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Quatrain Holocaust Poems | Quatrain Poems About Holocaust

These Quatrain Holocaust poems are examples of Quatrain poems about Holocaust. These are the best examples of Quatrain Holocaust poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

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Details | Quatrain | |

A Poet's Apocolypse

After that moment a gray dust covers all Invading the senses, casting a veil of despair The prince of darkness will have his due Oh cry ye fools, of this hell be you aware.... And what of the poets with blood on their pens Huddled in dark corners, trying to understand Making rhymes for only the night wind to read In the end a homage of heart to a beloved land.....

Copyright © Barbara Gorelick | Year Posted 2013

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Never Forget

Never Forget 

Oh thou of wretched heart and deed
Inferior our seeds?
When thus thou felt the need to rule
Annihilate deemed weeds

Thou casteth out your wicked net
Of guns and war bent twine
No bulwark for the Jews was found   
Declaring heads decline

Compliant soldiers marched the streets
For ducats hedged your bet
With waving flags and Hail Hitler’s
Obliging hands were met

Whilst cyanide was gassings Jews
Obedience decreed  
In bunkers hid you reigned your realm
Coward of plotted deeds

When one man tries to rid the world
Of an imagined foe
Mankind will raise its voice as one
He’ll reap what he did sow

Completed on 2/4/12
All rights reserved by Debra Squyres @ 2013

My fist attempt with a Quatrain…..this a modified quatrain as per specified by the rules of the members contest: Historical Modified Quatrain
1st and 3rd lines eight iambic syllables
2nd and 4th lines 6 iambic syllables

Copyright © Debra Squyres | Year Posted 2013

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Who Knows Where The Time Goes

The stars may wink their last goodbyes, 
the sun may disappear, 
the moon may shrink and come to naught 
and I will shed a tear. 

The universe may turn to dust 
all flora, fauna waste away, 
we may spend our time in darkness 
hoping for a brand new day. 

Will you still be here to comfort me 
to fill my eyes with pride, 
and swell my heart with tenderness, 
my love, my blushing bride? 

Copyright © Keith Bickerstaffe | Year Posted 2013

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As willows weep along the walls
And fall mums start to bloom
The wind still echoes hallowed 
From Nanking's souls of doom

With little food and daily raids
There was no safety zone
From genocide of men and 
For none were left alone

Their butchered bodies 
Lay piled in ponds and roads
In bloody streets a river there
Flowed heavy 'neath the loads

This holocaust was filmed that 
Priest John Magee did plod
Now as his son he too could say
He "touched the face of God".

deborah burch

Copyright © Deborah Burch | Year Posted 2013

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Most Evil Of Men

Adolf Hitler was the most evil of men As evil as a human could be Should've been hung by his you know whats Before his killing spree They say he was actually a human being I certainly have my doubts Wreaking havoc on a whole race of people What was all that about Perhaps he was the devil reincarnated Or maybe Genghis Khan Shouldn't make light of his murderous exploits Purely just an evil man Can't imagine it will ever happen again The world's a lot saner now Ya right! Guess I'm sounding a bit delusional A lunatic out on the prowl <3 <3 <3 © Jack Ellison 2014

Copyright © Jack Ellison | Year Posted 2014

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Sociocultural Evolution - by Bob Atkinson

- by Bob Atkinson

here in the here and
well beyond that
date in time
beyond beginnings so
far back
as to look like
stones defined

by their
layers of that dust
of life
which settles into a
black void
and shoves us out of

here with a fond
we see what we've
our narrow minded
of satisfied results

but satisfaction
from norms we can
to send our children
to the future
an establishment

take a minute to
into something more
don't see your
brother as the enemy
to be pierced
through with your

Copyright © Bob Atkinson | Year Posted 2014

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Future Shock

Future Shock
Scheming together years ago, before the weekly executions,
dreaming of days we'd lift the fog of ignorance from the masses
and paradigms of stagnation shifted with cerebral solutions.
To no avail our heady course in theory only passes.

We knew the day, the hour, the minute how texts would be rewritten.
The generation of our spawn in classes they would read it.
History so enthralling, with learning would they be smitten.
Instead the propaganda beast so ravenous and we must feed it.

The old men while away their time with tales of a foiled coupe,
and students smile and avert their stare, it's better to be a number.
The One he loathes such minions who wish to think or do,
so all the day of arduous labor leads to fitful slumber.

Yes you and I, my loyal friend, matyrs in the making,
outwitting cowards that march us to the death of liberty.
But threats and greed lead to your word finally forsaken.
In brutal death at least my soul will wonder this world free.

