Mettenheim

A poem about a Bavarian labour camp where many East European forced labourers died during World War Two.

There are ghosts in the forest

With frozen eyes they stare through the frost

They curl like leaves turning into themselves.

They are stones.

They are still here.

They eat mud and drink tears.

They are restless in the unlit nights.

They must bend steel at dawn.

Hands like burnt maps

Too old to be old.

Beyond sorrow.

The crows shout at shadows in the snow.

The distant traffic rumbles in the morning.

Reviews

[Dayran]

It is hard to imagine sometimes, what man is subjected to in the name of creation and the process of self discovery. Some of the harshest perspectives, in recent times have come from the German experience, yet are we bound to encounter such experiences of the past and put these ghosts to rest with the power of knowledge and understanding. A haunting poem that survives with us.

[Valentine]

So much happened in that war and also the First World War. In the late 1800s the hate began, many people were used and abused. The Jewish people's pain began then and continued on until now. My mother's people are Jewish and came from there. Most did not make it through the second war. Pain hits all people when a war is on. Valentine

[Briana O'Connor]

This was a very excellent read. There was an eery essence amongst the sad state of the scene. There was a vivid sense of spirits wandering around long after time had set them free. Very well penned. Thank you for sharing.

[Glen Yumang Manese]

You set a picture in the minds of the reader... and the horror of the write speaks to you as each line unfolds more and more... Hard reflections of those days of conflict and atrocities... in our world...

[Circe]

felt the ghosts stir the trees, the land, still unrested, their presence deep in the spaces of the earth.. your words are a glorious remembrance... the leaves turning into themselves... such rich, intoxicating imagery.. they eat mud and drink tears.. what a harsh sorrow.. you're one of the best poets I've ever read, like the classic poets.. there are no words to describe the beauty of your writing, it only demands to be re-read infinitely.

[miSS LEaf]

I read this through without the preceeding 'they'.. maybe you should try it, too. A potential piece, enjoyed.

[Little Birdie]

Brilliant. They hold the weight of the history upon their shoulders, but remain unnoticed, droned out in the mass of the crows and the stillness of snow and distant traffic rumbles...but they stay. Very well written.