All the Colorful Wildflowers (and the humans who witness them)
On recalling a visit to Dachau in the Spring of 2001
Thinking of Dachau;
how, sixty years on, blossoms
burst from the blood ditch.
Grief fades to anger.
Rage terrorizes victims.
War cries repeal love.
In the heavy fog,
they will disappear, unseen,
in a ditch somewhere.
Only they return,
volunteered, as wildflowers.
Petaled in pastels.
No papers needed;
no permits to return now.
Just to give solace
to a passerby;
a visitor on a tour,
witnessing ovens,
sixty years after.
But my memory of it,
Dachau, grows rusty.
It is happening
again. Only different.
Never again… but…
Without contrition,
it is explained, justified;
nothing new, they say.
Like mowing the grass
rising between flowers just
beyond the smart fence.
About the Creator
Philip Canterbury
Storyteller and historian crafting fiction and nonfiction.
2022 Vocal+ Fiction Awards Finalist [Chaos Along the Arroyo].
Top Story - October 2023 [All the Colorful Wildflowers].
Reader insights
Outstanding
Excellent work. Looking forward to reading more!
Top insights
Compelling and original writing
Creative use of language & vocab
Excellent storytelling
Original narrative & well developed characters
Eye opening
Niche topic & fresh perspectives
Heartfelt and relatable
The story invoked strong personal emotions
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Day 4 of Quitting
If this is how sobriety feels, maybe it’s better to go through life a little buzzed… this, along with other hits like, I want to kill myself, I wish I was dead, and I’m going to throw myself off a bridge have been the only thoughts on rotation these past few days. I promise myself that if, in a month, I still feel like this (‘this’ meaning despondent, full of rage, and simultaneously numb) I can go back to smoking. Until mid-February though? Nicotine is off the table.
By sleepy drafts5 days ago in Longevity
Comments (28)
Wooohooooo congratulations on your honourable mention! 🎉💖🎊🎉💖🎊
Lovely
💛💔💛
Is it not strange that the mistakes of the past keep raising their awful heads. How some stupid leaders are freely butchering their own people, then they die and leave such misery in their wake. Do we ever change...are we doomed. I found this poem when it needed to be found, wonderful it is too. Kudos.
🧡
so powerful, great work. Congrats!
I amazed after reading this
I keep thinking about the lines, "blossoms / burst from the blood ditch". What a powerful poem. Well done!
Congratulations on achieving top story status! ❤️
Love it! ❤️
Just read Caroline Jane's comment below and will simply say: ditto.
Powerful words
Perfect poem for telling about a period of war. The tone and the words have been chosen wonderfully, have shed tears and loving kindness to my heart, Sincerely,
Amazing poem...! Congratulations on the TS
It doesn't need to the human wet them ... I love the wild live very much 😻
Wow. This is deep and sublime. Your handling of this subject is masterful. Great job.
I just had to sit and hold this poem. How you have laced such a complex range of emotions together, juxtaposing them so they become more acute amongst each other is touchingly beautiful. This is written from a heart alive with empathy and artistry. Thank you for sharing this.
Beautiful poem!
Congratulations 🎉 Nice Job On This Piece♥️💯😉📝🎉✌️
Love the usage of short syntax coupled with end stop lines, gives a rather poignant and straightforward tone to it!
Your poem poignantly addresses the horrors of history and how they can sometimes fade into collective memory, even as similar tragedies unfold in different forms. The verses evoke the haunting legacy of places like Dachau and the struggle to remember and understand the atrocities. The shift from grief to anger and the idea of wildflowers returning to a place of sorrow create powerful images of resilience and the persistence of memory. The poem is a poignant reminder of the importance of never forgetting and the need for contrition in the face of injustice. Well done! 🌺📜🌟
Philip, this poem is beautiful and moving. I visited Dachau in the early 2000s as well, and was struck by the people there: school groups acting with such disrespect and impunity for the ground they walked on. It made me sad. This poem also made me sad, but in a better way.
"But my memory of it, Dachau, grows rusty. It is happening again. Only different. Never again… but… Without contrition, it is explained, justified, nothing new, they say." Damn, Philip, just amazing. Really emotional piece.
This is an amazing piece. Congrats on the TS.
Yes, it began to happen again, but it was quickly stopped. A timely and poignant piece!