The Messiah in Strasshof
Inside the grinding burden of the crusty past
dreary facts hide, jubilant verities hibernate,
haunting memories trumpet and overwhelm the poet
he is compelled to tell what cannot be told.
But this is a true story and it must be told.
It happened long ago, as the ordeals of 1944
curled into the agonies of 1945
over the tormented body of war-weary Europe.
Exhaling anguished stench soaked in torrents of blood
mighty armies clashed in apocalyptic combats,
against the forces of darkness.
In the unrelenting wintry cold
the fighting intensified along frontless fronts.
There were daily air raids and dog fights in the skies.
Humming allied bombers flew towards their targets
and the German flak firing from the ground
pelted across the blue firmament feathery clouds
of bursting explosive shells.
Turning his back to the barbed wire fence
a slim and hungry eight year old boy
lifted his ebon eyes to the heavens,
beclouded with melancholic despair and oblivion.
A prisoner in the Nazi concentration camp Strasshof,
a forlorn suburb of waltz-loving Vienna,
he stood dazed, almost catatonic.
And then suddenly as if appearing out of nowhere
a teenager started to talk to the boy.
And he listened eagerly,
drinking the words with zest and fervor,
his eyes widely open
and glow in wonder and fascination.
For, the boy heard from his mysterious friend
that one day swords will be beaten into plowshares
and no nation will rise against others to wage wars.
Oh, then the days of halcyon will arrive,
wild lions will play peacefully with timid children
amid blossoming flowers on quiet river banks.
The day will come and people will be free and happy
because the Messiah is round the corner,
bringing redemption to the hungry,
the wretched and the hopeless.
poem by Paul Hartal
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Meeting in Belsen
For Anne Frank (1929-1945) .
One day in the autumn of 1944,
Along with your sister Margot,
You were deported from Auschwitz
to Bergen-Belsen.
When you arrived in the camp
the barracks were full,
so for several weeks
you lived in a crowded tent.
Unlike in Auschwitz,
there were no gas chambers in Belsen,
just shouting SS guards with dogs,
watch towers and barbed wire fence,
starvation and disease,
living skeletons of prisoners
tottering around like ghosts.
Typhus raged everywhere
And each hour brought new miseries.
You stared at the clouds in the sky
with your big eyes that grew bigger
in the camp on your sunken face.
Your head was shaven now
and you dressed in coarse rags.
But in your tiny fragile figure
the pure fire of your lofty soul
kept burning.
Then winter came with ice and snow,
frosty winds swept through the camp.
The barracks were unheated in Belsen.
The cold followed you everywhere
And the hunger pangs became unbearable.
You wished at least you could write
but it was hard to get paper or pencil.
Nevertheless, February arrived
with thrilling news.
Amid tears and smiles you found out
with boundless excitement
that an old school friend from Amsterdam
was also in Bergen-Belsen,
in another section of the camp.
Although you could have been shot for it,
you decided to take the risk and meet
with your friend.
So one shivery winter night
you walked on the frozen ground
of the barren heath of the camp
towards the barbed wire fence.
Scared and trembling in the dark,
She waited on the other side.
It was dangerous to make any sound.
However, suddenly and against all odds
she heard your voice whispering her name.
You could not embrace each other
because of the barbed wire barrier.
But you could talk and cry together
And the tears were flowing like rivers.
She brought you a crust of bread
and threw it over the barbed wire fence.
But a woman took it from you
And you fumed in dismayed frustration.
Yet two nights later
you met again your friend at the fence.
She tossed another package of food
And this time you caught it.
Hundreds of miles away in Poland
your mother was alone in Auschwitz.
She missed her family and refused to eat.
While freedom drew closer inch by inch
and the Russians approached the camp
she died of starvation
on January 6,1945.
Meanwhile in Bergen-Belsen
Margot became gravely ill.
She contracted typhus
and one day as she lost consciousness
she fell from her bunk and died.
At the same time you lay sick, too,
in your barrack bunk,
unaware of your sister’s death
or the fate of your parents.
