The First Texian Macabre Arena Ballad (The extended free-fallen edition)
In another life, is where I first saw your face!
One summer afternoon, lying wounded next to the dead
Unopened gun powder, mass destruction, a land of disgrace
A blood thirst battlefield is where I first saw your face
The sound of war, hidden behind bleeding hands
Crawlers, render their lives giving grace
Jaws of steel, broken, embracing, warm feelings
Summer rain, lungs filled with blood, one last post
Glorious by numbers, screaming blades
Gemstone in touch with the Holy Ghost
Soldiers come in a little close
Crawling, missing limbs,
Twisted nightmare with no ending
Macabre reminder, retracing the aroma of eternal life
Secrets buried like a treasure under walls of sudden death
Revolutionary tears found on a rusted Bowie knife
Lanterns, crackling against the dying wind
Dirt piles of crushed windpipes -- sudden death
Rummage like garbage, the dead Texian
A Falling Alamo Star, taking one last twinkle upon the sky
Forgotten Patriots, I can't remember the names
Written on walls, I can't remember the names
A folktale arena is where I first saw your face
Fairness of stuttered surrender slicing through iron brace
Crawling, with the hunger to live, a clean finish with grace
Exposing, scars needing mother's hands, mothers face
Across infested meadows, the aroma of burning skin
Distant, before Texas and her annexation,
Gruesome, before I lived, Texas and her mortal sin
I pledge, my love, the honor, a legion, I'm a full blown Texian
To Every Forgotten Texian Patriot----- We Win!
Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2014
Set upon the new world stage within the burning fires of hell. Silently posed factions of the elite, suppress the true inherit of Mother Earth. The meek children bending over for millennium, taken spankings of bare bottoms, pelted slavery.
Upon entry to rule, the open stage of smoked mirrors began to reflect back upon the podium of lies. Taught by scholars from university books of political science. Fearful of leadership matching mirrored images, of false pretense, babbling rhetoric. The stirring masses of discontented, individualistic, thought of as dead - enders, trouble makers, and rebel rousers, rallied aimlessly.
With super hero, Captain Do Gooder, bleeding helpless on the floor of Wall Street. Weary lost hope combatants mustered courage, and accepted destiny. To this point, someone shouted against the wind of change. Felt by all who sensed the importance.
"To death do us part of the purpose to which we, the united, stand for justice".
The chant began, as Captain Do Gooder was dragged away, and cuffed, once bleeding helpless on the floor of Wall Street.
Damn the torpedoes. Damn the torpedoes.
Captain Do Gooder, fallen, bruised ego matching skinned knees, lays helpless. Who will save them now.
Second glances from high rise penthouses. Serving champagne and caviar. Brought iron clenched hands once hidden, to draw the stage curtain down.
With Captain Do Gooder nowhere to be found. The voice that came from pain of pupil. Born within broken dreams of promised lands. Realized nothing was coming cheap on this occupation.
The dusty streets found Captain Do Gooder aimlessly stepping against the winds of change, down Wall Street. The well-intentioned, arrested and broken spirited, lost hope of recycling any salvage rights taken from them by Metro.
Was this the end of the well thought out, pushed down occupation.
Was this the beginning, of the underground faction. Where was senior generation X hiding. Only Captain Do Gooder and the well-intentioned, world stage occupiers, hold the key to that Pandora's box of hope.
The peoples across the oceans were already springing far ahead in their own, more brutal campaign. For they had no cushion on which they were raised to kneel against. Tyranny ran over them. A lesson yet not felt, or learnt, or taught, in the new world. No chance of city mayors issuing eviction notices. Bullets, tanks and bombs were of the order. Brought down the line, traced back to the ones our United Nations to this day, refuse to acknowledge.
While leaders there home internet shop, and pump out the lies. Everyone dies.
In the heart of the continent of center, where unto which as mankind sprang forth, for its first and ever conquest.
The lights kept dim, to obscure the violent cleansing. A facade to disguise once moreover, the brutal tyranny for which the greed of the elite, control the dimmer switch. Diamonds and oil fuel the fire of war and oppression, on this stage of greed and guilt. Too far away, and too many distractions upon center stage for one to see or care. Thought and looked upon by most as racially motivated. The origins of all mankind, to be left, far too far, behind. The true forsaken people. Why is man unkind.
So..........will Captain Do Gooder raise the bar to which drinks for the house, and all around, will quench the thirst felt by ninety nine percent of the people............mother knows best.
Yet, still, self-inflicted roadblocks of appointed destiny, drop kicked long days past. Faint light shining far ahead, within the tunnel of hell, brought up to land. Firm above the depths to which it sprang. The truth of world order.
Wait......what do we see......do our closed eyes deceive our cries........................................
We see Captain Do Gooder catching second wind.
She breathes deep now and all can hear her war cry, no longer whimpering softly. As in past tense situations, given way to dazed and confused wall street *****es.
She builds momentum, as our brothers and sisters lay dying and bleeding. On the streets of some not so distant for telling, of what's to be, will never not be coming full steam ahead and plowing through the hidden agenda. One step beyond the line drawn in the sand of time, we thought would never be crossed. Give way thoughtless future tellers, and takers. Still holding firm with paper cuts, deep into the hands who printed and prepared such slave papers, kept by the elite bankers.
Captain Do Gooder returns renewed and refreshed. Our true Mother.
Captain Do Gooder feels strong, as bruised knees and scraped hands heal.
Brush of destiny sweepstakes, allots winnings of earth shaking, volcano erupting, tsunami tidal waves, with bonus draws of worldwide chaos. Future draws are to be held with worldwide winners. Grand prize, dead oceans rising.
The next generation have no fear digest writes the next chapter.
