Raw waR
Bombarded and war pitted
And pitied they who lie here.
The scar blasted houses
Now no place for dwelling
Or dwelling on the passed.
Where once love blossomed,
And families embraced in solidarity,
No blossoms grow for all the trees are dead.
Now the men have gone to war,
For war is raw and needs its raw recruits.
Recruited from the innocent
Whose hands will soon know death.
And those left behind face a different war.
The war of want.
The women face the daily grind
Of sky dropped bombs that scream annihilation.
And dodge the shells and bullets
To fed the hungry children
Who cower in makes shift sanctuaries
Deep beneath the ground.
Hollow eyed not understanding
And yet so used to death and loss.
For war is raw.
P H Brookes Copyright 2012
poem by Paul Brookes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Early Works - Understanding
With a little understanding and humility,
this world would be a better place for you and me.
Instead of bullets, bombs and rockets
we’d have love between our neighbours and families.
Instead of death, destruction and misery
we’d have outstretched hands of friendship
from stranger we did not know.
No cause is worth the death of one man
no matter what that cause may be.
For love and understanding
is all anyone ever needs.
When all the bullets and bombs are gone,
what kind of world will be left,
the answer lies within ourselves?
Within our faith and understanding,
we must look at our enemies
try and understand their plight.
Not with weapons of mass destruction,
but with hope and understanding
that they have rights like us,
then maybe one day
we’ll all live under an umbrella
of peace and harmony.
19-20 February 1996
poem by David Harris
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No Prizes (Stream VII)
Sucked deep down,
Down deep
In that pit.
Pitted against the black dog.
Pitied-
We who are trapped in the zoo.
Prize specimens,
Given no prizes.
A pity they don't see you
But see through you.
Transparent thin,
Thinly disguised.
Disguised as human,
This inhuman death,
Which is no death,
A living death.
Eaten away,
You look up and see
Mirrored in the glass,
The glass that separates,
Not the you you knew
But a stranger.
Strangers eyes.
Sad Eyed.
Dead eyed.
The black dog wins.
poem by Paul Brookes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Not a Good Place to Die
Not a Good Place to Die
Not a good place to die,
Airless room.
Blank walls.
Not a good place to die,
Here death hovers.
A disinfectant smell.
Not a good place to die,
Hid away from all.
Arid stark.
Not a good place to die,
No cool breeze.
Warm sun on face.
Not a good place to die,
Alone and scared.
Cold dark.
Not a good place to die
But die he did.
Non mourned.
Copyright P H Brookes 2012.
poem by Paul Brookes
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Death and I
When death comes
I’ll need not love –
Consumed,
No wreath or dove
Could offer me salvation,
Not when I’m no more.
A weathered stone will bear my name –
Identity of once a being
Living out existence in
A world of risk, and never seeing
Sense of why we’re here.
My genes will die away thro’ child –
Hue of eyes and hair, the way of thought,
Will quickly dim with generation –
Bow to future dominance –
Memories of provenance
Resigned to curious few.
When death comes
I’ll need not grace
Below; no grieving face
Will call my resurrection,
Not when I’m at ground –
Death and I so bound.
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2011
D eath Crawl
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poem by Mark R Slaughter
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I wish peace comes to Gaza
when i feel cold and comfort covering with my blanket
those children are cold and injured even died
when i feel comfort at my home
those children need to move and move again to avoid the bombs
when i smile and laugh here sees awesome scenery
those children looks so mash, scares on their innocent face
although they still not understand
why those happened to them in their ages
when others children could happily play in their playground
those children need to play with damaged bombs surround them
when I take a deep breath and have fresh air
those children need to feel the damage air causing by bombs and bullets
God.. please hold your hand and help them..
If men couldn’t hear no more and their heart are cold enough
You are the only one who could accept prays from all over the world
And make peace in Gaza and not make that place as never ending story
Always war and war and war…
poem by Minaslune Serene
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Unrequited (Stream XIV)
To write of love
And how love makes us feel.
Love steals the heart.
Needing to steel oneself
From the arrows
Arrows which pierce the heart.
The arrows of Eros sometimes miss,
Of course,
Off course,
Hit the wrong target
And misfired
Lead to unrequited love.
That longing hurt.
That gnawing hunger.
Hungry for love
But love is blind
And they are blind to you
Having eyes for another.
You are left to pine.
Pining away
To write of love.
And how it makes us feel.
P H Brookes Copyright 2012
poem by Paul Brookes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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When Death Knocks
When death knocks
I shall fling the door wide
Rush into his embrace,
For I am ready.
He holds no fear for me
Why should I fear a friend?
One I have known all my life;
Who has accompanied every step,
Helped me on my way.
No I shall not fear death for
He will cut my earth bound chains
And his kiss shall set me free.
Copyright 2012 P H Brookes
poem by Paul Brookes
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Disingenuousness
Here lies another box for nature,
Carbon ready;
Black to eyes down here,
Where death is at its job.
Up there you’ll hear a rhythmic sob
Or two from living yet-to-dies –
A humming lacrimoso –
It all but cleans the eyes:
Forget it –
The dismal show of grief –
Life is only chemistry –
Our stay is only brief.
