Medals
An enormous explosion threw the boy out of his bed.
He woke up on the carpeted floor, wiping out with his left hand
the crumbs of an interrupted dream. The room shook up as
another bomb detonated nearby with ear-piercing noise.
Shimmering red patches of light flared up in the dark ink
of the night.
Mother rushed into the room panic-stricken taking him down
in a hurry to the bomb shelter. This was merely a basement
shared with other people during the bomb raids.
When the sirens sounded the all clear sign it was already
morning. In the apartment the latched doors had burst off
their hinges. The window glasses shattered into a variety
of splinters and the striped curtain in the living room
became a colony of ribbons.
Looking out of the windowless room he saw long tongues
of flames shooting up from an incendiary bomb that fell on
the pavement. And then starting with a strange swishing
sound, like the tearing of a delicate lustrous fibre, the walls
of a house across the street folded up in a loud rumbling
thunder.
Mother later told him that the collapsing building buried
several people, including children. A boy of his age was
among them. She looked at him with a curious expression
which he never saw before and it made him feel
very uncomfortable.
“Oh”, sighed mother, “war is so terrible, so cruel and futile.
It is made by dour and stupid men in uniforms, decorated
with many medals, who really never grew up.”
“But father also had many medals”, the boy said.
Mother looked at him gently for a while. “Yes, indeed,
he had”, she said.
There was great sadness in her eyes.
poem by Paul Hartal
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Mother, Can you Hear Me! !
I woke up one morning at 3 o’clock at night
And I saw this light surrounding me
I went over to wake up my sister
To make sure that she too could see
I tried waking her up
But there was no reply
I went to my mother’s room
That was close by
Before I could wake her up
She was already awake at sight
Then I heard her say to my dad
“Let’s go and check if the children are alright”
As she walked past our room
I looked at her and said “mother, mother can u hear me? ”
But then I look aside on the person on my bed
I asked myself who that person could be
And then I looked closer…
That person on my bed sleeping silently was me!
I tried calling to my mother while she tried waking me up
I could see her tears running down like hard rain
I could see her thoughts overwhelmed with pain
And there I found out with a startling shock
I had died exactly at 3 O’clock.
poem by Marria Attar
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Thank God For The Bomb
Like moths to a flame
Is man never gonna change
Times seen untold aggression
And infliction of pain
If thats the only thing thats stopping war
Then thank God for the bomb
Thank God for the bomb
Thank God for the bomb
Thank God for the bomb
Nuke ya nuke ya
War is just another game
Tailor made for the insane
But make a threat of their annihilation
And nobody wants to play
If thats the only thing that keeps the peace
Then thank God for the bomb
Thank God for the bomb
Thank God for the bomb
Thank God for the bomb
Nuke ya nuke ya
Today was tommorow yesterday
Its funny how the time can slip away
The face of the doomsday clock
Has launched a thousand wars
As we near the final hour
Time is the only foe we have
When war is obsolete
Ill thank God for wars defeat
But any talk about hell freezing over
Is all said with tongue in cheek
Until the day the war drums beat no more
Ill thank God for the bomb
Thank God for the bomb
Thank God for the bomb
Thank God for the bomb
Nuke ya nuke ya
song performed by by Ozzy Osbourne
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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You Bomb...
you bomb...
the brown skinned children
of the world,
with ignorant patriotic pride,
taking what is not
yours to take!
you bomb...
the poor children of America,
with napalm poverty,
taking what is not
yours to take...
you bomb...
the children of the common,
that stand in the way
of your excess,
taking what is not
yours to take...
you have no conscience...
