Loss Holocaust Poems

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

If you don't find the poem you want here, try our incredible, super duper, all-knowing, advanced poem search engine.


The poem(s) are below...



Details | Free verse |
On a lil busy route,
For a lil dizzy fruit
They're humming everywhere.
In a bulk, unaware

Layer upon layer
Taking concrete up the stair 
burring vanilla skies
Jesus couldn't dare

For no one they will stand
This plane is scared to land
So will crash at the end

From wrinkles to the pinks
All are humming without a blink
stacked themselves by themselves
In the subway named sewers
The sewers, about to sink

Robots of flash they are
Lost its shine, a deformed star
Humming humanoids won't make it far..

                                                -ankit dedha

(Velocyreptor@gmail.com)
ANKIT_DEDHA@instagram

Copyright © ANKIT DEDHA | Year Posted 2015




Details | Rhyme |
In midst of night,
When I was deep in slumber,
The memory rattled,
Eyes sunk with fear,
Saw the houses crumble,
The trees tremble,
The thunder storm made me nimble,
The ocean in fumble,
Tried to reach me and hug me in grumble.

I went slowly to the balcony,
Tried to reach out to see this mesmerized agony,
The agony was far from imagination,
It’s a terrifying situation,
God is slowly destroying its creation.

The waves shook the landscape,
The geography is jeopardized,
The houses drowned,
And with it are the people,
Cries of the birds,
Made the atmosphere filled with shrill,
The painful and subdued voice of the animals,
Made it sure of their fatal deaths.

The water is beneath,
Thunderstorm is above it,
No place for shelter,
The houses gradually decreased,
With water slowly increased,

I saw human beings floating in it,
I knew some of them, were also in it,
Saw the animals gradually going deep in it,
Trees are getting shaved,
Houses are getting razed,
The plateau near my house is gone beneath.

The things happened so quickly,
And it was so horrifying,
that I forgot my own situation,
Now I am in pain and sorrow,
for what I have seen slowly,
Happening beneath my eyes.

With this grief and agony in my heart,
I turned back to get inside the house,
But I was knee deep in water,
And the water is rising faster,
I am late in making my action,
Now my life and my existence is in jeopardy,
And with the flashes of the scenes running back and forth,
Made me cripple,
I wasn’t able to run,
I gradually gave up to the faith, 

But when I saw the death creeping near to me,
A terrible fear ran through me,
My face became pale,
And the blood started drying up,
I started weeping and prayed to spare me,
But a dark shadow engulfed me,
And a terrible wave galloped me.

I was desperately moaning,
Then suddenly my eyes opened,
My bed was completely dripping from the sweat,
For few minutes I couldn’t make out what’s going on,
But then I realized that it was a dreadful dream.
I closed my eyes and prayed to God,
Thanked him that it was a dream.

Copyright © Partha Pal | Year Posted 2008

Details | Haiku |
Beauty of nature
Why condense it down to God?
Isn’t life enough?

Copyright © Dan Keir | Year Posted 2013




Details | Rhyme |
Analysis read—and wronged—and pulled
Lulled into our idealistic mess
Words no longer ours but hung distress
Farced in carnality—they are ruled

Soundness remains what we will believe 
And all else is but tethered nonsense
Clinched tightly in unfriendly absence
Overcome in overwrought relief

The judges judge on behalf of tongue
When ears and eyes close achingly tight
And perhaps in woe we find them right
For witches sought and bound must be hung!

Lower than the softened dirt that cures
Where worms in halves blindly come to eat
The higher crush with tormented feat
And the suns scorch what is left of hers

Answers never tried—and cured to hide
They look to superior sources
The rotten are the strongest forces
Ripened and toughened with bequeathed pride

-Iambic Tetrameter
Contest: Metrical verse
Sponsor: Giorgio Veneto
Laura Breidenthal

Copyright © Laura Breidenthal | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse |
It began as a lovely September, 2001,  at least, it should have been.....
somewhere lost in the crossfire, between summer and fall
days growing short, and evenings long

But, things now warped into a sense of surreal.  What was seen, could not be real
As if bifocals were mixed in a bin, out of focus, rim to rim

I've asked to borrow a broken pencil,  I find paper blowing in the acrid wind
my fingers shake with tensile fear....and, I write a goodbye.. I don't know why......

An edifice of a city, shades of gray, smoke, and ash,
stony faces, and rubble, of ruin and glass
littered streets, silent people, crying people in shock
A playbill, lost and frayed, blowing into my face

It began as a lovely September, 200l, or it should have been.....

