When the Flowers of Youth Fell
Winter stayed late that year
courting Spring with a fury.
Beautiful gifts of snow
and dazzling ice, he gave her.
It was during such courtship
I found myself lost -- adrift
in a place that once was ....
decades from this century.
Where mud and blood held hands
beneath duty and honour
and kindred flowers fell
to sounds of bugle and drum.
Smoke arose through Spring's tears.
Images of Blue and Grey
pilfered my breath as cannons
rained thunder upon the brave.
How was this happening?
This was not where I belonged!
My time was not this place
and I wanted to go home.
Where Winter courted Spring
and snowmen fell -- not flowers --
upon the muddy ground
as snow reigned upon the brave.
The smell of gun powder
danced about my head and nose
like spirits for the faint --
arousing life ... far from home.
"Get down! Get down! Get down!"
The half-crazed voice plunged me
into the mud and blood
and I lay frozen in fear
beneath his weight ... and the cold.
So cold, no hearts were beating,
no breaths were being drawn,
just the smell of sweat and blood.
The smell of rain and death.
Clutched tightly in his pale fist
a tattered blood-stained note
bore the words, "Please ... for
I tried but could not scream.
And, I felt daylight passing ....
As shadows took the brave,
Winter's folly tamed sweet Spring
with final coats of snow ....
and snowmen fell -- not flowers.
Copyright © Deborah Burch | Year Posted 2013
America the Free ~ America the Brave ~
Freedom with price Capitalism attacked
the many taken hearts broken still
one World try to rebuild
sadness and tears fall hard with fears
guilt by association many accused still
souls evaporated shattered dreams
tears fall on innocence left with anger
The proud fearless knew the inevitable
policeman fireman many lives lost
grieving does not stop 12 years later
New York city once proud & shameless
refusing to let fears in protecting ours
left in shock still question's unanswered
nothing learned nothing gained
ready to attack many left behind
anger greets denial anger meets rage
unacceptable still refusing new love
wanting days to rewind let us go back in time
acceptance allowing the victims leave in peace
the brave taken young leaving us sadly old
haunting dreams lost spirits dwell
no answers to hate never forgetting that day
Evil entered suddenly unforgiving fate
entering our City we stand with the fallen
How to fix how do we Change
This can be read many different ways ~ This is a poem I am so proud to write ~
Copyright © Shanity Rain | Year Posted 2013
In my country,
Seeing smoky sky
But Killing kids kills
Me everyday, every minute
No matter with
Or lightening rockets;
It is being our daily habit
No more choices:
To die or but to die
Silently without even a whispered Cry,
Or a small bit of a registered grave;
It is happening now just in my country!
Copyright © Bassam Aljasem | Year Posted 2012
On purple flamed wings
Crosses and crescents
Knights and swords
In the mist of a weary mystical night
I saw her lying there, chest broken and bare
Picking her up, horse galloping away
We escaped the arrows and swords
She my sworn enemy lay half dead and splayed
My duty for not to tribes, but only to save
Slaved to the sword, this moment I escaped
Both bloodshed and grief
Freedom at last
In a hut in the forest
I dressed her wounds
I caressed her heart
Our eyes met over the firelight
I emptied myself into her
She, with lips so sweet
Drained the flood of tears and hate
From my very being
Shocked that love should strike me as an arrow
I held her, my first and only love
For three days and three nights
We whispered to each other foreign words
I touched her face and as she touched mine
In my arms she died
Softly and loved
I buried her
I buried my hate
I buried my sword
I buried my history
I, at peace
For the final flight
I held love within my arms
For that celestial moment in time
Now the final embrace
Wrinkled and old
I kiss deaths door
She is there to greet me
Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2016
Marquees bright, and neon lights, where crowds line up for movie night
We're holding hands, we're in 'The Strand', red velvet carpets guide us in
Popcorn smokes, .. drinking cokes,... cracking jokes with Bing and Hope
Lamour's along, in her sarong,... With luscious lips, and cigarettes,
She fills ashtrays with smoking tips, and tosses guys like poker chips
'Movietone' intrudes with news, which puts us in somber mood
Third-Reich goosesteps march again, ... an evil presence in the wind...
Cary Grant , (a news reporter), loves his girl, and his typewriter
"His Girl Friday", plot is witty, sometimes crazy. But Cary loves this ditzy lady....
William Powell and Mryna Loy..., Asta barks, and finds a toy, ...a ploy? a clue?,....
