
War for them, and war for us, and one by one, and on and on, it goes and goes
The rush of wind to win the race, of war and pain.
And war remains to gust again. Again again...to rain more tears
How will it end...? The end of man...? Is that our fate...?
Bow down the heart, for man has made a rule of war
Bow down the heart, for man has made us fools for war
Will sun and moon and stars look down, and look for proof ...
of why the world went ......poof ?
Copyright © Carrie Richards
So arid this desert....
where the tumbleweeds blow,
and the snake makes his nest;
not a dry deed could wet the lips of desire,
and raise from dead things ---- life
with war and antiquity ----
The mummy cannot speak....
but mumbles evil ----
....'til it runs out.....
The 'long' arms of the law
haven't even banged upon the devil's front gate;
the 'laissez-faire' ----
Though the bombs drop like tear(drops)
in the darkest corners of the world,
to picnic on the first day of war,
and gorge upon peace.....
Little Illuminati generals.....
pawns for the great hog upon his throne;
who has waged death upon the whole world,
.....shadows deep (with sable scale)
black dragon keeps his poised tail
to crush the school of man;
To reverse the footprints of Christ,
and the wisdom of Buddha,
and the glorious faith of Mohamed ----
The churches are failing fast for the 'written' word,
and not the fire in the heart;
where God forged wisdom to all men,
And not the scroll which does not breathe,
cannot stop the bombs from dropping.....
For how can all the world preach peace ----
with a pistol 'neath its thickest pillow?
Love has no cause to be afraid,
to mistrust like a nervous wind,
and blow accusations where it may.....
What cannot be harmed has no need to attack,
but sits upon the lap of faith,
assured in its security ----
To build evolution on the lips of children,
for their minds see wonder in God's creations
and hope in the growing,
with little flowers in their soft thoughts.....
and new whims in innocent joy;
We have learned to love what we once could not,
' White Swan Black Swan, ' clemency ----
Equality.... but a nudge she claims the throne,
a Queen most fair to sting the dark dragon eyes,
Where eternity shall not echo his name
nor (all) the children tend his darkling tomb,
for he peered too long into the eyes of the abyss,
with one eye open.....
Sleep dragon! Sleep!
death is upon thee like the night in thy armor!
slip into the caverns of the deep,
and be no more.....
Copyright © Keith O.J. Hunt
I toss the coin anxiously
For both sides perturb and dazzle me…
The first side, well, it is a beauty to say the least
It is clear, crisp, like fresh pages of a favorite book
Peace offers a stronghold in its rhythmic and quiet composure
It is unassuming in all that it is…it is truth, with open arms
Like droplets of rain against my neck,
It is refreshing to caress its cooling pages,
Best of all, it heals when I choose to feel it and live it…
This side is strong, and often shames my desire for the other…
The other side, I gaze upon it often, its presence so shocking
I often doubt it even exists as much as I sense in my life
Then I remember that it surrounds me,
A universe of glow aching to crawl into my night
Wishing to embrace me, so it may reveal its secrets to me
I am drawn to its perplexity, its grand design…
Its fiery resilience silences my prayers to puddles of pleasure
It is a hard-heated side becrossing all sides… stopping all resistance…
I toss the coin high, mindful of its landing,
Though as it does it spins furiously upon my heart and mind,
Caught in the blurry winds of dissonance and rivalry
How distressing it is to see them collide together in all that they are…
For I want them both to win…I want them both desperately
But only one side will dominate in the end
And only I know who will win,
As I set this silent war of hypocrisy
Free into the stars, where that unknown wisdom will be revealed in future days
I had to set it free…
For there are still other sides we must struggle to let go of
Touched by so many hands before us…
We must choose the side to say goodbye to
As we fight to focus our fleeting attention
Upon the one and only side that will touch the face of Providence
-For Justin Bordner's "What is Your Hypocrisy?" Contest <3-
Copyright © Laura Breidenthal
Warlock of Poetry!
your move will turn you into shamrock!
That girl will beat you down
and when you beg for her to stop
the only thing she'll do
is kick dirt in your face
She will kill all your hope
for ever claiming the title of slam champ
and she WILL have you bow to her
as she has done to many
just do what the rest of them do
Run the hell away!
