The words of a child
When we were small
my younger brother and I
had to stay with the Von Hörsten’s
during the day,
when my mother went to work
and we had to play outside
and was threatened
that we would get dresses
when we wanted
to come into the house,
but this staying
ended dramatically
in my sixth year.
One night my mother wanted to know
how it is going
with out daily visitation,
whereupon I told her
that every thing was well
and my brother said
that I eat my food very slowly.
I told her
that I do not like cabbage
and that we have to eat everything
or get a hiding
if something is left
on our plates.
My mother said that vegetables
are good and necessary to eat
and I accepted it like that,
but it wasn’t the end
of the story.
As a innocent child
my brother told this incident
to one of the Von Hörsten boys
who told it to his dad.
I played in the hillock above their house
when all of the Von Hörsten boys suddenly
came running out of the farmhouse
and went in all directions
calling for me,
but I could immediately see
that there was big trouble
from the way
that they were shouting and searching.
So I stayed were I was
and wondered about what was going on
and what terrible thing
I had done unknowing?
The much older and bigger boys
sneaked up that hill
and jumped on me
from behind
and grabbed me
and I was carried
right up to their dad.
Uncle Hendrik was a man
that didn’t take nonsense
from anyone
and wanted to know from me,
why I did not want to eat
his wife’s food
and why I am saying
that her food tastes awful?
So I said that it isn’t true
and he shouted
that I must stop lying
and jagged me closer
on my neck
with the hook of his walking stick
and hit me with it.
Stuttering I couldn’t get words
to explain
the circumstances
and then he shouted
talk man talk
and stop thinking
what to lie about
while he was still hitting me.
So I said
that I didn’t like cabbage
and got another hiding
and was said to be silent
or to talk the truth.
So I said that God is my witness
and that a day would come
that his words would also dry up
and be totally in confusion.
Like a dog I was chased away
with a footsack shouted at me
and fled away from
his walking stick
to our house.
The Von Hörsten’s called my mother
and told her about every thing
and she knew
from where my trouble came
and for a whole month
my brother had to eat cabbage,
because he talked
out of the house
and never again
we stayed over with the Von Hörsten’s.
l’Envoi
Many years later
when I was at University
I saw uncle Hendrik Von Hörsten
on the campus
and we greeted each other
and spoke normally
about the things happening in the country
and about our families,
but when he walked away
other students spoke to him
and the once known writer
spoke back in jabbering language
as if he didn’t know
what to say
and was totally confused.
It was said
that he had Alzheimer’s,
but until today I wonder
about the power
coming from
the words of a child.
[Reference: The word uncle used here out of respect and local custom and not to point out family relationship.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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Related quotes
When we were small children
When we were small children
about five and four
my dad had died
of cancer
and I and my brother
had to stay during the day
with the Von Hörsten’s
when my mother drove away to work.
Uncle Hendrik was a farmer,
but also with his brother Fritz
wrote story books
and his string of children
who was much older
and bigger than us
(four boys and two girls)
kept us busy
since boys had to stay out of the house.
So it went that we
rode horses unsaddled,
tread on silage
and the second oldest Gardiël
was always on our case,
had put us on donkeys
and the lot of them laughed
while the animals run moody
into rocks
and my brother fell
and got some bruises and cuts.
One day the cornfield
was cut stubble high
to get feed for the cattle
and the breeding bull Kittennel
(a black and malicious animal)
were chased into the crush-pen
and Gardiël forced us on that bull
before he chased it
with a horse
into the cornfield.
On the other side of the field
beyond the border wire
his brothers waved a red flag
up and down and up and down
and Kittennel snored though his nose,
in anger shook his body,
kicked up dust
before he got direction
capering
and storming with full force
at the red flag.
The stubbles flashed
past his feet
and looked like spears
standing upright
and we were afraid
of being pierced
and we rode Kittennel
and no bull
could throw us down that day.
