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Mother War Poems | Mother Poems About War

These Mother War poems are examples of Mother poems about War. These are the best examples of Mother War poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

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Details | Rhyme | |

Why the Rose Bled

Parents so proud Four sons they raised From the Highlands of Scotland In the pre-war days On their crofts they worked Morning till night Unknown to them then Of a future fight The Germans have invaded A country so free Poland was taken The world shaken visually Britain declares war As our men enlist To rid the enemy As the fighting shifts Europe's engulfed In a feverish war Many are dying To comprehend what for The four brothers Sign up to fight As a mother will pray Every night Campaigns they fight In these theatres of war Witnessing horrors Never seen before In their garden at home On the family crofts A bed of roses With petals so soft Then one day With a passing glance A pink rose dripping red In deathly stance Their mother turns To the gate she looks Telegram in hand From the postman she took With trembling hands She opens with care Upon reading the message In tear laden stare Their eldest son In Africa was lost As many many others Deaths global cost Every day As she passes the rose It's pink petals bloom Her tomorrow's fear grows .

Copyright © James Fraser | Year Posted 2014

Details | Free verse | |

Hello Mum

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 | Year Posted 2015

Details | Rhyme | |

My mother, my earth.

Into the light I see,
with rays in clouds and warmth in me.
Brittle is the air around,
no voice is there, nor sweeter sound.

Within my scars and broken back,
there are my kin, there love I lack.
The oceans turn, therefore I weep,
Is it truly my tears to keep?

Now the mountains begin to fall,
like sand and dust to death they call.
I hear my children bleed and cry,
there bellies thirst and almost dry.

Some will seat and eat there fill,
"lets help them now, so now we will!
His mother would find pride within,
a pretty thing this life of sin.

Alas, my days are almost through,
my breath, my flesh and heart is too.
Let this be my final song,
for war alone is for the strong.

Into the night I see,
is there still love left for me?

Copyright © Bellantony De Mertens | Year Posted 2008

Details | Free verse | |

YOU MOTHER OF ALL EVILS




                                        You,*

                               Hard-of-hearing,

                            Dweller of darkness,

                              Mother of all evils:

                                    Ignorance!


                            You, who are unable

                               To hear the truth,

                          Even though it is spoken

                             Through the mouth of

                                      Thunder,

                             But who easily discern

                              The fainting whispers

                                 Of monstrous lies!


                        Why don’t you open, for once,

                             Your detrimental prison

                             Of calamitous darkness,

                        And allow luminous knowledge

                     To establish its dominion of peace

                     For the sake of suffering humanity?





                              © Demetrios Trifiatis
                                  05 November 2015


*  FROM MY RECENTLY PUBLISED BOOK: This poem is one of many poems that are included in my poetry book on peace entitled “ An Aegean Breeze of Peace”
that was recently published by “innerchildpress” and is available at Innerchildpress.com, Amazon.com, Amazon.co.uk,
Amazon.fr, Amazon.de and Amazon.co.jp  It is a book that I, Demetrios Trifiatis and co-author, hulya n. Yilmaz, a Liberal Arts Professor at The Pennsylvania State University, have written. Dr. Yilmaz, a wonderful lady whom I consider as my sister, was born in Turkey. As you may know, Turkey and Greece have been at war, on and off, for more than a thousand years. Myself, for those who do not know me, have got a Ph. D in philosophy, have studied in Canada and was born in Greece.  Dr. Yilmaz and myself thought to join forces for to write this book in order to let our countrymen and the world know that war is not the answer but peace is!  Thank you all peace loving people for your attention.     




Copyright © Demetrios Trifiatis | Year Posted 2015

Details | Couplet | |

Why Mother, Why Must I Sleep

Why mother, why must I sleep?
I promise to be nice, I promise not to weep. 
All I want is to see the world with my eyes,
To hear people say their "hellos" and "goodbyes",
To drink water and to eat bread,
To rest only when I go to bed, 
To help you with work and speak as I can,
To talk to women and smile at men,
To smell restaurant plates when lunch fills the air
but knowing that you still give me my share.