Hold the press down firmly wall street backbiting backbenchers. Drawn into the crossfire, on her mark, place the x on the next general who dares not fall into civil disobedience.
Captain Do Gooder has grown teeth, and she is biting down hard against the line to pipe riches, spoiled from her lands. Stolen from the first pilgrimage, fifteen thousand years old, lost empire.
How dare you steal from, and pollute the minds of her children. Yet old enough to drink and drug and die in war. How dare all of us.
Meanwhile back at the ranch. Captain Do Gooder hugs tight that tree of life, to which sprang all this elbow rubbing and diversion. Wall street huddles in her corner, painted red to match the lengths to which an end will surely bring to it.
Painted red for all to see.
The end to friendly letter writing, give peace a chance, make love not war, generation taking a bow, and snow birding it, to false sense of security land. Like the ostrich with its head in the sand.
Copyright © Scott Howard Myers The Gypsy King | Year Posted 2013
A void of Facebook
Creativity dies here...
Copyright © Dan Keir | Year Posted 2013
The man stumbled on, wanting to get as far away as possible
the sights he had seen and lived through too terrible to contemplate.
How could another human deliberately inflict such awful things on another.
He could see a gentle stream of smoke arising from the distant chimney
and headed for the shelter it offered, staggering on until he reached it.
It was a pretty cottage nestled deep into the hillside and isolated.
He tumbled through the door and collapsed on the floor.
Mistily he drifted in then out of consciousness unable to focus
aware vaguely of a gentle touch that soothed and replenished.
He drank from the cup pressed to his lips and then let go.
The old lady shook her head at the follies of mankind,
and set to work bandaging his festering wounds.
She made a drawing potion to clean out the poison
that had taken a fierce hold racking him with fever.
Then she covered him and stoked up the fire.
For three days he lay in a coma muttering about the war,
not an ordinary one, oh no, this war caused carnage.
Evil stalked the land every hand turned against the other.
Sons killing fathers and brothers and to what point?
A simple disagreement about Creed had started this.
Weakened by the ravages he was slow to fully heal
yet he learned much from the old lady causing him to rethink.
To look at things with eyes a-new seeing the other point of view.
These new values he took with him when he left thanking her gratefully.
He set out on a new route, his task now to heal and bring peace.
Standing a-midst the crowd on a small hillock he taught them new values
not by preaching as such but by parables that showed the way to peace.
After all he would say; Pause and Think, For What are We without hope?
Everything gone by can be changed, all we have to do is care and act.
So lit the small flicker in your heart and fan up a healing blazing flame.
Copyright © Shadow Hamilton | Year Posted 2014
The sweetest sounds of burning trees
A gentle stroking in the breeze
The calm has lasted past the storm
Cloudy visions, Satan’s roar
Too many sights have passed my way
A time found only in the haze
The softest screams are running bare
My aching bones creak as I stare
You walk a distance towards me
The fall’s eternal, can’t you see?
I’m a memory in your heart
I whisper to you in the dark
The battle’s started at the end
No one is coming to repent
The sinners grab their wine from prey
No judgment calling here to stay
The sport is reckless to be told
The one is laughing at his souls
It falters nowhere to be sure
The power grows forevermore
Like a spirit in the wind
I have no say in where you’ve been
But cross the line to come to me
And pay the price for ecstasy
You walk a distance towards me
The fall’s eternal, can’t you see?
I’m a memory in your heart
I whisper to you in the dark.
Copyright © John Paluszek | Year Posted 2013
He woke and saw his beloved asleep with one breast partially exposed
And with his fantastic limp he works his way to the kitchen
He made coffee for her with croissant lathered with jam
Gently he pulled at the exposed women and gestures with the tray
Happily she wakes and with great affection reaches for him
Coffee is second and pastries with jam come close to him
But he is first and the love hits him like the wind
Gently it began and gale force now
He had to lash himself so he wouldn't be swept away
And it grew
She always lay in their position and there was no other
He would mold himself to her and tease her nipple
He came home weathered from the battle and with grief
Friends had been shot by snipers and the heat
He had seen a woman with a basket approach his friend
And she dropped the basket and pulled the belt
The explosion deafened him and his comrade's face is gone
Fragments hit him but he is running to his friend
But the friend lays silent
Gazing to the wetness on his leg he falls
He is deafened and wakes in terror and looks upon the leg
And finding himself in bed she tries to talk with him
But he claim's it's a bad dream and the basket falling
The limp was his reminder of that day and he eats the croissant for his friend
Copyright © Patrick Cornwall | Year Posted 2012
A beautiful heart pines from afar.
To parallel freedom, we choose our master.
In Love, the Dragon and Unicorn are!
Celestial winged heart beats faster,
Over mountain and ocean meet polar eyes.
To parallel freedom, we choose our master.
Embarking from sun brewed and moonshine skies
Two alien races, in war, collide.
Over mountain and ocean meet polar eyes.
All brothers' swords raise, marching with pride.
Sisters of heaven let feathers fly.
Two alien races, in war, collide.
The angered clouds rain blood from the sky.
A new path finally found.
Sisters of heaven let feathers fly.
Brothers' swords low now to the ground.
A beautiful heart pines from afar.
A new path finally found.
In Love, the Dragon and Unicorn are!
Out bound energy
Where are we when we die?
Copyright © Edward McCormick | Year Posted 2013
Part two: Outbreak of civil war
Imaani’s world is falling apart around her. Protests against a dictatorship government go out of control as activists are brutally killed. Rebel groups are formed and a civil war breaks out between rebels and the government. Imaani’s life is in danger as her father is a political activist. Her father is arrested and her mother dies after a local shopping centre is bombed.