Failure is the only option
of which you survive...
Man, your poetry is "odd"
It's plot is non-exsistant
and your game is un-played
your lust is the only fire you command
and everything else is just wrong
dude, she's going to win...
and if you even think of slamming me
you will be thrown aside
like love letter drafts
in the trash basket
so chill out
and don't get killed
you my warlock friend
are going down!
Copyright © Ryan Emerald
It’s not what she hears that day
No. It’s what she sees,
The image very nearly killed her
The neighbours say the scream was heard two blocks away
Though she can’t recall hearing what was said
No. It’s what she sees alright
Even to this day, she can feel the envelope
She can see the “WESTERN UNION” through the milky window
She can see the “THE SECRETARY OF WAR DESIRES ME TO EXPRESS…”
What she doesn’t hear, is what the Telegram Boy had to say
She still has the Telegram
Its yellow parchment a little brittle, the typed words
“HIS DEEP REGRET THAT YOUR SON…” a little smudged, tears she guesses
Though she doesn’t remember any tears, they came later
Along with the pain of not knowing, and the sorrow of knowing
Then almost a year to that day, it’s not what she hears
But what every mother would want to see
What every mother would want to feel
And every mother would dearly love to hear
“Hello mum, I’m home…”
8 May 2015
Craig Cornish’s Poetry Contest “A Mother’s Ears”
Copyright © Mark Trichet
I'm not either victor or defeated
I'm neither old nor young
War... What is it good for?
To protect the livelihood
To inflict punishment
To guard the national pride
To prevent the loss of resources
To eliminate a possible menace
To preserve the order of the world
To bring an outlet for aggression
To create mourning, why not?
To justify our morality, Your Honor
To give freedom, Honorable Representative
To protect our interest, Mr. Senator
To make them believe it, Mr. President
Recruit spics, niggers and white trash
Our country do not discriminate
To defend our boundaries
To pay for a higher education
To disregard human life
To use our animal behavior
For international disputes
For secret treaties
For balance of powers
For the economic view of war
Who orders the war? Who undertakes the war?
The benefits must be greater than the cost
"Heroes are for Free."
"Order 300 Medals of Honor ...to be awarded posthumously."
Peace is the lapses we deserved to prepare the next war
Military tactics, strategy, logistics...operational art
We need those angry young men to kill other angry young males
Between the ages of 18 and 30...we can manipulate them
To collect reparations and concessions from the defeated nations.
To reduce unemployment…To bring our country out of the Depression
Humanity's highest activities are courage, honor, and heroism
Anxiety, flashbacks and nightmares?
Difficulty falling or staying asleep?
Anger and hyper vigilance?
S. S. Administration
For their extraordinary heroism
For assaulting an enemy position and aiding a fallen soldier
For covering an enemy grenade with their bodies to protect fellow soldiers
For the greater horror their parents can, could, may, might, would ever experience
War... What is it good for?
Copyright © Ruben O.
and deep I went, to the master's pit,
a leech, a brand-fire, saw I lit, then
down among the throbbing roar, there
stood a spectre, drenched in gore
when challenged, did he rant and rave,
to find me in his abyss, his cave;
from whence he came I know not where,
for mine was but to answer, not enquire
then stripped I of his molten coat, in the
form of a goat, thinking was Beelzebub undone;
but to my great surprise, Apollyon it was,
in masterly disguise
and seeing me now, Gabriel, in full light, he thrust his fiery
sword to smite, the one God loves, (indeed tis me),
but I crushed his stink and broke off free
he turned and smite me yet again, the pain of death
drove me insane; but lost the blow, in this great fore,
I called on my father for strength, four score; and I the
"fallen angel", so to speak, plunged my sword into his beak
and when his black light came near no more, and threw his
poison to the floor, to fight so thus, and give no quarter, was
my want, his needful slaughter;
and now at twilights shimmering scar, of timid moonlight's
evil bar, the pit, when entered, carries no threat; for paid
brave Gabriel, Apollyon's debt.
