When The Murderers Return To Gaza
WHEN THE MURDERERS RETURN TO GAZA
When the murderers return to Gaza
There will be dancing in the streets
Guns will be fired in the air
Sweets dispersed to clamoring children
Triumphal speeches of boasting and hate
High- stepping clowns in military uniforms
A crowd screaming in happiness cries for more blood-
But back in Israel where the victims’ families are
There will be only more quiet pain
More disturbance at the betrayal and broken promises-
Their loved ones’ murderers set free
By politicians who said they never would-
Justice will not have been done
Fairness and Truth too will have been murdered-
One tortured and broken Israeli soldier will come home-
And hundreds of Palestinians well- fed and healthy
With blood on their hands
And more blood in their hearts
Will be free to try to murder again.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Related quotes
Shalom Salaam
Lost am I in my memories of my forefathers' legacy
I am one of you you are one of me
why don't we set the people free
how I grieve to see fulfillment of prophecy
naive of me to think things could change
while man remain the same so war will be for me everyday
no peace no peace for the children of Israel
Gaza cries all the tears from her eyes
will there be no peace for the children of Palestine
shalom salaam shalom salaam
who will take the blame for the blood of my children
to who does vengeance belong to no one no one
we're dying from tanks and suicide bombs
the only answer is to live as one
and justice will come for my sons and just will come for my sons
shalom salaam shalom salaam
and I wonder why and I wonder who and I wonder what
is in the heart of you
and I wonder why and I wonder who and I wonder what
is in the heart of you
children are children no matter color or faith
and I wonder if history will teach us again
so war will be for me everyday
no peace no peace for the children of Israel
Gaza cries all the tears from her eyes
will there be no peace for the children of Palestine
and justice will come for my sons
shalom salaam shalom salaam
song performed by by Ziggy Marley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Soldiers Family
I watch this big brave man as he rests in his chair
He sits so quiet and still, he doesn't notice me there
He watches the TV screen, not seeing anything at all
A tear runs down his face, his life with his son he recalls
His little boy grew up, and left home to find his way
Daddy thinks about him all the time now that he's gone away
He worked so many hours, didn't have much time with him
He wanted him to have the best, to cater to every whim
The son joined the army out of high school and went away to train
And now dad worries all the time, please don't let my boy be slain
Daddy's heart is broken to pieces, till his son can safely return
The pain in his heart so deep, a stabbing steady burn
Why can't we end this war, not lose anymore of our children
They leave as teenage boys and if they return, broken men
So many tears and broken hearts, our children going to fight
Families wrecked and worried, not knowing their children's plight.
God bless our troops and the families they leave behind
They fighting for our honor and freedom for all man kind
The blood flows like red rivers, we need to end this soon
Please bring every soldier safely back home, and all their platoon!
Dedicated to my wonderful husband and son and everyone else who has a loved fighting a war. Please god bring them home!
By Dogs4donna
© 2007 Dogs4donna (All rights reserved)
poem by Donna Nimmo
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Oh kings so deaf (Please just DIE)
First, I do not expect this one to gain popularity among readers, this intended for the Arab world, only an Arab can understand the frustration caused by what is going on in Gaza..
------****------
Gaza Gaza on this map you see
Another land that is not free
Crowded with people fighting death
Fighting to take another breath
Killed for not taking the bow
In front of a rifle deadly glow
From this day Gaza is red
Like the Blood that was shed
A new, real & burning holocaust
To kill the innocents at all cost
No aid from the desert kings
Busy kissing boots & things
That I can not mention here
Kings of filth, kings by fear
On the land on your western sides
Lies the coward who always hides
Closing his gates from helping you
Knowing his people hates him too
All around Gaza fall the silence
That can not hide that violence
In your land, far and around
The People never forgot the bound
People will keep rocking this ground
To help you there, to stop the sound
Of gun fire & the stuka’s cries
To stop the fire & the smoke that flies
Hear me now.. Kings of our demise
Enough with you, it is time to rise
Sacred you aren’t nor are you divine
You live by stealing the rights of mine
Open the gates of our frontiers
Blood cries for blood, tears for tears
Eye for an eye, hear our cry
Oh kings so deaf, please just DIE
poem by Haytem Fakroun
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Gaza
There is no God in the death camps of Gaza
God has chosen to ignore the genocide
There are no NEWS cameras of the big three
None speak disparaging remarks
against the holy state of Israel
In the center of Gaza is the army of the beast
against people ravaged by scarcity, hunger and thirst
and missiles made of match sticks
Caged in the bordered land of Gaza
captives of the Chosen Few
“Show me the Devil “ Tzipi says
They had open hands to show them
“Then show me your cards”
“We will beat you every time “ she adds
“We will beat you down like
Germany beat us, without considering humanity”.