Oh my beloved, I must leave you now. War has broken and I must hide myself from the world. Be patient my beloved, if our love is true we will be together soon.
Mathias is heartbroken and alone once again,
“Don’t tell me love hurts,
It hurts just like death.
Everyone has a love story,
But my story I can never tell.
No one ever taught me how to love,
I only learned through experience.
Loss leads to pain, sorrow and no hope for tomorrow,
If pain is temporary, then why do i feel hollow?
No one ever told the truth to me,
About growing up, and the troubles I would face.
Everything I was taught,
had not prepared me for this.
Love is like the sun,
The closer you get, the quicker you burn.
Lies and betrayal will destroy your trust,
Your mind will be at war and there will be no peace.
Maybe it was never meant to be,
especially when you feel you never tried hard enough.
So, is it better to let dreams fade away?
To break two hearts, that are meant to be?
With so many doubts and so many questions,
I guess I will never know the true answers
In a society where love can be a taboo,
A beautiful love, sometimes cannot blossom
What kind of world do we live in?
When society cannot let you be you.
So don’t tell me love hurts,
It hurts more than anything.”
As the war becomes more brutal, a refugee crisis hits the country. Imaani is forced to leave her home,
“Society has shunned me and I feel neglected,
I am like a foreigner, so it is time to say goodbye.
There is nobody here of mine, so I will be leaving,
colourful memories have faded away, all I see is gloom.
All those I loved have been stolen from me,
taken away by the evil brutality of man.
Their voices still echo around me,
their screams continue to traumatise me.
Derelict streets and buildings are all around me,
with haunting sounds of happiness and laughter.
All around me is pain and cries of injustice,
atrocities that the world turned a blind eye to.
All has been lost, so I guess I will be leaving,
disappearing behind a trail of sadness and sorrow.
I will soon be forgotten as will my childhood memories,
forced into an unknown fate as I become part of the Diaspora.”
Mathias’s world is falling apart. He loses his job and falls into depression at the sudden loss of his soul mate,
“Life is a poisoned chalice, full of betrayal and hypocrisy,
an evil society which breaks your heart and then mocks you.
My destiny is a deceitful one, full of deception and regret,
there is no happy ending, this is no enchanting fairy tale.
I feel no love and have been left all alone,
nobody really understands, so I hide myself from them.
I have become indulged in a dimension of deepest despair,
within an abyss, where darkness is my only loyal friend.
so many tears have been shed, I have drowned myself in sorrow,
I am drowning in what feels like the deepest ocean and I cant swim.
I am falling, but no one is there to catch me,
my emotions are out of control, my mind is betraying me.
My heart is so fragile and sensitive, it is hurt by the smallest thing,
these voices in my head are driving me insane.
I am going crazy, when will it all end,
as no longer do I have the strength to carry on.
As every sigh becomes deeper, I contemplate my fate,
is life really worth living, what do I have to live for?
Help me please, no go away, leave me alone!
I await the final betrayal, so then I can say goodbye forever,
I will leave without a trace, without an explanation.
But, please forgive me, I never meant any harm,
I can't help it, I'm falling,
and no one can catch me now.”
Months go by and there does not seem to be any end to the war. The powers of the world stand by and look on, not intervening as they have no political gain from the conflict. The refugee crisis increases with overflowing refugee numbers in camps around neighbouring countries. Imaani, has not eaten for days and is a shadow of the woman, she used to be,
“Do you hear my call?
Here, I stand,
battered and bruised.
Thirsty, hungry and confused,
do you hear my call?
Look into my eyes,
they have ran dry, no more tears.
The world has become blind,
they do not see my suffering.
The world has become deaf,
they do not hear my call.
So hungry, that I cannot sleep,
so tired, that I cannot sleep.
Life is a chance of luck,
a child born into luxury,
a child born into poverty,
sadly, a definition of what is to come.
soon, I will be gone,
but my plight, must never be forgotten.”
Part three: The union
Imaani has not forgotten the love of her beloved even with her life in extreme danger and close to death she calls out,
“I was never a poet,
but your vision became my poetry,
I had heard about love,
but only your existence turned me into a lover.
I thought romance was dead,
but, your companionship, seduced me into a romantic.
I was never a musician,
but, now I compose melodies to describe what I feel for you.
I was never a believer,
but, your beauty made me believe, now I worship you.
I have never asked for anything from God,
I enjoin my hands and pray for your return.
I search for you with every sunset,
I search for you with every sunrise.
They mock me and say you will never return,
soon you will forget and love again.
Happiness or sadness, no matter where, my love will never change,
for those whose love is true, devotion always remains.”
A voice whispers into the ear of Mathias,
“Do you think you have time? Go to her, to your beloved.”
To be continued...
The Silent One. 20 August 2015.
Copyright © Silent One | Year Posted 2015
The greatest holiday gift I ever received
Goes back so many, many years
Before my life became turmoiled
And before my tears for fears
I was a child like many out there
Torn, strewn and split of kin
Mother and father in differences
Confused at seven, wearing their same skin
For I was one of the lucky ones
To a Highland Estate I would go
It's on the west coast of Scotland
Where my holidays desired me so
Secretly I internally smiled
For a whisper of where I was heading
To live with a movie star hero
No longer my life was in dreading
We were picked up by a man so fine
His manners were an absolute joy
Regimental he was in his approach
To me, just a seven year old boy
We travelled through the village of Plockton
Crystal clear waters edged to it's shore
I knew from this very moment
Being here ebbed previous family sores
On entering his house I was in awe
Movie pictures came to my view
They were images of James Bond
At seven I was totally through
A voice called to me
Hey James! sit down and I'll tell you me
Still in circles in walking awe
This is what he told thee
My name is Patrick Dalzel Job
In the Second World War I served
But this recognition I bestow
Humbles me to it's deserve
This honour that's been given
Was blessed by a colleague in war
What desired Ian Fleming to be so striven
Possibly, what we were fighting for
We served on the same destroyer
Fighting to make the future free
His tribute, in his novels I became
James Bond, it's incredibly me
Not many seven year olds have stayed with James Bond.