[Reference: The word uncle used here out of respect and local custom and not to point out family relationship.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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Someone Once Told Me
Someone once told me
What an uncle did to
his nephew
Someone once told me
What the uncles brother
did to a young girl
Someone once told me
That their mother and sister
didn't care, because
they let them near the young
and the frail
Someone once told me
The guilty always get away
Someone once told me
They'll never pay
Now I'm telling someone
It's time to pay
Because justice is coming
and it's here to stay
poem by Dave Alan Walker
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About My Very Tortured Friend, Peter
he lives in a house with a swimming pool
and says the job is
killing him.
he is 27. I am 44. I can’t seem to
get rid of
him. his novels keep coming
back. “what do you expect me to do?” he screams
“go to New York and pump the hands of the
publishers?”
“no,” I tell him, “but quit your job, go into a
small room and do the
thing.”
“but I need ASSURANCE, I need something to
go by, some word, some sign!”
“some men did not think that way:
Van Gogh, Wagner—”
“oh hell, Van Gogh had a brother who gave him
paints whenever he
needed them!”
“look,” he said, “I’m over at this broad’s house today and
this guy walks in. a salesman. you know
how they talk. drove up in this new
car. talked about his vacation. said he went to
Frisco—saw Fidelio up there but forgot who
wrote it. now this guy is 54 years
old. so I told him: ‘Fidelio is Beethoven’s only
opera.’ and then I told
him: ‘you’re a jerk!’ ‘whatcha mean?’ he
asked. ‘I mean, you’re a jerk, you’re 54 years old and
you don’t know anything!’”
“what happened
then?”
“I walked out.”
“you mean you left him there with
her?”
“yes.”
“I can’t quit my job,” he said. “I always have trouble getting a
job. I walk in, they look at me, listen to me talk and
they think right away, ah ha! he’s too intelligent for
this job, he won’t stay
so there’s really no sense in hiring
him.
now, YOU walk into a place and you don’t have any trouble:
you look like an old wino, you look like a guy who needs a
job and they look at you and they think:
ah ha!: now here’s a guy who really needs work! if we hire
him he’ll stay a long time and work
HARD!”
“do any of those people,” he asks “know you are a
writer, that you write poetry?”
“no.”
“you never talk about
it. not even to
me! if I hadn’t seen you in that magazine I’d
have never known.”
“that’s right.”
“still, I’d like to tell these people that you are a
writer.”
“I’d still like to
tell them.”
“why?”
“well, they talk about you. they think you are just a
horseplayer and a drunk.”
“I am both of those.”
“well, they talk about you. you have odd ways. you travel alone.
I’m the only friend you
have.”
“yes.”
“they talk you down. I’d like to defend you. I’d like to tell
them you write
poetry.”
“leave it alone. I work here like they
do. we’re all the same.”
“well, I’d like to do it for myself then. I want them to know why
I travel with
you. I speak 7 languages, I know my music—”
“forget it.”
“all right, I’ll respect your
wishes. but there’s something else—”
“what?”
“I’ve been thinking about getting a
piano. but then I’ve been thinking about getting a
violin too but I can’t make up my
mind!”
“buy a piano.”
“you think
so?”
“yes.”
he walks away
thinking about
it.
I was thinking about it
too: I figure he can always come over with his
violin and more
sad music.
poem by Charles Bukowski
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Girl Talk
You see I had this brother who was mad at me
Cuz I told my home girl that he wasn't packin'
Told the truth so I really don't give a damn
That I spilled the beans on his little short stem man (oh)
Some of y'all be foolin' us
Big feet big hands just plain big
The sex ain't worth a damn
We women wanna know these things
If y'all got the bat but not the swang
Put in work
If you don't want the girl to talk
And you don't want your feelings hurt
Put in work
Cause if you don't
That girl's just gon' go spreadin' the word
Girls talkin' got ya all caught out there
Why you thinkin' that it's all about ya
Forget she told me everything about ya
But the girls are talkin'
The girls are talkin'
Girls talk about the booty too
About the way a brother is hangin' too
When you didn't think that nobody knew
You see the girls are talkin'
The girls are talkin'
Listen y'all need to know this
That we'll straight up go tell your business
So if you're gonna come you better come with it
If you ain't swingin' just put your tongue in it (oh)
Some of y'all be killin me
Thinkin' you got powers like Austin
But you're more like Mini-Me
And when you finally get your blood flowin'
It be lookin' like a pinky with a glove on it
Put in work
If you don't want the girl to talk
And you don't want your feelings hurt
Put in work
Cause if you don't
That girl's just gon' go spreadin' the word
Girls talkin' got ya all caught out there
Why you thinkin' that it's all about ya
Forget she told me everything about ya
But the girls are talkin'
The girls are talkin'
Girls talk about the booty too
About the way a brother is hangin' too
When you didn't think that nobody knew
You see the girls are talkin'
The girls are talkin'
What up papi
You think you got game?
