Gaza Sonnet
A doctor`s house with two daughters came under artillery fire
while he who worked at the hospital in Gaza
Trying to save life after yet another Israeli attack, lost both
His children, the military late apologized.
After the funeral, the good doctor did not seek help for his
Immense suffering , but carried on working while
grief unburdened was eating him up.
One day he went to the beach the sea was calm and blue
He undressed and began swimming he had to get away
A strong swimmer he swam long before an Israeli gunboat
blew him out of the water, red turned to pink and then
ack to calming azure as the warped thinking of the occupiers
said go he should have sought psychological help
For sorrow so deep that no well-meaning words suffice
after “Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening”, by Robert Frost
This bridge meant something in some war,
some yarn of man and God and law:
but I think more of her and me:
what were those others fighting for?
There’s so much here to feel and see,
and yet it’s rubbernecker-free!
I love to watch the fishes jump:
they sense the serendipity!
Lads do the love, dames do the dump.
I can’t imagine now the crump
of primitive artillery,
but I remember Forrest Gump!
The theater, ideally,
was dark and deep: and, as for me,
I’ll linger in the reverie …
I’ll linger in the reverie.
War is like a battle of serpents
evil slithering from all directions
Poison comes from their fangs
in the form of bombs and artillery
The snakes surround and strangle
like tanks in the middle of the night
But can you see them, smell them
as they cause death and destruction
Multi-colored and camouflaged
they seek to kill and maim
So let me take this sword and dagger
and cut off the two headed snakes
Let them bleed out
so freedom can reign
Until strife became the rule
You fled your World
Was it easy to break away
in your ward of questioners
Nobody seemed to care
This tag of war
I've seen your artillery
why cant you understand
Im leaving the World of detractors
In the morning
open your eyes
Snowbright
keep a secret
tell us no lies
Face of an Angel
I hear the distant rumblings
of artillery shells
I hear the singing sound
of stray bullets
I lift my head to look
around and see the toll
Bodies scattered like
leaves on a fall day.
Some with limbs torn from
them like a barren tree.
Some with their entrails exposed
like a lion’s prey.
I feel no pain, just a
sense of floating
Of being outside my
body.
Of looking at myself
with a red river flowing
from my leg.
I hear a distant cry, “medic”
I sense a shadow above me
and see a helmeted head
with a red cross painted on it.
I see the face of care and
compassion.
I see the face of an angel
No certain places nor time. Neither here nor there. Dug a ditch and here I sit, listening for the other side. I hear the sound of War. Sounds like whistles flying by. I hear the sound of dying men, wondering if I'll be one of them. We can't question our authority. We keep track of artillery. We must move forward without retreat. We must defeat. In hopes cause for this war has good reason, like keeping our freedom, in our prayers we hope to prevail. Not fall and fail, left in No Mans Land would mean we failed. We must pray God will bring us home.
It is Christmas in a pine grove
Holding vigil in a foxhole
Not an atheist to be found
As artillery shakes the ground
The pines adorned with crystal flecks
And pinecones as ornaments
A cardinal in all its red
Sits atop Tannenbaum's crest
A piece of fruitcake would taste great
(The regifted and given treat)
Sgt. Kilmer's words to this novice
(As I take in this conus coppice)
"Poems are made by fools like me
But only God can make a tree"
A semblance of a Gospel decree
And the "evergreen" nature of the greenery
With these Christmas trees, alone
I open my "C-rats" in my foxhole
Then pen a letter home from Bastogne
Sugar-coated tongue sway the sea,
Like lilacs and roses allure the spree.
Barbs dim one's worth, leaving scars to accrue,
Stripping away dignity, leaving only rue.
Choose thy verbal artillery with grace,
For they hold the power to create or erase.
Johnny was a teenage boy,
Young and bright, so excited.
Playing in the grass and mud,
Shining smiles, so delighted.
As he went to school that day,
Something broke, the world descended.
Countries tore each others land,
like wars in playgrounds, just pretending.
The year was 1939,
Europe fell, into chaos.
Johnny turned 15 that year,
Eyes so bright, dreams contagious.
