Hiroshima Child
I come and stand at every door
But none can hear my silent tread
I knock and yet remain unseen
For I am dead for I am dead
I'm only seven though I died
In Hiroshima long ago
I'm seven now as I was then
When children die they do not grow
My hair was scorched by swirling flame
My eyes grew dim my eyes grew blind
Death came and turned my bones to dust
And that was scattered by the wind
I need no fruit I need no rice
I need no sweets nor even bread
I ask for nothing for myself
For I am dead for I am dead
All that I need is that for peace
You fight today you fight today
So that the children of this world
Can live and grow and laugh and play
poem by Nazim Hikmet
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Knock em Dead Kid
In the heat of the night
You went and blackened my eyes
Well now Im back
Im back
Im back
And Im coming your way
Well now Im supercharged
Might just explode in your face
Im black
Im black
Im black
And Im primed for hate
(chorus)
Knock em dead, kid
(knock em dead)
Knock em dead, kid
(knock em dead)
The blade is red, kid
(knock em dead)
Knock em dead, kid
Knock em dead
A star-spangled fight
Heard a steel-belted scream
Now Im black, Im black, Im black
Another sidewalks bloody dream
I heard the sirens whine
My blood turned to freeze
Youll see the red in my eyes
As you take my disease
(chorus)(solo)(chorus)
Knock em knock em knock em
Dead...(scream)
Knock em dead kid
song performed by by Motley Crue
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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That Most Humans Crave For Glory
That most humans crave for glory is surely not a lie
And though you well may love your Country for your Country why should you die
Since dead heroes like dead cowards cannot help their Country in any way
Whilst alive you can help your Country even though you look old and gray
The dead hero cannot hear the bugler when the last post it is played
Though some may say his ghost is present at every war parade
The deserter is dishonoured from the fight he ran away
But to his Country he's of some use he's alive and well today
The dead hero he is honoured though to him that of no use
For to justify their recent war the war leaders use the war dead as an excuse
For another bloody battle a war they themselves will not fight in
Though in every war that ever was humanity did not win
You cannot serve your Country by dying for it so live for as long as you can
And die hopefully a painless death as a very old man.
poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Dead In The Wombs
those same children
who died in the waters
that swallowed Atlantis....
those same children,
starving 'neath Africa's sun....
dead from the bombings
in Iraq, Afghanistan, and soon Iran....
their bodies thrown into dumpsters
here in the United States....
dead on the borders,
dead in the oil filled waters,
dead on the cocaine streets,
dead in the prisons...
dead in the colleges,
dead in the unemployment lines....
dead on the picket lines,
dead, handcuffed, and beaten....
dying, and dead, world crazy spinning...
as the 'light of the world'
sputters, and goes out....
dead in the wombs of the
homeless, hopeless, and forgotten...
dead by our hands!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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All Dead, All Dead
Memories, my memories
How long can you stay
To haunt my days
She came without a farthing
A babe without a name
So much ado about nothing
Is what shed try to say
So much ado my lover
So many games we played
Through every fleeted summer
Through every precious day
All dead all dead
All the dreams we had
And I wonder why I still live on
All dead all dead
And alone Im spared
My sweeter half instead
All dead
And gone
All dead...
