Long The bomb Poems
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The world was silent as they died
The victims of a genocide
Armenian blood considered cheap
Dehumanized, their wounds cut deep
Starvation in a desert land
A naked, bleeding, hopeless band
The relocation just a ruse
A Death March of rampant abuse
Few decades later, Hitler said,
“Forgotten are Armenian dead.
Perhaps I too can do the same,
for who remembers them by name?
I’ll kill the Jews, yes, every one!
The world can’t stop me till I’m done!”
Another genocide took place
For Jews, no favor, mercy, grace.
These horrors haunt humanity
But who can stop insanity?
Now Jews are on the killing side
They claim it’s not a genocide
Poor Gaza has no wailing wall
the bomb blasts made the strongest fall,
and wailing’s heard on ravaged streets
where children lie in bloodied sheets
From rubble rises stifled cries
a mother dies with open eyes
her arms still clutching baby tight
while blasts light up the Gazan night.
A father faints beside the grave
of children whom he could not save
And those who manage to survive
Must fight for food to stay alive
Though Israel forgot its past,
the truth of what they’ve done will last.
The word they use? Retaliate!
The proper word? Annihilate!
Get rid of every single one
The work of vengeance must be done
A freedom fighter? Terrorist?
The slaughtered ones can’t answer this.
Instead of useless rhetoric
Protect the dying, wounded, sick
Wake up and stop this savagery
Please do it for humanity!
No matter what my choice of word,
I grieve for those who died, unheard
I groan with shame for what I see
The death of human dignity
To you who did not raise you voice,
Who claimed you really had no choice,
one day the genocide will be
of loved ones in your family
Before you go down to the grave
Cry out for someone’s help to save
But silence will reverberate
For lesson learned was learned too late
When your life bleeds out on the ground
The world will watch without a sound.
Eileen Manassian Ghali
Hiding Under My 3rd Grade Desk
David J Walker
Mrs. Pollards smile
Was enough to reassure every member
Of her third-grade class
That their world was secure
As the crass voice in the
Crackling PA speaker announced
An End of the World Drill in the
Middle of the day
Usually, a call to quietly line up
And make an orderly march to
The hallway where we would
Stay crouched in a fetal position
Until the voice returned to sound
The all-clear
But this time was different
This time it was
Duck & Cover under your desk
Was the end really that near?
Were the bombs about to fall
On Thatcher Elementary in
Pueblo, Colorado?
Did the commies hate us so much
They would rain down missiles
On our playground?
Not today!
Not when It was my turn
To pick sides for Kickball
A girl named Diane with blonde curls
Beside me talk about a sack lunch
And tetherball
And a game of Jax if the
Hopscotch courts were full
Would the bombs blast the whole
Building away
Leaving us huddled under our desks
Before recess?
Would we walk home among craters
Created by Commie planes coming
Over the artic just to find us while
Reciting the rhythm
Of the Times table
The Social Studies lesson was
About the Pilgrims and how we
Should be thankful for freedom
In science we were learning
About the moon and how soon
Someday we would get there
If they drop the bomb could we
Still watch cartoons at 4 in the afternoon
Would there be anything left of the
Playground at Mineral Palace Park
And what about the swans that
Make their home on the park lake
How long are we supposed to
Stay under these desks I whispered
To Mark
I don’t know he said
As Mrs. Pollard shushed us
As we hid and waited for
The all-clear
In the middle of the woods I sit
Becoming lost
The world for me no longer a hit
Pure Peace at no cost
Watching the gentle water flow
Completely still
I am happily hiding from the everyday show
On cool, quiet hill
A smile of soft joy creeps up on me
With Happy Thoughts of You
A familiar white dove peeps in the form of She
Totally alleviating my sudden feelings of blue
'It's Alright, My Dear Son
Mom Will AllWays Be Here
Put Your Right Hand To Your Heart
And I Will Heal You With The Warmth Of My Love
You Will Never Have To Worry
You Will Never Have To Be Afraid
For I Will ForEver Love You Till The Pain Goes Completely Away'
My tears now flow as the familiar white dove waves goodbye
I wave back with a now normal sadness as she flies back into the skies so high
Reality returns but the smile of soft joy does remain
I turn to slowly walk back towards reality....calmer and much more sane
Thank you, oh familiar white dove, for once again diffusing the bomb
Sweet Memories In Pink And Green Files Will AllWays Sweetly Saturate This Special Day......HAPPY MOTHER'S DAY, DEAR SWEET MOM.....
Flim flam artists con like hackers
From the digital underworld
Scammers. Modern Thieves
Taking advantage of not just
Little ol’ ladies, but Me!