No my sweet daughter, slumber you must.
So I get my bread, and you your crust.
Dream of tomorrow with nonexistent sorrow,
Where the country you live you don't borrow.
Not to war, not to terror.
Where justice is not an error.
There's nothing in this world to see,
Dream of somebody else for you to be.
Now hush, don't nag, I need to beg.
Keep still or my chest will sag.
Your sleepy face will make them condole
so the portion promised me will be whole.
Drink this sweet milk, it has good flavor.
It will put you in your best behavior.
Don't judge me wrong, my present is gone.
But I hope this will change in days to come. 


[War refugees in Lebanon often resort to begging for a living. Many begging mothers drug their babies in order to evoke pity from passers-by. It is far from me to judge their actions. I wrote this rather as eye-opener. The war in Syria is not over yet. The current generation is lost. But there's hope for the future.] 

Copyright © Timoteo Neves | Year Posted 2016

Details | Free verse | |

A Lamenting Mother:

 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 | Year Posted 2014

Details | Verse | |

I'm Going Home

,

Lord thank you for this life,
As I have lived a full life,
It was not always as I would have like,
But I lived it to the best of what I could,
I’m going home; Home to the place I want to be,
I’m going home to Jesus where He waits for me,
I have been a long weary believer, 
As I’ve been away to long,
I now know what I’ve been searching for, 
As He's been there in me all along,
I’m going home; Home is the place I want to be,
I’m going home to Jesus where He waits for me,
I have been and seen lots of places in life’s journey,
Now I yearn for familiar faces in familiar places,
I hear familiar voices calling me to come home, 
I see familiar faces looking at me,
I’m going home; Home is the place I want to be,
I’m going home to Jesus where He waits for me,
My time is near, the hour I know not,
I see Jesus' face across the Heaven’s,
I hear His soft sweet voice calling me home,
 I can’t wait for my real life to begin,
I’m going home; Home is the place I want to be,
I’m going home to Jesus where He waits for me.

By; Rev. Samuel and Esta Mack, OMS
Copyright 2011

VISIT US AT: http:paladinnews1.blogspot.com

Copyright © Rev. Dr. Samuel Mack | Year Posted 2011

Details | Free verse | |

The Old Salt

The Old Salt was a special man who came along in a time
when he was needed most.

A time that is now gone forever.
When men believed and sacrificed, when hero’s walked the earth in mass.

When patriotism was not just a word
but,
by what men lived and judged the worth of each, 
a man who lived a life most of us cannot comprehend. 

An era now gone as this warriors tour of duty ends at this station, 
and begins anew in the heavenly fleet. 

Sail on Sailor into your unaccompanied tour,
we salute you.

What greater honor, that when a man moves forward, 
he leaves behind in each of us the best of what he was. 

A defender, protector, supporter, victor, a warrior, 
the last of the breed from an era when ships were made of wood
and men were made of steel.

The Old Salt has reported for duty that takes him away from us for now. 

Those of us who remain behind,
remember, and will continue to remember, 
because he now resides forever in our hearts.

As I look up at night, I envision The Old Salt,
a beret draped just above the eye, 
as he draws upon his pipe, 
quietly he waits.
The guardian of heaven’s gate.


