Tuesday, April 25, 2017

Remembering the Armenian of April 24 1915 and Coffee and Good tidings

THE ARMENIAN GENOCIDE by Celine Leduc April 25 2017
The Ottoman Empire
The big cover-up
The Turkish shame.

Turkey refuses to acknowledge
Turkey wants to Forget April 24, 1915
Turkey wants to forget
Turkey under pressure

Armenians victims remember  
Armenians petitioned
Armenians hurt --- cry --- mourn.

Finally, one country heard
Turkey heard the cries
Turkey felt the pain
Turkey acknowledges Ottoman crime

Armenians remember to heal
Armenians are no longer alone
Armenians mourn with friends

APRIL 24, 1915 the Armenian GENOCIDE  

Coffee and good tidings by Celine Leduc April 25, 2017
Reading the past mourning the dead.
Reading a better future  
In a coffee cup, all is revealed.

Jews drink Turkish coffee
The Ottoman Empire protected them.
The Arab world wanted to destroy them.

Armenians don’t drink Turkish coffee
They remember the Ottoman genocide
They drink Greek or Arabic Coffee.

Greeks don’t drink Turkish Coffee
They too remember the Ottoman genocide
They drink Greek coffee but not Arabic coffee.

Hospitality equals good manners and etiquette
Coffee and sweets are served to guests.
Women entertain and read coffee grains to delight.
Good tidings are part of hospitality
Armenians, Jews and Greeks enjoy baklava
Coffee and honey cakes ushers in a better future.  


Monday, April 24, 2017

Annie --- Anita

By Celine Leduc edited by Norman Simon 

Anita is dead
Annie is blinded
She uses her fingers
To memorize her friend’s face.

Evil killed her body
Spiritually she lives on
As a memory of friendship
Her name remembered eternally.

Annie faces Mengele
Face swollen as she was beaten
She has a choice life or death
She chooses life over death

She spits in his face
Stares at him
Smirks and even smiles
Disobedient to the end

Mengele points his finger
She will be a slave
She will build roads
For the army


Her armband a Black triangle
She is a traitor with fake papers
Her crime she saved lives she loved Jews
Her triangle should be PINK.

The latrine and kitchen
Are side by side
Bread is green
Soup watered

Anita is not dead
She needs to survive
She needs to escape
She wants to live FREE.

Life Death Love dance
Toten Tanz
Leben Tanz
Liebe Tanz




In Memoriam --- Toten tanz dedicated to all those who died and those who survived

IN MEMORIAM TOTEN TANZ  
By Celine Leduc edited by Norman Simon  April 2017 

Annie and Anita were friends
German Jewish, the other Christian
They joked: We are Judeo-Christians
They shared a passion the arts.
One a dancer, the other a percussionist
Yes, they complemented each other.

Religion united them: they celebrated
Hanukah/Christmas - the light that guides
Passover/Easter - Freedom from slavery
Little did they know they would be slaves.
They would be hunted as killers and traitors.

Politics made them enemies
They disobeyed --- they were friends.
Politicians said:  The Jews killed Jesus
Politicians acted and KILLED Jews

Religious leaders: ministers and priests
Preached, "Hate Jews," they killed Jesus.
Rabbis believed they would be safe
They reminded everyone, "We are German.
Germans are good people. We are friends.
The madness will pass --- have faith."


A knock at the door, a broken door
Houses searched, people rounded up
A suitcase packed in a hurry.
In a truck, bringing them to a train.
People displaced sent to a CAMP.

Annie and Anita decided to leave.
Fake exit cards - forged documents
From Berlin to Amsterdam
To freedom we will drive and walk.

They wait till night to cross
Check the patrols, the border guards
Snow on the ground, it is cold!
The hearts of the guards are cold
Anita says, “Go, I will follow.”

Annie runs, crosses to safety.

Anita starts to cross
She is spotted by a border guard
One shot resonates Annie falls
Anita runs back They are caught
Thrown in a truck – destination DEATH

The music has died
The dance macabre starts
Anita dances a solo : Toten Tanz


The dance of death.