Copyright © Peter Lewis Holmes
Make love to me, baby
I have but you to chase them away
These demons I try to hold at bay
Tomorrow is not guaranteed
Nothing is real anyway
It's all a dream
Nothing will stay
It will all one day melt away
Let the melting begin
In this heat between you and me
…make me melt
In this fire
Make love to me
Nothing else but you in candle light
Nothing by your face above mine
Nothing but your hands all over me
Nothing but your scent clinging to me
Nothing but you
Make love to me
Make love to me
Oh, make it last and last
Eternity past forgotten
May never come
Eternity present is here
In this moment
To your body...crush
Every other noise
But the panting of my heart
Your name bursting
From trembling lips
Don’t let anything else
Take your mind away from me
The world doesn’t exist
It's only lies
My universe in your eyes
Blazing comets of desire
Combusting into me
All that was ever meant to be
Make love to me
Close your ears
To these sounds of war
In this shelter
Close your ears
To the deafening blasts
They won't last
Forget the ground shaking
The world being torn apart
Tear off my clothes
Let me quake
In the blast of your passion
Fill your ears with the sounds of me
My voice telling you….breathlessly
You are who you’re meant to be
A lover not a fighter
A lover of me
Make love to me
We may not live another week
Baby…not another day
Nothing is guaranteed
Just this hour
This moment of melding into one
Flesh on flesh reality
I close my eyes
And let myself go free
Who cares what becomes of me
Right now, right here
Paradise is sinking into me…
As you make love
As you make that sweet love
Copyright © Eileen Manassian
“There are no tongues to speak for me, least of all my own,”
a fallen soldier’s voice, a cry unheard, unknown.
An unfinished watercolor found in his kit—incomplete—like his wasted life.
His tongue could not say, “I deserve to live!”
Nor could he hear living lips
Nor could he hear guns fired in tribute
Nor could he hear bells sounding in remembrance.
They only mocked his death
an unfinished life
”You can always hear the people who are willing to sacrifice somebody else’s life. They’re plenty loud and they talk all the time. That’s their business. But what do the dead say?” …Joe Bonham*
*(excerpt from “Johnny Got His Gun” a novel by Dalton Trumbo, Bantam Books, first published September, 1939)
Copyright © John Wulf
Dreams Of The Conquerors, Monsters Marching By
(Dogs of War)
Along a dusty, narrow road they passed
Marching ever onward impetuously,
Nor saw they trembling flowers.
In panoply they rode
With music swift and loud,
And I knew not whether they went,
Nor who shall restore
The broken ways, nor where is well to hide
Should they return in glory wrapped
Maddened with another victory.
Robert J. Lindley, 10-12 2015
Note- "panoply"- definition
a complete or impressive collection of things.
"a deliciously inventive panoply of insults"
synonyms: array, range, collection
"the full panoply of U.S. military might"
a splendid display.
"all the panoply of Western religious liturgy"
synonyms: trappings, regalia; More
a complete set of arms or suit of armor.
Copyright © Robert Lindley
War has stolen my children,
War snatched my sweetest things, god’s given;
War robbed my children from being ‘hidden’
War demolished my tiniest hope,
War has made me a body without soul.
I’ve seen bullets killing my children,
I’ve heard babies cry,
It maims my soul the way babies die;
I have nowhere to fly.
War didn’t spare a single child,
Bombs fell on smiling babies,
Weapons snatched our babies from cradle,
Ignominious war sent them to grave.
I’ve seen atrocious appearance of war,
To raise my voice I dare,
I am solo face on crowd
You can’t kill us blasting bombs loud,
I will finally hold revenge’s sword,
I want to listen my baby’s shout.
Where are my bubbly chirpy children?
When shall this war end?
When will the toys get back their owner?
When shall they again play with dolls?
War has taken over one million children,
War has made moms bed-ridden,
War has turned off the way of life,
War owed everything to malice.
Why did war kill Zelena’s new born?
Why did it take away 5 yrs old Adnaan?
Regina’s little head struck by splinter
My heart is dead like cold winter.
I play with soft toys of my children,
I weep over their lost childhood
I kiss their tiny fur shoes,
I wash their colorful clothes
To lessen my woes!!