so, you bomb!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Note For Franz Kafka
one morning
when i discover
that i have turned
into a cockroach
you may write
what i will
do
you may theorize
that since i will be
to shy to go out
of my room just like
what your character did
then i may lock my
room, not eat,
and only talk to
my sister
that i may soon hate
my father
and will soon forget
my mother
i can relate to all
these based on my
readings
but i can see
what i can do
when i stink and
soon fear light
when even the air
which is suppose to
hush a lullaby
now hurts too
just like the rest
of those who
are close to me
and turn themselves
into disgusting monsters
more disgusting
than my being a
human-cockroach
you know very well
that i am brave enough
to force the door
to the other room
the one that none of
you has ever entered
i can use a knife
an ax or a hand grenade
i can even use a bomb
to break this
back door open
i am brave and
will always be restless
on a broken wing
of a bird i can
always still manage
to fly
away.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Prelude To Kafka
one morning
when i discover
that i have turned
into a cockroach
you may write
what i will
do
you may theorize
that since i will be
to shy to go out
of my room just like
what your character did
then i may lock my
room, not eat,
and only talk to
my sister
that i may soon hate
my father
and will soon forget
my mother
i can relate to all
these based on my
readings
but i can see
what i can do
when i stink and
soon fear light
when even the air
which is suppose to
hush a lullaby
now hurts too
just like the rest
of those who
are close to me
and turn themselves
into disgusting monsters
more disgusting
than my being a
human-cockroach
you know very well
that i am brave enough
to force the door
to the other room
the one that none of
you has ever entered
i can use a knife
an ax or a hand grenade
i can even use a bomb
to break this
back door open
i am brave and
will always be restless
on a broken wing
of a bird i can
always still manage
to fly
away.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Living Bomb
I am ready for death
But I'll take many of you with me
In the name of right cause
I'll stain with blood
As a living bomb I roam streets
Heading for a destination place
Where sacrifice will be made
Deeply breathe air last time
Quartered bodies of women and children
Innocent people massacred through explosion
Unaware of threat, they left their own houses
When I roamed streets as a living bomb
song performed by by Yattering
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Christmas Story 'believe
she was awoken with a loud thunderous sound
she jumped up and looked around.
it can't be santa claus? it just can't be.
mommy did'nt even have money to buy a tree.
she heard the sound one more time
and upon her roof they did climb.
the little pitter patter of hooves
above her head
made her turn and jump out of bed.
she ran to the window and
looked to the roof
she wanted to tell her mother
she did have the proof.
she saw something red
moving to the chimney
then she knew it had to be.
that santa claus is not only
in our hearts and minds
and will live throughout all time.
all children are supposed
to be asleep.
but through half closed eyes
they would peak.
she then heard the sounds in
the room below.
as she opened the door very slow.
to her surprise there was a tree
decorated 'oh so beautifully'.
and there under the tree
there was gifts galore
who would think - that they were poor.
as she started to look around
at the fireplace he was found.
he was having the milk and cookies
that were left that night.
' oh my gosh what a beautiful sight'.
he then put his finger to his nose
and just like the book
up the chimney he rose.
she went back to her room, and climbed
back into her bed, said her prayers
and laid down her head.
she awoke the next morning
thinking it was a dream.
when she heard her mother scream.
how is this possible? how can it be?
'all these presents, and with a tree.'
as she ran to her mothers side
the tears started to fill her eyes.
i don't know who did this? i have no clue
and i don't know what i should do.
she then told her what she heard
and saw the night before
when she opened up her bedroom door.
as we opened up the first package
from under the tree
we saw a metal frame with one word.
BELIEVE
now we put this question to you.
do you believe? is this story true?
poem by Louis Rams
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Clockwork Creep
Im a clockwork creep
And I cant get to sleep
They wind me up and let me go
And I cant unwind
Going out of my mind
My time is coming soon you know
Tick a tick a time bomb
Tick a tick a time bomb
Tick a tick a time bomb
Im a jumbo jet
With a brand new set
Of passengers and bags and crew
Ill spread my wings -
Do a thousand things
To prove how good I am to you
Tick a tick a time bomb
Tick a tick a time bomb
Tick a tick a time bomb
Tick a tick a time bomb
Tick a tick a time bomb
Tick a tick a time bomb
Meanwhile in the cargo of escargot
The temperature is rising
Advertising that our time is running
Down, down, down, down, down
Oh with just one minute to live
Oh, no youll never get me up in one of these again
'cos what goes up must come
Down, down, down, down, down
Down, down, down, down, down
Oh, the gravity of the situation
Its only my willpower
That keeps this thing in operation
But were gonna crash thats for certain
The pilot is too busy flirtin
And he aint aware
That theres a bomb down there
And if he dont do something its curtains
Now just hold on,
Said the little bomb,
If you were just to hold my hands
Then time would stop
The plot would flop
And jumbo would be safe to land
Tick a tick a time bomb
Tick a tick a time bomb
Tick a tick a time bomb
My landings are the envy
Of sabena and pan am
From chattanooga to japan
I taxi through the airways -
What a swell little plane
What a fine little plane
What a great little plane
I am
Hang on one sec
Im a clockwork wreck
And though my fuse is burning slow
Must keep my date to detonate
Goodbye, ta ta, and cheerio
Tick a tick a time bomb
Tick a tick a time bomb
Tick a tick a time bomb
Tick a tick a time bomb
Tick a tick a time bomb
Tick a tick a time bomb
Tick a tick a time bomb
Tick a tick a time bomb
Tick a tick a time bomb
Tick a.........