Copyright © James Nichols | Year Posted 2012

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From Platform To Smoke

I stand ’tween the rails looking back at the gate
With lips pursed I swallow and choke,
And I thank God that I’m still standing alive
Not going from platform to smoke.

Not going from platform to smoke in a blink
Or just in an hour and a half,
“We really have got this machine running smoothly.”
The camp commandant would laugh.

The camp commandant would laugh in his house
Which was white and just behind the hedge.
He and his family could just see the chimneys
And smoke past their window ledge.

I can just see the ledge of the window	
With our hands wrapped for Tifillin prayer,
An act of worship never allowed
To those who were previously there.

Those who were previously there came by train,
In a transport they came every day,
Crammed in goods vans that slowed to a halt,
Confused and afraid in dismay.

Confused and afraid and in dismay
They got down and formed sorting lines,
Those who went right were sentenced to death,
To the left for some other designs.

And the stench of the smoke was appalling
It wafted and hung in the air,
Indicting all who worked in that place
Of the wickedness that they all share.

I stand ’tween the rails looking back at the gate
With lips pursed I swallow and choke,
And I thank God that I’m still standing alive,
Not going from platform to smoke.

Copyright © Neil McLeod | Year Posted 2014

Details | Quatrain | |

Come To Their Rescue

Still streaking down their lonely cheeks,
so many tears are shed.
With cries throughout the longest nights,
those nightmares are widespread.

I've maybe heard them once or twice,
but please bear this in mind -
there's so much shopping I must do
and outfits I must find.
The birthday parties I attend,
the weddings, funerals too -
and holidays are coming soon.
Oh, what am I to do?

Or maybe I am all wrapped up
inside my fav'rite teams -
the one that's in the playoffs now
fulfilling this fan's dreams.
For those who live outside my world,
how can I really care?
What can I do while I am here -
and they are over there?

To rescue someone?  Tell me how.
They don't live next to me.
How can I hear their cries for help
when they, I cannot see?
Once unaware of torture, my
snug ignorance was bliss.
But why should I now waste any time
here telling you all this?

The raping, loss of self-respect
and murdering of girls,
can't push important things aside
like shopping now for pearls.
Do I hurt anybody?  No!
It's Jesus I exalt.
So do not tug at my heart strings.
Their pain is not my fault!

And don't think I'm not thankful here
in warm and toasty bed -
between my clean, soft cotton sheets
as pillow hugs my head.
 But muffled screams - I hear them now.
They, in my mem-ries, stay.
They linger through the cold, dark nights
and pester me all day.

Oh, who can hear those victims scream
through distant, starry nights?
And who can hear survivors cries
from cruel and futile fights?
Though innocent, survivors moved.
They had no other choice.
They lost their homes and furniture
and with it all, their voice.

I cannot see those makeshift tents
or taste what they call food.
I cannot stop those terrorists
or change my attitude.
I'm done with sports and shopping now
and buying myself stuff.
Their screams have fin'lly reach my ears.
I've failed them long enough.

I do not buy new outfits now.
And football's not my game.
I'm focused on the "least of these".
My life is not the same.
I once thought it important here.
I now no longer do.
I'll start by giving all I can
to come to their rescue.

It's serious, the plight they're in.
Please understand their worth.
As sin runs rampant over weak
around this evil earth.
Our Congressmen must focus too
while evil men connive.
Please vote to stop the terrorists
to save those still alive.

Still streaking down their lonely cheeks,
so many tears are shed.
With cries throughout the longest nights,
those nightmares are widespread.

©2016 lg

Copyright © louis gander | Year Posted 2016

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I Want The Dark Gift From Your Veins

There's a very good reason to bring me across;
It's because no one else would e'er suffer the loss
Of a worthless old vagrant and rounder as I
Who has been so long ready and eager to die.

Now, you needn't attempt to pretend such surprise
As I see there in those predatory keen eyes.
I have kept your dark secret for many long years
Which ought instantly quell nearly all of your fears.

This poor Earth has grown fat with too much human flesh;
It is now past the time that it be purged afresh.
I am sick unto death of my own fellow man
And I just cannot wait to destroy all I can.

We mere mortals are prone to assume we're so great
While ignoring this planet's unfortunate state.
Take a look at the carnage we've wreaked in this place,
Such a tiny blue pearl in the vastness of Space.

So please tarry no more in deciding my fate;
Father Time is the Thief I most savagely hate. 
We shall clear this world clean of all warm, weak detritus
And we'll never allow the foul vermin to smite us.

Copyright © Roderick Molasar | Year Posted 2015