...an earring gold. The mystery is clearly solved.-- A crimson sun, is rising cold!
Movietone in black and white,... graphic scenes, where soldiers die
Another night, suspense on chart. 'Correspondent' , Joel McCrea.
Saves Lorraine, and claims the Day. BUY WAR BONDs !! They'll pave the way
Bogart, Bergman bring to light, a valiant flght , within their grasp
Airline ticket, in her hand, they must part, and do what's right, no questions asked
It's movie night, but you aren't here, a troopship took you far from here
Allied troops are moving tanks. I wait for you..God give me strength
I'm in the Strand, within the dark, there's no one here to hold my hand
I'm all alone...........I heard the news....................You left it all in Anzio
For Contest Chopped III Sponsored by Craig Cornish
Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2014
I, a Red Skin dog, as some may delight to call me,
I have heard the tales of horror, from my dark skinned foes.
I have heard the tales of terror, from others who became my friends.
And I have walked with a dark skinned woman of their tribe.
We walked in the beauty of her courage, together. Tearless.
Tearless we both were as she spoke, for tears, only gods could cry for her.
I am a Red Skin dog.
And yet we walked together and we talked – together, fearless,
I and this swaying ebony sapling, sprung from the roots of my foes tribe.
We talked of the pitiless reality of that life she left behind, of that time
That she has left, far, far behind, like a useless scar
That has toughened over. And made her stronger.
I learned from this daughter of my foes
That true courage is never fearless, but always stronger. Victorious,
Stronger she was by far, to this Red Skin dog
Than the thousand sons who died, in her honor. So they say. Ridiculous,
But I have heard the balance of their sins.
And for all the tales I have heard from those angry young men, and their vengeful fathers
Her horror was a thousand times more sinister. A thousand times more callous.
Horror took up residence in her home but never in her heart.
But for others, I cannot speak.
“…splinters and bursting fragments…in my mind
Ai! Tearing! Memory of tearing flesh, swallowing tears and mucus, blood and bile
…bruising and ripping garments…off my body
…filthy, familiar hands tearing at my dress…
…my legs split and broken like a wild pig slaughter, my screams smashed from my lips,
With the butt of a rifle, just used to kill a Red Skin dog…
Aieee! Clean this floor mama, mop up this spew!
It cannot be mine!
This child is not mine!
It is not mine! It is the devils own creation born in hell fire!
Born in my death!
Aieee! I am dead, I cannot be alive.
I am dead and the Red Skin dogs have eaten my corpse.
Those spirits in their wingless chariot flew over the land and sea, to rescue me?
Rescue me from that black devil who said he was like Jesus to me.
I thought you were my uncle-brother…
Who else could have found us here?
Hidden away from the Red Skins and their Wingless Angels.
Only you my uncle-brother
Only you could have found us
Only you could have killed us.
And now the progeny of your evil deed suckles at my breasts
As I lie dead in the home of those Red Skin dogs you fought.”
Copyright © Michael Dom | Year Posted 2013
Sleepless eyes stare absently through the battleground.
Clean and neat clothes in fatigued bodies
Momentarily grouped as they drive towards their goal,
The scenario which will decide their fate.
The rumbling in the motor stops.
For some it is the undeniable duty,
For others the obligation they are inevitably bound.
The light cleaves through the soldiers’ faces
As the vehicle’s door opens and their moment comes.
Feet splatter mud and grass as they aim for concrete
The soldier marches at ease on friendly ground
Searching for vital weapons before it commences.
Tools which will write their destiny,
Calculate and measure their achievements.
They hear news from different soldiers
Of battles that were, and battles that are to come.
The ringing of bells summons them to battle
And time which was disregarded beforehand,
Freezes as they engage in battle after battle
In the greatest war of all,
The war for wits.
Copyright © Timoteo Neves | Year Posted 2016
This is where I come to cry....
I hold my breath, my mouth is dry
with dreadful words too hard to tell
This is where I come to kneel
The grave where flesh and stone and steel
lie fused as one
A shrine to mourn and shed our tears
and pray for peace
to One who holds the earth in place
The sound of pain blows in the wind
I lift my eyes up high, to Him
and, there I see where dark wings flew
We did not know the world would fall
It came to pass where there is hate
we learned too late to change the end
The smoke will drift as new winds blow
Where does it go, those waves of war?