(Well holla at me)
I know you're feelin' like my sexual tame
Can make ya happy
You'll remember me
Left Eye - TLC
You got to lick it before you stick it
And that's just me
I be killin' 'em with the Gucci fits and kicks
And you be hurtin' my ears with them lines so swift
You get a new approach
You're game's a joke
Co-signin' from the sidelines tryin' to poke
I'm bigger than that
You're small talk face the fact
You wanna rock the boat a little
Well earn your pass
And it's the last call for alcohol
Meet at the bar
Me and my girls doin' it big
We pop stars (yeah)
Girls talkin' got ya all caught out there
Why you thinkin' that it's all about ya
Forget she told me everything about ya
But the girls are talkin'
The girls are talkin'
Girls talk about the booty too
About the way a brother is hangin' too
When you didn't think that nobody knew
You see the girls are talkin'
The girls are talkin'
Girls talkin' got ya all caught out there
Why you thinkin' that it's all about ya
Forget she told me everything about ya
But the girls are talkin'
The girls are talkin'
Girls talk about the booty too
About the way a brother is hangin' too
When you didn't think that nobody knew
You see the girls are talkin'
The girls are talkin'
Girls talkin' got ya all caught out there
Why you thinkin' that it's all about ya
Forget she told me everything about ya
But the girls are talkin'
The girls are talkin'
Girls talk about the booty too
About the way a brother is hangin' too
When you didn't think that nobody knew
You see the girls are talkin'
The girls are talkin'
song performed by by TLC from 3d
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My Brother Bill
This is the sad true story about my brother Bill
who was four years older than me.
He was born and then tossed aside by his mother
who left him to his father’s parents to raise,
then promptly disappeared out of his life forever.
My grandparents brought him up
hoping his father would take care of him
when he returned from the war.
His father also my dad returned from the war
married with another son and didn’t want to know.
They gave him a nickname in private
so no one else would know.
In private, they always called him Dopey.
My sister and I were told
our grandparents had adopted him
and he was nothing to do with us.
When my dad’s parents died in 1958 and 59
plans were made to come back to England
where my mother’s parents were still alive
and leave Bill far behind.
Then as his mother had done eighteen years before
his father abandoned him as well.
For a while, he had to live on the streets
taking handout from where ever he could.
He was arrested for vagrancy and sent to jail.
Getting out he got himself a job and began to build a life.
He got married and started a family,
until one night he came home
and found his wife in bed with another man,
and a divorce followed and he was alone again.
Then after 25 years, his job vanished
and he had to find another.
One day in 2000, he got a telephone call
and did not know whether to believe it or not.
It was a call he never thought he would ever get,
a call from his younger brother - me.
As we talked on the phone, some truths came to pass
his brother and his sister did not know about him.
They were told he had been adopted
and were nothing to do with them.
However, I had found the truth,
which incensed my mother enough to disown me.
We met one another for the first time
after forty-two years in 2001 and again in 2002.
In 2003, this sad story ends,
in the March of that year
Bill succumbed to a heart attack.
His final words were a testament to his life.
No one loved me enough to care.
The sad truth is someone did
and that someone was me.
We never had enough time together,
circumstances kept us apart,
but he was my brother
and will remain in my heart.
