The creaking of old hard wood floors
Flowers, weary with wet petals stuck to the pot
The absence of dogs barking and cats purring is almost unbearable
My own thoughts ticking by
The familiar smell of food does not waft
There are no lights on
Dust on the chair, the tv, and even my favorite picture on the wall.
The house, almost empty but the language on the walls speak, calling out memories
The presence of her comes close
Presence. Here I am.
In this place I am... I once had a dream,
A dream of sunshine moments and cold lemonade
The dust is now clearing as pictures become bright
Past becomes present and the roads of memories end at the horizon where I also end,
Seeping into the cold dark couch
In this sea of comfort it is an expression of love
for death is not a loss,
but past memories of life.
Copyright © KC Seligman | Year Posted 2015
I do not know?
"Casting down imaginations...." ~ II Cor. Ch. 10 ~
Oh, how you splinter me....
Looking through your looking glass
Portraits of your present and, images of your past!?
You say you see; you say you know; you say you do
But really, you don't....
You sprinkle your sugar; you sputter your spatter
For all of those as yourself, to whom
It doesn't even matter?!
Wrapped in your paper, and wrapped in your chatter....
These monuments and pyramids, of yourself
Your purposeless and pointless, pitter patter!?
Your lines they are divine; your words, they are immense
Yet unto me, they do all seem, void, and teetering
Upon the pretense....
Standing in front of you now; staring into your eyes
You tell me that you do, but, I do wonder why?!
Peering through your window; looking through your glass
Your visions for tomorrow; should your yesterdays
Note: Smile ~ This is a repo aimed at no one in particular....
"Dare You to Move, by Switchfoot; 'Love,' Always," John!:) ~
Copyright © John Rhinem | Year Posted 2010
The October sky is crying,
Pelting the ground with tears.
Remembering the days of yore,
Of when…you was happily here.
The October winds are lonely,
They can no longer caress your face.
They grope and moan across the prairie,
Yearning…your warm embrace.
When you left us that August,
Your departure was too stout.
You used to flood us with presence,
But now there is a drought.
As the sky keeps on turning,
I miss you more each day.
As my heart keeps on beating,
I dedicate to you…my everyday.
You will always be the neighbor,
That never turned an eye.
And I will never forget the day,
You entered that Autumn sky.
And when I dream of you,
My soul seems to turn and toss.
For in my heart…will always play,
The ballad of your loss.
Copyright © Raul Moreno | Year Posted 2010
I do not know?
Almost three years now Daddy
since you were taken away
I thank God you no longer suffer
but I had so much more to say
But you and I were always very close
and I know that we still are
So be free to enjoy family and friends
I know you'll never be far
Oh but Daddy
Did I remember to thank you
for coming to stay with the kids and I
At times you thought you were a burden
but if anyone was it was I
And I want to tell you too Daddy
that you would be so proud of them all
Brandon's now a sergeant with a son on the way
Cam Jeremy is due early fall
And your little Sarah Daddy
you would be so very proud
She's a tiny little thing, still a great mom
and has the best boys in any crowd
And I'm sure you've been watching Curtis
So you know he's just like you
And he is living up to the promise he made
Yes Daddy I'm very proud too
Oh and one more thing
before I lay down to rest
Did I remember to tell you and the world
My Daddy's the best
Loving you and missing you always
Your baby girl
Copyright © J Dawn | Year Posted 2009
Today’s the day that Superman
Fell to earth and couldn’t stand
He lit upon his neck all wrong
And found he was no longer strong
His super powers gone all right
His horse’s name – old Kryptonite
Actor Christopher Reeve (Superman) was paralyzed when thrown from his horse
during a jumping event in Charlottesville, Virginia on May 27, 1995
Copyright © mike dailey | Year Posted 2011
this is inspired by a picture of a guy looking at a piece of bread with one candle
on it, http://allpoetry.com/amyrowsell
today would be our first wedding anniversary
but I lost her, a month ago
a guy was driving drunk and crossed the line
that night he took the life of mine
you think that they would learn
driving is a privilege you have to earn
I hate him for what he has done
he took away a mother from me and our young son
nobody wins when people drive drunk
Copyright © Amy Rowsell | Year Posted 2008
In 1983 you came back into my life.
Bringing me nothing, but trouble and strife.
You kept me a prisoner in my own home.
When all I longed for, Was to go out alone.
You caused me pain, you made cry,
I felt so ill, I thought I would die.