Copyright © Mac McGovern | Year Posted 2010

Details | Narrative | |

Paratrooper's Gracious Descent—Mother Earth Below

It was the day I wanted the most
Yet dreaded as the worst,
Seeing the jumpmaster’s eyes
Way up there in the sky,
Waiting for the scream
“This is a paratroopers’ dream
Stand in the door—lean and mean!”
C130 paratrooper’s Jet, 1500 feet above earth
M16 Weapon by my side, ready to hit the dirt 

Knees bent as a dog’s leg on the ledge
Crackling nerves on screeching edge
Cotton dried mouth like a Sahara’s wedge
Soldier before me threw up his lunch
Stomach flipping—fear gripping  
Paratrooper’s static lines scraping, moving
Shinny brand new paratrooper’s boots 
Shivering to a shuffling groove
Trembling to its new roots

Cold palms slippery from sweating
Camouflaged face twitching like electric shocking
Eyes like a road map dredged with red
Boots shuffling towards the elliptical edge
Heard the jumpmaster’s words 
“Go, go, go—jump soldier!”
I felt like a lonely hanging leaf 
Growing from the side of a cliff
Just dangling in the breeze
Like a trapeze with distance in between

The moment of truth arrived
Saw the green paratrooper’s light
Heard the Jumpmaster’s voice—“Go!”
Cannonball leap into the rushing breeze 
Wings of angels—still praying all the more
One thousand…two…three…four…
Parachute opened above—“Puff!”
Then I knew from the Lord
As I descended safely below
I am still His beloved!



Copyright © Joseph Spence Sr | Year Posted 2010

Details | Lyric | |

Solipsist

Let the Deicide commence.

You're a voyeur at best!
Your vampiric heart is beating out of your chest!
And you have slayed the ones whom would love you for anything less
Ready to consume the final fragments of innocence,
And for you there is no forgiveness,
On your knees pleading, screaming to a tyrant in the skies;
The father of lies.

I will never be enslaved in your superiority
The people agree: jaded of your false dichotomies.
Know: I will be whomever nature intends to be
Apollo and I will share our dreams,
and you will be forced to see
your failure!

I know who you are...
Readily the first to present your scars
Chained by some despot or mental czar
An emotional homunculus in your mind, behind bars
Reluctant to escape - even when proven fake
Your demented mind - depths no one will penetrate!
 
...And you see me suffering
Not caring of any casualties
Just as long you recieve your safeguard of sympathy
So very wary of the masses and their Anarchy; Liberious ways

Solipsist - Is there no one you can see?
Even if she was presented burning?
Solipsist - Is there no one you can believe?
Even if Sophia was screaming?
Solipsist - Know you have killed and abused me
Imprisoned in your own  personal reality 



Copyright © Wyatt Loethen | Year Posted 2013

Details | Haibun | |

A Mother's Prayer

A Mother's Prayer

I kneel in front of the alter praying the rosary to keep my sons protected while they’re serving their country to keep us safe.

As the Persian Gulf War drew to a close, Saddam Hussein ordered six hundred wells to be blown up and set on fire that burned for seven months so no one would benefit from its riches. In the meantime while the Navy ships were in close fighting providing navel gun support, the men were inhaling the smoke of the Kuwaiti oil fields fires. Livestock and other animals perished from the oily, mist. 


down on  bended knee
for strength and serenity
suffering heart prays

© By 11/12/2014



 

Copyright © Eve Roper | Year Posted 2014

Details | Free verse | |

10 Little fingers 10 little toes 2 little eyes

10 Little fingers 10 little toes 2 little eyes everyday they save a life.
Every day she will arise to go to work 9-5 flipping burger's and dunking fry's.
10 Little fingers 10 little toes 2 little eyes everyday they save a life.
Every day hold's a new surprise from those 10 little fingers 10 little toes and 2 little eyes.
one day shell realize 10 Little fingers 10 little toes 2 little eyes are not so little any more.
Those 10 little fingers get bigger and one has a ring on it.
Those 10 little toe's get bigger no longer barefoot a boot on each.
Those 2 little eyes no longer so little looking strait up the middle ready for combat.
10 Little fingers 10 little toes 2 little eyes everyday they save a life.
Her 10 Little finger's 5 little toe's 2 little eye's finally come home.
and like I said 10 Little fingers 10 little toes 2 little eyes saved Their life.