2 November 2009
Authors Note:
The facts are as Bill told them to me. A sad refrain to a wonderful guy who was tainted by my parents as being bad and no good. If the truth were known he was probably better than the both of them. He was a guy who would give you the shirt of his back if you needed it. My brother Bill, may he now rest in peace.
DVH - 2009
poem by David Harris
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Breathlessley Speaking
I hit my brother and
My brother fell fainted and
His son got angry and
He hit me back and
I turned to hit him back and
Then mother-90 years, shouted and
She hit me for her turn and
Thus I got so many strokes and
It did'nt matter much but
Only made me feel sorry, for
Mother broke my only walking stick and
She screamed 'you're sixty and
your brother is seventy and
My grandson is forty and
I don't suppose a battlefield' and
Then my brother woke up and
Our fight started again and'I am Wellesley.
why I hit him 'cause
He has been calling me Breathlessley'.
poem by Indira Renganathan
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Dance! Shout!
You told me that you wanted somebody to talk to
You told me that you needed a friend
You told me that you wanted somebody to stay with you
Somebody to stick with you to the end
So let me introduce you to someone who knows you
He knew you before you got your name
Hes closer than a brother more than your father
And all youve got to do is call his name
Dance! shout!
Come on everybody lets turn his praises out
Dance! shout!
Come on everybody its all worked out
Its all so very simple! its all so very plain!
You dont need nobody to explain!
When you believe in your heart that jesus is lord
You will know for yourself that youve been born again!
When we get to glory we will tell the story
Of how we lived in this world below
My soul will look back and wonder
How I made it over
But when I see his face thats when I will know
song performed by by Wynonna Judd
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Forbidden friend
I met this guy thru my friend
it was my friend's big brother
My friend Bunny told me i should talk to himm
One day I decided to
WE had alot in common
he loves watching his niece and nephews
We both lost some one from a drunk driver
He got me comfortable around him
We would text from ninepm to 4 30 am
He comforted me
gave me good advice
he gave me a big brother (that i could talk to)
but stupidly i told my real brother bout him
I tried to call him one day
My brother hung up on him
I talked to him to tell him that my brother hung up
But stupidly i told himm my brother didnt want me to talk to him
and the forbidden friendship ended becouse he wanted to respect johns request
I want to thank you for everything
eventhough it only lasted a few days
but i feel like i got to know a lot
you taught me not to doubt or diss myself
and i'm not alone
so thank you
goodbye my
Forbidden friend
poem by Pain's FallinAngel
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Father Spoke in Code
Father spoke in code
Mother understood.
She would cry
once he went to bed.
I never understood the code.
My sister didn't either.
As we got older, we quit
asking Mother what he said.
A feral cat claimed our yard.
It would leap the fence
when anyone appeared.
Except, of course, Father.
When he came out to walk
around the garden after supper,
the cat would sit straight up,
then rub against his leg
and look at him as if it understood
what others never could.
My sister used to say
the two of us were proof
Father and Mother
got together twice.
I told her I wasn't so certain.
I looked a lot like Mr. Brompton,
the next-door neighbor.
He used to buy us sugar cones
from the ice cream truck.
My sister, by the way, didn't look
like anyone in the family either,
but that was 40 years ago
when I last saw her.
I went away to college
and she got married.
We were never close after that.
Not even Christmas cards.
Forty years is a long time.
Now, we plan to get together
for a weekend this summer
before one of us dies.
I suggested we wait
till one of us is terminal.
What's the rush, I said.
But my wife told her
I was only kidding,
that we'll be coming
and not to make a fuss.
Burgers and hot dogs
will do just fine.
I know what Sis and I
will talk about that weekend,
the two people we'll always
have in common, no matter
how many years and miles
may lie between us.
Father and Mother have been
dead for decades now
but they're still alive in us.
I talk in code, my wife says,
and my sister cries a lot,
now that her husband's dead.
The one thing I want to know
is if my sister knows
what happened to the cat.
