Writing War Poems

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Details | Couplet |
As the waves forever kiss the shore
One shot leaves you wanting more
My heart and soul, strong and true
With all the love they hold for you
Sometimes my life leaves me bored
Like a swordsman with no sword
These are the times that I write
Memories can be hard to fight
I write out my heart and soul
Controlling my mind is my goal
Each new word released by my pen
Is another spiritual battle I win
The war rages on day by day
Through the poem prayers I pray
It's a war that I will forever win
Long as there is ink up in my pen
In prison I had quite a collection
Each one held it's own reflection
I saved them after they ran dry
Baptized with the tears I cry
I just couldn't seem to let them go
Little memories of my heart and soul
Sometimes I like to take them out
Little memories of what I'm about
What I'm about angel on my shoulder
Making this world a little less colder

Copyright © Michael Jordan | Year Posted 2007




Details | Rhyme |
Ana
She writes her songs and her poems,
not one person know 'em.
She listens to the sound of her music,
she's stuck to it like a tick.

If someone took the time to listen,
her true colors would glisten.
She's put on a mask,
and hid everything when someone asked.

She was the type of girl who would always laugh,
making you wish it would last.
She was the type of girl who would smile the day away,
too bad it is no longer that way.

She is now the girl who is depressed,
I bet you're impressed.
Since no one could tell
that she was going through hell.

Everyone thought she was happy, 
when really, she felt crappy.
Everyone thought she was having the time of her life,
who would have guess her best friend was a knife?

She spent her days alone,
she seemed to do everything on her own.
Never once wanted help.
Thought she could do everything herself.

Then the day came,
when she lost the game.
She fell apart,
and everyone saw her broken heart.

They saw the way she overreacted.
Oh, if only you saw the way she acted.
She bruised herself, scratched herself, and made herself bleed,
no one knew what it was that she needed.

They saw her tears,
and that was what she feared.
They found out she wasn't okay,
oh, she hated that day.

Everyone found out about her secret,
and she wish they'd just forget,
but she knew they couldn't,
and that they wouldn't.

She left that town and started over,
no one knew she went undercover.
She said she got better,
when really... something else occurred. 

She secretly hurt herself,
and walked away from help.
Everyone thought she recovered,
when really, she was undercover.

She secretly wanted to get worse,
no one knew of course.
No one cared to ask,
if she was wearing her mask.

Now it's too late,
she locked the gate.
Killed herself,
everyone had forgotten she needed help.

Goodbye cold world,
this was a story of a girl
who once loved everyone
then feared who it was who won.

Copyright © Ana Jusino | Year Posted 2013

Details | Quatrain |
The writing is on the wall.


The writing is on the wall, an old saying used even until today
for those found lacking or deficient, Divine judgement is on the way
It means that there has been a weighing done on the scales of justice
by an impartial God who knows us, and the good or bad we practice.

The writing is on the wall even today, in our ultra modern society
for those who choose critical and independent thinking, instead of piety
for those who deny there is a God, or who simply worship in their own way
for those whose judgemental hypocrisy is super abundantly on display

The writing is on the wall, for all warmongers filled with nationalistic hate
For all those inciting our youth to violence, malevolent voices that resonate
The writing is on the wall, for those who say good is bad, and that bad is good
and for those who kill the innocent child, it's well deserved and understood.



Writing on the wall comes from the Bible Daniel chapter 5 where the Babylonian King is judged  by God's handwritten cryptic message on the wall. The prophet Daniel interprets the writing and the King was killed and replaced that same evening. Consequently the expression the writing on the wall portends judgement and destruction.

John Derek Hamilton

April 19, 2016

Copyright © John Hamilton | Year Posted 2016




Details | Rhyme |
Songs Of Power 

(Lost As Blackness Invades)

Where the agony invades life seems in blurs,
And the long nights eat the fruited trees,
And later, night dreams stalk barking curs
Where blue-red tides overcome futile pleas.