Copyright © Adam Seay | Year Posted 2012

Details | Rhyme | |

I Hate Aunt Floe

NOTE: This poem is a humoruos stab at PMS from a mans point of view

I can see your blood boiling
through  the blades I once called eyes,
they were once beautiful  like jewels
now they hurt my deep insides.
cutting at my guts
and like a noose on my  lungs;
your words seek like bullets 
your mouth like sniper guns.
I’m hit with each inaccuracy…
Being killed by words untrue;
and you even got the nerve
to tell me what you think I do.
But let me get mad
and try to plead my case;
then suddenly the world
is a f--ked up place.
You got tears running down…
What the Hell did I do?
We were just sitting and laughing
I could swear that we were cool.
Oh God…
Oh no…;
I should have seen it… 
It’s Aunt Floe…,
This battle can’t be won or reasoned
I think its best I go.
Cause I hate Aunt Floe 
and she hate me too;
she sit and talk sh-t
about the gum I chew. 
The color of my shirt…,
She say my look is a stair;
She say my best has no worth
And she doesn’t stop there.
I didn’t change
I’ve been the same 
these 28 days,
 but now I’m f_ckin A__hole 
Aunt Floe gave me that name.  
She said get out my face 
This aint your home no more,
But I’m more puzzled by 
What was said before.
I love you 
With her glossy eyes 
I knew it was true, 
But horribly sly
You see these words
make me the fool.
The one that’s cruel
That a__hole dude,
That sparked the fuel
To this f__kin feud.
But I swear to God
I didn’t start this sh_t,
Why would I give up my love 
To live my life like in a pit.
 This is horrible sh_t 
Wasted days spent,
On nothing but the worst
I could be bathed in your sent. 
You could be laughing 
While I’m smiling
But Aunt Floe Won’t let this be,
And the only way to make this right
Is hold my tongue  a week.
And that ain’t gone happen 
I’m a person too,
Not soft
But I got feelins
and don’t know what  to do.
Now its been six days
Unbelievable  rage,
She locked herself 
In the room
I call it her cage.
I smell a sent in the air
It wasn’t there before,
Now lookin down the hall
I see an open door.
Is this a trap 
I’ll guess I’ll see,
If I fall for another
 You know that’s dumb ass me.
Curled in the bed 
I think I know that girl,
But where’s the hells Aunt Floe
The one that f__ked my world.
She packed up and gone
Didn’t even say good bye,
Just came wit gang of bullsh_t
And vanished in the sky.
Is that you my dear
Can you please come here,
Listen close and crystal clear…
I hate Aunt Floe
 Next time she here
Make sure I’m stocked
with weed and beer.
I love you punk.  ?

Copyright © Anthony Thomas | Year Posted 2011

Details | Burlesque | |

Suburban Spring

Suburban Spring	
(4.15.10)


	Springtime fills the air, 
			like laughing gas.
		(Or maybe more like whiskey.)
The suburbs are drunk on the nectar of it's dawn.
	Middle-class houses 
			are starting to dance.
		(Or maybe they're just wobbling.)
They vomit whole families onto their lawn.

			I watch them the same way dogs watch TV:
				Confused and intrigued, 
		with a slight urge to pee.

	The father cuts grass, 
			like a sleepwalker.
		(Or maybe more like a zombie -
Ravenous for cheap beer, instead of brains.)
	A six pack later, 
			he starts washing his car.
		(Or watering his driveway.)
He's spreading on wax so he's set when it rains.

	The mother kneels in dirt, 
			tending the garden.
		(More like digging in a sandbox.)
Her spade is rusty.  (Figuratively, at least.)
	A sunset later, 
			she cooks family dinner.
		(Or maybe orders some pizza.)
(If every mouth is fed, she can call it a feast.)

			I watch them the same way dogs watch TV.