It’s we who hype it up!
Diaphragms jerk again;
The jet monotone of hearses
Feeds the disingenuousness
Of undertakers –
They seem to stare at something up ahead –
For them, it’s in the blood,
To taxi off the dead.
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2011
The March of Death
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poem by Mark R Slaughter
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My Death
'Death is our eternal companion,' Don Juan said with a most serious air. 'It is always to our left, at an arm's length . . . It has always been watching you. It always will until the day it taps you.'
-Carlos Castaneda
My death
looks exactly like me.
She lives to my left,
at exactly an arm's length.
She has my face, hair, hands;
she ages
as I grow older.
Sometimes, at night,
my death awakens me
or else appears in dreams
I did not write.
Sometimes a sudden wind
blows from nowhere,
& I look left
& see my death.
Alive, I write
with my right hand only.
When I am dead,
I shall write with my left.
But later I will have to write
through others.
I may appear
to future poets
as their deaths.
poem by Erica Jong
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Phoenix
In the movie the gray, men face death, some consciously believe in an after life, others do not, through the pain and trials some spontaneously come to their own understanding or experience of death. A pack of wolves is pursuing them, almost for certain they are not going to make it, but still they go on trying as our human instincts compel us. This leads to some of the more basic ideas of the movie, Alfa, dominance, strength and courage, how we face death is intertwined with how we face life. On a more primal level, we create our own phoenix, our own rebirth by how we face death. Unconsciously we all have our own allegiance, understanding of life, death and the after life.
poem by Michael Kavuoti
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A Fresh Endeavour
So now I've taken leave of life,
I thought you'd like to know, I still
Possess a mind in love, oh wife;
A soulful eye to catch a show of
Silent beauty – ever yours;
An ear to pick the metaphors
Of tonal dance in words you say,
Grasp a thought in verse you pray
Inside your head, bemused of mind,
Softly mournful, intertwined with
Understanding tears.
I'll drift a whisper o'er to you
To tell that I am quietly calm;
Keeping time till your adieu
To flesh, upon the carol of a
Psalm of consummation. Now!
A fresh endeavour – we're forever
One together, resting yonder,
Cross our open plane of blue.
Copyright Mark R Slaughter 2009
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poem by Mark R Slaughter
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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She Will Tell Me Mine
i walked a thousand miles
before this journey began...
i carried a hundred crosses,
said prayers you cant imagine.
i died death after death,
behind bars and in windows...
before i burned my shoes,
and took off my clothes.
i've seen beauty i cant express,
felt sorrow so deep i drowned.
been both hungry and desperate,
gave away my heart to perfect strangers....
i've named tears and set stars free,
to follow their own desire...
i've held universes in my hands,
and broke the cup countless times.
i looked the devil face to face,
and recognized myself.
i've been to Gethsemene,
Golgatha, and hell....
i've grown flowers on pavement,
wiped the asses of those that groaned.
i've fought windmills and shadows,
and lit the torch a million times.
i've fathered children and given birth,
i've made love in empty churches.
i've been buried in countless libraries,
and beneath infinite trees.
i've been both semen and holy water,
not as much difference as you think!
i've seen the face of god,
and heard her secret name...
and perhaps if i die just one more time,
she will tell me mine!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Beldame of Death
A crunch: afoot a dead arachnid
Spanning once a serving plate –
Oh! that others be alive
With such as me for spider bait!
I slunk along the silent hall
Of ancient ore attired in grime –
Feculent beyond the nose;
No bearing here, nor feel for time.
I shuddered in appreciation –
The ambience would mortify
A feeble mind, aghast, opined
Of murky thought, and typify
The will of Belial err I brought
Upon myself to loathe and dread
Exquisite retribution: to linger
Oftentimes alive, then dead.
Compulsion saw me edging on
Toward a narrow door of oak.
Behind, I knew, a greater evil
Waiting in her fusty cloak.
A choice of nil upon the table;
Aught of leave, I had to face
Alone the shrew – her flaming aura
Angling me; my deep disgrace
From ugly deeds I dealt in life,
A heinous world I honed in glee…
'Now take a crooked path to death,
For I have come to torture thee! '
Out of eyes of orange flame,
A piercing glare, then here it came –
The cackling cry of chanting song:
'You thought you'd die alone in pain
The once – nay nay! you'll die with me,
And so a catch: you'll die again
Ad infinitum - ever be!
Your soul to curse, my heart we'll gore,
Your liver to draw and quarter;
A sadomasochistic pair,
We'll slither together in slaughter! '
I answered only with a scream, from
Sensing near her craving lust.
My crimes to answer; wrongs annul;
Renounce my soul and turn to dust...
On an evening cool and quiet,
Stretch an ear to listen tight –
Are you lucky of a moment –?
Hark! my clarion call of plight.
