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Details | Bombed Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Oh Jerusalem

Remember

Israel of three thousand years
expulsed at times
enslaved by the Romans
gassed by Europe
persecuted by Saudi-Arabia
murdered by Iran and Iraq
shackled by Egypt
attacked by Jordan
robbed by Syria
sold out by the UK
bombed by the IRA
slandered with spit by Turkish terrorists
sent to the Siberian gulags in Russia
comrades they are not
evicted from many many lands

Battles house by house
street by street
once friendly neighbors
each calling the other traitor
a bloody war where no side
would retreat
by prophecy they won

Wrestling God
the twelve tribes returned
to the land of the Israelites
to their promised land
from sand they made gardens
from the desert they grew grapes
where terror reigns they
made an oasis

Anti Zionism still slithers
belly dancers selling their deceptions
naked harlots forever spew latent hate
evil men whisper, dead jew, dead jew
sadly, uneducated views saturate
seductively selling their false peace
like a woman's second hand virginity

They only hate, and dream of blood
if only, if only we had another flood
Noah would leave them all at shore
harlots, by any other name are simply
the devils horses

Israel was
Israel is
Israel shall forever be
the Middle East's democracy
and graciously
the custodian of all of us
a religious trinity

Gods chosen
their glorious capital
Jerusalem!


Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2018


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Into your Hideout

Into your Hideout


The ruins of my mind
The bombed out places so so unkind
Lost you in the haze of hells fire
Bombs making humanity expire

I have dreams they call out as nightmares
You are running away from your fears
Amongst such destruction and horrors
A borrowed bicycle your only escape

Yet here I am, and you know not the truth
I am alive, and running, just as you
Through the ruins of this city so destroyed
I am chasing you, and screaming, stop my love

Stop, arête no more need to run
The enemies and nightmares ran out of guns
That day when the sky rained barrels and bombs
Wounded, I survived, our love kept me alive

In the deepest of dreams, I hear your screams
Love please know soon, we will be in the sun eating ice-cream
I will never stop my endless pursuit
Of finding you my love, my wife, my meaning of this strife

I shall find your hideout in the depths of hells fears
We two shall resuscitate our hearts, humanities fools
For all the terror, the war and hate
One day me and you shall smile at lovers garden gates

My blood is yours, my veins joined to your soul
No soldier shall stop us, from our hopes and loves ultimate goal
When I sit caressing your hair in the shelter of hidden despair
The hideout no longer needed

Us lovers, together, finally in gods sun and the fresh air


Dedicated to all the innocent victims of the horrors in Syria

I would like to thank a fellow poet, for her support, encouragement and exchanging of ideas, Casarah Nance. I was discussing how often music inspires my writing, and was sharing some favorite songs with her, when this idea came up.

At the same time, tonight we had a workshop on www.baffn.biz  #Poetry room, and I would like to also thank Tim, Casarah, Jan, Maverick, Halil, Samantha, Armand, Keith and Joe for the wonderful comments and suggestions. Great to see poets encouraging other poets. That’s how it should be!



Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2016


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OMG Whatever

..............................................................................................................

Oh - Emm - Geeeee !!!

Who me??

OMG!...I'm gonna wig out, doing this poem!!
A ditz like me writing for a freakin’ contest, no less!!!??
You gotta be kiddin' me !!!    Holy fricassee!!

No Way. Jose' !! I'm such a space cadet....OMG !! I’m spazzing out!!
Well...geeze, then..... like,  I get this head rush...
I'm getting majorly stoked, ya know?..Like...maybe I’ll give it a shot?...

Still...ya know..., whaddif I, like, totally bombed it!!? OMG!!
I mean, like, ya know how all them other poets?...
Well....like they are so classic...like, ya know?...so awesomely rad!?
Like... say, they eyeball mine, and bustin’ up, they scream…
   "Gag me with a spoon?!! CHECK OUT THIS FREAKIN’ GROSS POEM!”

