Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Terry Collett Apr 2018
Downstairs she
can hear their voices.
They are frequently rowing.

She stares out the window
at the countryside
below and beyond.

Far from home.
Her mother is in London
and her father in the army
fighting Rommel
in North Africa.

Her sister is working
in the munition factory
long hours
and living at home.

They didn't want
to take her at the village hall
but each had to do
their bit the woman
told them with the evacuees.

The room is cold
and the bed uncomfortable.

The man's wife
is partially deaf
hence the shouting
and bellowing.

He came up last night
while his wife
was downstairs
and touched her.

Her mother would
not have allow that.
But her mother
is far away
and what can she say
and who would believe
she muses hiding
beneath her nightgown
the bruises.

A door slams.
She watches the man
walk towards the farm.

The morning sun
is high above the trees.

Once he has gone
it is safe to get breakfast.

She goes downstairs
to the kitchen.
The woman is
sorting washing.
She stands
at the kitchen door.

The woman stares at her
and gestures for her
to come in.

She sits
at the large table.
The woman spoons out
lumpy porridge in a bowl
and gives her a spoon.
A mug of tea
is put beside the bowl.

The woman says nothing
but carries on
with her task.

The girl spoons in
the porridge
which is warm.

Her mother
is in London
far away.

Another beginning
of another day.
Terry Collett Mar 2018
He would have you
Remembered, Anny,
Not forgotten or just

A sad statistic of the
Holocaust or a pretty
Face on a photograph.

He would have you
Not die in Auschwitz
In 1942, not disappear,

Not just a Jew, but
Always to remember
You. He would have

You grown and have
Seen the world, see
Paris at a different

Time and better clime
Or Madrid or New York
Free to mix and free to

Talk and drink and love
And see the paintings
And beauty of art and

Music and the kinder
Lovely people who
Would not have betrayed

Or taken you off in a
Crowded train to hurt
And sadden and cause

You pain. He would have
You fall in love and marry,
Have children of your own,

And see them grow and love
Them in turn and become
A grandmother with a wide

Heart and love remembering
Not Auschwitz or guards
Or barbwire or guns or dogs

Or the chimneys or smoke
Or ash or fear of death or
Death’s touch. He would

Have you loved and always
Remembered and held and
Kissed and photographed

For a different age and time, a
Photograph with laughter and
Smiles, a photograph in colour,

Not black and white, a photo of
Daytime and light, not taken
Coldly before the dark night.
Lizzie Jan 2018
Barnaby hands me my daily
  cup of coffee, but this time, it's night
  time, and the coffee reminds me of the war
  but not the allies annihilating the Germans or Japanese
  but the war between me and him every time
  he confesses his love to me, the words pierce
  through my heart
  I will never love him as much as he loves
                                        me, I'm disgusting
  like the taste of the coffee
                                        just beans in water.
I wrote this for my AP Lit class about the painting, Nighthawks, based off the girl in the red dress sitting with the man.
Bison Apr 2016
Stolen, our lives vanished in the night.
Huddled below the hateful eyes,
ineffectual pleas of children's hushed cries.
We are the forsaken people,
abandoned in our time of need.
Victims at the hand of destiny.

Our lives, chosen by your name.
Our minds, lost without our king.
Ruler of the light, our Prince,
the God that calls us home.

They came in the night,
we sang our souls into fire.
A voice through the discord,
separating silence.
Seeking our forgiveness,
burn our names in your heart.
Cleanse our sins from the earth.
We leave as ashes; to the sky we fall.
Nothing more than dots and dashes on the wall.
Veemz Feb 2015
If that plane leaves the ground
And you're not with him
You'll regret it
Maybe not today
Maybe not tomorrow
But soon
And for the rest of your life

— The End —