Our Substitute
Subsumed in Him, all human agony
Was concentrated at Gethsemane.
Mere language fails, all images exhaust,
In view of Christ’s climactic holocaust.
His voice, unrecognised in Nazi camps,
Where milliard Jews refused to hear Him speak,
Rose high in hoarse crescendo, through biting cramps
Of anguish in extremity, to shriek,
“It is accomplished! ” Done. He bowed His head.
Soldiers aghast, forbore to break His legs.
They pierced His stationary heart instead.
The Son of David, drank sin to the dregs.
Shamed! Destined to be lynched and crucified,
That we, unblamed, might be indemnified.
poem by Peter Eliastam
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Related quotes
The Crucifixion of Christ
Composed, by Special Request, 18th June 1890
Then Pilate, the Roman Governor, took Jesus and scourged Him,
And the soldiers platted a crown of thorns, and thought it no sin
To put it on His head, while meekly Jesus stands;
They put on Him a purple robe, and smote Him with their hands.
Then Pilate went forth again, and said unto them,
Behold, I bring Him forth to you, but I cannot Him condemn,
And I would have you to remember I find no fault in Him,
And to treat Him too harshly 'twould be a sin.
But the rabble cried. Hail, King of the Jews, and crucify Him;
But Pilate saith unto them, I find in Him no sin;
Then Jesus came forth, looking dejected and wan,
And Pilate saith unto them, Behold the Man.
Then the Jews cried out, By our laws He ought to die,
Because He made Himself the Son of God the Most High;
And when Pilate heard that saying the Jews had made,
He saw they were dissatisfied, and he was the more afraid.
And to release Jesus Pilate did really intend,
But the Jews cried angrily, Pilate, thou art not Caesar's friend,
Remember, if thou let this vile impostor go,
It only goes to prove thou art Caesar's foe.
When Pilate heard that he felt very irate,
Then he brought Josus forth, and sat down in the judgment-seat,
In a place that is called the Pavement,
While the Blessed Saviour stood calm and content.
The presence of His enemies did not Him appal,
When Pilate asked of Him, before them all,
Whence art Thou, dost say from on High?
But Jesus, the Lamb of God, made no reply.
Then saith Pilate unto Him, Speakest Thou not unto me,
Remember, I have the power to crucify Thee;
But Jesus answered, Thou hast no power at all against me,
Except from above it were given to thee.
Then Pilate to the Jews loudly cried,
Take Him away to be crucified;
Then the soldiers took Jesus and led Him away,
And He, bearing His Cross, without dismay.
And they led Him to a place called Golgotha,
But the Saviour met His fate without any awe,
And there crucified Him with two others, one on either side,
And Jesus in the midst, whilst the Jews did Him deride.
Then Pilate tried to pacify the Jews, they felt so morose,
And he wrote a title, and put it on the Cross;
And the title he wrote did the Jews amuse,
The writing was, Jesus of Nazareth the King of the Jews.
This title read many of the Jews without any pity;
And the place where Jesus was crucified was nigh to the city;
And the title was written in Hebrew, and Greek, and Latin,
And while reading the title the Jews did laugh and grin.
While on the Cross the sun refused to shine,
And there was total darkness for a long time;
The reason was God wanted to hide His wounds from view,
And He kept the blessed sun from breaking through.
And to quench His thirst they gave Him vinegar and hyssop,
While the blood from His wounded brow copiously did drop,
Then He drank of it willingly, and bowed His head,
And in a few minutes the dear Saviour was dead.
Then Joseph of Arimathea sadly did grieve,
And he asked if Pilate would give him leave
To take the body of Jesus away,
And Pilate told him to remove it without delay.
Then Joseph took the body of Jesus away,
And wound it in linen, which was the Jewish custom of that day,
And embalmed his body with spices sweet,
Then laid it in a new sepulchre, as Joseph thought meet.
