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Best March Poems

Below are the all-time best March poems written by Poets on PoetrySoup. These top poems in list format are the best examples of march poems written by PoetrySoup members

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Details | March Poem | |

An Evening at the Home

Written: March 5, 2012
Updated: March 11, 2012


Listen to nurse's report including the news 
that Joe and Wilma like each other.

Check all rooms and find that Roger is out of his bed
and down on the floor again.
  (Hip not broken yet.)

Answer Wanda's light to calm her justified paranoia 
because she knows that she is somewhere other 
than her home but just can't figure out where that is.

Answer Jeremy's light to help him sip his water 
while he giggles at his favorite T.V. show.

Accept his thanks and feel your heart break again to see a 
45 year old man who can no longer control his limbs be so 
appreciative of such a small act of kindness...big act of kindness.

Check on Jack even though he doesn't turn on his light 
because you hear suspicious noises coming from his room.  

Help Jack to bed after you find him swatting an 
imaginary fly with an imaginary fly swatter.

Try to re-position Emma so that she is comfortable 
even though her limbs are fetal-position frozen.

Kindly lie to yourself about her comfort so that you can 
control your guilt when leaving the room.

Go into Jackie's room when she starts her usual screaming 
that "she doesn't want to be here, and her family hates her 
and that's why she's here."

Kindly lie to her and control your shame because you know that 
what she is saying probably is true.

Answer ex-model Mabel's light and listen to her story about 
how she could have married Groucho Marx, but that she married 
her true-love instead.

Feel a sense of sad pride when Anna proudly explains to you 
how she keeps track of her day by tracking her activities as she 
would have for patients when she was a nurse.

Keep taking care of and giving these people (not patients) 
love every chance that you get.

Gail's notes: Portrait of Joe and Wanda is the sequel to this.  To protect the privacy of those who have lived before us, the names have been fictionalized, and the events semi-fictionalized.

Details | March Poem | |

Forever Radiant




Radiant hymn's   of morning sun
of Godly words   O' how I run
to and fro
I traipse in search
in love I rest
still      my spirit yearns  

I will sing of the Lord's great love
forever...
forever..
forever...

I hear the call    upon the hill
in shallow breath    my heart lie still
O' trial O' fear
I march ahead
I call my king
on Zion's perch

I will sing of the Lord's great love
forever...
forever..
forever...


To proclaim    everlasting     the prize
onward and bestowed to rise
O' anointed one
I march ahead
in love I rest
each day of toil   

I will sing of the Lord's great love
I will sing
forever..
forever...

forever... 

O' how I bear   in my heart
in completion   just    to be a part
with sinful flesh
my spirit cries
I call my King
to shun desire

I will sing of the Lord's great truth
I shall sing forever
forever...
forever...
forever...

Amen......

_______________________________




Contest-Larry Cohen's Masterpiece 'HALLELUJAH.'





Details | March Poem | |

March Goosebumps

See how the wind's of March bluster, torment; they break boughs and chase the fallen leaves. Oh hear, the frozen garden bed's lament, as twigs across the way skate 'cross the pond. And, do you feel the goosebumps through your sleeves and the chill of daffodil as it responds? The buds which bend, wind burnt, forlorn, attend The wild wolf wind nips at spring's fragile tips of infant green and willows which transcend as they with golden blossoms grow rows high. See the forsythia limbs, they bend and whip but soon they'll dance beneath a clear blue sky See how the wind's of March bluster, torment, the buds which bend, wind burnt, forlorn attend.

Details | March Poem | |

March

March

Sweet, bitter March,
last year tears haven’t dried out up 
till now and yet you
are already at the door,
knocking lightly!

Sadness is still flapping over my head like
a frantic goose, what have you brought with you
to silence its primordial honking?!

I can see your hunched silhouette against the wall
Of my waiting, standing awash with shame,
wringing your empty hands desperately!

O' March , anniversary of tears and smiles,
Memories are pacing around nostalgically, sniffing
the withered roses, leafing through the pages of books
trying to put the haphazard leftovers of a once
beautiful image into shape…

The hurricane that accompanied you once
has subdued, leaving behind a nerve-tearing silence and
a deracinated life!

