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Mother War Poems | Mother Poems About War

These Mother War poems are examples of Mother poems about War. These are the best examples of Mother War poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

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Details | Rhyme | |

Why the Rose Bled

Parents so proud Four sons they raised From the Highlands of Scotland In the pre-war days On their crofts they worked Morning till night Unknown to them then Of a future fight The Germans have invaded A country so free Poland was taken The world shaken visually Britain declares war As our men enlist To rid the enemy As the fighting shifts Europe's engulfed In a feverish war Many are dying To comprehend what for The four brothers Sign up to fight As a mother will pray Every night Campaigns they fight In these theatres of war Witnessing horrors Never seen before In their garden at home On the family crofts A bed of roses With petals so soft Then one day With a passing glance A pink rose dripping red In deathly stance Their mother turns To the gate she looks Telegram in hand From the postman she took With trembling hands She opens with care Upon reading the message In tear laden stare Their eldest son In Africa was lost As many many others Deaths global cost Every day As she passes the rose It's pink petals bloom Her tomorrow's fear grows .


Details | Rhyme | |

My mother, my earth.

Into the light I see,
with rays in clouds and warmth in me.
Brittle is the air around,
no voice is there, nor sweeter sound.

Within my scars and broken back,
there are my kin, there love I lack.
The oceans turn, therefore I weep,
Is it truly my tears to keep?

Now the mountains begin to fall,
like sand and dust to death they call.
I hear my children bleed and cry,
there bellies thirst and almost dry.

Some will seat and eat there fill,
"lets help them now, so now we will!
His mother would find pride within,
a pretty thing this life of sin.

Alas, my days are almost through,
my breath, my flesh and heart is too.
Let this be my final song,
for war alone is for the strong.

Into the night I see,
is there still love left for me?


Details | Verse | |

I'm Going Home

,

Lord thank you for this life,
As I have lived a full life,
It was not always as I would have like,
But I lived it to the best of what I could,
I’m going home; Home to the place I want to be,
I’m going home to Jesus where He waits for me,
I have been a long weary believer, 
As I’ve been away to long,
I now know what I’ve been searching for, 
As He's been there in me all along,
I’m going home; Home is the place I want to be,
I’m going home to Jesus where He waits for me,
I have been and seen lots of places in life’s journey,
Now I yearn for familiar faces in familiar places,
I hear familiar voices calling me to come home, 
I see familiar faces looking at me,
I’m going home; Home is the place I want to be,
I’m going home to Jesus where He waits for me,
My time is near, the hour I know not,
I see Jesus' face across the Heaven’s,
I hear His soft sweet voice calling me home,
 I can’t wait for my real life to begin,
I’m going home; Home is the place I want to be,
I’m going home to Jesus where He waits for me.

By; Rev. Samuel and Esta Mack, OMS
Copyright 2011

VISIT US AT: http:paladinnews1.blogspot.com


Details | Lyric | |

Solipsist

Let the Deicide commence.

You're a voyeur at best!
Your vampiric heart is beating out of your chest!
And you have slayed the ones whom would love you for anything less
Ready to consume the final fragments of innocence,
And for you there is no forgiveness,
On your knees pleading, screaming to a tyrant in the skies;
The father of lies.

I will never be enslaved in your superiority
The people agree: jaded of your false dichotomies.
Know: I will be whomever nature intends to be
Apollo and I will share our dreams,
and you will be forced to see
your failure!

I know who you are...
Readily the first to present your scars
Chained by some despot or mental czar
An emotional homunculus in your mind, behind bars
Reluctant to escape - even when proven fake
Your demented mind - depths no one will penetrate!
 
...And you see me suffering
Not caring of any casualties
Just as long you recieve your safeguard of sympathy
So very wary of the masses and their Anarchy; Liberious ways

Solipsist - Is there no one you can see?
Even if she was presented burning?
Solipsist - Is there no one you can believe?
Even if Sophia was screaming?
Solipsist - Know you have killed and abused me
Imprisoned in your own  personal reality 




Details | Couplet | |

What Do I Know About Being German

Born American, sixth generation of great-grands all German,
not much liking sausage or sauerkraut, English speaking all the way,

except the Germany of my ancestry was fought over and broken
so I’m a bit of France, Germany, Poland, Hungary all the Holy

Roman empire, dissolved down, fought over, egotized, horrified 
and remade Into some new state where English is as common as German.

