Poetry competition CLOSED 9th January 2012 8:34pm
Grace (IDryad)
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The Long Reaching Twisted Arm of WWII

Fire of Insight
United States 4awards
Joined 1st Mar 2011
Forum Posts: 323

Poetry Contest

Write a poem of how World War 2 is still effecting lives (yours or others) to this day, in a direct or indirect fahsion.
No rules on form and previous writes are acceptable.

StephenPaul Summerscales
Dangerous Mind
United Kingdom 42awards
Joined 18th Dec 2009
Forum Posts: 1704

A Final Blink Of Indigo   (SP Summerscales)

Ancient clouds
crash together
as gone pilots
whistle their sounds
through the old stormy weather .
Ghosts of lancasters
from long ago
climb the heavens of indigo .
Old captains flew over towns
of burning church spires
cold and wrapped in leather gowns  
at the controls
of spitfires
Planes fell from the sky
a final blink
from a gunners eye
Buried in norwegian ice
stuck in a graveyard sky
rest in peace
good luck
goodbye .

Tyrant of Words
Joined 25th Aug 2011
Forum Posts: 16320

Lest we Forget

Silent shadows filing up the tropical mountains
Forced death march by the conquerer
God turned away from his children
Who fought and killed for dominance of His creations
In a land other than their own
Full blasts, angry greedy minds of puny leaders
To ground the meek, force the inhabitants
To bow to their mighty civilisation,
The proud  Flag of the Rising Sun flew
Flew over Borneo, over the Pinoys,
The Sulus, the kings of the seas
The sea dwellers, the seafarers
The tribal hill  warriors
The graceful plains people
The sky woke up to man-made lightnings
The ground shook with thunder
The innocent lost their loved ones
Lost their innocence
Hell's gate opened, Paradise lost,
Fruits of rape, pillage and plunder
Of mindless acts urged by lust
hate and anger
The Islanders know still
We will always remember.

Rachel O.
Dangerous Mind
United States 14awards
Joined 17th Nov 2011
Forum Posts: 1590

My Protector
I suffer day by day
Beaten and tortured
Food is rare and so am I
For nothing dwells upon my bones

Cold bitter weather forever blows
For there's no doors
No windows in the camp
No blankets and thin clothes

No shoes on my feet, they're hidden
Worn socks rest upon them
Nothing to warm my body
Nothing to warm my heart

I will die soon
For this foolish man wants
all to die for his own
His own human race

My father left me something
Before he went on with the soldiers
Jesus was inscribed in the shoes he gave
So that I will always walk with him

I traded them for protection
To keep hidden
For I have one more day
Before they come to get me

I plan to escape
With the help of my good friend
He is the one protecting me
For I have faith in him

Years have grown upon me now
I have survived and prospered
through the years
Still I have recurrences

Just wish I still had those shoes
For my heart still aches for my father
He taught me many things
For he was my life

I received a package today
Opening the box I noticed
an old pair of shoes
I looked to see if they were

They were
Except the inscription
It now said
Jesus still loves you

He was my best friend
He was the one protecting me
He helped me escape
For I still have faith in Him

Guardian of Shadows
Palestine 67awards
Joined 1st Apr 2011
Forum Posts: 14463


       And my eyes    
    clouded by tears    
 rested on the black plumes    
    The collective silence    
   deafening to hear    
  These stars are cross hairs    
    these stripes condemn    
    how long before it's I
 who has ridden on deaths train
  might shower with the reaper
   or feed those snarling dogs

Death Plane for Teddy
Tyrant of Words
Canada 32awards
Joined 4th Dec 2009
Forum Posts: 4409

       < reconnaissance >

  (some parts taken from WWII letters)

    your face
    the windows
    the pictures
    in the war i flew reconnaissance
    no weapons
    just watching
    and pictures
    taking pictures
    of trees and ammo dumps
    all those trees
    to bomb the ammo dumps
    we lived and died
    trying to find those ammo dumps
    and sometimes
    driving to work
    i see them
    hidden among the trees
    i call in their coordinates
    as my engine
    holds me up
    and then it's morning
    and breakfast
    and the empty chairs
    (i'm counting by names)
    and then i wake
    (and i'm still counting)
    there's always a window
    why do they put them there?
    unbroken by the bombs
    in need of breaking
    of making a sharp edge
    that speaks of blood
    while driving to work
    while seeing them
    trying to look away
    but there's always a window there
    always a window
    in need of breaking
          - - -

poet Anonymous

I Alone Survived
There is a clouded city, gone to rest
Just beyond the crest
Where battles took place.