But death could not hold Him in the grave,
Because He died poor sinners' souls to save;
And God His Father took Him to Heaven on high;
And those that believe in Jesus shall never die.
Oh! think of the precious Blood our Saviour did loss,
That flowed from His wounds while on the Cross,
Especially the wound in His side, made with a spear,
And if you are a believer, you will drop a silent tear.
And if you are not a believer, try and believe,
And don't let the devil any longer you deceive,
Because the precious Blood that Jesus shed will free you from all sin,
Therefore, believe in the Saviour, and Heaven you shall enter in!
poem by William Topaz McGonagall
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Human Beings
It is only love I feel
That will give us peace of heart
In my hour of desperate need
I feel closer to the one
Oh but why...
Please
Human being
If you bleed
they will say it was destined
They'll be punchin' tickets
By the minute if you fall out of line
desperate
desperate
Tell me is it death you feel
That will bring you peace of life.
Who wants
Tell me you're one of us
Tell me you're one
Tell me you're one of us
Tell me you're one
When you lose your self esteem
That's when love dies...
Ohhh...
Please human being
If you bleed
They will say that it's destined
They'll be punchin' tickets
By the minute if you fall out of line
We're mere human beings we die
So...
So...destined desperate
Well I feel
When you've reached number one
You look like you're puffing but
Really only blocking the sun...
Blocking the sun
Blocking the sun
We're mere human beings
We die
It's destined
They'll be punchin' tickets
By the minute you fall out of life
We're mere human beings we die
We're mere human beings we die
Desperate
It's destined
We're mere human beings we die
desperate
it's destined
destined
We're mere human beings we die
song performed by by Seal from Human Beings
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Gethsemane
1914-18
The Garden called Gethsemane
In Picardy it was,
And there the people came to see
The English soldiers pass.
We used to pass -- we used to pass
Or halt, as it might be,
And ship our masks in case of gas
Beyond Gethsemane.
The Garden called Gethsemane,
It held a pretty lass,
But all the time she talked to me
I prayed my cup might pass.
The officer sat on the chair,
The men lay on the grass,
And all the time we halted there
I prayed my cup might pass.
It didn't pass -- it didn't pass --
It didn't pass from me.
I drank it when we met the gas
Beyond Gethsemane.
poem by Rudyard Kipling
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Schindler's List
Oskar Schindler was a member of the Nazi party. He was a, womanizer, war profiteer, and saved the lives of 1,100 Jews during the holocaust. He was enigmatic - one man against overwhelming odds who made a difference.
'Save one life and you save the world.'
The tide of evil swept across Europe
And darkness eclipsed the light
Nazi jack-boots stamped down
Upon the necks of the oppressed
Torture and executions were the rule
And for the Jews... Hitler's Final Solution.
Schindler was a German businessman
Successful and enjoying the good life
Wining and dining in the best restaurants,
Making love to beautiful women
Driving fast cars and befriending high ranking SS
While using the black market to make huge profits.
When he saw the treatment of the Jews
Forced to wear the Star of David
Humiliated and beaten, murdered in the streets
Living in ghettos like animals in a zoo
Transported in cattle trucks to death camps
A divine light flickered within his conscience.
And as the flame grew steadily brighter
He purchased a factory employing Jewish labour
Saving them from the gas chamber
Created a list of names and bribed the SS
Risking torture and execution
Schindler saved as many lives as he could.
Those he saved call themselves 'Schindler's Juden'
And after the war Israel honoured him
Giving him the title of Righteous Person.
And he planted a tree in the Avenue of the Righteous
Where it still grows as a sign of one man's morality
Oskar Schindler is buried in Israel.
poem by Colin Ian Jeffery
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Give Thanks in All Things
The hardest lesson that I've learned helped make me what I am.
It felt so hard, at first I turned away from Christ, God's Lamb.
For there He was, upon the Cross, in total agony.
While I looked on, in total loss, aghast at Calvary...
But then God's Spirit helped me stay, six hours long and more.