From doctor, to doctor, from pillar to post.
Where o where, is the cure I wanted the most?
Where exactly does the answer lie?
Eventually I found it, in a doctor called Di.
She gave me the will to carry on and fight.
I fought so hard, with all of my might.
The shops in the village seemed so very far away.
If only I could go out, just for one single day.
I tried and tried, the tears, the pain,
It was a battle lose or gain,
I gave it everything, yes everything I had.
It wasn’t easy, in fact, it was very bad.
In 1990, after 7 long years,
A lot of heartache, many, many tears,
I was starting to win the battle of getting out the door,
With each day, I was doing more and more,
But there was still so many things that I couldn’t do alone.
Still so many jobs, that had to be done on the phone.
I could now walk to the shops, there and back,
get the groceries, take them home, and unpack,
But I still couldn’t get a bus into town on my own,
only if I had someone to go with, borrowed, on loan.
It took several more years, of heartbreak and pain,
Before I could finally travel alone again.
May 2nd 2000, I jumped on a bus and popped into town,
It was just like my world had been turned upside down.
HERE WAS I FREE AT LAST,
Finally free to forget the past.
So I decided to do something I had never done before.
I started at college part time, each day I couldn’t wait to get out of the door,
To catch my bus, to feel like I had finally rejoined the human race.
Living life at a hectic pace.
Going to college at the age of 53,
Really did do wanders for me.
The computer course was harder than I thought it would be,
but others in the class helped me.
Our tutor was really nice,
Always ready with good advice.
Now I really feel I have turned my life completely around,
With this new freedom I have found.
With a lot of help, from my husband and son,
The battle is over, finally won.
So its goodbye agoraphobia you belong in the past,
Never again will you get me in your grasp.
This is a true poem of my own battle with Agoraphobia, That robbed me of a lot of my life,
Copyright © pat dring | Year Posted 2008
I looked at the clock, My life was slowly ebbing away.
I didn’t think I would reach 40, What a high price to pay.
I was coming off tranquillisers 15 a day prescribed by my then G P,
But the withdrawal symptoms were so horrendous I could hardly see.
I was constantly being sick night and day,
All I could do was to sit and pray this nightmare would go away.
I couldn’t walk properly, My balance had completely gone,
I couldn’t pay privately, as money I had none.
I also had Agoraphobia, so I couldn’t even go out of the door,
This wasn’t a life worth living any more.
All I was left with, was to say a prayer,
To ask for a miracle. Lay my soul bare.
A week or so later, a letter in my hand,
An appointment with a new doctor, I could hardly stand.
Over the next year a miracle unfolded, bit by bit.
I didn’t even have to walk with my stick.
I started to go out a bit more each day,
Various obstacles got in my way.
But I was determined, I was not going back,
I mapped out a plan to keep myself on track.
I did it, I conquered my Agoraphobia, and got off the pills.
I even went to college for the first time to learn new skills.
I went on Radio, Television, Newspapers and Magazines all covered my story.
The miracle I prayed for had happened, mine was now the glory.
Copyright © pat dring | Year Posted 2012
(in memoriam, Eugene Lawler, d. January 29, 2012, aged 83 years)
--- Note: "The singing machine" is a not so tongue-in-cheek reference to Gene and his penchant for singing whenever and wherever he wished, as well as to his karaoke
equipment and his nickname at bars that featured karaoke nights. ---
You fancied yourself a singer,
and indeed you were.
What songs we heard from you
you had made your own,
and you gave them freely
to all who would listen
(though we were just a few
who were, at times, inattentive.)
Time and remembrance may color
the images you left behind,
and the sentimental songs
you sang (and scribed on silver disks
for us to hear when, and if, we will)
may prod us to recall
your willful, dour demeanor
which could bloom into benevolence
or darken further in stormy sneers
at tardiness, or at perceived
maltreatment of any sort.
You were your own arbiter of behavior
who kept before you expectations
of what was appropriate, for yourself
and for us, the others of your kind.
We were few (still fewer now),
who flocked together on occasion
to celebrate, in quiet fashion,
whatever anniversary we chose --
perhaps your passing date
will become another to be marked.
And your voice, reproduced mechanically,
amplified, may remind us of our loss,
and of yours.
Copyright © Leo Larry Amadore | Year Posted 2012
30 Years ago, you showed me the door,
Because I wouldn’t do what you wanted anymore.
