#1942 - Hello Poetry

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.

0

Jan 11, 2018

Jan 11, 2018 at 5:24 PM UTC

lizziebunny

World War 2 Coffee from an all night diner in New York

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.

11

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

0

Feb 24, 2015

Feb 24, 2015 at 3:39 PM UTC

veemz227

Casablanca

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

7

Can they see the bloodshed that left them all dead Wars that have given us all multiple tours The enemies that were spying As loved ones were crying The bullets were flying We tried fortifying The war was horrifying Our sanity was denying This inhumanity was multiplying Those scared wanted to flee War just couldn't let us be I wanted to end this killing spree To stop the ashes forming around me If only they can see how this war has changed me.

0

Nov 6, 2019

Nov 6, 2019 at 10:53 AM UTC

Celticknight

Can They See?

Can they see the bloodshed that left them all dead Wars that have given us all multiple tours The enemies that were spying As loved ones were crying The bullets were flying We tried fortifying The war was horrifying Our sanity was denying This inhumanity was multiplying Those scared wanted to flee War just couldn't let us be I wanted to end this killing spree To stop the ashes forming around me If only they can see how this war has changed me.

14

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.

0

Mar 20, 2018

Mar 20, 2018 at 4:39 AM UTC

TerryCollett

Anny Remembered.

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.

48

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.

0

Apr 11, 2018

Apr 11, 2018 at 6:13 AM UTC

TerryCollett

Evacuee's Dawn 1942

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.

73