Poetry, anyone?

This is about the genocide committed in Srebenica in July of 1995.


The Woods To Tuzla

On the soccer field they lay
we imagine counting clouds
laughter smiling their sunny eyes

We are in the woods to Tuzla
our brothers and fathers left behind
to sleep where games are played

We are thousands all alone
silent cries in the Balkan wind
tinged crimson by restless ghosts

If so, it really is remarkable. I'll post one of mine in a minute :hi:

I'm writing about Bosnia for a class. So I whipped this up. Glad you liked it.

Yeah, post one of yours I'll be glad to check it out. I'm feeling like reading a little poetry tonight. :)

This is lovely, my dear....Did you write it?

I'm betting you did......

The poem gradually turns darker as you read it.....

Nice.....but sad...

Thank you

:loveya: :hug:

It's pretty simple and barely edited. I just needed something to introduce a prelude that I'm beginning my essay with. I didn't see anything that I wanted to quote so I wrote this myself. Yeah, it does get gradually darker. I didn't want to make it overtly sinister, but I wanted a subtle sadness to it. Glad you liked it. Normally I would never post anything so rough, I have to edit stuff like 50 times, but this is going in my paper tomorrow when I finish it, so I figured I may as well post it.

Port Authority

In the fissures of the city
where the cold water seeps down into the earth
dragging the forgotten debris of the streets
down
down
down
into
a sunken cathedral, deep in the city’s gut.
Odd and beautiful creatures live here.
Some roost in dark corners
others sigh loudly or
weep disturbingly silently.
They beg and plead with the foreigners from above
A nickel, a handful of flung pennies
(useless)
Others eat quietly from small plastic bags and tins of
grey mush not fit for humanity.
They fight and snarl at each other
stab and rip
Vicious and decaying angels.
But
they love other neglected and abused souls with gentle
heartbreak.
Come, they say
Sit in these quiet halls, they won’t bother you.
Sometimes, here, the light filters down on us.
And here is where a heater is, so you won’t freeze.
Lastly, they say
(before they turn away)
Try to remember your name.
Because here is where even God has
forgotten us.

I like it. Interesting structure. It made me feel as if I was tunneling down somewhere, dark, dank, where I have never been and would not like to go. I almost wished it would stop, slow up so I could take in the imagery. There is an odd anxiety to this. Almost like a quiet sense of urgency. Except urgency is probably fruitless in this case.

just to let you all know. Great. I am talking to myself on my own thread now. Call me Commander Cuckoobananas. :)

Nice work.

I have my moments. :)

I finished my essay. Technically I was supposed to wake up 20 minutes ago, but I need sleep otherwise I'm screwed for the rest of the day, and I have a test too. So I better go crash out. I'll post it tomorrow though.