THERE was a small boy of Quebec,
Who was buried in snow to his neck;
When they said. "Are you friz?"
He replied, "Yes, I is—
But we don't call this cold in Quebec."
Who, if I cried out, would hear me among the angels'
hierarchies? and even if one of them suddenly
pressed me against his heart, I would perish
in the embrace of his stronger existence.
For beauty is nothing but the beginning of terror
which we are barely able to endure and are awed
because it serenely disdains to annihilate us.
Each single angel is terrifying.
And so I force myself, swallow and hold back
the surging call of my dark sobbing.
......
For a Child of 1918
My grandfather said to me
as we sat on the wagon seat,
"Be sure to remember to always
speak to everyone you meet."
We met a stranger on foot.
My grandfather's whip tapped his hat.
"Good day, sir. Good day. A fine day."
......
Even while I dreamed I prayed that what I saw was only fear and no foretelling,
for I saw the last known landscape destroyed for the sake
of the objective, the soil bludgeoned, the rock blasted.
Those who had wanted to go home would never get there now.
I visited the offices where for the sake of the objective the planners planned
at blank desks set in rows. I visited the loud factories
where the machines were made that would drive ever forward
toward the objective. I saw the forest reduced to stumps and gullies; I saw
the poisoned river, the mountain cast into the valley;
......
QUEEN GULNAAR sat on her ivory bed,
Around her countless treasures were spread;
Her chamber walls were richly inlaid
With agate, porphory, onyx and jade;
The tissues that veiled her delicate breast,
Glowed with the hues of a lapwing's crest;
But still she gazed in her mirror and sighed
......
Give this child what she needs
Love
Give this child what she needs
Shelter
Give this child what she needs
Prayers
Give this child what she needs
Some food and water
Give this child what she needs
Good parents
......
Though little Suzie was wild about horses, she was too young to ride,
At just five golden years old. Like summer faded, where nature sighed.
Playful Suzie longed to visit Banbury Cross, a place she had not been.
Her older siblings told exciting tales of it, like spring, alive with green!
For Little Suzie's birthday, her parents had given her a rocking horse;
And it was a prized possession, which she played with daily, of course.
As today came closer to someday, she'd visit countless places far away.
......
barefoot on the edge of innocence,
laughter spilling like petals
in a summer breeze.
eyes glinting with mischief,
a wildflower in a garden of rules,
her spirit ignites whispers—
soft shadows of temptation
wrapped in the silk of youth.
......
I dreamt about beeping lines
Slowly and steadily rising
Their sudden downfall scares me
As I just heard a story
A tale of two heartbeats
One Raising inside her womb
Basking in her warmth
Nourishing themself for a long period
......
These are poems about Palestinian children and their mothers...
Epitaph for a Palestinian Child
by Michael R. Burch
I lived as best I could, and then I died.
Be careful where you step: the grave is wide.
......