Sirens, shattered concrete,  sidewalks, shepherding the living into  
the arms of someone, or maybe, .... into the arms of no one 
Someone is borrowing a cell phone, ...  there is smell of burnt sulfer
Bridges, crosswalks, that will take them back into calamity, .. our new reality

Someone lends me a broken pencil,  I find paper blowing in the acrid wind
I write a goodbye...  I don't know why......

It began as a lovely September, 2001, or it should have been....




_____________________
10/3/14
For The Challenge "Chopped"
Sponsored By Craig Cornish

Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2014

Details | Elegy |
I wake up in the morning
and the pain begins,
Starvation, beatings, disease
when will it ever end...

There is blood on my elbows
and blood on my knees,
my clothes are torn
I just want to be free...

I am what I am
I guess thats why I'm here,
I've been here three months
And I'm numb with fear...

I pray to God
and ask him why,
what did I do
to deserve to die...

Cody Lee

Copyright © Cody Cross | Year Posted 2006

Details | I do not know? |


The Women



(for the countless women, names unknown, who bore the brunt of Apartheid, and who fought the racist system at great cost to themselves and their families, and for my mother, Zubeida Moolla)



Pregnant, your husband on the run,
your daughter, a child, a few years old,

they hauled you in, these brutish men,
into the bowels of Apartheid's racist hell.



They wanted information, you gave them nothing,
these savage men, who skin happened to be lighter,

and white was right in South Africa back then,

but, you did not cower, you stood resolute,

you, my mother, faced them down, their power,
their 'racial superiority', their taunts, their threats.



You, my mother, would not, could not break,

You stood firm, you stood tall.

You, like the countless mothers did not break, did not fall.



You told me many things, of the pains, the struggles,

the scraping for scraps, the desolation of separation
from your beloved Tasneem and your beloved Azad,

my elder sister and brother, whom I could not grow
up with, your beloved children separated by time, by place,

by monstrous Apartheid, by brutish men,
whose skin just happened to be lighter.



You told me many things, as I grew older,
of the years in exile, of the winters that grew ever colder.

You were a fighter, for a just cause,
like countless other South African women,

you sacrificed much, you suffered the pangs,
of memories that cut into your bone, your marrow,

you resisted a system, an ideology, brutal and callous and narrow.



Yes, you lived to see freedom arrive, yet you suffered still,
a family torn apart, and struggling to rebuild a life,

all the while, nursing a void, that nothing could ever fill.



I salute you, mother, as I salute the nameless mothers,

the countless sisters, daughters, women of this land,
who fought, sacrificing it all for taking a moral stand.



I salute you, my mother, and though you have passed,
your body interred in your beloved South African soil,

you shall remain, within me, an ever-present reminder,

of the cost of freedom, the struggles, the hunger, the toil.


I salute you!



(for the brave women of South Africa, of all colours,
who fought against racial discrimination and Apartheid)





Copyright © Scribbler Of Verses | Year Posted 2013

Details | Narrative |
Ten remain hidden, two thousand years lost. 

Two struck down by bullet, gas, and flame; the ghetto stage one. 
Six million perished before the world ended this crooked crime
Remanent of those lost rose like the cedar in Lebanon, Ezekiel knew best
Twas God who gave men courage; they fought such tyranny, such hate
Twelve mourned for a season while two given back old land
North and south, east, west flock to come home, a great exodus at hand
Two now settled, secure where they stay; diligently searching for those...

Ten remain hidden, two thousand years lost.

Copyright © Ge Ge | Year Posted 2014

Details | Rhyme |
Read the Bible and the words that are said. Times of trouble and tribulation are ahead! All one has to do is read the book of revelation. To read about this world and this nation! Days of wickedness and evil that abounds.. Shall very soon. Come “crashing to the ground!” For our sin, there’s a price that has been paid! Many have become sin’s servant and slave! Many will not escape God’s judgment and wrath! They’ve chosen the wrong direction and path! Right now... There’s a path and a way to “escape!” Please do it right now! Before it’s too late! The right path to take, is through Christ alone! He must be the lord of your heart and home! Jesus alone, can bring hope to your soul! He’ll never leave you! Is what he wants you to know! Times of trouble and uncertainty are well on their way! Christ can help you to overcome! He can do it TODAY! By Jim Pemberton

Copyright © Jim Pemberton | Year Posted 2013

Details | Carpe Diem |
Look upon city once known by name,
ruins that I called home, streets swallowed by flame,
in time alive shell not witness less of what should you understand,
reach on to hand of a stranger, scroll remain;
in signs that might be changing welcome,
different of a man.

