Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Emily Pidduck Apr 2014
1937

bushido invasion
memory still vivid in the Chinese
of a slaughter
prisoners
chopped and lobbed into the river
display their heads
let the next line kiss the remains
but the time is ticking
and the water is only pink
prisoners
mowed down
with bullets
and laughter
they can turn and swim
Japanese aim is good
not one makes it to the other side
the pink
is a deep red flood
becoming a dam
with the bodies of
children
ladies
gentlemen

why did those murdered forget
the purple mountain legend
when it burns
the city falls
why did they not flee faster

the policy issued
plunder
burn
******
do not let that little boy
take revenge
5 years old
they severed him

Japanese leaders saw a chance
to remove any pity
in the solider
they ripped out
humanity
inserted
brutality

training exercise
hoist your bayonet
plunge forward
twist
extract
plunge
twist
extract
men with bound wrists
considered subhuman
butchered
plunge
twist
spit

routine puts soldiers at a disadvantage
fire is added
fields are swamped with oil
and laced with people
patrolled edges
keep the cries alive
the only release
death

movement is needed
tanks must pass
chatting soldiers hang out the sides
wheels roll over the bodies
filling the ditches
carcasses
and
wounded
if there is not enough
they found the closest Chinese
and added it to the pile

competition
2 leaders
in a fight to show superiority
uptake a challenge
to win is 100
swords are withdrawn
ignore its' eyes
the race
a beheading
lost count
up the stakes
150

only the beginning
for the women

a hunt commences
females do not leave the house
there is not one in the streets
rounded up
army trucks
bringing in loads
******* like animals
chained to racks
*****
commonly gang-*****
bleeding to death
aged under 8
over 80
a pregnant women
***** to death
her fetus cut out
and destroyed
encouragement
from higher ups

and the advice given
pikankan is acceptable
every warrior should
do not let them talk
**** the pigs
when they are done being women

more than 20,000
maybe less than 80,000
defiled
in the carnage

journalist support
with authentic recounts

but with time
confused hospitalization
of the soldiers
who puked every meal
and gagged from inside out
as the horrors ate them

the only relief
an international safety zone
perhaps 20 Westerners
to help a mere 300,000
only half
at intervals
Japanese crossed the fence
for the women hunt
for Chinese soldiers
recognized by calloused hands

irony
******* on a Westerner arm
a symbol
as he aided
survivors of the massacre
and the Nazis in Nanking
aghast
leaked information
on the horrors
and
****** ordered silence

a single surgeon
a lucky boy with only one bayonet puncture
another
missing eyes
missing ears
half a nose from
100 tied together
set on fire

Japanese photography
of bonding moments
as they watched
a house packed tight
panicked people on roofs
to escape flames
jumping

6-8 weeks later

more refined brutality
enforced prostitution
and intake of *****
****** cigarettes for children

the West
in ignorance
watched the German rise
forgot responsibility
to humanity
in the Asian wars

no apology
denial
unfair hatred
of later innocent Japanese generations
mention of Hiroshima
amuses some Chinese
doesn't bother others
it's not everyone
that's still too many

lacking sympathy
the road to brutality
lingers
Horrifying and saddening, considered by many to be on par with the genocide of the Jews in brutality. If there are any deep questions please message me, otherwise comments are fine. Anything confusing, just ask. Please do not take offensively, I believe most of what I have said is fact, not interpretation.
Ellen Joyce Jun 2013
And Ovid said "she asked for it"
she turned Tereus to lust on sight and caused him to **** her
over and over and over
the only control remaining to speak the truth.
a tongue turned phallus
that was to be cut off, castrated
to silence, make powerless -
Philomela subjugated
beneath the vile grunts of the patriarchal chorus
mumbling grumbling over the rumbling
of a revolution of women rising to dance, to shout, to sing
to bring Philomela from Hades to cascading waters of womanhood
extinguising the flames of the hell that is here.

Here in the he said - she said
in the legal loop holes
in the seems like
in the ridiculous pondering of legitimate ****
as if when Tess, at pitchfork, took off her clothes before Alec
that it could be consider seduction, romance.
The threat of violence - silence.

