Nightmares, jungles, blood on hands
Unjust war in distant lands
Scars that no one else can see
Memories doing battle with his sanity
Off to war, a rich man’s fool
Rich man’s son was off to school
Some came home in boxes, statistics mount
Media smiles announcing body count
Working man’s sons without a voice
Off to war without a choice
Coming home to hate, the fire fanned
Misdirected Anger in his native land
Dismayed with the war, activists groups
Pointing blame at the drafted troops
So many dead through the bloody nights
Protecting rubber trees and oil rights
After the storm, there was no calm
Soldiers coming home from Vietnam.
Dedicate to Vietnam vets who served valiantly,
unappreciated at home
There is no love, without our God;
Search your heart and home it’s not hard ~
I cannot stay if He’s not there,
A sense of loss would fill the air.
Fill this house with truer faith
Let, our hearts hope in Him always --
He‘ll heal spiritual beggars,
His glory abounds forever…
Search your heart and home it’s not hard ~
There is no love without our God.
Enter, for the kingdom is nigh,
Reach in and ask He’ll not deny.
There are blessings awaiting you,
Hope in Him, and He’ll see you through…
Open your heart, for it is home
Remember God is on the throne ~
When despair strikes – Give it to God,
Search your heart and home it’s not hard ~
Adell Foster©2009 Adell1
Comments: Mid Swap: Created by Jenny Buzzard from England. This is a strict structure that
repeats the first and last line as a center couplet. A syllable count of eight per line with
rhyme scheme as follows:
NOT JUST ANY SUNSET
This lunar sunset was what he’d most miss -
They always said death was like this :
Slo-mo and black-and-white
Like an old movie trite.
It had happened to him twice before : then
At rush hour on the G15 highway outside Shenzhen (1)
In his new red car when he was twenty;
And again on the pad at Dongfeng launch facility - (2)
An accidental fire in the cabin and abort
When the oxygen supply fell short.
The sun had glared at him all day from the black night
Familiar stars visible, coloured bright.
He ran through his old lectures in his head
The cool ones - yellow orange, red,
The hot ones which stare and emblazon,
As everything slips slowly down to the western horizon.
No loss of heat from sun, but shadows lengthening now,
Black, black, lengthening inky shadow.
His pen wrote fast across his paper notepad deformed
But the inky marks now in Pudonghua formed (3)
As his English slipped away.
He’d been here so long . . . . a month? A day?
Day is 15 earth days, night is 15 nights
And sunset lasts a whole earth day bright
Moon was full, his earth was darkened, like night.
A blue watery ball with edges of light:
While the earth eclipsed the sun
A red halo around his spinning home was spun.
Sun’s entry on earth’s western limb made slow
Red flares - crowns - as the solar disk slid low,
And earth’s red light bathed itself on white rocks beside,
He felt a last touch of home inside.
So unlike his own sunsets of the past
In his home in Guangzhou, seen last (4)
Over the Pearl River delta with bent light (5)
At the heavy monsoon rains’ height.
This taikonaut’s last sunset . . . . . his radio dead, (6)
His pen drops, and he slowly nods his head,
As sun’s warm arms envelope his earth fond,
And he slips his surly bonds. (7)
(1) A well-known dangerous highway in southern China
(2) Chinese equivalent to Kennedy Space Centre
(3) Pudonghua (=Chinese) is the language spoken in southern China
(4) Major mega-city in southern China, near Hong Kong
(5) Pearl River is the river on which Guangzhou stands
(6) Astronaut = cosmonaut = taikonaut
(7) This line is closely modeled on a line in “HIGH FLIGHT” by John Magee
Entered in Nancy Jones's Contest "LOSERS"
'neath my family tree I found
something green and blue and brown
hatching out beneath my touch
that I love so very much
can you take it home tonight?
feed it soup and hold it tight?
I can't have it ,Heaven knows,
it wants to wear my sister's clothes
and dance around in town all day
and make confections out of clay
put it in a sachel bag
make it march and wave a flag
until it learns it must conform
it's just too different from the norm
and when you make it tow the line,
I'll take it home and make it mine.