No one knows ....the time, ..the place, or when,
but it will come, and that is sure
once more with shores to seek and scores to keep
....and then, and then, and then, ....
more will weep!...Will it be here... will it be there?
Will it remain, on far off shores?
Or at our door?
War for them, and war for us, and one by one, and on and on, it goes and goes
The rush of wind to win the race, of war and pain.
And war remains to gust again. Again again...to rain more tears
How will it end...? The end of man...? Is that our fate...?
Bow down the heart, for man has made a rule of war
Bow down the heart, for man has made us fools for war
Will sun and moon and stars look down, and look for proof ...
of why the world went ......poof ?
Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2013
On sunny summer mornings
the myriad markers gleam
and shimmer dreamlike
in the distance.
Visions from the stillness rise,
but only of the past,
for in this place,
time has come
to sudden end.
Glimpsed on headstone faces
in plain and shallow font
are etchings of their names.
Forefingers trace the course
of letters and summon memories,
suddenly vivid, of the fallen—
perhaps the only form
of resurrection most alive
will ever know.
A place of buried treasure this—
of ones revered and honored
who would unlock secrets of the mind,
give us cures for all disease that
we might live a thousand years
and summon knowledge beyond imagining.
Yet we have robbed ourselves of such,
for all these gifts lie with them interred;
their honors go unclaimed.
On headstones too are symbols carved,
emblematic of their faiths, for
we would have our deities
compete for attribution
until the soils of all the world
run red in honor of Their names.
Yet in the end our Gods are
much too small, dwarfed by
mankind’s boundless vanity.
Copyright © Mark Peterson | Year Posted 2016
Jerusalem, in the white of night,
with all the ages steeped upon your shoulders,
and the tombs of fading kings;
history has been unkind to thee,
and the desert sea laden with endless enemies ----
thou shooting star who shawn too bright! ----
how wan the dying rose with Mecca roaring in the wind!
how it whispers a new witchcraft....
A new shackle the zealots bring, on hallowed ground....
where angels fear to tread, lest they spill blood,
like the lot of man, the rockets shall bring peace, they say!
and from the east the Palestian, crushed like grapes in a winepress,
betwixt Hebrew and madmen;
'O Jerusalem, how the Lillie's lilt in thy wan shadow,
how the purge of men shudders to hear your final breath....
no sun shines on thee like a risen Christ;
no banner he bears but love,
no weapon formed but wisdom to silence paranoia;
lay down your swords, and he shall rebuild thee in three days
you old arrid hero,
who needs but the nectar of peace to heal thy ancient bones,
an old name whispers on the wind.....
Copyright © Keith O.J. Hunt | Year Posted 2016
I sat beneath a Veteran-oak,
In awe of His strength—
Here was a solid spirit!
Sympathy you get from Willow,
But stiff upper-lip from old soldiers,
With forged bark —
His limbs flexed, cut, rippled against the wind…
No chinks in this warrior-wood…
“Divide and Conquer!”
Then I thought of my Father—
A cook at the end of the war—The Big One!
You know the One I mean, as if there are small ones—
When the commanders were through eating
He was instructed to toss the leftovers
From the belch of plates—
Trashcans were in the alley,
The steel that seems intrinsic to battles
In one form or another—
The hungry German children
Would sneak pass the guards
My father would sneak pass his superiors
And his honor
To dispense carefully wrapped scraps…
Well, soon the line was out into the street
As my father was compelled to seek food
From wherever he could steal, beg or barter
To procure—This brought attention—the cat-out-of-the-bag,
And all hell down on my father,
As the captain screamed: Gus, these are the enemy (the children in the alley),
What in God’s Name are you doing?
He was forced to stop—no Court Marshal though…
I looked up again at the old oak,
Through the snarled branches
Deep into the staunch soldier,
Where I spied a nest
In a small, compact fork—
Having a canopy of extra leaves
For shade and shelter from the wind—
His bark reddened, but like my father, no apology from this weathered soldier…
Copyright © Joe DiMino | Year Posted 2016
Stepping past the crater towards your door,
I am reminded of warm days
surrendered in flowery abandon while
brushing against cool veins of
leafy promise, requiring only the slightest
compassion for the flow of life.
The scope of our crusade sings bitter,
like absinthe in a Fanta bottle;
tangs of anise and wormwood persist
within ether's truthful vision
resisting factory flavors in a curtain,
velvet reminders of flesh.