We share a love of flowers in the face of cold and rain, I drink less beer
and wine, meet up somewhere, anywhere around the world on a beach.

From my parents and grandparents, I know to serve up too much food
seven sweets, seven sours and drink and whirl the night away to a band.

Hardworking sorts, unafraid of a little dirt, loving dirt, the turnover
and young sprout brought to fruit, wearing overalls and then washing up.

To sit before a pressed linen table cloth, served up on the finest china,
the cha in my father’s name, the uff da, and other exclamations.

The morning rosaries, the blessed churches where we give thanks for all good
and the setting aside of pride while we work together to make our food.

Sure there are aprons for cooking. Shorts for summertime. A dive into any pool.
What do I know of being German, not much, it's just somewhere in my roots.


Details | Free verse | |

The Old Salt

The Old Salt was a special man who came along in a time
when he was needed most.

A time that is now gone forever.
When men believed and sacrificed, when hero’s walked the earth in mass.

When patriotism was not just a word
but,
by what men lived and judged the worth of each, 
a man who lived a life most of us cannot comprehend. 

An era now gone as this warriors tour of duty ends at this station, 
and begins anew in the heavenly fleet. 

Sail on Sailor into your unaccompanied tour,
we salute you.

What greater honor, that when a man moves forward, 
he leaves behind in each of us the best of what he was. 

A defender, protector, supporter, victor, a warrior, 
the last of the breed from an era when ships were made of wood
and men were made of steel.

The Old Salt has reported for duty that takes him away from us for now. 

Those of us who remain behind,
remember, and will continue to remember, 
because he now resides forever in our hearts.

As I look up at night, I envision The Old Salt,
a beret draped just above the eye, 
as he draws upon his pipe, 
quietly he waits.
The guardian of heaven’s gate.



Details | Dramatic Verse | |

The number the brand

When I met her , a very old lady she was , yet inside lay a frightened child .
I felt my heart cry , I felt as if I was touching history itself , as I made this older lady, child,  chai .

I remember the day , and so many tears I have cried
I have cried before she and I met 
As a child , so many tears, left confused inside .

Not understanding Why , and how could we stand by and live our lives as if this never happened ?

It happened , we are left in dismay of the movies seen the accounts taken of History 
My self ..I have caught stereotyping the very people whom did this to she , the rest of her Family erased .


The white candles we light , we try and forgive , or just simply block this pain out completely.

It occurs , over and over , as it has been said History will repeat .
When thinking of my children , when I think of that little girl losing ,  cold and scarred , feeling only defeat .

There is a lesson here and I pray , that all whom have been taken from life , have no pain and are gifted spirits throughout eternity . May they be warmed with love,  and reunited with the ones they lost .

The first time I met her , her old hand I took and warmed it with mine , I held it for a long time . 
You could not,  but notice ..the Evil imprinted on skin , the Evil only to remind.
This very old Soul , in her eyes you could see . 
The child that once lived , so innocently free, not aware yet,  of the Hostility .

I speak of a Little girl, I speak of a old woman , I speak of a Jewish,  chosen Religion.

There as I held her frail , old hand  , a brand , a number stamped in Evil a long time ago .   In 1945  , once in our distant, yet Frightening  past . 

We should never forget , never forget it happened , never forget all the names .
If we do , we have learned nothing , A World living in Shame .
                                " Etta Babooshka Kofman  "


Details | Free verse | |

A Mother's Prayer

I kneel in front of the alter praying the rosary and asking Dear Jesus our Father to keep my sons protected while they’re serving their country to keep us safe. A son in the Navy, station in Bahrain in Desert Storm. While the ship is in close fighting and providing navel gun support, the men are inhaling the smoke of the Kuwaiti oil fields fires. Saddam Hussein ordered the wells to be blown up and set a fire because he knew the war was over and he didn’t anyone else to benefit from its riches. While the oldest son is stationed in Washington making bombs to support the bombing campaign in Kuwaiti.

