Best Collateral Poems
Mara- Collateral damage
Hi, my name is Mara, I'm six years old, I have brown hair and brown eyes. People say I'm pretty like my mom, but, I don't know how that matters now.
My mom said she named me Mara because it means bitterness, my being born has only caused my family bitterness, as we are 4 children, in a war torn land. I am a girl and no one wants a girl, unless they are useful in some way.
My father escaped the war, and fled to America, he says to find us a better life. I don't understand how leaving us here would give us a better life! It's so dangerous here for woman, and even girls like me.
The only men we see are soldiers, or freedom fighters. My three brothers Ahmed 13, Sammir 12, Nicolo 11, went to get food at the market last week, they were looking for huma...humana....humani..tar i an relief. They were all killed when a bomb went off. I miss them a lot! No relief for me, I haven't eaten for a week.
I would love to go to school but all the schools are closed, most of the buildings are blown up, so I don't think I will go to school anyway.
My Mom left yesterday to play with the soldiers, she told me if you play with the soldiers they will give you food. I'm so hungry!!
Rat atat atat ata atatt knock knock knock open up, open up this door!!! Mom? I'm so glad your back! (opens door)
hey your not my mom!
Rat atat atat.
(Voice from behind) hey there's nobody here!! Let's go, lets go!
My name is Mara, I was 6 years old, now I'm dead. I guess I'm what they call collateral damage!
John Derek Hamilton
July 11,2017
First place premium contest winner
but who cares about a win really in this case.
Thus I sail the sacrificial scabrous seas and touch tormented tides
Battle-scarred in the breeze and washed ashore where evil hides
The Sun regrettably retreats where malice mortals digressively dare
Walking barren saliferous streets where I live on a penniless prayer
The citadels of submission crucially crumble where they saintly stand
In their unholy cognition you are a slave to their carnivorous command
Embedded in stone my tangential tears will endure beyond the grave
Bludgeoned to the brutal bone by the unlawful carnal knowledge knave
Lost in oblivion my blood runs calamitously cold by the river's edge
Beware the Ophidian with sabotaging scales leaving you on the ledge
Deceivers of the realm punitive penetrators connivers as they clutch
They manipulate and overwhelm with their torturous tender touch.
Let's stop the abuse...and spread the real love
Aug.01.2017
Let's talk about it
Sponsored by: Richard Lamoureux
1 original, poem on the theme of abuse, emotional, sexual or physical.
Any form is acceptable.
Cajole me in the right frame of mind
For I'm vexed not because of
Personal issues but because of the
Morbid, abstract canvas of life
I'm subjected to witness, where
Groups of so-called righteous men
Drop indiscriminate bombs
On fellow humans ripping
Homes and families apart
Shedding the blood of the innocent
Then simply labeling it
Collateral damage -
Collateral damage of War
Shelling babies... collateral
Damage of war!
Then pluck out thine eyes
With two bold fingers
For I cannot bear witness
To the dislodging of families
Fleeing wildly wherever
The cold wind blows
Crossing rough seas
None with the ability of
Jesus to walk on water
Nor faith to part it like Moses
Water ...swilling with red blood
And saline stinging tears
Mothers wailing bearing
The agony in suffering
Petrified twisted faces pressed
To their wet bosoms
Fathers gnashing teeth,
Raging, panting, feeling
Like a poltroon
Powerless. Gray skies depicts
No rainbow, no promise.
Strike me down
I refuse to bear witness
Beseeching before I meet my demise,
Obliterate borders, these
Man made borders
Us with our Jingoistic attitude
Jingoistic ... flag waving
Entitlement ... displaying
Utmost xenophobia
The mantra mocking
Go home, go home, go
Home - face your fate
On your homeland soil
Drenched and soaked in blood.
I shiver terrifically in my skin
What if it was me ... you
In those weathered skin
Under the moon and stars
Branded a refugee, worthless
Vulnerable, famished, weak
Motivated by hope to
Overcome barriers and borders
And when pruned fleshed
Feet imprint the coarse sand
There's no child in hand
Swallowed up by the gluttonous sea
Let hell's bells drone on
When dastardly Superpowers drop
Nasty bombs on the innocent
Butchering, maiming ... moribund
Then labeling it collateral damage
Cajole me in the right frame of mind
For I will go stark raving mad.
© 2015 Denise Morgan
My daughter was raped.
He penetrated my heart.
We're both dead inside.
Against blue canvas
Of summer skies, the ball soared.
Laughter mixed with dust.
Silenced by the screaming shell.
They buried you in blankets
Geithner's true motives fall lost
when Congress gets double-crossed
by Fed Ponzi schemes
and banker wet dreams
while countless are getting tossed.
Gory maimed, mangled
Red misty air, children cry
Blindfold and blinkers.
Daddy was a soldier, always had an itch
Down along the bayou, daddy served a hitch
Wouldn’t you know?
He loved Madam Laveau
Guess that makes me a son-of-a-witch
I look pleadingly into their eyes
as they pull the last of my fingernails,
The pain is excruciating and I pass out
amid my heartrending screams.
