Long Silenced Poems
Long Silenced Poems. Below are the most popular long Silenced by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Silenced poems by poem length and keyword.
“If only it were all so simple! If only there were evil people somewhere insidiously committing evil deeds, and it were necessary only to separate them from the rest of us and destroy them. But the line dividing good and evil cuts through the heart of every human being. And who is willing to destroy a piece of his own heart?”
? Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn, The Gulag Archipelago 1918–1956
In Our Hearts and Prayers
How do we discern the truth of world affairs?
A raging war that take lives and impedes;
Truth lies on the lips of those in our hearts and prayers.
We seek to be supportive and show that we care,
From the tyranny that has been decreed.
How do we discern the truth of world affairs?
From a far, with out-stretched arms, your grief we share;
War, a tragic means to an end, we all agree.
Truth lies on the lips of those in our hearts and prayers.
Innocent lives whose faces are stained with tears;
From the mighty arm of power, propelled by corruption and greed.
How do we discern the truth of world affairs?
What will become of the worlds future heirs?
At any cost the powerful will succeed.
Truth lies on the lips of those in our hearts and prayers.
The visuals of war are hard to bear;
Will there ever be peace for humankind to be freed?
Truth lies on the silenced lips of those in our hearts and prayers;
How do we discern the truth of world affairs?
This is the flag that shall never fall,
a flag woven with stars...blue as the widest ocean,
and red as the blood sustaining my heartbeat evermore;
empires rise and fall, this one will endure furthermore,
and under the watchful eyes of the Almighty,
I foresee a renewed prosperity, not calamity!
They tried to tear it down and strip it of all its glory,
the mighty towers crumbled down and turned into toxic dust,
and still that flag was raised on the piles of debris
by the brazen firefighters of the greatest city;
and while this city breathed death everywhere...imagining the worst,
the Good Samatarians pulled many out of the infernal ruins!
Be proud, Americans for your bravery is long remembered,
and you, hard-working folks, who came from other countries to lead a better life,
loyalty and fortitude are the virtues to fight the dismayed and arrogant enemy;
all join in to sing liberty's anthem...God, our Lord, is listening!
Be assured that your flag shall never fall, hold it up with all your audacity;
and nobody can ever take it down or defile it by burning it with fire!
Wave, O brave Americans, the flag that shall never fall,
I am the foreigner who has praised its peaceful quest from the very beginning,
and will for endless ages through my poetic voice, which will never be silenced or die!
Let me sing with you, O fellow Americans, and share your fervent pride;
I will pray for those blessings that are a joy to be received,
so that your country remains safe and your flag shall never fall!
My poem is dedicated to the victims and survivors of the September 11 attack on America
Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci
O, Little Root of a Dream
by Paul Celan
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
O, little root of a dream
you enmire me here;
I’m undermined by blood?
made invisible,
death's possession.
Touch the curve of my face,
that there may yet be an earthly language of ardor,
that someone else’s eyes
may somehow still see me,
though I’m blind,
here where you
deny me voice.
Paul Celan (1920-1970) was a Romanian Jew who wrote poems in German. He survived the Holocaust, despite the loss of his mother and father, to become one of the major German-language poets of the post–World War II era. His parents' deaths and the horrors of the Holocaust have been called the "defining forces" in Celan's poetry.
Keywords/Tags: Paul Celan, Holocaust poems, Holocaust poetry, Shoah, German, translation, root, dream, blood, death, face, eyes, blind, sight, seeing, vision, words, voice, voiceless, silent, silenced, ardor, love, passion, desire, Germany, abandoned, race, racism, antisemitism, injustice, brutality, genocide, ethnic cleansing, World War II, world conflicts
Making house calls for syphilis the disease not the woman keeping wives from finding out the nature of her husband mob wives really supports their husbands hiding out hiring mafia doctors to create fake death certificates when the time comes he has to act fast before all the wiseguys he killed began to surface all the dead bodies began to smell many times the dead bodies are of women who actually seen heard or knew to much they must be silenced the reason for the car bomb blast that crushed my skull Retep was furious when I contacted the fbi about break ins my poetry being ripped my mental health journal on my night stand I’d written about arson murder of nine Ciro Gargano and my ex husbands together torched a building resulting in 9 deaths for years I spent in therapy afraid of my shadow being abused by my ex husbands to silence me finally the fbi had Peter tied to the drug monies at Ma house because Peter trusted his lover Ethel Gray to take the stash whose husband went straight to the fbi sending Peter into hiding while receiving from cancer treatment imagine that meanwhile his brother Ciro Gargano waiting for retep to die so the mafia doctors could pronounce the death and allow Ciro to actually become Peter after death these two we’re treacherous threatening my life following me to my heart doctors offering them monies to give me the wrong shot or worse this failed because I’m still here with great doctors in my life over 30 plus years now I’m truly blessed my prayers are with the Gargano family they are empty killers and their are victims decomposing waiting to be found Ciro retep Gargano signs their death certificates with his Mafia doctors welcome to the empty memorial gardens fort Myers Florida the only real grave is Ma her husband Lil Pete and Peters daughter Lisa their sister Marie they killed her for marrying a Detroit mobster oh well better go gotta send flowers again
Marred and minced remnants pile high in a storm’s swarm
Yesterdays, hardened-soft, surface where sea’s warm…
Flotsam found, lays tales around, in frayed traces
Another shattered shell whimpers of graces
vying with the sea-swept sands: gloss embossed fades…
Ocean’s dead! These are castaways of Hades,
rid of depth, stranded upon the dry shallow
Interred where the sun bleaches out the shadows
till whitened ivory fills cavern’s echo:
enmeshed lime, crunching upon errors callow
Jazz died - June’s sun sank into august abyss…
Undertow currents ceased their torments of bliss
Nipped life, silenced like frothing foam vacuum-sealed,
kept smothered in an opaque ocean congealed…
Yard junked, Neptune’s home’s now a derelict mess
and yet he clings to the crap amassed, crownless
Right always, up to the end --------- that no return.
