Thursday, 10 February 2011

War poetry Palestine/Israel

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There are many poems on this topic on The War Poetry website.


  1. In Gaza

    Who will look after us 
    When our mother is killed
    I will look after you says father
    But who will look after us when you are killed
    I will look after you says older brother
    But you will die also, and we shall be alone,
    So I ask again
    Who will look after us when you are all dead 

    Written after the BBC programme on the effects of war on the children of Gaza. One boy about 9 years old says " I used to be happy, but now I hate people".

    Marguerite Rami 23/02/2011

  2. Butterflies 

    Shafts of light with floating wings
    Caresses my body as I wake from sleep
    I here the birdsong, and feel the fluttering 
    Of butterflies of azure blue
    Flying high on thermal skies
    This must be spring, a longing sigh
    I feel the warmth of the rising sun
    Easing my bones for what is to come 
    It matters not that I die...
    Today I saw blue butterflies fly...

    Marguerite Rami
    No comment

  3. Lies

    In the softness of your touch I am almost lost
    The horrors I have stored like the placing on shelves
    Of number one, two, three deaths.
    Four, five and six sit behind, as if to hide
    I know, I remember each one
    But I am cleansed by your not knowing
    You do not see the drops of blood lodged
    In the depths of my soul...

    So we laugh but I turn away, I am unclean
    Still your eyes see this other different man
    A soft face, holding no horrors, no fear
    I look at him in your eyes and begin to feel
    I can never erase, I can never go back
    He is gone, but I can't tell you
    So in your purity of thought he lives
    This hero, this Demi God, he lives
    But I have died.

    Marguerite Rami

    Early 2011 

    The thoughts of what has been done in the name of war,
    and the coming home, what then?

  4. Lee Cuthbert 7 Para RHA28 November 2011 at 20:10

    With his heart in his mouth,
    And the Adrenaline in his veins
    A frontline soldier is fighting-
    Alongside his brothers-his mates.

    In the heat of the battle, his mind stays the same
    my family and friends, i will be home some day!
    Staring death in the face and laughing out loud,
    An inspiration to all, A Real Man in the crowd.

    In his eyes, his gaze, his thousand yard stare
    He appears motionless and cold, as though his soul isn't there
    For the things he has seen, and the lives he may have taken
    Bear Nothing to those who have never Fortaken

    For they know not fear- Or the pain we have tasted
    And that the lives of our friends were not lost or wasted

    For they were heroes amongst us
    They were heroes who amazed us!

  5. Good Friday

    In April, palm leaves are scattered
    among the streets and back alleys
    where the poor sleep, where criminals
    make their plans before the hill known as Golgotha.
    The night is aflame with jet fighters
    as rain washes away the blood trail
    left by the thousands who have fled into exile,
    while Israel continues its brutal raids in Gaza.
    The talk is always of silver coins, of Cesar’s men
    who come camouflaged in the usual
    combat attire, their neckties
    betraying their class. The more transparent
    traitors are dressed in tailored American suits.
    It is Good Friday. As Syria burns,
    prayers are beginning on television.
    A musty, dry wind blows dust across the planet
    as stations of the cross are mapped out
    for tourists who will lose their way in Jerusalem.
    Stray dogs are running through the streets
    of my New England city, howling
    as the gutters in Homs pile up with torn body parts
    and sunlight illuminates the eyes of the dead.
    The final cup is spilling
    over with hope and hollow laughter
    as another Passover
    burrows deep into our bones like cancer.
    Broken nation-states are burning everywhere
    in the fury of monotheism.
    Today, in a backyard, I saw two
    birch trees entwined like lovers.
    The Garden of Gethsemane has its boundaries.

    Luis Lázaro Tijerina
    Burlington, Vermont, 2012

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