I shake Sana’s round rattle,
I count days of battle
My lips get chapped,
My tears get dried,
But I never stop waiting,
For my little children to return,
War can’t rob our children,
It just robs the future citizens!!
Copyright © Jayeeta Shamsul
Stepping past the crater towards your door,
I am reminded of warm days
surrendered in flowery abandon while
brushing against cool veins of
leafy promise, requiring only the slightest
compassion for the flow of life.
The scope of our crusade sings bitter,
like absinthe in a Fanta bottle;
tangs of anise and wormwood persist
within ether's truthful vision
resisting factory flavors in a curtain,
velvet reminders of flesh.
Lap your moistened shape. You dissolve,
my expectant sugar cube, no longer
made jagged by expectation or campaign
but fragile again, doughy in
blissful rapture upon my snacking,
curling up in a fetal calm
until we flow once more with the surge
propelling us entangled yet
unencumbered, finally breathing our
amniotic potential within this
spiritual umbilical making my stomach
spin within these tugs of finality,
despite my carpenter's heart yearning to
mend or create. Do arrogance and
industry compel mankind's devastation? Such
a question drifts unanswered as I
kiss your wrist before strapping on my boots
to hurl my blood into the fray.
Copyright © John Weber
People say that love never fails,
That all is fair in love and war,
But really, how do you know,
What love can or can not do?
And if all is fair in love and war, then
Why does someone always end up getting hurt?
I know my love will never fail,
Because I love you with all my heart and soul,
Because I would give my life for you,
And everything I am or have just to be with you.
However, I can not be fair to all
Because all is not fair in love and war.
I wish to hurt no one, so I don't,
But by doing so, I hurt myself.
My heart wants to be with you so much
And yet I wish to hurt no one.
So I don't, I don't confess my love for you,
I keep it locked inside,
And as a friend I stay by your side.
My love for you remains forever pure and unchanged.
I love you, Yes, I do, with all my heart and soul,
With all that I am and hope to be just for you.
My heart untamed and wild, dreaming of what if,
But it's cut in half by the love I feel for both.
My heart belongs to you but only half,
Because I gave the other half away to him.
Now I suffer for my love, for both are great,
But only one, I wish I could be with forever.
All is not fair in love and war,
So I love you both and suffer much,
Because my heart is wounded, torn in half.
I can not speak of my deep love for you,
I can not confess my feelings to you.
So I go on with my life pretending nothing's wrong.
Why must I go on without your love?
It's faith, I guess, that I suffer so.
It's destiny to love you so.
Copyright © Elizabeth San Miguel
War is easy than dating
Others kill with no bullets while losing arguments
Conventional queens know electrified attractions attract war with no pause
A stock of lip sticks run dry dialogues in a desert of heartbroken love pupils
Piece of hope rented with no peace but trusted snipers
Spoken words do fool around with bait for cake
Sold in gossips sipping wine, chewing gums and over baked lies with no trace
Wood and axe chopped lies connecting humans like dead chickens
Words always turn into constructors building long distant promises
Sello-tapes brake endlessly aiming to redesign human connections
The adhesive virus chewing feelings braking easy like pencils
A virus moving across eye sites in spider web styles
celebrating homicide medals
My spoken words needs no dental doctor
I toothpick my words before all spoken
word leftovers are served to innocent infants
My words dilute strong wet tongues of hope
From toes to goals amplifying muscled dreams guarded by eyes of owls
Abusing definitions of sex in vernacular
Well guarded needles love injecting
pissed off moods between two countries playing hard to get
He crosses genders to impress the oppressed family matters
She pukes pregnant proof of impatient promised poetry
Photo shopped smiles activate countdown minute bombs
Click click time tracking clicks clicking clicks and sperm bombs
Trousers unwrapping guilty conscious
The sickest spits in less than six minute pleasures after night gigs
Time tracking suspicious flings
Hospital beds are made for injured insecurities and wheel chaired emotions
Transported by sirens from ambulances of greedy
A gasoline for vengeance
The art of love painted by departed affections above
all intellectual scribes
Windy arguments will forever toss tornadoes of
cheating slogans on the devil’s bible
The art of love and zips unzipping free ships for donated suicide spits
The art of love and zips unzipping free ships for donated suicide spits
