Internally Displaced Persons (IDPs)

They leave their homes
Unwillingly forced
And follow their fate
Through fields and trails
Massifs and woods
With all their goods
Love and hate
Mores and tales
All in bales
Carrying their own
Flesh and bones
Feet like stones
Their bodies and souls
Kids and crones
Torn by storms,
Rains and gales
Attacked by guns,
Helis and drones
No role to play
In games of peace

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poem by Naseer Ahmed Nasir
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Fire trial

The university’s classes close
because the hell of a mountain above Somerset West
is burning.

There’s a alarm ringing without end
to warn everybody to get a beating thing,
while some flee and drive away to Somerset West.

Pine plantations on the slopes
have tongues of orange flames
spreading as if going through bushes of turpentine.

The fire brigade is too small
to fight alone against the fire
and to spray with wagons, just halfway up the mountain.

Male students are equipped with petrol driven saws,
loaded on tractors with trailers and four track vehicles
that crawls up the slopes.

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poem by Gert Strydom
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Song Of The Redwood-Tree

A CALIFORNIA song!
A prophecy and indirection--a thought impalpable, to breathe, as air;
A chorus of dryads, fading, departing--or hamadryads departing;
A murmuring, fateful, giant voice, out of the earth and sky,
Voice of a mighty dying tree in the Redwood forest dense.

Farewell, my brethren,
Farewell, O earth and sky--farewell, ye neighboring waters;
My time has ended, my term has come.

Along the northern coast,
Just back from the rock-bound shore, and the caves, 10
In the saline air from the sea, in the Mendocino country,
With the surge for bass and accompaniment low and hoarse,
With crackling blows of axes, sounding musically, driven by strong
arms,
Riven deep by the sharp tongues of the axes--there in the Redwood
forest dense,
I heard the mighty tree its death-chant chanting.

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poem by Walt Whitman
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In A Monastery Garden

OVER the long salt ridges
And the gold sea-poppies between,
They builded them wild-briar hedges,
A church and a cloistered green.
And when they were done with their praises,
And the tides on the Fore beat slow,
Under the white cliff-daisies
They laid them down in a row.

Porphyry, Paul, and Peter,
Jasper, and Joachim,–
Was the psaltery music sweeter
Than the throat of the thrush to him ?
Tired of their drones and their dirges,
Where the young cliff-rabbits play,
Wet with the salt of the surges,
They laid them down for a day.

One may not call to the other
There on the rim of the deep,

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poem by Marjorie Lowry Christie Pickthall
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To Write A Poem That Hurts Somebody

to tell the truth
that hurts a friend
how to make a poem
like that?
something runs from my fingers
to the keyboard
about a friend that i never like to hurt
or you
the reader whom i do not know much
but expect much from me
i shall write the truth of a suffering
monk, a human body misshapen
by centuries of tradition
of women veiled unable to drive their
own cars
of children molested by priests
of an apologizing Pope
about airplane crashes involving
your loved ones
about boats capsizing in the island

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poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Syrian Military Attacking Killing Civilians

Syrian military
tanks aircraft are attacking
are killing civilians
with Russian
political military...
aid civilian Arab
blood flows

blood red black rose withers

those Russians
those Russians
living before frost
ice thaw
say how can you expect...
dictators
to leave

blood red black rose withers

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poem by Terence George Craddock
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The Pretty, Pretty City

Now the city has a studded nose,
Because the city is so pretty, and the city knows:
The city, she almost fooled me underneath the
Chicken sky- The city is so pretty,
But the city lie:
I loved the city and all its vermilion moods and ice-creams,
With parks and busses and city airplanes
And city rides- City coffins and city dies;
And I watched the city get drunk and turn around
And raise its monuments and party down;
And I sat upon one of her benches in a speculating mood,
And wondered if the city was so pretty,
Why was she so rude: The vulgar nebulas of the city’s
Eyes, the narcissisms of its displays:
There are so many well suited boys better than I out walking
In their sunny city days:
And I realized, the city didn’t love me,
The city plays and paws and eats up little boys such as
Me- She said she loves her little poet boys, such as me,
But the sweet, sweet city lies,

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poem by Bret R. Crabrooke
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A try to create

We always try to create something new
We make big thrust on energy to renew
It is strange that you may come across with few
The successful person may always make some changes and review

Generally we don’t follow unusual path
we brush in the morning and take
Morning tea is served on the side of bed
we will not term it good or bad

The person should have some good habits
He must offer prayers in the morning little bit
Offer hello to everybody with good morning
Day will definitely pass with bright shining