The sun rose and set on the horizon
and the Allies advanced in every front.
On January 27,1945,
Three weeks after your mother died,
the 322nd Rifle Division of the Red Army
liberated your father in Auschwitz.
In March, American and British forces
crossed the Rhine River in Germany
and a month later, on April 15,1945,
the British 11th Armoured Division
overran Bergen-Belsen
and liberated the concentration camp.
But they came too late for you
Because your heart stopped beating by then.
I don’t know if irony
Can offer any pale solace
Yet compassionate arms
Held you when you
Became highly delirious.
Carrying the promise of spring
A bright breeze blew through the lager.
It was March 1945 now
and slipping slowly into a deep coma
you died peacefully
in the Bergen-Belsen concentration camp.
You were fifteen years old.
However, only the flesh dies.
The soul survives.
Your memory lives forever.
Anne, you always believed
in the goodness of man.
Your constructive sensibility
transcends time and suffering.
Your towering courage soars
above war and destruction.
It rises in gleaming nobility
as a symbol of the human spirit
triumphing against evil.
Your immortal Diary inspires
millions of people around the globe.
Its poignant words glow and shine
illuminating the darkness of the night
with radiant splendour of light.
Anne, when I was born
You were already six years old.
In the summer of 1944,
while you and your family
were hiding in Amsterdam,
My mother, sister and I were deported
From Hungary to Strasshof,
a slave labour camp near Vienna.
My father was sent to Auschwitz.
Then on April 9,1945,
A fortnight before my ninth birthday,
the Red Army
Liberated us in Strasshof.
Now the winter of life
Turns my thinning hair grey
And with the rolling of seasons
I became much older than you.
I age.
You don’t.
(Montreal,2009)
poem by Paul Hartal
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Poem
This poem is a gift
Free words
Under the stench of a barbed wire world
Flowers that live on
After the flowers have been blown from the graves
In the midst of war
These words are a gift
A balm for the poor hungry mouth
To feed on
After the nightmare of carnage
Of lines written in blood
On broken walls
Where fathers and their families lie
Still and swollen in unmarked plots
These words are a gift
They are free
Washing the wounds
Making speech live on
Even after so much darkness
They are the lightness
Bringing light
yvette smith june 12 2009
poem by Yvette Smith
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Perhaps Today
Perhaps today, in the open sky above beyond the oceans gentle shore,
Perhaps today, from the clouds above we will hear that Blessed horn.
For the Church will hear the angel shout and the trumpet call of God,
And all alive in Christ will be lifted from this earth's lowly sod,
Perhaps today, we'll see the very one who has been Eternally Adored,
Perhaps today, up in the clouds we'll meet our Glorious Blessed Lord.
For those who died in Christ shall rise first at that Glorious sound,
Their bodies to be resurrected as they're extracted from the ground.
Perhaps today, through His Mighty Power and His Loving Eternal Grace,
Perhaps today, with all who went before us we'll see His Loving face.
When we hear the trumpet we know that we are at the end of the race,
We will share the prize and see The Author and Finisher of our faith.
Perhaps today, when the Glorious Trumpet of our God above resounds,
Perhaps today, with all of our loved ones we'll be up in the clouds.
Regarding the rapture we shouldn't stay quiet according to The Word,
Paul says encourage one another and share with all who haven't heard.
Perhaps today, in the twinkling of an eye we'll see heaven's portal,
Perhaps today, this earthly body will be changed into one immortal.
As you long for His return and you ponder for the right words to say,
The words in your heart will burn as you openly reply Perhaps today.
Her Refrain
Do you love me?' she said, when the skies were blue,
And we walked where the stream through the branches glistened;
And I told and retold her my love was true,
While she listened and smiled, and smiled and listened.
Do you love me?' she whispered, when days were drear,
And her eyes searched mine with a patient yearning;
And I kissed her, renewing the words so dear,
While she listened and smiled, as if slowly learning.
“Do you love me?” she asked, when we sat at rest
By the stream enshadowed with autumn glory;
Her cheek had been laid as in peace on my breast,
But she raised it to ask for the sweet old story.
