Top 100 Poems About: HOLOCAUST


In this page, poems on / about “holocaust” are listed.
  • 1.
    Holocaust

    We played, we laughed
    we were loved.
    We were ripped from the arms of our read more »

    Barbara Sonek
  • 2.
    First They Came for the Jews

    First they came for the Jews
    and I did not speak out
    because I was not a Jew. read more »

    Martin Niemöller
  • 3.
    Frozen Jews

    Did you ever see in fields of snow
    Frozen Jews, in row upon row?

    Breathless they lie, marbled and blue. read more »

    Abraham Sutzkever
  • 4.
    Holocaust

    How do you
    explain that term
    to a ten- read more »

    Sudeep Pagedar
  • 5.
    The Little Boy with His Hands Up

    Your open palms raised in the air
    like two white doves
    frame your meager face, read more »

    Yala Korwin
  • 6.
    Tale of a Sprinter

    I am an athlete from Berlin,
    my feet are fast and swift.
    I can run faster than anyone! read more »

    Sudeep Pagedar
  • 7.
    The Burning of the Books

    When the Regime
    commanded the unlawful books to be burned,
    teams of dull oxen hauled huge cartloads to the bonfires. read more »

    Bertolt Brecht
  • 8.
    Passover Night 1942

    not a crumb of leavened
    or unleavened bread
    and no manna fell read more »

    Yala Korwin
  • 9.
    A Holocaust

    When I presage the time shall come--yea, now
    Perchance is come, when you shall fail from me, read more »

    Francis Thompson
  • 10.
    Do Not Stand At My Grave And Weep

    Do not stand at my grave and weep
    I am not there. I do not sleep.
    I am a thousand winds that blow.
    I am the diamond glints on snow. read more »

    Mary Elizabeth Frye
  • 11.
    Postcard 1

    Out of Bulgaria, the great wild roar of the artillery thunders,
    resounds on the mountain ridges, rebounds, then ebbs into silence
    while here men, beasts, wagons and imagination all steadily increase; read more »

    Miklos Radnoti
  • 12.
    Postcard 2

    A few miles away they're incinerating
    the haystacks and the houses,
    while squatting here on the fringe of this pleasant meadow, read more »

    Miklos Radnoti
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