#ww2 poet | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

eyesfullofmoon · 6 days

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Trees die differently than people. Trees look as if they enjoyed their dying. It's true, spring will return and again they will burst into bloom. But as you well know, one can never be sure. And how can trees know that? Surely for them every fall is the last one.

Halina Poświatowska, Story for a Friend

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chikakomickey · 2 months

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TOKYO ROSE

For example,

How about I move out?

I'd like to live in another town

It's full of flowers

It's more beautiful

Town with beautiful people

I'd like to leave here

want to get out of this town

Want to get away from cold neighbors

Want to get away from insensitive neighbors

Get away from violent people

Escape from their vanity

Their ugliness

I want to get as far away as possible

Want to get away their gaze

Want to run away from their thoughts

Want to get away from this hole

Escape from the rain of fire

Escape from incendiary bombs

Escape from M69

Escape from machine gun fire

Escape from naval gunfire

Escape from this crazy heat

Their crazy fever

#poem #poets on tumblr #traditional art #watercolor #japanese art #artists on tumblr #ww2

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these-whispers-and-murmurs · 1 year

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ψ(｀∇´)ψ

Hello, my name is Murmur!

This is an introduction to my blog. It will be a pinned post, for easy access if anyone would like to reference it at any point in time.

I like writing, and reading! I also enjoy commenting on others work (nothing bad, maybe some suggestions at worst) and I also love receiving those comments on my stuff as well!! I'm a big believer in this community being a "two way street," but that's just me.

I'm nineteen, and I'm perfectly fine with anyone following me; but I do know that others may not feel super comfy following me without knowing my age!

Speaking of that, my birthday is December 20th! Making me a Sagittarius!

Also, I'll do my best to put trigger warnings when they apply; but to be completely honest here, I'm not very used to that. Not because I don't care; but because I don't really share my work online! Haha, I'm very new to this.

I'm also currently working on a short story! I love history, so it's about three young girls (ages 9-10), living in Germany in the year 1935. I hope to be brave enough to share this story with you all!

Have a wonderful day!

#writblr intro #queer writers #write #writeblr #writer things #writers and poets #writers on tumblr #writerscorner #writersociety #short story #story writing #story wip #ww2 #wwii era #world war ii #ww2 history

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mentally-well-brit · 2 months

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poets

imagine ur in a ww2 trench next to one of the great poets and ur just a bricky from croyden u try to write a poem but its just girlcringe and the poem-maxxing chad next to you laughs at ur rhymes in a perfect sonnet i'd run over the trench tbh.

#poetry #funny #britcore #ww2 #war is bad #poem maxxing #bricky from croyden #poet #student #validate my comedy

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notesfromthequotidian · 2 years

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Veterans Day

My father said to me once while drunk

that they made him into a Marine at Parris Island.

And a Marine, he said, is a killer."

I knew a lot of killers. I knew them in living rooms,

supermarkets, hardware stores, schools, churches,

football fields, taverns and all the regular places.

Few had been to prison except for the cells

behind their eyes, where they served life sentences

with dead friends and the enemies they killed.

Some taught me to play baseball, some taught

Sunday school, some taught me to fight,

drink, smoke cigarettes or chew snuff, to fish,

hunt, sing or shoot pool. Some showed me gentleness,

the value of silence, to use my mind,

to hate no one. Some taught me to fear people

with dark skin or people who worshipped

different gods. Some beat me or did worse things

I can't talk about. I knew a lot of killers.

They were our fathers, uncles and grandfathers.

They were men who worked the mines, mills

barges and railroads. They were men who never

spoke to us about the killing they were made

to do. Some were men who left their families

to wander from town to town like wild dogs

shot down by other killers in police uniforms

outside liquor stores or to slowly die on barstools

with a drink in their hand and their names

never spoken again at the family table. I knew

a lot of killers. Today we're asked to remember

when all they want to do is forget.