When dawn awakes and there is no light,
upon dusk of man darkness will be spread by sight,
in time not different change will arise, life we thought you knew,
death would recognize.

Hearts will bound to King without a Crown,
why do mothers shed tears, echo rooted in the ground,
is there reason of a foolish wars, contracts written in blood,
new born babies died breathless, can't even appreciate the Sun,
don't deserve to live, not worth of the land,
existence will be scattered in ashes,
you will be remembered
by name.

Copyright © Miche Ulman | Year Posted 2013

Details | Senryu |
Mountains of leather,
Summit holocaust landscapes:
Valley of dead soles.







______________________________
Inspired by the piles of shoes
in the Auschwitz concentration camps

Copyright © Raul Moreno | Year Posted 2012

Details | I do not know? |


The Petty Posh-Wahzee - Liberation & Ostentation


The Not-So Distant Past:

The fallen fighters for freedom, are unable to turn in their graves,
their battered, fragmented bones, mixed with a handful of torn rags,
are all that remain, a mute reminder of their selfless valiant sacrifice.

They endured brutal Apartheid harassment, detentions without trial,
torture in the cells, and mental anguish when loved ones disappeared,
they left their homeland, to continue the struggle against racial bigotry,
while countless others fought the scourge of white-minority rule at home.

Nelson Mandela and many, many others, spent their lives imprisoned,
on islands of stone, and on islands of the cruellest torture, yet they stood,
never bowing, never scraping, they stood, firm for ideals for which they were prepared to die,

and many, many comrades did die, at the hands of the callous oppressor,
and many, many comrades perished in distant lands, torn from their homes,
while the struggle continued, for decades, soaked in blood, in tears, in pain.


The Present:

19 years have passed, since freedom was secured at the highest of prices,
delivering unto us, this present, a gift of emancipation from servitude,

a freedom to walk this land, head held high, no longer second-class citizens,
in the land of our ancestors, whose voices we hear and need to heed today.

I do not care much for fashion, Lewis-Fit-On and Sleeves unSt.-Moron,
yet the ostentation that I witness baffles even my unsophisticated palate,

our ancestors' plaintive whispers are being dismissed, left unheeded, as
we browse the aisles for more and more, always for more and yet more.

Asphyxiated by the excess of the Petty Posh-Wahzee, we find ourselves,
perched precariously on the edge, of a dissolution of all that is humane,

babies go hungry, wives are battered, our elders left in hospitals for hours,
I cringe as I scribble these words, perhaps too sanctimonious and preachy,

yet I know, deep in the marrow of my brittle bones, I know, I know, I know,
this tree of freedom planted by the nameless daughters and sons of Africa,

needs to be shielded, nurtured, protected from our very own baser impulses,
so that the precious tree of freedom, may bear the fruit that may feed us all,

for if not, then we are doomed, to tip over, and into the yawning abyss, we shall fall.







Copyright © Scribbler Of Verses | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse |
The tin men
in a fortress of smoke.
Death all around,
hungry for oil.

Their eyes in the storm
divide and cleanse
to be dragged into the mud
once again.

It rumbles on.
One and another,
one ceases, 
one gets stronger.

A rainbow of shoes, 
the broken tin men.

Copyright © dani wil | Year Posted 2013

Details | Quatrain |
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

Details | Free verse |
The impending night has fallen upon us
It woke with much persistence
Our hearts fled from its rage like a doe from a rifle
But the blast had already been made. . .

People fall like rain
The clouds are crestfallen with grief
And the darkness has no mercy 
Rain soaks...leaves an impact
The falls are devastating...

She was so strong, like a diamond she shined
Only to burn away and be one with the grime
I never saw her go
But the angry darkness of her essence—strangely glows...

He choked on his words, his memory
Like a child swallowing a pill
It is sticking in our throats
Against our will
And the dose ever grows. . . 
 