That day was the worst of my life,
I wanted to die, to escape the strife.
All I needed was a simple letter,
To give me a chance to get better.
Now when I look back and see, you certainly did
me a favour that day.
In 1986 Thursday the first of May.
From then on people listened to what I had to say,
Doctors and Nurses went out or their way,
I got the treatment I needed at last,
Bit by bit they went over the past.
One whole year is all it took,
A lot of hard work, a little luck.
To this very day I have never been back,
26 whole years and that’s a fact.
The last few years have been the best of my life,
Truly content being a Mother and Wife.
And Nanny as well,
Must not let my head swell,
A collection of poems all written by me..
My story in 7 magazines for the whole world to see.
A whole new extension to the house designed by me.
Also having to cope with the death of my mother,
Then four months later the death of my mother’s sister,
God not another.
Having my kitchen demolished completely,
did put me in a fix.
But being so well, even that couldn’t knock me for six.
So remember the next time someone begs you for a letter,
At least give THEM, the chance to get better.
For as long as I live I will never for get that terrible day,
Thursday 1986 the first of May,
The day that you showed me the door,
Just because I wouldn’t do what you wanted anymore.
They say that time heals all pain,
I’m lucky I’ve learnt to live again.
Copyright © pat dring | Year Posted 2011
She was a devoted ole gal always at her best
so many days I cried hanging off her chest
down to the lake in the hot summertime
we would cool her off and swing on a vine
Every morning at five am here came Belle, now my friend
and again at six pm there Belle was ready to work again
years passed and Belle became a part of our family
we worked, we played, and we milked twice a day
Half my life she was one of my dear friends
I greeted her in summer with warm sun burnt skin
and in winter I spent my time warming them
when Belle died I can't say things were ever the same again
Belle had become more than a cow in a pen, who gave us milk
she became a babysitter, a circus act, part of the swim team, for the neighborhood
but most of all Belle had become a lonely teen's dear friend
Copyright © Danielle Wise Baxter | Year Posted 2012
If I picked my Valentine
she'd be a perfect 10.
She'd have blonde hair with highlites
and answer where and when.
She'd be a little shorter,
yet tall enough to kiss.
Her reach a little longer
to torture us in bliss.
Her shape would be the bomb.
As sexy as they come.
With hair up for the moment
I'd meet her at the prom.
She'd talk a little faster
with words I'd say are smart.
Yet keep me to attention
in hugs up to my heart.
A smile just like a lion.
Her face a source of pride.
One to show my mother.
And then to make my bride.
My Valentine was perfect
as I lost her way back then.
How was I to know that she
would find her perfect 10.
Copyright © Trevor McLeod | Year Posted 2013
Oil train sits in Lac Megantic
Town folk sleep not so frantic
Patrons socialize while they slept
Unannounced the train it crept
No such thing a train in idle
This one proved homicidal
Train engine fire silent alarm
Town unaware no fear of harm
First responders do arrive
Count all engines numbered five
Connected cars are seventy two
Full of crude what would you do
Disconnect these things on fire
Bigger problem no desire
Cut the risk to light the crude
This decision would be shrewd
Seventy two cars, assumed on brake
Town folk safe that slept on lake
Take in account train on slope
Some brakes off more danger the scope
Idle train crept no more
Picking up speed problem galore
This idle train left to chance
Never checked not even a glance
Explosion awakes town folk in slumber
Instantly town folk less fifty in number
People running saving some lives
Survivors to hear fifty bell chimes
Responsibility left to whom
This decision in the courtroom
On a slope a running car park
Driver responsible ticket don't bark
MMA you will be slandered
Go to hell with your train standard
You brought a man carrying sickle
In Quebec you control your vehicle
If you don't the charge is life
Stand in camera and take it in strife
Angry people you will see
Many more including me.
Left to idle a runaway
Change the law starting today
Always manned train must be
Someone in place we must see
Looking back cutting the cost
Was it worth all lives lost?
One more man not a big chore
Let these trains Idle no more
Copyright © Ronald Kent | Year Posted 2013
AS I’VE BEEN ASKED, I STOP
AND TAKE A MINUTE, THINKING
OF A WAR WHICH I WILL NEVER BE A
PART OF, I WILL NEVER SEE FIRST HAND.