By Eve Roper 11/12/2014



 


Details | Free verse | |

10 Little fingers 10 little toes 2 little eyes

10 Little fingers 10 little toes 2 little eyes everyday they save a life.
Every day she will arise to go to work 9-5 flipping burger's and dunking fry's.
10 Little fingers 10 little toes 2 little eyes everyday they save a life.
Every day hold's a new surprise from those 10 little fingers 10 little toes and 2 little eyes.
one day shell realize 10 Little fingers 10 little toes 2 little eyes are not so little any more.
Those 10 little fingers get bigger and one has a ring on it.
Those 10 little toe's get bigger no longer barefoot a boot on each.
Those 2 little eyes no longer so little looking strait up the middle ready for combat.
10 Little fingers 10 little toes 2 little eyes everyday they save a life.
Her 10 Little finger's 5 little toe's 2 little eye's finally come home.
and like I said 10 Little fingers 10 little toes 2 little eyes saved Their life.


Details | Rhyme | |

I Hate Aunt Floe

NOTE: This poem is a humoruos stab at PMS from a mans point of view

I can see your blood boiling
through  the blades I once called eyes,
they were once beautiful  like jewels
now they hurt my deep insides.
cutting at my guts
and like a noose on my  lungs;
your words seek like bullets 
your mouth like sniper guns.
I’m hit with each inaccuracy…
Being killed by words untrue;
and you even got the nerve
to tell me what you think I do.
But let me get mad
and try to plead my case;
then suddenly the world
is a f--ked up place.
You got tears running down…
What the Hell did I do?
We were just sitting and laughing
I could swear that we were cool.
Oh God…
Oh no…;
I should have seen it… 
It’s Aunt Floe…,
This battle can’t be won or reasoned
I think its best I go.
Cause I hate Aunt Floe 
and she hate me too;
she sit and talk sh-t
about the gum I chew. 
The color of my shirt…,
She say my look is a stair;
She say my best has no worth
And she doesn’t stop there.
I didn’t change
I’ve been the same 
these 28 days,
 but now I’m f_ckin A__hole 
Aunt Floe gave me that name.  
She said get out my face 
This aint your home no more,
But I’m more puzzled by 
What was said before.
I love you 
With her glossy eyes 
I knew it was true, 
But horribly sly
You see these words
make me the fool.
The one that’s cruel
That a__hole dude,
That sparked the fuel
To this f__kin feud.
But I swear to God
I didn’t start this sh_t,
Why would I give up my love 
To live my life like in a pit.
 This is horrible sh_t 
Wasted days spent,
On nothing but the worst
I could be bathed in your sent. 
You could be laughing 
While I’m smiling
But Aunt Floe Won’t let this be,
And the only way to make this right
Is hold my tongue  a week.
And that ain’t gone happen 
I’m a person too,
Not soft
But I got feelins
and don’t know what  to do.
Now its been six days
Unbelievable  rage,
She locked herself 
In the room
I call it her cage.
I smell a sent in the air
It wasn’t there before,
Now lookin down the hall
I see an open door.
Is this a trap 
I’ll guess I’ll see,
If I fall for another
 You know that’s dumb ass me.
Curled in the bed 
I think I know that girl,
But where’s the hells Aunt Floe
The one that f__ked my world.
She packed up and gone
Didn’t even say good bye,
Just came wit gang of bullsh_t
And vanished in the sky.
Is that you my dear
Can you please come here,
Listen close and crystal clear…
I hate Aunt Floe
 Next time she here
Make sure I’m stocked
with weed and beer.
I love you punk.  ?


Details | Ballad | |

The big cat roars


A big cat roared in the wilderness,
As the birds fled to the skies,
As the echo's of the thunderbirds
Be drowning out their cries.
As mad, mad man goes off to war,
And young men die 
Oh Lord what for?????

The dark green bird with the big propeller 
Be dropping off some fine young fellows,
To fight a mad, mad, war in tears
As anguished mothers face their fears.
As boys, some dying for leaders pride,
Be forced to thrust their souls aside.

The Romans march they off to war,
They're still with us, and that's for sure.
The Gulf, Iraq and Vietnam
Does anybody give a damn???
About boys dying in the night,
And who be wrong and who be right.?




Details | Burlesque | |

Suburban Spring

Suburban Spring	
(4.15.10)


	Springtime fills the air, 
			like laughing gas.
		(Or maybe more like whiskey.)
The suburbs are drunk on the nectar of it's dawn.
	Middle-class houses 
			are starting to dance.
		(Or maybe they're just wobbling.)
They vomit whole families onto their lawn.

