LETTER FROM A SYRIAN CHILD TO HIS MOTHER, Poetry by Valentina Meloni

Mom, you never told me

that you can die even breathing

I believed that to die

it would take a wound,

a crack from which life

Genre: Kids, Life,Death, Family, Fear, War

LETTER FROM A SYRIAN CHILD TO HIS MOTHER
by Valentina Meloni

Mom, you never told me

that you can die even breathing

I believed that to die

it would take a wound,

a crack from which life

could come out along with the blood …

Mom, you never told me

that you can die playing

among the stones and the dust

of the road who saw me run.

You never told me

you’d greeted me from so far away

and that, crying, your soul

would come to claim me.

Mom, you never told me

that you can die breathing in a dream,

that the air can also be a poison.

You told me not

I’d be an angel of glass,

asleep, in a white shroud.

Mom you never told me

the death would make me bright and beautiful

sweeping away the fear of bombs.

Mom … however,

I could not tell you yesterday,

while I was playing with the death

how much I loved you and wanted you well.

    * * * * *

Deadline: FREE POETRY Festival – Get your poem made into a MOVIE and seen by 1000s. Three options to submit:
http://www.wildsound.ca/poetrycontest.html

Watch Poetry performance readings:

Watch Poetry made into Movies:

1918…Sanctuary, Poetry by Terry Hopper

For as I lay in your embrace,
My breath be shallow..heart doth race,
The trench ,the bugle ,the distant drum ,
Fight for country…defeat the Hun,
So protected in your cocoon,
Daybreak looming behind the moon,
Sleep it cowers and it creeps,

Genre: Rhyme, War, Society

1918…Sanctuary by Terry Hopper

For as I lay in your embrace,
 My breath be shallow..heart doth race,
 The trench ,the bugle ,the distant drum ,
Fight for country…defeat the Hun,
So protected in your cocoon,
Daybreak looming behind the moon,
 Sleep it cowers and it creeps,
 Tears of mine ..i gently weep,
Not tonight …well not for me,
Safe and sound for that I be,
The dark …its cold …a killers friend ,
The night flame flickers ..bows and bends,
 The shadows dance to a pipers tune,
As we did …that day in June,
 The day I marched..with head held high,
For king and country ..live or die,
Young men together … comrades in fear,
Maidens calling hip hip three cheers,
The front …the gas ..ahead barbwire,
The stink ..the stench of gods hell fire,
 Bully beef …and rationed stew,
.Last letters home from me to you,
 Dearest sweetheart …love of my life,
Dearest mother …precious wife,
Signing off with yours devoted,
All my love and sugar coated,
Kisses sent ….a thousand score,
Each one delivered when at your door,
Just let me live please god I pray,
To see my love ..just one more day,
 So here we lay …safe and sound,
Hearts entwined …emotions bound ,
And as the eve does turn to light ,
My candle salutes…. its last goodnight.

Terry Hopper 2015
Copy write

* * * * *

Watch Poetry performance readings:

Watch Poetry made into Movies:

After the War, Poetry by Stone Fox

There was nothing remotely familiar,
I could see no one and every one all at once.
These people were lost, they were all dead.
Salem grew dark-blushing from a freshly spent temptation.
A seduction created from the ideas of rash men,
that was then danced into destiny’s details by the devil.

Genre: War, Society, Political

After the War
by Stone Fox

There was nothing remotely familiar,
I could see no one and every one all at once.
These people were lost, they were all dead.
Salem grew dark-blushing from a freshly spent temptation.
A seduction created from the ideas of rash men,
that was then danced into destiny’s details by the devil.
It continued breeding shadow as every flame,
owned by the light was savagely snuffed-out.
Murder was now on a most elegant hunt.
Each diminishing spark documented each kill,
becoming a growing list of victims.
Meanwhile the thick lingering Blackness
kept a informal score as the shadow grew in strength.
Secretly, far off in the distance, a melody of sweetly soft smothered shrieks
signaled and started a symphony of serenely sobering sobs.
Sobs that began shaping and shifting into
unarticulated sighs and cries that never faltered.
But still, it was met with one lone menacing Nightmare.
A over stayed it’s welcome Terror.
It circled any remaining flame of light like a bottom feeding vulture.
Pushing it’s poor neglected lies unto any and all close by ears.
It could be heard loudly whispering to your hopes and dreams:
“Fret not” it almost always began,
“For though you have truly lost it all-your lives included-
there is a promise to clothe you.”
There was no hiding the disdain from it’s voice or face at the last two words.
But as quickly as the emotion appeared, it was replaced
with a plastic sneer as it finished with,
“All things look good, even better, dressed in our monograms.”
I found it’s night terror or tall tale amusing,
meeting this Nightmare face to face
as my insistent smirk escaped my control,
unnoticed by all including me.

Submit your POEM to the Poetry Festival: http://www.festivalforpoetry.com

WATCH POETRY READINGS (see what we can do when you submit):

WATCH POETRY MOVIES (see what we can do when you submit):

WHY TERRORISM??!!!, Poetry by Husaina Shabbir (14 Years Old)

Oh! Why is terrorism in my country?
This was first a blessed country.
Why do not politicians hang?

Genre: Society, War

WHY TERRORISM??!!!
by Husaina Shabbir (14 Years Old)

Oh! Why is terrorism in my country?
This was first a blessed country.
Why do not politicians hang?
Those terrorists with their fangs. Just months before these terrorists did a barbarian act;
it is difficult to face the fact. All the little children lying in graves and hospital,
for every home in the country the news was fatal.
Are they trying to make us surrender?
But No! We are getting stronger.
Just pray to god those protestants are heard, Politicians always keep them unheard.
So! Let’s put our heads together, and try to make them surrender.