A FEW FALLEN HEROES, WHO GAVE UP THEIR
LIVES FOR A GENERATION THEY WOULD NEVER SEE,
JUST SO THAT WE ALL WOULD NEVER HAVE
TO GO THROUGH THE TERROR OF A LIFE, A
HELL, WITHOUT ANY CONCEPT OF PEACE,
AND SO WE TAKE OUR QUIET MOMENT TO
STOP, AND CONSIDER THE SACRIFICE, TO
THINK UPON A FOREIGN FIELD, SOAKED IN
THE BLOOD OF MEN, OF BOYS. WE CANNOT
AFFORD TO LET THEM STRAY FROM OUR
MEMORY OR ELSE WE RISK REPEATING
THE MISTAKES OF THE PAST. AND
SO I THANK ALL SOLDIERS
PAST AND PRESENT.
Copyright © Sharon Smith | Year Posted 2012
A mind filled with mazes
A heart to cold it shivers at warmth.
Has seen the good
The bad of the world.
To distant from life from others
To understand another feelings,
To torn to speak more then three words.
But for you I look with kindly eyes
And a soften smile.
To you I make this confession.
I be dark but you shine a light
With a gaze.
My heart is cold and nearly brittle away
But with one touch from you ,
Keeps it in tact with two.
Every memory of my past
Disappear when I gaze into your eyes.
I feel like our conversation could go on for hour,
Mountains of useless words and pointless subjects.
I tell you this
This is a confession, I send to you.
Even though you left me alone,
So many years ago.
This is the love confession that was always meant for you.
Copyright © Marcedies Rhodes | Year Posted 2012
The Apple PASTURE
Oh how I long
To drift into the apple pasture.
Were once was and all well meet.
A pure and dear site.
Where silver reflection cover the still waters that holds the golden
grains of morality and the grazing souls lie young amounce no stars.
Oh how I long
To drift into the apple pasture
Were winds smell of melon and the trees whisper spring corals in the mellow dark and best of light and time creeps into no tomorrow.
Copyright © JAY JOHNSON | Year Posted 2011
O to fade! To pass! To sleep! To die!
To live and to listen and not to speak;
perchance some alternate reality
is all my grim alienation does seek.
The thunderclap of Tawhiri raging
silence not a loving fool's complaint,
nor portend for whom the bell tolls
when the echoes of time grow faint
My heart alas, divided against itself,
knows not what to say or what to feel,
and with ponderous words recited
I'm forced your resting place to kneel.
Some final absolutions shared alone -
cold black rain upon my brow and cuff.
Judge not a froward son - I am who
I am, and have been judged enough
We are but the quick and the dead,
and, just or unjust, no keeper of time!
O tell what sin was imputed to you,
what concealed divine law or crime,
and what palsy so dark the lamps
of Heaven and Earth burn less bright;
ask do we in this realm find peace
or is Death's victory our only respite?
Only in beds of posthumous sleep
will end my unspoken confessions!
Nay, I no longer exhume the past,
it rebukes all my searching questions.
From umbilical dawn to end of days
I failed you - I added unto your woe -
in life and death there comes a time
when to hold on and when to let go
May your life and times early passed
live on in the heart that lives in me,
for in all the silent screams below
is mine own howl in mine own vanity!
As I pen this ode the charcoal sky
has communicated more than I can tell;
no loss, no sorrow, no love unfeigned
can unring that breathless tolling bell
Copyright © Keith Trestrail | Year Posted 2014
HAD FUN WITH ENTERING THE DICTIONARY FUN CONTEST sponsored by Delliah Ventura!
THESE ARE THE WORDS THAT HAD TO BE IN THE POEM
Abomination scorn Affection Passion Yearning
Struggle Attempt Cherish Relationship Flame
Taste Tender Inner soul Bloom Bamboozle
HERE IS MY ON THE SPOT CREATION!..enjoy :)
I was a woman scorn
Unknowingly cherished a relationship
where the flame was no longer existent;
where time flew by in the distance and I missed
everything in my life I intended
because I was accepting a me that depended
I made an attempt to bamboozle the truth
and convince myself that he wasn’t screwing Kim
Ultimately I faked passion and lustfully feigned for affection
since I’d been betrayed
So, I got down on my knees and I prayed
I began yearning for knowledge of my Inner soul
I began to taste freedom and feel whole
The healing began and my consciousness rose - fresh bloom
It was no longer a struggle to end an abomination that would
prove to be a path of doom
Copyright © humble b | Year Posted 2012
You're like the storm and the wind,
Tearin up the city and breaking the
Whenever I'm around you girl,
I get weak,
You're breaking my heart,
And tearing up me,
Breaking my heart,
Breaking my heart, (Tearing up me)
I know we will make it,
Even though the wind is blowing
careless at me,
I can't do this without you girl,
I'll get weak,
Stop breaking my heart,
Bringing me to my knees,
Even though the love hurricane is
blowing careless at me,
I can't do this without you girl,
I'm too weak,
You breaking my heart,
You're the storm of the week.