It knew the code,
may have had some answers.
poem by Donal Mahoney
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An UnavoidAble Fate
My name is taylor
13 today horay
but from that dream
i can not stray
got a letter today
from my dad
it got me so mad
it said not to look for him
so i left my brother and mother
and went to find him
i didn't know i had a stalker
who followed me town to town
he was quite not much of a talker
and then i died no lie
and i woke up screaming for my life
i pulled my self from the hollow box
who said being in a cofin rocks
and so i carried on
find my father i did
he taught me many new things
fire earth water wind
a gift this power brings
and when i went out
i found my killer
but from above i fell in love
there was a dark side to him
and when he he said he loved me
time stood still
i didnt realise he was my kill
when he went back to his roots
i followed silenlty 3 years past
and im home at last
i'am 16 now
and walking alone
i found
my brother kye he's 13 now
by acident of cource
and he knew who i was
filled with love for him
dropped my gaurd i did
and next thing i knew
my lover found me and my brother
he took kye away made him pay
used him as bait i was the fish
i faught him and almost killed me
but my heart took over
and he got the chance
we faught some more in a dance
and when i had no strengh
my brother cried help me sister
plz oh why and curled in to a ball
crying in pain and as
he emerged a new power he gained
he jump from the rock water in hand
shot my lover down on to the land
i told my brother to stop
and he looked at me sad
i pulled my lover up
and said he was bad
i told him i loved him
and sent him to a place
where he will find no love or grace
so me and my brother crawled back to dad
told him our wish and told him we were sad
he frowned and said.......
what are you talking about your mothers not dead
WHAT me and my brother wisperd hand in hand
so come be with me beacuse this is my fated destiny
poem by Amber Shoremarston
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Bible Verse
I asked the child why did she curse
Her answer was, she knew not a Bible verse
She never went to church or knew how to say a prayer
So all that she knew, was how to curse and swear,
I was told that her mother had taught her well
But never taught her about heaven or even hell
And all that she knew is from what she had read
While listening to the words that her mother had said.
I asked the child why did she lie
Her response to me, it is better than to cry
As things got bad and then they turned worse
That's all that she knew, and she knew not a Bible verse,
Her mother had told her the things not to do
But then they differed from other's points of view
And all the child knew was from what she had seen
As she watched her mother, which was unforeseen.
I asked the child why did she steal
Taking from others for a terrible ordeal
She answered me, as she placed the goods in her purse
'It is the way that I am', and I know not of a Bible verse
Someday soon I will probably smoke and drink
Spoke the child to me as she began to think
But then am I not the girl that my mother did raise
And every day to my mother, I give her praise.
I asked the child why did she fight
She then said to me, it's better than being polite
Her mother's honor again she had to defend
And fighting is all that she could comprehend
So the child then wiped the pain off of her face
As she slowly walked away in sadness and disgrace
The last thing she said to me as we did converse
She said, I truly wish that I knew a Bible verse.
Randy L. McClave
poem by Randy McClave
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Mother Once Said...
My mother once said
'Don`t open your mouth before
Elders and those with white hairs'.
My mother also said
'Don`t speak unless asked'.
My mouth asked me once,
'What is my role in your life? '
I said, 'My mother has said nothing about it'.
I added, 'You swallow and eat'.
My mouth has been quiet since.
My friends said, 'Your mother is wise'.
My father said, 'She is my strength'.
I wondered how she could be so great!
Then was born my kid brother with a big mouth.
My mother said to my kid brother too
Not to do those old things
But his mouth spoke everything
Everything that I never dared.
And his mouth swallowed, ate and spoke.
Today my mother is no more
And my father is is weak and worn out.
I still remember my mother`s words.
While my kid brother speaks out his mind
My mouth refuses to speak out its regrets....
poem by M.d Dinesh Nair
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Good Night My Brother
Good Night My Brother
Good Night my dear brother.
It seems that is all I can say
as today you close your eyes on this, now fated day.
My mother she shed a tear and asked us all simply to pray.
We hear her heart breaking
Cracking as she… shuffles.
She moves quietly in her room.
The house is still lit, she doesn’t want any gloom.
She ponders to herself we are sure; of what is to come.