And the vulnerable gullible glue
That holds our species together
Shame on you! I cast you, you know who you are
who entertain time with waste
With the spoils of others
Internet Idiocracy is not a democracy
You, gangsters of greed
With the shameless need
To make others bleed
For your sins
I'm a $1,000 in the hole, you poor soul
I cast you
Into a special spot, the Deepest Hole
In Hell
That only one spell can break
You free
Give up your riches
Give up your chaotic chores
Give in to Jesus
He is the only Door
For any redemption
You fools!
Not tHe ENd
Am I whacked out, or what?
To actually believe
And actually, have high hopes
That someday human beings
Will just FOCUS their attention
And unite under one Earth flag
To hold up high with human half-baked intentions
Even with a modicum of enlightenment
Accomplish the Unimaginable end
Peace it all together and
Free the human spirit not by the Bomb
But by giving, each person their voice
Acknowledge the uniqueness that spawns genius
Education is everything. Never stop learning ...
Be allowed to express, even darklike King’s
Freed to believe, to hope, even grope or cling
For a better future for our grandchildren
Will it be a legacy of Liberty, or loss?
Am I a whacked out global goliath?
Or what!?
Child of God
Damn right I stand up
With my brothers and sisters
Against oppression, tyranny
And fatalistic foes
Hand in hand, with the sWORD of Christ
His piece ploys me to reveal
Something whacky
So, come join me at the outer edges of the Greens
Where dandelions and roses grow
Side by side, row by row
Stitching the seams of the Universe together
Come gets some whacky Taffy while it lasts
Off to the whacked-out Lands for Peace
Keep on sippin’ some poetrysoup
Where my whacky wisdom
Is the latest scoop
If not mine, then yours, you nincompoop
Let's get whacky in a Whackyland!
Let’s gets soupy in a poetrysoup land!
Let’s be friendly in a Friendland!
So, Keep on Sharing!
even if it’s a little whacky ...
SELF PORTRAIT
(Apropos Of An Ebon Flashback)
I’m a dark-hued poetic mind,
Writing mine;
Often inking seemingly empty words
Bled from pregnant
Thoughts:-
But even these I want to share;
Sharing is caring:
About love;
About peace;
About freedom;
About unborn babes;
About the bomb;
And about lumbering shadows of life
Silhouetting hungry death:
YES...
I’m a dark-hued poetic mind,
Writing mine;
A cranial reservoir dripping
Spear-tipped words
Dripping long cognitive flows
Conjuring
Cosmic
Consciousness
Defying the cryptic void of silence:-
Me you come in the dark hour of pain
When howling winds of strife
Threaten your own dear life
And your myriad tears fall as endless rain
To Me you come
You come with the promises of love renewed
Sacrifices of things held dear
Longing to quiet down the fear
And have the vicious storm again subdued
To Me you come.
In the bitter darkness you grope for Me
“Father, answer Thou my prayer,
Now I need Your gentle care.
Your obedient servant I swear to be.”
To Me you come
I then enfold you in your time of need
Wanting so your love to last
I erase your hurtful past
Your fainting soul with my strong love I feed
When to Me you come.
Then along your way comes the joyful hour
Everything to your lips is sweet
And you forget your Lord to greet
You go on in life full of your own power
Not wanting to Me to come.
If you could know how great is my sorrow
To be ignored and forgot
And no longer loved or sought
But I will still wait for you tomorrow
Hoping once more to Me you’ll come.
Eileen Manassian Ghali
Published in Youth of the Hour Magazine, a publication for Seventh-day Adventist youth in the Middle East, April-June 1997, along with the article by same title written by the author. No corrections made.
Jeremiah 2: 23- Will a young woman forget her wedding ornaments, or a bride her attire? But my people have forgotten me days without number.
We tend to come to God when we are in desperate need. We don’t come just to revel in Who He is. So many years have passed since I wrote that article about how I was afraid of losing my little daughter to an illness and how I begged for healing, only to forget Him when she got better. We never seem to learn. Some of our most fervent prayers were prayed in the bomb shelters during the civil war in Lebanon. We come to God with shopping lists, requests, rarely….rarely with words of adoration and praise simply because of WHO HE IS! The saying goes…”There are no atheists in foxholes”…..