Lap your moistened shape. You dissolve,
my expectant sugar cube, no longer
made jagged by expectation or campaign
but fragile again, doughy in
blissful rapture upon my snacking,
curling up in a fetal calm
until we flow once more with the surge
propelling us entangled yet
unencumbered, finally breathing our
amniotic potential within this
spiritual umbilical making my stomach
spin within these tugs of finality,
despite my carpenter's heart yearning to
mend or create. Do arrogance and
industry compel mankind's devastation? Such
a question drifts unanswered as I
kiss your wrist before strapping on my boots
to hurl my blood into the fray.
Copyright © John Weber | Year Posted 2009
Copyright © Brian Strand | Year Posted 2017
People say that love never fails,
That all is fair in love and war,
But really, how do you know,
What love can or can not do?
And if all is fair in love and war, then
Why does someone always end up getting hurt?
I know my love will never fail,
Because I love you with all my heart and soul,
Because I would give my life for you,
And everything I am or have just to be with you.
However, I can not be fair to all
Because all is not fair in love and war.
I wish to hurt no one, so I don't,
But by doing so, I hurt myself.
My heart wants to be with you so much
And yet I wish to hurt no one.
So I don't, I don't confess my love for you,
I keep it locked inside,
And as a friend I stay by your side.
My love for you remains forever pure and unchanged.
I love you, Yes, I do, with all my heart and soul,
With all that I am and hope to be just for you.
My heart untamed and wild, dreaming of what if,
But it's cut in half by the love I feel for both.
My heart belongs to you but only half,
Because I gave the other half away to him.
Now I suffer for my love, for both are great,
But only one, I wish I could be with forever.
All is not fair in love and war,
So I love you both and suffer much,
Because my heart is wounded, torn in half.
I can not speak of my deep love for you,
I can not confess my feelings to you.
So I go on with my life pretending nothing's wrong.
Why must I go on without your love?
It's faith, I guess, that I suffer so.
It's destiny to love you so.
Copyright © Elizabeth San Miguel | Year Posted 2006
War is easy than dating
Others kill with no bullets while losing arguments
Conventional queens know electrified attractions attract war with no pause
A stock of lip sticks run dry dialogues in a desert of heartbroken love pupils
Piece of hope rented with no peace but trusted snipers
Spoken words do fool around with bait for cake
Sold in gossips sipping wine, chewing gums and over baked lies with no trace
Wood and axe chopped lies connecting humans like dead chickens
Words always turn into constructors building long distant promises
Sello-tapes brake endlessly aiming to redesign human connections
The adhesive virus chewing feelings braking easy like pencils
A virus moving across eye sites in spider web styles
celebrating homicide medals
My spoken words needs no dental doctor
I toothpick my words before all spoken
word leftovers are served to innocent infants
My words dilute strong wet tongues of hope
From toes to goals amplifying muscled dreams guarded by eyes of owls
Abusing definitions of sex in vernacular
Well guarded needles love injecting
pissed off moods between two countries playing hard to get
He crosses genders to impress the oppressed family matters
She pukes pregnant proof of impatient promised poetry
Photo shopped smiles activate countdown minute bombs
Click click time tracking clicks clicking clicks and sperm bombs
Trousers unwrapping guilty conscious
The sickest spits in less than six minute pleasures after night gigs
Time tracking suspicious flings
Hospital beds are made for injured insecurities and wheel chaired emotions
Transported by sirens from ambulances of greedy
A gasoline for vengeance
The art of love painted by departed affections above
all intellectual scribes
Windy arguments will forever toss tornadoes of
cheating slogans on the devil’s bible
The art of love and zips unzipping free ships for donated suicide spits
The art of love and zips unzipping free ships for donated suicide spits
© Raymond Ngomane
Copyright © Raymond Ngomane | Year Posted 2014
The manipulation and control of the masses
Is a world government agenda and constitution
Newer technology and the information computer revolution
Are powerful weapons to spread evil deeds and even more pollution
The slave masters crack the whip the rich get richer
The poor poorer powerless aboard a sinking ship.
Out of manufactured chaos
Comes apathy and fear
Making nations easier to control
And sell their souls sometimes unwaveringly
Blind to the powers that be commands.
Propaganda to gain support for wars
Bank crashes like never before
To take our money
And make rhe rich richer
Government leaks and lies spread to cause hate
And justify what the powers that be create.
Puppets on strings controlled by the powerful who lurk in the shadows
The real rulers of the world never seen
Ruthless greedy evil and mean.