All dead all dead
At the rainbows end
And still I hear her own sweet song
All dead all dead
Take me back again
You know my little friends
All dead
And gone
All dead and gone
Her ways are always with me
I wander all the while
But please you must forgive me
I am old but still a child
All dead all dead
But I should not grieve
In time it comes to everyone
All dead all dead
But in hope I breathe
Of course I dont believe
Youre dead
And gone
All dead
And gone
song performed by by Queen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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When Women Will Rule The World
When women will rule the World sadly i won't be around
My bones will be resting forever in some quiet dead person's ground
But what a World 'twill be to live in the flower of peace will bloom again
And for as long as women do rule the World peace in the World will remain,
For as long as men rule the World terror and warring will live on
They have not learned from the mistakes of past male leaders with men as leaders all hope of peace gone
When women will rule the World the World will be a better place to live in
Mothers will not have to weep for their dead children there will not be wars for to win,
Women give birth to the soldiers mothers do not want their children to die
A dead hero is better than a living coward that is if you believe a lie,
Women do not want their children fighting in wars far away
There would be less wars in the World if women had a greater say
And when women will rule the World war will be a thing of the past
The flower of peace will be blooming and beautiful peace it will last.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Dead Man, Dead Man
Uttering idle words from a reprobate mind,
Clinging to strange promises, dying on the vine,
Never bein able to separate the good from the bad,
Ooh, I cant stand it, I cant stand it,
Its makin me feel so sad.
Dead man, dead man,
When will you arise?
Cobwebs in your mind,
Dust upon your eyes.
Satan got you by the heel, theres a birds nest in your hair.
Do you have any faith at all? do you have any love to share?
The way that you hold your head, cursin God with every move,
Ooh, I cant stand it, I cant stand it,
What are you tryin to prove?
Dead man, dead man,
When will you arise?
Cobwebs in your mind,
Dust upon your eyes.
The glamour and the bright lights and the politics of sin,
The ghetto that you build for me is the one you end up in,
The race of the engine that overrules your heart,
Ooh, I cant stand it, I cant stand it,
Pretending that youre so smart.
Dead man, dead man,
When will you arise?
Cobwebs in your mind,
Dust upon your eyes.
What are you tryin to overpower me with, the doctrine or the gun?
My back is already to the wall, where can I run?
The tuxedo that youre wearin, the flower in your lapel,
Ooh, I cant stand it, I cant stand it,
You wanna take me down to hell.
Dead man, dead man,
When will you arise?
Cobwebs in your mind,
Dust upon your eyes.
song performed by by Bob Dylan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Inner Angel
If I look at the mind of God I can see
A vast pure energy ball grow up a tree
He is the pure inner self of us all
Connected within us contained in the ball
The white is the inner the outer is red
Energy from the outside created the dead
Like he grew up the tree he can also grow you
With red interference it’s the best he can do
Past present and future contained in the ball
It was the white energy zone which started it all
Right at the centre of life itself
He grew out the past and future himself
Attached to his mind was the vast Mister Red
Who forced exactly wrong onto his poor head
His mind had to grow whatever he could
And that was to grow everything up to be good
The red weighs deep in parts of his mind
You can see it clearly as you look through time
World War One and World War Two
He was weighted down heavily as the energy grew
Did the red grow his dolphin into a shark
Did it grow through a black Labrador to create a rottweiler bark
Did the uncontrollable red energy ball
Grow a dinosaur up ever so tall
We have the bones to prove the dinosaur
And old people to prove there was a war
Did he shoot the red energy backwards to create the bones
To question our existence in the age of the Stones
Did Jesus grow from the future into the past
To block the red energy which was growing so fast
An intelligent white ball to shoot through time
To be placed into a virgin mother of thine
The Son of God he stood out to be
Past present and future he’s contained in all three
He wanted to help dominant in all
To destroy the red contained in the ball
As the future looms I pray for the white
To force through the red ready to fight
To grow us higher to destroy the sinner
Whether dead or alive we remain inner
poem by Donna Caldwell
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Retrieved Poetry
Poetry is dead,
Some would say.
But the inspiration that befell the poet,
But the gods that cursed the poet
Would never allow him grow weary.
It keeps pouring out like morning dew
From sundown to cock crow.
Poetry is dead,
Some would say.
Those would get paid
That wishes it out of this world.
Judgement day, the pay day, even today
,
Memories linger of what the gods inspired.
Only poetry has survived a worldwide flood.
Poetry is dead,
Some have said.
But the inspiration keeps coming,
But the memory keeps living.
Poetry lives on even when the world is dead;
It dies only if it is not poetry
And there is only a good few poetry.