The children left behind, still wondering on the moment.
One minute he was there and the next he is gone.
Confused by it all...the children...Oh the children! ...oh what is to done?
The police have now come and gone
as dear brother he passed away at home
lying on his bed, no movement.. no…no breathing in his room.
Good night my dear brother
Those cigarettes
They did you in.
We spoke but some weeks ago
you lamented then, that that may be the way you will go!
Those accursed things took my father too...you knew this then and here we are
Five years later and back again.
Good night my dear brother
It seems that is all I can say
I love you dearly
You knew that...I love you beyond the grave.
I know God now keeps you
I know that you accepted him
I believe God keeps you,
So good night my brother dear, our journey has not come to an end.
Your sister. For my brother Val.
Elaine Oxamendi Vicet
11: 03pm
poem by Elaine Oxamendi Vicet
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A Female Pedophiliac
Mother's best friend a shapely woman with a sexy smile
I was fifteen and went to her house with a message-
something about a wedding where mother was cooking-
and she seduced me... Can't remember it clearly only that
I was trembling by the sight of her nudeness.
She did the rest, the ecstasy and the enormous newness
of pleasure was like a dream come true... we made love
and I died every time in her ravenous encirclement.
When I left her house I was a person bewitched but had
the sense to worry what mother would say by me being so
late, but I told her I had met some friends and we had
gone down to the park feeding the ducks and talking to
the girls... Next time I saw her I went beetroot not sure
if I had had a dream, but when mother went into the kitchen
to make coffee she told me to come back to her house in
the evening...and I did. But someone spoke, when mother
knew she called her a whore and never spoke to her again.
Yet my loins craved her I was a burning flame and we met in
fields and woods... till I had to go to sea as a galley boy.
When I saw again she was quite old was old, perhaps forty five,
and the flame of love had died.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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Trouble Boys
Trouble Boys
------------
The Trouble Boys came in
I guess they'd been out fighting and a'raving
It wasn't long before they moved in
And picked up the girls that we'd brought to
It closed at ten o'clock I had to move fast
To get my baby back from the Trouble Boys
Twenty-five guys from the east side of the city
Kings of hell-raising in the neigborhood
One of them walked up and started dancing with my baby
Who was crying because I didn't stop him
All I could say honey was "This guy is bigger than the both of us"
Trouble Boys, and the Trouble Boys all around me
No one like getting sand kicked in their face
But I don't know anyone who'd stand face to face with the Trouble Boys
Yes the Trouble Boys
I thought to myself it was time to make a move
I breathed my last sigh and I started to groove with my babe
Who was still dancing with the other guy
By the look in her eye I was a martyr
'Cause no one cuts in on the Trouble Boys
Twenty-five gorillas standing all around
I was shaking like a leaf on an Autumn tree
The leader came up and took me by the hand
He shook it like a brother
He didn't crush it after all
He said, "You're ok, you're the only one who's stood up to the Trouble Boys
song performed by by Thin Lizzy
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Long Way Home Long Way Home
Walking down an alien street a miserable day in February,
thought he was dreaming asked what am I doing here.
The buildings and people are not as he remembered as
a child. He tried to cross the street but cars kept coming.
A woman took his arm and helped him to cross.
They told him he had lived here for twenty years but
told him in English as he didn't understand the language
these strange people spoke. Tired he sat down at
pavement café, a man asked him what he wanted… he didn't
now so the kind man brought him coffee.
I must find my way home, he said to himself, but I don't know
where it is. Then he remembered that his mother was dead,
he had been asleep, and as he slept the world changed and
he was lost in a future that was not his.
poem by Oskar Hansen
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Mother’s day
It was mother’s day
and you wanted your dead mother
to be alive again,
more sincerely than anything.
You even were angry with me
for not thinking about you
on that day
of you now being motherless
when you had a mother
for most of your life
and a father too
and that there was something empty,
something missing from your life,
and her being gone
was terrible on that particular day.