This seven year old Scot's boy has, maybe I learnt?
Copyright © James Fraser | Year Posted 2012
I'm very small
I am called Standing Tall
My story to be read as i live through it all.
Our Dakota lands are forest and vast
Where our ancestors have hunted
From long in the past.
Our tribes are, a confederation of seven
With our language of Lakota, Sioux heaven
We stand proud as we remember our past
And look to our gods, to make it all last.
A silhouette on the prairie hill i see
This shape in the distance is new to me
As we sleep in the night, we hear guns and blows
We arise from our camp, to look for the noise
We creep on the prairie to their surprise
Under the moon, where the land would flow
No longer the Buffalo.
We mount our ponies to challenge these men
What gives them this right to kill and maim
Bodies of beasts, furs cut away
Missing heads, a ghastly slay.
On reaching their camp our bows stretched
Arrows screech, hit the wretched
Watch them fall to the prarie floor
Just like the Buffalo did hours before.
Years have passed as we are moved from our lands
These poisonous men, and their poisonous glands
Bringing illness fever and strife
Ending many a Lakota life.
We reach a point in History
Which made the white man sit up and see
Their Golden Child General George Custer
And the Little Big Horn, my what a disaster.
Arapaho, Cheyenne and us Lakota too
Sliced the Blue Jackets, their Scouts too
The US Cavalry would have their glee
At the Battle Of Wounded Knee
Where Siiting Bull would finally rest
Standing Tall's story last's the test
If we Indians had the same resources
Like the silhouette on the hill
These praries we always had. would be ours still.
Copyright © James Fraser | Year Posted 2009
I envy the dust, the way it moves all free and careless,
released from it’s sleeping state the thunderous pounds
of late shelling, again endless.
Muffled shouting, through this trench confounding,
Mustard attack, gas mask aside, fingers in fumbling fight
bitter cold night in a field.
No fireside, food to bite
cigarettes to smoke and mates to joke.
last one gone two days ago up one minute then vanished in a puff of smoke.
this place is beyond reality, it’s beyond insanity
fighting for earth no mother walked nor father built.
If they want to fight then bring it to my hills, not this flat wasteland of mud, blood, bones and chills.
We were thrown into this bloody war,
and we wont have our say, like we've never had before.
Taken to the slaughter history will say,
throwing ourselves forward like tidal-waves.
Waves on waves of sacrificial lunacy again and again.
we've taken little ground and this other trench looks bad, worse than ours
doesn't looked heavily manned looks like we lost more man.
What do we gain now? apart from more time in thought.
those withered layers of rotting feverish flesh, one part is fresh
the other pure dread.
captain is shouting, up on my legs
what’s going on...conscious or dead?
Copyright © Paul K K | Year Posted 2016
For the torn,
for the meek.
Toward the storm,
toward the beast.
For the scorned,
for the weak.
for the free.
In the dirt,
make my bed.
Live on hope,
On this stage,
in my role.
Home one day,
For this goal,
in the name.
though the same.
Take my life,
use it well.
Build your heaven,
on my hell.
Don't you cry,
I'll always be.
for the free.
Copyright © David Dowling | Year Posted 2010
I shall live and die
By my own accord
Only my God may judge me
To him I've proved my worth
I am still here fighting
It matters not what for
On my ship of righteousness
Headed for waters unexplored
The clear night sky will darken
And the clouds seem ominous
I take heed to the sure signs
From them I won't digress
They are in the way of my dreams
And hopes that fill my sails
Like the wind from my heaven
Keeps my skin tough as nails
Evil comes to tempt me
I am not immune
Sometimes I play the hero
Other times I'm just a fool
Either way the choice is mine
I make it with my free will
For that's the gift he gave me
And for what I fight for still
The government is coming
To bring a chaos they call order
The line has been drawn
Between two sides there is a border
I feel myself being torn
To choose a fate in stone
Let this be a lesson
Why I wander on my own
Minds can be controlled
I see it every day
The weak wills fall like dominos
That lie littering my way
An obstacle before me
I iron will it to the end
And when the devil comes
to dance with me
I have already started to transcend
into everything around
I am the universal man
my true form I shall disguise
I am hiding it from this great Satan
they say will come for my demise
I know he will find me
maybe he already has
in a long gone nightmare
that my soul he stole at last
if I remember correctly
I can't say I recall
ever escaping his grip
or did it ever touch me
Copyright © Bj Fard | Year Posted 2012
Waves crash the rocks in ecstasy
as I pass the archway
to the sea.
Onwards to the village,
the aroma of coffee brewing,
as a power of teens gather, texting.
I venture down
a chestnut lined road
under a canopy
of Copper Beech
where bright shafts of sun
illuminate a lane of lavender
a sea of perfume
wafts the air.
Climbing an incline,
hills in view,
the distant sobbing
of water sounds
a trickling brook emerges
ambling through magenta heather
and thorny gorse.
I reach a stile,
entrance to the woods
where a carpet
of frosted red cyclamen
bleeds down to a deep dark glen.
A chicory lake lies there, frozen
as a mist uncurls between reeds.
The granite hills,
soft with snow,
luminous against a whale grey sky.
A copse of pine trees
surround a curving river
where trout pout, bubbling.
