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Posts Tagged ‘Ethnic Cleansing’

DUST: Photo: Michael J. Whelan

 

 

DUST

        (Kosovo)

 

Returning to base each night

covered in a layer of grimy dust

that fell from the sky,

thick and slimy when wet,

I was always reminded of extermination camps,

(people were still missing from the war’s

ethnic cleansing),

but we were told by our superiors

that we had nothing to worry about,

the dust was from the chimneys in Obilic.

 

Michael J. Whelan

 

 Published as part of a sequence of six poems titled TRUTH by Mark Ulyseas in L.E. Poetry Magazine, January 2018 issue

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Photo: Michael J. Whelan

ASYLUM

Kosovo

 

Winter; at the great gates,

numb peacekeepers stop for a moment

at the edge of a journey home,

snow falling heavily on the asylum,

like ash on a map.

 

Inside, half-dressed, inmates hover like insects

around burning tar barrels,

warm their limbs over naked flames that lick at their faces.

They gather by the iron cage,

heavy eyes, skinny necks and runny noses.

 

They watch the soldiers light cigarettes to the cold,

push their hands through as though offering peace

but reaching for a long remembered taste.

Whole packs are surrendered, thrown over the coiled wire,

sweets and chocolates too.

 

Faces transform, all are prisoners,

no conversations, none needed.

 

Michael J. Whelan

Published by Mark Ulyseas in L.E. PoeTry Magazine, January 2018 issue,  – sequence of six poems titled TRUTH

 

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Young boys near village Mass-grave, Kosovo 2001, Photo – (c)Michael J. Whelan

 

Children of the War

(Peacekeeping in Kosovo)

 

Once, on the outskirts of a future memory,
we stopped our convoy
on a narrow road
near a fallen tree.
I was in the lead vehicle
bringing supplies to a forgotten village
the war had touched,
our first time on that ground.
The tree blocked the route
as if booby-trapped.

There was movement in the woods
as we pushed through,
we didn’t shoot.
It was good to see them,
we drove by and they came in to view
hands raised high- begging.
The ambush turned out
to be scared children
weary of uniforms,
we gave them chocolate
for their little victory.
There was nothing to fear
though they didn’t know it
when they saw us coming
and in the long run of things
their tactics worked –
their smiles keep me awake sometimes.

 

Michael J. Whelan

Published in the ‘contemporary Irish poets feature’ in issue 22 of Rochford Street Review – July 2017

see https://rochfordstreetreview.com/2017/07/06/michael-j-whelan-five-poems/

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Destroyed house – Kosovo 2001. (c)Michael J. Whelan

Deranged

(Kosovo, Winter 2001)

 

Cold day
Rain
Old woman
Damaged
Smelled
Ancient urine
Matted hair
Dirty clothes
Filthy skin
Living
In ruin
Burnt out shell
Hungry
Dying
Weeping
Gone mad
Charred remains
Her family
Inside home
Inside her
Murdered
Fearful
Of strangers
Would not be helped
Could not
Deranged.

Michael J. Whelan

 

Published in the ‘contemporary Irish poets feature’ in issue 22 of Rochford Street Review – July 2017

see https://rochfordstreetreview.com/2017/07/06/michael-j-whelan-five-poems/

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Dark kosovo (Michael J. Whelan -2001)

BLACK BLOOD GROUND

(Kosovo)

 

Children huddled together on high ground,

barefoot in the freezing mud, no adults found.

 

The police had come like hunters

pictured victorious over their fathers.

 

Bodies hanged by distended knees

from branches of petrified trees.

 

Protecting arms reaching down

surrendering to the black blood ground.

 

 

Michael J. Whelan

 

Published recently as part of a sequence  in ‘From the Cradle of Civilization: Contemporary Arabic Poetry”, the fifth edition of Life and Legends’ http://lifeandlegends.com/cradle-civilization/

 

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Damaged house Kosovo, 2001. Photo: Michael J. Whelan

Damaged house – Kosovo, 2001.  Photo: Michael J. Whelan

THIS PLACE

In the depths of your despair
I come,
enlightened.
With these eyes I see
those who would purge you,
desecrate your identity,
your existence.
With these same eyes
I see your vengeance
meted out, tenfold.
I see the scars,
the landscape,
the missing,
the future.
I will leave this place
and one day bear witness
to your glories.

Michael J. Whelan

Published in Tinteán online magazine – an initiative of the Australian Irish Heritage Network https://tintean.org.au/2017/01/06/poetry-12/

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Damaged house Kosovo, 2001. Photo: Michael J. Whelan

Damaged house Kosovo, 2001. Photo: Michael J. Whelan

 

KOSOVO

 

Green shoots

why do you grow

in the rubble of this house,

while hearts are breaking,

does God not see

our tears falling on the ground

near the stony road

that ceases at one side of the river

and commences on the other,

where great armies once crossed

to be forgotten,

in this land that forged a village

and civilised it;

then forged the swords

that killed it,

where the blackbird died slowly

in the eagle’s grip,

screaming as the beak

pierced the flesh of its breast.

 

Michael J. Whelan

 

Published in A NEW ULSTER magazine, issue 34, July 2015, edited by Amos Greig

 

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