A new day awakened for those lost at war
Countless souls lived and died ed
While they sent a thousand jets of flame.

With bombs in place
Fixed upon this space
To blow up the city
With no abiding grace.

Where there is palace homes, stately walls, open halls,
And lofty temples, rich and great
Await by the gate.

From the airplanes up high,
Looking down
Upon this city
They would burn to Hell.

The ruddy fire incessantly illumes
Temples and tombs
A blaze with bombs flying over
This God forsaken place.

No one that visited this fiery hive
Ever alive.
Came out but me I-alone survive.

StephenPaul Summerscales
Dangerous Mind
United Kingdom 42awards
Joined 18th Dec 2009
Forum Posts: 1704

A Cross And Book  

A final goodnight in the rain
an eternal waving
from a fading train .
A goodbye platform
one last kiss
the traces trail through the mist .
A fair well meeting
of eternal burning tears
a stairwell greeting
of yearning years
A thunderous growl
it climbed with might
on the ground the sirens screamed a howl
deafening the night
blinding tridents of death came down
a plane lost on radar
was never found .
Yet another life
was took
and the wife
got a cross
and a book .

Fire of Insight
United States 4awards
Joined 1st Mar 2011
Forum Posts: 323

truly amazing writes, I am floored

matthew bass
Fire of Insight
Honduras 7awards
Joined 22nd Nov 2010
Forum Posts: 334

I´m not entering this competition, but I am enjoying all the fine poetry.

Karam L. Parveen-Ashton
Tyrant of Words
United States 69awards
Joined 15th Sep 2011
Forum Posts: 2799

- The Wolf’s Howl -

The war was ending, whilst the shells of buildings burned,
As at least one of my ancestors, fled the Russian advance.
He was no criminal, just a man who for peace so yearned,
So unto America he came, whilst the dead did their dance.
He never spoke of the old country, but of it he was proud,
And longed to return, to claim the family inheritance of old.
One day he went back, and of his fate none spoke aloud…
But I like to think that if he perished, he faced death bold.
The old castle still lies silent, its’ secrets unknown to us yet,
And whatever inheritance was there, became lost to time…
But I hope in his final moments, my ancestor did not regret.
It is for him and his heritage, that I do compose this rhyme!

The wolf howls in the Black Forest, but it weeps mournful,
For the forgotten heroes who fell, because villains plotted!
In the years when a wall divided a nation, red and scornful,
Did anyone remember those battlefields where men rotted?
I hope they found rest in Valhalla, those who were worthy,
Like my ancestor, who likely fell at last into the foe’s hand!
His heritage meant his life to him, but death will oft hurry…
Taking the guise of the raven, that descends upon the land.
Did that raven, perch on Odin’s shoulder, in a heaven far?
Mayhap to the sound of Thor’s hammer, so like marching,
As it rises and falls like boots upon the cobbles that scar…
Broken with the land, as above the gods rise over-arching.

As the pride of a nation falls: to the madness of war’s fires,
What is good, and what is evil, when beasts prowl as men?
Time eases the wounds that once stung so for all survivors,
But some nightmares are remembered, long after their end.
I own an iron cross pendant, and I see no evil in its’ shape;
A badge of honor for the fallen, for the heroes who fought,
Many of who fought no more, nor could their ends escape.
Not all were evil, nor base, and this I keep in clear thought!
Such a simple thing, is a medal; and yet, it means so much,
That those who bore it on their breast bled for its’ meaning.
And what of they who lost their limbs and needed a crutch,
Or whose scars healed not, disfiguring and also demeaning!

The war is over, the wall was torn down, and time changes.
Red flags fall, and the buildings rise from the rubble of loss!
But the dead can never rise again, where the raven ranges…
War is so easy to begin; but so heavy, is the final paid cost.
I am grateful for the freedom we enjoy today, and I weep…
For those ashamed of their heritage, because of those few,
Those wolves who howled: where red shadows did creep.
Do people consider the future, when conflicts swift ensue?
The sacrifices of the many let we lucky few live peacefully,
In an age when the horrors of the past are made into films;
Watched for entertainment, as we live on so very blissfully.
But I do not forget the sacrifice, which utterly overwhelms!