			I watch them the same way dogs watch TV:
				Confused and intrigued, 
		with a slight urge to pee.

	The father cuts grass, 
			like a sleepwalker.
		(Or maybe more like a zombie -
Ravenous for cheap beer, instead of brains.)
	A six pack later, 
			he starts washing his car.
		(Or watering his driveway.)
He's spreading on wax so he's set when it rains.

	The mother kneels in dirt, 
			tending the garden.
		(More like digging in a sandbox.)
Her spade is rusty.  (Figuratively, at least.)
	A sunset later, 
			she cooks family dinner.
		(Or maybe orders some pizza.)
(If every mouth is fed, she can call it a feast.)

			I watch them the same way dogs watch TV.

	The son plays war games, 
			dying for fun.
		(Or maybe more for practice.)
He whines about fruit drinks, as well as the heat.
	A full pitcher later, 
			tweaking on sugar,
		(Or maybe just corn starch.)
the war escalates, 'til its time to go eat.

	The daughter makes a picnic, 
			inviting her toys.
		(Or maybe not.)
(Her plastic spread can only spread so thin!)
	After the tea time, 
			she's off picking flowers.
		(Or maybe weeds.)
(As long as they're pretty, there's a vase that they'll fit in.)

		They gather, as a family, at the table to say grace.
		They hold each others' hands and say, "Amen."  
			(And proceed to stuff their face.)

	The dog sits by the boy - 
			Loyal and true.
		(Or maybe just hungry.)
He drools as he stares from the corners of his eyes.
	After dinner, 
                     he offers to help with the dishes.
		(Or maybe he demands it.)
The boy sneaks him a bite.  The dog is not surprised.

	Bedtime comes soon after.  
			The kids are sent to brush their teeth.
		(Or maybe just to run the sink.)
They put on their jammies, and to bed, they go.
	After tucking them in, 
			the parents watch TV.
		(Or maybe they just dream they do, 
					sleeping in its glow.)

	The dog is changing channels, 
			looking for a better show.
				Confused and intrigued, 
		he pees on the carpet below.


Details | Haiku | |

What People Were and What People Are

People were
Many things.
Strange or not

People were
Different and
Odd and fun.

People were
Monsters but…
That’s not all

People were
And still are
Strange and odd.

People are
People. For
life is life. 

Yet not.
Not is lies.
Truth seeps from

Every mouth
Lies, lies, lies
Move, move, move

But somehow
Lies prevail.
Lies are life.

Lies are death.
Lies are homes.
Lies are pain.

Lies are truth.
Yet somehow.
Truth prevails.

Truth is life.
Truth is death.
Truth is home.

Truth is pain.
Truth is lie.
Truth is that.

Lies will die.
Lies will cease.
Nevermore.

Truth will live.
Truth will be.
Forever.


Details | Blank verse | |

Bloody Observance

We fight this war as enemies
Yet if we threw away are weapons
We could be the best of friends
We would never know

We fight on impulse
With a fear of slaughter and pain
We came face to face
We did not speak
Only our fears fought  

I now stand above you
Then kneel and close your eyes
I have killed you
I search your pockets and find a photograph
It’s of your mother, wife and children
It’s wet
I look closely and see tears 
Streaming from their eyes
I fall and weep in victory

We were only boys 
Who wanted to laugh and play
And stay alive
Only boys


Details | Ballade | |

Sacrificing boys

Sacrificing boys

Do you ever wonder why?
Our leaders take for soldiers
Little boys too young to shave
Why don’t they choose them older?
At eighteen years they’re innocent
And still they want to play
And have their fun with girls and stuff
But then they’re dragged away.

A man matures at thirty years
That’s when full strength he gains
That’s when he has his full resistance
Can withstand all the pain
But they can’t bully guys like this
And bend them to their will
They want boys they can repress
And make them fight and kill.

So they take boys with shiny faces
No stubble growing yet
And force them out to maim and kill
And cause their mums regret
So parents have to mourn for lads
Who’ve had no life at all
As they are sacrificed for war
And beneath the guns they fall.