Across infinite space--thoughts dreaded
And blood-lust seeking new infesting homes,
Deeper into darkness the Soul is headed
against its will- the mind wickedly roams.

Bright roses once bloomed in this castle dark,
Violets arose to soon die in vanished splendor
Where shadow raced to eat resting meadowlark,
Bound and chained heart goes with its sender.

Sorrow alights- in its ebony spreading cloak,
as storms slash across the turbulent seas,
Speared in the chest and rotting shaft broke
cried for and nothing found to appease.

No relief! Falling stars batter forsaken mind,
fiery reds cover vanishing jungles greens
Life in its mysteries, finds room to be unkind
as purple hearts- grace such melancholy scenes!

Death of innocence, once dark strain all too real
jungles evergreen, turn to exploding red,
Where death invades, soldiers always ready to kill,
war and its eternal darkness, await the dead.

While man thus cursed, seeks illusionary gains!
Darkness cast forth from Souls feeling no pains!

11-08-2015

For contest- Songs Of Power
Song chosen- 
Paint It Black - Rolling Stones:

Copyright © Robert Lindley | Year Posted 2015

Details | Free verse |
Listen up, 
You tyros, 
Don't go messin'
With my buddy Jack
Yeah, Reed,
Indeed...
He's cool people, 
And I like him,
He writes well,
Yeah, this from Tom Bell,
You take him on,
You take on me,
Let me tell you,
Yes-eree
Cut the crap and show
Some class,
Or you might get
A poetic broken a__

Copyright © tom bell | Year Posted 2008

Details | Rondeau |
In the war of words count the cost                                                                                                                                                   all is fair in love maybe but not war                                                                                                                         hearts mend but dead bodies wash ashore                                                                                                                    they will war no more being dead                                                                                                                                     war is not hell tragic but enough said                                                                                                                                      love is the fairest lest you be a whore                                                                                                                                 In the war of words       
You know better than being lost unsatisfied but a chance for more the love of money rotten to the core war is cold far as I know and so is frost In the war of words

Copyright © John Beam | Year Posted 2016

Details | Free verse |
generic minds listen to generic music
have generic thoughts that are unknowingly abusive
watch generic things talk about generic things
gee this generic *****is spreading like a disease
better get your flu shot 
thats what they said to me
a suicidal vaccine 
a subliminal killing spree
its contagious and the outrageous
thing about it is that the people are blind in an eye
that they didn't even know they had
it's sickening to watch these clueless civilians 
inside the looking glass
with nightmares of being free
without a key to their mind
for it is trapped in the frequency
in the illusion of time
bathed in our universe
killing all that refuse to see
those that admit to hypocracy
or see the message in hip hop
how cant you see
the message in the lyrics that
bring adolescents to their knees
from bullet wounds conflicting their flesh
contradicting that they're the best
but the songs keep telling them that they dont need no rest
that they dont wanna go home
that they should ride alone
with the gat as their only companion
and so the only path they choose is the one that they're told
until they grow old and hope turns to a window pane
inside a window pane, until all they feel is pain
they realize that the music itself is ashamed
so whats to look up to
when you cant even speak when you cant even walk because you look so bleak
your eyes are sunken from the tv you're infested with the dee zees
now its too late to turn around and live for your conscious
so when youre screaming oh please
close your eyes and bring your mind to life
open your eyes for the first time
and never wonder why
since the answer this entire time
has been inside
and you better find it before you die
you dont want your soul to be in a pool with all the others
a buncha brothers missing their mothers
but only seeing strangers
only feeling the haters
wishing they would have used their minds when they had them
and now its too late,
now it's time for another new born fate to grab them

Copyright © Green Trees | Year Posted 2012

Details | Prose Poetry |
Frantic searching for my sanity as the odor of explosives and burning flesh assault my soul.  Longing for the boredom of stuffy barracks my eyes my friends constantly search for your return I hide all but fear.

We know the death of friends but in our life embrace we conceal all that is deferred for recollection in our final days.  For now bravado, lots of scotch, and a Thai stick sets the pattern for our only security.