© Raymond Ngomane
Copyright © Raymond Ngomane
We`re on our way
Visiting good old friends from Norway
Now living in Turkey
Its the smiling country
We got everything we need..and more so
Romantic evenings with candlelights on the table
Eating out everyday,and watching the perfect sunset
The scenery is beyond spectacular
Not so nice sceneries comes sneaking into my thoughts
TV news shows an infant,shot to death..right through her chest
Another infant penetrated by grenade splints,now laying dead on a table
Her father screams in pure anger,anxiety and endless grief
More than 200 innocent civilians found,sliced to death by the army
Schools..hospitals are being used as canon targets
Civilians being forced to walk infront of tanks..defenceless kids most of them
Just in case resistance groups should make any attempt to stop these heavily armed forces
They are used as living targets
All within the hour from a holiday paradise in Turkey
Tears are shed for you..brothers and sisters
Your life is bleeding out of you..but your spirit will fight `til the bitter end
How cruel..How unfair it all is in this world
My thoughts and prayers are with you Syria
April 4th 2012
Copyright © Arild Andresen Ertsland
~My True Story 16 Years Of War~
!6 years of living in fear every minute, 16 years living with barely
any electricity,water, food,hurt from humiliation standing
in line for hours to maybe obtain a loaf of bread for my children,
some days due to lack of water, we would shower from the pouring
rain on the roof,and for us that was a good day.
The fear of being stopped at a barrier from the militia, and if they
decide to kill at the time, we would have been a good target,
agonizing each day not knowing when a lost bomb would
penetrate our roof tops,or bedrooms,running down for shelter
at our neighbors first floor home,sometimes days in the same
clothes no food,not even a drop of water,as we could not move
from the hilarious shelling,bullets aimed at us the innocent who had
nothing to do with politics and war.
We lived without once hearing a siren so we can run to the
shelter,nothing indicated where the shells will land,we had
sometimes to cross the street to hide in our church,or other
gatherings to escape the guerillas.
The only way to know if I can go to work and kids to
university,was listen to the radio just to guess which way
was safer to drive,many times over the years, bombs landed
not far from my car,had to leave and run underneath it
as a protection,my eldest son was once kidnapped for 3 days,
once the banging on our door so loud, they came to take
my children to fight with them, because they lacked
men on the field.
Days I would arrive late to work due to the bombs.
My fear progressed as I was doomed and sensed disaster.
In summer we had no air condition due to no electricity,
in winter we had no heating,days we slept with our winter
coats if we were not already in the shelter,16 years of war
we slept awake.
My strength out of love to both my children,they graduated
my eldest became an architect,and the youngest became a
Had to send them away at a very early age,left alone with
my husband at the time. My duty was fulfilled when they
A happening that happened during that war,was my secret
for years and years,I hid it,I kept it alive inside of me,not to
allow anyone discover how I died and lived only because of
my love towards my children,I was hiding for years,now only
something stirred deep in me,a voice,begging me to come
at peace within myself,is the only way to write it down,as
enough is enough,no details,I will write,none to ask what,
why,when,who,only the rape happened,my spirit and soul
agonized,now I am a free woman.No more tears, no more
Today in a new country of freedom accepted me 25 years ago
as a political refugee, I am very happy, my children are safe,
As we did survive 16 years of a major war in our country.
Freedom is so beautiful,feeling safe having showers,eating,
variety of food,getting a heater to remain warm,air condition
during summer,driving with no fear,walking with a sense of
freedom,it took us a while to return to normal,
the truth became beautiful due to the transformation of our
inner spirits,living in the depth of darkness for years took
sometime to regroup our inner souls to run far from darkness
and live into the light again. Free At Last.
7 September 2014
Copyright © Therese Bacha
The sweetest sounds of burning trees
A gentle stroking in the breeze
The calm has lasted past the storm
Cloudy visions, Satan’s roar
Too many sights have passed my way
A time found only in the haze
The softest screams are running bare
My aching bones creak as I stare
You walk a distance towards me
The fall’s eternal, can’t you see?