Don’t wonder; rootless hopes are still roving
over the corpse of a long dead dream, taking
strength from the ever pulsating stars…

March, March , embracer of birth and death,
the breath of eternity has abandoned
your rosy-cheeked child..
The resonance of its happy giggles are
haunting the vacant hours of night, sending me
reeling of longing!

Its face emerges from among the clouds of years, an angelic
Vision imprinted on the face of a mourning moon!

Details | March Poem | |

The 'Undred an' Fifth

The 'Undred an' Fifth is the greatest o' Britain,
They charge like the Royal Marines;
They'll shatter the shock, and they'll 'old like a rock,
On nothin' but pork leg an' beans.

They march by the mile, an' they step 'er in style;
At 'ome by the land 'r the sea.
They'll fight like a lion, an' die for the tryin',
For nothin' save crackers an' tea.

Aye! the 'Undred an' Fifth is the best in the land;
They 'ave trampled the gates o' Chardaux.
Brave for the fight, they 'll sail to the sand,
An' they'll march till they meet wi' the foe!

The 'Undred an' Fifth, yes the best o' the best;
They 'ud conquer the ends o' the world.
Not taking a rest, they are game for the test,
Till the Jack o' the Brits is unfurled.

The 'Undred an' Fifth is the greatest forever;
They'll cross any line in the sand.
When others 'ave failed, an' the reg'lars 'ave bailed,
Then the Fifth o' the 'Undreds 'll stand!

They stand in a rank, an' they march in a file,
They 'ark to an ol' rusty sot:
They serve for the Queen, as they camp o'er the mile;
They're the greatest that Britain 'as got! 

~ Inspired by Kipling's "Soldier an' Sailor Too".
~ See About Poem for more.

Details | March Poem | |

IN AN UNKNOWN GRAVE HE LIES

This is about a man whose name is Jesse
Born In Kansas and raised in Missouri
 Was called to fight for his beloved country
And  assigned to defend an outlying territory

Jesse fought as hard as any American would
For freedom and democracy he did everything he could
For Uncle Sam, even in danger steadfast he stood
Believing in his heart that everything will turn out good

He was with the Death March in Bataan
But he was helped to escape by his special someone
Josie was the name of this special woman
Who walked along with the March since it began

It was in the territory that he met Josie
A woman whose dad was from Cincinnati
The two fell in love cause they had chemistry
They had their first child in nineteen forty three

In forty four he was again captured by the Japanese
He was already sick cause he caught a disease
Was taken to a prison camp and placed under lock and keys
In the end the harsh conditions led to his demise

Josie tried to look for his grave but failed
She couldn't do anything and in sadness she wailed
There were reports that he died in the hell ship as it sailed
But to get proof to the true cause of his death we have failed

Jesse died in January of nineteen forty five
Stories about him that Josie told kept him alive
In the heart of his descendants his memories survive
Love for him in their hearts continues to thrive

But every time I go to bed and close my eyes
I see his face and think of the truth that I despise
My whole body stiffens and I get as cold as ice
Sadly thinking that still, in an unknown grave he lies

NOTE
(For my grandfather US Army 2nd Lt. Jesse C. Boak of the 33rd Infantry 
Regiment, who was declared MIA in WWII. His body was never found and true 
cause of his death was never known.His name is listed in the Tablets of the 
Missing at the Manila American Cemetery and on a Memorial Monument at the 
State of Missouri
Grandpa even though I never got the chance to really know you I will always be 
proud of you-JEB)

                                                           JESSE C. BOAK
                                                           2nd Lt. US Army
                                                                1917-1945
               Awards: Silver Star, Bronze Star, Purple Heart with 2 Oak Leaf Clusters


Details | March Poem | |

March Madness II

There is another March Madness
and it also happens every year,
there are shouts, cheers, and tears...
I wonder if you can make a guess?

