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David Aleman Poem
Always waiting for my turn
As the world turns I often wonder why I stand still
Wanting to jump but grounded against my will
A Supersonic something streaks across the sky
“Can I go now?” I try, I try, and I know I can fly
I know my medal means I have done it before
I flew, I fought, and I did my best in this war!
I feel for the child, I am sorry for his pain
My friends, my comrades threw bombs last night again
Same world, same mountains, land and sea
Yet all the Generals say is “what will be will be!”
But that’s not right; this child has a choice, a will
He is not inclined to shoot, to bomb and kill.
This child, with jet black hair and eyes of innocent pain
No more than nine years old yet in a war again
I want to save this child to move him from this place
Remembering my child in the terror etched upon his face
Where are his parents? I try and ask with open hand
But he just stares at my rifle, he doesn’t understand.
His tear burns my skin as I wipe it gently away
I feel the guilt of a thousand soldiers on this day
Why did we come here and send death to this town?
What kind of story brought this black curtain down?
As we tear away the future of these children, wives and men
Will they ever have a home and a place to live again?
This town was a legend; many stories were told
Of heroes and villains and beautiful girls and fights for wealth and gold
There were wizards and witches and gene’s and lamps and prisoners locked in a cell.
And magic tales of magic escapes and carpets flying because of a spell
Yet all these memories are now forgotten and left to rot in a grave
As now not even this little child understands the reasons men gave.
And so my tour here comes to an end, I can say goodbye
But looking at this little war child I simply want to cry!
The streaks on his face would look quite cute if I knew they were not tears
As I know these streaks that burn his soul are caused by burning fears
So where his Dad, his Mam and his friend as my shoulder supports his head?
Thanks to bombs and the reasons man gave he is looking at them, laying there dead.
Copyright © David Aleman | Year Posted 2014
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David Aleman Poem
The story of little Alice Boe
With eye’s of blue and long blonde hair
She see’s the world with little care
With only friends, no-one a foe
The world once kind to Alice Boe
Into this world she came along
Carried in on a golden song
No beauty yet the world did see
Every note in harmony
The innocence the joy and pride
And such a smile no love could divide
Yet there was a man who didn’t see her glow
And only wanted to hurt sweet Alice Boe
It is said she walked alone one day
From whence she came with all did play
He saw her walking from this park
And drew her to his world so dark
She tried to run, to scream and cry
But all he wanted was for her to die
He held her little head with might
And took away her life that night
Now all the men are searching the land
For this little child with a powerless hand
No longer will she run and grow
Life has been taken from Alice Boe
The monster in a hat and coat
There is no escape by foot or boat
The men will catch for your act
They have all agreed and made a pact
Her long blonde hair matted on her head
Full of dirt and streaked blood red
Yet still her eyes are shining bright
Staring into this darkest night
This man will run he will found
His hands and feet they will be bound
Upon this boat the men do row
Looking for justice for Alice Boe
So Alice Boe, this little girl
With long blonde hair set with a curl
Her skin so white and still so clean
Taken away by an act so mean.
Alice Boe we will not forget
A more beautiful child I have never met
And though times will pass and rivers flow
We will always remember sweet Alice Boe
Copyright © David Aleman | Year Posted 2014
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David Aleman Poem
THE MINER’s TEAR
With a blackened finger he points and fears
This terrible day of four hundred tear’s
Young mothers, wives and brides to be
Their loved ones smile once more to see.
Who will they bring from this hell?
Deeper than the drinking well.
Young David? Just a boy you know!
Or old man Bryn with son in tow?
A massive blast a wind that burns
With all their heart they run and turn.
The smell of gas came much too late
That spark of light that sealed their fate.
The men and boys of the colliery
No more nights of life to see
Now laying cold in a saddened grave
For our comfort their lives they gave
We will not forget you Brave men of coal
Risking your life in that deepest hole
You will always be here in our dreams ,
Risking it all on Welsh coal seams.
Copyright © David Aleman | Year Posted 2014
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David Aleman Poem
Prisoner 6593-4
I don’t have a name I have a number
Will my kid’s ever call me Dad?
Will I know when they call me?
Do they know I’m not that bad?
When I hear my name will I remember?
Or will my number shout out loud?
Is it because my skin is darker?
To them I stand out in a crowd.
The men with sticks they stop to beat me
Because their God is not the same as mine
They say I kill for my religion
But still I drink the blood of wine
The orange suit in which they dress me
Only hides the bloodied scars
But I prey the next time my children hold me
It won’t be from behind these racist bars.
But one day I will see my children
One day they will call me Dad
They will never see my terror
Or the suffering I have had.
Copyright © David Aleman | Year Posted 2014
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