With warmest regards and the saddest lament
I write this small note with the best of intent
The newspaper’s account of your husband’s death
Made me feel as if I was short of breath
As the son of a Veteran who twice went to war
I’ve often wondered, what my life would have had in store
If my father had not returned home one day
And I had to share my grief on public display
I was not born the first time he went away
And was just ten when he left again, somehow feeling betrayed
I didn’t quite understand why he had to leave
It took a while to learn not to grieve
I read that you have two little boys, just six and eight
I can’t imagine what you say to make their restless dreams abate
My mind used to play out my greatest fear
Misplacing his last tape recording, saying his coming home date was near
On return tapes to him, I played guitar and talked too
Trying to make him feel like he was home, even if untrue
I write this note to help me remember
That even though my father returned in December
Many that go off to war, do not
And sons, daughters, spouses and families are caught
In a process of grieving that abates only with time
It takes as long as it does, there is no magical chime
To help you and your sons with your journey that I feared most
Enclosed is a contribution to their foundation host
Not at all a fair trade, just to help provide for their well being
I know you remind them that their father’s love is all seeing
I flat out nailed my first interview
Young and dumb without a clue
Then hired on the spot, no lying
Nervousness was my only crime
When suddenly his questions stopped
Damn it man, our eyes locked
I stood up in fear, my hand out
Ready to go home and just pout
His words were "your hired"
"I like the way your wired"
He shook my hand withe ease
Then we talked about the leads
I then asked him for an advance
Five hundred bucks, a slim chance
So when I left that interview
Holding five hundred buckaroo
I felt I had conquered the world
I drove home to kiss my girl
Caught every single green light
First time for everything, right?
Once there was a mouse that envied the castle on the hill.
It looked way more glorious than the hovel he lived in.
Every day he dreamed of what life there could truly be.
Dreams of wondrous food, plus beautiful rooms only his mind could see.
Sights from the windows each day, would deeply stir his very soul.
There would be glorious kingly meals, only a great chef could bestow.
There would be a fancy, cozy bed in a room with beauty all around.
But venturing up the hill… that is not even remotely what he found.
All the windows were too high with nothing near to climb upon.
And clouds were always obscuring any view that might be found.
The family was too old with no children to drop crumbs upon the ground.
The furniture was ancient wood with nowhere comfy to hide from their hound.
The spaces were damp and drafty wherein he found to make his bed.
Nothing was anything like what he always dreamed it would be, in his head.
So he finally scurried back to the cottage, that home he’d always deplored.
Strange, the little cottage seemed to shine, and wasn’t a hovel any more.
While he’d been gone it seemed they had missed… giving him his nightly desire.
And they had got together to build a little castle just for him, set by the fire.
Then each night they had left a beloved, yummy piece of popcorn, solely for his lair.
He had been a loved little pampered pet, nothing better could be found elsewhere.
The moral to this story is dreams are only dreams that may not come true.
No matter how green somewhere else seems, always give a warm comfy home it’s due.
Remember it’s a home filled with loving hearts… and not other things…
That will make it… The Perfect Fit for you.
Bestiary: Type of Medieval poetry
Mother’s Day depresses me
because the way Mom sees me
when I came home from service
she rarely gave me notice
and labeled me not normal
never was an animal
she always looked down at me
to her I shouldn’t be free
is it some kind abuse?
she was very nice to Deuce
Deuce was her old friend
my life there to end
I feel guilty for having these thoughts
I always knew my life at home rots
It may be dusty, gross or reek;
It’s sure to sell if it’s antique.
For Susan’s Antique contest
Soldier boy, oh soldier boy
Why don't you hide up those tears?
Hold in your mind those nail- biting fears
March till you drop, sing the marching song
Even though, for home you heart it does long
Don't cry no don't cry
Always care to try
Hold up your head
For death cannot tread
Oh soldier boy, oh soldier boy
Why don't you hide up those tears
For this night your safe, soften those fears
Lay down so quiet and hum your wholesome song
Hum how much for home your heart does long
Don't cry no don't cry
Always care to try
Hold up your head
For death cannot tread
Now soldier boy, now soldier boy
Could this be the morn when death does appear?
And I know it will be hard to hide up that fear
Don't let him in, it's just the funeral song
Pretty soon now for home, your heart will not long
You will not cry, oh do not cry
For you always cared to try
Soldier boy hold up that head
For now you layed on eternities bed
What would we do without technology?
I think we would all fall into lethargy.
I am upset because the computer is down
It's got me running all over town.
Trying to get a new modem is rough
When the provider gives you nothing but guff.
So you say to yourself "Myself I say...
Go get your writing fix in some other way!"
So over to the local library I trot
Where I can hit a keyboard and keep it hot.
Yet, I dread to go home to that box I have there
Because all I can do is sit and stare.
I could pick up a pen 'n paper I suppose
To try and write some witty prose.
But that makes my hands ache these days
Since I learned the keyboard and its simpler ways.
