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Sonnet Holocaust Poems | Sonnet Poems About Holocaust

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

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A trail of smoke fades to an autumn dawn,
as sounds of morning break unearthly still,
arising to the day, some life goes on,
while others have the fear it never will.

Some ashes drift about the morning air,
appearing as do snowflakes in a stall,
to restless breezes they drift everywhere
and they are spread about before they fall.

Each life that was, is slow in pure descent,
and longing for the earth turning below,
the mother of all life, where time is spent,
until time's all run out--it's time to go.

Down in the valley echoes from a train,
awhistling, here come the dead again.
© ron Wilson aka Vee Bdosa the Doylestown Poet

Copyright © Vee Bdosa | Year Posted 2014

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The damage is done

There no use in trying to mend these broken and shattered pieces.
Its done for. Your saying that I'm great, that I'm strong. That I'll find someone else. 
It's cut a deep void in my life. And left me completely sleepless.
Only vulgarity comes to mind, I dug deep who knew that so easily, your feelings would melt.

It disappeared overnight. Oh! The unfairness I'm faced with.
Maybe I deserve the pain. From all angles it sprouts.
I'm filled with hate. Length and width.
I tried! I tried! Did you expect me to shout?!

How I miss waking up in love! All smiles, no regrets at all.
It's become a feeling I definitely don't want again, never ever again.
Its a lesson learned, behind happiness, despair crawls!
Don't fall too hard, once you fall, it happens over and over, it never ends.

I hate to say this again, but what's done is done.
There no turning back once the damage is done.

Copyright © Azharuddin Adam | Year Posted 2014

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Smokestacks of Auschwitz

A trail of smoke fades to an autumn dawn
as sounds of morning break unearthly still
arising to the day, some life goes on
while others have the fear it never will.

Some ashes drift about the morning air
appearing as do snowflakes in a stall,
to restless breezes they drift everywhere
and they are spread about before they fall.

Each life that was is slow in pure descent
and longing for the earth that pounds below
the mother of all life, where time is spent,
until time's all run out--it's time to go.

Down in the valley echoes from a train
awhistling here come the dead again.
© Ron Arbuthnot aka ron wilson aka Vee Bdosa

Copyright © Vee Bdosa | Year Posted 2015

Details | Sonnet | |

Brave Conquerors Of Weakened Tribes

Brave Conquerors Of Weakened Tribes

They could never in any great haste
their false glory dare to forsake.
Why abandon that gleam in their eyes
for truth in those sad tomorrows?

Dwell not in that bitter splendor
A victor with a yellow wreath.
In pride hide being a lying pretender
never giving up what fate bequeath!

Restless spirits from vanquished foes
can not invade that haughty parade.
Brave conquerors of weakened tribes
living out a false, arrogant charade.

History now reveals the dishonor disguised.
And tales of false victories cleverly contrived!

Robert J. Lindley, 10-14-2015


In the past, the main thrust of the Holocaust/Genocide Project's magazine, An End To Intolerance, has been the genocides that occurred in history and outside of the United States. Still, what we mustn't forget is that mass killing of Native Americans occurred in our own country. As a result, bigotry and racial discrimination still exist.

"In 1492, Columbus sailed the ocean blue" . . . and made the first contact with the "Indians." For Native Americans, the world after 1492 would never be the same. This date marked the beginning of the long road of persecution and genocide of Native Americans, our indigenous people. Genocide was an important cause of the decline for many tribes.

"By conservative estimates, the population of the United states prior to European contact was greater than 12 million. Four centuries later, the count was reduced by 95% to 237 thousand.

In 1493, when Columbus returned to the Hispaniola, he quickly implemented policies of slavery and mass extermination of the Taino population of the Caribbean. Within three years, five million were dead. Las Casas, the primary historian of the Columbian era, writes of many accounts of the horrors that the Spanish colonists inflicted upon the indigenous population: hanging them en mass, hacking their children into pieces to be used as dog feed, and other horrid cruelties. The works of Las Casas are often omitted from popular American history books and courses because Columbus is considered a hero by many, even today.

Copyright © Robert Lindley | Year Posted 2015

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Visit to Auschwitz

    Visit To Auschwitz
I wish to hear the names long laid to rest
forgotten in their time, an empty prayer,
who wanted nothing more, through life's long quest
than just to know some good's alive somewhere;

their black and white of days, we'll never know,
wreak havok to the minds who hold back tears,
and though I hold them back, they have to flow
so they are not forgotten through the years.

I'd sing the children songs, if I could sing,
of life and love and better ways to be,
and if I thought my song would ever bring
one ray of hope, I'd sing til death of me!

But wordless are the songs, now echoing
from times when death was all a prayer could bring.
© Ron Wilson Arbuthnot
aka Vee bBdosa the Doylestown Poet

Copyright © Vee Bdosa | Year Posted 2016

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Die Granate

A relief from stress, such a sweet paradise
A deafening crash then a blinding light
Poor boy, your fate is sealed like loaded dice.
Due to beastly luck this child I must smite.

Perhaps he'll go where I have yet to behold;
This kind, bereaved, extinguished progeny.
Ill-fated boy, please reach those gates of gold.
Oh, child! Why walk the streets of Germany?

Fully at rest for all eternity,
All I can do is hope forever that
Maybe the last thing you saw wasn't me.
My last image? Your torn figure laid flat.

