antiwar.com
A child looks up,
begins to run:
the drones are coming,
thesleuthjournal.com
raining bombs
on the undefended
in the name of
Freedom.
occupy.com
Forgive the villagers
for not appreciating
the "help,"
for they lose sight
of how this will ever
increase
for they lose sight
of how this will ever
increase
their basic human rights.
Peasants bombarded
under a morning sky,
under a morning sky,
just another slice of
a toxic political pie.
nytimes.com
Amidst the rubble,
in a dented kettle,
in a dented kettle,
Grandma brews a cup of tea
to comfort those
who have survived
the bombs of the Free.
.
She has seen it all before,
and it makes her spirit sore.
No making sense
of insanity;
she doesn't even try,
for next week
more bombs will fall
from this same sky.
who have survived
the bombs of the Free.
.
She has seen it all before,
and it makes her spirit sore.
No making sense
of insanity;
she doesn't even try,
for next week
more bombs will fall
from this same sky.
AP photo
In the soldier's hearts,
outside the compound,
outside the compound,
enraged by the death
of their very own,
the flame of hatred
and revenge
inevitably
is sown.
is sown.
There is no chance
this anger
will find any
surcease.
With bombs
there is no way to
this anger
will find any
surcease.
With bombs
there is no way to
ever
forge a lasting peace.
posted for Susie's challenge at Real Toads: to write a protest poem. I always can find a lot of things to protest. Drones are the latest unfathomable atrocity to come to my attention. I so relate to the ancient grandmas over there, trying to keep the children alive in the rubble.