So I am just writing this ditty about technology lost
Because when it's down...my keaster gets frost.
And if any of you have been looking for me
My e-mails won't open so I just can't see.
Here in the library you can't speak very loud
Not the way to handle a furrowed brow.
Because I can't speak, hear, see, or write
I guess I'll just go home and call it a night.
There have been times in our land
When our nation has had to take a stand.
It first began at Bunker's Hill
Where so many men were then killed.
All through that war with the British King
Men here in America were fighting and dying.
They were the first "Veterans" of the US,
When duty calls, there was always a surplus.
Always men of courage it takes it seems
Like those with Jackson at New Orleans.
There were "Veterans" who fought both South and North
When the country was split, her sons poured forth.
Healing those wounds would take some time
But in the end it came in line.
Of course no one remembers the row with Spain
Where America sent her men once again.
The "War to End All Wars" was more than a saying
As loved ones and sweethearts were left home praying.
Oh, Chateau Thierry, the Argonne, Belleau Wood and more
Are now in our history as battles of that war.
Then came the biggest war of all
When the world went crazy in '39's Fall.
Our "Veterans" were there too,
In Africa, Europe, and the Katmandu.
From Casablanca and Casserein on Africa's shore,
To Sicily, Anzio, Normandy, and the Bastogne's of that war.
The Pacific saw its share of death and hell
From the first bombs at Pearl Harbor to Gaudalcanal.
Many "Veterans" died at Iwo Jima, Saipan, Okinawa too,
They shed their blood for me and you.
After the end, we thought we might have some order,
Until the Communists in Korea crossed the border.
The Vietnam era was one of upheaval and race,
Some "Veterans" coming home even received a spit in the face.
For their part the "Veterans" were not to blame,
And for our country, it was a time of shame.
Dessert Storm and Dessert Shield put them in the MidEast
Where terror reigns with sate for a feast.
Yet, the soldier, sailor, or airman know,
If his country calls, he must go.
They follow the traditions of other "Veterans" you see,
They put their lives on the line for both you and me.
To the ones who have worn our country's uniform I say
"Thank You, Veteran", we should honor you with more than one day!
"That's not my elephant!" You could hear her say,
As quickly she ran, caught on film, heading this way.
The 2nd graders all laughed as they watched the movie,
Many of them thought it was really "Groovee."
For this was a film shot of their teacher Ms. Ella,
Whose performance in it was anything but stellar.
She was running for her life as the big bull feigned his charge,
The one she was supposed to ride wasn't nearly that large.
But it made for a good chuckle when she showed her class
The home movie of her trip to India's Kyber Pass.
Soon it was lunchtime...the cafeteria line was fun
As they laughed about how fast their teacher could run.
Spaghetti was on the bill of fare
Passing it up...one wouldn't dare.
Because they would need all their energy tonight
They had a test coming on the Bill of Rights.
Ms. Ella was a good teacher and her kids liked her a lot
But her tests were difficult as if she had some plot.
She would send them home with work to do,
But they learned from her film, not everything is work too.
Copyright © 2012
(A Purpose So Clear)
Like children we fear
In secret a somber tear
Like learning to walk
Babies listen to talk
And reach for a hand
To help them stand
This too, we all must do
By HIS Hand made anew
My quiet place is when my son is at school and my husband is at work the house is so quiet at times I can't remember the joy and fun. I get mighty lonesome at times but I know that I will have Caleb home soon and Wayne sometimes gets to drop by and say hello. He comes and goes so fast I get to feeling like we don't connect with eachother very much.
I get in my comfy chair and open the door and blinds to see the nature outside. Nature is my most written about subject especially the birds and flowers.
The different colors in the sky and flowers are a great inspiration to me. I know others who can be in a room full of people and tune out life and keep on writing. That is not me.
I need to be in a comfy envrionment.
My home is a quiet lonesome
Other dwellers roam free
My home is lonely with just me
Others don't care to be
Informed of my heart and souls depth
My home calls me to go
Where One knows and is known truly
Beyond the sky's rainbow
For Sara Kendrick's contest My Quiet Place
I’ve heard it said that heaven is home
Is it true, is heaven considered home
If heaven is home I’ll be there some day
When will that day be I can’t really say
Lots of people there I will see
Only a few are waiting for me
I’ve had many dogs with me here
I guess I will see them again up there
My mother is waiting and so is my wife
I’ll be going home at the end of this life
Desert dust devils reign supreme
Swirling in conditions extreme
Dry, cracked river bed yawns wide
Depleted source long denied
Lost to his instinctive traits
He halts to sniff a draught of air
Frenzied digging does then occur
Grubbing for ants, worms or mice?