Copyright © LN DY | Year Posted 2013

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Remembering the holocaust, deep in the soonest dream 
Of a beloved is buried all my hope for you begun,
So I need not wait with oil and cloves to teem
Over the mind of history, or a silver gun –
Or gas chamber with the power on
When thousands surged and left their clothes behind
Bereft of rings and ornament which shone
As the glister of a tear, shedding was too kind - 
Not so bitter then, and as a lowered head
Bids goodbye, to a grim life, like the slowing eye
A candle gleam of light will haunt those dead
Who all past passing, can multitudes descry
In one poet living with expectation, thinking thrill was death
Which came, in the last sentence before your final breath.
 (on the anniversary of the death of Sylvia Plath, February 11, 1963)

Copyright © Rosemarie Rowley | Year Posted 2016

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We hear them now, the beating bass of drum,
the marchers, though loose-knit, from Wall Street's rolls,
too soon will turn to cadence; those who come,
all have no memory of Hitler's goals.

Their good intentions caved in, to survive,
to placing blame to where it shouldn't go!
And all too soon, the buzzing of the hive
lays every blame to things we shouldn't know.

Though mournful is the tune that plays along
to every drumbeat, calling for return
of nights of death--the old recall the song,
but much too late recall how bodies burn.

And Stars of David are replaced on every wall,
by Swastikas demanding rights for all.

Copyright © Vee Bdosa | Year Posted 2011

Details | Italian Sonnet | |


How many died fighting not to get caught?
How many died on those ships, in their chains?
Or, died in those fields with nothing to gain,
Overworked after they all had been bought.
Who died, trying to flee where he was brought?
How many died from the whip and the pain;
At the end of a nuse, where they remain.
Is there a number that you have been taught?
You allowed us to go without a count,
Washing your hands clean of the blood splatter.
Blood was spilled, but we can not count an ounce,
To quiet your "questionable" chatter.
So, if we could come up with an amount,
Then you "might" understand that it matters.

Copyright © dakarai cobb | Year Posted 2010

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 Ribbon rails once led them into Hell
on iron axles forged in vulgar lies.
Upon the landing, each name was dispelled;
a reaper's voice divulged who lived or died.
As able souls would tread the living path
each mother’s child was stolen from her hold.
When feeble souls would trod the way of wrath
her child was forced to follow in that fold.
Amid such madness mankind must defy
these horrid acts no mortals comprehend.
Hearts of those that since have withered dry 
heaved evil bias buried deep within.
  The depths a man can hate are still unknown; 	
   a heart so misaligned is but mere stone.
  In heaps were piled possessions from this flood;
a mission sought to profit from this shame.
And when the beast carved numbers in their blood,
humanity was stripped of family names.
A chamber held the hopeless souls in mass;
the darkest pit in Hell was now unveiled.
And in its gut they poured a lethal gas 
then soon an agonizing death befelled.
This evil from beneath the bowels of Hell,
so vile that even Satan would commend,
caused manic acts no reason could foretell
intent to bring God’s chosen to an end.
  With souls set free and flesh placed in the pyre,
   all wondered when their God would quench this fire.
  Pure austere ash once filled a pale blue sky.
Upright chimneys spewed it to the wind.
The shadows cast by all those left to die
were covered by the ashes of this sin.
The living hung their skin on tattered frames
and prayed to gain another day of life
as armies with intent to snuff these flames
joined in force to liberate their strife.
These sordid deeds a demon had concealed;
his savage angels eagerly complied.
Through trials just, history has revealed
the human devastation they've denied.
    If seeds of hate prove prudent to be cast
       then we are doomed to replicate our past.
                                    Sonnets of the Holocaust

My take on the Holocaust Contest 
Sponsored by The Seeker
October 13, 2016

Copyright © Mark Massey | Year Posted 2016

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No one makes it through life whole without the
Branding: marks, scars, tattoos that testify
To sorrows endur’d, bitter pills swallow’d;
Some say the inner invisible ones
Wounds deepest.  My tattoo on the forearm
Pierces through to my soul like a sliver
Infected, pussy, smarting constantly—
I was sub-human, thought expendable.
“Schneller! Schneller!” Under blinding lights bark
Camp guards as we stumble blindly, free from
Cattle car stench upon arrival. My
Precious Gretel taken away at once.
Workers to the left, showers to the right
I’d die in your place, Love, one-thousand times!

© 2016 David W. Palmer

Copyright © David Palmer | Year Posted 2016

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Tonight, I miss God, though I doubt he IS;
All sense of Providence stripped away
Like my wife’s gray smock last time I saw her
Walking naked and welted to showers
From whence the sole cleansing is soul release
From this chamber of horrors which now is
Our life. Dirty Jood they now call me,
Spitting, and striking my dignity down.
The world around me seems strange viewed through
Coiled concertina razor wire, 
Cut-off, as it were, from all engagement
With beauty, birds, billowing clouds, blessings.
O God, departed One, return delight’s
Remembrance in Redemption, if You care!

© 2016 David W. Palmer

Copyright © David Palmer | Year Posted 2016

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Diluted Thoughts

When I turn back in time ‘twards genocide,
And judge what comes from men thought lesser than,
Who view the world to be unjustified,
And thus submit their own remittance plan;
Where debts incurred stem from impurity,
That wipe with ease in silence shared a state,
By one ashamed its own obscurity,
Whose thoughts diluted wished were concentrate;
I see not Hitler nor mistreated Jews,
But fleshy smoke dispensed familiar skies,
That paints cruel death in numbers parents choose,
Above the sobs of children life defies,
 Incurring debts tomorrows have to pay,
 Owed for holocausts continued still today.

*Inspired but not submitted for Seeker’s ‘Holocaust’ Contest

Copyright © Phillip Garcia | Year Posted 2016