And I said: 'I will tell her the tale again—
I will swear by the earth and the stars above me!'
And I told her that uttermost time should prove
The fervor and faith of my perfect love;
And I vowed it and pledged it that nought should move;
While she listened and smiled in my face, and then
She whispered once more, ' Do you truly love me? '
poem by John Boyle O'Reilly
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The Fate of Bass
On the snow-line of the summit stood the Spaniard's English slave;
And the frighted condor westward flew afar---
Where the torch of Cotopaxi lit the wide Pacific wave,
And the tender moon embraced a new-born star.
Blanched the cheek that Austral breezes off Van Diemen's coast had tanned,
Bent the form that on the deck stood stalwart there;
Slim and pallid as a woman's was the sailor's sunburnt hand,
And untimely silver streaked the strong man's hair.
From the forest far beneath him came the baffled bloodhound's bay,
From the gusty slope the camp-fire's fitful glow;
But the pass the Indian told of o'er the cliff beside him lay,
And beyond---The Mighty River's easward flow.
"Mine the secret of the Incas; to the tyrants never told;
Mine the Cloven Rock; the league long Sculptured Way!
Ere the weary scouts awaken, ere the embers are grown cold---
Ere the dogs in dreams their quarry seize and slay!"
Freedom's threshold!---yet he tarries---gazes seaward, southward still,
Past the gulfs where fainting chain-gangs toil entombed,
And the furnace of the smelter taints the winds of every hill
With the fumes that swathe the dying and the doomed.
Never, never, gallant seaman, may the land that lit thy dreams
In the starless drive make glad thine eyes again---
Where through tropic heavens at midnight the Antarctic glory streams
And a sea of blossom floods the wintry plain.
Never more the settler's welcome, at the sinking of the sun,
Nor his godspeed; mid the fragrant Austral morn!
Shattered, spent, and broken-hearted---yet a guerdon thou hast won,
And where brave souls meet thou shalt not stand forlorn.
poem by Mary Hannay Foott
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How I Disagree With You My Friend
Dark and dusty road well travelled
I see the dim clouds above me
The voice of the past is calling
Your vision there I almost see
The evening is coming close
How I regret turning back again
It was your very words I recall
When you told me all must end
How I Disagree With You Friend
Nothing lasts forever you said
Everything has an end someday
I'd rather be anywhere then here instead
You throw your shadows at me
I keep calm and and quiet inside
Your depression is deep and cold
It is from you I decide to hide
How I disagree With You my Friend
poem by Suelynn Walters
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What About Us?
I have told you everything about myself and i am willing still to tell you more if you ask, if you are still hungry about what you want to know about me,
i am stupid, i am like a woman who spreads my legs to any man who want me in bed, but i can also be a very kind woman who opens my arms for every weary man,
i am not stupid, i am kind,
I reveales everything From a to z No secrets now From my family
No stone Left unturned No story Untold
If it makes You happy Or if it makes
You sad And you regret Having listened
I am sorry you ask for them so i give them all to you
like a basket of flowers and fruits,
(are you sick in the hospital why with these basket of flowers and fruits?)
I have done My duty As the messenger I have achieved
What was Left for me To do And It is all Enough i am happy now
The truth is Told and it Has set me free.
(The lies however keep on saying, what about us?)
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Sun Will Rise
Edwin McCain
Sun Will Rise
Hey there busy boy why are you so blue
Walking around in your Armageddon shoes
You say you got nothing, you got nothing left to lose
Boy if they were free, you still would not have a clue
I know the sun will rise
Just like the stars in the skies
Just like every time you look at me with loving in your eyes
I know the sun will rise
Youre talking to the mystics, you got psychics on the phone
What a silly waste of time
You talk about lonely but you never were alone
Boy you just got to clear your mind
I know the sun will rise
Just like the stars in the skies
Just like every time you look at me with loving in your eyes
I know the sun will rise
Why must it be some big mystery
Tell me, why cant it just be alright
I know the sun will rise
Just like the stars in the skies
Just like every time you look at me with loving in your eyes
I know the sun will rise
I know the sun will rise
Just like the stars in the skies
Just like every time you look at me with loving in your eyes
I know the sun will rise
song performed by by Edwin McCain
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Stories Of Hope Series #9 A Drug Addicts Salvation
An educated man, yet he was a fool
He put drugs in his body and let it rule.