The fans - they dress in all sorts of wild gear,
and there are office bets placed all around;
the brackets are made and are NCAA bound
and no Madness is the same from year to year.

Can you guess what this thing I rhyme is all about,
or are you like some that really don't care?
But watch and you'll see some amazing air
for basketball fans - March Madness carries real clout.

Now I know this isn't about the blues,
but I wasn't in the mood to make you sad,
so I wrote this piece, I hope your glad...
the March Madness cure - Basketball shoes!



For "March Madness" contest sponsored by Carolyn Devonshire.





Details | March Poem | |

In the Face of Death

Entry for the contest: World or War: Viet Nam
Author:  Elaine Geroge
Inspired by:  the Picture of the soldier’s 
carrying their wounded comrade through
the Viet Nam Jungle.  In this poem, it is
the soldeir on the left.

~~~~~


I dream of heaven here on earth,
where I walk in meadows green,
in the Blue Ridge Mountains, of Virginia
beside a mountain stream;
where rainbow coloured - wild flowers, 
swaye upon a breeze;
and leafy emeralds blossom,
on the limbs of lofty trees.

There in those hills where I was born
 ‘Heather’ waits for me; 
my love, my wife, I see her now
in every breath I breathe.

And I dare not cast my eyes 
 upon this grim reality;
here in Viet Nam,
where thorns and bards on gnarled trees, 
hold me in this hell- hole, 
in an endless muddy stream,
filled with blood, and sweat, and tears,
and victories broken dream.

And I dare not free my hands, 
to wipe away these tears I cry,
I can not! I must not!  for if I do,
 my brother dies!

So with every single beat, 
of this patriotic heart,
staring in the face of death, I march -
I march through Hell, 
And dream of Heaven here on Earth

~~~~~~~
Author:  Elaine George
Written:  April 17, 2011
Awarded:  4th place


Details | March Poem | |

5th of march, twenty eleven

August's aura arouses...
Arresting alluring angels
so blue, blissful & bright.

Details | March Poem | |

As Time Goes on

The days of March are dark and drear.
In April rain clouds still appear.
By May the weatherman we cheer,
And June is here, and June is here.

July brings forth the perfect rose.
In August we take off our clothes.
September we must don our hose,
And summer goes, and summer goes.

October the cool breezes blow.
November brings a hint of snow.
December time is all aglow,
Bright gifts with bow, bright gifts with bow.

In January a deep freeze.
Small February is a tease.
Bold March once more will try to please.
Time to plant peas, time to plant peas.

6/18/13

Details | March Poem | |

Greens-REBIRTH

GREEN, GREEN, GREEN!!!

My name is Jade Shamrock Green.
I will not eat one single green bean.
When I get mad, I turn green!
I am wearing my favorite colored green jeans.
Hypnotized by the Irish color green.
Not every green path leads to a flowing stream.
I lay on the frenzy grass so warm and green.
I won a jackpot of green.
To visit the Green Mountains in Vermont is like a dream.
My eyes are shaded green.
My jealousy comes in the color green.
I diet on green veggies that are lean.
The Green Bay Packers are my favorite team.
I believe all frogs should come in green.
It’s a family gift to carry a green thumb gene.
My garden has the greenest life I've ever seen.
Lemons are yellow, but limes are green.
Not all Irish believe in wearing the color green. 
My plants in my greenhouse sway with good self-esteem.
I'm the jester who wore a green beret for the king and queen.
The unripe sour apple is moldy green!
Flicking me a green bugger is gross and mean.
Why do all leprechauns wear color green? 
Not all clovers have three leafs of green.
Green is the middle color of the rainbow team.
Good Luck, Care Bear's charming eyes are emerald green.
My favorite color has always been green, green, and green!
This is all about wearing green on March the seventeen.



