An old man looking out his door,
gaze fixed on a distant shore,
reminiscing to a time, not of happiness,
or, the prospect of a bright future,
to when he was sick to his very core,
to when as a youth, he went to war
A time before infallibility had meaning,
patriotism and bravado the craze,
the future was still unknown,
vigor for life at its all time high,
a time for romance, partying, buying,
no thought of pain, deformity, dying
Too young to understand or question,
ship to foreign shore, medals abound,
will impress the girls next time in town,
sacrifice not temporary,
a legacy etched into a wall, few will remember,
flesh shredded, burned, torn,
A time, when he willingly went to war,
will happen no more,
all lost in youth, now unrelenting,
no blind obedience,
long life, his number one ambition
As he turns back from the door,
he thinks of the youth,
here now, soon no more,
lessons never learned,
the call to war,
to common the roar,
complacency the mood,
another generation removed
The old man agonizes
over what was originally not known,
war is preventable,
life too precious to waste,
the solution simple,
his vision, maybe too late
Send old men to the front to fight,
arthritis, heart disease, poor eyesight,
let the youth enjoy their life,
his near over, its only right
Send old men, to the front, to fight
ask them to give up their life,
patriotism and bravado, still alive,
will and desire would not last the night,
old men do not rush to death in their twilight,
failure inevitable, the old man smiles,
knows he's right
Wars not possible,
if old men, are sent to fight
Copyright © Mac McGovern
I do not know?
for bruce springsteen...
it was a rain-swept monsoon day
way back then, so many moons away
when i felt the music strumming in my veins
setting me free like a runaway horse without any reins
you sang of simple truths,
your verse spoke to people just like me
in my lonely, wasted, and desolately quiet night
as you screamed out tragic human wrongs, and of everyone's plight
'bobby jean' spoke to me
of that girl down the street
glimpses of whom, we as innocents would furtively meet
and 'the river' that flowed through my ever-barren heart
led me down further roads of thunder
when slowly i finally learnt that the hardest part was fighting on
and never to surrender
to the hard-luck dreams that were born to run
while i danced in the dark
with memories vivid and stark
even as i whined like that dog who for forever lost his howling bark
and then a 'human touch' came along
and 'better days' seemed real, not just words in a song
and still you sang and swayed and spoke straight into my unseeing eyes
as gardens of secrets were opened, and as your fist punched the skies
in an anger that i too felt and in whose cauldron i too burned
as we saw murder get incorporated, while on its wobbly axis, our fragile world apathetically turned
and then suddenly i was told that i was all grown up
working on a highway of scattered ideals
and absolving myself by sprinkling some coins in a waiting cup
well, after all these years of walking along so many a thorny road
with an armour of your verse covering me, even as i hear them taunt me and even as they continue to goad
but now i can feel myself fading away, into the bleakness of this coming night
just like the ghost of that old tom joad...
Copyright © Scribbler Of Verses
The Men, Rolled In … Like Ocean Waves
The Women, Splashed and Sprayed and Splayed
And Laughed and Cried In Salty, Foam-Crests
In Liquid-Blue, Up To Our Breasts …
On Bright, Shine Afternoons …
Or In Fog, Floating In From Coasts, Subdued
And The Men Rolled In … Like Ocean Waves
Playing and Surging, Roaring Out Praise
Buoyed High, Bobbing Up and Down
So Quick, So Strong, The Men Swam …
And Women, Wet in Swimsuits
Carried Away Corals and Seashells, As Loot
Putting Them To Our Ears, Everyday
To Hear What Echoes of Sea, Had To Say
And On Soft, Crystal Sand, Pearls, We Did Lay
As The Men, Rolled In … Like Ocean Waves …
Copyright © MoonBee Canady
IF I was a monkey,lived in the zoo.
I swing from the vine,that what I would do.
But IM not a monkey,dont live in the zoo.
So I will drink my JACK DANIALS,give a toast to you.
If the ocean was whiskey,and I was a duck.
I swim to the bottom and never come up.
But the ocean not whiskey,and IM not a duck.
So I will play TEXES HOLDEM,and drink to my luck.
JACK DANIANLS,JACK DANIALS,I cry.
If a car dont roll over me,I will live till I die
If I die meet ST. PETER,at the gate.
If IM drinking my JACK DANIALS,he will have to wait.
JACK DANIALS,JACK DANIALS,cream of the crop.
IM going to drink my JACK DANIALS ,until the day that I drop
When I drop,fall flat on the floor.
IM going to pick my self up,and drink me some more.
Copyright © robert ray
The ocean is a place to be
To get away from from everything
To sit here on the shore
Having nothing to worry about
I want to become
One with the ocean
For I have nothing to fear
But there is so much to do
So little time
To see the world
In one life time
Now I'm going home
Back from where I came from
I say good-bye
But I will be back next time
Copyright © Kelsey Kopec
From being forced to cross the Atlantic Ocean under the cover of stars
to volunteering for a mission above every ocean to the stars.
From being stared at on an auction block and having the family sold and separated
to ten years running, in the most watched block, as a priceless model of the family unit.
From working for peanuts and fertilizing somebody's land with the blood that runs off of
to owning the land, working the peanut, and transfusing the blood back.
From being robbed of a spoken language, losing a religion, a culture, a god
to influencing: the language spoken in cultures, songs in religion, and the pathway to God.
From losing a hand and a foot or a leg for not being fast enough to get far enough away
from “the man”
to using the hands, legs and the feet in running farther and faster than the average man.
From the king, of a nation, beaten into a personal slave and called names like coon,
spook, and “Boy”
to a boy named King who would grow up to “win over” a nation for the equal freedoms of
From generations that had to take the last names of past presidents
to being the name that can give a future generation its first president.
Copyright © Marlon Weaver