Paulina Dionne
Fire of Insight
United Kingdom 7awards
Joined 9th Apr 2011
Forum Posts: 1141

Bravery and blood

Noble gentlemen, pay in bravery and blood
in a trance by propaganda, life misunderstood
your country needs you, come and save the day
don't let them take your freedom, the enemy must pay

your soul already sold, to play a game of war
blood stains and scars are nothing, pain is wanted more
be passionate as always, standing until the end
even when outnumbered , your free spirit's your friend

saying goodbye, is always hard a hard part
but only you can save yourself, and take it to the heart
so much suffering in this world, people wonder how
you can kiss your cross all you want, but god can't save you now

Fire of Insight
United States 20awards
Joined 21st June 2011
Forum Posts: 330

My thoughts on Anne Frank

To me, she is something more than a name
she is a name with a story, a faceless girl
life made her a martyr; death made her immortal.

children play in the soil where her corpse rotted
kicking dirty rocks on dead end streets
children as angry and disheveled as children were sixty years ago
they grow like weeds between the sidewalk slabs
despite, rather than because of, their care

Jews are packed into buses and trains
stepping on eachother and dead and dying
herded in death camps, death chambers, death
as naked and crowded as they came into this world

Anne is jammed into a place where babies die
she is a baby herself; I would have loved to smooth her hair
to hold her close, to tell her what I have learned in life, love
like I tell my own daughter
I imagine she was about my daughter's age
but that is not an option;
I can only stroke the page of the book
wipe away this errant tear.

she was one of six million
but she, unlike them, has a voice
she has a name, a soul
a part of her that did not die there
in that hell,
in that night
in that camp
part of her is immortal in this.

she sings and has a song
and until a time where there is no injustice
a time where no one will die because they have the wrong color hair
they pray to the wrong god
or they are the wrong race
her song will be heard
her womb was too young to bring forth life
so it brought forth something else instead
it brought forth our understanding of the price of hate.

Thought Provoker
United States 4awards
Joined 8th Apr 2011
Forum Posts: 165


We went with him to his synagogue once,
everyone peeling back their eyelids
at the newcomers.
The non-Jews.

I was young then, slightly atheist
slightly agnostic
slightly... open, but not willing to admit it.
I was scared, not the same scared I was
when different families
had brought me to different churches.
I sat silent then,
and now, when that was expected of me

I felt shaken.

We sat in the back.
He suggested it, I think.
Young boys about my age stepped up to the front
and started singing in Hebrew.
The world was so quiet.
My throat became itchy.
When they finished I had the impulse to clap
or even snap my fingers.
But no one did anything, so I just closed my eyes
for a little bit.

We left right after it ended.
There was one man with a beard
who thanked us for coming.
He was old and happy. I'd go back again
to further make his acquaintance.

I decided not to tell my grandparents
that we had done this.
I could already feel their disapproval.
It had to do with religion more than anything,
but I knew they would have been less harsh
if it were any other.

One night after he had babysat me,
we lit a candle.
He said he did this every week.
I don't remember why.

The day after that I thought
about when I had seen in movies
people visiting with those who had survived the holocaust.
Seeing how real torture and death was
through pixel eyes,
and his eyes too- the pain of his ancestors,
it hurt. It was so terrible.

I would often bring up with my father
how stupid the whole ordeal was.
How if enough people saw
all the obvious flaws
it could have stopped.
He always answered easily,
saying that if none of that happened
we wouldn't have made all the medical advances we had
because of all the testing they did on humans.

We both knew how wrong it was.
But I never had a reply when he said that.
I never said anything
like I was absolutely positive,
except that
so many people died.
Death was more inevitable than usual then.

I haven't seen George in a long time.
The sun still rises in the morning.

Tyrant of Words
Joined 25th Aug 2011
Forum Posts: 16320

Wow!I won omygod! Thank you...an honour indeed. I was in the running with great wordsmiths here. Humbled. Wow. *claps*

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