He digs a deep hole in a trice
Ground darkens to a muddy brown
The scent of water.......his home found.
my lowland and its flatness
westernmost always my sea
dunes and dikes protective mattress
villagers sing their warm heartfelt plea
bracing fragrances excite
salty winds homely statements
windmills and hamlets always in sight
wooden shoes vocalize on pavements
white clouds and greenest meadows
nowhere views without a bike
lots of white and black dots create cows
always water behind the dike
©Ellie Daphne 2013
EIGHT Lines any KIND
Contest Judged: 1/12/2013 12:00:00 AM
Sponsored by: Debbie Guzzi
10th place awarded.
re-written after judging (3rd stanza)
Erie sounds cry from the blackness of night
Dark clouds casting shadows over tonight's moonlight
Stumbling down an unfamiliar path I wind
Among obstacles challenging both body and mind
A wrong path taken, will I find home?
Or spend a night among nothingness alone
Then in the distance I see a single shaft of light
A candle in the window, everything's all right!
Beauty lamented when faced with that babyface
O do give me more loveliness, with red lace!
Such innocent eyes,
Cunning and wise!
The age of that baby girl
Revolved around two in our world
Yet, she was an attractive one
Charming one, magnetic one
None could get jealous of her beauty
Except beauty itself in all simplicity
If she was hungry, she ate like a bird
If she was thirsty, she drank only curd
If she fell while running, she stood and smiled
If she cried, her surroundings made her not feel exiled!
Dressed in her favourite red dress,
She listened to old stories on her mattress
And fell in deep slumber while dreaming of the Lord
And how it is like in his peaceful abode!
At two, this cute babyface, surrounded with black hair
Could only jump and exalt at life without any care!
THE LONG ROAD HOME
Our home in the country sit's deep in a valley.
Once a month our small town has a home town rally.
Country living and country folk is what we live for.
We all are willing to lend a hand or to open a door.
Tall trees winter grass and the scent of spring flowers.
Chickens laying eggs,cows grazing in summer showers.
People of Prue,Oklahoma have nothing bad to say.
We socialize and join together in church and pray.
We got a church,post office,store and a school.
We got our own lake so there is no need for a
There's plenty of room for dogs and kids to roam.
.As you travel the long road home.
Entered in Brian Strand's"A free choice any form/theme Max 12 LINES"contest
Snow, snow, drifting down on little towns and farms,
Snow, snow glistens on the oaks’ and maples’ arms.
River, river from the north, with thaw of ice it flows,
Mighty Mississippi, past my little hometown goes.
Blooms, blooms, pretty blooms, and lilacs scent the air.
Blooms, blooms paint the land beneath a rainbow fair.
Hills, hills, soft and rolling, low and grassy mounds,
Hills, hills, some are ancient natives’ burial grounds.
Stars, stars, flitting stars that wink in twilight skies,
Stars, stars, tiny stars are summer’s fireflies!
Corn, corn, fields of corn, so wide and green and high.
Corn, corn, stalks of corn keep reaching to the sky.
Leaves, leaves dance on streets while children walk to school,
Leaves that tango, red and gold, as days and nights grow cool.
Home, home, harvest home, where crops are gathered in,
Home sweet home, as I recall, is hearth of kith and kin.
(Can you guess my home state? It's Iowa)
By Andrea Dietrich
For Skat's MY LAND IS MY HOME Poetry Contest
Go! Go to sleep!” Night said
“Where? Where?” I whispered back
Sleep - Where can this famed land be?
Where one must close their eyes in order to see!
And must I go there at nine o'clock?
How to get there? Will I walk?
Will my friends be there as well?
Or should I bid them all farewell?
And Night was silent for a while
Til she answered with a knowing smile
Sleep is the land where your dreams dwell
More than that I can't foretell.
But perhaps it’s the home of fairies
Perhaps it’s full of tales and stories
Miracles are quite common there
You could meet Hope, or else Despair
And then Night said beware;
Beware the place called Nightmare
The land of banshees, dwarves and dragons
The home of elves, griffins and kraken.
And shuddering I closed my eyes
For there the land of sleep lies
And Night continued its lullaby
Until the sun rose in the sky.
One of the taken three,
Has returned home to me.
Five years he has been gone
So some days he is still withdrawn.
I am happy to have him here,
I no longer have the fear,
That he will not be free
As he is home with me.
There are new journeys to be had.
He will triumph though, like a good lad.
He is after all my son,
He will have his victory in the long run.