:-) Happy March 17,

Details | March Poem | |

Hold Me For A Moment

You held me for a moment
For just a moment it would seem
It seems like forever ago
Although I could never remember
Remember those warm-filled months
Between March and November
November was the end
The end and a new beginning
Beginning of a new season
A season such as Spring
As Spring would bring new life into the world
A world with unreasonable sin
A sin as lifeless as Autumn
(Autumn to some called Fall)
Fall, when he would fall
A fallen angel,
An angel gained
Or gaining a loss?
The loss of a day,
The loss of a life
A life that would end as the day turns to night
The night always dark
The dark calls for closed eyes
Eyes that await the promise of a sunrise
And so the sun would rise
But some still remain asleep
A deep sleep they will not wake
Wake me up from this dream
Dreams of an untold story
A story was cut short
Shortness of a heartbeat
A heart with no beat
Better count your blessings
Blessed life-long lessons
Not to lessen the longing
But I still belong to him
He smiles upon me all day all night
The night, I am used to days without light
A light grip, a solid hold
Hold me so that I don't fear no end
End this yearning, hold me for a moment again

Details | March Poem | |

FAREWELL, CATHERINE

On Sunday March thirty two thousand fourteen, my sister
lost her grim battle to cancer, she was much younger than I;
nobody would believe that she fervently prayed while waiting to die...
who gave such strength to endure pain, if not her faith of believer?
I stood by her touching her forehead to offer some consolation...
she tried to smile, but was overcome by pangs of desperation. 
  

If horrid fate had cut abruptly her life, prayers provided endless comfort;
and accepting death as a relief from suffering, she cherished that thought!

  
Farewell, Catherine...even the March gloomy sky cries
to express its ample sympathy for someone with moribund eyes!
A treasure you have left: gems that gleam as the eternal stars,
and each one of them reflects the gentle smile of your shining grace
that everyone saw when you opened those warm arms...
and by loving everyone, you taught us the meaning of an embrace!   


Farewell, Catherine...find joy in that celestial place above the earth's sphere,
there happiness is heard through songs that praise glorious love, not fear!  


We'll remember those delightful moments you shared with us...
when joy shone on a face that did not know the bitterness 
of tears! Yes, they are imprinted on these weeping hearts
as the words of Virgil who commemorated the brave souls 
that accomplished great things never forgotten by fleeing time...
isn't your story of indomitable courage for us to read and admire?

Details | March Poem | |

Christmas In July

The sun shines so bright in a cerulean sky, As Christmas spirit comes in great surprise; People now in all walks of life, Happily enjoy the moment once in a lifetime. Go shopping here, go shopping there, They all buy things needed to cheer; Everyone joins the spectacular parade, With big floats and motorcades. It is still July but Christmas is magic, It comes on time when we least expect it; Day and night, people are rejoicing, Helping one another in all undertakings. Still skeptical on what is really happening, But colorful lanterns and ornaments are now seen, Christmas lights even sparks in shimmering splendor, Hang in houses, on window sills and doors. In open houses have some special gifts, For anyone who would wish to drop by for a pick; Some are simple wrapped items, And some are sweets or delicacies on plates. Everyone keeps busy but doesn’t go frantic, Christmas in July is a real fantastic; A special event which now lingers in the memory, Because it is our Town’s First City Anniversary!
Note: Our town turned to a city. Date: Aug. 8. 2012 7th Place Winner Contest: My Favorite Poem Contest Contest Judged: 9/7/12 12:00:00 AM Poet Sponsor: Joyce Johnson Note: This was my entry in the contest with a theme, Christmas In July Magic. I’m dedicating this poem to my town Candon City, although the anniversary is not really in July. I just kept the theme of the contest. Moreover, my dearest mother and favorite aunt who are both celebrating their b-days on this month had inspired me to write. The real Town City Hood and Foundation anniversary: The anniversary of Candon City Hood is every March 28. Candon became a city in March 28, 2001 thru Republic Act 9018. Candon City hood was authored by then Congresswoman Grace Singson during the 11th congress. Foundation Day is March 25. -more info were from Mr. Jun Balbin.

Details | March Poem | |

A belated welcome home

Written in 1981 after attending a Viet Nam veterans welcome home parade.

They march in step without a cadence call
and wear old uniforms, if they still fit,
recalling days when they were standing tall.

