Verse Holocaust Poems

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Details | Free verse | retrospect
There were mirrors  there
Behind it, where all the Jews would hide
How can someone blame the black despair?
All You were, was a mirror over there
Flooding naked imagery
Flowing naked mercury
Proof there were no fa-ked lies
Unless words were pressed against the frame
Somehow you couldnt recognise...
 your name...
Half blinded..
Besides, you would deny it anyway

One day while searching for those wandering Jews
Purple flowers in my garden winked at me
" we are they, if so you choose"
The mirror held was upside down
(It never mattered anyway)
So I kept on walking on and on 
Until this very day

Ive heard it said just the other day
They used  it to flash the sun
Hoping it would shine away
As some were hiding in its shade
A million miles away
Behind that fragile pane of glass
The looking glass kept looking past
And  keeps looking for today

Looking at the torn disguise
And the lying enemy eyes
Though their lips were moist with movement
As yet the sound remained unheard
The spoken word was truth
One day it all may come to you
Whispered by a little bird

Ive held so high your high regard
And so your high esteem
Your badge of broken Jew
And friends by lives devided seen
I tried imagining I was you
Walking, standing in your wretched shoes
To us were done similar things
They also covered up the truth
In fact its happening here and now
How much cover do they need?

In honour tried to imitate , sometimes even emulate
Your cheeky contraband
Conducting your own orchestra
While playing your own band

This mirror holding up I see
If I was ever to wear those clothes
Emblazoned by a David star
Embattled with a Jewish scar
I wish to have your nose
The link between us circumcised
A covenant yet not broken
A people not yet broken by the blues
My love was found
Intact profound
In around 
the nation of the Jew

Copyright © Jannie Breedt | Year Posted 2017

Details | Free verse |

rose early in the morning,
indulged in a lovely quiche lorraine,
ventured out


silence has a sound of its own.

yes, there was the film, my first exposure -

Kristallnacht – the night of broken glass


the sterile space…

alone, i enter the “gas chamber” -
no one’s there, no screaming naked bodies.
the only fear is in my mind – i
must get out, feeling claustrophobic.

exiting and to my right, a setup -
a dummy behind a machine gun
my pulse quickens, throat is dry.

then to my left: hair cuttings, glasses, teeth, clothing -

my eyes hurt as i read – many children were thrown
                                                  into the ovens A L I V E.

the horror constricts my brain. horrible to imagine
one crazed serial murderer and this was an entire country.

cruelty has sharp claws, hidden behind breath and flesh
gifted by God.  monsters have lovely hair, straight teeth,
families preparing dinner, friends cheering with


going home, they smile, swing loved ones around,
kiss their merry cheeks,

and they R E E K with death.


Copyright © Kim Rodrigues | Year Posted 2016

Details | Free verse |
Balaclava'd minister in a lanky limousine
Condomised personality inside a broken mask
Skewered chopsticks serve pieces of Pancolin
Toilet paper dolphins to wipe his weary arse

Ave Maria.. Amanita Muscaria
Mycaphagists and mycaphobes
Trot the nuclear globe
Shroomy hallucigens
Amanita phalloiides
Droning overhead
I am become Death..

In 1938 Hitler kissed the Pope
In 2017  we kissed goodbye to hope
That thing with feathers of Ms Dickenson
Bards and wordsmith playing monopoly 
With Wisdom and Courage
Lord , help me to accept the things.
I cannot chang...

She explained to me 
The chemistry in the sea
Salt and water formula enacts a mystery
Brings increase of intelligence
Divine assistance to the brain
Blessed petrichor of rain

Make my poetry the most expensive hobby
And talk the cheapest currency
How  explosion can explain to me -
The chemistry of the sun..?

Thus let dreamy slake awaken with a start 
And disintegrate into matters of the heart

Copyright © Jannie Breedt | Year Posted 2017

Details | Free verse |
Words For Those With No Voice

For every pair of shoes
All the burnt bones and woes
In the millions, in the mud
All died alone

Starving of food and having lost our souls
Our god abandoned us so
Mother father
Sister brother
Fuel for the Reich, we lay slaughtered

Some of us were saved
By those whose honor made them brave
We must salute them all, the bold and the dead
Even if we have only skeletons to mark their stead

Now that time has passed
There will be contests, it will be a blast
Who wins first? Who wins third?
The holocaust deserves no prize
Why must we die twice, this is absurd?