Here where we remember world cup victories but forget Nanking
hundreds, thousand of women violated and broken for sport
because **** is a weapon of war
because Lord knows bombs and bullet aint enough
Soldiers photographing rapes like snapshots to take home as souvenirs.
- the sadistic ******* who sexually assaulted, mutilated and murdered
daughter, sister, mother, grandmother
and then headed home to the ***** of the matriarch,
to hold their own teenage daughters in the arms that turned screams to silence.

Voices silenced.  
Vocabularly lost.
Women have come to fight silence with art
to speak in a language without words because there are not words
to tell of a hell that ------------------------

But when Toni Morrison told the truth
the truth in all its gorey graphic raw ugliness
the people tried to stick together the pages
to conceal the painful truth,
to build up pyres of life stories and watch them burn
The pen stamped underfoot into silence.

And Pa simply said "shut up and *** used to it"
and those words still echo now across the world
and there was noone to tell
nothing to be said - just the colour purple
and silence.

Silence is being broken
across this world women rise to tell, to share, to voice, to shout, to say, to sing

We've had enough, enough of being treated like dirt,
we've had enough enough of putting up with the hurt,
we've had enough enough of getting trashed from above,
us women have had enough -

we've had enough they say
of this vile hierarchial structure of **** that almost always favours the male
of arseholes like Galloway and Akin putting forth their perverse poisonous perceptions
of one in three women being ***** or beaten
of one in three women having to pick up the pieces and find a way to live
of one in three women feeling the weight of the silence

As the monologues echo in theatre stalls
as ***** taken to the streets both female and male
as men declare themselves feminists and walk the walk
the spirit of Philomela unites with her tongue,
the silence created by the threat of violence is cracked
the us and them mentality that allows us to hurt the other challenged
the once burned books have gone mass market
and we as a human race will no longer be told "to shut up and *** used to it"

We are standing as one
for the sake of the one
the every one in three women
one will billion rise
Inspired by Slutwalk movement and One Billion Rise.
E Sep 2015
I fear how much my heart would bleed
To witness real tragedy

To sink in Flanders Field
To collapse in Choeung Ek
To scream for mercy in Nanking
To beg before the walls of Baghdad

A life of insulation
Pain relative to the first world
My heart hardly calcified
Compared to the bones of those who died

Hardly removed from the horrors of mankind
My drywall castle shields each breath

So hardly removed
From the stench of death
Andrew Duggan Aug 2018
Dear State Counsellor.

Once I saw you as an icon of morality.
A bastion of hope.
A ‘dancing peacock’ in a troubled world.
Some called you the ‘midwife of democracy’.
Others an ‘Oxford housewife’,
a peacock ready to show its eyes.

But now….

The Children, babies, women and men of the Rohingya
are butchered, ***** and murdered by your
soldiers as you read poetry to children.

And the rest of the world stands by waiting for
the Norwegians to take away your Nobel Peace Prize.
Another sense of justice, lost again.

The working hands of the Muslim men in Rakhine
are tied by the Buddhists, the lovers of peace.

Their guns gleaming and your army standing by.

“It wasn’t us” say the Generals
“It was the Buddhists”.

But of course we have seen this before.
At Srebrenica, Nanking, My Lai and Auschwitz,
until the gas came.

And the world stands by.
Another failure, another genocide.

Now, as your military load the death carts
and bury mothers next to their children.
The Buddhists place flowers on the mass graves.
And I call for you and your ‘men’
to be accountable for those burnt by the sun.
I would make an attempt at reaching Hell one morning , I shall return with an omen or some type of sign . Search for the infamous Lake of Fire , the Prince of Darkness himself or demons flying about ! The Sulphuric Abyss of Christian fable , Kingdom of Hades as told by the ancients ! A gold piece placed in mouth to pay the oarsman , skipped across the River Styx without fear of retribution ! I dare any demon to replicate the horror of Vietnam or Afghanistan , Iwo Jima , Gettysburg or **** of Nanking ! Walk in the shoes of the Veteran that witnessed Omaha , Utah and Normandy Beach ! The Underworld is not for physical torment nor payment for Earthly sin ! Hell is the black hole of space , swallowing souls , returned to mans past , reliving the atrocity of war forever and a day !
Copyright October 12 , 2015 by Randolph L Wilson * All Rights Reserved
Breeze-Mist Apr 2016
In Poland, a young Jewish girl plays with a ball near her house
not seeing the Gestapo riding in on trucks