He started off slowly with just some pot
He enjoyed the high and would not stop.
He then decided to try cocaine
This was the turning point and what a shame
Everyone was talking about free basing and crack
Once he did that there was no turning back
He became the street poet - for all to see
The poetry he spoke, he spoke beautifully.
Words flowed thru his mind
Like a smooth river of rhyme.
He spoke of days of old when knights were bold
Of wars and loves of histories past
And he knew that this would not last.
His dabbing in drugs was destroying his life
He lost his friends, his family
His children and wife.
And as he stood on the corner that day
Across from him a church a bit away.
He walked over to it not knowing
What to expect, worse than this it could not get.
He walked inside and began to pray
“ help me LORD for I’ve gone astray
Put me on the path of light
Help me to make this wrong a right.
Give me the strength to stop all of this
For the things I had I truly miss.
His chest started to swell up inside
He fell to his knees and began to cry
He felt someone touch his head
And these words was simply said:
Help yourself and I will help you
Put faith and love in your heart
Is all you have to do.
He stopped his crying and turned around
No one was there to be found.
He committed himself to the hospital
That day, and from then on
He did not stray.
Now he preaches in a store front church
And with GOD sits high on a perch.
There is nothing that can bring him down
For CHRIST he has found.
HOPE IS THE KEY IT WILL SET YOU FREE
poem by Louis Rams
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Nowhere To Hide
You might not understand the way I write because I write for me
This is my selfish exploit, my medicine, for the acid-
This is how I choose to drown my sorrows, I hid them, quid
In a sea of deeper sorrow, that goes deeper still... can't you see
Sorrow for sorrow, can't you see, this my strategy
To chasten the pain with an ever greater pain
To drive out the darkness by further causing all light to wain
To float in a sea of all I truly am
For surely this, this really is me, All I am, All I can
Muster is my fake face, but the monster
Dripping in darkness and blood, he lurks just under that mask
I know him, he is not gone, and he is hungry
Hungry, hungry, hungry, always inside
Hungry, hungry, hungry, left with nowhere to hide
Hungry, hungry, hungry, waiting to devour
This very hour I realize I've always been running
But I get nowhere, because I am already nowhere
And nowhere is certainly no place to hide.
poem by David Knox
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Misplaced Sympathy
Little Benny sat one evening,
Looking o'er his picture-book:
Suddenly his mother noticed
On his face a troubled look.
He was gazing on a picture, —
"Christians in the early days,"
When the cruel tyrant Nero
Harassed them in various ways.
'Twas a family of Christians,
Torn by lions fierce and wild,
In the horrible arena,
Which had thus distressed the child.
Thinking it a golden moment
To impress his youthful mind
With our freedom, dearly purchased,
And by martyrs' blood refined,
His good mother told the story
Of their persecutions sore,
While he listened, all attention,
And the picture pondered o'er.
"See, my child, those hungry lions,
How upon the group they fall!
'Tis a sight, my precious darling,
That the bravest might appall."
Then, with little lip a-quiver,
"Mamma, look!" says little Benny:
"Little lion in the corner,
Mamma, isn't gettin' any!"