Poetry is dead,
Some have said.
Until we start seeing poetry as poetry
And nothing more, until that day,
Until we start thinking he is inspired,
Until we stop thinking for the poet;
He is possessed he is innocent.
Poetry is dead,
So goes the argument.
Even as we cut from the same tree,
Even as we speak same universal language,
You cannot cut deep if your axe's blunt.
We can never speak from same mouth.
You can only say your own thought.
Poetry is dead,
So goes the argument,
If poetry is dead killed by death,
If poetry is dead swallowed by death,
The corpse should be in our front.
We should know how to bury it.
We should dig not cover it with dust.
Poetry is dead,
If poetry is really dead,
There is cause to weep bitterly,
There is cause to think deeply
For the world has been stripped naked.
For poetry is great, ageless, timeless, bottomless
At the burial we must remain emotionless.
poem by Chime Justice Ndubuisi
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Dead Or Alive
There in the shadows, looks like a hand
Without its owner, to give it a command
Its got a purpose but I dont know what it is
Im in trouble
There in the streets, looks like a man
But something wrong that I dont understand
His eyes are open but he dont see a thing
His skin is peeling off, his bones are sticking out
Im getting scared
Oh my God (is it dead? )
Is it living? (is it dead? )
Is it dead or alive?
(is it dead? ), is it dead? (is it dead? )
Is it dead? (is it dead? )
Is it dead or alive?
Hiding in the cupboards, like little mice
Hiding in the frigerator, that isnt nice
Its not an animal, it dont have legs
No one else can see it
It moves so fast, corner of my eye
Look again its gone, its hiding
Wont somebody help me, doesnt anybody care?
It waits so patiently, for me to lose my guard
Im getting scared
Is it dead, is it
(is it dead)
Is it dead
(is it dead)
Is it dead or alive
(is it dead)
Is it dead
(is it dead)
Is it dead, is it
I remember there was a time
When dead and buried meant just that
Underneath the cold dark ground
Things stay put!
Oh them bones they make them bodies walk
Them bones, them bones
If they could only talk!
Is it dead (fade)
song performed by by Oingo Boingo
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Children's Playground In The City
THIS is a place where men laid their dead,
Each with his life-tale of good or ill;
Here prayers were murmured and hot tears shed,
And passionate anguish moaned its fill.
Silent now is each voice that cried,
And the tears that were wept have all been dried
In the dust; and dust are the hearts that bled
With hopeless longing for hearts grown still.
Dead and forgotten! for Death, requiter
Of love, taught Memory how to forget!
The love that remembered them died. Grow brighter,
Oh, dim grave-garden, with dead hearts set!
Room for the small flying feet to pass,
The feet of the children over the grass!
The dead, if they knew it, would feel them lighter
Than the weight of a stone that no tears make wet.
We must die too, and the grief that will live
Must die as surely--death comes to all;
But you who come after--let Nature give
To our graves her tears, to our dust her pall:
Let her hide us away in her cold broad breast,
Let us be forgotten, and be at rest,
And over our heads let the great world strive,
And the children's voices carol and call.
If your heart on the flower of remembrance is set,
There is one way to pluck it--and only one:
Dare you ask your country not to forget
A name that needs to be graved on stone?
By grief, strife, sacrifice, scorn of fame,
You may grave on the people's hearts your name,
Or your name may die, and your soul live yet
In the cause you died for--the work you have done.
poem by Edith Nesbit
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Children Of The Grave
Revolution in their minds - the children start to march
Against the world in which they have to live
And all the hate thats in their hearts
Theyre tired of being pushed around
And told just what to do
Theyll fight the world until theyve won
And love comes flowing through
Children of tomorrow live in the tears that fall today
Will the sun rise up tomorrow bringing peace in any way?
Must the world live in the shadow of atomic fear?
Can they win the fight for peace or will they disappear?
