BOMB IRAN TO CRAP
SIR, WE HAVE MUNITIONS CAP
ATTACK WE MUST SCRAP
RUBIO AND VANCE
THE NEGOTIATION DANCE
YET NO PEACE ADVANCE
NEW DATE APRIL 6
LET’S TRY THIS ONE JUST FOR KICKS
TRUMP IS IN A FIX
They blow you up
To let you down
Make you feel love
When being clowned
Won’t be denied
They’ll draw you close
Promises of sky
And pots of gold
They’ll look so kind
And really they’re not
Playing with mind
Toying with heart
This may start fun
Won’t end well
Love bombing bum
Is really for sale
Whoever killed Our Jesus
Son Of God
Now has a killing machine.
Copyright © March 2020, Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved.
Hébert Logerie is the author of several collections of poems.
Death to all the angels,
Death in the crying sky.
The eyes of hungry babies probe us.
They plead with us in abject terror.
In ghettoized Gaza,
No mother and child will sleep,
Bombed as they weep,
They are the fish in a barrel.
This is collective punishment
Of all the guilty infants.
All the guilty Palestinians will be cleansed,
They will be purged in reprisal.
The racism of the entitled
Hides behind their religious texts,
Their sanctimonious gaslighting of war.
Death to all the angels,
Death in the crying sky.
(It's really hard to ignore the videos of the injured kids... It really is heart wrenching)
.
And then the night turned red
And screams were heard
of kids painted in blood
And a tiny hand waved
From beneath a wrecked home
Kids with names printed on their wrists
Crying for mothers in refuge camps,
Some bathed in blood on hospital beds
That too gets bombed
Now no water, no food, even the air is poison
Though once upon a time, it was a house
But got stolen in bright day light
My hearts cries for you, o' Palestine
~30th Oct, 2023
I’d like to sing to you a lullaby
To make all your troubles disappear
Tell you there is no need to cry
That you will never know hate or fear
But I must tell you about the boy in class
With a gun tucked in his backpack
And how life can be taken in a flash
And some mistakes can’t be taken back
I would like to tell you a Fairy Tale
Of how friendships made will never end
And true love will always prevail
A world where evil will never win
But I have a different story to tell
About the maniac with a bomb in his car
Planned his action far too well
And left the shopping mall a lifeless char
I would like to hold you in my arms
To place a kiss upon your brow
Tell you I will keep you safe from harm
And always be there for you somehow
But a different song of fate I must sing
Not “Hush Little Baby, Don’t say a Word”
‘Cause the world is filled with monstrous things
With boiling blood and hatred stirred
So sleep tonight under a peaceful sky
Let tomorrow bring what may
I can only promise you that I will try
To keep all the monsters away
Was it him?
No,
his brothers
tied grenades.
on dead black birds
heaved them high.
to fly, wings tied back,
up to a third story balcony.
Oklahoma City Bombing
25th anniversary
9:02
April 19, 1995
April 19, 2020
Written: By Tom Wright
I only hear the silence as I stride,
twixt granite chairs neatly set in rows.
The 168 chairs epitomize each life,
now neath a sea of grass that grows.
Today my psyche visits this place,
albeit, here, their Spirits do not rest.
However, a Monument and Reflection pool,
usher memories, as if at their behest.
Still I visualize a chain link fence,
with images, blossoms, pandas and such.
A transitory memorial that reaches out,
to asphyxiated lives, as if to touch.
For certain, I dare not challenge,
the eternal rest, of those who sleep.
But pausing at each chair, in silence,
I recall this day's events and weep.
I would to God, that casualties,
could discern today, my thoughts about.
Then from the quiescence of this place,
would emerge an angelic shout.
For I tire of silence.
In an old, crumbling town,
Everyone's been feeling down,
Children crying in despair,
Planes bombing in the air.
The war is intense, sad and deep,
But it has promises it yearns to keep,
Tormented with nightmares they never sleep,
Thus they can only sit and weep.
Soldiers defeated, arms chopped off,
Horses dying in the loft,
The dead child lay limp and soft,
It’s mourning mother holding him aloft.
A single lightbulb lit the room,
A hidden flower will never bloom,
Buildings on fire will never be saved,
The screams inside will forever be caved.
Don't weep, shed no more tears,
Remember us over the years,
Even though our lives did end,
I know this will happen again.
Manchester, Manchester please dont cry
How I wish, I could wipe your watery eyes
These images I see terrifies me
Mothers in mourning,fathers are broken
Manchester, Manchester please dont cry
Families are hurting
Cities in fear
Nations uprooting, religon dividing
Policitians deciding, the world waring
Manchester, Manchester keep the faith
These souls that were taken will surely fly
Heaven is awaiting
Manchester, Manchester hear these words
Angels are descending
The gates are opening
Manchester , Manchester we hear your cries
Your heart is shattered
Your faith is broken
Mercy surely will be knocking
The light is shaded
The darkness has come
Manchester , Manchester dont be saden
Jesus will be craddling
The dead are only sleeping.
Furiously clacking away
At a tiny keyboard,
One parent computer-sentry,
The other a full time zone away.
When I manage to sneak a second,
Looking at all the contests
I would never have a chance
To enter, I wonder:
What is a blitz?
And thus spawned a small ditty,
Albeit a quick one,
On life, death, and the keeping of memories.
Almost a month later did I receive my first and only accolade.
3-7-2017
https://www.poetrysoup.com/poem/keep_my_memories_869924
THE BOMBING OF DRESDEN
February 13, 1945
Pathfinders lit the night to show the way
for bombardiers too hungry for the word;
as Dresden's dark was made as light as day,
all hearts were stopped before the blasts were heard;
and as the din was heard by all their ears
the sound it made was not reality
but far removed from all the hopes and fears
and what they thought would never come to be.
They loved the Fuhrer--sin enough for all
to die the fiery death of sweet revenge
brought on by those who had enough of gall
to drop their loads in wartimes heated binge!
And when the fire consumed all that it could
the winter of their lives was understood.
A deluded and deranged miscreant.
Rode in a rented Ryder truck,
Sadistically opposed to his government,
He delivered a two-ton bomb.
After parking the fateful vehicle,
With time fleeting and fuses lit,
He fled to his car,
Parked, not far away.
Hearing the explosion, he made his escape,
With a gleam in his eye.
One hundred sixty-eight victims died,
Leaving countless loved ones behind.
April 19, 1995,
A date that lives in infamy.
The guilty one was caught that very day,
And eventually paid his life for the reprehensible deed.
The Oklahoma Ctiy National Memorial
Now graces the ground
Where the Alfred P. Murrah
Building once stood.
A lone American Elm tree
Survived the blast,
A symbol of resilience,
And the will of mankind.
Hopes of closure for the victim’s families
Followed the perpetrator’s death six years later.
But closure will not fill the empty chairs
Left in the footprint of the building.
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