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mytortoisegotstuckinatupperware · 9 months

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Up, up the long, delirious, burning blue I've topped the wind-swept heights with easy grace Where never lark nor ever eagle flew- And, while with silent lifting mind I've trod The high untrespassed sanctity of space, Put out my hand, and touched the face of God

High Flight, John G. Magee on September 3, 1941

#ww2 germany #ww2 #ww2 history #world war ii #world war two #world war 2 #wwii #wwii history #ww2 poetry #poems #poems and quotes #prose #poetry #poet #short poem #history #anthropology #world history #culture

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byronicist · 2 years

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"All I have is a voice / To undo the folded lie, / The romantic lie in the brain / Of the sensual man-in-the-street / And the lie of Authority / Whose buildings grope the sky: / There is no such thing as the State / And no one exists alone; / Hunger allows no choice / To the citizen of the police; / We must love one another or die."

W.H. Auden, September 1, 1939 (1939)

#quotes #literature #lit #poetry #british literature #british poetry #war poetry #wwii poetry #ww2 poetry #political poetry #protest poetry #wh auden #spiller ink #modernist poetry #modernist literature #queer poets

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bookoholic-rosie · 1 year

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I.

Want.

Florian.

Beck.

#florian beck #salt to the sea #Joana #alfred frick #emilia #Poet #Ingrid #best books #war book #ww2 #sad #lover #hot

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sincerely-sarah · 1 year

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Stars | Sincerely, Sam

•

This is late but in honor of Holocaust Remembrance Day just last week, this is a tribute haiku I wrote for my Holocaust Studies course last spring. It is so important we remember those who lost their lives and never forget the tragedy to see that such a thing may never happen again.

#ww2 history #ww2era #world war two #world wars #jewish #jewish history #historical #historical fiction #original writing #writing #writer #writerscommunity #original poem #new poets society #poets on tumblr #female poets #poetry #tumblrtextpost #text post

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faithyposting · 1 year

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Excerpt from Corfe Castle By Alun Lewis

Love grows impulsive here: the best forget;

The failures of the earth will try again.

She would go back to him if he but asked.

The tawny thrush is silent; when he sings

His silence is fulfilled. Who wants to talk

As trippers do? Yet, love,

Before we go be simple as this grass.

Lie rustling for this last time in my arms.

Quicken the dying island with your breath.

#alun lewis #poetry #poems on life #welsh #welsh poetry #welsh poet #wales #ww2 poetry #castle #this is just the last stanza #one of my fave poems

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abellinthecupboard · 2 days

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A Poem Written in Replication of My Father's Unfinished Novel Which He Would Read to Hs Children Whenever He Was Drunk

Indian summer. Leaves fallen from government trees. They remind me of sex. My mother and father dead. My father fell at Okinawa, shot by a Japanese sniper. I do not hate the Japanese. My lover is Japanese. She reminds me of sex. Pregnant, my mother coughed blood into paper tissue. She died two weeks after I was born. Now my Japanese lover is pregnant. She whispers stories to her stomach about a small island in the Pacific where her father killed an American soldier during the war. My lover and I wonder aloud if her father killed my father. We shiver in the heat of it. It reminds us of sex. After my parents died, I lived with my aunt, who had enough money to send me to Catholic school. I was the only Indian who went to Catholic school on purpose. I learned to play piano. I jitterbugged with Catholic girls and their pale thighs. They smelled like sex. I fell in love with all of them. I learned chord after chord. Sex. Often, these days, I stand at the window of my reservation home while my Japanese lover sleeps alone in the scattered bed. She is pregnant. Her father and mother live with the dead in Hiroshima. My father and mother are also dead. Piano. Chord after chord. Island. That Window. This Window. One Indian boy runs blindly through the trees. A shadow falls over everything. Sex. Leaf, faith. Glass. If I stand at this window long enough I will see the long thread of history float randomly through the breeze. This is all I know about peace.

— Sherman Alexie, One Stick Song (2000)

#A Poem Written in Replication of My Father's Unfinished Novel Which He Would Read to Hs Children Whenever He Was Drunk #Sherman Alexie #One Stick Song #poetry #writing #literature #poets on tumblr #WWII #WW2 #Indian #Native American #American Indian

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whats-in-a-sentence · 1 month

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Noor Inayat Khan was the daughter of an Indian Muslim family of musicians and poets, a descendant of the ruler Mysore, Tipu Sultan. She overcame her Buddhist belief in not taking life because of her opposition to Nazism and her hope of making common cause between Indian and English people.