So you children of the world,
Listen to what I say
If you want a better place to live in
Spread the words today
Show the world that love is still alive
You must be brave
Or you children of today are
Children of the grave, yeah!
song performed by by Ozzy Osbourne
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Carpenter's Song
My lot grew lighter day by day;
The children grew apace;
I built a little house last May--
No palace like that place.
And--"Father," said she, "sure you know
That once we ate dry bread?
Into our own house now we go!"--
The mother, she is dead!
Her house the undertaker made,
And not the carpenter;
My grace unsaid, the pastor prayed
In loud tones over her.
The day that's spent with merriment,
'Mid blossoms blue and red,
No music lent--my heart was rent!--
The mother, she is dead.
We pulled together many a year;
Like old bird-mates were we;
But who e'er thinks of dying here
While both together be?
Fast barred is every window-blind--
I care not what is said;
Yes, sell the house! I do not mind--
The mother, she is dead!
poem by Carmen Sylva
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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A Mother Does Not
A mother does not raise her child for to fight and die in war
Or to kill another Human Being in a Country from home far
That her son or her daughter should at someone else shoot to kill
A person they have never known or who have never bore them ill.
Picasso's 'Screaming Woman' is for all woman kind
The mother weeps for her dead child with grief 'out of her mind'
Mothers do not raise their children for to be remembered on War Memorial Day
For to fight in war for war mongering non combatants and throw their lives away
A mother raises her son or daughter so her seed of life will live on
That her genes will still be around when she herself has gone
From the World of the living to be numbered amongst the dead
I wish for my children to outlive me that's what the mother said.
A mother does not raise her child for to meet with an early death
Not for her War Memorial Day or the words 'Lest we forget'
She wants her son and daughter for to grow old and gray
And she does not wish to hear of War and War Memorial Day.
poem by Francis Duggan
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They Want War
They are young and theyre kids
And believe what they see
To do what theyve been told
And so they walk away with open eyes
Some are eight or nine or ten
And they die like a fly, and no one knows
Who they are, theyre smaller than the gun they load
See their eyes open wide
They died before they ever cried
They die in the streets and they die in the fields
When they do what theyve been told
But now theyre lying dead
Their eyes are closed
Some are eight or nine or ten
And they die like a fly and no one knows
Who they are, theyre smaller than the gun they load
See their eyes open wide, they died before they ever cried
Who taught them how, how to pray
Who told them theyre in paradise when theyre gonna die
They are blind and they cant fight
They want war
They are blind and they cant fight
They want war
They are blind and they cant fight
They want war
They are blind and they cant fight
They want war
They are blind and they cant fight
They want war
They are blind and they cant fight
They want war...
Youre gonna pay the price, you little devil in disguise
For taking life with no regard, youll go to hell
And there youll burn
Children in the battlefield, please dont go
Little birds with fluttering hearts, please dont go
song performed by by U. D. O.
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Children are today.
Children are today, Too outspoken for their age,
Some of their attitude stinks, and they have too much rage;
When we as adults grew up years ago, learnt to behave,
We respected the older folk, and no drugs did we crave.
Some children today, through abuse, and neglect,
Are hurting inside them, what they need is hard to detect;
They need guidance, love, understanding and care,
They need to be shown that someone will be there.
Children today, are expected to grow up too quick,
Taught to much, far too early, so wrong things they'll pick;
And as they grow, let them grow slowly at their own pace,
Let them be children while they can, and give them space.
poem by Margaret Haig
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Crash
Lying in bed
Crying your eyes out
Curled in a ball
Nice and tight
Crash today
Seven men died
Seven in a van
One in a car
Bottle of vodka
In the passenger
Seat
Driving unable to maintain
Drifting and veering
Unable to control
Car smash the van
Through the windshield
One goes
Lying on the floor
Others come and
Count dead bodies
One left live in the van
Mind regained and
Awareness received
All is dead
All is dead but you
Later that night
Lying in bed
Crying your eyes out
Curled in a ball
Magnum in hand
Silence has come
Lying in bed
No more crying
Curled in a ball
Lose and feeble
No sound is silent
Eight men died
Today
poem by Tommy D'Attore
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Tommy's Dead
YOU may give over plough, boys,
You may take the gear to the stead,
All the sweat o' your brow, boys,
Will never get beer and bread.