Five services, they represent them all; 
a few in rolling chairs, required to sit.
They march in step without a cadence call.

On their parade a somber rain did fall,
but these were warriors not inclined to quit;
while some men heard the drummer not at all.

The flagless streets and silence they recall;
now greeted with a smile instead of spit.
They march in step without a cadence call.

On skeptic ears polite applause did fall,
for causes lost, but not their part in it;
while some men heard the drummer not at all.

The tears for those who died will ever fall
belatedly, a candle now was lit.
While some men hear the drummer not at all,
they march in step without a cadence call.

Details | March Poem | |

BULLETS

BULLETS!
If there ever was a time in the history of human, It is now that one’s being is bound to civic duty impost. He or she is a loyal citizen of his or her nation. Intensify is the fortress bond of armory and strength. Through our faith and courage, our minds and our heart have engaged vigor. Dynamism is diversification via structure. What is seen is statement beyond repose via strategy. As we discuss the militant way, we centralize our thoughts To suffrage in other nations against dogmatic methods. Systemically approached the right to vote interposed by Illegality of the election booth intervened by Bribes and other means to destroy equitability. What is seen is statement beyond repose via strategy. Impartiality is an assured plus of unanimous. Political leaders aboard focus on a suppressed nation Through their views on enslavement and incapacitation. For sure, this is the Putin’s views of the Ukraine orders retain. To incarcerate through tenets of rapaciousness is cruel. Therefore, what is seen is only a system of beliefs. The Ukrainians must remain free to be at liberty. ______________________________________| Verlena S. Walker Penned on October 02, 2014! Form: Decapentasyllabic Verse

Details | March Poem | |

Rat A - Tat- Tat

Rat a - Tat - Tat; Rat a - Tat- Tat the drums did roll and beat the men in their uniforms how they stood so tall and trim and neat, by ranks and files and squads they stood with weapons, packs and flags the flower of our nation's youth did march to the drummers' beat. Rat a - Tat - Tat; Rat a - Tat- Tat off to the wars they marched with waves goodbye, and speeches of pride they marched away while their loved ones cried. Rat a - Tat - Tat; Rat a - Tat- Tat While one could question the wisdom of war no one could doubt the soldier's scars, war after war they were sent... and bravely wherever sent - they went. Rat a - Tat - Tat; Rat a - Tat- Tat The drums did roll and beat the men in their uniforms how they stood so tall and trim and neat, and off to the wars they marched to the sound of the drummers' beat. Rat a - Tat - Tat; Rat a - Tat- Tat In battles they won to keep us free but not without a price for victory. They returned from places with names so strange but some returned to a different beat, with a slow roll, slow march - mournful and sad they brought our loved ones home again. To a grateful nation they gave their all without a whimper or complaint they saw it all and returned from places far away battered and scarred - but free. Rat a - Tat - Tat; Rat a - Tat- Tat Soon the sound of drums were heard and leaders did call again... with struts and speeches that sounded so grand off our youth were sent with a band Rat a - Tat - Tat; Rat a - Tat- Tat. Dedicated in loving memory to all who served.

Details | March Poem | |

It's The Simple Things

I remember the days they were born
Both in March, cold and rainy yet we were warm
Me a new dad and my love a new mom
Not knowing what to expect, trying to be calm

Jarret was the first, it was March 25th
Time seemed to linger, our long wait was no myth
But when he decided to take his first look
We both cried at our miracle, as if from a book
It’s the simple things, oh… the simple things

The next time we were old hands, but still a little scared
Wondering how it would turn out, our strength shared
The doctor and nurse seem to show no worry
When that heart monitor slowed down in a hurry
But then Anna came so quick on that March 29th 
Our surprised little doc, still had her sweater on tight
It’s the simple things, oh… yeah, the simple things

The years go by fast, as everyone says
Somehow you don’t pay attention until, there it is
The first time he and I walked to our fishing hole
My buddy and me, him carrying his little pole
Jabbering away about the big one he’d catch
Me hanging on his every word, knowing this moment would be hard to match 
It’s the little things, man I mean the little things