For those not blind with open mind
The jigsaw puzzle slowly fits together
Piece by piece and the bigger picture is released
The truth they'll never be peace
The snares are their so take care
Open your eyes free your mind so you can see
World manipulation and subliminal brainwashing in your own home
Through the media and TV.
So many good people in the spotlight have tried to warn us before
And tried to revile the truth and the secrets
But were silenced and found dead on the floor.
Peter Dome.copyright.2015. June.
Copyright © Peter Dome | Year Posted 2015
I am winter's nemesis.I fight it tooth and nail.
In my youth it declared a war on me.
When I licked that icy rail.
Winter has many weapons to choose from.
Fear not for so do I.
A call my shovel Excali-burrr
My Ranger has four wheel drive
But winter's arsenal is no laughing matter
Icicles sent to impale, and black ice is its deadly device
But the human spirit is not that frail
I am winter's nemesis, and though it muffles all sound
This war is raging with bitter disdain.
My driveway the battle ground
I shall not relinquish my parking spot
to your mindless rabble of flakes
So bow to me you wretched season
For I shall never tire.
and my staunch ally will soon be spring
and together we will force a cease fire
For I am winter's nemesis
And these walls shall not be breached
Until my tour of duty is done
and I retire to Miami beach
Copyright © Joe Inca | Year Posted 2011
You may see me out on the streets
Lying curled up in a foetal position my sleeping bag in a shop doorway
Trying to get a few hours sleep here in my latest home in cardboard city …
I never stay more than a few nights in one place
can never really settle; these streets aren’t safe
You may see me out on the streets
I’m sitting on the cold damp pavement with an empty coffee cup in my hand
Hoping for a coin or two so I can have some real food in my aching belly
Still you hurry past, trying to avoid making eye contact…
Believe me, it’s so degrading rummaging in the litterbins like a wild animal
But some days it’s the only way I can get any food to eat
The biting cold and wet weather is my worst enemy
I can never get warm even when the sun shines
This is no life, just a way of surviving another day
Guess you think I’m a waster, a dirty tramp
You walk on by; judge me without knowing what lead me to life on the streets
Bet you think I’m a druggie or an alcoholic
I guess most people seem to think that
They see my filthy clothes, straggly hair and grey beard
Just five years ago I was like many of you
I had a career, a beautiful wife, and two lovely children
Spent many months away from home fighting for my country
But then I got sent to Afghanistan…
I saw scenes no man should ever have to witness
I was traumatised
Forever suffering flashbacks of the faces of those innocent people
The children, oh those children – made me think of my two boys back at home
I couldn’t cope any more, had a total mental breakdown
I was a broken man …
My wife could no longer deal with the mood swings , the erratic behaviour
The Army did little to help –
discharged me on health grounds, then basically abandoned me
Now I’ve lost everything … my wife, family, my dignity
Many of the people you see on the streets are like me …
We all have a story to tell, but no one gives us the time of day
Passers-by avert their eyes and hurry past like we are invisible
Your eyes may tell you one thing… but please don’t judge me
Because you don’t know me
Premiere contest #7 Sponsored by Skat A
Contest Any poem meaningful to you
Sponsored By Broken Wings
Copyright © JAN ALLISON | Year Posted 2015
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
~My True Story 16 Years Of War~
!6 years of living in fear every minute, 16 years living with barely
any electricity,water, food,hurt from humiliation standing
in line for hours to maybe obtain a loaf of bread for my children,
some days due to lack of water, we would shower from the pouring
rain on the roof,and for us that was a good day.
The fear of being stopped at a barrier from the militia, and if they
decide to kill at the time, we would have been a good target,
agonizing each day not knowing when a lost bomb would
penetrate our roof tops,or bedrooms,running down for shelter
at our neighbors first floor home,sometimes days in the same
clothes no food,not even a drop of water,as we could not move
from the hilarious shelling,bullets aimed at us the innocent who had
nothing to do with politics and war.
We lived without once hearing a siren so we can run to the
shelter,nothing indicated where the shells will land,we had
sometimes to cross the street to hide in our church,or other
gatherings to escape the guerillas.
The only way to know if I can go to work and kids to
university,was listen to the radio just to guess which way
was safer to drive,many times over the years, bombs landed
not far from my car,had to leave and run underneath it
as a protection,my eldest son was once kidnapped for 3 days,
once the banging on our door so loud, they came to take
my children to fight with them, because they lacked
men on the field.