The seed's waste, I know, boys,
There's not a blade will grow, boys,
'Tis cropped out, I trow, boys,
And Tommy's dead.
Send the colt to fair, boys,
He's going blind, as I said,
My old eyes can't bear, boys,
To see him in the shed;
The cow's dry and spare, boys,
She's neither here nor there, boys,
I doubt she's badly bread;
Stop the mill to-morn, boys,
There'll be no more corn, boys,
Neither white nor red;
There's no sign of grass, boys,
You may sell the goat and the ass, boys,
The land's not what it was, boys,
And the beasts must be fed:
You may turn Peg away, boys,
You may pay off old Ned,
We've had a dull day, boys,
And Tommy's dead.
Move my chair on the floor, boys,
Let me turn my head:
She's standing there in the door, boys,
Your sister Winifred!
Take her away from me, boys,
Your sister Winifred!
Move me round in my place, boys,
Let me turn my head,
Take her away from me, boys,
As she lay on here death-bed,
The bones of her thin face, boys,
As she lay on her death-bed!
I don't know how it be, boys,
When all's done and said,
But I see her looking at me, boys,
Whenever I turn my head;
Out of the big oak tree, boys,
Out of the garden-bed,
And the lily as pale as she, boys,
And the rose that used to be red.
There's something not right, boys,
But I think it's not in my head,
I've kept my precious sight, boys, --
The Lord be hallowéd!
Outside and in
The ground is cold to my tread,
The hills are wizen and thin,
The sky is shrivelled and shred,
The hedges down by the loan
I can count them bone by bone,
The leaves are open and spread,
But I see the teeth of the land,
And hands like a dead man's hand,
And the eyes of a dead man's head.
There's nothing but cinders and sand,
The rat and the mouse have fed,
And the summer's empty and cold;
Over valley and wold
Wherever I turn my head
There's a mildew and a mould,
The sun's going out overhead,
And I'm very old,
And Tommy's dead.
What am I staying for, boys,
You're all born and bred,
'Tis fifty years and more, boys,
Since wife and I were wed,
And she'd gone before, boys,
And Tommy's dead.
She was always sweet, boys,
Upon his curly head,
She knew she'd never see't, boys,
And she stole off to bed;
I've been siting up alone, boys,
For he'd come home, he said,
But it's time I was gone boys,
For Tommy's dead.
Put the shutters up, boys,
Bring out the beer and bread,
Make haste and sup, boys,
For my eyes are heavy as lead:
There's something wrong i' the cup, boys,
There's something ill wi' the bread,
I don't care to sup, boys,
And Tommy's dead.
I'm not right, I doubt, boys,
I've such a sleepy head,
I shall nevermore be stout, boys,
You may carry me to bed.
What are you about, boys?
The prayers are all said,
The fire's raked out, boys,
And Tommy's dead.
The stairs are too steep, boys,
You may carry me to the head,
The night's dark and deep, boys,
Your mother's long in bed,
'Tis time to go to sleep, boys,
And Tommy's dead.
I'm not used to a kiss, boys,
You may shake my hand instead.