Well,what the hay,.... ..no biggie, guess it wouldn't such a bummer...
yeah......well, shoot, they can call me a loser......who gives a rip??

So, I figure, like ....Whatever, dude!!
Okay, now, I'm totally pumped,...ya know? 

Waddif it’s ends up freakin’ sweet?  Oh, Pleeeease!!!
Like a win, geeze that would be majorly...rad!!!
I KID YOU NOT!  OMG !!! I'm so SURE !!  YEAH RIGHT,….AS IF!!!!! 

Man, I’m so clueless …hmm.  how do I even start this freakin' essay?

so, like....here goes...okay? 

Ya' say they won't like it, huh??.. HUH ???  Ya' think??

Tell em to go take a chill pill!!


Duhhhh........!!!!?  WHATEVER!!




____________________________________________________
Just for fun!:  For the Slang Contest 
(and be sure....this isn't how I normally talk LOL !!)





..............................................................................................................


Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2009


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CHILDREN OF WAR

Off the stuccoed walls, the shells peel 
The wounded babes bleed
There is a story of harrowing kind
To every war
This one is no different to others
The babes die in Aleppo
The world maintain the stony silence
Mothers' hearts shattered to pieces
Meanwhile
 by both the forces of Assad and Isis.

The lucky few hit the jungle
In Calais
braving the oceans 
And the deadly shells
Seeking shelter from us.
Yet a hysteria breaks
In heartless media
Demanding the samples of DNAs
They are not one of us
We must kick them back to the jungle
And have them deported to their lands
Bombed.
We won't offer no succor 
Let them be tortured
Let their bones get fractured
Let their mothers’ hearts shattered
They are not one of us.
These kids need a right old kicking
The heartless whores of tabloid shout.

We listen 
And hold our heads in shame
Powerless:
On the face of demonization of the victims 
Of the war
Where is our tolerance?
Where is our compassion gone?


Copyright © YASEMIN BALANDI | Year Posted 2016


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one veteran's day

firkins and gherkins and whistles and shoes
cluster bombs, punji stakes, death in the news
choppers chattering
napalm splattering
a carpet bombed mind with asian war blues

cracked vinyl records and medals unworn
black and white photo, ex-soldier unshorn
wheeling chair
graying hair
a beaded necklace with peace sign well worn

tobacco stained fingers shake with a curse
lips pull a drag with help from a nurse
flares ignite
will he fight?
a battle goes cold, memories submerse

wheeled to a corner, he stares at a wall
that others can’t see, for him it is all
locked within
he can’t win
a war without end... unspeakable gall



Copyright © lim'rik flats | Year Posted 2016


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At Dunkirk

At Dunkirk, where thousands of stranded men lined a bloody beach, hope was draining with each air strike delivered by the unrelenting Germans’ aircraft. Cold, starved, and injured men watched from shore - their few rescue ships being bombed and sunk. How must they have felt knowing their homeland was so close – and yet so far away? Horrific days passed when at last brave civilians came with boats, so it was that ten times the number of those not expected to live were instead - SAVED. Aug. 16, 2017: Double Etheree written for JPContest 6: WAR AND HEROISM Contest
From Wikipedia: The Dunkirk evacuation, code-named Operation Dynamo and also known as the Miracle of Dunkirk, was the evacuation of Allied soldiers during World War II from the beaches and harbour of Dunkirk, in the north of France, between 26 May and 4 June 1940. The operation commenced after large numbers of British, French, and Belgian troops were cut off and surrounded by German troops during the Battle of France. In a speech to the House of Commons, British Prime Minister Winston Churchill called this "a colossal military disaster", saying "the whole root and core and brain of the British Army" had been stranded at Dunkirk and seemed about to perish or be captured. On the first day only 7,669 men were evacuated, but by the end of the eighth day, 338,226 soldiers had been rescued by a hastily assembled fleet of over 800 boats. Many troops were able to embark from the harbour's protective mole onto 39 destroyers of the British Royal Navy, 4 Royal Canadian Navy destroyers,] and civilian merchant ships, while others had to wade out from the beaches, waiting for hours in shoulder-deep water. Some were ferried to the larger ships by what came to be known as the little ships of Dunkirk, a flotilla of hundreds of merchant marine boats, fishing boats, pleasure craft, yachts, and lifeboats called into service from Britain.  In his We shall fight on the beaches speech on 4 June, Churchill hailed their rescue as a "miracle of deliverance".


Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2017


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King of Silence


There was once a king who decided that for him - beauty was silence. 

 He issued a decree that all sound was banished henceforth and that his land would forever more be as silent as snow.  To enforce this impossible law he sent countless envoys to every corner of the land.  Every creature was informed.  No birds can sing.  No dogs must bark.  No man, woman or child could speak their needs and must now make them known by signs. Even the very thunder was ordered to be mute.

The penalty of course was death.  Few were able to obey.

Flocks of birds were shot from the heavens.  Dogs were slain before their master’s eyes. All the trees were stripped of leaves lest the wind should sigh through them.  Brooks were frozen so water could not splash or gurgle down the stream beds.
It was like a permanent winter with bare trees and frozen ground.

Children at play were wiped out without mercy. Cows being herded were bombed for lowing.  This unmerciful killing went on for many years.
The merest sound so angered the King that he ordered atrocious punishments for offenders that he did not kill.

The talents of artist were in great demand as they painted cards for all occasions for people to flash. in lieu of speaking.  The effect on the population was to cause the formation of many covert societies where secret meetings, when betrayed, were raided and countless murders committed by the ‘silence’ enforcers.  
The King was greatly feared by everyone and dubbed “Snowman - the Silencer”

Generations of good people were wiped out.  Countless noisy species were hunted to extinction.   Music was never heard or played.
Silent clocks were invented.  Sound-proof rooms were built. Some desperate parents, to protect their children, opted to have their babies larynx-es removed at birth.

The King was surrounded by silent apathetic, joyless subjects.

The King’s obsession had effectively destroyed all the people, the life and  the environment around him.

How much easier it would have been, if he, in wanting silence had only thought to destroy his own eardrums.




Copyright © Suzanne Delaney | Year Posted 2016


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Silhouettes on the Stage 1953



Lying still on the class room floor,
brown paper for a bottom sheet.
All the children were gathered round
and my outline was complete.

A cookie cutter girl was I
in bright black paten leather shoes;
with a gathered skirt, puffy blouse
of blue polka dotty hues.

Drawn silhouette, a paper doll,
not ashen as deaths cold harrow,
and I regret, my parents get
left Hiroshima's shadows.

Eight years gone the Rising Sun
was challenged in an earthy sky;
for bombs Little Boy and Fat Man fell
and two-hundred thousand people died

The Man of Steel, old Stalin
passed away in Russia this year;
the hot cold war was in full bloom
and our children hid in fear.

Beneath our desk tops we scrambled
as the shrill sirens shrieked away
the Committee of Five ruled Russia
and Khrushchev was on his way.

Dwight Ike was in the White House
as a veteran, he'd fought hard
the GI bill was now in affect
and bomb shelters filled our yards.

And little girls with ringlet curls
still made dollies on paper sheets;
while the doll shadows left by WWII
bombs blackened in Japan's streets.

*On August 6, 1945, the United States used a massive, atomic weapon against Hiroshima, Japan. This atomic bomb, the equivalent of 20,000 tons of TNT, flattened the city, killing tens of thousands of civilians. While Japan was still trying to comprehend this devastation three days later, the United States struck again, this time, on Nagasaki. Nagasaki was bombed on August 9, 1945 only three days after the bombing of Hiroshima. And we worry that other countries may develope atomic bombs???


