War is armed conflict between states, organizations, or relatively large groups of people, characterised by lethal violence between combatants or against civilians. Other terms for war, which often serve as euphimisms, include armed conflict, hostilities, and police action. War is contrasted with peace, which is usually defined as the absence of war. (Excerpt from the Wikipedia article on 'War')
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         POEMS ABOUT WAR AND VIOLENCE

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'MY ENEMY'

"Please help me"
said one stranger, to another.
"As you can see,
I am grievously
wounded; would you not help a brother?"
"Ay, I would, if t'were possible,"
said the other.
"But all that I may do
is pity you
from afar;
And help you, with hot lead:
put a bullet in your head;
You, sir, are my enemy - we are at War."

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'FOREIGN TONGUE'

"I want to go home"
said the young boy of nineteen
"After all that I've seen:
the blood and the pain
and the blood and pain again...
War is no fun.
I want this War to be done.
Just the other day
I came across this person
who I shot, through the head
(and now, of course, he's dead)
I did this neither out of anger,
nor out of blind hate.
I did this for, when I took aim, he said
"Bitte, nein".
In my tongue, it's "Non, s'il vous-plait".

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THIS WAR

Shells start to drop
into personal hells
It is cold tonight

Numbed by the frost
I hobble to the dugout
where my comrade waits for me

This War is built strong
on a foundation of lies
But in an explosion
of Madness and Violence

the dugout collapses
My comrade dies

and This War lives on 

(28/02/08. In memory of all those who suffered the Falklands War)
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Sad Trumpets Play On...

You got a girl back home?

a fifty caliber tore
along its trajectory
that invisible line
cut up his face
Marines are the Best
Semper Fidelis
i lost faith
in my fight
      to death

i don't care
though
the war is over

they celebrated heroes
with trumpets full of music
all i heard
was the sound of bullets
thud
into loose sand
it got in my eyes

we took the sniper out

a boy of teen age
turned twenty
celebrated his birthday
with a grenade juggling show
it was a farce

Sad trumpets play on
what they play for

real
repetitive
redundant

quite like this poem
about War

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In Two Parts

I. The Act

The sun is set

The time is right

for the rape of faith

and the murder of hope

  -----------------

Who will begin?

says the King on his throne

to his subjects desperate for change

Not I cries the Jester - who is then Shown

The King - his fury - his rage

The Frightened ones as One, begin

  ------------------
Burn!

Burn and rise up higher

The Flames, they dance,
gallivant and prance

And every tongue gets its turn

to Burn in the name of Fire

  -------------------

Few are spared

In this too,

women and children are first

Black gold! Quench our thirst

Go on enemies, do your worst

Now Our King rules this place
not you
 

II. In Retrospect, Looking Forward

Isn't it strange

that victory and peace

both have the same sign?

My mistake,

of course they're different -

Victory's is a V upright

 Molotov Cocktail

A distinct sound -
Danda on soft flesh
just like days of old
when colonization was
from without

We burn inside
not unlike a flaming tyre
around a man’s neck

”He was a bad subject”
the Inspector said

What lenses do you
see the world through
They are clear
still you are blind

Go sahib go
You will not bother with me
Eat, be merry, drink
Enjoy this night – call for some more

Soon you will be drunk on fine single-malt
My Molotov Cocktail will sober you up

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waste Management

she stood there crying

four years old

she was a burden

on the system

too young to work

besides she was

a Jew and so

they shot her

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