Siege of the Golden Door
I heard their shouting as I slept,
The evil dead, straining at the gates of Hell.
With the spirits’ seven pens of light,
They maraud all from behind the golden door.
A warning: I must arm myself with lore,
To learn the way to shut that door
Before they come.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
wire gauze tremors~
pointed spinnerets pivot,
dew traps dawn’s first light
A fixture of grief,
anchored where memory splits.
The quest unfolds in fog—
no path, just pulses
of unease mimicking direction.
Every thought incurs penalty.
Fear taxes breath.
Dread rewrites the map
before the journey begins.
An unseen impact
knocks the axis off center—
consciousness spirals,
fractured, repeating.
Focus becomes a casualty.
There are voices,
but they speak only in sanctions.
No comment.
No deviation.
No witness.
Even breath becomes strategic—
withheld, rationed,
used to mask retreat.
I speak in silence now.
Each word I don't say
becomes another wound
I have to learn to live around.
God never late
It takes four days
Peace shines at last.
Behold the coming of the infidel
with his tanks and brigades in battledress,
where once barbarians on horseback fell
new destroyers hide new sin unconfessed.
Now Serb boots march where invaders have trod
on Muslim Srebrenica in blood thirst,
but where, O tell, is their merciful God
when the lords of genocide do their worst?
Will mortar shells discern installation
from infant flesh in the stone cobbled street?
Might enemy siege end in salvation
where ancient homeland and battlefield meet?
Or will more die in the cold snow and mud
when raised are partisan flags stained in blood?
Written: April 1993
clutter invades my home, closes in, burying me alive.
Today I'm learning the name
of war refugee camps,
in Congo, Rwanda, Palestine, Lebanon,
Turkey, Syria, Yemen, you name it,
and the children who play hide and seek
in charred automobiles, shivering in cold
and starvation behind the barb wires, thanking
the good Samaritans clothed in peace.
Today I'm signing Lennon's Imagine,
imagining those children swapping their places
even for a day, with your rich suburb kids
whose fathers profit from arms, to see them
recruited as child soldiers, putting their war game skills
to good use.
Today I'm laying siege to warmongers and their kins
who love peace and practice war, the true artisans of
hypocrisy.
Acoustic shadows haunted hills
and crawled within a sleepless cave
where peace was whispered in a wish
and silence was an endless prayer.
The sound of tears dripped in the wind
that carried din until it bled
the last of life from hungry lips,
the last of love from hopeless hearts...
Kaboom! goes Kabul
Kabul!
Oh! It Kabooms
The Taliban's rule
SEIGE
Rifle fire. Breaking glass. The hotel screams.
Heart thumping against my ribs and chest,
I note the shooting direction.
Cops taught me that, last time.
Or was it the one before?
I’m up to number four.
My best friend , ashen- faced, rushes towards
the main entrance . No, wait, Danny, wait!
But he flees, risking a fusillade of bullets.
I take a chance on the side door. Rip off my red Tee Shirt.
Bright colours attract attention. Scale a wall, that was close.
Blood drips from my hand.
Superficial scratch, not worth a mention.
Running barefoot, I zig-zag, along the beach.
It’s dense with smoke. Zing of gunfire, acrid
air. I gasp for breath.
A rat on the run, I grab likely shelter, a drain.
Shouts, shots, boots running past.
It’s cramped , damp and mouldy.
One hour? Two? Who knew.
The stutter of gunfire and sirens fade
into the slosh of waves, the cry of a gull.
Trembling, I slither to the entrance.
Fumble for the phone. Dial my best buddy.
Danny doesn’t pick up.
Crest fallen try to make best of something
Left lost for US no life of hope returned
All like dopes obeyed the sudden shifting
Alarmed adrift while pointless parody remained
Wracked with joyless laughing nature cries
Arrested skies attest how man abstained
Under cycle siege a reign of mixed belief
Advancing chaos judgement failing all disdained
The world is held hostage
Not by terror nor by gun.
But by a tiny microscopic being,
Spreading its tentacle like wild fire,
All over the surface of the globe.
The world is held hostage,
And the mighty man's heart melt like an ice,
Rummaging through his repertoire of knowledge,
Searching frantically for a potent weapon,
To contain the ravaging enemy,
Who knows no noble nor novice.
The world is held hostage,
And Africa seems to thrive on.
But for how long,
Shall we sit on this time bomb?
For how long,
Shall our tete-a-tete with COVID-19 end?
(Reflection March 2020)
Though the air tastes like the chance of defying,
we are about to unrun the siege against the coming havoc tonight
for we already embrace its touch and learned to accept the inevitable.
The light is still scratching at the windows begging us to let it in at last,
but my soul was bonded: engraved into your shadow,
dreaming about the firmament of stars; an era of freedom
- long before we became the prisoners of our own sun.
Life is getting sadder by the day.
In our tiny town,
winter has devoured summer
suddenly and swiftly
as the wolf devours the sheep.
A fresh killed rabbit leaves
a trail of warm blood
on the virgin snow.
People worn down like stone'
numbed like broken branches.
The puny warmth yearned for
kindles consistent chills.
A tyrant has taken
over our town.
Will anyone remember us
or even care when this
ceaseless weather has covered
forever this once euphoric town?
Chameleon eyes of fear pinned beneath her writer's face
is it Sophie's one demise when she writes and doesn't blink
As the fertile seed of doubt arrives like pepper scented mace
fear is the only slinking cat alive beneath her scented ink
January 2, 2019
Fear is a slinking cat I find beneath the lilacs of my mind." - Sophie Tunnell
Sub Categories
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.