10 May 22014 @ 1745hrs.


Details | Verse | |

Through A Prison Glass

You came unexpectedly, and i was surprised,
you smiled and placed your hand on the glass and cried.
I leaned my head against the glass and told you i am sorry,
i whisper through the phone line, ill start a new story.

You knew i was innocent but you still didn't believe me,
the only person i thought that would stay by my side but you couldn't be. 
Mom standing by your side and not wanting to talk,
i got really upset that you came at all cause i didn't want to see you walk. 

I needed you, when i was in need,
i was there for you when ever you didn't want to bleed.
I loved you and i cherished you with all my heart,
but before you left your words hit me like a really sharp dart.

You said i failed you,
you cried to me and i knew it was true.
But i needed you to understand me,
but you went your way and upset me.

The glass is now empty and i cant find you even with the fact that I'm out,
i tell you i love you but all you do is shout. 
I've lost you for good this time, 
so i think i have to do one more crime. 


Details | Bio | |

The Man Behind the Mirror

Behind the mirror, the man is seen Where on our streets surrounded, Friends Thousands met cold, untimely death With screamed echoes of souls unrest Bullets flied, guns blasted ceaselessly Children dead in their mothers’ arms Father, for his lost son searched Found him only, with parts cut in shreds. Behind the mirror, was the man there? Our Young children, to soldiers turned Educated only in field of war Guns carried, bigger than they can bear Faught battles, of no cause but fear To read or write, they dared not do But to shoot or kill, well informed they were. The man behind the mirror, how did he rest? Our babies, dead while he sound slept In his glorious, paradise mirror he kept Still offered nothing, but violence more Promised, inflicted upon innocents, murder If anyone dared open their mouths to speak Or, if orders came of his seat to render. Behind that mirror, my freedom he took Our homes Burned; our stores looted Citizens, chased out of a land to love Forced into exile for years so many Adapted to a culture so not ours From scratch, we started to build Until bit by bit, we rose so high above Like an eagle, up up and away. The man behind the mirror, for him I always blame The color so dark, on our backs stained Bruises so deep, forever left to heal Visions of his bloody watch, repeatedly, us plagued Flashbacks of dear ones loved, Snatched, And palmed away by cruel, hateful death With tumbled bodies over bodies All soiled up into one tiny hole. Behind that mirror, the man will always be With blissful look in his red, budging eyes Wishing evil gleefully, with a dark smile His laughter,joy, through my anguish I see My heart beats fast, like a thunder sound And the more my hate for him increase Oh how I wish, that mirror came crashing down Then, a taste of his own medicine, he shall get


Details | I do not know? | |

Woman's Day

Women's Day


wiping away those tears

of the brutal truths of your past

wiping away those tears

your spirit rises up, far beyond your scars

and your strength resides deep within you 

with an unshakeable resolve that shall forever last


...the weakened men whose brute force is so macho and empty 

and that has always been in your face

are now nothing but specks of aging, obsolete rust

flitting past you, for you hold it all together

as you always have 

rising up firm and strong from being shoved into the dust


...you are a mother, a lover, a daughter, a wife, and a worker ... above all a worker you have been

tying the loose ends together time after time

always there 

yet unseen


...a woman you are 

of fibre 

of courage

of being the bedrock on which we trample 

on whose shoulders this world stands

as you continue to work ceaselessly on

with lines on your face

and with raw wounds on your hands

but...

now your time has come

and no longer will you silently bear

the jabs and taunts of men

for now you proudly declare

that a mother am I, a daughter too, a lover and a wife as well

and now the time has come for them to awaken

to the tolling a new bell


...a bell that tolls for you

for you have taken back the pride and dignity that they stripped off you for ages

for now theirs is a lost cause while your battle still defiantly rages

through cities and homes and villages 

and in town after nameless town

for now the bell has tolled

and the time has passed for you

to be ever
again
put down


Details | Free verse | |

Draconian I

[The Cypress Is In Bloom]
The cypress is in bloom
I see the evil, the efflorescence of decadent doom
Eloigning, with thy clandestines of the Dead September's reign
My belovéd Penelope, abscond from the coven so deep, the glades of misery
We must face her in the grove, for arcany, the path we must take
She's in my mind, vaporously,
Lauding with my, dangers and fears
Lie, with ephermelcy's broken truths
Leading me go Cypress, Marigold
Immortally, willows, forevermore
Forevermore