At the fold of day,
The pale sun sinks the horizon
as stars tremble
into a velvet night
Copyright © Eiken Laan | Year Posted 2010
Prince of this world,
you've meddled in the affairs of mankind
since the beginning
From the time of the Egyptian pharaohs,
whose gigantic pyramidal tombs
had been built primarily by slave labor
A living testament to man's ingenuity and cruelty
Then you were behind the Assyrian reign,
carnage was the calling card hallmark
these fierce kings signed whenever they came
But the Babylonian kingdom you really liked a lot,
ancient free market traders and slavers
Their god was commerce;
they bought and sold any and everything,
they trafficked in any and every whatnot
Then came those warring factions of Persians and Medes,
pure lovers of aristocratic indulgences of greed
They would fight you to the death,
until the Greeks came along
and became the gold standard, the best
They loved to preach democracy,
they loved to practice idolatry
For every god you said you had,
those Greeks said they had three
The Greeks fell to the next kingdom,
not so much by war, more through debauchery
But the prince of this world
came out of the shadows,
and was moved to want to rule when the Romans came
They had them lying cats named Caesar,
and crucifixion was their favorite capital punishment game
The Romans learned a lot from their fellow Greeks;
give the conquered their councils,
give them a voice with a vote
Then let them exercise it wickedly,
declaring the innocent Jesus Christ guilty
Oh, the prince of this world
was as ecstatic as a mad despot can be
The Romans were the best kind of servants ---
they were cruel, they were hard
They killed you dead with no regard
But alas, even their mighty kingdom came to an end
Since then, all of his wicked servants
and their feudal kingdoms have served him well
But alas, it was the Roman kingdom
he brooded over the most when it came to an end
And it's been a long time, since the prince of this world
had a Caesar he could call friend
Copyright © Freddie Robinson Jr. | Year Posted 2016
With armor pierced, I’m battle scarred
For enemies swords had struck their mark
Though weary, I, I raised my sword
To continue fighting in the dark
The battle started hours before
Fighting strong, with me, heroic men
Yet, common men with noble hearts
For mother land, they now defend
No formal training, nor fighting skills
But, armed with will and make shift swords
These men of honor fought for right
For losing homes, they can’t afford
I, their leader, their chosen one
Selected for strength and outward pride
Am honored to fight aside these men
Else, not fighting at all, I shall have died
Our homes and family are what we are
The marks of us men are lineage and land
We go into battle, each as a boy
To come from the battle, each as a man
Copyright © Michael Degenhardt | Year Posted 2008
From the beginning of this life,
Man somehow knows that he is at war.
From childhood games, to stories of the imagination.
We are aware of a conflict, a glorious conflict.
Long ago, a dragon was cast down from light.
And his fall upset the fabric of the universe.
What once lived eternal now stood imprisoned in cycles of death and decay and
all of creation mourned.
But from the darkness, God’s champion.
The Holy One of light, Made man in his image.
Chosen from the beginning of time, to fight for our Creator and return peace to
We were grafted as warriors and it was our destiny to ride victorious.
In the bosom of God, we were created by the expert hands of the Maestro and
were given all things.
But the snake deceived us, and we fell.
Yet the Snake himself was fooled, for in our weakness God would find strength.
In the fall of man, so too would he find his destiny.
To ride with God victorious and set creation back in light.
We God’s glorious symphony, Ordained in Eternity to reign with him forever.
For many years we wandered in darkness, longing to regain our birthright.
The snake had made us his slaves, and perverted our hearts to death.
We, God’s warriors of light, were turned to darkness.
And for millennia we warred against each other for scraps of pleasure,
Like dogs we served the Dragon, all the time blind to our Destiny.
But our Champion, the Lion of Judah, Saw us and had pity.
He came to suffer at his own hand, and take on his own wrath so that we once
again might rise.
And now the truth is ours, for he has already claimed the victory.
We, God’s anointed, chosen in light yet deceived into warring against one
The Lamb has saved us, and it is time for us to take our rightful place in
Celebration of his crowning.
Jews, Muslims, Siks, Suphis, Hindus, Buddhists, Christians, Atheists, and
It is our time for the Lamb prepared a place for us in his army of victory ever
The time is now.
The time is ours.
So grab your sword and ride to victory!
Copyright © Woodrow Lucas | Year Posted 2007
The fireplace kindle in the moonlight.
I am along deciphering the mind’s eye.
God is here with me tonight.
The popping flame was a yellow reddish fire.
The wood burned and the smell was a delight.
My thoughts were ablaze to set the Devil afire.
Of course, I will let Lucifer exist.
He is confrontational to my holiness.
In that God is the omnipotent, Satan is the Devil defeated.
Insofar as the world is perilous, many; as I, must conquer their demons.
Rostrum our crusade as a battle won.
In India, primitive to the philosophy of religion, the reality is profound.
Deities are of one and of all.
There is such a thing as the Christian Satan.
They are enemies to Brahmans, god-giants.
Demons are devils, crackling vigor.
This campaign is of war not of battle.
The action plan is to deploy Christian powers.
Revelation statuses such.
The plague of our time is trinity.
Spheral by one Godhead, organizes the consecrated force.
The mercenaries are on the battlefield of and for the Lord.
With giants and demons how the monkey king detonates causing the wrath of God.
Demons are decapitated and bodies are slanged from here to yonder.
God bellowed, “We must behead the monkey king.
He is the demon of all entities.”
The lashes influence the giants lambastes.
The Monkey King’s demons had formed their attacks.
God’s giants’ impact condemns.
They beheaded the Monkey King.
Penned January 17, 2015!