I watched the seconds pass away, I watched Christ's Blood outpour...
I watched as John and Mary wept... My heart as numb as stone.
And slowly was our vigil kept, so Christ was not alone...
Lord Jesus promised Paradise to one thief by His side,
The other thief was not so wise, yet all were crucified
And on that day, Christ breathed His last, His life came to an end
And those who loved Him felt downcast as they lost their best friend.
I've never wept like that before, to me, He was God's Prince.
He preached and thrilled me to the core, now He died for my sins.
When Sunday came, I heard the news, He'd risen from the dead!
In Christ, God's message to the Jews, believe in Him who bled...
God's Spirit taught me prophecies, that's why I preach God's word.
Believe in Christ, the Prince of Peace, the Lamb of God preferred.
Give thanks in all things here on Earth and do the things you should.
Give thanks with love for all you're worth, because the Lord is good.
( July 2011)
poem by Denis Martindale
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The Holocaust never quite leaves Israeli Jews alone. Arabs use it against them and they use it against Arabs. Jews use it against other Jews. Even the president of the United States, it seems, can use it against the prime minister of Israel.
quote by David K. Shipler
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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How Did You Kill Me?
All German concentration camps
will be run under total authority
of dread Death's Head Units of SS;
after 1934 a unified Nazi plan killing
with Prussian military precision
Theodor Eicke will command
SS-Totenkopfverbände (SS-TV):
under SS, Heinrich Himmler
author creator of Dachau in 1933
creator of eastern Europe's death camps
head of most extremely feared unit;
in Nazi Germany the Gestapo in 1934
put in charge of Ministry of Interior
June 1934 Night of the Long Knives
grim SS deed conducted with cold chilling;
efficiency the stamp of events to horrify
appointed commander of unified police
forces in Germany in 1936 unlimited power
Himmler made ‘cattle' trains run on time;
ensured profit camps ran on business lines
concentration camps will be fully integrated
into Waffen-SS by 1944 standard practice
rotate SS members in and out of camps entire;
SS knew shared war crimes against humanity
Himmler chief architect of the Final Solution
uses Einsatzgruppen death squads formed by
Deputy Heydrich in German occupied countries;
to murder mostly Jew civilian non-combatants
Heinrich Himmler demonic vile nasty monster
will assume responsibility for establishing
operating inhuman abhorrent concentration camps;
extermination camps in which millions of inmates
will die in extremely painful systematic mass
gassing ruthless, merciless, heartless, inhumane
treatment scientific ratio overwork malnutrition;
ghastly dissection vivisection medical experiments
Nazi vivisection selected victim human beings
cut up cut apart without any mercy pain killers
no anaesthetics alleviates nerve agony alive cuttings;
surgery conducted for Nazi experimental purposes
on ill fated living breathing man woman or child
medical experiments preformed for years repeatedly
to satisfy ambitions of rhetoric master race demons;
who unleashed unholy inferno upon civilized world
post World War Two judges at the Nuremberg Trials
declared the SS its sub-parts criminal organizations'
responsible for the implementation of racial policies;
of genocide war crimes and crimes against humanity.
No One Saved Our Souls From Demon Spawn Nazis?
Under Nazi Ideology the SS exterminated alleged racially
inferior Jews Poles Romani Slavic Russians chosen SS;
implemented Final Solution killing torturing enslaving
their selected target sub races in crimes against humanity.
Copyright © Terence George Craddock
See also The Holocaust Files!
poem by Terence George Craddock
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The Holy Land
I want to see the night sky from Bethlehem
and look at that bright star once again.
I want to wet my head in the River Jordan
at the place where baptisms were done.
I would like to swim in the Sea of Galilee
where the fishers of men used to be.
I would like to breathe the air at Gethsemane
and visualise the scenes from history.
I would like to feel my heart beat at Calvary
where Christ was crucified for humanity.