Existence is at stake and we simply undermine
We pay no attention and don’t try to refine
Nothing can work smoothly if we don’t attempt
The action has to be there very firm and prompt

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poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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The Bumblebee

1 You better not fool with a Bumblebee! --
2 Ef you don't think they can sting -- you'll see!
3 They're lazy to look at, an' kind o' go
4 Buzzin' an' bummin' aroun' so slow,
5 An' ac' so slouchy an' all fagged out,
6 Danglin' their legs as they drone about
7 The hollyhawks 'at they can't climb in
8 'Ithout ist a-tumble-un out ag'in!
9 Wunst I watched one climb clean 'way
10 In a jimson-blossom, I did, one day, --
11 An' I ist grabbed it -- an' nen let go --
12 An' "Ooh-ooh! Honey! I told ye so!"
13 Says The Raggedy Man; an' he ist run
14 An' pullt out the stinger, an' don't laugh none,
15 An' says: "They has be'n folks, I guess,
16 'At thought I wuz predjudust, more er less, --
17 Yit I still muntain 'at a Bumblebee
18 Wears out his welcome too quick fer me!"

poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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Silver Wings

Silver wings shining in the sunlight
Roaring engines headed somewhere in flight
Theyre taking you away
Leaving me lonely
Silver wings slowly fading out of sight
Silver wings shining in the sunlight
Roaring engines headed somewhere in flight
Theyre taking you away
Leaving me lonely
Silver wings slowly fading out of sight
Dont leave me I cry
Dont take that airplane ride
But you lock me outta your mind
Left me standing here behind
Silver wings shining in the sunlight
Roaring engines headed somewhere in flight
Theyre taking you away
Leaving me lonely
Silver wings slowly fading out of sight
Slowly fading out of sight

[...] Read more

song performed by Ryan Adams
Added by Lucian Velea
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Silver Wings

Silver wings shining in the sunlight
Roaring engines headed somewhere in flight
Theyre taking you away
Leaving me lonely
Silver wings slowly fading out of sight
Silver wings shining in the sunlight
Roaring engines headed somewhere in flight
Theyre taking you away
Leaving me lonely
Silver wings slowly fading out of sight
Dont leave me I cry
Dont take that airplane ride
But you lock me outta your mind
Left me standing here behind
Silver wings shining in the sunlight
Roaring engines headed somewhere in flight
Theyre taking you away
Leaving me lonely
Silver wings slowly fading out of sight
Slowly fading out of sight

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song performed by Whiskeytown
Added by Lucian Velea
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9/11: A Day Of Infamy (Chain poem)

September eleventh is a day
Day of infamy that I'll never forget
Forget what with my horrified eyes I watched
Watched coming from my TV screen and that re-played
Re-played showing airplanes flying and hitting straight
Straight into the Pentagon and the Twin Tower buildings
Buildings all around just started to sway and fall
Fall and bringing around so much destruction and death
Death took so many by surprise
Surprise and horror was shown on all faces as we witnessed
Witness and faced before us all this horrible tragedy
Tragedy that filled our hearts with unbearable sorrow and pain
Pain as we saw all this unfolding before our very eyes as we cried
Cried as we watched in horror all this happening
Happening back then and nobody able to stop it that fateful day
Day of so much destruction and sorrow
Sorrow and loss that took place that September eleventh day
Day in which we saw innumerable heroic acts of faith and courage
Courage of spirit hope and love for many that faced death
Death and destruction on this very unforgettable

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poem by Dorian Petersen Potter
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My Burden

My loss is my burden alone to bear
In sacrosanct equanimity
But sympathy does come calling
In drips and drabs to attenuate my pain
Great talk shows seen
Some lend me their eyes to weep and wail
But vanish fast like a ghost seen at noon
Cos none knows as I do the depth of the pain
That I bear

The pain of sympathizers is on their flesh
As water poured on rock
Mine embedded in my bone
And feeds on my marrow
Family won't invite us,
My pain and I together,
To a breakfast meeting
My peers won't
Invite us to a business lunch
Friends won't invite us to a dinner

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poem by Chris Jibero
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Glow Girl

Separates and lingerie, seven pairs of shoes,
Lots of woolworths makeup, a pair of black watch trews,
Your out-of-tune piano, sentimental photographs,
A million little memories, a million little laughs.
The wing of the airplane has just caught on fire,
I say without reservation we aint getting no higher.
All you wanted from me, all I had to give,
Nothing matters youll see, when in paradise you live,
The plane is diving faster, were getting near the ground,
Nobody is screaming, no one makes a sound.
Its a girl, mrs. walker, its a girl,
Its a girl, mrs. walker, its a girl,
Its a girl, mrs. walker, its a girl,
Its a girl, mrs. walker, its a girl.

song performed by Who
Added by Lucian Velea
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No Time To Expose Old Wounds

Not impressed am I by those,
Who drag wherever they go...
Their exasperated aspirations.
As if an experience they have initiated,
Requires an announcement...
With attention meant to receive and get.