In Japan, a boy plays with a butterfly-shaped kite
not seeing the impending fallout over the city center

In Nanking, a girl plays dress-up with her sister's old dress
not seeing the army outside of the city

In Hawaii, a boy runs along the beach, jumping in and out of the waves
not seeing the bombers over the nearby harbor

In Ethiopia, a girl and her mother walk home from a friend's house
not seeing the yellow-green cloud advancing

In London, a boy races his friends through the streets
Not seeing the bombers overhead

In Vietnam, a girl looks over her family's farm
Not seeing the troops in the jungle

In Syria, a girl and her older sister walk to get water
Not seeing the fighters moving in

Somwhere in this world, a child is living happily
Not seeing the terrible change ahead.
Currently learning about WWII, and it got me to thinking, so I decided to write this.
Matt Apr 2016
I wish this
And I want that

And bla Bla bla
Bla bla bla bla

Well, you're not going
To get it

You should have
Learned by now

I doubt I will
Get a female friend

And I don't much care
You saw me in the gardens
Walking over there

Look at me
Eating a crunchy pear

Try not to laugh
Try not to stare

People do
Terrible things
And everyone is like
"Who cares"

And people say
There is no judgement day
No one
To keep track
Of the times

Japanese soldier
Came to Nanking
And snapped
The old woman's spine

Something to ponder
Please don't spill
Your wine

I've done very little
For other people

I try to be loving
Try to be kind

This is a good way to be
You may find

Isolated
I stood
On the lantern
Of a church steeple

I observed and watched
The people

Lot of hustle
And bustle
Running here
And there

But I just stood
And watched
The fair

No no
There is no
Judgement day
No accounting
For the ages
You may say

Then I don't understand
What we are doing here
So many decisions
And I find it queer

What is man?
Some have asked
It can be
A difficult task

Neither inherently good
Or bad

I sit and cry
I don't know why
I'm all alone
I write these poems

Talking about ***
In a chatroom
Oh what a thrill

A masturbatory explosion
My seed I have spilled!
Oh what a shame
And what a waste
To spill it
All over the place

No female partner
Or family plans
I love myself
I am a man

A man who hardly works
At all
Welcome to my world
Oh what a ball!

Gardens, gardens
In my mind
This is how
I pass the time

Never stop dreaming
About things
You think
Can never come true

One day
They just may
Happen to you

And as I walked
Along that path

A beautiful red head
Smiled at me
With my shades on
I did not
Let her see

So lovely
And so fair

To another world
She took me there

A world with women
Loving and kind

Who hug me
And make me feel fine

But not this time
Not this time

I'm here to complain
Here to whine

I dream of things
That would make me content

They don't come true
I feel like
I am stuck in cement

Just a body
Attached to a brain
All alone
What a shame!

To hear and to see
Perhaps never to
Feel loved

How can this be?

People are distant

Work is boring
Life *****

I walk the gardens
Trying my luck

Hoping to find
A female friend there

Into her loving eyes
I hope to stare
I wander the gardens hoping to meet a female friend.  One who would listen to me and let me breast feed.
Qualyxian Quest Jun 2023
Make up for my sins
By waiting. Patiently waiting.
No grandiosity
No thrills, chills, kills

Just waiting, not much happens
Ordinary boredom
Prayers for friends and family
Movies, the Dao De Ching

Get the timing right
Patientia
The pulpit in perplexity
The green and purple thing

Susan, Judi, Wendy
Decades, Centuries
Charlotte, North Carolina
Bucharest, Budapest, Nanking

                        Linkoping.
Jamison Bell Oct 2017
It's this or another poem based on self loathing
Another piece centered on sadness and brooding
I'll try to break off and walk towards the light
Something happier, with a little less plight