Copyright © Verlena S. Walker | Year Posted 2015
generic minds listen to generic music
have generic thoughts that are unknowingly abusive
watch generic things talk about generic things
gee this generic *****is spreading like a disease
better get your flu shot
thats what they said to me
a suicidal vaccine
a subliminal killing spree
its contagious and the outrageous
thing about it is that the people are blind in an eye
that they didn't even know they had
it's sickening to watch these clueless civilians
inside the looking glass
with nightmares of being free
without a key to their mind
for it is trapped in the frequency
in the illusion of time
bathed in our universe
killing all that refuse to see
those that admit to hypocracy
or see the message in hip hop
how cant you see
the message in the lyrics that
bring adolescents to their knees
from bullet wounds conflicting their flesh
contradicting that they're the best
but the songs keep telling them that they dont need no rest
that they dont wanna go home
that they should ride alone
with the gat as their only companion
and so the only path they choose is the one that they're told
until they grow old and hope turns to a window pane
inside a window pane, until all they feel is pain
they realize that the music itself is ashamed
so whats to look up to
when you cant even speak when you cant even walk because you look so bleak
your eyes are sunken from the tv you're infested with the dee zees
now its too late to turn around and live for your conscious
so when youre screaming oh please
close your eyes and bring your mind to life
open your eyes for the first time
and never wonder why
since the answer this entire time
has been inside
and you better find it before you die
you dont want your soul to be in a pool with all the others
a buncha brothers missing their mothers
but only seeing strangers
only feeling the haters
wishing they would have used their minds when they had them
and now its too late,
now it's time for another new born fate to grab them
Copyright © Green Trees | Year Posted 2012
You have my soul, but you have your fate
Whatever your words, I’m willing to take
You have my word; I’ll give you my breath
It’s like a chain that would never be break
You are my love with all my heart,
I’ll fight for you with all my might.
And in the way, you admire your goals,
You hold my hands, but not so close.
As you go to your chosen path,
I’ll accept the fact that we will be apart.
In the dark side, I leave behind
Within my faith, that you’ll arise
Please don’t look back, coz I’m fighting still
I’m hurting so much! Don’t want to have you near
I accept my fate for what it does,
I’m bleeding so much, do you know for whom it was?
You reach your goals, as you want to have,
Would you remind the man that gave what he had?
As you reach the stars, and be the one
Be a sun that shines its own.
After the rain, the rainbow comes,
Like dark in the moon, when the light flash
A glimpse from you at least a short
For then I knew my pain is worth.
Copyright © Emmanuel Fajutagana | Year Posted 2013
So, as we say in Greece
That’s where I’ll End my story
For the things that happen next
Weren’t made for song of glory
So many Tails, throughout the ages
Have spoke of love and loss
Of passions and betrayals
The triumphs and the cost
But never was one told
That meant as much to me
To launch a thousand ships
And survived through history
And with every great Greek story
There’s a lesson to be learn
So, I’ll leave you with this message
Now the last page, has been turned
The moral still stands true
Throughout all time, which passes
Don’t steal a person’s love away
And beware Greeks bare-ing asses
THEE END Authored By Jerry T Curtis
The Year of The Horse
Copyright © Jerry T Curtis | Year Posted 2014
Africa! Africa! Africa!
Once considered, the bosom of unity
Often regarded as the mother of humanity
A center for the respect of human dignity
A people embedded with the spirit of integrity
Usually seen as the world’s mirror of charity
Characterized by the true meaning of hospitality
We were once referred to as pillars of morality
What a plague on Africa?
Africans are now killing Africans
Brothers are slaying brothers
Patriots are betraying compatriots
Mothers and children now refuge under bridges
The old and the weak abandoned to their fades
Where have we kept our forefathers’ legacies?
They taught us love and oneness
Trained us to stand for uprightness
Showed us how to be compassionate
Nelson Mandela fought for love, peace, unity and justice
He had a dream for African unity and not Afrophobia
Kwame Nkrumah advocated for African freedom
He did not promote African terrorism
Africans, Africans... where are you?
Stand up and drop your arms
Drop all weapons of destruction against Africa
Embrace your fellow Africans with love
Unite and put an end to racism and discrimination
Rise above your selfishness and stop xenophobia
Africans, we are one and indivisible Africa
Together, we can put an end to all xenophobic attacks!
TANGWA LIVINUS ACHA
UNIVERSITY OF YAOUNDE II, SOA
20th April 2015
Copyright © Tangwa Livinus Acha | Year Posted 2015
I Don’t Hate America
I like the country I live in
That doesn’t mean I have to sing their songs
to prove that sh@!.
That doesn't mean that
I can just can’t get over the fact that
they murdered the people who built it
America was dedicated to a proposition that
“all men are created equal, except
for women, indians and blacks
The white men were just fine is what we were told
but what about those who were stolen that never made it over to NEW WORLD?
The ones that were thrown overboard and
those who died from sickness while in transport
Remember those who were born into slavery and never even knew what freedom was before their physical bodies left
and people like Thomas Jefferson
He understood that slavery was wrong but did not free his own until his death
What about those who beaten senseless and burned, and hanged,
All while screaming “Nigger" What’s your new name?
Oh how soon do we forget…
That’s why I despise that word and
I don’t care who it is that uses it
#u$k that slavery sh@!
And #u$k that flag b@%ch!
#u$k you America because you’ve always made things hard .
So don’t look at me strange when I show those songs disregard and those fake ass patriotic undertones about how we are the land of the free
more like the land of the captured and the Home of the Slaves, see
I don’t’ hate America
I can be and do and go as I please
But, then I remember the poor people they injected with disease
They thought they were getting free health care but the doctor is giving them syphilis
I remember the natives of this land
They slaughtered and labored them to work for freedom in their own land
I remember the Civil War
where we were a country divided by the Mason Dixon Line
The north and the south of the same country at war to save lives
I don’t hate America
This is my home
But I refuse to let the things that
my ancestors endured during the struggle of building SUCH A FINE COUNTRY be forgotten
It’s 2012 and the politicians still plottin to find a way to take away the black vote
It’s the same shit, but now they just don’t use the noose to choke the life out of souls
I’m so tired of the constitution and it’s loop holes, and amendments, and acts, and laws
This just proves that man can’t govern themselves because even with all these rules we constantly fall into the black hole deeper and deeper
I don’t hate America
I just choose to not take part in its little song and dance
I pledge my allegiance to God
and continue to write and lose myself in my poetic trans
Copyright © humble b | Year Posted 2012
In summertime, the ivy climbs,
and hides the castle wall.
