this time in Vienna
in my little nation's capital

a young Muslim still in search of himself
believes he has a mission
to **** as many infidels as possible
to avenge insults to Mohamed
and Allah by all those secular Westerners

armed with attack rifle  handgun & machete
he shoots his way through the Vienna party mile
not knowing whom he attacks
killing four  wounding twenty-three
driven by his duty to defend Allah

never questioning why the Almighty would ever need
to have his infinite greatness defended
by a confused youngster's shooting of innocents

Auschwitz Rose
by Michael R. Burch

There is a Rose at Auschwitz, in the briar,
a rose like Sharon’s, lovely as her name.
The world forgot her,
                                      and is not the same.
I still love her and enlist this sacred fire
to keep her memory exalted flame
unmolested by the thistles and the nettles.

On Auschwitz now the reddening sunset settles ...
They sleep alike—diminutive and tall,
the innocent, the “surgeons.”
                                                    S­leeping, all.

Red oxides of her blood, bright crimson petals,
if accidents of coloration, gall
my heart no less.
                              Amid thick weeds and muck
there lies a rose man’s crackling lightning struck:
the only Rose I ever longed to pluck.
Soon I’ll bed there and bid the world “Good Luck.”

Published by The Neovictorian/Cochlea, Black Medina, Voices Israel, Other Voices International, Verse Weekly, Poetry Renewal Magazine, Mindful of Poetry, The Eclectic Muse, Promosaik, Famous Poets & Poems, The Wandering Hermit, FreeXpression (Australia), Inspirational Stories, Poetry Life & Times, Sonnetto Poesia (Canada), Trinacria, Pennsylvania Review, Poems About, Litera (UK), Yahoo Buzz, Got Poetry, de Volksrant Blog (Holland)

Keywords/Tags: Holocaust, Auschwitz, rose, Sharon, name, forgotten, sacred, memory, flame, briar, thorns, reddening, sunset, thistles, nettles, innocent, innocents, surgeons, blood, crimson, petals, weeds, muck, lightning, blitzkrieg, strike, struck, attack, war, violence, ******, death, bed, grave, goodbye, farewell, good luck

The candles flicker and fumes
Rise from the wick
Into my room

A baby flame
Born at once
Took a breath and died

A mother with a coin
in her pocket chooses
poison as her diet

With gun pointing at innocents
The all say
Death for them is a child's play.......

LOST INNOCENTS…by Jessie

Children, the tiny seed of man; their innocents won’t last

For all the history of the fathers

Present to the past

What's sad is children never mean

Kind and pure of heart

People take that innocents and tear it all apart

The hopes and dreams of years to come

Placed within their hands

Expectations way to high

For them to understand

Pressures put on the child, from an early age

Just so fathers get the chance to stand on center stage

Weighting down the children’s will

Boot tight on their throat

Trench dug deep around their soul

A finely crafted moat

Children grow to be adults

And do as they were taught

While all along the fathers words

Sit within and rot

Blood of the innocents spilled, can’t we live in peace?

Inside the great
big global village
not everything is rosy
even a cat knows it
a leaf can sniff it.
The Moon shines
not in every night
nor God promised
always a blue sky.
Still the roses bloom
Cinderella has the lot
the reasons to groom.

The richest among the folks
turns philanthropist in the globe.
The wisest among the men
celebrate the era for it’s
the civilisation at its peak.
Hooray what now triumphs at last
is the wisdom and humanity!

Really? O please tell me?
Not very far, nor for much,
just because some differ in faith
mothers and fathers left in pain.
Not because they are to lose
Rohingyan sun nor the land
beneath their feet but in no time
their sons and daughters
can be put to death into fire
that too before their eyes
before the silent established world!