Copyright © Debbie Guzzi | Year Posted 2009


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CHILDREN OF WAR

Off the stuccoed walls, the shells peel 
The wounded babes bleed
There is a story of harrowing kind
To every war
This one is no different to others
The babes die in Syria
The world maintain the stony silence
Mothers' hearts shattered to pieces
Meanwhile
 by both the forces of Assad and Isis.

The lucky few hit the countries of peace

braving the oceans 
And the deadly shells
Seeking shelter from us.
Yet a hysteria breaks
In heartless media
Demanding the samples of DNAs
They are not one of us
We must kick them back to the jungle
And have them deported to their lands
Bombed.
We won't offer no succor 
Let them be tortured
Let their bones get fractured
Let their mothers’ hearts shattered
They are not one of us.
These kids need a right old kicking
The heartless Trump shouts

We listen 
And hold our heads in shame
Powerless:
On the face of demonization of the victims 
Of the war
Where is our tolerance?
Where is our compassion gone?



Copyright © YASEMIN BALANDI | Year Posted 2017


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Pickled scenery


A huge Alsatian barks at a passerby stranger
as the pond geese honk sensing grave danger
Trudges back home a rangy lone ranger.

Big and little aubergines cast a purple shade
In the twilight birdsong begins to fade
Night makes navy-blue of the greenery's jade.

Wolves howl in the distance
Panthers prowl near pig pens
Ocelots growl around the dens.

Dolphins perform in the aquatic circus
Kids count on the time-old abacus
All in all the miracle of creation's fabulous

Elsewhere the morn dawns upon wee ladybirds
And shepherds go about grazing their hungry herds.

A rare sight of starfishes settle upon beach pebbles
Pink salmon in a see-through lake breath out bubbles
Bombed by tech; corpses found in debris and rubbles!

Wild species lurk in the murky forest
Stands tall and hovering high mount Everest
A chance to enjoy nature at its very best! 

Admit it O' mankind no one can ever be
at par with your and my versatile Creator
The billions of species is far too extraordinary
He single-handedly created all that variety in nature.

For even the clever human who invented the radio
did not as well model the computer.
The one who designed my dresser couldn't design my patio
It'd be rare for a shoemaker to also be a tutor  

But God He made both ant and elephant
and there's absolutely nothing that He can't.


Copyright © S.zaynab Kamoonpuri | Year Posted 2018


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The Cycle

Foreword: I wrote this piece in 1984. Seems kind of prophetic now.

On this day in time,
time ceased to exist;
because of the taste of greed,
men couldn't resist.

They wanted more oil,
they wanted more land;
So they bombed little countries,
and made their demands.

The killed men and women,
and children of every age;
There just seemed no stopping,
the big country's rage.

Now the little country decided,
to share all it's wealth;
It was in the best interest,
of their national health.

So they gave and they gave,
til there wasn't any more;
And finally decided,
they should prepare for a war.

But the big country had vanished,
when no more was gained;
And moved on to the next,
helpless country to attain.

Now the little country rebuilt,
and became very strong;
And they swore that no country ,
would again do them wrong.

They grew and they prospered,
and a mighty army they had;
That would accept any fight,
and be only too glad.

But soon they had found,
They needed more oil and more land;
So they bombed little countries,
and made their demands.

This cycle rolled along,
and all small nations would grow;
And the stage was all set,
for the world's final show.

Now on this day in time,
time ceased to exist;
Because of the taste of greed ,
men could not Resist.
	