The king dreams of late,
that the sea is so great,
and yet - his boat is so small.
As swift as a fox and
dark as a raven on wing,
seven hundred soldiers march
into the valley of the king.
Long overdue, a battle ensues
flanking the powers that be.
Children cry, and good men die,
the monarch is now on his knee…
Soon the horsemen alone
try to maintain the throne.
But the long way around
is the shortest way home.
The evening is filled
with chaos and smoke,
and the kingdom is
stunned by it all…
Soon the sun will go down,
and in spite of his crown,
the king will undoubtedly fall…
His rival’s strength
by a king overtaken,
his life is now but a pawn.
His authority lifted,
the power has shifted –
an era of glory is gone…
Copyright © Cole Banner | Year Posted 2013
In Asgard, kingdom of the mighty God Odin
A place awaits all battle fallen warrior heroes
It's in Valhalla where there is endless feasting
And an ending of all griefs and sorrows
The Valkyries, Odin's warrior daughters
Carry the fallen heroes from the battlefield
To Valhalla to join other fallen warriors
Where they are restored to life fully healed
Each day the warriors fight on Asgard's plain
Their battle skills to sharpen and maintain
Every evening wounds and injuries they sustain
Are healed and each warrior made whole again
They dine on liquor and fresh cooked meat
That is always in great abundance for all
Providing a delicious gourmet treat
At Odin's banquet in Valhalla's dining hall
July 18, 2014
Here is the poem which aroused my childhood interest in the Vikings, and to
which I referred in my reply to Shadow. I would like to share it with others.
It is "The Sea King's Burial" by Charles Mackay. It recalls the days when a
Viking chief died and his body was placed in a boat. The vessel with full sail
set and a fire lighted, was then sent drifting out to sea. It is a long poem so I
am only quoting the first and last verses:
My strength is failing fast
(Said the sea-king to his men).
I shall never sail the seas
Like a conqueror again,
But while yet a drop remains
Of the life-blood in my veins
Raise, oh, raise me from my bed,
Put the crown upon my head,
Put my good sword in my hand,
And so lead me to the strand,
Where my ship at anchor rides
If I cannot end my life
In the crimsoned battle-strife
Let me die as I have lived,
On the sea.
Once alone a cry arose,
Half of anguish, half of pride,
As he sprang upon his feet,
With the flames on every side.
"I am coming! " said the king,
Where the swords and bucklers ring,
Where the warrior lives again,
Where the souls of mighty men
And the weary find repose,
And the red wine ever flows,
I am coming, great -All-Father,
Unto Odin, unto Thor,
And the strong, true hearts of yore:
I am coming to Valhalla
O'er the sea."
Copyright © john beharry | Year Posted 2014
You can't imagine what its like to march on a sacred city,
to plunder and pulverize a Peoples' promise to Deity,
demolishing centuries of lavish labor, wasting offspring of ancient heredity,
destroying flesh, scriptures and stone with a savage Roman military synergy,
a discipline determined in it's destruction of dissention, inspired by ancestral victory,
politics was not our purview, methodical punishment was our specialty,
We were War's royalty, we were Legio XV Apollonaris,
monsters of Mars, messengers of Apollo, the juggernaut of Jupiter,
along with 11 other Legions led by General Titus, 60, 000 cuts of glory we stood,
for 3 and a half years we fought through Jewish guerilla ambush
asymetrical urban warfare welting our progress like a pirate pestilence
district after district, hell spell after hell spell we bled with chilled maneuver,
the Zealots were pyromaniacs, burnt sacraficers, their zeal and our bodies zesty wood,
in the Kidron Valley they flooded the streets " knee high " with oiled water
as the Cohorts waded through the lanes leery, a torch was tossed, flames rose in rush
240 men perished like spazing stars trapped in a box, our grief agape with a horrified crush,
as reprimand, Titus made the Legate sit in a tent with his chopped off ring finger
smoldering like hot sand in the hand of a marooned man aware of error in his plan,
the insurgents had men we called Fox Tails, desperate demons who knew how Hell began,
as a skirmish succumbed to our skill and number they would run into apartments,
dragging the fury of our blades into rooms of Hades revenge, these were fire entrapments,
the buildings would blaze like windowed volcanos, screams salting us with panic linger,
It was not uncommon to discover a missing Brother Legionary
castrated, and decapitated with a headedless eagle carved upon his chest,
don't speak to me about morals and mercy for I have seen and dealt the damage of rude death
hate becomes your Father, vengence your Mother, aggravated murder your cause
when everything you revere and fear merge to make a leviathen of life,
the " Chosen People " of God became the chosen target of annihilation,
Mount Moriah, mansion of Yahweh the Pariah would become capital of Divine crucifixion,
This poem has been entered into the Roman Legion Contest
to honor Ancient Rome and the Poet who sponsored this historical subject.
Copyright © Justin Bordner | Year Posted 2014
Dear Poetic War
I'm here to inform you to change your name to (War Shoe.)
Warlock doesn't even fit you!
I have many ways to insult you.
I have to play nice, can't you see all them evil eyes!
Poetic Warshoe the only talent you poses is the word LOCK!
