Category Archives: Poetry

New Release: No Peace After War

I am very excited to announce the release of my newest book, No Peace After War!

High Resolution Front Cover_6087540

There may be no experience more horrific, no personal trial more challenging, than a soldier facing the ravages of war. But for many members of the armed services, returning home after combat is only the beginning of a new, very different set of challenges. Facing isolation, lingering traumas, and unspeakable fears, these brave men and women struggle to find peace long after their physical service is done.

As the wife of an Iraq veteran and a volunteer who has worked with armed service members, author Claire St. Hilaire has heard a number of these heartbreaking, often complex stories face-to-face

In No Peace After War, St. Hilaire shares a collection of short stories and poems that give voice to these dark and difficult realities—exploring haunting memories, society’s treatment of veterans, and the true definition of honor.

No Peace After War is available now on Amazon in Paperback and Kindle format.

Reviewers are free to contact me at for a complimentary digital copy.


Red Shirt_Fotor Ralev

A loose red button

Desperately clings

To the lustrous satin

That tries to glissade to freedom


But he holds resolute

An unyielding recruit

His charge will not take flight

He’ll keep her secure throughout the night

Silver Band

GalaxyNight Vu

A silver band wrapped around my finger as I am wrapped around his

Gems sparkle like my eyes when he touches my waist

Thunder crashes down over my head

A tree gives way to the winds assault

A blissful lake is disturbed

Stars reflected on its surface shudder as a pebble crashes in their midst

Sharp heels peek out underneath a black satin dress

One shoe remains behind

Icy hues reflect along a glistening peak

Two eagles glide home

My Dark Muse

Moonlit Lake Almansour

Delighted, the moon revels in the dark night

Through the thick blackness, he saunters

Conversing with stars

They twinkle with delight at his antics

He caresses a river softly as it rushes under his touch

Then stoops to kiss an icy mountain peak

The snow caps may sparkle at his sweet embrace

But they do not melt

For those glaciers know that while my muse appears bright and gracious

His core is dark and cold

Yellow Eyes

Ilker - Cat Eyes

Yellow eyes creep out of the night

Eyes glow in the perilous darkness

Silky black fur glistens in droplets of moonlight

Velveted paws glide over the forest floor without a sound

Sharp shoulders stop suddenly

Eyes widen

Muscles twitch and ripple like a secluded lake recently disturbed

Ears focus like radar on a battleship

All is still.

A tail flicks in anticipation as a driver would rev his engine before a race

A flutter in the trees – the starting gun has been fired

A lunge

A crash as weak branches and wet leaves give way

A flash of death in the moonlight


Yellow eyes sulk back into the night


Flower Son Tran Tran

The following poem was written in honor of a dear friend who immigrated from Vietnam as an adult. It was her strength and the stories of her birthplace that inspired this work.


A delicate flower of my country I am not

I am up before the sun is beating down on wet clothes

Hungry children loathe to leave their warm beds

I shake them harshly

Disinclined groans and hidden faces thank me

Hot food and pungent spices in the sweaty kitchen

A store front

Wares to sew and sell

People wander by

I hurry in and out unnoticed under the vicious sun

No money

Two dollars for a day that never ends

My Husband comes home to rest

He complains his day is long

His tired feet must rest

My boys are hungry

This morning’s food has evaporated into the humid air

Dry clothes must be re-scrubbed

Drenched as they are now with sweat and fatigue

Tomorrow is already begun

And the sun has stolen my sleep

A Candle for the Number

Free Images Laura Morariu

On this thirty-first day of October, I pause for a moment’s reflection

I take time to remember the forgotten

Not those whose lives fill the pages of history’s book

But those whom the ancient texts overlook


It is easy to read a number written on paper or carved into stone

Commemorating the dead unknown

No other life-story written out for the world to recall

Accomplishments lost – both great and small


But those numbers represent people who fill earth’s graves

They were lovers, refugees, dreamers and slaves

They worked hard, creating a foundation for a better life

They clung to hope through war and strife


They carried with them experience, knowledge and wisdom

They never asked to be a nameless victim

Their killers, tormentors, abusers have their place in humanity’s diary

But the innocent dead are lost to our memory


Even today we hear of the thousands persecuted and dead

But a far away number doesn’t turn our head

So, I will light a Hallows Eve candle for the numbered deceased

To grieve for the dead and to hope for peace

This is My Home

I was born here

I learned to ride a bike here

I drove my first car here

I graduated here

I had my first kiss here

I fell in love here

I promised to love one person forever here

I raised my own children here

I found faith here

This is my home.


I celebrate here

I work here

I sweat here

I bleed here

I laugh here

I grieve here

I vote here

I speak out here

I am a leader here

This is my home.


I will age here

I will see my family grow here

I will continue to learn here

I will teach here

I will influence the next generation here

I will leave a legacy here

I will make a difference here

I will be remembered here

I will die here

This is my home.


I do not need to look like you to belong here

I do not need to dress like you to be beautiful here

I do not need to speak like you to communicate here

I do not need to agree with you to have a voice here

I do not need the same God as you to worship here

I do not need to live like you to contribute here

I do not need the same values as you to demand justice here

I do not need the same goals as you to find happiness here

I do not need your approval to live free here


I am a citizen of the United States of America.

This is my home.


The Enchantress


Oh! Ancient enchantress of many forms

What stories your archive holds

How many souls do grace your sad collection

Enticing men to challenge your might

You laugh at their feeble attempts

Stealing men from homes on land

Only to throw them broken back

Still you find that you favor a few

Showing them your untamed glory

Enveloping them in your immortal power

You exalt in their strength of will

It is these, the elite, the storm embraces

It is these the rain stoops to kiss

Devoted to your beauty

Entranced by your charm

These are the men of the sea


She reads books as one would breathe air, to fill up and live. -Annie Dillard

مدونة الشاعر مثنى ابراهيم دهام

مدونة شعرية تتضمن قصائد مختارة للشاعر

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Real Stories in just 11 words!