song performed by by 10 Cc
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Missing Link
A sickly child lie
frail on the sofa in the living room.
A knock on the door,
His mother opened.
The man who entered the child knew it was his father.
Whose child is this?
“It is your youngest son” his mother said.
The children in the street
all had a father; the child had waited for him.
But his father ignored him,
gave chocolate to his sister and brother,
then he drank from a bottle,
his mother threw him out.
Next day asked his mother, ” are you sure he is my father? ”
She slapped her son’s face and cried.
poem by Oskar Hansen
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Random things about my Mother
My mother whose eyes were strained
By a sadness that stained her eyes
With grey and blue hue
My mother who never blew
Out candles on a birthday cake
My mother who never knew
The thrills of flying in an airplane
My mother who forever threw
Her pearls to swine
My mother who knew
No contentment in living
My who mother never lived
To be even seventy two
My mother who it is true
Stopped living long before she died
My mother from whose mouth flew
Words of disappointment and fury
My mother whose lips
Tasted bitter tears
My mother sat impatiently
In sorrow through her years
My mother who like Kunta Kinte
Was tamed by Diabets
My mother who was tamed
By my father
My mother who was captured by my father
My mother who fought with my father
The two them struggling false teeth piercing each others flesh
My mother who my father told to go and cook the mint
My mother who would beat us and cause wounds and bruises to our skin
My mother who love to walk about
My mother who gave a toe
A day away
My mother who kiked with her stump of a leg after she lost her foot
My mother who was a great dresser
My mother who could sing
Sang on the church choir
My mother who would be at the front of the church earliest every Saturday
My mother who insisted I be baptized and save by the holy ghost
My mother had beautiful handwriting
My mother who had nine children for five different men
My mother who tried to settle down with my father
My mother who could never swim
My mother who loved to sing
My mother who would tie us up on leashes and take us for long walks through the town
My mother who sought out hand me-downs – for our clothing
My mother who was active in the Welfare Society at church so she could cream the crop for her family
My mother who instigated many a conflicts with her numerous friend was left with only a few in the end.
My mother whom I so wanted to help evolve
My mother who I helped to live
My mother who I had to let die
My mother who lives in me
poem by Fleurette Elaine Harris
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Everybody Wake Up
Everybody wake up
If your living with your eyes closed
See the man with the bomb in his hand
Everybody wake up
Oh baby its not easy sometimes
But built these walls
ever hide and hide behind them
Seems we not wait and try and make things right
Oh i feel like im crazy sometimes
Everybody wake up
If your living with your eyes closed
See the man with the bomb in his hand
Everybody wake up
I remember the words of a misguided fool
do unto others as you want them to do
not an eye for an eye is the golden rule
just leaves a room full of blind men
....
see the pig dressed in his finest fine
..
as the daylights sucked with fire
Everybody wake up
Everybody wake up
Everybody wake up
Wake up
Everybody wake up
If your livin with your eyes closed
See the man with the bun in his hand
Everybody wake up
song performed by by Dave Matthews Band
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Ask
This is our new single ...
Ask !
Shyness is nice, and
Shyness can stop you
From doing all the things in life
That you'd like to
Shyness is nice, and
Shyness can stop you
From doing all the things in life
That you'd like to
So, if there's something you'd like to try
If there's something you'd like to try
Ask me - i won't say "no" - how could i ?
Coyness is nice, and
Coyness can stop you
From doing all the things in
Life that you want to
So, if there's something you'd like to try
If there's something you'd like to try
Ask me - i won't say "no" - how could i ?