poem by Charles Follen Adams from Yawcob Strauss and Other Poems
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Wild Ways
You and me
We were the last of the line
Young and free
We were two of a kind
We ran the streets together
The night would last forever
Oh do you remember when
Whatever happened to our wild ways
The hungry beat of our younger days
We swore wed never let them get away
But so long to our wild ways
You and me
Driving to the ocean at night
Running free
Trying to stay ahead of the light
The road ran through the morning
Time passed without a warning sign
Oh we were the reckless kind
Whatever happened to our wild ways
The hungry beat of our younger days
We swore wed never let them get away
But so long to our wild ways
Baby we could be free once again
Ill take you away from this town
You know I wont let you down
You know I wont let you down
Whatever happened to our wild ways
The hungry beat of our younger days
We swore wed never let them get away
But so long to our wild ways
song performed by by Peter Cetera
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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What You Get
The machines of metal is driven by war, the gears are turning into the most gruesome of fears - Nuclear destruction by the hands of men, over and over, again and again - Bombs which litter the clear blue skies, fatherless children to the innocent which dies - Hate is bred by the lack of respect, the lack of respect is the hate which is bred - Armies of the damned bleeds on the blood soaked sand, burning fires flames on this savage land - Victory is signalled by the bones of the dead, what you read is the lies told, the truth will not be told and will never be said - When blood flows rivers red, death is true and that is what you get
poem by Unic Cjonr
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Pounding
pounding, pounding nails,
pounding heartbeats, pounding feet.
pounding voices, pounding anger,
pounding need, pounding greed.
hungry, hungry eyes,
hungry souls, hungry holes.
hungry children, hungry countries,
hungry hands, hungry man.
throbbing, throbbing blood,
throbbing dreams, throbbing schemes.
throbbing ideas, throbbing hatred,
throbbing inside, throbbing cant hide.
touching, touching hearts,
touching true, touching you.
touching forbidden, touching daring,
touching color, touching wonder.
pounding, pounding nails...
poem by Eric Cockrell
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The Company Of Storms
you told me the sun would always rise
and if it shouldn't shine have faith
'cause one day that great burning star's light
one once again dance across my face
I heard the roar of the parting seas
and the mourning of a blackened sun
I saw the last flower wither away
when our flesh turned to stone
I felt the frigid blood in my veins grow still
like winter's paralyzed streams
as the soil beneath our feet gave way
to iron and asphalt dreams
when nighttime stars flicker with grief and despair
and dusk threatens senses too dazed to stay clear
their heavens will beckon,
and angels will whisper my name
wings of scarlet hue, their truth soaked in blood
on wounded knees I've crawled
through the nameless streets of this world I love
my heart is heavy with burden
I'm feeling empty inside
so fill me up and give me a taste of life
give me a place to hide, mother
offer me your caress and let it last forever
let me cry in your arms
let me die in your embrace
my hands have held your paradise
your heavens blazed
from upon the highest hills,
my lonely and wanting eyes did gaze
for I was in love with life and this world
but they tried to take that from me
if this is the reward of the harvest
then I gladly give you my share
song performed by by Undying
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Street Riot
Poor, hapless souls! at whom we stand aghast,
As at invading armies sweeping by —
As strange to haggard face and desperate cry —
Did we not know the worm must turn at last?
Poor, hungry men, with hungry children cast
Upon the wintry streets to thieve or die —
Suffering your wants and woes so silently -
Patient so long — is all your patience past?
Are there no ears to hear this warning call?
Are there no eyes to see this portent dread?
Must brute force rise and social order fall,
Ere these starved millions can be clothed and fed?
Justice be judge. Let future history say
Which are the greatest criminals to- day.
poem by Ada Cambridge
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Little Ganesha in Toonpura
This story is about tiny city of Toonpura. A little boy named Ganesha lived in this small town, which was located near a river. Daily life was very simple for him as he was very religious and he used to sit near the temple and wait for the morning worship of Lord Ganesha.
Only family member who was left alive of this little boy was his loving grandmother. Every day he prayed for her long life because she was the only one who actually truly loved him. He used to sell beautiful red roses whenever he could find some. With the little money which he could get by selling the roses, with that money the boy used to purchase sweets for his grandmother to eat.
One day he saw a large crowd gathered to visit the temple of Ganesha. He was excited because today he thought that lot of red roses will be sold since so many people are visiting the temple. Ganesha came running with his basket of flowers and started requesting the crowd to purchase his flowers. Some people said to him please go away since we are in hurry as Lord Ganesha is waiting for us. A liitle girl saw the red roses and told the boy please give me a rose. Without worrying about the money, he just gave one rose to her. She smiled back at him and this brought a smile on the face of Ganesha as well.