He turned up to recruitment branch,
Passion high, determination.
Training started that same week,
Shining eyes, dedication.
Johnny wanted to be a tin soldier,
Johnnys gun was in his holster,
As he lied, on the grass,
Army of children.
Golden canes of ember light,
Shooting stars, through the night.
Fire from artillery,
Golden orbs, dazzling light.
A thousand footprints filled the mud,
Gaping holes, filled the soldiers.
Johnny’s dream was fading out,
Piercing eyes, hands get colder.
Dreams of playing in the grass,
Safe and warm, daddy’s shoulder,
Now he sits, he kneels and prays,
Covering, by a boulder.
Johnny wanted to be a tin soldier,
Johnnys gun was in his holster,
As he lied, on the grass,
Army of children.
Ongoing war
A not tall, a rather pudgy little man
who is an absolute ruler over his twenty million-something inhabitants
Got visited by another powerful man, who is slim
but not tall like his diplomat
the fat man was happy, had his country turning out
waving flags, their dance and jubilation
photo taken, fraternity and contracts signed
For the absolute ruler, who had his brother killed
to be sure of his power, it was a great opportunity
to take, not so tall man, around looking at things
the visitor had won a war and was in high spirits, smiled
patted his strands of hair and asked himself
since his host harvests hair as a big business, should he ask for a discreet rug?
He decided not to ask, his face is so well known
that jokers in the foreign press would make jokes
make him look vain
He did the masculine thing, buying artillery shells
instead, not that he needs a lot to know
but one never knows what hysteric people can do
those who cannot accept defeat.
I am a bright red poppy grown in gardens near and far.
A Remembrance flower to honor our fallen, nothing to mar.
On the western front, in the first world war.
Bright red poppies like me were the first flowers soldiers saw.
Flowers growing on a battlefield really did astound.
We grew there because artillery fire broke up the ground.
Now I am worn on Remembrance Day, each and every year.
As humans wait in hopes that world peace will soon be here.
At prayer I received a vision
of three wise women
Muslim, Christian and Jew
inspiring hope.
Guided from Jerusalem
by the light of artillery flares
they venture into Gaza
defying warnings of danger
to find a woman who's given birth.
She and her baby shelter
under a concrete slab
surrounded by dust and devastation.
The three offer gifts
of milk, bread and a blanket.
Returning,
they prophesy
that the child will grow
to be a Saviour
bringing peace
among the descendants of Abraham.
Meanwhile
the father finds
a donkey and cart
for their escape into Egypt
to wait for the terror to cease.
Why do they cry, daddy?
Soldiers march – a lugubrious lullaby of detonation as their melodic grim reaper
Why can’t you hear them?
A myriad of white swoops through the blast wave, hidden between smoke particles like mere flecks of dust.
The wails a clear message from above, silenced by the rolling murmur of combat,
As soviet tanks stalk over the border.
Are you not listening?
Circling the battleground in anguish
Tumbling
Falling on deaf ears
Weeping in white.
Can no one hear the coo of the dove, as it mourns man’s innocence?
Peace. A deserted bride – betrayed by hubris.
Each gunshot wounding the flock,
Their cries a pitch only children can hear.
A dove plumets into the welcoming arms of a child, its wings punctured by man’s artillery
Weeping… In sorrowful red
Why can’t you see how he bleeds, daddy?
When doves cry, man chooses not to listen.
Artillery shells explode outside my door,
hush, get on the floor.
Soldiers are murdering people on my street,
hush till they retreat.
Traumatized children are forbidden to cry,
hush, or we'll all die.
Russia turned Ukraine into a killing zone,
hush, we're not alone.
Artillery shells explode outside my door
as they've done before;
hush, we are at war.
World's troubles reflected in a dark sky
Days and nights now blurred fears quantify
My ears pick up artillery in war cry
Depression rolls in I try to deny
All my thoughts grow befuddled I belie
Tears held in so many puddles I cry
Emotions all muddled up in deep sighs
My eyes hollow my heart beats amplify
On divine intervention I rely!
2.11.22
Contest Name: Monomixorhyme
Sponsor: Hilo Poet
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