His daddy is fighting in Iraq.
His mommy is fighting tears.
His brother is fighting death.
He is fighting his desolation and fears.
Friends are but a dream
and companions are an illusion.
School is a concentration camp,
but he stands, though alone, in the midst of confusion.
His training school is loneliness.
His milestones are fears, thrust in lies.
His only weapon is faith
and his bullets are soft "hallelujah" cries.
Strength left his fragile body
and he lost the fight in life so coy,
yet on his knees he conquered agony
and I call him the little soldier boy.
Dear Lord Byron
Please don't be upset
I wish to call you George
With affection and respect
The "Destruction of Sennacherib"
I was introduced to your poem
I learned it word for word
As I sat home all alone
You see George the meaning
Is much more than you know
In school I had no success
I was considered quite slow
Empowered by your words
Assyrians coming down
I spoke with true emotion
For once I wasn't a clown
When I spoke of your steed
With his nostrils all wide
Within the deep of me
I experienced pride
Like the leaves in your forest
When summer is green
You provided inspiration
I now travel where you've been
With a pen held in my hand
My destruction I escape
Within my troubled mind
New ideas take their shape
I'm gifted with freedom
Words of power do supply
Whether reading or writing
They provide me with my high
So George, I humbly thank you
You're truly the reason why
I travel within the words
They're the gift that help me fly
I know one day we'll meet
Beyond the gates of heaven
Please reserve for me a seat
The Father of all poets
Will speak in splendid tones
We'll marvel at his spirit
We will feel it in our bones
For poets are connected
In very intricate ways
Time is not of consequence
Our words are a form of praise
As a child when I committed Lord Byrons poem to memory,
I had no idea it was a story from the Bible. Being he was a
believer I wanted to honor both him and our God. Thanks
Monterey, I think this is a great topic for a poem. I also
chose to write in the same form as he had for "The Destruction
of Sennacherib". This was the first and only form I wrote in
prior to coming to the soup. I thank all the poets here who have
helped me grow, yourself included Monterey.
WHERE FROZEN EMBERS STILL BURN
When will periwinkle dreams entwine my lifesong
for prickly winter has blanket me? [Long, ah! so long...]
Has bloody ferns swirl then froze me as falling snow
for acrid critiques cold cloud? [T'was wrong, Oh so wrong...]
Doubts and worries weaken more my weary feet.
But teeming catalysts from a passionate bearing God
activate talent embers, once frozen, to fleet--
Spelling: "TRUST, GO AND START!", smolder revive from above.
Bearing a faith anew, I spread my wings to fly;
walking even over blitz agonizing talk for pry.
Cracking myself from iceberg of fears--
instead, twining myself to God's glory, a clear dear!
Braiding faith and hardwork in cornerstone steel,
spirits afire hope that guards, a powerful seal.
Unfolding gifts from long frozen hearts' embers burn.
mightily restored through heaven's love way turn...
August 22, 2014
***inspired by verses:
Matthew 10:26 -
Therefore do not fear them. For there is nothing covered that will not be
revealed, and hidden that will not be known.
2 Corinthians 4:7-11
But we have this treasure in jars of clay to show that this all-surpassing
power is from God and not from us. We are hard pressed on every side, but not
crushed; perplexed, but not in despair; persecuted, but not abandoned; struck
down, but not destroyed. We always carry around in our body the death of
Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may also be revealed in our body. For we who
are alive are always being given over to death for Jesus' sake, so that his life
may be revealed in our mortal body.
I never knew following dreams could be this lonely,
But up on the hill, looking back, thank God I'm not the old me.
If the tears will fall, let them be;
I believe this is God's plan, follow your dreams.
The Texans weren't supposed to be
Holding the old mission.
Sam Houston sent Jim Bowie there.
Said he had a vision.
Bowie wanted to save the fort.
So did Colonel Travis.
They say when Santa Anna came
Carnage there was massive.
Two hundred men would die that day.
One was Davey Crockett.
He couldn't save the Alamo.
Too few men to stop it.
Santa Anna won the battle,
Taking back the city.
He killed each and every soldier.
Showing them no pity.
Santa Anna was defeated
Outside San Jacento.
The Texans bore the battle cry,
In all my years I've never seen
a face so weathered, yet seldom mean.
A semblance of a younger man
of whom I was the biggest fan.
A tired soul in eyes so hollow,
where he went this kid would follow.
Now he's resting more and moving less.
Is this what's left for God to bless?
Disease and age have beat him down,
yet no one ever sees him frown.
Mortal thoughts creep in as days go by.
What's it really like when we die?
But he won't dwell on that, with time so fleeting,
and his mind still sharp, despite the beating.
No he won't complain, why even bother?
