2018 09 – Poems

GAZA

  • run
  • don’t run
  • run
  • the sky moves
  • doesn’t move
  • moves
  • the sky moves
  • the ground moves
  • an F16
  • firing something, the F16
  • dropping something,  the F16
  • a generator
  • sounds like a generator
  • generator
  • only sounds like a generator
  • a generator
  • drones sound like generators
  • sounds like a generator
  • a tank shell
  • plops like a tank shell
  • it’s a tank shell
  • intense bright lights
  • out at sea, those lights
  • intense bright lights
  • blinking now, those lights
  • out at sea, intense bright lights
  • the sand spurts
  • spirals,  the sand-column spurts
  • curtain of sand, opens, spurts
  • run
  • don’t run
  • hide, then run
  • nowhere to run
  • nowhere to hide and run
  • fight
  • can’t run, fight
  • can’t hide, fight
  • fight

Wilson John Haire. 30th July, 2014

 

GAZA CITY 7th AUGUST 2014

  • Be reminded of Israeli atrocities
  •   don’t let the years ease the pain
  • through your liberal generosity
  •   though you watched it
  • through glass
  •   without the putrid smell
  • via the box of the mass
  •   the nostrils not blocked
  • from dust berserk
  •  from enemy incoming
  • shells
  •   nor do you feel the heat
  • from the burning rubble
  •   but from under it
  • you heard the cries
  •   didn’t see six blackened bodies
  • a mother and baby welded together
  •   a father smothered by his three young sons
  • in panic
  •  lies
  • on tin stretchers
  •   one alive
  • a nine year old girl legs flailing
  •   unconscious trying to
  • run
  •  then silence
  • she  thinks she dies
  •   they who did it
  • plead anti-Semitism
  •   plead Holocaust
  • take out writs
  •   plead military hardware
  • from the land
  •   of burger and fries

Wilson John Haire  7th August, 2017

GAZA ON MY MIND

  • You thought you were free to think,
  •   to distinguish, to judge,
  • when on to your mind they erected
  •   a fence
  •  of barbed chain-link,
  •   you thought from the truth
  • you couldn’t be budged
  •   but with this cacophony of tin pots
  • you lost the knack.
  •   One, or was it two, brave souls
  • launched
  •   their fire-kite, the slingshot, the catapult
  • at that border
  •   then, from the watchtowers there winged
  • origami planes to order
  •    as media pulp.
  • Up to your waist now in it,
  •   apologising, suspending, expelling
  •  those who go near the edge,
  •   when it should be up with your mitts.
  • While brave Gazans
  •   expire in their prison land-wedge.

W.J, Haire.  1st August, 2018.