Of him I am very proud,
This emotion is allowed.
He is now a young man
Moving on with his plan.
He is enrolled and going to school,
Where he will shine and rule.
My son will show them all
How well he can stand tall.
Drops of sweat slip from my furrowed brow
Eyes squint, select a number and let fly now
Miss again, a millimetre is a mile once more
Aimed for triple twenty, only got double four
The walk of shame, my oh so familiar friend
Silence broken, on alcohol I forever depend
The steel point of eyes bore into my neck
My opponent leaves me a juddering wreck
I lose the match; the wife won’t give me a kiss
I wish I could have been anything else than this...
Blood mountains divided, staring back quartz veins.
Decending and rising, as footings lay claims.
Hopping and leaping through scents of black earth.
Surrounded by moss and love what it's worth.
Climbing the hill will pull at your muscles.
while healing your heart; tomorrow come tussles.
Seeing's forever and waiting not still.
Love of destruction; you rise till you feel.
Sniffing the wind that smells of the trees
while Winding you up on two buckled knees.
Then resting your fluids on top of your tongue,
Sees love far from home or a rule of thumb.
Now View the horizon on top of the mountain
Where words are in silence and chest like a fountain.
Relax and start humming and start your way down.
Returning you home and turn in your crown.
ON THE OCEAN WAVES
Ships that toss on the ocean waves have no track
To follow to lead them home by starboard tack,
Do not float abroad by evening star, or wave and throw
Their moorings to the lubbers ashore and below.
They wrest their pathway home from the deep
While landward the dry hills of home rest asleep.
Souls that search endlessly for salvation sure
Have no warrantied way to help them endure,
Cannot take or borrow the time to try new ways
To head ever closer to endless halcyon days.
These poor spirits tread a narrow path of dread,
Never knowing when, but always fearing to be dead.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Written on 27 July 2012
Entered in Francine Roberts's Contest On the Ocean Waves
I just realized our humble abode
Is smack-dab in the middle of dinky-house road.
We muddle along in our simple ranches
And their add-ons that shoot off like stubby branches.
We fuss with our lawns but appear as mice
From outer space through a telescopic device.
We barely make waves in the grand scheme of things
Being no larger than droplets in a stone throw’s rings.
But maybe someday it won’t be that way
Perhaps we’ll be something or have something to say.
That will be larger than tiny, louder than ka-boom
Until then we’ll exist in our dinky-house room.
I can’t complain I’m sheltered and fed
But this nagging ambition still builds in my head
Of what was written and what was said
Of a lonely road far from my bed
You don’t venture far tiny bird in the thicket
The home you mind is safe from the wicked
It’s a shame you can’t fly far away
And see all the cultures time built on its way
With the people of both peace and war
And the beauty of things in nature to adore
But your home is well kept and happy it seems
But what of your heart, your wishes and your dreams
I can’t feel shame it would make me weaker
About the wasted moments left to the meeker
The scoundrel in me keeps my heart from fever
But fever is wanted by my soul the dreamer
So tiny bird would you say you much wiser
The time you spend you count like a miser
Or is it that you take simple love in your day
In the little you make from the soil and the clay
Do the storms bother you at all little one?
Do the storms keep you hiding waiting for the sun?
I see the light is there in the weather so destructive
Are clouds to you renewal or counter productive?
I take it we differ in thought and song
Though I can no longer say yours is wrong
But I take from you a lesson - a lovely subtraction
In the happiness to be found in simple satisfaction
Bobby comes home from work to screaming kids and a nagging wife;
Feeling as if he hasn’t had a moment of peace in his entire life.
Jackson comes home from work to a dark and empty house;
Longing to fill the void of it all with offspring and a spouse.
Betty changes a dirty diaper and wipes a running nose;
The last time she pampered herself, only heaven knows.
Janet fixes another meal made especially just for one;
Wondering if her eligible days have all come and gone.
Each of them looks deep inside not liking what they see;
Convinced that everyone else in the world has a better reality.
Bobby watches his kids score a goal and his wife fixes him supper;
The pride he feels and love he shares works like a natural upper.
Jackson relaxes with a good book and listens to his favorite musician;
Comfortable with the freedom to do what he wants without any imposition.
Betty gets a big hug and a kiss from kids who say they love her;
The times she feels happiest is when she is helping out another.
Janet shares time with wonderful friends without any sexual tension;
And feels sorry for those unhappily married whose choices they often question.
Each of them looks deep inside and are happy with their destination;
Some days are good and some days are bad no matter our life situation.