Visit Jerusalem and all its holy places
and see the joy on everyone’s faces.
poem by Orlando Belo
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Secret Agent
Joan Alexander - secret agent (voice)
Bud Collyer - Superman, Nazi saboteurs (voice)
Sam Parker - Clark Kent, Nazi saboteurs (voice)
Jack Mercer - Perry White, Nazi saboteurs (voice)
Jackson Beck - Police Chief, Nazi saboteurs (voice)
Julian Noa - narrator, Police officer, Nazi saboteurs (voice)
Access To God
I speak to The Father every day, through one very Glorious Way,
A way provided for you and me, to speak to the God of Eternity.
I speak to Him only through one, the Father’s only begotten Son,
Christ gained access for His own, directly to His Father’s Throne.
I have access to His Throne of Grace, at all times from any place,
An access never denied to those, who truly believe His Son rose.
A religious support, I have none, as I go through God’s Own Son,
Christ, who is my High Priest, handling concern without the yeast.
As my High Priest He intercedes, with His Father for all my needs,
Christ’s our High Priest forever, reigning with a Righteous Scepter.
Of our needs, He knows everything, ruling also as Sovereign King,
The Lamb of Glory, now Glorified, is reigning by The Father’s side.
Knowing all that Christ endured, He is our friend, not just our Lord,
Completing for all the final sacrifice; paying in full sin’s total price.
Now seated at The Father’s side, is the One who sinners crucified,
Redeeming all the world, that day, as His Father, had turned away.
God turned as Christ bore the sin, that was not at all a part of Him,
But, He bore our sin and our grief, to bring to all men Divine relief,
And changes Christ has wrought, in the hearts of those He bought,
Through all of the humble prayers, to a loving God who truly cares.
(Copyright ©12/2007)
Mea Culpa'd
Crusades, blood libels, inquisitions and conversions that were forced,
indifference to the blood of helpless Jews spilt in the holocaust,
a litany of crimes for which the Pope should use his bully pulpit,
and yet equivocates while in denial, hardly mea culpa’d,
will be forgotten soon, because the mantra never to forget
itself will be forgotten and the crimes of Nazi will be set
aside, diminished in importance by great other acts of genocide
and claims they never happened to six million, and the Jews just lied.
Pope John Paul II has expressed condemnation regarding the acts of the Church against the Jews but has failed to admit that the responsibility was not that of individual Catholics but of the Church. Furthermore, he maintains an eerie silence about the passive role that the Church as a whole, as Pope Pius XII in particular (whom he wishes to canonize) played during the Holocaust.
I wrote the first quatrain on 3/14/00 and the second on 2/10/-0, compiling my poems on the Shoah.
3/14/00,2/10/09
poem by Gershon Hepner
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More Amazing Than The Crucifixion
More amazing that the crucifixion
was, of course, the holocaust.
That’s why some believe it’s fiction,
view Jew-haters have endorsed.
Sad fact is that truly it
occurred––six million crucified,
and not just one. Though Holy Writ
does not include them by his side,
Chagall has done this. From the cross
the Christ looks sadly down, an SS-man
observing bloody feet, a boss
who’ll claim he was a minor yes-man
to that atrocity we see
on Golgotha has taken place;
he never will confess that he
deserves great blame. The Jewish race
survived this SS-man’s attack
whose evil has been called banal,
confusing merely white and black!
confusion not one Marc Chagall
made showing cruelty to Christ
who’s cringing on the cross. Some think
they know why he was sacrificed.
I from such explanations shrink,
confronted by the genocide
of all the millions who were killed
with gas used like a pesticide
by people more than Romans skilled
in culture and humanity,
some God-believers, even, whose
world-views saw no profanity
in crucifixion of the Jews.