 
 






Copyright © Carl Fraser | Year Posted 2012


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Slides and Stairways

Somewhere in the pretty petty imaginary illusion of delusion
There lies a truth an edifice of search between obtuse confusion

Windows like brick walls and concrete blocks birthing the light
Nails to be nailed screws to be screwed with monumental sight

A life a building fortress sand castle beach hut nutter’s dream
Maybe a prison with towers barbed wire fences mindful scream

Some multi storied paradise no choke on apple’s stem or core
No passion fruit in torture chambers shackles behind and to the fore

No hidden attic and no cellar no stellar fantasy no quick descent
For now simply one dimension deserted plain hopes to ferment

Scraping no skies a cave hovel card board box a bombed out grave
Nothing to hold onto no graces left spent and ravished naught to save

Is it magic thought provoked delusion of illusion alluded distortion
Who knows does it matter I suppose it does in incomplete reapportion 

Some are born in a manger on the fields of labour some with a silver spoon
Surely some would rather have foundations a ceiling not some lonely moon

Get me not wrong as singing the praises of romantic poverty and dearth
Icy cold and freezing bones do not bear up to sound safe privilege in birth

Yet from the scraping nib and luxury of pen in hand and philosophic mind
Not wishing to lack compassion nor cementing over cracks so misaligned

We are the builders of our lives to some extent despite the vagaries so vast
Can we find a staircase upwards some sliding pole to reach out for the past

In such compassion regardless of painful structures and abandoned need
Is some notion some motion of change and nourishment star dust to feed

In God we trust nihilism architecture Karma fate Nirvana hard core grind?
No valid answers but questions loving search for quiet mindfulness in kind





Copyright © Kai Michael Neumann | Year Posted 2018


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something poverty can't deny you

northern winters harbor harshness
freezing confetti and sun to overpasses 
and bottlecap alleys..
snow angels never warm the backs 
of cinderblock children and gray eyed
cats....
a plea to the hobbled hobos and bums...
stagger
toward the equator,
nibble the candied ribbons of warmth
sashay the deer and goldfinch trails
far beyond the smokey smokey hills
and bombed out indifference,
pluck a meal from a friendly palm,
mind flirt with the woman in the pastel skirt
guess the color of her uncaring eyes
tiptoe across the ocean
wash the salt from the skies
place your heart in the warm sky nest
combing sandollars, beach glass and shiny dreams...
pretend your a white shoed-flower breasted tourist for an afternoon
inhale/exhale the boardwalk tunes
let it run up your spine-swirl
like a napa valley wine
skip sweetly like an ivory spawned child
turn today into butterfly arms
make a sand angel
smile
even poverty can't deny you this


Copyright © Anthony Slausen | Year Posted 2012


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LOVE JUSTICE of LIFE

The diamond ring you gave me did not remove the pain.
You must know it is not that simple to forgive.
The bouquet of roses you sent on Valentine did not remove the bruise.
A man's love does not justify abuse.
You snap now just from intimate conversation.
In the next moments, you ask me are you still my baby.
Vindictive you expect me to be.
You shower me with presents endlessly.

My love seems to rationalize your next move.
I am in a domestic violent relationship with you.
Do I continue to stay?
I am here until I find a better way.

You come home all vile and bombed.
Even if I am asleep, you will awaken me to ask me am I still your woman.
All I do is smile and state you are my man because you pave the way.
Soon you will fall asleep and your stupor will please me.
Am I in love with you?
Of course, I am.
You take care of home boo.

Now, today, you ask me to marry you.
I responded with the question do you think our love is true.
You stated that I know you can be verbal abusive but 
“Baby don’t I always find a resolution.”
I provide a smile and a kiss.
“Baby, I will marry you next year.”
On my finger is the diamond ring.

Love justice of life is insight refined.
I am in position to sequester as the procrastinator.
You are the navigator.
_________________________________________|
Penned on January 04, 2015!


Copyright © Verlena S. Walker | Year Posted 2015


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THE TIME THIEF

TIME THIEF...MUSINGS OF THE LAY..