Honor me with a prayer
A poem
A moment of silence
A heart felt thought about humanity
Prose and verse, to remember the atrocities
This is the honor of men of a higher velocity

Never make a circus of the horrific gas chambers
A contest of who makes the horrors more real or titillating
Its not you the writer or the reader that feels
It’s us gassed and burned and buried with our id numbers
Asleep in the fields in slumber

Yellow stars fading away in silence, in tears
No grave markers to shout out of atrocious fears

The subtly of honor is lost on the crass
Maybe it’s them who should be buried under this grass

I realize this is a delicate issue, I wrote this poem only because is of my opinion, that having a contest on such issues unless for specific venues, causes, etc. is somewhat tasteless. There is no right or wrong, this is simply by view or take on things and thus have expressed so via this poem. A contest implies a prize or reward even be it praise, and so to profit from so many peoples suffering, well I have explained why. However that being said, any expression or illustration dedicated to honoring and bringing to the light such atrocities, is a different issue. 

That being said good intentions are just that, no matter how misguided they may be. We should be grateful we live where we are free to express our sentiments, feelings and beliefs, without fear of repercussion, and that by its very nature will mean many have diverse opinions and views on any issue.

Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2016

Details | Free verse |
I walk in a busy street, happy faces everywhere
Coats buttoned tight against the cold,
Stomachs full, warm shoes on their feet.
They don't know.

My grandparents limped through the streets
Cold, starving, wearing tattered coats.
Barefoot in Germany in winter, for a crime of birth
Convicted by fear, jealousy and hate.

It is autumn, and all around me the colors explode
As if a giant splattered paint from his brush
On the landscape, his canvass, until sated.
He didn't know.

My family endured colorless years 
The only hue the yellow stars they were forced to wear
To mark each as something less than a person,
Exempt from even the most basic human rights.

There's a chill in the air this time of year
Smoke billows from the chimneys of dozens of homes
And bonfires litter the neighborhood like cinders
They don't know

My mother can't see a chimney without crying
Reminders of the chimneys at the camp
Where her friends, relatives and nameless Jews
Were released as grey smoke to hover and signal release.

Everyday I see people covered in tattoos.
Tattoo shops pop up offering expensive artwork
Anywhere on the body, some covering every inch.
They don't know.

My mother had a tattoo way before they were popular.
She did not choose it -- it was forced upon her by her jailers.
A number tattooed in black on the inside of her arm
Her only hope of being identified if she survived.

The children born today have choices,
And must never allow a "Holocaust" again;
Choices to wear, eat, watch, think, and love what and who they want.
Make sure they know.

Copyright © Cindi Rockwell | Year Posted 2016

Details | Free verse |
War crime trials had come and gone
And Nuremberg became old news
But there were some who would escape
They packed their bags, with no remorse
Changing names, and hid away
They had shamed the course of history

They had slithered through the cracks of time
from the lowest form of man's intent 
There was no gray, just black or white
The blackest black defaced the way
humanity was meant to be

Some trails of slime don't wash away
As years went by,  new wars ensued
Old men, by now, like snakes reside
in masquerade, and false pretense
while rejoicing in the news today,
in hopes cold crimes have been forgot
But cowardice remains alive
A holocaust of man's design

Humanity must not give up 
And wickedness will not command
For justice seeks its own reward
and somehow fate will have its day

We pray these reptiles spent their years
slinking low, like snakes, they are, 
haunted by the ghosts of war , thinking of the millions gone
thinking of the things they've done…sinking deeper in the grave
spending days, while drinking fear,  
instead of drinking coffee in the cafés of Berlin

Inspired by Contest: "A Last Line Prompt"
Sponsor: Julia Ward

Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2016

Details | Free verse |
We are the children
of the Four
A wandering race
The leaves, trees
and streams feed us
The earth, water and
winds sustain us
We belong to no man
A race so
You talk about us
with hushed voices
From behind your
Always looking down
The idea of us so

You don't deserve us
Never looking in our
As though the simple
mention of us will
bring you conflict
Our women so
Seeing them leaves
the vision in your
head for days
So you look away
From our mystical,
regal creatures

As we are the
children of the
forests, rivers and
The snow in the
We have always been
We have always
You gave us our name
It was never your
You called us

