Poems About: HOLOCAUST
Poems on / about :
- carpe diem
349.A Public Apology
Public apologies are the new confessional.
So here goes. read more »Michael Shepherd
350.Spoken word *Just Breathe*
breathe like its your first time or your last
breathe like you just got an A in class read more »Daryl Hennix
! Spoken Word!
breathe like its your first breath or even you last read more »Daryl Hennix
352.2000 Twelve (((READ WITH KNOWLEDGE)))
One day soon the sky is going to fall,
And for the human race there will be nothing to do at all. read more »Undiscovered Legend
353.Sultry Summer's Evening
A frail…old Negro lady
…Born…in Lincoln's day
Who knew the taste of freedom
Only… when… she passed …away read more »James B. Earley
354.Those Feelings Who Let You In
Those feelings who let you in are going now,
Lighting out in that terrible fog:
The last one I can feel is the one letting me know,
Holding the door open as we wave the others goodbye: read more »Robert Rorabeck
355.Recipe of the Holocaust
Here is my death recipe,
made specially for the Holocaust.
The horror of Anti-Semitism
That struck Jews during the Second War. read more »Antonia Williams
356.On The Way To Sicily (Prose Poem)
The ruins of Pompeii held no charm for me, so full of ruined rocks and the dead it made my heart hurt. How the tour guide waxed eloquent on that ancient holocaust, almost revering the disinterested volcano that overtook so many innocents under the hot Pompeian sun: children at play, mothers nursing their young, fathers planting olive trees, the elderly gazing at the volcano that never ceased its warnings. They refused to believe Vesuvio’s ranting was the bellow of things to come.
How the tourists speculated as they gesticulated, full of awe and sympathy...
The tour ended with the spectacular showing of human remains, fire-frozen in the grotesque rictus of the dead: backs arched, appendages akimbo; all lovingly encased in glass for the entertainment of future generations. Then we clambered onto the bus and thought no more of Pompeii and what we saw that day. read more »Alicia Patti
Bugles blare from morning's fog.
They pay The Garrey Owen.
In the snows of the cold moons they play.
Play for the son of the Morning Star. read more »Robert Sessions Smilie, Jr
What boots it on the Gods to call? read more »Rudyard Kipling
359.The Testimony Of Light
Our life is a fire dampened, or a fire shut up in stone.
--Jacob Boehme, De Incarnatione Verbi
Outside everything visible and invisible a blazing maple. read more »Carolyn Forché
there was nothing
you, there will be nothing. read more »Carl A.I.