When I come to
I am engulfed in total darkness,
I find myself lying naked, it appears,
in my own blood, sweat and filth.
I try looking around but could see nothing,
I touch gingerly and find my eyes swollen shut,
My nose punched into a bloody pulp,
My lips torn open, all my teeth knocked out.
Jesus, where am I?
What have they done to me?
What do they want of me?
I know nothing, I am just a regular Joe
struggling to raise a family here,
Hoping to live the American dream;
What would I know of
Jihadi cells or terrorist network?
I begin quivering in sheer terror--
Oh God, did they bring me here
just because my name is
M U H A M M A D?
("Rendition" --The practice of sending a terrorist suspect
covertly to be interrogated in a country with less rigorous
regulations for the humane treatment of prisoners.
"Show Me Your Spirit" contest by FJ Thomas
He is my child hood dream.
The crush, the fantasy of sweet delight.
The diminished version of realties truth.
His being is of remembrance and sweet innocence
and my flesh is aged and stuck in the present,
aching for the memory of the innocence crushed.
We side step around the silence filled with unspoken words.
Fearing to say the wrong thing and drastically change our paths,
which we have allready devastingly lost.
Instead we walk and pick our steps from amongst the roots and brambles.
He holds my hand. Implores with eyes for me to forget his wounds.
And I desperately grasp this truce, eyes closed trying not to see my collateral damage.
I used to think collateral damage was something,
Only Generals and politicians had to worry about.
How wrong I was.
No matter whether the decisions we all take are good or bad,
Others mostly bare the consequences.
And there is no use denying that fact.
Parents will have sleepless nights over the decisions they make,
Concerning their children.
Doctors will have sleepless nights over the decisions they make,
Concerning their patients.
Lawyers will have sleepless nights over the decisions they make,
Concerning their patients.
Friends will have sleepless nights over the decisions they make,
Concerning each other.
There seems to be nowhere to hide when it comes to the use,
Of collateral damage and sleepless nights.
So, maybe we should not hide from it,
Opting instead, to take those hard decisions,
Without fear or favor,
Because not taking them will not help us sleep any better,
And leaving them up to the generals and politicians,
May only up the consequences for us all.
"writing the words of a sermon that no one will hear ..."
Beatles, Eleanor Rigby
This poem refers to the increasing number of teenagers suffering from depression and anxiety during the pandemic.
a girl sixteen years old Jane Rigby her name
enjoyed learning bass guitar dreaming of fame
she had many friends and was good at school too
young Jane was convinced that her dreams would come true
pandemic gosh darn it this meant separation
so lonely the people in forced isolation
too many fell victim to pure desperation
and mostly affected: the young generation
"day after day life is empty and idle"
once lively Jane had become suicidal
lasting for hours she stared at the wall
even lost interest in her best friends´ call
"don't want to talk to them, they not to me,
leave me alone, Mom, back off, let it be"
mindlessly scrolling her phone the whole night
claiming aggressively "I am alright"
writing the words of a song full of fear
that - she already knew - no one would hear
listlessly woke up lost visibly weight
for virtual classes began to be late
then social media flustered her mind
followed examples of beauty like blind
marvelled some starlets with pictures touched up
"girl, too much screen time" "oh mother, shut up"
poor Jane withdrew from life not realizing
she had been netted in smart advertising
can´t replace eye contact, skin and warm breath
finally grabbed a knife and bled to death
it happened a year ago middle of May
"collateral damage" I heard someone say
fine words of farewell were engraved on her stone
I silently added "she felt all alone"
Wishing never to be seen cast as perhaps
An immoral ? Judgment but I free spirited
Even more so free to fly; lesbian beauty...
All about afore my eyes unable or better
Unwilling, to yield their gaze why should I
Carry this weight its chains hate born aside
Carnals state of bend to break and whom ?
Silent to watch, as they hurl these stones...
Condemned, hypocasies ulterior motives
Dogma's vast array and reasons birthed in
This their seasons ? So I shall, kiss her lips.
Collateral Mysteries
By John Herlihy
Take me into the ravishing world
Of collateral mysteries,
As elusive as anything in the Golden Age
Of recorded histories.
Take me into the unknown world
Of the mystical sage,
As invisibly wise as anything unveiled
In the Primordial Age.
We claim to have proven knowledge when we speak
Of empirical evidence,
Although intangible revelations lay hidden to astound
Without established precedence.
Imagine the number of drops that make up the waters
Of vast oceans,
Consider the arcane ingredients that make up the essence
Of alchemical potions.
Unleash the worlds that thrive within the fantasy
Of our imaginations,
Unveil the suns and moons that adorn the night sky
Of our lifetime peregrinations.
Soothe the emotions that afflict our lives
Of grief and sorrows,
Replenish the emptiness of our days waiting
For endless tomorrows.
Collateral mysteries will lead us by the hand
Into future surprises,
The day will greet us with the courage to dare
With its faithful sunrises.
At night, we lay down to sleep with implicit trust
Without undue hastening,
In the morning, we welcome the first breath of dawn
Upon our awakening.
Collateral mysteries may not be so collateral after all:
They strike the heart of existence and hold us in their thrall.