	The son plays war games, 
			dying for fun.
		(Or maybe more for practice.)
He whines about fruit drinks, as well as the heat.
	A full pitcher later, 
			tweaking on sugar,
		(Or maybe just corn starch.)
the war escalates, 'til its time to go eat.

	The daughter makes a picnic, 
			inviting her toys.
		(Or maybe not.)
(Her plastic spread can only spread so thin!)
	After the tea time, 
			she's off picking flowers.
		(Or maybe weeds.)
(As long as they're pretty, there's a vase that they'll fit in.)

		They gather, as a family, at the table to say grace.
		They hold each others' hands and say, "Amen."  
			(And proceed to stuff their face.)

	The dog sits by the boy - 
			Loyal and true.
		(Or maybe just hungry.)
He drools as he stares from the corners of his eyes.
	After dinner, 
                     he offers to help with the dishes.
		(Or maybe he demands it.)
The boy sneaks him a bite.  The dog is not surprised.

	Bedtime comes soon after.  
			The kids are sent to brush their teeth.
		(Or maybe just to run the sink.)
They put on their jammies, and to bed, they go.
	After tucking them in, 
			the parents watch TV.
		(Or maybe they just dream they do, 
					sleeping in its glow.)

	The dog is changing channels, 
			looking for a better show.
				Confused and intrigued, 
		he pees on the carpet below.

Copyright © John Taylor | Year Posted 2010

Details | Elegy | |

Mother's Day

I first cried in your arms
Even though I was barely alive
I knew that I would never see harm…
As long as I am in your embrace mom…
You were my first love
As you are my last…
I recall how the years slowly passed
When I was under your wings…
Nobody believed me, when I told them I could hear the angels sing…
But believe me mother I did…
I never felt safer than you made me feel
Even the deepest wounds in my heart, you could heal…
Today is mother’s day, and you are not here…
I guess somewhere in my soul I always feared
That the day would come when I was all alone
When everything I ever loved was gone
But I never expected my feet to leave your soil
I took the words your history taught me…
To always fight and be strong
When weak, to sing a proud song
Today is mother’s day…and you are not here
Wherever in this world I breathe…
In my lonely heart you will always be
My first, my last, my eternal love
My land…my mother…my all
Syria…

Copyright © Zeki Majed | Year Posted 2015

Details | Haiku | |

What People Were and What People Are

People were
Many things.
Strange or not

People were
Different and
Odd and fun.

People were
Monsters but…
That’s not all

People were
And still are
Strange and odd.

People are
People. For
life is life. 

Yet not.
Not is lies.
Truth seeps from

Every mouth
Lies, lies, lies
Move, move, move

But somehow
Lies prevail.
Lies are life.

Lies are death.
Lies are homes.
Lies are pain.

Lies are truth.
Yet somehow.
Truth prevails.

Truth is life.
Truth is death.
Truth is home.

Truth is pain.
Truth is lie.
Truth is that.

Lies will die.
Lies will cease.
Nevermore.

Truth will live.
Truth will be.
Forever.

Copyright © Layla Elkoulily | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse | |

A Mother Waits

.


 
A mother waits
engulfed in quicksand 
surrounded by 
persistence of sunrises and sunsets

Wandering          since departure
Rummaging for answers 
not enough to soothe

his hollow chair like black granite
his hollow bed that smells of Axe

fishing rod, Maxim, guitar
a severe absence replete
with silence and prayers
           once were lullabies

days are grimaces
uncork sleep
squeeze wrinkles
  and many voices: don't think, don't think ...
A mother waits
hands folded together before her heart
or tightly closed 
 
On the T.V., war breaking news
On the wall, shadows of Bushes
On the radio, Lennon 
Imagine

Tomorrow, 
maybe tomorrow
a letter
         unstoppable no
everlasting no, no, no
 
an endless abyss
        dripping, spattering, spitting rabies
a roar to nowhere
a lump 
        a creak, a crack,
bitterness and 
nausea and 
dread and 
wrath and 
grief
        a swirl
        to magnify, to drown  
        portraits, high-school books, stamps and hot-wheels
a ceremony
a flag
a hero
         not a son 
never more

being away, far away               
not complete, forsaken, engulfed, alone

without her cord
silent, cold,
cold



.