You look at us and
see aluminium homes
Your curious eyes
scanning our sites
Picking up on the
old battered cars
Camp fires and dirt
Nomads fighting with
black eyes
Traveling through
these lands

You do not see our
As you are not
children of the air
A race so loyal like
thunder and lighting
Inside our homes
lives a love so vast
and thick
You can scoop it up
and eat it
It feels like candy
Smells like Apple

We a deadly
protective race
Taught from years of
We learnt to only
live with our own
Wandering through
Never having a home

When we burned, fire
was so angry
Our ash turned to
snow flakes
The wind was so
Our ash fluttered
over holy ground
Settled on the
We grew a paradise
Earth was so hurt
you took her
For you paradise
will be forever out
of reach
Teasing you
Just before it's in
your grasp
The ocean washes it
Burning us made
water scream
You had killed the
children of the Four

We don't expect to
be understood
Our wisdom lays too
The Nazis didn't
just kill and
persecute the Jewish
They killed us too
Put your nose in the
Just so 
You can still smell
us on the wind

Copyright © little known nothing | Year Posted 2014

Details | Free verse |
White like the snow

Ice stiffened limbs
Reaching out
No saviors about

Snow flakes in the wind
I reached and reached and reached
Towards deaths cold hands

Never to see her again
I looked down
Wine of bloods holocaust

Flowing from my hands
Unto the devils abode
Whitest of Pyrenees days

I died beside her departure
Railroad tracks empty
Bloodless heart
Ashes black
Butterfly born

Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2018

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


Copyright © ANKIT DEDHA | Year Posted 2015

Details | Dramatic Verse |
Huddled together in this abstemious grey chamber
no windows or means of escape walls closing in
trapped where the un-sanctified transactions are made 

Daunting without exit the silent screams go unheard 
ashen skin with darting eyes never looking up
forever too frightened of seeing the truth reflected back 

In the unholy grail in visions of comrades within this un-sacred act of ransom 
the collective voice of the masked chorus urging them on wards 
then the integrated tragedy of hidden fears and secrets

A living sacrifice under this bargain where no one wins or gains
without boundaries of mortal limits there exists in this gunmetal airless demise 
unfettered woefulness and vainglory vie for victory 

The innocent victim's now the pawn's forgotten as pride twists obscurities 
severing the umbilical cord drowning breaths of existence
the sterile smell of unfinished lives permeating into the coal and ice

Tiny little footprints always remain's inside the womb's silenced facts 
the living water of life breaks no longer flows through the natural cord
leaving a chorus of continuous phantom's chanting in mendacious unity  

Opening the door of perdition where the tactical glare of a butchers knife 
held under a ghostly specter of a child that might have been treasured 
a face imagined but never seen and names never uttered 

A tortured remembrance of a pardon held precious beauty once
soon the vapour of shame burns off in an emptiness that still remains
glazes over a ruby rare passion 

Where fear & the constant loathing cannot fathom the uncertainties 
this future brings forth in the immenseness of what might have been 
not touching the soul properly 

The unborn yet to speak?
silenced unadorned gone forever jewel's 
always held within prayers of the faithful loving grace

a co written piece by Donna Loughman and Liam McDaid

Copyright © liam mcdaid | Year Posted 2017

Details | Free verse |


"Abandoned Cities"
Empty sentries standing firm Vacant windows glistening they sit with Poe, Van Gough and Edvard Munch all broken waiting patiently ears open, silent screams, nothing spoken empty library of learning, all that is beauty and wisdom burning burnt out shells, End of the World Life has ended, the story turning Streets lie clean virgin keen and straining Ghosts soldiers watch on whispering madness march soliloquy training Bones white powder where they fell skin melted radiation shadows imbed the walls Enforced concrete couldn't stop there fall, chemical poison reigns from clouds back onto factory floors Genocide stargates oxygen swallows no birds fly here no buzzing flies appear HAARP strings no longer playing God's orchestral trumpets in the raped atmosphere Dust demons dance down cold concrete roads, not air as we know it, gaseous after blast winds shattered windows Dark is the watchtower, farewell no night, diamonds are dimmed no chirping crickets no croaking toads no swarming locusts in flight Haunting echoes whispering something’s wrong no children dreaming Mother is forgotten her soul is gone,Earth is quiet no longer screaming Gas masked Vampires lying dead supine suck the life out of memory Ropes hanging from rafters inviting swinging in lost time solemn shadows dance a polka on the floor no reason nor rhyme in the Land of the Bottomless Well, Orwell’s ode has gone straight to hell Grey beehives make no honey poisonous Oceans do not swell Butterflies aren't free no life no trees Abandoned Cities mute is money Listen, silence is golden, Woolf is no longer running (Lovejoy-Burton/Feb 2018) "Right Where It Belongs, NIN"
2. Junko's Story 3. The Aftermath of Nuclear War 4. Fukushima 5. Chernobyl 6. HAARP 7. Chemtrails Conspiracy