Inspired by an article by Randy Kennedy in the NYT on January 2,2010, describing the purchase of a Chagall gouache depicting the crucifixion by the London:
The London Jewish Museum of Art is a scrappy young institution, created in 2001 and camped in rented space in St. John’s Wood, off the beaten track of London’s art world. But over the last nine years the museum has been diligently trying to forge a reputation for itself, adding more than 100 works to an already substantial collection that grew out of that of the Ben Uri Gallery, a Jewish artists’ society founded in London in 1915. So when David Glasser, one of the museum’s chairmen, was perusing a Paris auction catalog a few months ago, he found it hard to believe what he saw: a previously unknown 1945 gouache by Marc Chagall. It was one of a small group of images Chagall made in direct response to the Holocaust, after he and his wife had fled France in 1941, after the German occupation and after he had begun to learn the details of the Nazi atrocities. The gouache on heavy paper, which Chagall signed and titled himself lightly with a pencil in Russian — “Apocalypse in Lilac, Capriccio” — employs one of his familiar motifs, an image of a crucified Jesus, which he used as a metaphor for persecuted Jewry. But this crucifixion, painted in New York, where Chagall settled for several years, is one of the most brutal and disturbing ever created by an artist primarily known for his brightly colored folkloric visions. “Apocalypse” shows a naked Christ screaming at a Nazi storm trooper below the cross, who has a backwards swastika on his arm, a Hitler-like mustache and a serpentine tail. Another small figure can be seen crucified and a second being hanged, and a man appears to be poised to stab a child. A damaged, upside-down clock falls from the sky. The darkness and directness of the work may have been a response not only to the war but also to the death of Chagall’s wife, Bella, a year earlier from a viral infection that might have been treated if not for wartime medicine shortages….
And beginning on Thursday, it will go on public display for the first time, at the Osborne Samuel gallery in Mayfair, before moving into the museum’s permanent collection at the end of the month. In going on view, it will become another of the notable publicly exhibited examples of Chagall’s wartime imagery, like the “Yellow Crucifixion” from 1943, at the Georges Pompidou Center, and the “White Crucifixion” from 1938 at the Art Institute of Chicago. “Although in many of his works Chagall had reacted to events in Germany, he usually did not depict them but used symbols — such as the crucifixion, a Jew holding a Torah, a mother protecting her child or a falling angel — to suggest what was happening there, ” writes Ziva Amishai-Maisels, a Chagall scholar and professor emeritus at Hebrew University of Jerusalem, in a catalog to accompany the exhibition of the painting. “Although he still used some of these symbols in ‘Apocalypse, ’ he combined them with the reality of the Holocaust in a manner that was very rare in his work. This and the way he depicted the conflict between the Nazi and the naked Christ make this a unique work.” Ms. Baron, of the Art Fund, agreed. “I think it is really a tremendous coup, ” she said, “to get it for this collection and for the country.”
1/2/10
poem by Gershon Hepner
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Agony
Ever wonder how He felt?
Praying in the garden
His students asleep
Could not watch for an hour
He knew He had to die
Even if it's just for me
He would be scourged
He would sweat blood
Even if it's just for me
Agony!
There He was, fixed
Nails in hands and feet
For a moment
Abandoned by God
Agony!
They pierced Him
Blood and water gushed
Mom at His feet
Brothers vanquished
Head bowed
Breathed His last
How He felt?
Think you have it hard?
Think about Him
Agony!
He was wrapped
Buried and left
Thought it was the end?
Not so fast!
Three days later
He got up
Just like that
Now He reigns victorious
Today knees bow
Eyes close
Agony?
poem by Buxton Shippy
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Jerusalem, Jerusalem How Glad
Jerusalem, Jerusalem how glad
am I in prayer to have stood;
in thee blessed city at remains
of thy second temple’s walls.
Jerusalem, Jerusalem Oh how glad
am I sacred Via Dolorosa walked;
in remembrance atonement passed
stations of The Cross to have passed.
Jerusalem, Jerusalem Oh how glad
am I who before entering sacred;
Garden of Gethsemane to view aged
olive trees was cast down humbled.
For Jesus in agony fear here sweated
blood in prayer to heaven to father God;
when last among these olives he stood
thus rejoice all bowed before our Lord.