 

Copyright © Ruben O. | Year Posted 2009

Details | Free verse | |

No Headstone For Her Mother



I search rows for a name engraved,
     Engraved here, not native Poland;
          Poland, war and ethnic cleansing,
             Cleansing, her mom thrown in a hole.






_______________________
June 7, 2015
Free Verse, Visual #3
Written by Broken Wings
For the contest, Four Lines Only, sponsor, Nette Onclaud

Third Place

(Dedicated to a survivor of WWII, who does have her name engraved.

Copyright © Broken Wings | Year Posted 2015

Details | Blank verse | |

Bloody Observance

We fight this war as enemies
Yet if we threw away are weapons
We could be the best of friends
We would never know

We fight on impulse
With a fear of slaughter and pain
We came face to face
We did not speak
Only our fears fought  

I now stand above you
Then kneel and close your eyes
I have killed you
I search your pockets and find a photograph
It’s of your mother, wife and children
It’s wet
I look closely and see tears 
Streaming from their eyes
I fall and weep in victory

We were only boys 
Who wanted to laugh and play
And stay alive
Only boys

Copyright © Ryan Wegenast | Year Posted 2011

Details | Verse | |

Through A Prison Glass

You came unexpectedly, and i was surprised,
you smiled and placed your hand on the glass and cried.
I leaned my head against the glass and told you i am sorry,
i whisper through the phone line, ill start a new story.

You knew i was innocent but you still didn't believe me,
the only person i thought that would stay by my side but you couldn't be. 
Mom standing by your side and not wanting to talk,
i got really upset that you came at all cause i didn't want to see you walk. 

I needed you, when i was in need,
i was there for you when ever you didn't want to bleed.
I loved you and i cherished you with all my heart,
but before you left your words hit me like a really sharp dart.

You said i failed you,
you cried to me and i knew it was true.
But i needed you to understand me,
but you went your way and upset me.

The glass is now empty and i cant find you even with the fact that I'm out,
i tell you i love you but all you do is shout. 
I've lost you for good this time, 
so i think i have to do one more crime. 

Copyright © Roman Chebukin | Year Posted 2012

Details | Rhyme | |

War Time Mother

Intro: "I shall be telling this with a sigh" Robert Frost "The Road Less Travelled" She did not raise her child for war, This precious gift from God above. She tried to show him how to live With loose held reins of mother love. Faith and loyalty and trust In God , country and fellow man, Were thing she wanted him to know. She tried hard as a mother can. This sturdy lad grew proud and strong Becoming all she could desire. He answered to his country’s call; The one she’d taught him to admire. And now she lives in fear and dread; Worry near too much to bear, On bended knee releases him To God and beloved country’s care. By: Joyce Johnson 10-07/11 For Constance's contest "Give Me A Kiss, Mommy"

Copyright © Joyce Johnson | Year Posted 2011

Details | Free verse | |

Mama Take Me Home

Mama take me away from blood
kiss my cheek as mammas should, give 
my breath to those who died, wash my 
tongue for times I lied

Sooth the souls of comrades dead, into
battle bravely led, take my hand and lift 
me free, let me walk neath apple tree

Please tell Papa that I tried, needn’t tell
him that I cried, and when you drive the 
cows to home,  remember mama, 
I’m not alone


