Remnants – dVerse Poetics / WordPress Daily Prompt

Krakow_ghetto_wall_&_home

I remember
the flaking paint
the silvered wood
the empty chair memorial
in the silent square
the milling group
– hardly a crowd – silenced
I remember
the ghost memories, phantom scars
pressing, beseeching, begging, needing
I remember the darkness beyond those doors –
those doors that had witnessed
tragedies a thousand-fold
the cold-sweat terrors
the children torn from their parents’ grasp
I remember
in hindsight –
I remember

Kraków_Ghetto_and_Jewish_Deportation_Holocaust_Memorial,_May_2012

I thought I would try to write my entry today for both dVerse Poetics – where the theme is ‘doors’, thank you Lillian for hosting – and the WordPress Daily Prompt – where the theme is ‘Generation’. I hope I succeeded!

Both of the images are from the Krakow Ghetto, where I was fortunate to visit (if that’s the right word) a few years ago. The empty chair memorial is incredibly moving, for me in the lump in the throat kind of a way. The homes, the remnants, which are still inhabited, are dilapidated, and I can hardly imagine what the conditions must have been like during the ghetto’s existence. The picture at the top is of one of the houses, behind one of the few remaing parts of the ghetto wall. (I didn’t take these particular photos).

Anyway, if you want to read other writer’s offerings, or take part yourself in either or both of these writing prompts, please click the links above.

The Feasting – Magpie Tales

image 101

He stalked the land.

Times such as these were glorious for him. Borders meant nothing, language was no barrier, he fed where he saw fit, feasting on awkward limbs of souls reduced to a parody of their former spirit.

He rejoiced in the ease of it all, striding along the metal tracks that had been so kindly, so helpfully laid out for him. A ragged column of smoke and cinders rising high towards the clouds, a solid brick archway, wrought iron gates and the legend ‘Arbeit Macht Frei’ told him that he had arrived at his dining place once more.

His only regret, if it could be called that, was that his earth-bound compatriots were so very efficient at their own method of destruction. It robbed him of even more gluttony, if truth be told. Still, one had to be satisfied with what one received.

And anyway, time was on his side. He could wait for them to destroy themselves with their own greed.

It had happened before, aeons ago. It would happen again.

Hoist by their own petard.

History repeating itself.

His lips salivated at the thought.

—–

Here’s this week’s entry into Magpie Tales. Yes, it’s morbid, I know. If you’re a long-time reader (thank you!) of mine, you’ll not be surprised. By way of background, I am Jewish, and the train tracks that lead into Auschwitz sprung to mind as soon as I saw the image above, hauntingly irresistible. Industrialised death is, unfortunately, no longer a shock to us, although it should be.

Please visit here for more creativity, and why not take part, if you feel the urge!

Dancing With Jack Ketch – Five Sentence Fiction

cannon_wheel_1__full-image

Dad got sent to The War, that’s what Nan told Mum.

Mum wouldn’t listen – she shook her head, then shouted and waved her arms, then put her hands over her ears and cried.

Mum told anyone outside our four walls that Dad volunteered, that he took himself to the Navy, head held high and a smile on his lips, ready to do battle for King and Country.

Nan was right though – it was either go and fight, or hang for his crimes.

And I know what those crimes were – I saw them all.

———-

Here’s my latest entry in to Lillie’s Five Sentence Fiction. It follows on from my VisDare entry this week, but of course can be read on its own. I hope you enjoy it, and please do visit Lillie’s blog for more five sentence tales!