Days I would arrive late to work due to the bombs.
My fear progressed as I was doomed and sensed disaster.
In summer we had no air condition due to no electricity,
in winter we had no heating,days we slept with our winter
coats if we were not already in the shelter,16 years of war
we slept awake.
My strength out of love to both my children,they graduated
my eldest became an architect,and the youngest became a
Had to send them away at a very early age,left alone with
my husband at the time. My duty was fulfilled when they
A happening that happened during that war,was my secret
for years and years,I hid it,I kept it alive inside of me,not to
allow anyone discover how I died and lived only because of
my love towards my children,I was hiding for years,now only
something stirred deep in me,a voice,begging me to come
at peace within myself,is the only way to write it down,as
enough is enough,no details,I will write,none to ask what,
why,when,who,only the rape happened,my spirit and soul
agonized,now I am a free woman.No more tears, no more
Today in a new country of freedom accepted me 25 years ago
as a political refugee, I am very happy, my children are safe,
As we did survive 16 years of a major war in our country.
Freedom is so beautiful,feeling safe having showers,eating,
variety of food,getting a heater to remain warm,air condition
during summer,driving with no fear,walking with a sense of
freedom,it took us a while to return to normal,
the truth became beautiful due to the transformation of our
inner spirits,living in the depth of darkness for years took
sometime to regroup our inner souls to run far from darkness
and live into the light again. Free At Last.
7 September 2014
Copyright © Therese Bacha | Year Posted 2013
Copyright © Vincent Rossi | Year Posted 2012
I cannot presume
To tell anyone
What a warrior is.
Nor do I claim
To embody any
Of his qualities.
All I offer here
Is a collection
A warrior is
A state of being;
Are mere props.
The only weapon
He might possess
Is implacable resolve
In the face of
A warrior's language
Or internal dialogue
Has no allowance
For the phrase,
All the same,
That are just and
Those that are not.
He determines the
Character, as well as
The time and place
Of his battles,
Investing himself utterly.
And he remains
For those who would
Bring their battles
Yet a warrior meets life
On its own terms
With no delusions
Of bending it
To his own will.
Self-pity is a
Yet he has compassion
For the weak; he never
Places himself above
Others, for how can he?
All this being said,
And human nature
Being what it is,
His greatest enemy
May yet be none other
Copyright © Roderick Molasar | Year Posted 2015
Urgent Call for Love
The evil axis has been burning
Who rules the land? It’s now very vague.
The second son must get out of old Al Sham
And meet the hungry jury in The Hague
The puppet is hanging by his last string
And the judgment day is sure to come
Forty thousand martyrs will be singing
As they join me in my urgent call for love.
The war machine is pregnant and is bloated.
Money births an icy, rigid son.
He grows up in the muck of all this madness,
It arms its addled brother with a gun.
In my world, war is not an option,
Let’s end the chaos with a silken glove
Murdered angels soar among the heavens
Please join me, in my urgent call for love.
I’d love to build a mass market dart board
With mug shots of the Senators and House
I’d load it on an App and shoot the darts off
With the quiet, perfect clicking of my mouse.
How can these servants bow before their master?
When Moses had already freed his tethered load?
Make them testify before the one judge
And answer to our urgent call for love
Some years ago a scholar lost his lectern
Because somebody stole my vote away
He spoke his truth in defense of climate
And was told let’s fix it later, not today
When the perfect storm came a calling
It blew our measured lives and hopes astray
My Mother, here’s an olive branch and white dove
I surrender to the urgent call for love.
The pleading skies and rivers, they have warned us
Their voices rose to wail their tortured song
The veins of life, they have been all corrupted
And darkness has been blinding us in fog.
Insanity bathes in its make shift chambers
It soaks in a vile and filthy marble tub.
Please join in my call for our salvation,
I am humbled, in my urgent call for love.
Brenda Atry 1/1/2013 copyright pending
Copyright © Brenda Atry | Year Posted 2013
The season's first snow
just a dusting but enough
The kids and dogs
delighting in the
new found flakes,
not too cold yet.
On the other side
of the world
the day's first drones
The kids and dogs.
but no one
not too cold yet.
Revised 9/8/2014; first written soon after 11/09/2001. I changed a specific county to 'the other side of the world' and 'missiles' to 'drones', but not much else has changed.
