Hear the whispers inside
Chanting from long ago
Echoes come and go
Losing time in a soft eternal glow
A beautiful and delicate autumn mountain scene
Dry blue eyes enchanting melodies!
Voices fall from the sky; -Rising hymns release
-ancient demons that CLING to the soul
Darkness dwells under - gentle moonlight
Ancestors of the Spirit World!
Weaving Native smoke into the barren air
Indian spirits haunt the muddy Earth---
Moccasin makers rise from underneath; While
guardians of dream catchers - print the Universe
Smooth thread from the outer world;
Arrowheads, Ivory gems, feathers, and illusions
I stumble upon a florid kiss....... My veins;
Run Cold, like ice through a desert night.
Winds of enchanted drums - cry out for rain
Hollow chimes mesmerize, my ties, my eyes
An ancient rage begins to flare --- MADNESS!
- takes place among the sanity of who I am
The spear of the perfumed buffalo scrapes my skin
I remove the veil that covers my eyes
The hands that cover my ears
Drying the scalp that bleeds on my face
KINDRED IN EVERY WAY!
Raven silk braids and feathers on my hair
Dancing in a horrid hallucination of Peyote,
Waking up from the “American Dream.”
Holding out my arms, I am free, I can fly.
I AM A BIRD!
Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2013
In the courts of sport and entertainment
They have forgotten the scales of justice
Lacking honor for those who gave life and limb
Sacrificing blood, and buried with god giving grace
The anthem is our history
of all triumphs, good, and even flaws
Look into the eyes of a veteran
to see inside a suffering vault
They, who fought, so that you may play
They who died, so that the rich live this day
Even the poor still have their freedoms
For veterans themselves, knew their reasons
No man, no nation can stand up to perfection
Its about respect of those, who gave...
Despite all imperfections
Without, history repeats, sending more to the cross and knave
When you hear "God Bless America"
Think of those flag covered graves
Think of the children
No fathers, because it is you they saved
Our nation is human
Filled with imperfections
Protest for change, for better days
While holding respect for those, who before you
With their blood, led the way
Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2017
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
Ever wrote a sequel
To a poem about
The road of dead bodies
that you drove upon?
I dont Think So^^
O. Yeah im laughing
At such a radical idea
Thats not registerd yet
Into naiive-Like brain cells
Yeah! Am laughing^^
Wish I could just throw
My smile on that kid
That lay stone cold
Hand over ears even in death
Died of the noises...
Not laughing anymore?
I just laid there staring
Right ontop of him
shoved my fist in his jaw
I felt his bone crunch
Now he doesnt have a screaming face
You think thats deep?
The guy right next to the kid
Was his dad
They kept him alive to watch
As his son burned
then became death
and soon a fossil
And when they chunk this place again
He will be dust
He was right there
Now read those last three lines
In Slow Mo
Read it and weep
Maybe the tears could drown
A father who is still there to watch
And spare him of the "Madness"
"Well,if its what you want to call it.
I mean you can call it unfair
But its just Mad-ness"
Copyright © sajdah al-riyami | Year Posted 2009
Souvenirs of Love …
I keep them all in a locked mahogany casket
It gets harder to open with my arthritic fingers
Yet every day I turn the key and peer inside
When I lift the lid I recall such precious memories
I caress the string of pearls you gave me in Paris
The diamond necklace sparkles like my blue eyes once did
Your mother’s wedding band is nestled in its red velvet box
You had it re-sized to fit me and had mizpah engraved on the inside
A lonely tear trickles down my wrinkled cheek as I slip it on my finger
You promised that when you came back from the war
I would wear it on our wedding day…
That day never arrived
The meaning of Mizpah is “The Lord watch between me and thee when we are absent one from another”.
Copyright © JAN ALLISON | Year Posted 2018
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
shot dead- see fear
they'll hear-hush now
killers are near
Poet: Debbie Guzzi
Contest: Whispers of a Muse
Copyright © Debbie Guzzi | Year Posted 2014
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
From a dark angry cloud
By a storm wild and loud
On history's hardest rock
Smile at the little flock
For as a drop of water
Curls to become a river
So I gather my dreams
To trickle like a stream's
From a leaf, to swell
The hill down, and tell
My victory in the sea
Tell me history from the sea
Short as wounded memory
Myself, stalk their history
To find all I have lost
Just to tally the cost
Of being black
Of watching the clock
For the hour.
Copyright © L'nass Shango | Year Posted 2011
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
One day I was passing time
And wrote these words upon the lines,
I know not where they came you see
The Winds of Time were there for me.
If I could open a door to the past
And there before me were the paths
I'm not quite sure which I would choose
But The Winds of Time would see me through.
The vastness there before God's Hand
Then came the heavens, the seas, the land
Eden, Noah and the Christ Child's birth
Is the path that I see first.
I'm not into Knights or dragon days,
Nor Robin Hood and his saving ways,
But give me a Viking as he crosses the seas
And I'll dream of the lands so wild and free.