I awoke an hour past mid-nite
oh what peace everyone is dreaming
made some warm milk cocoa
turned radio on.. tv on
am now multi-taskin..

stolen away by sweet sleep
right there on the couch...
couch potato now dreaming..
dreaming of strange lands
dream tourism is in vogue...

woken my house help preparing tea
she gives me a puzzled stare..
may be the boxer shorts am wearing..
have her vexed.. cud be.shes just sleepy
its already daylight.... already...

partake a luke-warm shower.
no time to get the water properly heated
rushing to the shuttle stage..
boarding a shuttle..engaging the driver.
alighting.... usual stage guru nanak hospital..

the guru ramgaria looks at me... or..
looks at the sky..we call him kalasinga
i ponder what the good guru was thinking..
staring to the sky..
idle thought.. short walk i arrive...

gad gados headquaters....
every one today is late..but...
but the hr ...shes already in..
i say hello she appears not to hear..
i sleek slowly toward my work station

TD B our receptionist arrives late..
we ponder over the why.. everyone's late
come up with the time thief theory
according to RU and TE..
May be the good guru knows...

the guru on the poster
daily trains... trains his creamy red eyes 
to the heaven in artistic communion....
the believers in him.. call him-enlightened one
us.... we find all of them weird.. intolerance?..

the artistic guru was there when
the superhighway was built...
when the terrorist bombed a shuttle
when our countries CEO was acquitted
by the imperialist court..

the artistic guru must know
must know.. who stole our time
he keeps looking to the sky
they say hes enlightened..
i say ted.. the guru knows.knows time.

of time thief's and time snatchers
here at gadgados we watch-out
watch out against.. or for
a different kind of thief
who has a very long hand...


Lewis k Nyaga
eastern african maritime.. 0915hrs


Copyright © LEWIS NYAGA | Year Posted 2015


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The Altar Of Pride

As the Jets go screaming by
bombed out homes morph into tombs.
For when fire ignites the sky
scared souls cringe in basement rooms.

When loved ones burry lost souls
broken hearts shatter like glass.
And anger's smoldering coals
are fanned by the cost of gas.

Tracing the steps martyrs trod
only leads to the same fate.
For blood stains the hand’s of God
when His Name sanctifies hate.

There is no peace found with age
for belief divides each side.
And young and old flaunt their rage
upon the altar of pride.

Prophets once traversed these sands
preaching love with humble breath.
Yet some say God understands
when they link His name to death.

Jews Christians and Muslims share
the one same God up above.
And yet each believes they're
more deserving of His love.  


Copyright © Emile Pinet | Year Posted 2015


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A Feeling To Remember

I walked across the pasture green
In search of something yet unseen
And as I reached the hill's crest
What I saw below I felt truly blest.

I very carefully made my way down
Toward the little grove of trees I'd found
Anxious to see what they did hide
I gently pushed the brush aside.

The atmosphere did suddenly change
The green canopy kept the heat away
As And the coolness settled round
 I heard the birds chirping sound.

A movement to my right caused fear
Not quite sure of what was near
Until his antlers I did see
And realized he wasn't sure of me.

As I gazed into his eyes
I thought I heard him breathe a sigh
And as I smiled and stepped past
It seemed to put his mind at rest.

In shafts of light scattered here and there
Wild flowers could be found
Dancing on the gentle breeze
Spreading pollen all around.

I sat beside a flowing river
In grass of carpet green
Soon the little lady bugs
Were resting on my jeans.

A hefty branch protruded
From the river's edge
And as I watched ten little turtles
Found themselves a place to rest.

As they basked in the sun
They seemed so at peace
Until a pesky magpie
Dive bombed them from a tree.

As I watched natures wonders 
I heard a shrill scream.
Suddenly I realized I am all alone
I reached into my pocket 
And took out my cell phone.


Copyright © Marycile Beer | Year Posted 2007


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Short shrift

Thank you, Father, for hearing me
and sharing in my pain
the only one bar whom you serve
who offers no disdain.

From Mansfield's pits to the Western front
the stories I could tell
legless, blinded, gassed and bombed
my mates who fought and fell.

Sent to fight against my will
never done nothing bad
this khaki's for a fighting man
not a simple miner's lad.