Death will erase the un-sunk bones when they burn
(10/3/2019: '90 Sea Ray DA 350; Discovery Park; ‘my favorite junkyard’)
The wounds and petals of our coupled game that went awesome
Till the other day, have now got reduced to the stilled eyelashes,
A gray and black cold story of collected leaves and flowers, there
In the oval frame, still longing for larks and roses from a sunrise
Dwelling in my empty cage with barren sounds of insipid life
In vain I look out at the tree unfolding in the radiant red hue
Expecting your gentle footsteps made of lovely rain and sun
Standing at the window sill for hours still no birds nor clouds
Purple struggle in our blood sweat and tears we shared aplenty
All those tales of amber hours now a vacuum in the steel frame
Still your gray eyes rich in river stares at my anemic movement
Looking at the silenced laughter I live in an all day long dream
With our eye-light we have seen each other in the outside world
Now in moonlight I will feel you inside me with the inward vision
_______________________________________________________________
10/02/2017
That Blessed Day
When the shuddering echo,
Of battle-cries vanish forever,
Under the victorious cheers
Of universal brotherhood,
When the cold murderous cannons,
Will be silenced by love,
And in their barrels singing birds
Build their nests,
When the cruel wounds,
Mercilessly inflicted by barbaric wars,
Be healed once and for all
By human compassion,
When the medals of honor,
Of today’s heroes,
Monuments of shame in the eyes,
Of the world appear,
When hatred and its siblings,
Are expelled from our kind hearts,
Thrown thus into the Tartarus
Of human condemnation,
When racial discriminations,
That divided us are obliterated,
By the sublime understanding,
Of our enlightened minds,
When upon the ravaged face
Of our long-suffered planet,
A place is found for each one of us
To live happily free,
That blessed day
Will be the first,
Among the endless number of days,
OF PEACE ON EARTH!
© Demetrios Trifiatis
27 February 1984
Down the desolation of a dead-end street,
Lost love's whisper, a heartbeat's retreat.
Echoes of laughter, now silenced and cold,
The tale of a journey, a story untold.
Gone are the riches, the glittering gold,
Faded dreams in a tale that unfolds.
Job's embrace, a fleeting affair,
Friends once near, now distant air.
In shadows of despair, I tread the way,
Searching for light in the muted gray.
The weight of loss, a burden to bear,
On this lonely path of deep despair.
But in the darkness, a flicker appears,
A distant light, through my silent tears.
A glimmer of hope on this desolate track,
A chance to rebuild what despair did lack.
The college kids were gathered around
Listening to the latest stereophonic sounds
Speakers booming their tunes and melodies
Beatles, Stones, Hendrix, Doors and Bee Gees
Sweet scent of cheap hemp filled the air
It was Friday night, nobody cared
'bout quizzes, tests, exams or papers
The night was young: time for drug-fueled capers
Where to go? What to do? Gotta move! Gotta be--
Where the action is! Where it's happenin,' man!
On the prowl for a quickie, for a one-night stand
At anonymous bars, dens of debauchery
They moved in packs of conformist thought
Jocks or thespians, wimps or nerds
Frat-boys or hippies -- bearded, hirsute, absurd --
Stoned or drunk, immorality they sought
When in walked a man who silenced that den
Five stripes on his sleeve, a steel slab for a chin
He stared hard at them; they shrank from him
A general's general, on loan from Vietnam
He smelled the cheap hemp and the two-bit beer
Muttered an imprecation: "I'm out of here."
Then he pointed at those trembling college pickins:
"You're as weak as kittens, as yellow as chickens ...
If you want to grow up; if real men you'd like to be
~ Come fight for your country in the jungles of 'Nam with me."
My friend and I were nineteen.
We decided to do a frenzied chicken dance
In the park, to see what would happen.
People ran out and joined us.
First it was an old lady. She was probably forty.
Then it was a toddler with her mommy.
We were hopping and spinning, dancing.
Pretty soon there were eight of us.
The only one I knew was my friend,
Yet there was a connection on this beautiful fall day.
I felt like we were all supposed to be here,
At this time, on this day.
Forty-eight years later I look back and smile.
Remembering how much fun we had.
We were kind of an untrained flash mob.
People started standing around watching, smiling.
By noon Channel 7 news was here, filming us.
I began clucking until my girlfriend gave me a sharp look.
She silenced that in about two seconds.
Food trucks would have arrived but we did not have them yet.
A S.W.A.T. Team would have been called in
Except S.W.A.T. was not invented yet in 1971.
Someone called the sheriff and he came down to see it.
Pretty soon he and his wife were dancing with us.