Copyright © Anthony Scandrick II | Year Posted 2012
The old woman argued relentlessly, her case.
Resolute, she raved in her conviction;
two thousand and one reasons were there for her to be mad.
Eleven was given to questioning eyes.
It was September,
and Bernice brought home the bourgeois man,
and the two fell
from the pedestal
they held among friends in the big city,
(the city) a melting pot,
now a city in affliction.
Bernice’s brown eyes combed the neighborhood;
two boys, with open arms,
played aero planes;
Across the street,
the rug pilot laughed his ass off
as if mocking the bourgeois man,
and his woman hid her face in rags …,
in degradation –
but her sad eyes openly mourned her son’s suicide.
Grief of that magnitude brings offense,
and the bourgeois man was red with wrath,
and he abhors the old woman
with every inch of his being.
Racism was reversed.
He avowed by God to ruin the rug pilot,
and the people that loved him consented.
Hearts were left to wonder
what makes men so cruel.
The reasons for the old woman’s rant was explicable,
and of the grounds for the revenge
the negros conceded,
in only one instance.
Revenge was foreseeable,
and the spirit breeds more phobias.
Copyright © Earle Brown | Year Posted 2010
I do not know?
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
Copyright © Michael Degenhardt | Year Posted 2011
On this cold winter night
A horror unfurls
As they leave their trenches
Under the Bagpipes skirl
It's Christmas Eve
In World War One
Over the top they leave
The killing has begun
Knee deep in mud
Barbed wire and bodies
The piper laments
Their bravery embodied
To march into battle
With their weapon of pipes
Whilst bullets and bombs
Leave the theatre in strife
Onward they march
Turning men into hero's
The battle of the Somme
Last centuries ground zero
What makes such a man
To enter a war
His weapon of music
That they follow him for
Amongst the men that fall
Others pick up their guns
When the piper falls
Their is no one
On this cold Christmas Day
The horrors have been unfurled
As one looks over the trenches
To a different world
But the very next day
In the distance you will hear
The sound of the Scottish Bagpipes
Leaving their enemy in fear
In memory to all who fell at Christmas time, and especially to the pipers
who used music as their weapon, we will remember them, as all will be remembered
Copyright © James Fraser | Year Posted 2009
'n Oomblik waardig van afsondering
'n Vreemdeling nie deur ander gesien
Is ons die verlate?
Is ons die verlater?
Lewe in die nag om sy wreedheid te skuil
Hul gesigte belig die skerms
Die rykes maak geld uit dié oorlog
Die sterftesyfer styg
Nog 'n verraaier
Die leuenaar, die patriot
Hoeveel leuens, hoeveel sterftes
Afgemaai soos 'n lam wat geslag word
Nog 'n spook vir jou verlede
Nog 'n gelowige, nog 'n slagoffer
Ken nie die pad van die tou na die vloer
Kyk in die gesig van die wat jou verraai
Jy is die gejagte, die slagoffer, die prooi en die vervalle
Ons sterf almal alleen.
Copyright © Johan Geustyn | Year Posted 2011
Bones of rotting timbre mimic
morgues of truth
Pleading memories of oaths to rigor
Snide sacrosanct hides under
shrouds of pride
placing careful snares under
These selective few
they ingratiate you...
Even the doubtful few
These ephemeral ghosts clapping at
Wheezing from their throats to
laugh as they choke.
Copyright © PRISCILLA willis | Year Posted 2010
I do not know?
We clad ourselves in colors as we march,
saluting independence through a foggy dream;
gazing at the night alight with flashes,
and firefly screams.
Rockets made in China, cascade/
to the backdrop of the Star Spangled Banner;
a flutter to the wind blown flags made in Brazil
and "I Love America Pins" upon our lapel;
(made in Mexico).
We stand on oceanfront (it’s owned by France)
gazing ‘pon the open sea,
the port is owned by Saudis/
but at least we stand here free.