“Like it says, we’re the chosen people”
She laid down the flush
Of raw sewage and blood
Of screaming babies, motherless and lost
“No one will see this “she says
“You are invisible to the world”.
poem by George Murdock
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Eighth Air Force
If, in an odd angle of the hutment,
A puppy laps the water from a can
Of flowers, and the drunk sergeant shaving
Whistles O Paradiso!--shall I say that man
Is not as men have said: a wolf to man?
The other murderers troop in yawning;
Three of them play Pitch, one sleeps, and one
Lies counting missions, lies there sweating
Till even his heart beats: One; One; One.
O murderers! . . . Still, this is how it's done:
This is a war . . . But since these play, before they die,
Like puppies with their puppy; since, a man,
I did as these have done, but did not die--
I will content the people as I can
And give up these to them: Behold the man!
I have suffered, in a dream, because of him,
Many things; for this last saviour, man,
I have lied as I lie now. But what is lying?
Men wash their hands, in blood, as best they can:
I find no fault in this just man.
poem by Randall Jarrell
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Blood on your hands sister
You said you loved him told him you cared
Promised him forever together
Instead you broke his heart into countless pieces
You drew tears of blood from the Prince of hearts
Hurt his pride with your insolent words
Blood on your hands sister
Blood on your hands
I saw the pain in his eyes
I felt the bitter tears that he cried
Kicked a man when he was down
You left him a broken man
Blood on your hands sister
Blood on your hands
From a loving giving sensitive Prince amongst men
You took your pleasure and stifled his laughter
You took your fill and threw him upon the scrapheap
Blood on your hands sister
Blood on your hands
But his precious tears are wasted
Wasted on a dry barren heart like yours
For his heart is alive and flourishing
Whilst yours is dead and lifeless
He is the victor
Whilst you the loser
You may wash your hands of him
But the stains will never fade
Blood on your hands sister
Blood on your hands
poem by Lilac Wine
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Youth Criminal Injustice Act Aug 6th,2012
Youth Criminal Injustice Act Aug 6th,2012
By
James Bredin
The Youth Criminal Justice Act is just one of the reasons why,
The gang-bang guys can shoot their many guns and let people die,
Because their names can't be published and we don't know who they are,
But we know they live in the projects; don't work and act bizarre.
We can't have a public enquiry just because of the gangs
It might be prejudiced they say, in a land where no one hangs,
No social changes allowed despite the public concern,
So, have we already reached the point of no return?
Pompous politically correct activist politicians,
Are very silent, as we have to tolerate these conditions,
While the Parole Board allows more murderers to walk free,
Without binding referendums and no feedback, we're just trainees.
Aug 6th,2012
poem by James Bredin
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If they're in cell block 1A or 1B, these prisoners - they're murderers, they're terrorists, they're insurgents. Many of them probably have American blood on their hands. And here we're so concerned about the treatment of those individuals.
quote by James Inhofe
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The End Of His World
The sky's as dark as murderers hearts
Waiting stalking
She didn't know he was gunna die
The earth it screams
As bullets fire upon the innocent
She didnt know he was gonna die
The end of his world is here
The seas' as red as the you man's blood
Dripping from his forehead
The winds as cold as his widows eyes
When she finds out her lover won't be coming home
song performed by by Zao from Zao
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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There Is A Poem Of Outrage And Sorrow
THERE IS A POEM OF OUTRAGE AND SORROW
There is a poem of outrage and sorrow I cannot write in a strong enough way-
It concerns the injustice of allowing murderers to go free-
It concerns the additional hurt and pain given to families
Who have had their loved ones cruelly taken from them-
It concerns one person I knew and deeply cared for
Burned to death-
A kind quiet man
Whose murderer will now go free-
There is a poem of outrage and sorrow I cannot write in a strong enough way-
It concerns a country so concerned with saving one life
That they risk the lives of many to do this
A country too compassionate
And an enemy so evil it sings and celebrates the deaths of children-
There is a poem of outrage and sorrow I cannot write in a strong enough way-
poem by Shalom Freedman
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I would like Israel to be a Jewish state, and therefore not to annex over 2 million Palestinians who live in the West Bank and the Gaza Strip to Israel, which will make Israel a bi-national state.
quote by Yitzhak Rabin
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Among the Red Guns
Among the red guns,
In the hearts of soldiers
Running free blood
In the long, long campaign:
Dreams go on.