Copyright © Dave Will | Year Posted 2014
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
There is Nothing to Say About It
There is nothing to say about it
No words to describe it at all
There are no words at all to describe
the mass slaughter of innocents,
the relentless malignant progressions of
the evil black-moving cloud of terminations,
the toxic metastasizing ooze of outright annihilations,
the blood-gurgling regurgitations, and
the blood-spurting decapitations.
There is nothing to say about it.
Nothing to say at all.
No words to describe
the hopeless piercing cries of the infidels
the whimpering terrified pleadings of the condemned
the silent gasping inhalations of the dying
There is nothing to say about it.
No words to describe it at all!
My heart at 62 years has not seen anything like this at all!
Never anything like this at all!
I have not seen this outrageous slaughter before at all!
There is nothing to say, except…
These are the days!
The days of this unkind hour;
the days before the great onslaught!
Before this massive earthly descent to the lowest places,
the smelly dank places,
the rotting miasma of the dead places.
There are no words to describe it!
There is nothing to say at all!
Copyright © stark hunter | Year Posted 2014
Enemies of the peace
Are not consecrating the life
Tampering with the nature
Crucifying the childhood
On the sidewalks
Burying the chastity
In the brothels
Killing the light
Before coming the dark
Enemies of the peace
Adoring the wars
Kissing the poverty
Dreaming with the famines
Clapping for catastrophes
Enemies of the peace
They want to uproot feelings
To extinguish the flaming longing
In the hearts
And burn the growing yearning
In depths of humans
Enemies of the peace
Robbing the dreams
Jailing the tears
Deforming the colors
Crushing the flowers
Turning off the hope
Enemies of the peace
Not knowing the love
Not appreciating the values
Not believing in the peace .....................
Copyright © Naji Almurisi | Year Posted 2013
As it unfolds, labeled cold, a wall confines the innocent
It looms of iron, bricks, where stones
are thrown and rifles aimed
to claim the hopes of those intent
to breech the sniper's scope
Risks are grave, if they should fail
and graves mound high, among the brave
Outrage cries, games commence - incident or accident
the game of spies, U know why-- a U-2 flies
against the grain of do or die
A chessboard filled with stakes so high,
they may enrage a fist to rise in wars against democracy
Labeled cold, …but hot as hell
pawns are played, and deals are made
Men sit alone within a cell, restrained, until a deal is tossed
Lines are crossed, a bridge is crossed, and breaths are held
for lives of men. Like ransomed gold
they are played, and waged as if a game of chess,
where consequence is life or death
and peace depends on games of chance
2/25/16 Inspired by Contest: "Pick a Theme: Bridge of Spies"
Sponsor: Craig Cornish
Resubmitted For PD's contest:
100 in a ROW contest -- 11 PREMIERE number 2Poetry Contest
Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2016
I’m standing in the gap for children everywhere.
Wandering this world of sin and doesn’t have a prayer.
I’m standing in the gap for soldiers everywhere.
Fighting an earthly war and dodging bullets everywhere.
I’m standing in the gap for the families that are lost
So their souls will turn back to God
and they will come boldly to the cross.
I’m standing in the gap for my sisters and my brothers.
We must stop this war of hatred
And return to loving one another.
I’m standing in the gap for all of my fellow poets.
That your minds will be strengthened and
Your soul will be touched.
I’m standing in the gap for everyone who says pray for me.
I will intercede for you friends. No matter what the need.
I will pray for your protection all through out the day.
I will pray for your healing and the increasing of your faith.
I will pray for guidance as you go from place to place.
I will pray for His love, Mercy and Peace be with you this very day.
I’m standing in the gap for Ezekiel 22:30 says..And I sought for a man
Among them that , should make up the hedge, and
stand in the gap before me for the land, that I should not destroy it:
but I found none.
I Am Standing In the Gap….
Patricia Monteiro this one is for you. Inspired from-Who will save the Children...
Copyright © Mary Duhart | Year Posted 2007
The world's grey. Slowly, methodically,
Feathers from colorful birds have been burned.
Sheep in a fog on a snowy mountain.
One man thought uniformity equaled
Superiority, ugly furor.
Their ashes floated down all around us
There's no color left in this sooty world.
Beauty's palette swirled with color beckons.
Diversity screams for a slight foothold.
The heart just whithers in colorless worlds.
APRIL 23, 2016
Word count 62
Copyright © Cindi Rockwell | Year Posted 2016