[To Question; To Know]
My argentine silence, your only condonicy 
Ends with such eath
The Mockingbird in me--died
Resting in one ounce, an abundance of shame
With an infinity of joy
Exiled, by the ones, who give all, names
My breath starves for only more
The façade, the veil, the austerity dims with Aquarianlore 
She falls to her knees, why for?
Celandine she will be
Celandine is she

[Bead]
The lair within, free from their causalities of their sins
Shadowy primroses begin to grow, the season will never end
In there I dream to be like you, violet blue, White Flower of Lisieux,
La Fleur Blanche du Lisieux,
So Celandine are you
Celandine are you

[Draconian]
Draconian--Reach for the shadows within
Draconian--Break from The Fallen's Sin
Draconian--Their Empirical lies, only die
Draconian--Reach The Shadows Within


Details | Couplet | |

Why the Rose Always Cries

Night after night, she sits down and contemplates
In her mind she knows her loss, but still she sits and waits

He, her husband, another statistic he has become
Killed in a far away land, another soldiers blood has run

Day after day she's taken back, to moments they had shared
Carving their names on a tree, showing teenagers cared

Through green fields of pastures new, season after season
At fourteen years old they clicked, love was a reason

Whilst she paces their family home, his steps gone forever
Killed in a far away land, another life now severed

In her time their kids will be told, daddy's never coming home
For the angels have asked him to stay, just to let him roam

Memories of their pasts resonate within her mind
For she knows she'll find no other, for he was one of a kind

Outside the window where she stares, under many seasons skies
She sits down and contemplates, why the Rose always cries









http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/loss-6.php


Details | Rhyme | |

Missing In Action

Private O'Toole was only eighteen when he marched off to war.
He glanced back to see his tearful Mother standing in the door.
Across the way he heard the mournful wail of the midnight train,
Waiting to hasten him away from his Hoosier home adding to his pain!

He was deep in thought as the train slowly glided from the station,
Recalling that his Grandpa and Dad had fought in wars of liberation!
He felt a twinge of pride, yet he would miss the love and warmth of home,
Tinkering with his '37 Ford and roaming the fields with his dog, Jerome!

He leaned over the ship's rail watching San Francisco's lights slowly wane.
Like countless heroes before him, he wondered if he'd ever see them again.
The sergeant told him he was taking a cruise to Korea to stem the Red Tide,
And to just settle back, to always wear his dog tags and enjoy the ride!

Private O'Toole was a combat infantryman and was taught to kill.
His unit fought courageously on Korea's infamous Pork Chop Hill.
Artillery pounded them day and night and he fell with an anguished cry!
His remains were never found - they were taken by death's furtive scythe.

His dear old Mother opened the Western Union telegram with dread.
"We regret to inform you that your son is missing in action!" it read.
A Gold Star Flag was displayed by the grieving Mother in her windowpane,
Reminding all of the precious gift she gave the nation in a war so insane!

Placed No. 4 in Susan Burch's "Missing" Contest - March 2012


Details | I do not know? | |

American Heart

America resides within the heart of all Who believe in freedom, choice, voice and opportunity Deny, not, the display of pride within yourself Or else you’d deny pride in this land of the free America, more than land, it’s home to you and me Some dare tread, take arms against and try to squash All that America ever stood for, which is evident to all They fear the freedom, strength and all that’s offered As they know, against us, they would never stand tall And for all their attempts, America makes them fall This 9-11, let us not focus on terrorist actions But, on those Americans lost, that still live in our hearts Remember and honor them by living the American dream Exhibiting the ideals and always doing our part Showing all, America has muscle but lives through its heart


Details | Sonnet | |

Foreign War

I know my son was inside with their dogs
And women dressed in uniforms who held
Their sharpened knives and made my son undress.
This is the way Americans fight war.

Confusing thoughts enter my mind
Combined with anger, sadness. ****.
The Lord, is my child to die?
If it is your will, please end him.

How could the Lord let this happen?
My sweet poor boy and his humility
He is nothing but a toy to women.
This is the way Americans fight war.

My family weeps for my son.
My country prays for their own sons.

