Tired of Waiting

 —Poetry by Lynn White, 

Blaenau Ffestiniog, North Wales
—Public Domain Photos of Gaza Courtesy of Medusa

 

 

TIRED OF WAITING

From Langston Hughes to Ray Davies,
from the political to the personal
and back again,
back and forth,
back and forth.
From Kissinger to the newbie
pretenders standing in line
moving back and forth,
back and forth.
From Stockholm to The Hague
back and forth,
back and forth.
We are so tired,
so very tired,
but all we can do is wait
to see where we shall find them.

 

 

 

 

 

FORTY MILLION TONNES AND COUNTING

Forty Million Tonnes
and what do we get?
Almost a song lyric
written for those who don’t get older,
the uncounted ones lost in the rubble of Gaza.

Forty Million Tonnes of homes, roads,
and infrastructure converted into rubble
that will take uncountable years for us to clear
and still longer to rebuild towns and villages,
to replant crops and trees.
And who are the ‘us’—the ones who will pay.
The same ‘us’ as did it before
and will do it again
unless perpetrators are held accountable.

And while this goes on, year upon year
‘they’ will feed those surviving
living still in that wasteland of rubble.
The same ‘they’ as did it before,
are trying to do it now
and will do it again
unless perpetrators are held accountable.

And how will we, us, they and them
deal with the hate engendered.
It will have to be dealt with,
then what will we do
as we count the cost
once again.


(First published in Dissident Voice 21, July 2024)

 

 

 

 

SUMMER IN GAZA

In the rain of the rockets
there’s no water.
Metal rain.

In the rain of the rockets
there’s no sunshine.
Smoke rain.
Black rain.

In the rain of the rockets
there’s no life.
Death rain.
Life ending rain.
Death without life rain.

In the rain of the rockets
there’s no hope.
Deaf rain.
Death rain
Death refrain.


(First published by Rain, Party and Disaster Society, November, 2014)

 

 

 




A STATE OF TERRORISM


There are tunnels everywhere,
they lie,
under every road,
under every building,
every field and every tent,
they lie.

They are all terrorists,
they lie,
the old men and women,
even the children,
even the babies
born and unborn,
they lie.

The journalists are terrorists,
the aid workers are terrorists,
the artists and poets are terrorists,
the medics and nurses are terrorists,
the teachers and cooks are terrorists,
the dying, the dead and the buried are terrorists.

In a state of terrorism,
a state of terrorists,
they will lie and they’ll lie and they’ll lie.


(First published in Militant Thistle,
Spring/summer 2025)

 

 

 

 

THE POPE SPEAKS


Is the Pope a Catholic.
It is said so,
but maybe he’s a Humanist,
or perhaps just a human
as he has spoken
out
in the silence.

Is Joe Biden a Catholic
and Marco Rubio
and Vance.
It is said so
still.
The unanswerable question is
why
the Pope allows it.
Why
he doesn’t have a word,
why
he doesn’t use his power
to excommunicate the inhumane,
the ungodly in his Church,
he only speaks.

A small act of rebellion
along the journey
to justice.


(First published in Visible, April 2025)

 

 

 

 

STRANGE PEOPLE

Perhaps it’s not so strange
to focus on the minutiae of life
everyone needs self-defence after all.
And to take notice of catastrophes happening now
would be worse than stormy weather and family
    squabbles
so we must protect ourselves from such exposure.

But not everyone has looked away
in history, or in their own history.
Some of them have had enough.
Burn-out happens,
that’s not strange.
But those Anti-Apartheid campaigners
who unconditionally support the perpetrators
of the genocide and apartheid being committed
    now.
Those people are strange.

Yes, such people are strange and strangers.

(First published in Culture Cult Genocidal Anthology,
Spring 2025)

____________________

Today’s LittleNip:

If I must die,
you must live
to tell my story
to sell my things
to buy a piece of cloth
and some strings,
(make it white with a long tail)
so that a child, somewhere in Gaza
while looking heaven in the eye
awaiting his dad who left in a blaze—
and bid no one farewell
not even to his flesh
not even to himself—
sees the kite, my kite you made, flying up
above
and thinks for a moment an angel is there
bringing back love
If I must die
let it bring hope
let it be a tale.

—Refaat Alareer

____________________

—Medusa, with thanks to Lynn White for these fine poems about Gaza, a subject dear to her heart~

 

 

 

 

A reminder that
Lara Gularte’s workshop,
Writing Words to Light the Way,
meets in El Dorado Hills today, 5:30pm.
For info about this and other
future poetry happenings in
Northern California and otherwheres,
click on
UPCOMING NORCAL EVENTS
(http://medusaskitchen.blogspot.com/p/wtf.html)
in the links at the top of this page—
and keep an eye on this link and on
the daily Kitchen for happenings
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