Our hands steadfast upon our chest,
saluting whichever freedoms still remain,
those freedoms, their going fast;
and they’ll disappear one day.
We gaze into the abyss of night,
the twinkling tears that kiss our cheek,
immersing ourselves in awe of moment,
before it fades our dreams to sleep.
We stand enamored with this land,
the love that lurks within our hearts,
we celebrate this love/
fore tomorrow, standing is banned.
Copyright © Michael Benkhen | Year Posted 2011
CHANGE by Ian Munywe
upon his visage boasts sweat,industry an upheld virtue.
firm stature is exhibited,hard labour an accepted custom.
a time for toil yearns,wheat and other victuals for the future.
every stride to strive in burning heat,a quest out of perpetual penury.
feelings of disillusionment eminent,in the brink of a huge fall.
life such a baffling puzzle,everyday hustle inevitably knows no end.
a new dawn presents opportunity,quite in a rush for elevation.
an orison heard audibly,benedictions befalling a mortal.
reverted in such haste such distaste,it were best in prior times.
a new sense of belonging looming,adaptation of wanting predisposition.
amidst all the experience,hardly a thought in modesty lines.
amnesia having set in,pristine of new life in no time.
integrity eroded ferociously,candidacy annihilated in totality.
how mankind does change, indeed swiftly we tend to forget.
RISE by Ian Munywe
two sides of a divide collide inside,audibly voicing their thoughts.
optimism reverberates severely,realism ricochets as quite a formidable term.
resounding trials too eminent,life manifested in a perplexity of events.
too many fish upon this vicinity,evidently not enough room to fry.
by all means he shall triumph,by any means necessary.
hard gravel swept over by dust,feet shuffle upon tough earth.
mallets bash into rigid steel, potrait of his new born remains sole solace.
all efforts to reap this here season,barren yield begets unknown anguish.
a sojourner already on course,in vehement search for a new start.
by all means he shall triumph,by any means necessary.
wary he tranforms worn he conforms,glimpse of the past vision of the future.
feet now trod upon all rugged earth,all adorned in strapped sandals.
steel once too rigid little too hard,antiques and ornaments an eventuality.
henceforth sight of new territory such insight,cite so picturesque a gaze in awe.
by all means he shall triumph,by any means necessary.
Copyright © ian munywe | Year Posted 2014
Trapped in a perfect world, what does time
mean? Wait, nothing is permanent in this
Stay or go. Which way did you decide?
Is that your hand reaching out to me,
Shall I grab your wrist; wait, this is fine.
The sweet scent of timelessness circles
over my head spinning me heedless.
Moods float keeping my goodness in
place; there, now I can see your face
floating on the canvas circled with a
brush in all the grand colors.
The thrush of ochre, gray and sand.
Tips of green highlight the tops of
trees sitting against a sky splashed
in blue hue.
I feel you there pulling my hand
spinning me around and around
through years of you and me,
burning candles from the heart,
aroma swerving through the soul.
We set apart, not going somewhere
flames burn to keep you a part of the
great mountain that only you could see.
I wake in scented timelessness every day.
Copyright © Gisele Vincent-Page | Year Posted 2011
May 4th is still alive.
Copyright © Robin Maughan | Year Posted 2010
Exodus on a massive scale
1940 under assail
Three hundred thousand
Fathers and sons
From the Hun
Not seen for hundreds of years
To save our hero's, relay their fears
1500 ships of many sorts
Arrived on mass
British and French
Beached and battered
Quest to save Europe
Defeated and shattered
Queues of troops
Line the sands
Await their fate
Strands of man
Luftwaffe scream over head
Drop their cargo, inevitable dead
Explosions softened, by the Dunkirk sands
Saved so many of the waiting strands
Hail the sky, the RAF
Contained the hun from machine gun strafe
Their dedication in foggy skies
The ultimate saving of many lives
The aftermath of this unbelievable task
And the dedication of this incredible ask
Organisation on the grandest scale
For in the future we will not fail
To free Europe, another Armada will sail
" Dedicated to the many men liberated from the beaches at Dunkirk,
who returned to do, what only hero's can do "
Copyright © James Fraser | Year Posted 2009
Uncle Sam's Hokey Pokey
l l l l l
ya' put your red flag in
put your red flag out
put your red flag in
shake it all around.
* * *
ya' stop this hocus pocus
and we'll turn this thing around
end war's what it's all about!
Copyright © JSLambert Mister ROBOTO | Year Posted 2011