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Poems By Poet Bill Grace  11/27/2014 5:38:27 AM
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Faces of Hitler’s Children

Much of the city’s elite turned out
I was an honored peasant guest
From chamber music in the foyer
To flanking giant screens
It was a first class affair.

We honored Hitler’s children
- but Hitler had no children -
Yes – he did
The ones he killed
The ones not perfect enough
For Aryan perfection
His numbers far exceed
That of our best mass murderers.

The talk was of work,
Most company names
I recognized.
In groups of red, yellow and blue
They were nicely martialed
To have their moment on the stage
To let them know
How much we loved them
How much we honored:
Their work
Their struggle
Their silent contribution
These children - adults –
Of the Fuhrer’s
Death wish
On a sea
Where waves of thanks
Issued from their lips
These children of another world's fuhrer.
Bill Grace



Fact and Fantasy

athered at lunch with friends and film
The film is the fifth in a series celebrating mass rocketry violence
The drinks are pleasant the company pleasant
The movie ends
I return to healing from cat wounds
Friend one returns to his computer repair business
Friend two returns to his utility pension
Fact and fiction nicely paired
On a beautiful fall day.
Bill Grace



False Center of the Universe

My right to buy is guaranteed
by all the land's great names
it is a thing that grants,
a modicum of fame.
Community is a joke
or even worse a sham -
this is a common situation
across our whole wide land.

Church, lodge or legion will attempt
to dent this stately wall
but the right to be foremost
is a right guaranteed to all.

Only in silence
can there be a thrall
release from some unnamed demand
to be king or queen of all.
Bill Grace



Family Emergency Against The Panikhida Service

Wife with mother in a peril of potential death
Girth of a continent away
Daughter kicks against sleep and me with her all
House floating the great chair is at last a pseudo prize.
And the melodies of church chant from her native land
It soothes though I can not understand a word
It sooths as it is her native tongue
Nine and fifty nine year old in meeting
Brings me to a space I can not name.
Brings us to a peace in prelude
To sleep as a forgiving drug.
Bill Grace
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BEST POEMS:  (Click on a topic to list and read the poems)
• angel poems
beautiful poems
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friend poems
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home poems
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kiss poems
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loss poems
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music poems
• nature poems
rain poems
school poems
sex poems
• soldier poems
summer poems
sun poems
war poems
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Poems By Poet Bill Grace