I’m a memory in your heart
I whisper to you in the dark
The battle’s started at the end
No one is coming to repent
The sinners grab their wine from prey
No judgment calling here to stay
The sport is reckless to be told
The one is laughing at his souls
It falters nowhere to be sure
The power grows forevermore
Like a spirit in the wind
I have no say in where you’ve been
But cross the line to come to me
And pay the price for ecstasy
You walk a distance towards me
The fall’s eternal, can’t you see?
I’m a memory in your heart
I whisper to you in the dark.
Copyright © John Paluszek
I am winter's nemesis.I fight it tooth and nail.
In my youth it declared a war on me.
When I licked that icy rail.
Winter has many weapons to choose from.
Fear not for so do I.
A call my shovel Excali-burrr
My Ranger has four wheel drive
But winter's arsenal is no laughing matter
Icicles sent to impale, and black ice is its deadly device
But the human spirit is not that frail
I am winter's nemesis, and though it muffles all sound
This war is raging with bitter disdain.
My driveway the battle ground
I shall not relinquish my parking spot
to your mindless rabble of flakes
So bow to me you wretched season
For I shall never tire.
and my staunch ally will soon be spring
and together we will force a cease fire
For I am winter's nemesis
And these walls shall not be breached
Until my tour of duty is done
and I retire to Miami beach
Copyright © Joe Inca
Urgent Call for Love
The evil axis has been burning
Who rules the land? It’s now very vague.
The second son must get out of old Al Sham
And meet the hungry jury in The Hague
The puppet is hanging by his last string
And the judgment day is sure to come
Forty thousand martyrs will be singing
As they join me in my urgent call for love.
The war machine is pregnant and is bloated.
Money births an icy, rigid son.
He grows up in the muck of all this madness,
It arms its addled brother with a gun.
In my world, war is not an option,
Let’s end the chaos with a silken glove
Murdered angels soar among the heavens
Please join me, in my urgent call for love.
I’d love to build a mass market dart board
With mug shots of the Senators and House
I’d load it on an App and shoot the darts off
With the quiet, perfect clicking of my mouse.
How can these servants bow before their master?
When Moses had already freed his tethered load?
Make them testify before the one judge
And answer to our urgent call for love
Some years ago a scholar lost his lectern
Because somebody stole my vote away
He spoke his truth in defense of climate
And was told let’s fix it later, not today
When the perfect storm came a calling
It blew our measured lives and hopes astray
My Mother, here’s an olive branch and white dove
I surrender to the urgent call for love.
The pleading skies and rivers, they have warned us
Their voices rose to wail their tortured song
The veins of life, they have been all corrupted
And darkness has been blinding us in fog.
Insanity bathes in its make shift chambers
It soaks in a vile and filthy marble tub.
Please join in my call for our salvation,
I am humbled, in my urgent call for love.
Brenda Atry 1/1/2013 copyright pending
Copyright © Brenda Atry
In a modern setup,
Vibrant visions evaporates
To emptiness, nothingness and waywardness.
Leaving the people in stark darkness,
Leading to nowhere,
As penury is declared "king",
Hunger succeeds the throne
As blind leaders hardened the
Economy like bone.
Giving peanuts to the peasants
But gold for the wealthy,
Oh! what a chess game in the midst
Of blind spectators.....
Mothers swaying in tattered rags,
Struggling with drying breasts which
Produces the hopeful milk of the skinny infants...
Children strolling with empty plates
Searching for who to wet their throats.
Fathers planting courage and assurance,
Hoping the land will be milky someday,
Yet the center is not holding
For heads are plenty but the brains are few...
Therefore turning weakening hearts
To marauding crooks,
Staining their whites,
Be litling their lives,
Insulting their hands
Making the land stink,
While Africa bears the smell,
To the detriment of her virtue.
Our agricultural and peaceful
"green white green", they've turned to
A dark and bloody "red black red".
Now who leads who in this
Criminal war front, corrupt justice
And indecisive generation?
Things fall apart when truth step aside,
Evil takes the lead when black minds
Score the goal...
Things fall apart when the people can't merge.
Copyright © Charles Melody Lightning Ink