Day in, day out with no relief
the onslaught never ceased
until the day I said 'no more'
took off, and headed east.

Stupid, looking back on it
the fear that made me run
from a fate that maybe I'd have missed
I'll see at the rising sun.

Tell the lads who'll send me off
I bear them no ill will
whether Frenchie, Fritz or Tommy boy
a kill is just a kill.

At least I'll miss the sights of all
the rest they'll surely send
just hope by Christmas, like they said
this bloody mess all ends.

Tell family I'm sorry
forgive me, hope they might
for all I done was cut and run
and this end just ain't right.

I want my Mum


June 28th 2015 for competition 'Short shrift' , sponsored by John Lawless


Copyright © Viv Wigley | Year Posted 2015


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HAMAS TERRORIST BASTARDS, Telling women and children to stay in buildings to be bombed

There is no truce for Hamas, these terrorist murderers not only kill Israelis, 
but allow their Palestine citizens, men, women, and completely innocent 
children to be slaughtered as shields for their insane and cowardly cause, I hope 
they (HAMAS) and other terrorist groups are all blown to HELL! Then maybe we 
can finally end WAR!



Copyright © Robert Gruhn | Year Posted 2014


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Lone Survivor

"Lone Survivor" By M. Taha Effendi (Sonnet) He wandered through each ravaged street, death lurked wherever strayed his feet, His ears resounded with frantic, dying calls, of those whose blood stained the city's walls, With tears he gazed at the darkened sky, cursed what bombed his city till it would die, Before him lay the rubbled graves, of his mother and siblings it now saves, He stood there transfixed, confused, His life's last few hours misused, abused, He stood there numb as time moved on, In the blink of an eye his haven was gone, Is there ever a fate so worse, than a corpse deprived the funeral hearse?


Copyright © Mohammad Taha Effendi | Year Posted 2010


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Dive Bomber



Discovered a new computer term, “Hover To Play!” Applied to the bedroom, hmm, interesting I'd say Let your mind take flight Tell me, “how was your night?” Bet you learned lotsa new stuff as you dive bombed per se © Jack Ellison 2015


Copyright © Jack Ellison | Year Posted 2015


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I Believe In You-A letter to America

I Believe In You- A short letter to America
By Curtis Johnson

Dear America,

At times, I have doubted myself and questioned you
I have cried bitter tears over you, but never doubted you
The real you is not all that we see, or even all that we feel
My core beliefs sum up the real me, as is the case with you
In despair, I found that the core of you always gave me hope
Out of the core, true life flows, and your core has drawn masses from afar

When many of your people were denied their rights and forsaken, 
I believed in you.                                                                                   When your sacred laws were broken, I believed in you
When people were sold as property and terror tolerated,                                    I was not here, but still, I believed in you
When a right is exercised and I disagree,                                                         I still believe in you
When an intolerance is expressed, I am sad,                                                 but yet, I believe in you
When your flag is burned or a church is bombed,                                               I ache for you, but I continue to believe in you
When I see you in the Preamble, I see ‘me’ in  ‘we the people’,                             and I believe in you
When I pledge allegiance to your  flag and say, ‘under God’, I believe in you
When I read the address at Gettysburg about your government, it’s my government too.  "This government of the people, for the people, and by the people shall not perish…”  This government is yours; it is theirs; it is ours, and I believe in you

O American, there are endless reasons for believing in you, but I shall close with the last sentence from The Declaration of Independence.  For therein lies a summary of how much our founding fathers believed in you.  “And for the support of this declaration, with a firm reliance on the protection of Divine Providence, we mutually pledge our lives, our fortunes and our sacred honor.”

O America, may God continue to richly bless you.  May I and millions of others who have benefited from your blessings, be ever reliant upon Divine Provident ( GOD ). And may we too pledge all.
cj08112015


Copyright © curtis johnson | Year Posted 2015


Details | Bombed Poem | Create an image from this poem.