Where are those who chose their paths to take,
With the understanding this is the choice they make.
And who and what is being influenced,
By listening to every complaint and heartache.
Those moving forward have no time to expose old wounds.
Or express their agitations to create an atmosphere of gloom.

I use to believe those who succeeded were lucky in life.
But more and more I comprehend,
Anyone wishing to achieve...
Do it while sacrificing and with much discipline that ignites.
And doing it alone on their own as it is meant to be.
Away from those who gripe and whine in moans that drone,

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poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Free My Poem

Free my poem;
In no demand of ransom
never mind:
smells pungent,
looks nerdy and resembles anger
never mind it undresses to fondle your
friend down there
with a very weakest erection
never mind explosive and venomous
never mind/ rejected a puppetry motion
I know my poem is a complete opposite of
what you’ve thought poetry was

my poem had a reason that is very valid
to squash your dignity
and conflict your principles
this poem is so microscopic
but it can bury your balls in peace
and skip a mourning chapter
-this dirty poem remains a pilot

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poem by Moses Shimo Seletisha
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Face In The Sky Asking Why

outside smoking a cigarette looking at the sky.
the twinkling of a light caught my eye.
i looked towards the heavens to see what it could be.
i thought that it was the reflection of a star
but this light was greater by far.
it seemed to be falling from the sky
getting bigger and brighter than i could ever dream
and it seemed to hypnotize me
as i stood there watching this sight.
i began to wonder what can it be?
a plane or helicopter high in the sky
with their lights searching wide.
as i continued to gaze upon this light
there formed such a beautiful sight
it was the face of a man with such beautiful features
a beard trimmed to perfection, and shoulder length hair
with teeth as bright as any star in the sky
and his eyes were piercing blue.
and as the face continued to come down.
i tried to scream but i did'nt make a sound.

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poem by Louis Rams
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Beautiful drought!

Windy Windy Windy the wind sung!
This marked the beginning of the dry spell
This marked the beginning of death for beautiful cattle
This marked the beginning of the dry river bed
The beautiful countryside turned brown

Turrr Turrr Turrr Turrr rota sung!
The beautiful drought attracted it to the dusty village
The beautiful helicopter landed greeted by dust
The beautiful cameras came out black and shinning
The beautiful face of mum faced up looking at their water bottle

Click Click Click Click cameras sung!
This one will make a good front page picture
This one is even better because she is beautiful
This one is so thin and has no cloths on but traditional beads
This one is the dying beauty that will make newspapers sell

Turrr Turrr Turrr Turrr rota sung!
The beautiful journalists hopped in happily

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poem by Nyota Yasulwe
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Breaking The Day In Two

When from dawn till noon seems one long day,
And from noon till night another,
Oh, then should a little boy come from play,
And creep into the arms of his mother.
Snugly creep and fall asleep,
O come, my baby, do;
Creep into my lap, and with a nap,
We'll break the day in two.

When the shadows slant for afternoon,
When the midday meal is over;
When the winds have sung themselves into a swoon,
And the bees drone in the clover.
Then hie to me, hie, for a lullaby-
Come, my baby, do;
Creep into my lap, and with a nap
We'll break the day in two.

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poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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Claridges

The same discrete blue paper and the old quill pen still play
upon the mind to summon summer’s memories as day
melts darkling sky from dusty pink to inky undertones, -
extrapolating time’s ebb tide, when flesh fades from the bones.

How short will be the stay this time, so few have means to pay
a monthly wage within the compass of a weekend, - drones
disguised as business men of size who bore in monotones,
beneath ambitions buried deep to mask their hearts’ dismay.

The tasteful paper blue recalls those images of scones
and endless teas on sunny lawns - now concrete covers - hay
last harvested so long ago that only archived loans
remember that prosperity’s elastic silicone
pressed out upon b[l]uff surface, soon may wear, and tear or fray.

The phantom of King Credit past, now overdrawn and grey,
still stays in suite identical – though fax and telephone
add a touch of innovation to that décor so well known.
Yet despite the surface changes both cuisine and service stay

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poem by Jonathan Robin
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