There once was a bunny, and **** no not that
No writing about bunnies, or my **** cat
There once was a girl, **** no not that either
From thinking of her I must take a breather

Ok I got it, hold still just a minute
I got a small thought, I just have to spin it
What if I write as if you're sitting here with me
We'll step in from the cold, to where it's less windy

First, thank you for staying, I know it's not easy
But go if you like, you don't have to please me
So, Schrödinger's cat, what're your thoughts on this
Or the **** of Nanking, there was something amiss

I'm sorry my friend, I'm simply not feeling it.
I've wasted your time, I'm sorry for stealing it
Perhaps one day when I'm out of my head
Drunk or high or already dead

We can sit and talk about life, love, and drinking
I'll sit and listen, without so much thinking
We'll have a few laughs about where we were when
Then I'll wake up, alone again
Walter Alter Aug 2023
i finally established rapport
with none other than the Sacred Cow
and it stepped all over my toes
gave me a limp worthy of an asterisk
the oil of anointment in my crankcase
but an army of monks couldn't keep me pure
as I laugh all the way to the blank
pulled into a marginally enchanting future
by the dog at the end of my food chain
pet his good luck **** if you must
my Siberian sibling exhales belligerently
after exterminating the woolly mammoth
separated at birth by a faulty wall socket
badly trained by a monkey's uncle
I've contacted the hunchback ***** banks
for a below zero safe deposit box
while descending through the atmospherics
with a certified license to lounge
upon the bedrock of creation
like butter through hunger
only in your head holy man
expletives erupted from his throat
making antic come here gestures
while wiggling under Bigfoot's foot
a sea of irritants sending messages
through my lawyers Rugburn & Nosebleed
you vampires should be in bed at this hour
if only because monotony generates subtlety
we played 'em right into the net
sent the boys off on a Nanking holiday
to animate something foul and oafish
that's now clogging the sewers
**** the spankers slit their throats
like the moon through a windy fog
one thing blending into another
fueling up with ignorance again
but I don't see how we could wreak hell
any more than the universe
already buggering ahead does
even with bear claws for hands
like a hotel banquet ice carver
in an encounter with the Dancing Strumpets
in a climate too tropical for inspiration
his frozen uncertainty runneth over
in a renunciation of befuddlement
by a Viking landfall pillaged soul
living a farcical incoherent nightmare
slammed through the one chance gate
and went clomping into showbiz
with a gypsy clan of Yiddish fiddlers

From "Engine of Didactic Beauty" available on Amazon
HORSE OF A DIFFERENT COLOUR

Auden & Isherwood
strolling in China
trying to soak up

The War
by the process of
osmosis

staining it
with words
observe

(at first what seems)  
green horses
but turns out to be

only white horses
painted green
for camouflage purposes.

that evening in Canton
also offering them
the futility of two men

trying to
put a rat
into a bottle

a woman who lived
in a beehive
pouring water into a sieve

War knocks
over the inkwell
spills into men’s lives

covers
the white pages
of their wishes

makes the idea
of Hell
all too real

the spilt ink
eating
the words of men

who send letters home
and die in pain
never to return

only in others' memories
& useless dreams
marble memorials

while green horses
champ the grasses
the bridles & the bits

clanking & glinting
in the hot sun
of Now

as this last lost
evening
dies


*

Sonnets from China was originally published in a considerably different form as “In Time of War.” “In Time of War” was a sonnet sequence included in Journey to a War (December 1938), a book by Auden and Christopher Isherwood that included a travel diary, photos, and a long poetic commentary.

Here is one of Auden's magnificent sonnets from that journey...

HERE WAR IS SIMPLE

Here war is simple like a monument:
A telephone is speaking to a man;
Flags on a map assert that troops were sent;
A boy brings milk in bowls. There is a plan

For living men in terror of their lives,
Who thirst at nine who were to thirst at noon,
And can be lost and are, and miss their wives,
And, unlike an idea, can die too soon.

But ideas can be true although men die,
And we can watch a thousand faces
Made active by one lie:

And maps can really point to places
Where life is evil now:
Nanking. Dachau.

— The End —