That you couldn’t make her breakfast,
pick nasturtiums
from the garden for her,
or even talk to her,
on that special day
and I said that I didn’t realize that you were
missing your mom so much,
and offered my sincere sympathy
and told you that we have to appreciate
our parents
while we still have them,
that life lies only in the hand of God,
that I had grown up without a father
and that my mother was the only parent
whom I really knew
and ironically the only woman
that didn’t leave me in the lurch
which made you angrier,
so much so that you slammed
the phone down in my ear
when I called to apologize
and I wondered why
the persons that we hold dear
leave so much pain
when they are gone
and what had gotten into you?
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Alive And Killing
I once knew this boy
Who was in his teens,
A dog tag around his neck
A pair of low waist jeans
A ragged shirt, streaked hair
Branded shoes, the thuggish stare
It all fitted him very well
Yet his darkest secret he would never tell.
There was one little piece
The jigsaw was missing
That one thing that seemed out of place
That one thing that didn't fit in.
He had everything,
Yet he seemed depressed
'Is it your marks? Your studies? '
'Why are you looking so stressed? '
His parents would give him
Everything he needed and more
Yet his wasn’t as bright
As the clothes he wore
He was always missing from class and home alike
No one knew where he went
Except his little brother
He had followed him that day
To see where he went alone
He followed him to a house
He followed him back home
He saw what his brother did
He saw his brothers near death
He knew he had to stop him
He would fight till his final breath
Seven years of mystery
Was uncovered that day
But only his brother knew
When his motionless brother lay
His brother was dead
Dead of drugs
That seventeen year old
Had been dealing with thugs
The brother didn’t reveal
The information he had
He knew his brother wasn’t the only one
What he knew was driving him mad
He was going to do something
About these killing things
Going to take action
Going to spread out his wings
He was only thirteen
What could he do?
Nothing was in his hands
That he knew
Then he decided to take his stand
For his brothers sake and all like him
He knew what power lay in his hands
He knew how he could inspire a change
He knew precisely what he had to do
He walked to his brother’s room
And picked up his pen
And with a firm mind
And an urge to make a difference
He began to write....
Alive and killing.
poem by Abhishek Vishwanathan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Broremann The Boy
The boy was eight years old and pretended to have one leg
shorter than the other, by walking with one foot in the gutter
and the other foot on the pavement. He tried to run that way
but it was difficult lost his balance and fell. A strange boy
often alone dreaming about what to do, he had told his mother
he wanted to be an actor and play many roles and be everything
at once. Either that or to an opera singer be, famous, traveling
around the world. His mother didn´t think much of his plans and
anyway this was his last day in this town tomorrow he was being
sent to farm, that had cows, horses, and sheep. He had no say in
the matter his mother was sick and had to go to a sanatorium
He didn´t mind it so much liked horses and could be a cowboy but
he had to go to school to and the children was sure to mob him for
talking city like. Down at the docks a big ship was birthing she came
all the way from Conakry in Africa. The boy decided to be a sailor,
and walked home to tell his mother.
Broremann is best translated as “little brother”
poem by Oskar Hansen
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Speak the truth and you'll be heard.
She told me she cared,
I knew she lied,
She told them she cared,
They knew she lied,
She said she wanted me to be the best,
I knew she lied,
She said to them she wanted me to be the best,
They knew she lied,
She whispered she loved me,
I knew she lied,
She whispered to them she loved me,
They knew she lied,
She pretended everything when I was there,
She pretended to love me,
She pretended to care,
She said she wanted me to be happy,
We all knew the truth was not what she speak,
We all knew the truth was just about to leak,
We all knew the truth would come out,
We all knew the truth, with no doubt,
She was just like the people surrounding,
Pretending, acting, lying,
So the truth is what I spoke when I spoke to her,
I told her the truth is true, the truth is fair,
I told her...
If it's a lie, don't say another word,
However, speak the truth, and you'll be heard,
To lie to someone who truly loves you for you,
Is one of the most cruel things you can ever do,
To let them believe what you say to them is true,
When really all your thinking about is you, you and you.
poem by Jodie Louise Pollock
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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