Then he went further and started asking others to purchase his roses as well, slowly some kind devotees started to buy his roses and this added a smile on the face of the little boy. The little girl whom he gave a rose came with a one rupee coin and said this is for you my friend. He said thank you by asking the reason as to why all of a sudden so many visitors are here. Girl said to the boy, Ganesha is drinking milk today. The little boy said to the little girl, really? To this she replied, yes this is true.
Ganesha got in the line with his basket of flowers. Gradually the devotees started to move ahead and feed lots of milk to the marble statue of Lord Ganesha. To the utter surprise of Ganesha, the statue did drink the milk. He suddenly spoke in his soft voice, please give me milk also to drink as I like it a lot and my name is Ganesha. I am very hungry as I have eaten nothing since the morning. The little girl, whom he met earlier in the crowd, came running with a cup of milk which she took from her mother. My friend Ganesha, the girl said, here is milk for you also so please do not be sad.
poem by Rohit Sapra
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Before Believing
(danny flowers)
Winter summer seasons is taken over its quiet
Like new fallen snow
I told you summer stories but outside is getting mighty cold
I told you everything I could about me
Told you everything I could
How would you feel if the world was falling apart around you
Pieces of the sky were falling in your neighbors yard
But not on you
Wouldnt you feel just a little bit funny
Think maybe theres something you oughta do
Solutions that never lay down before you the answers are all around
Believing is all the friend you need to talk to
Believing in you
I told you everything I could about me
Told you everything I could
I told you everything I could about me
Told you everything I could
song performed by by Emmylou Harris
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sentinel of the Dark
The furtive husher of noise
Stealthily graceful in poise
The silent sentinel in the din
Call them cute or mean!
They flourish they thrive
Networking like beehive
A stubborn snatching cult
Life for them is difficult!
They're surely a game
Stones are pelted at them
People say they're no good
Always hungry for food!
Out in the rain and heat
There's no love in the street
Day for them is rough ride
Cowering in corners to hide!
When the town sleeps at night
In the dark their eyes glow bright
Presence they freely announce
These hunters are ready to pounce!
But I feel so love-smitten
By the blue eyes of a kitten
And the way it looks at my eyes
When on my lap it peacefully lies!
poem by Pradip Chattopadhyay
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Dear Friend
Dear friend,
Today I turn the pages of our memories
Those laughter and tears
That we have shared for more many years
Those secrets that we hide
Underneath the cherry tree
These photographs I held, and
I used to smile every time I looked at them
Dear friend,
I've been to the place were we first met
It’s the same old, and new, nothing has changed
Like an old book with precious stories
Every page has a wonderful thing to say
Like a laughter that remains on air
They’re sounds music in my ear
A symphony of our yesterday
Dear friend,
I plow our memories that blanket by autumn leaves
On this mango tree
And its branches look so droopy
But there’s a last leaf-standing firm on a trunk
That forgotten, as the time goes by
Like this friendship buried from the shadow of past
Thou I know it will never last
Dear friend,
Remember the summer skies
Those butterflies that landed in our hands
The kites that we ever flew
In these green fields of our childhood memory
We were children once before
When the trees were tall and we were small
And now we are tall and the trees fall
Dear friend,
Autumn was come
And the leaves started to fall
I can’t count the hours, how long I've stood here
Waiting for your presence
That you have promised you will come
The wind whistle like your soft voice
I feel the heavenly touch on my face
Dear friend,
You never told me that you are leaving
Together with the clouds that passed by
Together with the angels that flew into the sky
Like the waters that flow freely back to the sea
Like a wind that danced on its own
But your soul still live inside of me
You will always be my special memory
Dear friend,
I wrote you a letter sealed with my tears
Saying take care, I miss our funny deeds
Id rather be sad
And my heart is in grief
But somehow I’ll be happy then
That once in my life I had you as my friend
Dear friend, you will always be my best friend
poem by Cheryl Aldea
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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