THE KILLERs

The killers are not only those who bombed this nation
But also those who knew their hangouts and kept
silence

The killers are not only those who slaughtered 
humans
for religion reasons
But also those religion leaders who refused to 
condemn
the act

The killers are not only those who imported 
weapons of
destruction
But also those pilots, sailors, drivers, custom 
officers
who let their palms be greased to let them in; also 
those
who made the weapons; also those who sold the
weapons

The killers are not only those who kidnapped 
innocent
children and other men's wives
But also those who sponsored the wicked 
expenditure

The killers are not only those who disguised as 
soldiers to
commit genocide
But also those Generals, Colonel, Lieutenants who let
them had access to the uniform

The killers are not only those who ran away from 
their
responsibilities of protecting our lives
But also those who procrastinate or know what to 
do
to bring THE KILLERs and their accomplices to book 
but
refused to do so.


Copyright © Ijalana Afolabi | Year Posted 2014


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A Little Girl

Wearing rented robes and wet with tears
Tired and hungry with lifeless eyes
No shoes and no hope
None at all
Life a death sentence at this tender age
She sat on a rock, now robbed, even of her tears

A butterfly fluttered on by
Wings so golden, shining in the suns rays
She came to rest on the little girls arm
Looking up the butterfly saw the lost soul within
Spreading her wings, she danced in the air, saying
“Little one with a smile hidden deep
Do not fret, God is near”

The little girl, with no hope, raped of her happiness
Her heart bombed long ago
Gave a faint smile
She twirled once, her last dance before tumbling of hunger
Fainting to the ground while spiraling to the sky
Such is the sad moment upon this earth
As the butterfly took her up to heaven



Notes:
I saw a photo of a girl, alone amongst the ruins of bombed Syria, the image made you
want to reach out and save this poor soul. I have a sadness that I could not. I had no
 idea how to  express this, until a butterfly whispered in my ear.


Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2014


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Story of Afghanistan

Story of Afghanistan

The barren land of my birthplace
Green at times but screening a rocky face
Known for thousands of years for its warrior race
Let me tell you the truth,
No one really wanted this “space”.

Up until two lions began prying around
Initially, just fooling around
Afterwards, casting off their cannon sound
Resembling the 6th night of an infant’s fête
Building their castles, and so began the burial grounds.

The lions pledged to crush the other
With a master plan
Dividing the blood brothers
Such was the instruction of the queen mother
As the clans clashed and killed one another.
The chiefs were swallowed by the promise of gold
The mullahs were swapped for the hollow soul
The seniors by the fire recounted and foretold
The purpose for the lion’s vehemence
This story definitely in time will unfold.
The old grew timeworn
Waiting for their young ones to return home
The teenagers free born
Screamed out of their mosques’ domes
Come and join us in this struggle
Faced with the crusaders of the Church of Rome,
But little did they know,
No one will return but the maimed men to a funeral home.

The sturdier lion won the combat
But what has become of my Afghanistan
The wolf in a sheep’s disguise
Has spoiled my jade paradise
My heart denies it but I may have bombed my youthful chums,
This is now a global land-dwelling for bums and slums!
The lion wishes to be unveiled this time
So he promises to take the last dime
After all it pays to cooperate in war crimes!
He roars in a deafening cry
I bring Democracy to this land
With loads of cash in one hand
A whip in the back hand--forgetting the long years of perfidy
I now declare and demand
This is the new Promised Land.
 A woman of this realm is exposed with a promise
She is liberated by democracy
Famous on national publications like the story of Pocahontas
She’s affirmed independent and agreed to arise out of the darkness
As the saga is read to the United States Congress
She exhales
And anticipates the lion’s hunger
Waiting for the day when she will be veiled, unveiled, and then veiled again
Not by ordinary men
But by inscription of law.
Thank you for sealing the decree!



Copyright © Roya Zereh | Year Posted 2013