Copyright © Peter Lewis Holmes | Year Posted 2015

Details | I do not know? | |

Woman's Day

Women's Day


wiping away those tears

of the brutal truths of your past

wiping away those tears

your spirit rises up, far beyond your scars

and your strength resides deep within you 

with an unshakeable resolve that shall forever last


...the weakened men whose brute force is so macho and empty 

and that has always been in your face

are now nothing but specks of aging, obsolete rust

flitting past you, for you hold it all together

as you always have 

rising up firm and strong from being shoved into the dust


...you are a mother, a lover, a daughter, a wife, and a worker ... above all a worker you have been

tying the loose ends together time after time

always there 

yet unseen


...a woman you are 

of fibre 

of courage

of being the bedrock on which we trample 

on whose shoulders this world stands

as you continue to work ceaselessly on

with lines on your face

and with raw wounds on your hands

but...

now your time has come

and no longer will you silently bear

the jabs and taunts of men

for now you proudly declare

that a mother am I, a daughter too, a lover and a wife as well

and now the time has come for them to awaken

to the tolling a new bell


...a bell that tolls for you

for you have taken back the pride and dignity that they stripped off you for ages

for now theirs is a lost cause while your battle still defiantly rages

through cities and homes and villages 

and in town after nameless town

for now the bell has tolled

and the time has passed for you

to be ever
again
put down

Copyright © Scribbler Of Verses | Year Posted 2013

Details | Bio | |

The Man Behind the Mirror

Behind the mirror, the man is seen Where on our streets surrounded, Friends Thousands met cold, untimely death With screamed echoes of souls unrest Bullets flied, guns blasted ceaselessly Children dead in their mothers’ arms Father, for his lost son searched Found him only, with parts cut in shreds. Behind the mirror, was the man there? Our Young children, to soldiers turned Educated only in field of war Guns carried, bigger than they can bear Faught battles, of no cause but fear To read or write, they dared not do But to shoot or kill, well informed they were. The man behind the mirror, how did he rest? Our babies, dead while he sound slept In his glorious, paradise mirror he kept Still offered nothing, but violence more Promised, inflicted upon innocents, murder If anyone dared open their mouths to speak Or, if orders came of his seat to render. Behind that mirror, my freedom he took Our homes Burned; our stores looted Citizens, chased out of a land to love Forced into exile for years so many Adapted to a culture so not ours From scratch, we started to build Until bit by bit, we rose so high above Like an eagle, up up and away. The man behind the mirror, for him I always blame The color so dark, on our backs stained Bruises so deep, forever left to heal Visions of his bloody watch, repeatedly, us plagued Flashbacks of dear ones loved, Snatched, And palmed away by cruel, hateful death With tumbled bodies over bodies All soiled up into one tiny hole. Behind that mirror, the man will always be With blissful look in his red, budging eyes Wishing evil gleefully, with a dark smile His laughter,joy, through my anguish I see My heart beats fast, like a thunder sound And the more my hate for him increase Oh how I wish, that mirror came crashing down Then, a taste of his own medicine, he shall get

Copyright © Teto Korha | Year Posted 2012

Details | Ode | |

Contemporary Ode To A Mother Crying Out To Her Children--2015

            Contemporary Ode To A Mother Crying Out
         To Her Children…2015

Sprawled out on life’s stage,
her world turns and runs
river red with the blood of her children:
flowing like a wandering stream.

Bloated ballooned bellies
mock aborted pregnancies;
once luscious breasts 
sag in parallel union 
with sinking faces 
of lost hope.

Lost hope—whirling
like solitary ghost smoke 
of abandoned fires:
abandoned fires
dying in waning time.

Hollowed red eyes 
of fleeing lovers look rearward:
the wholeness of nothingness simmering;
as smiling death sits—
waiting and anticipating the wonted feast.

         Heartbeat of hope struggles— 
         murmuring in the valleys and shadows;
         searching the gods’ penurious mercy.

In the midst of the Dante, hazed hell, 
a wretched mother clings
to time and history—once again.

Rooted in her audacious faith,
she cries out to her wandering brood in Diaspora:
those liberating souls spewed from her precious womb.
Scattered liberating souls—umbilical bound;
destined to restore her great grand glory:

With sage seasoned good courage, 
sagaciously she squats— 
awaiting the victory.

