In halls where silence cloaked the dread,
You raised a voice, though fear had spread.
With leaflets fluttering like doves in flight,
You lit a candle in the night.
Not with guns, nor iron might,
But truth and courage, fierce and bright.
A rose in winter, pure and still,
Defying hate with steadfast will.
Your words, like whispers through the air,
Asked hearts to feel, to act, to care.
Against a storm of brutal lies,
You stood with clear and open eyes.
Though gallows claimed your final breath,
You did not bow, not even in death.
Your petals fell, but not in vain—
They bloom where conscience dares remain.
White Rose of Germany, proud and free,
You taught what strength and soul must be.
A bloom of hope in darkest hour—
Forever grace, forever power.
No Flag on the Hill
He woke to the hiss of burning plastic
a child's shoe, half-melted in the road.
Something like singing came from the mosque,
but it was only wind
through broken glass.
The birds left weeks ago.
Even the dogs are quiet now.
A rusted swing creaks in a schoolyard
where no one plays anymore.
A mother once painted the front gate blue.
Now it’s ash and wire.
Someone drew a border
right through our kitchen tiles.
They boil rice with rainwater and clove,
eat in silence.
Outside, a drone's red eye
blinks, blinks, blinks
and does not blink away.
The Call to War or False Promises
They spoke of honor carved in stone,
Of glory waving from a hill.
They lit the torch, then threw us in,
And called the burning “noble will.”
They draped their lies in marching drums,
And wrote our names on gilded scrolls,
But none could see, beneath the hymns,
The hunger swallowing our souls.
No More War
Marching boots echo
no birds sing in the
shattered valleys.
Children’s toys buried
beneath the smoking ruins
where are they ?
Flags wave in triumph,
but mothers get folded notes
instead of sons.
Steel birds above us
drop fire with no memory
earth weeps sorrowfully
A soldier's last breath
drifts with dust into the wind
nameless in the dark.
.
No victor remains
when the fields are filled with blood
only ghosts rejoice.
Old men talk of pride,
But young men vanish into mud
history forgets and forget
Rain falls on helmets,
drowning cries beneath the mud
the war will never end.
In a child’s drawing,
the sun bleeds behind barbed wire
innocence erased forever
The earth spins once more —
blossoms rise from ash and bone,
whispering, “No more.”
Before the guns and bombs were made
the clubs and fists were swung
names for numbers now we trade
the senseless turned all numb
crumbled blocks broken down
create, destroy, rebuild
a three ringed circus paints a town
the crop gives up its yield
when fields demark a hospital
operations carry hope
what's kept for some is lost for all
descent, a slippery slope
the yoke is held on common ground
the round encasement smoked
logic is stuck on what was found
when starched and staunch men spoke
to quote with quaint eloquence
will mask whose fate was sealed
an absence of benevolence
when truths have been revealed.
"So how are you today, Hun?"
I always picture myself in terrible armor when I hear this.
The Attila in me wants to run her through with my sword.
I look behind the couch.
Not there.
I look under the couch.
No.
Could it be stuck on something?
I find the sword three days later,
when I'm not in the mood to
even use it.
So what good is it anyway?
Which is why I
have trouble with the
cheapness of bullets.
Give them all the guns
and permits you want,
folks, but each
bullet should cost about
$100,000.
The Attila in me picks up the sword.
Got to go.
At the start of the next war,
While the headlines scream "war, war, war",
Go fit a lens to your gun's barrel
And a reel of film in its magazine.
It would be a better war—don't you agree?—
If all the innocents soon to face your gun
Froze in a pose
Anticipating the shots to come:
Shots of them, I mean,
Not shots at them!
When the order comes to open fire
That'll be the time to peer through your gun sight
Ready to take to the field of battle
And go clicking away
At the follies of men in war,
The corporate vultures circling above,
And all the lies, lies, lies about the war.
For where blood spills,
There truth must spill too;
But oft in war, it's the pills we get
To cloud our eyes and dim our minds.
Then, perhaps, we'll someday learn
Why our boys and girls who march forth to war
Never do really as of old return.
The heroes of a thousand battles
Retreat to a thousand bottles
At the doctor's and the barman's.
Who we call survivors
And whom we call casualties
Their fates ultimately come equal:
One falls in the battlefield,
The other in the bottle-field—
But fall they all do, they all do, O lord!
I am an Anti War Creature
War is no more
Like before
War is all that politicians adore
War is hate, blood and death we abhor
War is erasing earth’s core
War is closing life’s door
War kills innocence that you ignore
War is widening the gap between the four
The East, the West, the South and the North
War will just devour
Our entire civilization store
You, warriors, what do-you explore?
Your humanity and manhood I implore
You are throwing seas offshore
War murdered children then tore
Their parents under their eyes on the floor
Would you, please, tell me what’s the score?
babies are buried
now we are happy relaxed
single missile lost