Copyright Mark R Slaughter 2009
Notes on this poem can be found at:
http: //succumbedtothinking.webs.com/featuredpoems.htm
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poem by Mark R Slaughter
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Gods and Guns
The people of the night
Surely know when death will come
But it's far too stern to hinder
When there's nowhere left to run
Deep within the shadows
Lurks what they don't want to see
Hoping that it stays there
As a threat from an absentee
They mask their grief in the midst of day
Until the light in the sky disappears
When men with guns and torches
Resurrect their deepest fears
Effacing their homes and families
Collapsing them one by one
These men take hold of the children
And they scream of gods and guns
Too young to know the reason why
The kids stand by for command
But when grown men act like animals
It's hard to spot helping hands
Still, they gather and they listen
With each day they'll lose more blood
Another needless Sudan tragedy
In the quest for peace and love
(Written on September 4,2012)
© Ricky Randall
September 6,2012
poem by Ricky Randall
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It's Death Again
It's Death again - He's always there -
Watching, waiting - e'er the stare!
Every time I look behind
Or reach to pull the window blind,
I catch a glimpse of grubby hood -
A little clue to where he stood;
The glint of light that caught the scythe.
Perhaps if I could pay a tithe…
But O! no use, he'll never go.
The adamant phantom; don't you know
He will but wait until it's time
For me to hear His fateful chime? -
The toll that claims my destiny,
To Hail: 'You're next, it has to be…'
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2009
The Reign of Death
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poem by Mark R Slaughter
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I Rise in Joy
Oh skittering magpies
Harbingers of perdition.
Black tongued cajolers
Chattering on the bare limbs.
Do you foretell my death
Or do you laugh to scorn,
Cackle at my misfortune?
You ill omened birds,
Be not the augury.
You teller's of tales,
Bringers of despair.
You heralded my loss
And fed upon my despair.
Flee from me, away,
For I am a sun reborn
And, Nemisis.
A scourge to burn,
Scour with penetrating light,
To leave you only ashes,
Wind blown memories.
P H Brookes Copyright 2012
poem by Paul Brookes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Ultimate Sacrifice
When nations turn from peace to war,
Each soul must question why...
When Death itself is at the door,
To bring its long goodbye...
To think, that leaders lead us all,
To back them to the hilt.
It's then we see our heroes fall,
When each of them is killed...
When little children shake their heads,
Disgusted at such things,
It's right to pray beside our beds,
Condemning what war brings.
The need for guns and bullets grows
And even bombs are made -
Efficiently Man fights his foes
And in their graves they're laid...
Who knows the good they could have done,
If peace had been their lot,
Instead of wars that must be won,
When nations turn from God?
If only love lived in each heart,
We'd share God's Paradise,
Instead of this, new conflicts start
And blood's our sacrifice...
For some, the cost was loss of health...
For some, it's wasted time...
For some, the cost was death itself,
When they were in their prime.
Is this the wisest way to live,
With bombs and bullets, too?
Christ's sacrifice helps God forgive
The evil that men do...
poem by Denis Martindale
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In Memoriam
TWO watchers sit beside the dead;
From hour to hour no prayer is said,
For they are dumb and he is dead;
And snows are curling round his head,
While God's white wings are overspread.
5
None heard the sad heart's stifled cry—
None, save the two dogs sitting by,
And Him that watcheth in the sky.
It passed, that agonizing cry,
In gloom as deep as Calvary!
10
None saw the last look on that face
Where men once read such love and grace;
No hand was nigh to smooth the trace
Of anguish on that pallid face.
The patient hero wins the race
15
Alone in God's great dwelling-place.
Earth folded him with gentle hands
In Nature's whitest swathing-bands;
A snow-veil on his face and hands,
And silence on those northern lands.
20
Thro' cloud-rift in the west expands
A light from where God's temple stands.
The new-born soul in Paradise
Forgets the snow and wintry skies—
Forgets, in sunny Paradise,
25
The dying body's agonies.
Lord, keep him till that form shall rise
To meet Thee coming in the skies!
poem by Frederick George Scott
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Mark R. Slaughter
Just like the dahlia
Death comes in all its beauty
And so I stroke her petals
Push my feet root-deep
Into the composted soil
As weary clouds unite
Coalesce
Darken through the greys
In preparation
Incontinence prevails
Lachrymose in empathy
They cry for me
Sharing tears
Mortality brings
As twilight closes
I rot
(They fade)
To be the plant
(They'll water)
I, denomination Mark R. Slaughter
Struggle thro' my fantasy
To seal the state of mind
That I of soul
Remain eternal
Back on the windowsill
A daffodil stretches
From a bulbous foot
Flirts like a ballerina
STOPS
Wonders of the world
My cat hears the brassy thoughts
From yellow trumpet
Pricks up his ears
Iridescent eyes
Focussed on the future
I'll wait
For his appraisal
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2012
A Trail of Death
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poem by Mark R Slaughter
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You get angry
You get angry
thats what death does
A light
A warmth on my face
The breeze through my hair
I smell the trees
You get angry
thats what death does
A heartbeat
A silent scream
Sinking
A coldness creeps in
Shadows dance in your eyes
You get angry
thats what death does
Not a death of the flesh
A death of the heart
The funeral of love
The welcoming of silence
Where you used to whisper...
I love you
poem by Lynzi Berner
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