Copyright © Leanne Lovejoy-Burton | Year Posted 2018

Details | Free verse |
Where have all my people gone, the Navaho, Lakota,
And the Sioux,
Choking for a breath of life's sustaining air,
Smothered beneath the white man's blanket.
The beating heart of native drums, are stilled, frozen
In the middle of it's rhythmic thumping, no pauses echo,
Can be heard on the open plain.
The weeping woman kneels, on sacred ground, she sheds
A river of bleeding tears, burning a permanent mark, across
A baron landscape.
Death's black raven shields itself, under it's crimson soaked wing,
Against shames moral injustice, humanity's inhumanity, towards it's
Own kindred. 
The final verdict of the white man's justice, based on nothing more,
Than skin color, difference of beliefs, and sheer ignorance.
Extermination, nay a holocaust, greed fever, drives the white demons.
How much blood can mother earth be forced to drink, before
She drowns herself, or spats up everything, with sheer
Disdane, and hatreds malice.
Treaties written in vanishing ink, promises disappear in thin air,
Revealing a liars sharpened tongue.
The odds have always been stacked against those believing
In fairness.
Flights appendages are clipped, on the dove of peace, leaving it
Unable to soar above it's own habitat.
Wreckage’s refugees stumble, in the ruins after math,
Rapes victims of civilizations civilized,
Are left devoid of their heritages legacy.
Elders chieftains representatives of a once great nation,
Smoke peace pipes in the white mans hunting lodge, in Washington,
As human beings are hauled like cattle's cargo,
Taken to reservations burial grounds. 
Ancient ancestral beings, lit up heaven's vast expanse, by torches flame,
To guide the souls of the dead, unto their great spiritual plain beyond.
The pale horse gallops forward, without a rider,
And the red people become a phantom tribe, vanishing
 Upon the winds shifting tides.
Giving one last final battle war cry, 
Why my father but the great spirit answers not.
Behold America's legacy, a world trampled beneath
 It's heavy feet, all in the name of progress, or for the cause
Of Manifest destiny.

Copyright © cherl dunn | Year Posted 2016

Details | Free verse |
Soft like sheep
The Clan in white sheets
Full of indignation
And ignorance
They march to their own battle cries
Care not for innocents who have to die
Their cause though evil, noble in their eyes
As Hamas, they burn those with education who decry
The violent aggressions 

Their deceptive practices and petty battles
Become pretty slogans for the misguided ones

Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2016

Details | Blank verse |
A ray of sunlight streams across the room
To light the raven ringlets of his hair,
As now and then he slightly sways, within
His artful hands a violin and bow,
From whence bursts forth the musings of his mind
In vivid tones with deep vibrato's power,
And there expands and swells to fill the void
Of empty space that dwells within the walls
Composed of stones, both grey and worn with age,
Their only saving grace the leaded panes,
Designed by some forgotten man of old.
There stands Marcell, a stranger to the world,
Absorbed in fantasies of melodies,
The phantoms of how things appear to be;
For in the notes he dreams and then pours out,
He cunningly reveals his somber thoughts
And feelings, while the world is stamped to dust.
They tell the mournful tale of one who lived,
And breathed, and thought, but was not understood;
A boy whose parents died before his eyes
For crimes they never could have helped commit,
The crime of being born the same as he,
Of race that every other thought as vile,
And now while all the world engaged in war,
Is hidden in an ancient, empty church,
His one companion held within his hands
And speaking, just as he, to empty air.

{Written by Isaiah Zerbst on January 2d. 
Published January 3d, 2015.}

Copyright © Isaiah Zerbst | Year Posted 2015

Details | Verse |
         “And you that shall cross from shore to shore…are more 
          to me and more in my meditations, than you might suppose.”

