Sunday, May 21, 2006

Martyr #121.

A man sits behind a bar,
strumming his fingers;
in order.

Thinking of the past,
strumming his fingers;
he orders.

One beer goes down,
he prays for his sins;
and orders.

Two beers now empty,
he stands up straight;
and thinks.

His money on the table,
his pains concealed;
he stumbles.

Into the darkness,
un-armed and alone;
he walks.

Judgement then comes,
a gun to his head
he screams.

Tied up and taken,
beaten not broken;
he dies.

His name was Omar.
The papers call him
number 121.

By Luke(y) Skinner 16/5/06

Monday, May 15, 2006

‘Behind the bar’

He sits behind a bar,
strumming his fingers;
in order.

Thinking of times past,
strumming his fingers;
he orders.

One beer goes down,
he strums his fingers;
and orders.

Two beers now empty,
he strums his fingers;
and thinks.

Third beer on the way;
he stands up straight,
and leaves.

Money left on the table,
pains from every hair;
he stumbles.

On through the dark,
upon pins and needles;
He bleeds.

His wounds concealed,
from judgmental eyes;
He dies.

by Luke(y) Skinner 16/5/06

Sunday, May 07, 2006

Across the Road

Carrying her books in tiny hands,
counting the steps back home from school;
her pigtailed hair swings as she moves.

She remembers the advice her mother gave:
"Look left and right before you cross".
She never forgets her father's words:
"No talking to strangers out on the road!"

She walks up to kittens down the street,
and begs her friends not to pebble one.
Singing about being smart and strong;
those songs she learned at school.

“Look left and right before I cross!
No talking to strangers out on the road!”

Her school was just a few blocks away,
the neighbourhood was calm; in a way.
The eyes of mothers peered a lot-
from windows and fences or attics.


They make sure their children come back.
Those children walk like floating angels;
spreading joy down every avenue:

It’s in the way walk.

Looking left and right before they cross,
not talking to strangers out on the road.

- BANG -

The tremendous sound pounds…

Scattering books from tiny hands,
they run to each other in panic;
seeking comfort and consolation.


They all walked upon the street;
and she alone on the sidewalk.

She thought she would be safer there;
alas, it was her end. Nothing had helped:

Not Looking left and right before she crossed,
nor not talking to strangers upon the road.

She had thought she would be safer there…


But only bloodied books had made it home,
and the ribbon which had tied her hair…

Her mother had seen the disaster from her roof,
but couldn't have helped her infant.

She walked so peacefully around the world-
not expecting a bomb just down the road.

She went mad for her child.

She disregarded all she knew.

Was it fate or some mistake?

Deprived of her six-year old child,
she had tried to protect her baby girl…

-but nothing had helped.

Not looking left and right before she crossed
Nor not talking to strangers out on the road.

She had thought she would be safe.


April 28, 2006 by Attawie,

edited by [olivebranch] 7/5/06

Hunger.
Poverty.
Greed.
War.

Hunger and poverty,
greed and war.

Hunger.
Poverty.
Greed and war.

Hunger is poverty-
hunger is war.

Greed means hunger,
greed means war.

Greed means poverty;
greed means war.

by Luke(y) Skinner 19/4/06 edited 7/05/06