Radio Wars

The strident tones came through the radio,
And announced themselves
Israeli!

Others took defensive positions.

The mediator,
On BBC, changed
His shirt
And asked another question.

They had set up camp around a wall that was
Either
Only half way done,

Or,

‘What are you gonna do about it!’
Fully scaled up.

It didn’t occur to me to turn the dial.
I thought about my passport instead.

photos – 123rf.com & Talal Abu Rahma for France2 – controversy details at honestreporting.com/a/alDura.asplinux hosting

John Rabe

John Rabe,
Crys alone,
At the dining room table.

His back is hunched but,
He wears his jacket with pride.

Before him,

In the brown paper bag,
On the dining room table,

Is a package from China,

Containing,
One rice-cake,
Some dried fruit, and
A letter from sixty-thousand people,
Asking him to return.

His back is hunched and he is crying because,
His nation doesn’t love him,
Anymore.

They want to know,
why in Nanking he,
Bothered to keep the farms going when,

The railroads were fixed and,
Nazi coming in,
What massacre?

Light from the window,
Lifts dust from the surface and,

John Rabe,
Cries alone.

When he died,
Died hungry,
The Chinese came and took him away,

They took him to Nanking and,
Laid him to rest,

Swastika, jacket and all.

‘…a living buddha in China, an outcast in Germany…’ he wrote in his diary

-visit two beautiful German poems by Han-Magnus Enzensberger


photos – 123rf.com and  John Rabe at Widipedia

The courtyard

short poery, war, death, dog togs, young soldiers, experience

The courtyard is alive with the spit of angry bullets,
And baked hard by the scorching sun.

Clouds of smoke drift in,
In patches,

And are,
Collected by moans,

That become tiny whirlwinds,
That suck on the dog tags on dead men’s chests.

See – Why we fight, Soldier
photo – 67pics.com

evocative short poetry – words move