Bosnia Poems - Poems about Bosnia

LORD, I humbly greet Thee who got me up, gifted me another DAY God in THREE PERSONS: Father, Son, Spirit, I love Thee as YOU first loved me I have a prayer list, and "O" countries, for YOU alone are source & HEALER Yet, "adoration" is the FIRST STEP (one way to PRAY) using "A-C-T-S" The letters, not the...

Continue reading...

CHRISTMAS IN BOSNIA-HERZAGOVINA 1994 Another Christmas brought them to more winter night they' ve made themselves, forgetting what is right, and they can see their children cry but not a one will reason why, nor think upon enough to see the light. There's no repent for killing, as it's done, and no resistance to it going on, just hate on hate that only...

Continue reading...

NIGHTS IN BOSNIA-HERZOGOVINA - 1995 We love you death, and welcome all you're not; no love, no hate, no failing and no gain, no fighting for the things we haven't got nor wondering about our latest pain. Your mercy is a thing we'd surely bless anticipating you, our only friend, who brings conclusion to all wretchedness the only one who knows us in...

Continue reading...

BOMBERS AND BUTCHERS Don't worry little girl, you need not cry, we know your tears, and feel them every one and all too well, though many more will die, you will go home again, it is not gone, but merely re-arranged, or burned at most, your place called home still thrives for you one day to dream and build again, a fence,...

Continue reading...

BOSNIA NIGHTMARE. Hillary From the West There were girls and boys hopeful and throwing her flowers as Hillary from the west walked from the airplane she had just arrived in with the peace plan her husband had just signed. Children threw her their flowers and Sojia, smiling and alive in her eyes with hope for the peace. Bosnia was now at peace in their hearts and eyes and flowers were their...

Continue reading...

On quiet Sundays between the revolutions, After the bombing and before the morning, The soul returns in tired, injured steps to help my grandpa pick mushrooms in the forest. When dirty victims go back into their drawers, for reasons only politicians know, I see the kitchen where my mom was panicked The stew's too bland - no salt or bread at all. When...

Continue reading...