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A Man in Dachau | Neil Creighton - A Poetry Website Featuring Poems by Contemporary Poets

A Man in Dachau | Neil Creighton

In a dream I saw a man in Dachau
give his last morsel of bread
to one he thought was suffering more.
I heard his thoughts.
“I am no mere plaything of circumstance.
They can take my life but not
the freedom to choose my way.”

I rushed to tell my friends
that choice determines who we are,
proof sufficient being in Dachau
a man chose compassion over self.

One friend replied:
“Noble indeed is such a one.
Heroes make these choices.
The exception though is not the rule.
Choice is circumscribed by circumstance
and eliminated for most by horror of place.”

Another then spoke:
“Oppression’s boot can find the weight
To crush all choice away.
Was that man’s compassion an act of choice?
I rather think it a gift of grace.”

The man from Dachau then appeared
to confirm my friends were right.
“The parade”, he said, “is unendingly long
of those who shuffle by –
starving children, women beaten,
the tortured, guiltless and cruelly oppressed,
the dispossessed, the mind manacled,
the legions of the poor.
I merely do what I must do.
Those who can, should follow.”

More at http://windofflowers.blogspot.com.au.

Inner Hollow, USA | G. Louis Heath - A Poetry Website Featuring Poems by Contemporary Poets

Inner Hollow, USA | G. Louis Heath

Someone is watching me, obsessed with vengeance.
I think I saw them last night. Their eyes flared bright

incandescent red with hatred for what I am. They
watch me every waking hour. I walk outside wearing

a kabuki mask of indifference riveted to my face, but
I am afraid, very afraid. My friend shows no fear. He

has journeyed deep inside himself where they cannot
reach. Only a shell of him stands before me, his words

echoing from his hollowness. I wander alone in a daze,
haunted by his emptiness, full of nothingness. He is a

hollow man now, full of the pain of oblivion. I remain
worth their vigilance for I am not yet hollow. I’ll be

circumspect in what I do, I mean really careful. I’ll stay
not yet hollow, never as hollow as the actually hollow.

Five Stages of Grief Post Election 2016 | Heidi Seaborn - A Poetry Website Featuring Poems by Contemporary Poets

Five Stages of Grief Post Election 2016 | Heidi Seaborn

Denial: To wake up, shake off the nightmare as an illusion, a trick of the brain. I saw a brain last night in its raw form, watched a surgeon randomly slice the frontal lobe off and proclaim, “That’s how a lobotomy works.”

Anger: Pitchforks disappeared with family farms and agriculture jobs. This angry American mob sharpens its words against the whetstone of the Internet. Click. Post.

Bargaining: Let this father stay here, his children are young, He
works hard at a job no one else wants. He is a good man.

Depression: To wake up spooning the nightmare, entangled with this
dark lover who twists his tentacles around your wrists and ankles,
rolls onto your chest, punishing your breath.

Acceptance: That happened.

Masquerade | JD DeHart - A Poetry Website Featuring Poems by Contemporary Poets

Masquerade | JD DeHart

Poe was master of the masquerade,
parties held in rooms of various shade,
ghostly haunts and terror sounds,
and how many masters of masquerade
exist now, in this age? What mask
is even now floating past, a face not
of the present but of some ancestor,
princess, king, or ethereal figure?
Better still is the question of what mask
I myself would choose, or perhaps I would
rather go bare into the world, no costume,
no disguise, just unapologetic personality.

Confused and Confused | Diane Woodward Dorff - A Poetry Website Featuring Poems by Contemporary Poets

Confused and Confused | Diane Woodward Dorff

How did we get here?
How did our people
Come to believe
That down is up
And up is down?
That kindness is defeat,
And hatred is strength,
And understanding is wrong?
Is this the nation whose establishment
Used to be full of war and money
and decisions made over and over again?
Whose establishment is now
Regard for differences,
Careful thinking,
Examination thought by thought
And gun by gun.
Who would have thought
Our highest ideals would become
Meanness and ignorance?
That salvation would come
By letting go of one another’s hands?

Burning Man Diary | Ken Allan Dronsfield - A Poetry Website Featuring Poems by Contemporary Poets

Burning Man Diary | Ken Allan Dronsfield

Blasphemy courted with anecdotal perversity
limitless chatter echoes through the canyon
all now weeping at the sight of blind hypocrisy
catching the orbs dancing with a butterfly net
seeking a peace but tripping through garbage
sands stained with the blood from star shards
music calms the beast, but on the jungle roars
pinnacle of life, enchanted in an icy cold desert.
Tutelage from shamans moving to a spirit drum
casting vows of pious devotional decadence
earthy spirited flute touches the heart and soul
the burning man tosses ink onto the parchment.

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