                                                  Walt Whitman, “Crossing Brooklyn Ferry”      
Thank God for you, Henry Gibbins, ship of dreams 
laden with bedraggled brethren 
dark and fair, tall and short, all frail-boned 
and gaunt, each and every one a survivor reborn 
in the wake of conscience. 
Blessed, their leader, Ruth Gruber; praised, her leader, 
Franklin D. Roosevelt; and you, Captain Korn 
— commanding officer extraordinaire —
your kind face and outstretched arms, 
the ship’s crew — their smiling faces, helpful hands; 
the stalwart bulk and hallowed halls, sky-crowned decks 
surrounded by sea-speckled rail — 
far cry from barbed wire.
Joy, the glistening white toilets; 
divine, clean fresh air that fills sunken chests, lungs
ashen from the fires of Auschwitz-Birkenau, Bergen-Belsen, 
Buchenwald, Dachau, Treblinka…
And you, buoyant sea, revered for strong currents and 
changing tides; and you, gulls that glide the breeze, 
assuaging wounded spirit.
“Are you America?”
And you, huge dining hall bejeweled with vegetables, 
cornucopia of meats, kaleidoscope of sweets 
that swell shrunken bellies, smooth withered souls;
the soft pillows and ample blankets nestled in tier after tier 
of bunks, the nightmares you help smother, 
sweet dreams you set in motion; 
talent shows, chess tournaments, movies, musicales.
“Are you America?”
“Yes, you are America — my America!
Land of the free, home of the brave!

Copyright © Ruth Sabath Rosenthal | Year Posted 2014

Details | Free verse |

Suffer not o man she cried desperate for consolation
Compassion twisted and tore at her heart 
but the world she knew was silent.

Painful sounds from death filled wars, would wound her more
than jagged poison tipped arrows that pierced much too deeply.
And yet she carried on in quiet song as the world she knew kept silent.

And if the dying weren't enough, the sight of bloated bellies
and distraught mothers and sacked villages laid bare
by the unwilled force of child soldiers, would crush her spirit. 
How could the world she knew keep silent?

Thinking that God did not understand her despair 
She wept with abeyant tears that could not flow 
as the world she knew kept silent.

To live, to die in the soiled spattered flow of time
passing through, passing through
Is the secret so sublime? Cannot she grieve? 
Then silence no more was heard.

Instead a curious word within emerged 
from her meditation of life's graces
a Hebrew word "Bitachon"
What was not known in agonies 
was revealed in her silence.

C.A.K. 1-9-201

Copyright © Allan Koven | Year Posted 2013

Details | Dramatic Verse |
The inner and the outer,
Are dissolving fast in space.
The ominous clouds of thunder,
Are covering your face.

The meek the mild and innocent,
Are trampled under feet,
As we go one marching blindly,
To our invincible defeat.

No more calling softly,
No more calling you,
We've lost our hope and loving,
What once we thought was true.

And now the choice is coming,
Riding on a wave,
To be a free man dying,
Or be a mad man's slave.

And now the drums are drumming,
Drumming down the line,
Will you be marching forwards?
Will you be deaf and blind?

Will the light of sacred meaning?
Shine from bottom of your heart?
As the soldiers go on marching,
Tearing our humanity apart.

more at

Copyright © ness tillson | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse |

Having settled into a firmament
of tarnished soil, 
your sprouted roots 
bring forth sullied growth.

What was blessed 
by the sun at birth, 
now hides
in deep shadows 
of the moon,
living half a life in darkness
creating the fear that 
comes from a wolf's howl.

C.A.K. 11-3-2012


We are born innocent,
but soon learn to distrust.
Racial prejudice, bigotry,antisemitism  
emboldens and excites ignorance
and soon hate becomes the bigot's
religion of choice. 