In pilgrimage to Calvary where our Lord
for my sins humanities Christ was Crucified;
where a group of witnesses Marys stood
bewailing in heart soul worship as we should.
This most Holy City Jerusalem City of our God
site of our Saviour’s Cross where our Saviour trod;
Almighty God this is thy most sacred Holy City still
at Messiah’s return here raise holy men at thy will.
The Via Dolorosa (Latin for Way of Grief or Way of Suffering) is the sacred two part street, within the Old City of Jerusalem; where Jesus walked carrying the cross, on the way to his crucifixion.
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Today... 'Abba
'Abba, Father', Jesus said, 'Take this cup from me'
whilst praying in the garden of Gethsemane.
'I know that all things are possible for You
and that there is nothing that You cannot do.'
'Yet not what I will but what You will, ' He said
as in deep anguish great drops of blood He bled.
Then He went on to complete salvations plan
agreed by the Godhead before time began.
'Abba, Father, ' like Jesus we too can cry
as we pour out our soul to the Lord on high.
For the sons and daughters of our God are we
and never more in slavery shall we be.
The Spirit of Christ is dwelling in our heart
and causes all the fear and dread to depart.
For our Lord Jesus drained the bitter cup dry
when He bowed His head upon the cross to die.
Abba Father, the Spirit has testified
that I am the child for whom He has died.
An heir of God and co-heir with Jesus Christ
sharing in His suffering and sacrifice.
No more an orphan for the Father I know
I'm in His family where life's riches flow.
Led by the Spirit I gaze into His face
as God's love floods into my soul by His grace.
We are sons and daughters of the living God
and we walk the same pathway that Jesus trod.
All saved by His grace and purchased with His blood
and trusting in the promises of our God.
(see also the additional information in the Poet's notes box)
By The Fireside : King Witlaf's Drinking-horn
Witlaf, a king of the Saxons,
Ere yet his last he breathed,
To the merry monks of Croyland
His drinking-horn bequeathed,--
That, whenever they sat at their revels,
And drank from the golden bowl,
They might remember the donor,
And breathe a prayer for his soul.
So sat they once at Christmas,
And bade the goblet pass;
In their beards the red wine glistened
Like dew-drops in the grass.
They drank to the soul of Witlaf,
They drank to Christ the Lord,
And to each of the Twelve Apostles,
Who had preached his holy word.
They drank to the Saints and Martyrs
Of the dismal days of yore,
And as soon as the horn was empty
They remembered one Saint more.
And the reader droned from the pulpit
Like the murmur of many bees,
The legend of good Saint Guthlac,
And Saint Basil's homilies;
Till the great bells of the convent,
From their prison in the tower,
Guthlac and Bartholomaeus,
Proclaimed the midnight hour.
And the Yule-log cracked in the chimney,
And the Abbot bowed his head,
And the flamelets flapped and flickered,
But the Abbot was stark and dead.
Yet still in his pallid fingers
He clutched the golden bowl,
In which, like a pearl dissolving,
Had sunk and dissolved his soul.
But not for this their revels
The jovial monks forbore,
For they cried, 'Fill high the goblet!
We must drink to one Saint more!'
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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What A Scary Thing
It is quite a fearful thing
When you're in the presence of the King
What a scary event
When you realize this body is just a tent
It is fearful to hear the voice of God
We say we want signs
We say we want miracles
Atheists say they want God to speak
But they, and we, know not what we ask
To hear Almighty God
This voice is still and small
But it sways the hearts of men
It demands action
Do you really want Him to speak?
Can you handle what He'll say?
Almighty God's voice
What a scary and awesome power
The voice that called the universe to be
Is the voice that's calling me
The voice that's calling you
I don't think you know what this means
This demands our lives
Our souls
Our everything
Are you ready for this voice?
Will you answer the call?