I just write. Sure, I have pieces in several books just scattered all around. Probably have written over 999 Poems by now. Still, My accolades are hard for me to gather and jot down. Let alone celebrate any milestone of accomplishment that I won’t remember when you ask what I have been up to anyhow. Imposter syndrome is the persistent inability to believe that one's success is deserved or has been legitimately achieved… I almost thought they were defining me when I came across that word on Webster MD. I’ve never felt worthy of anything, not even things I worked at relentlessly, exhaustedly, tirelessly with every piece of me out of breath until the end result was perfection nothing less than, and still, I couldn’t see why anyone would want to fall in love with me. I wished and prayed but that imposter pushed any hope for love away, reiterating the false dialogue I kept on repeat day to day. It’s strange because I believe it's only when my spirit is in a weakened state. Even so, this cloud of doubt will dissipate the more I follow and he leads the way. Clearing my vision and the swindlers at play, who are working hard to keep me alone and afraid. I don’t claim that phenomenon and this inability to see what I have achieved, these ungodly feelings are something I now recognize as old patterned thinking. I was supposed to be this statistic, a druggie, crazy, out of my mind; ballistic. Someone kept me cloaked. Someone helped me miss it, the bomb society unintentionally attached to me because of the producers of my Limbic system. Reminded I’m not a stranger in my skin, I am just now learning how to settle in. Sometimes fraudsters sneak false thoughts but I don’t ride their beliefs as my own because today, they are not me. Now, I rely on the outcome of my actions as my “ imposter me not”, insurance policy.
11/12/22
Abused and forgotten
What exactly do me and you have in common?
Too often
Stampeding my way through problems
It continued to grow or grew rotten
No regard or dangerous and given due caution
If no choice is ever made than you'll lose options
Still to this day many wonder who offed him
Not a single clue brought in
On a daily basis I struggle in real life
It still feels like
Something doesn't feel right
Far from what you see, it was not always real nice
I was lead astray
But soon realized that everyday
I had to fight for a better way
Or else it all would never change
Evil came in more ways than I could count
Yet I took the route
Of having a hand in their end by a good amount
Nearly endless things they wrote a book about
Regardless if many would doubt
For myself I always had to look out
To a good or bad place these tracks are leading
The fact being
Once again I drank way too much last evening
Regarding life what is the exact meaning?
What a continual crisis
At first I didn't mind this
But now too many remain spineless
I could never change it through silence
Sometimes it took violence
In order to prove the point had to emphasis it
A lot of times
People lost their lives
Mass hysteria, the area went to ruins
It's an example of the bad in humans
Sad how much damage the bomb dealt
I thought else
But these actions did not help
Now I know how my mom felt
They say nobody deserves to suffer
At times my actions disturbed others
And hurt my mother
Even though I never once was a bird hunter
Regardless of it seeming sensible
Wasn't intentional
I'm just an addict to all these chemicals
Many of which easily available and plentiful
Since way back and still now too much crap is put on a pedestal
I don't need proof to be credible
This is my story about Menudo, and not the boy band Menudo
Mexican Menudo soup, known as the breakfast of champions
It’s what borracho’s, and Ricky Martin and all el mundo saludo
Chili mix, cilantro and lemon or lime, oregano, served in ramekins
A hearty feel good spicy tripe soup, honeycombed and hominy
Intestines of a cow, the stomach lining, an endearing word pancita
Who says culinary is always flattering, for it is part of the anatomy
Soup a Mexican woman slaves over, we’re grateful kind senorita
If you grew up with it, whether an acquired taste—it’s the bomb
The atmosphere is what you look forward to on every Sunday
With your familia, and then occasionally Ce Ce’s “friend” Tom
Most of the family erm, drink excessively all night long and stay
Menudo has healing powers, cures hangovers and homesickness
Save lemon for Tecate, after this concoction you won’t regret
Beliefs ring true, this broth is good for you, good for any illness
True, your uncles and older cousins will be dripping in sweat,
It’s spicy blends of seasoning flows through the blood stream,
And that’s why it is topped off with a bottle of chilled Corona
While discussing last night’s behavior, debating it was a dream
Teasing the little ones, and embarrassing they’re sister Mona
Extra lime, and beer for cooling down, served up in ramekins
Menudo, it’s the soup they call the breakfast of champions
Hangovers have come and gone, and we tend to eat less meat
My favorite recipe substitute’s tripe for Oyster Mushrooms
Tasty Menudo I made in many vegan styles, no one can beat
Chopped for texture and spiced up, the unique flavors of legumes
Successful accomplished and asombroso, serve in a bowl and heat
The perception
I was two years old sat in the bomb shelter in the basement of an old school
when I became aware of myself.
I looked at my hands, knowing what I did now I would remember the rest of my life.
Above us, English bombers circled they were trying to find the airport,
which was occupied by the German army,
The bombers did not find the airport but dropped bombs anyway before returning home
hit a school, a fish factory and some houses.
I looked at my hands again I had a will could use in my struggle
in the world of adults, the liberty of my thought made me feel jubilant
but also, a bit frightening because from this moment I was responsible
for my action.
What I fear is old age is it going to rob me of awareness
of what I´m and what I was.