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Zywa Jun 2023
It's Friday the thirteenth
again. I stay at home
due to circumstances:

a dragging wind
and storming sirens
The cameras break

taboos and peek
into windowless sleeping
rooms, front pieces

after the wind of roughskirts
who celebrate their gains
in stinking silence. I close

the curtains, my eyes and mouth
I'm not here, hello hello
don't you see I'm not here

and I can do nothing about it -
absent due to circumstances
which I can do nothing about
Collection "Blown sand"
Zywa Mar 2023
At home, in the sun, I watch
the news intently, I study the photos
the parabola of a mortar
like a shooting star
and the grey ruins after the impact

There are cameras everywhere
I shiver from everything
I do and don't want to know
but I wouldn't know anything
if I didn't know

I read of people
who woke up and
ran to a cellar
their children crying
in the pale morning light

The wounded crawl over debris
scramble past the charred cars
An ambulance drives away
Daily corpses, daily news
with survivors

with a dry mouth
speechless, pale in the sun
in which I follow the news
with my sharp eyes
my cool heart
"Every Morning" ("Elke ochtend", 1986, Mary Oliver)
Published in Poetry Magazine (March 1986) and in the collection "Dream Work" (1986)

Collection "Reaching out"
Andreas Simic Jun 2022
You are like a magician

your hands working in stealth-like fashion

revealing little about who you are

finger prints of time have passed you by

as you honed your talents and skills

to manipulate people’s minds

so that they believe they are in control

all the while you hold the strings like

on a puppet or character named Pinocchio

obscuring or twisting the truth as you meld

our hearts and dreams into nightmares

providing dark thrills to your repertoire

while making victims of the audience

who attend these spectacles you readily compose

to entrap those weak of soul

and so it starts like someone under hypnosis

pliant to your every command

unaware of your intentions

until it is too late

Andreas Simic©
GaryFairy Nov 2021
they come after me
i try to become a faster me
die laughter me
spellcaster me
the laster me
master me!
The Master, me
black and white America
I'm in the hood just doing good ...
for my brothers
I wish I could
make it understood
I'm not like
just like the others
I wish you would
stand where I stood
Then we could
both have our drothers
You broke a fragile hand
On a fragile man
I won't shake twice
I'm twice not as nice
black and white America
untamed land of the brave
the depraved can't be saved
oh John would you behave
were you raised in a cave?
In black and white america
In the land of the free
Why can't I be me
Without you looking
Every single time you see me
In black and white america?
stories come and stories go
But only the glories know
For more and more we go
More seeds die more we grow
oh ***** on the floor, we know
You gave John a sore we know
Rotten to the core
That's how the story goes...
That's how the story goes
Black and white america
Buy me a coffee and I will tell the truth
Carlo C Gomez Jun 2021
I hold still,

let him finish stabbing me

                                                 — I count six,

let him believe me dead,

he moves on to Cecelia.


It does not go as well for her

as she continues to writhe and scream

and carry on,

not well at all
               ­                              — I count eight,



Little feet walking
Endlessly far
Big eyes  wide open
Only seeing the war
Little hands clutching
everything nearby
Little skinny bodies
Numb, just wanting to cry
A child tired  and hungry
With no place to go
No  destiny nor future
Nothing... No home..
Eyes big and wide open
Seeing only the dark
That ..... people
is our
refugee child.

The reality of a child in war and poverty.
Martin Bond Dec 2020
She looked intently
at his
almost angel like,
heart knows
monsters pretend
Maria Hernandez Aug 2020
as long as I don't talk about it , then
it never happened.
-elixir- Jun 2020
Fatalities turned rampant,
Felonies a usual.
Voices unheard,
Victims lay fallen.
The hypocrisy unfolds,
They hide from their lies.
Affluent cocooned in bubbles,
Anguish spread in commons.
Tough we ought to be as
Time's run out

Or is it?
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