-Caroline Youngless


Details | I do not know? | |

Why Should We Live?

Why should we live if we have 
nothing to live for?
Why should we live if we have
nothing to die for?
Why should we live if 
no one cares?
Why should we live if you're
loved by no one?
Why should we live if no
one likes you?
Why should we live if 
no one loves you?

Each day is just a day
Each day is a day closer to death.
What's the point of living?
Some may say none,
Others may say why.
Why should we live?
Tell me and I will think about your answer.


Details | Lyric | |

Halloween's Song

Its your Halloween rave, having your mascaraed
With all your best friends from back in the day
Liz Lauren and Blake and while they're dressed like skanks
I'm on the front line of battle
Howlin like jackle with A real nasty cackle
puttin a razor blade in the sack of Blake's apples
crack in Lauren's snapple
Staddle Liz like mclovin
But I am more like faghole As I babble at her ass
Axe her fast and mash her up like cattle
Sneak back and tackle your dad and put him in shackles
Shove sour patch kids Down your trap and gaggle
Its abominable, so unbelievable
But its inevitable, the end is kissable
I have rattled these kids psyches 
squirming like a centipede, cutting them like celery 
hear their squeamish screams echo in the streets
as the  creepy bells of the chapel ring


I remain a mystery
You'll need nancy drew, and at least 3 of the hardee boys to find what I'm up to
Theres this gloom that looms down in your basement room
Consuming shrooms, enhaling fumes to escape your doom
Witches zoomin by on their brooms makin sonic booms
Quick call scooby doo, but I killed him too
You heard a loud pound cause I cut the fuse so you
Run away to a motel room, assuming your safe
And As you look the other way,
I got my fangs in your veins and stranglin your neck
Too bad you didn't text your friends to tell them who is next
Hmm let me think for a sec. As Hex your boy  rex 
with an incessant twitch, till he is dead in a ditch
Hang him from bunny man bridge
Yo dude turn the lights on
But there's no flip to switch , I have flipped the script
Its bewitched with no miss to kiss
Exorcist with no priest to dismiss the spirit

So the town clock strikes half past 3
There's one last gas before i must sleep
Or i will crash fast if the light touches me
Put on the mask jack, just like the sixth scream 
I need to grasp havoc, till i hear shrills and shrieks
Please back rabbit, these chills aint for teens
As I stick a cherry bomb in your moms exhaust pipe
Run up on you  with nine a knife, and the head of your wife
Its useless I'm the nuisance that's abusive yet conducive
To your fear that I am near So close I could whisper in your ear
Smell the shampoo in your hair Wipe the floor with your tears
And as you look up in the mirror
I'm there ready to smear your blood all over the chair
as I stab you with my spear I crush a coors beer then
Leave you re crops there dead, red spread on the floor
But I hear a knock on the door
Are you okay honey? "Yes mommy,  just got a cold sore"


Details | Rhyme | |

One Mother's Sons

She bore five sons, strong young men,
All volunteered way back then;
The youngest lied about his age
So he could join, engage
The enemies of freedom's band,
Threatening the peace our land
Holds precious. They said good-bye
To fight on land, sea, in sky.

Part of the greatest generation,
They fought the Axis federation.
Many brave men did not return,
Their grieving fam'lies left to yearn, 
Longing to find, to know one spot
That is for them a sacred plot.
Thousands of graves were never marked
Save in a mother's or wife's heart.

Somehow my grandmother's boys were spared;
Death did not take them unprepared.
Safely home came all five sons;
The job complete, the war was won.
But, it's never done for those who fight,
The horrors in their minds recite
Round and round for scores of years:
Price exacted of our volunteers.

July 6, 2014


Details | I do not know? | |

Happy Mother's Not

Thank you mother,
you birthed me,
you nursed me,
you fed and clothed me.

You loved me,
when seems, the word had loathed me.
I'd not want that love in vain.

However this is not your day.

Thank you mother, 
for your support,
and your optimistic sheen,
it's inspiring
and always has shaped the person whom I am.

But this is not your day.

It belongs to the greeting card companies.

Who've robbed another holiday.

Robbed it of all meaning, 
all substance and heart.
Robbed it of it's very soul.

Deformed it,
corrupted it,
chewed it up and spat it,
till it's obscure meanings long forgot;
faded into history, a mother's not.