She was a cute little bug, always holding a kitty, puppy or such
She with her happy heart, I love her so much
The first to make friends with whomever she met,
Her big brown doe eyes are hard to forget

The next thing I knew he’s taller than me 
With a voice as deep as the old man in the sea
His single word answers to questions left me craving more
It’s tough on a loving dad, but I know the score

She sings, oh.. how she sings wherever she goes
Our happy heart may someday star in the show
Later I pick her up and hear how the game went
Just listening to her joy, me ever so content
It’s the little things, those simple little things

I’m sitting in the car, waiting for school to abstain
‘Cause I don’t want him to have to walk home in the rain
He jumps in, looks at me and says, thanks pop
You know I love you, and that’s non-stop

It’s life’s little things…just these little things
It’s life’s little things…just enjoy the little things..

Details | March Poem | |

THE VERDICT

Copyright © 2013
07/17/2013

Skittles and a soda
against a gun in its holster?

One day that scream
will be known as a teen
not a heinous lying Fein

What a sinister ploy and twist
with a loaded gun and no fist?

Had everyone sitting and waiting
doomed by a verdict just delaying

Was this just an optical illusion
or, a devious planned conclusion?

Now, this generation too afraid
wearing hoodies will get you dead

But, the Klan was still glad
hoodies they've always had

A verdict they too saw,
ushering in martial law


by: LP
edited: 7/30/13

Details | March Poem | |

Super Moon: March 19, 2011

Contractual agreements with publisher caused DELETION

Details | March Poem | |

Tea and Poetry in the Ides of March - PART ONE


Beneath a misty veil of ‘Euphoria’ by Calvin Klein, she dares to dream of acceptance in a world of wanna-be Literary Giants who are members of an elite writer’s group, as she drives along a winding road studded with potholes smaller than most of the ones that have rutted most of the roads she has traveled in the past—

Potholes created by a harsh environment that made it impossible for her to move in a straight line. Potholes so big, that at the age of 16, they forced her to detour from University Row to the foot of King in Saint John, New Brunswick, where at the end of the road, she found a way to earn a living working in a tea factory; where her ring finger was nearly severed as her dreams of a better life gushed red streams, high into the air with every beat of her heart.

Where through the eye of a needle, her life hung by a thread, a life-line that pulled her back from blackness as pain radiated in that pulsating flesh, as those rough edges were forced back together behind a fence of snipped, spiky, black barbs (remnants of that thread), left to remind her there was no escaping from the foot of King.

Yet she was grateful. 

Grateful she had survived.

Grateful she was able to return to work the following day to operate a machine that required using her feet instead of her hands.

Grateful  she still had a job and a roof over her head after the door to the place she once called home locked her out and left her to lie in a lumpy bed in the seediest part of the city in a dilapidated rooming house with all the luxuries a minimum wage could buy.

 It was winter and the room was cold. 

With her can of stove-oil having long-since gone up in smoke, she put her coat on and pulled the thin bed-covers over her. 

In the gloom,  she saw a ray of light (a small white slip of paper) lying on the rickety nightstand (a doctor’s prescription) yet unfilled that would have to wait until next payday. 

 Eventually those black barbs were pulled out, one by one, from their crusted, ***** pockets, by a doctor who told her not to be such a baby as her screams ran out into the waiting room. 

She relives these visions, as she has a thousand times before as she rounds the bend on Regional Road 45 that runs between soggy mud-clad fields covered in pig manure from where a willow weeps tiny green leaves in this record-breaking heat of March. And she wonders how something so beautiful can grow from something so ugly. 

And she knows why the willow weeps as she contemplates this strange phenomena in the Ides of March and chooses (like Caesar) to ignore the warning signs. And like the willow, she bends in order to follow the winding road; her hands gripping the steering wheel until…

The wide shank of her wedding band (designed to cover the past), catches on the thick, calloused scar tissue of her ring finger, reminding her again of who she really is. 

 And she asks herself, how she dares to dream of acceptance in a world of intellects, when the truth is she never even finished high school.