Copyright © Allan Koven | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse |

Where have all my people gone, the Navaho, Lakota, and the Sue,
Smothered beneath the white man's blanket,
Chocking for a breath of airs life's sustaining oxygen.
The beating heart of native drums, are stilled frozen,
In the middle of it's rhythmic thumping, no pulses echo,
Can be heard on the open plain.
The weeping women kneel on sacred ground, shedding
A river of bloods tears, burning a permanent scare across,
A baron landscape.
Death's black raven shields itself, under it's crimson soaked wing,
Against shames immoral injustice. 
Greed's insatiable hunger for land and riches fuels lusts desire,
Behold exterminations holocaust of the native inhabitants,
Nothing remains alive except ignorance blackened shadow.
How much blood can mother earth be forced to drink before,
She drowns herself or spits up everything undigested,
 With sheer disdain and hatreds malice intent.
On a black and white chess board the winners takes it all,
Strategies grand masters playing with living pawns.
Treaties written in vanishing ink, promises disappear in thin air,
 Revealing a liars sharpened tongue.
The odds have always been stacked against those believing in fairness.
A rogue tidal wave of humanity has wiped out a nation,
And it's culture within the blink of an eye.
Flights appendages are clipped on the dove of peace, leaving it
Unable to soar above it's own habitat.
Wreckage’s refugees stumble in the ruins after math,
Rapes victims of civilizations civilized,
Are left devoid of their heritages lineage and legacy.
Elders chieftains representatives of a great nation,
Smoke peace pipes in the white mans hunting lodge
In Washington.
As human beings are hauled like cattle's cargo,
Taken to reservations burial grounds. 
Ancient ancestors lit up the heaven's vast expanse,
 By torches flame,
To guide the souls of the dead unto their great spiritual
 Plain beyond.
The pale horse gallops forward without a rider,
And the red people become a phantom tribe vanishing
 Upon the winds shifting tides.
Giving one last final tribal battle war cry, 
Why my father but the great spirit answers not.
Behold America's legacy, a world trampled beneath
It's heavy iron fist, all in the name of progress or for the cause
Of Manifest destiny.


Copyright © cherl dunn | Year Posted 2013

Details | Dramatic Verse |
When I met her , a very old lady she was , yet inside lay a frightened child .
I felt my heart cry , I felt as if I was touching history itself , as I made this older lady, child,  chai .

I remember the day , and so many tears I have cried
I have cried before she and I met 
As a child , so many tears, left confused inside .

Not understanding Why , and how could we stand by and live our lives as if this never happened ?

It happened , we are left in dismay of the movies seen the accounts taken of History 
My self ..I have caught stereotyping the very people whom did this to she , the rest of her Family erased .

The white candles we light , we try and forgive , or just simply block this pain out completely.

It occurs , over and over , as it has been said History will repeat .
When thinking of my children , when I think of that little girl losing ,  cold and scarred , feeling only defeat .

There is a lesson here and I pray , that all whom have been taken from life , have no pain and are gifted spirits throughout eternity . May they be warmed with love,  and reunited with the ones they lost .

The first time I met her , her old hand I took and warmed it with mine , I held it for a long time . 
You could not,  but notice ..the Evil imprinted on skin , the Evil only to remind.
This very old Soul , in her eyes you could see . 
The child that once lived , so innocently free, not aware yet,  of the Hostility .

I speak of a Little girl, I speak of a old woman , I speak of a Jewish,  chosen Religion.

There as I held her frail , old hand  , a brand , a number stamped in Evil a long time ago .   In 1945  , once in our distant, yet Frightening  past . 

We should never forget , never forget it happened , never forget all the names .
If we do , we have learned nothing , A World living in Shame .
                                " Etta Babooshka Kofman  "

Copyright © Shanity Rain | Year Posted 2013

Details | Verse |
First person singular prohibited. In order
to be more crow.
War! war! war! war! war! 

Then there's that lowland wetland bird
around the stunted red pines crying
Birdy, birdy, birdy, birdy.

Hear the redwing blackbird chirring
Her, her, her... she
as one might expect, Spring.

Words for birds
since they're inaccessible. Aim
binoculars left, right, up, down, missing every time.

At the piano recital
Aaron made the penguins run, run, run, not waddle, 
from a hungry polar bear! 

Everything passes, even a massacre, 
but birds outlast cars
and words like chemical and holocaust.

Woodpecker climbs oak, 
Not one neighbor heard the knocking.

The voice of a pewee
whose nest has fallen out of the tree.
Oh my! Oh me! 

What did the wood thrush sing
that summer evening
teaching its young thrush meanings?