Spending warm summer days indoors
Writing frightening verse
To a buck-toothed girl in luxembourg
Ask me, ask me, ask me
Ask me, ask me, ask me
Because if it's not love
Then it's the bomb, the bomb, the bomb, the bomb, the bomb, the bomb, the bomb
That will bring us together
Nature is a language - can't you read ?
Nature is a language - can anybody read ?
So ... ask me, ask me, ask me
Ask me, ask me, ask me
Because if it's not love
Then it's the bomb, the bomb, the bomb, the bomb, the bomb, the bomb, the bomb
That will bring us together
If it's not love
Then it's the bomb
Then it's the bomb
That will bring us together
So ... ask me, ask me, ask me
Ask me, ask me, ask me
Oh, la ...
song performed by by Smiths
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Bad Boy
I woke up from the drink I had
The room was dark and suddenly began to swirl
I should of heeded mothers words
She said shed heard it said you were a naughty girl
But what does a mother know
That we really need to know
And what would she say if she knew
Na na na na youre just a bad boy
Who, who, who
Na na na na theyll drive you mad boy
Who, who, who
But mother, what a way to go
I looked out as the sun came up
I shook my head and said I really should be gone
I grabbed my shoes and daily news
And walked out in the heat beneath the summer sun
But father was there outside with no place to run and hide
He looked most upset as he said whereve you been?
Na na na na youre just a bad boy
Who, who, who
Na na na na theyll drive you mad boy
Who, who, who
But mother, what a way to go
But what if shed walked in and caught us
Do you think shed have been shocked
The way that she talked youd think I was a daughter
Anyway the door was locked
I know that mother disagrees
But I would really like to see you again
And if you want to see me too
Then meet me in the bushes at the river bend
And no one will find us out
cause no one will be about
But still I can hear them all say
Na na na na youre just a bad boy
Who, who, who
Na na na na theyll drive you mad boy
Who, who, who
But mother, what a way to go
song performed by by Rick Springfield
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Her Mother Doesn't Know.
Rosina's baby sister died.
The cot stood empty
in the darkened room.
Don't go in there
her mother said.
Rosina opened the door
and peered through
the gap instead.
The toys were still there
by the pink pillow and cover.
Leave the room alone
said her grieving mother.
Moonlight shone upon
the place where baby sister
once turned her face
and smiled or made
her baby noise.
Quiet now the room.
Unplayed with
the idle toys.
Mother cried at night
and often in the day
and stared through
the window at the far off bay.
Father was away
in some distant war
keeping his head down
in some foreign land.
Rosina's baby sister
was buried deep
beneath the ground
in a small white coffin
dressed in a ghostly shroud
with songs sung sadly
and tears in the crowd.
Rosina peered through
the gap of the door
at the cot
and moonlight's glow.
She's seen her baby sister's
ghostly smile
but mother doesn't know.
poem by Terry Collett
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Drop the Bomb
[Grand Puba]
PEACE my Nubian brothers.. ("Peace!")
Aiyyo knowledge this we came here to do one thing
And this is what we gonna do
We gonna drop the bomb ("Drop the bomb!")
We gonna drop the bomb ("Drop the bomb!")
We gonna drop the bomb ("Drop the bomb!")
We come to drop the bomb ("Drop the bomb!")
[P] We gonna drop the bomb on the Yacub crew
("Drop the bomb!")
song performed by by Brand Nubian from One For All
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Wile Watching the Black and White TV
Your old man
came into the lounge
where you were watching
black and white TV
and your mother was standing
talking to an uncle
it's the baker
your old man said
he wants his £50
what £50?
your mother asked
the £50 I owe him
well pay him
your mother said
I can't
I don't have it
you watched
the cowboy film
with half interest
you took a glance
at the debtor
well tell him
you'll pay him
next week
your mother said
I told him that
last week
your old man said
what did you want
to borrow £50
from the baker for?
your mother asked
her cheeks getting flushed
to buy my new suit
what new suit?
the one I'm having made
you noticed
your old man's
moustache flicker
and he stroked it
as he did
when cornered
your mother
breathed heavy
and you looked
at the uncle
ok
the uncle said
here's the £50
go pay him
what you owe
to get him off your back
but you better pay me back
or I'll bust your head
sure I will
your old man said
going out of the room
clutching the money
in his palm
your mother sighed
and the uncle
put away his wallet
into an inside pocket
and you saw that one
of the cowboys
on the black and white
TV screen
had been shot
and died
the other looked angry
and ugly
and mean.
poem by Terry Collett
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How Mother Looked
You want to look how Mother looked.