But she did graduate from a Bookkeeping program at Vancouver City College, when she was 22, and took all those night school courses while she worked during the day.  

What about all those correspondence Law courses she took when she was in her thirties (graduating with honours) and the night courses she took while  working in an insurance office to become a Licensed Insurance Broker? Surely they must count for something? 

 Yes! But you didn’t graduate from University; no prestigious initial follow your signature, and the only Master’s degree you can claim is ‘A Master’s degree in Disguise,’ says the little voice inside as sweat begins to leak through the foundation of the Revlon mask she wears today in an attempt to cover the thin skin these intellects will otherwise surely see through.

“But I have proof I am worthy of their acceptance,” she replies. Sitting there on the seat beside me, in my briefcase is my self-published book of poems; some of which have won International Poetry Awards and money, some that have been published in other books and magazines. Surely that is enough.

Up ahead, an enormous metal, hexagon-shaped, red flag wearing white letters says STOP. She stops and looks in all directions and, seeing no danger, crosses the point of no return to an afternoon of tea and poetry with what she hopes are birds of a feather.

***
CONTINUED IN PART TWO...

Details | March Poem | |

like diamonds


two hits and i’m hanging off cliffs, listening to water

drip.

watching moss fall like snowflakes.

nothing holding my heels down but gravity, irrelevant to me.

the little girl exploring the ocean floor, the caves that once held entrancing treasures.

even tactile pain drives me into a gust of euphoria.

my heart beats (slower than it should), but the trees don’t mind.

the four shades of green blend to create a forest-

with each exhale, branches move in tandem.

and a salty tear falls from my eye,

reminiscent of what once was here.

Details | March Poem | |

March Fourth

I was born on March fourth, 1983.
But, I believe I was born, to march forth.
What I mean is, I was born to never give up.
To never quit.
To keep trying.
To walk my own path.
To keep going, no matter how dark my days get.
To continue on, no matter how bleak my outlook is.
To keep my head up, even when others look down on me.
I am tough, I am strong, I am a survivor.
I always was, and I always will be.
I will never stop reaching for my dream.
I will never stop going forward,
even when my shoes have worn out.
Even when my socks have torn to shreds,
even when my feet are broken and bleeding.
Because, I was born on March fourth.
To march forth.







Written by: Kelly Deschler

Giorgio V.'s contest - "Impress Me With A Small Poem" - motif: epic

Details | March Poem | |

March of the Barefooted

When Suns are young and we are born
Not needing shoes to kick the womb
A maze of mirrors, gates to the unknown
Erects us tall blinding hearts with hopes...

And we pretend we know the way
Although  there are so many lefts
The rights are few, we change our shoes
The thickness of the Soul.?..depending on the distance...

"I close my eyes, my boots are tearing flesh alive
I have to walk and cry for miles and miles
There is no turning back, the lefts are few
Straight forward? Bullets... Upward? An eagle and the sky...

I fight a desert that's not mine to quench the thirst in few"
A maze of foggy mirrors shatters rhythmically in  echoes...
And sons were young when blinded by uniforms and pride
Their stolen boots walk now eternally......for miles and miles....






           




Details | March Poem | |

They March - Home at Last

Resplendent in their uniforms
Led by the band of bagpipes and drums
They march - home at last

The musicians in their uniforms of tartan
Playing " there was a soldier a scottish soldier"
They march

Proud faces of white and brown
Looking happy without a frown
They march

The police stop the traffic
For these brave men to march through
They march

The people cheer their soldiers home
Welcome home they shout to them
They march

Some people care not and push their way through
Forgetting the trauma these lads have been through
They March

Its Glasgow and The Scots Guards are home
George Square will never be the same
They March

They have been in afghanistan
Fighting for what, for something insane
They March

Helmand Province has been there home
6 long months in No Mans Land they roamed
They March

Remembering the ones that have died
Came home earlier in a box instead
They March

Welcome home lads . We salute you.
Home at last


Link to video of the march through in Glasgow

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JVxb2dXCXTY