The music of Irland calls to me,
Where Kathleen's heart has ever been,
And for Danny Boy the fifes do call
I'll shed my tears lest he should fall.
As Immigrants touched upon our shores
The Indians prepared to fight once more,
But fate stepped in and eased the sore
They'd live in peace forever more.
The battles fought upon this land
To protect us from Tierney's hand,
The Civil War for Freedom's right
The Alamo where comrades died.
At Little Big Horn where our soldiers died,
As Indians defend their homes with pride,
The government later took a hand
And put them on Reservation land.
I remember well, when I was quite young
The days of World War II
And how my father's life did change
When the family business he assumed.
Twenty-four seven was unheard of then,
But that was their working day,
They helped keep our nations trucks on the road
Their battlefield was here in the USA.
I'll choose the path with pastures green,
Horses, cattle and the cowboy scene,
This is the land of my mother's birth
The most precious land to me on earth.
I chose this land and took a stand,
Married a cowboy and we ranched the land.
Though now retired and family gone
This land will always be our home.
The Winds of Time, know well my soul
I'll rest at night with days of yore.
And as I wake a prayer I'll say
Please God, may we have Peace today?
Copyright © Marycile Beer | Year Posted 2005
They are thanked for their service
by those who never served.
Commended for their bravery
by those who never donned
the colors of the country
the red, the white, the blue.
They are left alone with demons
that only they can name
seek the silent comfort
of those who know the same,
they limp alone in honor
of the men they used to be
slowly turn invisible to
the people they keep free.
In silent nod and gesture
they salute in passing pain
bathed in thanks for service,
awash in tearless rain,
not heroes, only soldiers,
in the shadows without name.
submitted to – Being Invisible – poetry contest
sponsor – SKAT A
Copyright © John lawless | Year Posted 2016
on a bloody battlefield…
soldiers’ spirits rise
Heaven’s door opens
Freedom fighters’ souls enter
Forgiveness is found
“Thou Shalt Not Kill” set aside
By a righteous Creator
(Senryu and Tanka)
*By Carolyn Devonshire for Russell’s “A Mesh of Forms” contest
Copyright © Carolyn Devonshire | Year Posted 2012
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
Father of all bombs when dropped
five times greater than the mother
Where a fallen angel's dance begins
fornicating with matter darkening subjects
through and through dimensions opening a porthole
Acting a tough guy with your orange face
shows little wit as one peace maker
gives a bloody nose to politics to say the least
To this sinful act of heresy that's displayed under lies
in provoking war with the show of strength and power
Blind becomes your weakness
Takes more than courage to grow a backbone
to be humble aggression is by deeds done
under one sign of weakness shows where the insecurity dwells
co written by Liam and Bobby McDaid
our joint opinion on a certain matter our world has become filled with evil slave masters rising to power under mass human sacrifice
Copyright © liam mcdaid | Year Posted 2017
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
A saddening song swishes subtly in the bitter breeze,
Mad mournful music meets me everywhere I move,
Like a dolorous dirge drumming through the dark;
Wistful winds wearily bring to mind stinging salt drops,
All energy expended in trying to make sense of this forlorn fusion
As a painfully pensive psalm is penned down
in the ragged remnants of war...
Copyright © Jo Daniel | 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
My old daddy use to tell me about the war he had to fight,
He said don’t believe those movies, cause killing ain’t no pretty sight.
He said no one is born a hero you just fight to stay alive,
Cause when those bullets start to flying your only thought is to survive.
No matter what people may say, freedom it don’t come free,
And I pray you never see the things that I had to see.
And he said son the taste of freedom is a taste worth dieing for,
And that should be the only reason to ever fight in those damned old wars.
He talked about his comrades, so many now are gone,
He said I am a lucky one to see my son full grown.
So many young men back then were buried where they fell,
You see son war is not a game it’s a living, breathing hell.
You’re fighting for what you know is right and they are fighting for what they believe,
While mothers on both sides just pray and weep and grieve.
And when they get that letter that says their son will not return,
They say one last prayer for others, Lord will they ever learn.
To say you really hate someone is a truly ruthless thought,
But there are those that feel that way and why these wars are fought.
Son he said I don’t think there will ever be peace as long as men exists,
Freedom is our gift and we must protect no matter how much they persist.
Copyright © Ronald Bingham | Year Posted 2008
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
I have tasted war and it taste like hell
With the memory of all those who fell.
They said we won, placed medals on me
Fighting for the lady known as liberty.
At night the memories fill my dreams
I’ll never forget all the horrific screams.
My dreams are violence all covered in red
I often wish that I could be dead.
They say I’m a hero but all I can say
I wish the memory would just fade away.
In the name of freedom I went off to fight
in the name of God I pray I was right.
To the spoils of war all I can say
God there must be another way.
I survived the war but passed on the victory dance
Because war is something I shall never romance.
Written for Deborah's contest in honor
of my Son Cody and all the other brave
Souls who face the horrific memories of
Copyright © Michael Jordan | Year Posted 2009