Makeup she used to use lies on her
Dressing table in the room father has
Had locked up. You have secreted the
Key and unlocked and closing the door,
Are sitting facing your image in the mirror’s
Glass you’ve propped against a chair. You
Do not have your mother’s hair. You have
Her eyes, Father said, although he says it
Less now since her death, as if stealing
From the dead. You want to transform
Yourself into her; be the woman she was;
Have her beauty; have her smile; her gentle
Manner. Cancer took her like thief at night;
Reduced her to a bag of bones and hanging
Skin, pale and thin. Forget that image, Father
Chides, cast it away, lock behind the mind’s
Dark doors. You want to look how Mother
Looked before her sad demise, before cold
Cancer’s deceit and lies. Still a child, Father
Says, you have all your life to live; leave your
Grief behind, but you want to be as Mother
Was, like the coloured picture in your mind.
poem by Terry Collett
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Who Is With The Bomb?
Where is it?
It is over here! !
Where is it?
It is over there! !
It has occured again and,
Who is with the bomb?
It is over here an there and,
Who is playing with the bomb?
It has destroyed many and,
It is still destroying us daily;
But, who is with the bomb?
Right from creation till now,
We have been destroying ourselves!
With bombs here and there;
But, when are we going to learn?
We do advance on in life but,
We still have the bombs in our hands;
Who really is with the bomb today? !
Bomb, bomb, bomb, bomb! ! !
With the atomic bombs alike to kill us all;
Now, the nuclear race is at hand.
Who is with the bomb?
With arsenals and nuclear war heads;
After two thousand years of history,
We still cannot learn from our mistakes.
Here and there with the manufacturing plants,
We still go to conferences thinking of stopping it;
But, should we have no fear of the Atomic Energy? !
A nuclear rat-race,
The arm-race of weapons!
Two thousand years of history could not be wiped away.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Dozen Red Roses
God told me to take fifty dollars,
And buy a dozen red roses;
To give them to strangers,
Just as His Spirit impresses.
I gave the first red rose to a homeless man,
Who was sitting on a street curb.
He looked so stunned as he accepted,
But his eyes filled with tears of joy superb.
I then took the subway
That was rather busy.
I saw a mother who looked stresssed;
So gave her a red rose of mercy.
She smiled sweetly, as I walked away.
I sensed this red rose was special;
Gave her a sense of worthiness,
Made me feel like her guardian angel.
The Spirit led me to nine others,
Who were very touched indeed,
By a stranger gifting red roses;
An unusual type of deed.
As I left the train station,
I was led into a nearby hospital.
I asked to whom I should give;
This last red rose, so beautiful.
I was led into a room,
Where a small boy was dying of cancer.
Too weak to take the last rose;
I placed it on his dresser.
He looked at the beautiful red rose;
He could smell its perfume.
Tears fell down his tiny face.
I thanked God for this red rose mission,
As I left the young boy’s room.
Sometimes God asks us,
To do things that may seem strange.
But, in His wisdom, love is His exchange.
The red roses were a token
Of our Saviour’s love
sacrificially given to His children—
Hearts touched from heaven above.
poem by Maureen Lefanue
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The Secret Door
The Mystery
Nadia, gentle zephyr of remembrance, where are you now?
In my mother’s flat there were three doors, the first door,
with an old fashion copper handle, often slammed in anger.
The second door into mother’s bed room was never closed,
but covered with a dark curtain. A small flat I slept on a sofa
in the living room.
There was a third door, from her bedroom into the kitchen.
Sometimes when mother was out, I tried to open it but it was
always locked. There were nights when I wasn’t sure if awake
or not, the locked door opened as a sigh of ancient dreams.
Dawn, I heard the faint sound again, but I was too terrified to
know the truth of what I wasn’t sure of
Morning, mother got up boiled water poured it into a bowl so
I could wash my face. Breakfast, slices of yesterday’s loaf with
strawberry jam and milky coffee. I wanted to know of the sighs
in the night, but sensed it was forbidden to ask.
Time has many doors some will be forever locked, so I ask?
Nadia, gentle zephyr of remembrance, where are you now?
poem by Oskar Hansen
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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