My hero is this wonderful father.
The jumping out of a plane resembles
Right Into the arms of gravity’s demands
That anxiously pulls him onto the ground
As his prevailing destiny commands
No parachute on his back is to be found
For him to avoid the inevitable impact
So he must soon find a way to escape
Before all his hopes are really whacked
Between the plane and the ground though
A distance, short or long, to cover must have
That definitely indicates the length of his life
That no-one, certainly, has the right to halve
The drama of Man has though just started
As he is having no command over his will
But the glory of his indubitable spirit
Makes him stand up and never kneel
He laughs at his own condemnation
And proudly declares: I am here to live
Do not care when my fall will be over
Fear in my heart I'll never forgive
He begins enjoying his hastening falling
As he makes plans a myriad dreams to fulfill
My works, with all his force, triumphantly shouts:
Even when I go, here they are going to be still
Thus Man victorious of life’s adventure emerges
Having beaten all odds and the fear of death
A monument is he now of wisdom and valor
Since never gives up till his very last breath!
© Demetrios Trifiatis
14 OCTOBER 2013
On the bank of oblivion’s river
A soul hastily arrives
Wishing to cross on the other side
Where eternity resides
Has been preparing for the crossing
Since the first day of her birth
But now that the moment is so near
She is afraid of her death
More few moments she is begging
For much better to prepare
Before the Charon with his boat
Her, to perpetuity transfer
Death however is adamant
Since to delay he can not
So he is reminding the soul
That it is her mortal lot
With dread she is now boarding
For the trip of no return
But surprised she is to find
That this is of no concern
As the crossing is completed
And the soul disembarks
On the land of sanctified
This is now what remarks
All worries and all burdens
That she carried all along
When imprisoned in the body
In that place don’t belong
For first time she is sensing
Real freedom in her being
Such amount of love and beauty
This world has never seen
At an instance she turns holy
And with angels she soars
To the heavens of the blessed
Where her creator adores!
© Demetrios Trifiatis
16 OCTOBER 2013
* In my previous poem I dealt with " MAN'S LIFE", "THE CROSSING" deals with what
comes after that! If one has the time it would be a good idea to read both for a
better understanding of the circle of life and death as it is presented here! Thank
Some cat entered my room one night
I thought it was a ghost
It smelled like something had just died
But I must oblige my guest as the host
I turned on the light and there it was
An obnoxious opossum at best!
Whoa! Forget my host duties, cous!
Take the room—I’m an unhappy guest!
I left the house with a shutter
Before I realized I was heavily surrounded
By cats on all sides, up and under
The house they had all just rounded!
In truth I was perturbed on all levels
That I began to realize in horror
That damn opossum had spawned these little devils!
And tonight I must end this terror!
I then ran straight to the kitchen
Aware of the opossum inside
If I give up the tuna and ditch um’
Perhaps I’ll escape this night alive
The persistent cats scratched at the holes
Those buggers—those meddlers!
They could have been thieves—if not trolls!
Their yowls would scare sumo wrestlers!
Worst of all in this dilemma
Tomorrow was grocery day
There were no more cans of tuna
All my fish had swam away!
Somehow one got in
And the rest came barreling through
I ran toward my room to him
The opossum looked so distressed and blue
The little beady eyes pierced my soul
And I knew from then on he was my friend
He only meant to hide from the furry little trolls
And escape a most pitiful end!
I made up my mind at last
And picked up my trusty broom
Come on in—I dare yah tah pass!
Ain’t no feline coming through this room!
Glowing eyes burned with intent
And the yowling grew loud as hell
The little bullies think they can take my guest!
They’ll fly like birds they will!
That night was a battle like none other
A battle I will proudly say I won
I gained the friend of my life—a brother
My pet’s a load of fun!
As much as I love a neighbor cat
They are a little scary as a race
Thankfully a broom will push them back
And put them in their place
My opossum is a sweet little thing
And I protect him with my life
I’ll never judge a critter again
Till actions bring it to light
In a dark corridor
I feel along the walls
searching for an open door
to touch a glimmer of hope before humanity falls.
An ancient sound of crowds cheering rings in my ears.
I see the humble scum by society crucified.
They had blindly stumbled over their fears,
not realising the bloodlust as they excitedly cried.
The reality of this world strikes so cruel.
Good leaders don't change apathetic followers,
for they themselves allow their deceitful hearts to rule.
Their minds are conquered by lusts for darker powers.
I have reached the bitter end.
No longer can I go into this unending night,
yet some are the closed door's friend
while gushing through an open door is the light.
Few find this narrow way.
Many beat their skulls against a closed door
as darkness continues to lead the blind astray
while surrendering warriors find the courage to kneel on the floor.