No need to try and crush what you can not see
All you are is another loser who can't let me be.
You silly jail bird, you sound more like a game of Monopoly
Its my turn and I hold your ticket to get out of jail for free.
Don't worry Warlock, Board Walk is owned by me.
Washing your couplets down with a cup of tea.
I laughed so hard your words almost made me pee.
Warshoe, why are you jumping on me like a little flea?
The only stinger you have belongs to a bumble bee.
Poetic thug you are messing with the wrong killer bee
Sorry I told you I share my fate with Nate!
Go grab some more help from your psychotic mate.
Raid I will spray on your strategies you poetic bug.
You have no class to be a Warlock.
The only thing you master is being a poetic thug.
Go back to playing dominoes, cards, and chess.
Your poetry smells like potpourri.
My demons will hit you with an epic battle of success.
Hunting me is the way you want to waste commissary.
I will enslave you to worship the grounds my feet caress
Challenging me will be the best thing you've had in 5 years.
First I will send you this letter with a small request.
Look down first before you think you pushed me over the cliff.
I own the crown causing massive damage to your quest.
You will never dominate my battlegrounds, I will end you in a swiff.
Your sword will be conquered in my arena, bringing you down to a rest.
I will make you suffer begging for mercy and forgiveness.
For trying to step up to the best.
Warshoe you already failed my test.
In this game you will never beat me at my own contest.
Your heart I won't eat I will feed that to my guest.
Warshoe its time to rip you out of the shadows where you hide.
I will LOCK you in my WAR of hell.
Shackling you in a fetal position as we collide.
Your fear will spread for everyone to smell.
I will end your poetry with no pride.
I will post venom in your abyss through out your cell.
A poison so rough now bend over and open wide.
Warshoe by the time this is over you will bail.
And I P.D. will still have you under my spell......
Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2010
A supreme soldier walks truly alone in the depths of night
he is soft spoken from a life of being so hard that he was stoned until his eyes filled red bloodshot in his sight
he notices what he once thought to be? Was wrong and very far from right
So he asks God for forgiveness from his very own darkness that it may to like his Redemption be shone upon his lost light
He knows its no longer about the bullets in this battle for it is the words in his very own Mind that will matter most in this life among death upon a written soldier's fight.....
Copyright © Travis Lone Hill | Year Posted 2012
[MILITARY PHILOSOPHY]: METTLE IS A BETTER WORD OR TERM!
Might strength along with an image be a concept to consider?
Else, to be strong is considered to be mighty.
Tapping into another’s reserve is a way to achieve an advantage.
The test of fate is allowed.
Like acquiring power from a source of pleasure.
Easy seen when you win.
Inoculate your fortress to be invincible.
Surface your mind to ruminate stratagem.
Absolute absorption of the power you possess.
Be of focus and conquest.
Engage your thoughts and emerge with invigorating ideas.
Trade show your heavy artillery to those you trust.
Take away knowledge to acumen the estate.
Establish an institution of today.
Respond when required even if vulnerability is present.
Wage efficaciously for thorough use of all resources.
Ornate to eradicate poor will.
Ruminate the home front amply.
Defeat downfall and roar once again.
Obstinate for thorough insight.
Resist when in question.
Time efficaciously for thorough use of all resources.
Edify to educate poor will.
Ruminate the home front amply.
Muddle downfall to roar once again.
Written December 15, 2015!
Copyright © Verlena S. Walker | Year Posted 2015
I’m sure you’ve heard of the Great King Arthur and Lancelot’s well-known fame.
But there was yet another knight, of great glory and great fame, never named.
His name was whispered constantly, everywhere, around those hollowed halls.
For no one wanted to be near when he passed by, on his famous unerring walks.
A knight so very gallant, that he would bow to: every fashion of maiden, high or low.
So fierce his life could not be taken, no matter how sharp the blade, they did throw.
A musical quality followed him everywhere, and his livery was absolutely divine.
He would have been the perfect knight, except for one minor, itty bitty, tiny flaw…
What was his name, you may ask, and what led to such glory and illustrious fame?
He was Sir Dragon Sparkle Farts, and yes, you can guess, what earned him that name.
You see, an evil witch, he once did fight, and yes… he absolutely won, most verily.
But before the witch became undone, she sprinkled a curse upon his own, to be.
Whenever others are about, you guessed it, yet again; he had sparkle farts, my friend.
Do not laugh; he was to all, a dearest friend. Tho the trouble caused, was rampant, in the end.
You see, in that time the villages were all made with beautifully made, thatched roofs…
He flew betwixt and between, yet, an occasional spark now airborne, did veer off, poof!
So for the most part he walked in town, though the wheat fields were often, set off.
At least the castle was made of stone, though many a tapestry did not survive, well off.
Indeed, a water bucket brigade, became put at his disposal, simply all the time, amen!
And nobody did tickle him, for fames from both ends, became quite rampant then.
Laughter did, yes, the same… But hiccups brought utter flame throwing despair, to all.
Still he was a beloved knight, so the round table was set to keep his back, to the wall.
The knights all stuck together, thru thick and thin, and yes, even thru his sparkle farts.
But with great sadness: of why such a fierce warrior, could be forgot, I now impart.
You see, his name Sir Dragon Sparkle Farts, did not ring, minstrels romantic thoughts.
Historians, thought his references, just crude, forgettable laughable jokes, The Sots!
But know, when Camelot finally fell, and even he could not stop that inevitable tide.
He flew away, to the great blue North, they say, where with snow and ice, he abides.
Now, young and old, do not be sad… For the moral of this fable holds:
All he did was: for his friends and the Greater Good… He cared not for Glory or Gold.
Copyright © Carol Eastman | Year Posted 2013