She was the first woman radio operator ever dropped into France, and she chose to stay on in Paris as the only English radio operator, even when her circle was broken up and she was offered evacuation.

"Normal Women: 900 Years of Making History" - Philippa Gregory

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windowsillbells · 11 months

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guardian brainrot is reading another wisława szymborska poem and imagining little ghost king watching the world changing around him, but always seeing kunlun reincarnating and growing into the god's former image, and dreaming about being able to meet him again in some other life, sooner or later

#the poem is called sen (dream)#and i think its about a widow of a soldier who died in ww2 #i think im not sure actually #but its so.........#i love it so much either way #its just heartbreaking #she's literally one of my favourite poet ever #guardian #guardian novel #kunwei #poetry

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ace-of-pussy · 2 months

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absolutely enamoured with bbc ghosts. 60yr old Edwardian woman in a consensual relationship with the headless body of a Tudor??? Get it guys. Local caveman and slutty tory mp play chess on weekends????? Work. Pining gay ww2 captain and 60s Boy Scouts leader hang out with neurodivergent Georgian lesbian and play hide n seek???? I love your silly family. Regency poet (bad) trying to do keepy uppies with the severed head of Tudor nobleman?????? Sure. I really don’t know how much I can say I love this show

#bbc ghosts #julian fawcett #kitty ghosts #thomas thorne #humphrey bone #ghosts bbc #the captain

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alexisntedgy · 3 months

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alison cooper my outwardly unhinged queen

“is it playing an april fools prank on a bunch of dead people, maybe?” “it isn’t not that”

*plays the piano with a taxidermy dog from over 100 years ago*

*to pat of all people* “so how did you die :p”

*uses a ghost to cheat at poker*

“julian you were in politics, you must know a few dirty tricks”

*gets dead ww2 officer to spy on houseguest*

*tries to fake a haunting in an actual haunted house because all her ghosts made a ghost-union and went on strike*

“accept you’re a better poet than you are a teacher and that is really saying something-”

“it’s hardly fair to single out kitty, is it-“ “is there something you’d like to share 👁️ 👁️”

“i’m just taking robin for a walk”

*watches a bunch of ghosts perform a panto of cinderella*

*does a handmade repair job on a painting of a deceased relative that’s over 100 years old*

she used julian’s drink mixing tips at an actual party????

“my great aunt died” “oh I’m sorry” “no it’s alright i never met her”

“they found a stuka divebomber in the woods 👀” (no they did not)

yea nothing will go wrong if I give a ghost internet access- ah he’s spent all my money on mobile game upgrades

“I’m just talking to one of the ghosts that live here”

“-nobody will let slip any detail about the little lad- damn it.” “so it’s a boy then?” “what?” “damn it-“

“WHO U GONNA CALL? 📞 👻”

#love u queen #bbc ghosts #ghosts #alison cooper #six idiots #greatest hits

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libraford · 3 months

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I'm a little frustrated making this scrapbook because I had the idea to put some quotes from grandma's memoirs into it both to give it a little more color and to create a more intentional sense of narrative because grandma didn't always keep things that were historically significant- she kept movie tickets and play programs. And I wanted to combine the 'life at home' visual story with the photos of ww2 and kind of play with the idea of two worlds waiting to come back together again. Trust me, I'm sobbing a little working on this because even though grandma wasn't a great writer you knew she meant the things she wrote.

But what's making it frustrating is that she didn't intend to publish this. It was intended to be a story that she wrote for her sons so that they would know where they came from.

My uncle found it and wrote a real presumptuous foreword about it, about how it was an important read for future generations, about how different the world was in the 1940s, about the lesson we can all learn from grandma and truly its a 'must read.'

And then his son published it for profit literally 3 months after she died.

I love my grandma very much, but it is not a 'must read.' There are plenty of accounts of what it was like to live in America during WW2 and she spends a lot of time talking about how she grew up poor and didn't have this, that, or the other thing. She was a good writer, but she had a tendency to ramble, write things out of order. She was first and foremost a poet and when it came to writing a story she often forgot where she left off, and she did not have an editor.

I want to take my uncle by the shoulders and tell him:

"Matthew. Matthew. Look at me. Some things are not for sale. Take this message and pass it on to your son. Tell him that if I die first and he tries to pull this on me it means he's next."

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