------------------------------------------------------------------

Dedicated to my mother, whom I love. 
Also dedicated to Julia Ward Howe who invented a holiday meant to end war and poverty.  And to 
celebrate all families.  Who died before her dream could ever be realized.

And...to Anne Jarvis who forced through the holiday, hoping to continue Howe's work and end war 
and poverty and create a better world for all,  only to see that dream shattered as Greeting Card 
companies and greedy conglomerates perverted it's ideals to nothing more then lip service 
dedicated to selling cards and candy.

To celebrate some mother's publicly, while other's have their health care raised and their social 
security stolen.  While single mothers have to risk their health and their lives to barely feed their 
children.  

This holiday is an abomination.  It doesn't celebrate motherhood, it degrades it. Women don't need 
to be celebrated nearly as much as they need a good world in which they can better raise their 
children.  A world in which they can feed their children. This holiday is a Mother's Not and so is this 
world.


Details | I do not know? | |

They Left so Abruptly

They Left so Abruptly

(for the countless South Africans, of all colours, who dedicated their lives for freedom and democracy)

the valiant ones
countless
many known
many more nameless

the truest sons and singers
husbands and poets
lovers and wives
daughters and farmers
workers and sisters
brothers and friends

they left so abruptly
with quiet pride
steely courage
gentle dignity

they left so abruptly
leaving us our tomorrows
brighter
hopeful
filled with promise

they left so abruptly
so that we may breathe
the breath of liberty
the air of freedom
the warmth of justice

they left so abruptly
leaving with us their parting gift

freedom
inkululeko
swatantrata
liberte
azadi
vhudilangi
libertad

they left so abruptly
yet we remember them all
today
in the days that slipped away
and in the many more that we await

they left so abruptly
yet they remain
hewed into our memories
etched in our consciences
engraved in our hearts
they left so abruptly
and yet they endure
with us
within us
now and forever more


Details | Free verse | |

family feud over inheritances im missing from my own life

my grandfather was in a coma
my grandmother was a cripple
my family was excluded from my grandfathers estate

my father was hit by a drunk driver
my father left my brother and i an inheritance
my uncle was the executor of the estate

i havent recieved a phone call from him ever
he wanted me to have a tv, a computer and a vehicle.

my step mom has done this before

a group of people that had a problem with my father even buying me a birthday present
a group of people my father bought all the christmas presents for
that never had anything nice to say to my father about me

i could change the world,
sve the emperor of china from a hostage situation
i could be a torture victom of a drug ring scrambling away in homelessness
and get the big "so what" as they sit in my dads three houses

im not sure why the only thing they wanted me to participate in was cruelty

and shotgunning beer at a funeral party is really not classy


just for future reference when these people make the news


Details | Prose Poetry | |

kindle for the fire

 
This chair has chipped paint.     
Its shadow is long by its side.    
Due to the light pouring through the window    
Slanted only like the sun in the middle of August    
      
Fragments of dust float around the chair    
Like suspended stars, or the pixel points on an LCD screen    
Through the shaft of light streaming in    
Through the heat oozing, and seeping into the pores    
     
This chair envelopes like a warm embrace    
Soft ruby pink cushions impressed:     
Feathers where the cushion is ripped stick to your bottom     
To be annoyingly brushed off    
     
(Like brushing the curiosity of a stranger aside,   
Yet this chair is no stranger!)    
      
The chair’s white coating wilts within the dankest humid air, and you feel it:    
Like the skin you wanted to shed when you first entangled from sheets this morning
     
 This chair rocked my great grandmother and her children, and my mother    
Creaking like an anchored boat on a calm day at sea.     
       
Exposed grey brown wood now soft to the touch unless it is where it splinters   These jagged pieces are small and piercing at certain points    Like the penetrating eyes of a gaze that commanded long ago-   
To take her son.          

For this, the entire chair will be kindle for fire in autumn.    For this is where she sat and remembered.    
     
She remembers watching fire settle on the waters-     
Red and orange arms spreading- 
         
War in the distance is better.           

Her heart was slammed shut and darkly cloaked.    
The blaze after two black holes collide disappearing    
And she was not comforted by the arms of the chair, when war came too near    
This I remember, on this too hot day in the middle of August.