Copyright © millard lowe | Year Posted 2016

Details | Diminished Hexaverse | |

Favorite Movie - Poetry Contest

such atrocities subtract us humans irrespective of but then comes along, common sense approach decisions made find him alive, send this boy home mothers grieving combat found bridged safely firmly held Ryan freedom saved .

Copyright © James Fraser | Year Posted 2016

Details | I do not know? | |

American Heart

America resides within the heart of all Who believe in freedom, choice, voice and opportunity Deny, not, the display of pride within yourself Or else you’d deny pride in this land of the free America, more than land, it’s home to you and me Some dare tread, take arms against and try to squash All that America ever stood for, which is evident to all They fear the freedom, strength and all that’s offered As they know, against us, they would never stand tall And for all their attempts, America makes them fall This 9-11, let us not focus on terrorist actions But, on those Americans lost, that still live in our hearts Remember and honor them by living the American dream Exhibiting the ideals and always doing our part Showing all, America has muscle but lives through its heart

Copyright © Michael Degenhardt | Year Posted 2011

Details | Rhyme | |

Missing In Action

Private O'Toole was only eighteen when he marched off to war.
He glanced back to see his tearful Mother standing in the door.
Across the way he heard the mournful wail of the midnight train,
Waiting to hasten him away from his Hoosier home adding to his pain!

He was deep in thought as the train slowly glided from the station,
Recalling that his Grandpa and Dad had fought in wars of liberation!
He felt a twinge of pride, yet he would miss the love and warmth of home,
Tinkering with his '37 Ford and roaming the fields with his dog, Jerome!

He leaned over the ship's rail watching San Francisco's lights slowly wane.
Like countless heroes before him, he wondered if he'd ever see them again.
The sergeant told him he was taking a cruise to Korea to stem the Red Tide,
And to just settle back, to always wear his dog tags and enjoy the ride!

Private O'Toole was a combat infantryman and was taught to kill.
His unit fought courageously on Korea's infamous Pork Chop Hill.
Artillery pounded them day and night and he fell with an anguished cry!
His remains were never found - they were taken by death's furtive scythe.

His dear old Mother opened the Western Union telegram with dread.
"We regret to inform you that your son is missing in action!" it read.
A Gold Star Flag was displayed by the grieving Mother in her windowpane,
Reminding all of the precious gift she gave the nation in a war so insane!

Placed No. 4 in Susan Burch's "Missing" Contest - March 2012

Copyright © Robert L. Hinshaw | Year Posted 2012

Details | Free verse | |

The black and white war

Am I going to be the mother
Of the black and white war

Am I going to bear 
Rear
Hold
Adore
And love unconditionally 
Both 
My angels
My fruits
Beautiful pinks inside
And beautiful tones outside

But black thinks white is better
She asks "why did God make me black?"
And I answer "because He made you in His image"
But she says "why then is Jesus white?"
And I emphasize, I tell her repeatedly
You are beautiful, black is beautiful 

My white one doesn't have any image issues
He is white anyway, his color makes him an advantage 
But sometimes he wishes he was not as white
Maybe a little tan
And I say to him "you are a little tan, especially in the summer. And you are beautiful either way, any way"

But then I look back
When once I was a kid
I put myself in their shoes
And I know

Sometimes the outside eyes
Starts an angry war inside
Of wondering
Of regretting
Of wishing

Copyright © njeri hunjeri | Year Posted 2015

Details | I do not know? | |

For Aung San Suu Kyi

For Aung San Suu Kyi

manacled
you remained unyielding
bruised by their bayonets of power
you remained unyielding
gagged by their coarse brutality
you remained unyielding
today you return
and we salute
your spirit
that remained
and remains
unyielding

Copyright © Scribbler Of Verses | Year Posted 2013