Among the leather saddles,
In the heads of soldiers
Heavy in the wracks and kills
Of all straight fighting:
Dreams go on.
Among the hot muzzles,
In the hands of soldiers
Brought from flesh-folds of women--
Soft amid the blood and crying--
In all your hearts and heads
Among the guns and saddles and muzzles:
Dreams,
Dreams go on,
Out of the dead on their backs,
Broken and no use any more:
Dreams of the way and the end go on.
poem by Carl Sandburg
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Our Justice System Jul 2nd,2012
OUR JUSTICE SYSTEM Jul 2nd,2012
By
James Bredin
The justice system is designed to put them in jail though they disagree,
Unfortunately the parole board is designed to set them free,
Regardless of the crimes or rap sheets that read like a book,
Our politicians or appointed aristocrats never look.
Is this is a place where we the people have lost all control?
Or is this is the extremist left-wing activists goal?
Do they want their friends out of jail and walking the streets again?
In line with their very secretive left-wing campaign.
But you didn't know because the media too are on their side,
Nothing in the papers about this and nothing ever supplied,
As murderers and rapists walk the streets every day, defiant,
And we the people and the justice system are so pliant.
Jul 2nd,2012
poem by James Bredin
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Children Of Gaza
Ooo! ! ! you young infants of the stolen land
Be strong, you are the seeds of the sand
Rain of missiles showered you every day
the world watch as if it is a comic play
your playground has become a missile garden
And you had become a weed that need to be up rooten
every day of yours, some of you are called by him above
But with tears of sorrow you buried them with love
Ooo! ! ! you children of gaza
Be strong, God will answer your prayer
You have never had a memory of sweet infancies
your childhood is constantly rubbed by plague of brutalities
Your eyes are running water no more
they pumped blood from sorrows core
Ooo! ! ! children of this ruined kingdom
let no one break your spirit, they will call freedom
Ooo! ! ! you children of palestine
Be strong, your home will be a glowing vine
our hand are tied to our eyes
our ears are deaf only few of us heard your cries
But I say to you hold on
It wouldn't be long before you see the sun
It wouldn't be long before we hear your solitary strain
It wouldn't be for ever this pointless emblem of pain
Be strong children of gaza
Freedom will wipe your fear
poem by Kemurl Fofanah
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Peace Frog
Theres blood in the streets, its up to my ankles
She came
Theres blood on the streets, its up to my knee
She came
Blood on the streets in the town of chicago
She came
Blood on the rise, its following me
Think about the break of day
She came and then she drove away
Sunlight in her hair
She came
Blood in the streets runs a river of sadness
She came
Blood in the streets its up to my thigh
She came
Yeah the river runs down the legs of the city
She came
The women are crying red rivers of weepin
She came into town and then she drove away
Sunlight in her hair
Indians scattered on dawns highway bleeding
Ghosts crowd the young childs fragile eggshell mind
Blood in the streets in the town of new haven
Blood stains the roofs and the palm trees of venice
Blood in my love in the terrible summer
Bloody red sun of phantastic l.a.
Blood streams her brain as they chop off her fingers
Blood will be born in the birth of a nation
Blood is the rose of mysterious union
Theres blood in the streets, its up to my ankles
Blood in the streets, its up to my knee
Blood in the streets in the town of chicago
Blood on the rise, its following me
song performed by by Doors
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Everything is broken nothing is right
Everything around me is broken.
Nothing remains a whole.
For anger overtakes my life.
Leaving me in hell of a rage.
I have a broken heart.
I have a broken body.
My head a mess.
My heart shatted in a millon peices.
Broken trust broken life.
Broken bottel broken glass.
Nice sharp razor blade.
Blood pouring down.
Blood running in a stream.
Flowing peacfully away.
Now the badness is free.
If only for a while.
Repeat the cycle.
Dont face to my emotions.