Monday, April 17, 2017

No automatic alt text available.

get well card

a girl was battered
sometimes by her angry mother with the father’s belt,
but because mother said to,
most often her father swung that leather strip
or his hand,
while he said,
“look at me when i talk to you.
don’t look at me like that.”
or he’d ask,
“what are you crying for? i’ll give you something to cry for,”
“don’t you feel it? i’ll make you feel it,”
then he’d hit again.
again.
and the girl hugged herself and tried not to cry too much or too little
saying in her mind, “not your fault.
remember they used to love you.
try to forgive.
try.
it’s not
your
fault.”

a young woman was declared tramp and evicted
by her landlady
when she respectfully, privately
requested that the older woman tell the elder's father
to please keep his strange words,
and his hands
off.
so the young woman walked along the treed, nighttime road
with cases and purse in arms and wept silently
while strangers stared
thinking to herself, “not your fault.
they are sick.
try to forgive.
try.
it’s not
your
fault.”

an at-home-alone daughter was raped
by a drunken neighbour
who chastised her sin,
so she reclused to her room
and watched the door,
for months.
till one evening she whispered her shame,
and her mother recradled the girl in arms and wept with her,
saying, “not your fault.
his mind is sick.
try to forgive.
try.
it’s not
your
fault.”

a ‘with-child’ woman was pounded
by a stranger who threw his jacket over her head
on a downtown street,
beaten as he shrieked, “bitch! bitch!”
and later her sister held the woman in her arms and wept with her
saying, “not your fault.
his mind is sick.
try to forgive.
try.
it’s not
your
fault.”

how many more
we belted girls?
we tormented women?
we raped daughters?
we pounded mothers?
before we all walk together
and need no longer cry, “not our fault.
it's the violence-borne society,
the violence-porne society,
the violence-torn society,
that is sick.
it’s not
our
fault.”

no more,
Creator, please.
no more,
now.
we
walk
together
now.

~ manidoonaateshing-ikwe / phylmarie

If you wish to share, I give permission. If you wish to share without photo, I give permission, but to preserve layout, copy and paste the whole honour song poem from title to signature line end. Miigwech / Thank you, for passing on the message in defense of girls and women.No automatic alt text available.
get well card

a girl was battered
sometimes by her angry mother with the father’s belt,
but because mother said to,
most often her father swung that leather strip
or his hand,
while he said,
“look at me when i talk to you.
don’t look at me like that.”
or he’d ask,
“what are you crying for? i’ll give you something to cry for,”
“don’t you feel it? i’ll make you feel it,”
then he’d hit again.
again.
and the girl hugged herself and tried not to cry too much or too little
saying in her mind, “not your fault.
remember they used to love you.
try to forgive.
try.
it’s not
your
fault.”

a young woman was declared tramp and evicted
by her landlady
when she respectfully, privately
requested that the older woman tell the elder's father
to please keep his strange words,
and his hands
off.
so the young woman walked along the treed, nighttime road
with cases and purse in arms and wept silently
while strangers stared
thinking to herself, “not your fault.
they are sick.
try to forgive.
try.
it’s not
your
fault.”

an at-home-alone daughter was raped
by a drunken neighbour
who chastised her sin,
so she reclused to her room
and watched the door,
for months.
till one evening she whispered her shame,
and her mother recradled the girl in arms and wept with her,
saying, “not your fault.
his mind is sick.
try to forgive.
try.
it’s not
your
fault.”

a ‘with-child’ woman was pounded
by a stranger who threw his jacket over her head
on a downtown street,
beaten as he shrieked, “bitch! bitch!”
and later her sister held the woman in her arms and wept with her
saying, “not your fault.
his mind is sick.
try to forgive.
try.
it’s not
your
fault.”

how many more
we belted girls?
we tormented women?
we raped daughters?
we pounded mothers?
before we all walk together
and need no longer cry, “not our fault.
it's the violence-borne society,
the violence-porne society,
the violence-torn society,
that is sick.
it’s not
our
fault.”

no more,
Creator, please.
no more,
now.
we
walk
together
now.

~ manidoonaateshing-ikwe / phylmarie

If you wish to share, I give permission. If you wish to share without photo, I give permission, but to preserve layout, copy and paste the whole honour song poem from title to signature line end. Miigwech / Thank you, for passing on the message in defense of girls and women.