Who will stop the night?
You wicked thing how achingly stormy you have become!
Rich in your light as it smothers you whole
Leaving the rest to the droll sound of its toll

She burned
As they watched in angry happiness
The smoke of her spirits filling our hearts
No expressions...heavy depressions 
He was left to melt and rebuild

His wick ignites—burns are second nature
Though images are hard to swallow
She still talks to our souls
Her story still to be told
Like diamonds never found

A flame of hope hovers
We remain instilled in the rot
The darkness smothers
Its heavy slumber always waking

Copyright © Laura Breidenthal | Year Posted 2013

Details | I do not know? |
They say it did not happen 
That we did not really see 
The horror's and the sadness
That the Holocaust would be 
They say it's just not true 
That there was never any plan
To kill every boy and girl, woman and Jewish man
They say they were simply, casualties of a violent war 
But the proof is there for us to see 
In what they had in store 
There are pictures of the death camps 
Of the survivors thin and pale 
Of the ovens that were fired 
And the smell of death so stale 
In the mass graves that littered the land 
In the experiments that they documented so freely 
In the letters from loved ones, long gone 
In the asset's seized 
And to the victor went the spoils 
As the Jewish people died, staved and toiled 
In the concentration camps 
With names we should always keep in mind
Auschwitz
Belzec
Bergen-Belsen 
Buchanwald 
Chelmno 
Dachau 
Flossenburg 
Majdanek 
Mauthausen and Gusen 
Ravesbruk 
Sachsenhausen 
Sobibor 
and Treblinka 
Like letters of the alphabet 
Should be stored in memory for all time 
Yes, they try to say it was not real 
That it was all a lie 
That six million Jewish people did not really die 
But the simple truth lies waiting for the world to find 
So remember our history 
Pass it down your family line 
Our children now so far removed from these tragic times
Need to have reminders
To ensure that they don't develop blinders 
To the evil that filled the land 
And of the dictator Hitler with all his mass destruction plans
Yes, it did happen 
No matter what they do or say 
History can never be erased 
As long as we remember it that way 
So for all the lives and families that the Holocaust destroyed 
We must continue to remember the suffering and the pain 
So we can be prepared should such evil call on us again 
Lest we forget 
And others will die 
As evil is the only thing that could tell such a lie!

Copyright © Bernadette Langer | Year Posted 2006

Details | I do not know? |
Salt soaked eyelids sagging
Unceasing streams of liquid
Tears stained the silk face
Painting the terrors of the day

Hush my child, I'll sing you a lullaby
Caressing you with the heavenly chorus
The ground does not desire anymore sorrow
But the stars crave your twinkle

Steadily, curtains of skin descend
Masking the pain etched into the eyes
Lips tremble, uneasy slumber
No more teddies, no more light

Hush, I'll bathe your dreams in white
Let the skin slide from your shoulders
Ease the suffering of physical wounds
I'll mend your broken winged heart to fly.

Tranquility overtakes the mind
Scattered breaths steady to an even beat
A rare peacefulness discovered
Yet the burning sun shall overtake the night

Hush, I'll cradle your bare heart
And fly you to the heaven of stars
Laugh as though you've never uttered a breath
For this shall not last

The morning blaze arises chasing the night
Ashes of humans piled up into mounds
The remains of dreams and lives broken
And one little child

Hush, my child Hush.

Copyright © Senait Mohammed | Year Posted 2005

Details | Dramatic monologue |
They tell us to be fanatical at all cost even if it means all of German life will be 
lost, i look back on the early days when the talk of war was still a haze believe 
they said always believe in the fuhrer he commands we follow now it seems 
those words were hollow.

Now I sit here facing death with great sorrow I guess it's my fault I signed my life 
over to the SS with out a thought but we were the master race the very best 
Hitler's SS with his will we were blessed. What went wrong national socialism was 
so very strong Himmler would say to us only in nazism and the Nazi SS would 
fortune give us freedom or should I not blame my self or the nazis but the 
common enemy international Jewry, which I guess is now were I make my death 
bed the Reich is in ruin the fuhrer is dead the symbol of the SS our figure head 
chose to abandon us instead.

I guess there is nothing left but I'll be damned if I fight till the death no longer will I 
blame another now I'll try and return home and find my mother and little brother
god willing they survived  this holocaust of lies. Speaking of holocaust yes it true
the nightmare the Jews encountered was because of us the SS it was the fuhrers 
will and some consider it a thrill the rest of us found it extremely ill to kill innocent 
folk but they were Jews.

I guess I don't have to explain it to you I felt compelled to write this poem in 
hopes that one day the world will see we weren't all sadist just brainwashed by 
the promise of paradise to any one would sound nice. It's over any way nazism is 
gone washed away I stand here before you a simple man who got caught up in a 
awful murderous plan man's darkest hour that gave him so much power.

Cole Hodson
copyright (C) 2006

Copyright © Cole Beck | Year Posted 2006