Just cut it all away.
poem by Amy Louise Kerswell
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A War Raging On
There's a war raging on
Though I know not where
There are people fighting
Though they do not care
Soldiers are fighting
Mothers are crying
Fathers are preaching
For their sons are dying,
For their is a war killing
And no one really cares.
There's bullets shooting
As I see the guns loading
And there's planes flying
For I feel the bombs exploding,
I see war and I see blood
And death upon the sand
There's hunger and death
I still see in His hand,
For there's people killing
As I see the blood flowing.
There's soldiers marching
For I hear them coming
The killing is flowing
For I see the children running,
There are people being shot
Poets getting caught
Murderers being sought
Lessons again being taught,
For there is a war raging
As the soldiers are hunting.
There is a war coming
For I hear the horns blowing
There is more killing coming
For I see the hate growing,
Children are getting killed
Burying bombs in the fields
Land is being destroyed
Mountains are becoming hills,
For there is a war coming
For I see the hate showing.
Randy L. McClave
poem by Randy McClave
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Freedom Isn't Free...
Who says our freedom is free? Not Me.
True, We are freer than most, but not enough,
that we should boast.
Before you say Freedom is free, stop and count the cost
of all the lives lost,
Freedom isn't free, when there's killing in our streets.
Freedom isn't free, to the Soldier that is waiting to be shipped over seas.
Freedom isn't free, with the pain, he or she is feeling inside, with
the thought of having to leave they're loved one's behind, and
it hurts so bad that it brings them to their knees.
Freedom isn't free, when your living in uncertainty.
Freedom isn't free, having to say good-bye, to a loved one that
is going off to war.Freedom isn't free, to a soldier who is on the front lines, knowing he or she, could die anytime.
Freedom isn't free when your lying in bed,
waiting and wondering, if you'll ever see your loved ones alive again.
Freedom isn't free, when a little child crys in the night,
for his or her Mommy and Daddy, and they're not there to hold them close, and comfort them, and to ease their fears, and wipe away they're tears. And all those in all the other wars, and the lives that are still being lost at this very moment.
Do you still say Freedom is free?
Freedom isn't free, when a Soldier is wounded in battle.
When news reaches, Family and friends at home,
And their told that their Soldier is wounded far beyond repair,
The loss and pain felt can not compare.
Freedom isn't free, with all those many Soldiers that wished they
had died because of all the pain in their broken up bodies.
Freedom isn't free, when your lying in bed, and you hear that dreaded
tap on your door.And you pray to God that you were only having a bad dream.
Freedom isn't free when you open the door and listen to the
bugle play, and you feel a sudden chill.
Everything goes still.
Freedom isn't free, when there is a Flag being draped
over a coffin, of a Brother, Sister, or a friend.
Freedom isn't free, when you think of all the children,
of the mothers and the wives, of Fathers, sons and husbands, whose
lives have been interrupted.
Freedom isn't free, when you think about the graveyard at the
bottom of the sea, of the unmarked graves in Arlington.
Who say's Freedom is Free? Not Me!
Written 7/23/008
BY Nora Eason
poem by Nora Eason
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Return Sonata
Return the dust that is in my home to the streets at home
So that I can have a dust free home
Return the mice to the streets at home
So that I can have no mice in my home
Return some warmth to my home
So that my home can be warm also
Return peace to my home
So that I can live in peace at home
Return freedom to me
So that I can live free
Return the fresh air to my home
So that I can be able to breathe the fresh air
Return the sound of silence to my home
So that I can have some silence while I sleep
poem by Aldo Kraas
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Sorrow Versus Revenge...Justify
Sorrow. Strange word. Six tiny letters....
Murmured by murderers. Priests.
A word bled from lips. Eyes. hands.
Dry sand raging hearts. Doubt. Decision.
False. Steadfast. Indecisive.
What sword drips sorrow, slicing freedom
For nations?
What nation oozes sorrow, being lifted
From despots?
What joyous revels bought in blood.
Sorrow. Sorry.
Boudicea, daughters raped, raged
Tribes to war. Romans' blood-bath.
Revenge by sorrow.
Lakota Sioux, Red Cloud's curse remembered,
Left one pony alive. Custer...sorry?
Revenge by sorrow.
Can sorrow separate from blood...mental. Physical
Storms of years. Judged. Betrayed.
In seconds, we create
Eons.
Sorrow.
poem by Elysabeth Faslund
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