Now you know what you ask
So don't ask amiss
Know that you appeal to the greatest power
Of all
Humble yourself before Christ
And then boldly approach the throne of grace
That is all that you ask when you ask
To hear God
So be careful
The voice of God
What a scary thing!
And yet what a loving voice
Absolutely perfect
Love
Amen
poem by David Knox
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Evil Influence
Hanging on the edge of control and rage,
I am faced with the boiling emotion.
Hostiility silently posseses me,
while my conscious slowly fails.
My heart is burning,
with the flames of hatred.
Voices scream the words murder.
I try not to listen.
Bloody images fill my mind,
as I cry for a voice of reason.
When that voice is not heard,
I break.....
poem by Thomas Biggy
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Peaked Cap; Skull-And-Crossbones Badge
stripped of citizenship rights
stripped of wealth all property
herded into walled off ghettos
denied medicines adequate food
forced to wear star badge of shame
thousands choose their own death
by suicide as starvation disease cull
shipped to Nazi concentration camps
shipped in tightly closed cattle wagons
shipped without food water for terror days
old sick weak die during locked in journeys
upon arrival selected forced labour or gassings
when your thin enough limbs like fragile sticks
thrown into proud efficient ovens to burn bones
Mercedes Benz;
caught in blizzard;
of monsters making;
a flurry of residue ash;
drifting fluttering down;
from overcast ashen sky;
sniffing charred wind;
flicking off ash flakes;
from spotless windshield;
a trim double-breasted suit;
for this top ranking Nazi official;
a fine young; decorated SS officer;
walks brazenly; beside party official;
SS uniform; tailored to poster fear;
project respect;
for absolute authority;
people fall ill at sight;
peaked stylish cap;
skull-and -crossbones badge;
Death’s Head collar patch;
Waffen-SS uniform field-grey;
a fine uniform;
produced by Hugo Boss;
dignitaries to inspect;
production of Waffen-SS;
uniforms produced;
under forced labour conditions;
in concentration camps;
midsummer storm human ash
incinerated remains of murdered
used up slaves Jews undesirables
gassed burned in Hitler’s death camps
in patented J. A. Topf & Soehe ovens
name proudly handsomely emblazoned
with the name Topf in Gothic brass letters
Nazi Topf family ovens
used to incinerate millions
leaving almost no evidence
Aushwitz Buchenwald Dachau
a proud family heritage
we “designed and built dozens
of crematoriums for the Nazis”
when a tyrant regime slaughters
innocent women children in the streets
rounds them up in the night ships
them off in cattle wagons to genocide camps
brands their flesh murders millions
in slave starved exterminations experiments
it is time for a moral; civilized world; to take action;
but the allies; will hide shocking facts; from the public;
deny knowledge; you must understand; those trains;
resources; could be carrying munitions; weapons of war;
taking troops to the front; costing allied lives; desperate;
Nazis will break out; at the Battle of Bulge; could win war.
The sad indictment of History remains;
the allies; could have stopped; the final
solution; but deliberately choose not to;
no Nuremburg Trial ever tried them; will
you? Who has authority to try such a case?
The decision by Topf & Soehne; to build
crematoria; for Auschwitz; enabled Nazi
industrialized; mass murder. Six million
Jews were murdered during the Holocaust;
a fifth; were killed at camps; at Auschwitz.
Least We Forget
along with
homosexuals,
Gypsies,
Polish
political
prisoners,
Soviet
prisoners
of war.
poem by Terence George Craddock
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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There are thousands that act both selfless and brave
There are thousands that act both selfless and brave,
some feel the planet's agony as they love beyond death,
others labour for what is right and good in what they sense
but with great incompetence man lives his mortal life,
some look as visionaries at a world beyond mere sight,
others dwell in the wonders of human form and grace
and in all of this we dwell in the darkest kind of night,
while we live, laugh and cry as members of the human race
and yet there is loveliness in what we experience,
in what we see and act upon and feel at times
as we hope and love and are caught in passion,
as if mere man was destined for something much more.
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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