Copyright © Robert Ronnow | Year Posted 2015

Details | Free verse |
I took out the trash
After making some cash
I tripped over a bug
I got bit in the leg by a pug
I got up and  limped back to my house
A kid started laughing cuz i was wearing my wife's blouse
I went over and punched him in the face
His mom sprayed me with mace
So i blindly walked home
But then i stepped on a garden gnome
I fell down in pain
Then it started to rain
I crawled into my livingroom
My wife hit me in the head with a broom
She told me to move out
So i went to stay with my dad
I went to his house to pout
I was so mad
I decided to watch some basketball on the tv i found in the trash
My favorite nba player is steve nash
I should've never took out the trash!

Copyright © Trash Boat | Year Posted 2016

Details | Free verse |
Silent voices

Acid in eyes

Raped by suitor

Burned with kerosene

No books for women

Beating wives

No education for women

Woman must wear masks

Women must obey

Women used and abused

Honor Killings

Stoning women for a mans crime?

Murder for two hearts loving 

A child screams as church bells ring

Barrel bombs fall like laughing monkeys
On children both small and tall

Israel treating the wounded of Arab crimes

I ask you?
Are you a silent one?

Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2016

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....

For The Challenge "Chopped"
Sponsored By Craig Cornish

Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2014

Details | Free verse |
a grab-and-run pack
a small survival sack
with one set of clothes for spouse and self
passports, a file with just few mails
an old diary with addresses to contact
in England, Finland, and Switzerland

and some currency notes
couple of thousands
in rupees that does not stretch
like the American dollars
they were what i needed most

as the pogrom was in progress
in my Tamil homeland
while i always went to bed
with shoes on my feet

Copyright © Henry Victor | Year Posted 2014

Details | Dramatic Verse |
He mowed down so many 
and the blood is still 
warm on the ground
Leaders spoke of healing 
Another mass murder 
There are far too many of them
Blood, blood, blood 
Screams, screams, screams
One asks oneself 
whether people are really good
are are they evil 
I read somewhere that there are places souls go which not even demons 
dream of 
That is the case 
Find solace however you can 
Peace, Shalom, Peace

Copyright © Matthew Anish | Year Posted 2012

Details | Free verse |
    Sunlight streaming 
through my window 
   The day begins!
A brief listen to an inspiring song 
  Then I face up to the realities I must 
deal with 
Life is full of sorrow and pain 
   One should realize, however, 
that just being alive is a blessing 
Anne Frank wrote that 
as long as one can be 
   alone with nature and with God 
there will be a a cure for every sorrow
   She was right on the mark with that!

Copyright © Matthew Anish | Year Posted 2014

Details | Free verse |
You are our neighbors
We are your neighbors
and we hate you
You do not belong here
You are different than us
We don't just want you to leave
We want to kill you
We want to eradicate you
We will attack you
When you retaliate
we will crumple to our knees
and cry to the world
Look at our neighbor!
Our neighbor is trying to kill us!
Then the world will rush to our aid
because the world fears us.
The world fears what we might become
You must learn to fear us.

Copyright © Tim Ryerson | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse |
My head hurts, my chest pounds
The men with guns all around
They frighten me, standing tall
I watch them, as they line us on a wall
One by one my heart clenches
As I see my people fall
And I know that I am next
Now the people watch, and their hearts clench
As I fall.

Copyright © Karissa Kelley | Year Posted 2016

Details | Blank verse |
The Old Jewish Couple 
I have written about this before but somehow didn’t get it right 
my perceived brusqueness made them think of Cracow they
 had fled and all the relatives lost in the turbulence of a war where 
they as civilians, but Jewish, had their life made into a nightmare.
There was a small sweet shop near my cafe, selling my chocolate with 
nuts, so one day I walked in there to buy a bar, the man behind
The counter bent down and changed hat.  His wife reached out and 
tried to give me a sweet. Now the man had a Panama hat and no
words were spoken. I spoke English to them which eased the situation, 
this tall Nazi looking person was not a ghost from the past, just 
a person with a sweet tooth. I bought the chocolate, handshakes
 told them was in business too had cafe near them, they didn’t know 
never left the house.  The sweet shop didn’t have many visitors
 the chocolate I bought had been in the shop so long it was green. 
But when I left the shop I felt they didn’t want me to come back
I reminded them too much of the horror of Cracow.

Copyright © jan oskar hansen | Year Posted 2015