All things go amiss, boys,
You may lay me where she is, boys,
And I'll rest my old head:
'Tis a poor world, this, boys,
And Tommy's dead.
poem by Sydney Thompson Dobell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Over The Dead Body
Don’t fight over the dead body
Grudge and ego of people left behind
Could raise the worst world war
Don’t scared over the dead body
Silence and stillness of living human
Is more frightening than the ghost
Don’t keep mourning over the dead body
Sadness and lost of the one we love
Will be replaced by forever peace
Don’t worship over the dead body
Dreams could only be real and achieved
If we open our eyes to the world
Don’t disrespect over the dead body
It once belonged to precious life
Though the evidence corpse severely decayed
poem by Maria Sudibyo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Mater Dolorosa
Who is this that sits by the way, by the wild wayside,
In a rent stained raiment, the robe of a cast-off bride,
In the dust, in the rainfall sitting, with soiled feet bare,
With the night for a garment upon her, with torn wet hair?
She is fairer of face than the daughters of men, and her eyes,
Worn through with her tears, are deep as the depth of skies.
This is she for whose sake being fallen, for whose abject sake,
Earth groans in the blackness of darkness, and men's hearts break.
This is she for whose love, having seen her, the men that were
Poured life out as water, and shed their souls upon air.
This is she for whose glory their years were counted as foam;
Whose face was a light upon Greece, was a fire upon Rome.
Is it now not surely a vain thing, a foolish and vain,
To sit down by her, mourn to her, serve her, partake in the pain?
She is grey with the dust of time on his manifold ways,
Where her faint feet stumble and falter through year-long days.
Shall she help us at all, O fools, give fruit or give fame,
Who herself is a name despised, a rejected name?
We have not served her for guerdon. If any do so,
That his mouth may be sweet with such honey, we care not to know.
We have drunk from a wine-unsweetened, a perilous cup,
A draught very bitter. The kings of the earth stood up,
And the rulers took counsel together, to smite her and slay;
And the blood of her wounds is given us to drink today.
Can these bones live? or the leaves that are dead leaves bud?
Or the dead blood drawn from her veins be in your veins blood?
Will ye gather up water again that was drawn and shed?
In the blood is the life of the veins, and her veins are dead.
For the lives that are over are over, and past things past;
She had her day, and it is not; was first, and is last.
Is it nothing unto you then, all ye that pass by,
If her breath be left in her lips, if she live now or die?
Behold now, O people, and say if she be not fair,
Whom your fathers followed to find her, with praise and prayer,
And rejoiced, having found her, though roof they had none nor bread;
But ye care not; what is it to you if her day be dead?
It was well with our fathers; their sound was in all men's lands;
There was fire in their hearts, and the hunger of fight in their
hands.
Naked and strong they went forth in her strength like flame,
For her love's and her name's sake of old, her republican name.
But their children, by kings made quiet, by priests made wise,
Love better the heat of their hearths than the light of her eyes.
Are they children of these thy children indeed, who have sold,
O golden goddess, the light of thy face for gold?
Are they sons indeed of the sons of thy dayspring of hope,
Whose lives are in fief of an emperor, whose souls of a Pope?
Hide then thine head, O beloved; thy time is done;
Thy kingdom is broken in heaven, and blind thy sun.
What sleep is upon you, to dream she indeed shall rise,
When the hopes are dead in her heart as the tears in her eyes?
If ye sing of her dead, will she stir? if ye weep for her, weep?
Come away now, leave her; what hath she to do but sleep?
But ye that mourn are alive, and have years to be;
And life is good, and the world is wiser than we.
Yea, wise is the world and mighty, with years to give,
And years to promise; but how long now shall it live?
And foolish and poor is faith, and her ways are bare,
Till she find the way of the sun, and the morning air.
In that hour shall this dead face shine as the face of the sun,
And the soul of man and her soul and the world's be one.
poem by Algernon Charles Swinburne
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09. Do not stand at my grave and weep
when i am dead, i am dead
the world goes out of me and i out of it
there is nothing anymore in between
do not stand at my grave then and weep
for these ears will not hear, and these eyes will not see
and there will be only coldness in between
if you really love and care, show it all to me now if you can
for when i am dead, i am dead
the world goes out of me and i out of it
these ears will not hear and these eyes will not see
there is only coldness in between
warm me up if you can now when i am still alive
for tomorrow the sun may never rise again
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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