Poets Against War continues the tradition of socially engaged poetry by creating venues for poetry as a voice against war, tyranny and oppression.

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Gene Barry

52 years old

I am a Biomedical Engineer,a  Psychotherapist and a Poet. I have had poems published in both the US and Ireland. My poems have been included in  Stony Thursday, Revival, Dark Stream, Emara and the Douglas Post. My first collection will be published later this year. I am married to Margo and I have four children from my first marriage. I love poetry, rugby, music and cooking.


Letter to Hashim

Letter to Hashim
For Huda Ghaliya

I am Huda and I scream
to you in the skies above
me, please do not leave
me alone to mourn for I

have dipped my tiny limbs
beneath the hem of death’s
door and trawled for those
same arms that hugged me,

for the sets of lips that were
mine to kiss, for that parental
safety net woven by my future
and my arms are empty.

I am the only day of our
week that lives on this beach
of trading on the edge of
another bloody empire.

I would trade all spices here
today a world of olibanum
and ostrich feathers, I would
add my name to the menu

of slaves, I would tame a
thousand Buraqs and trek to
our future. But I cannot. For
their summer rain has lashed

death to my childish frame,
a burden your great grandson
will unleash, a memory I will
undress each day. But my

boswellian roots I will anchor to
this blood-stained land that
alexander failed to arid turn,
my tears I will trade for peace.


©Gene Barry


Leter to Hassim

Letter to Hashim
for Huda Ghaliya


I am Huda and I scream
to you in the skies above
me, please do not leave
me alone to mourn for I

have dipped my tiny limbs
beneath the hem of death’s
door and trawled for those
same arms that hugged me,

for the sets of lips that were
mine to kiss, for that parental
safety net woven by my future
and my arms are empty.

I am the only day of our
week that lives on this beach
of trading on the edge of
another bloody empire.

I would trade all spices here
today a world of olibanum
and ostrich feathers, I would
add my name to the menu

of slaves, I would tame a
thousand Buraqs and trek to
our future. But I cannot. For
their summer rain has lashed

death to my childish frame,
a burden your great grandson
will unleash, a memory I will
undress each day. But my

boswellian roots I will anchor to
this blood-stained land that
alexander failed to arid turn,
my tears I will trade for peace.

©Gene Barry


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