Lost are the joys of spirit we envisioned as children; gone is the clarity and respect for lives easily expended in the most secret of a nation’s honor, generalities served in a bitter beer.

I know you friend, your dreams your plans you say them softly in your sleep.  Our  prayers to will keep you safe.

We dare to plan in-country encouraged by being too short not to let our minds drift at the possibilities.  

We hope that God is truly on our side and confess only in our eyes the sins we speak to no one.

The blood of those we do not know anoints the heads of those we do and love for now, until our final taps brings us home.  

With this kiss of honor I embrace what remains of you my friend and your courage.  I curse your departure and salute the honor of our time together.

Copyright © Violetta Antonia Sorcini | Year Posted 2016

Details | Couplet |
Close the mouth, open the mind
and let the pen draw the line.

Raise the eyes, lower the fist
and let all wars go unmissed.

Winners of foolish battles gain no prize
nor any admiration from the wise.

Let peace reign, let conflicts resolve
the heart shall then grow and evolve.

Close the mouth, open the mind
and let the pen draw the line.




Copyright © Kelly Deschler | Year Posted 2015

Details | Concrete |
A supreme soldier walks truly alone in the depths of night
he is soft spoken from a life of being so hard that he was stoned until his eyes filled red bloodshot in his sight
he notices what he once thought to be? Was wrong and very far from right
So he asks God for forgiveness from his very own darkness that it may to like his Redemption be shone upon his lost light
He knows its no longer about the bullets in this battle for it is the words in his very own Mind that will matter most in this life among death upon a written soldier's fight.....

Copyright © Travis Lone Hill | Year Posted 2012

Details | Verse |
1

Sunrise, late winter
skunk smell
turkey flock
playful otter, too.

The white heron
a great blue,
white phase,
in the abandoned beaver pond.

Purple clematis
its long-awned achenes
in globose heads
spidery, fiery, extravagant fruit!

To identify or classify
birds by
the complexity or beauty
of their songs.

And so
what is over that
ridge or hill
a sink-hole, a sand dune, a steep bluff.

2

What must I do. Organize
the heretofore unorganized. The rabble
of unemployed child abusers.
Molesters of their intimates.

Are there dysfunctional bird families?
Simply put, they do not survive.
We have hope
that everyone alive is essential,

consequential. We classify
and specify.
The commonplace and everyday
is sanctified.

What happens everyday?
Morning is quiet, everyone at work.
Home writing, watching birds.
Afternoon, kids come back from school.

Evening, watch tv.
Scotch and Star Trek.
Captain Picard's problems eclipse
ours who stayed behind.

3

Pray to Allah
and maybe he will spare you
when he sets the world
on fire.

Where or with who
will I be on that day?
And how many people and adventures
will I find in the wind storm and rubble?

I may live, but will it matter
whether or not I help anyone else to live?
This is no Last Judgement.
Those who have learned or who still know how to live

will survive.
Nobody will go to hell, they will just die.
There is no limbo either.
Anyone who didn't find a way to be immortal is just dead.

So, what am I trying to do.
Organize the unemployed, the welfare mothers
and alcoholics
into a flying chevron of purposeful explorers?

4

The doctor's conscious, organized,
naive attempt to do good,
his legacy, versus the randomness
of the road and the war zone.

There his legacy is his rectitude and natural
rough compassion for the damaged people
he encounters. The difference
between planning a legacy

as if you knew enough to control events
and letting the legacy arise
from events themselves, controlling,
insofar as you are able, only

your own actions and reactions.
The doctor's leadership role such as it was
grew out of not his material possessions
like the car

but his mission, his personal quest
to find the young doctors he had naively trained
and sent into the war zone
where all died.

5

July-a cold city
not as great or as gritty
as I thought, summer theater left
the shoe shine bereft of customers

eyes cold as a bureaucrat's
except for our soles
and their leather. Sweat-soaked
girls, the beautiful ones left town.

Emotionless as a bus.
Sparrows, no chickadees.
All that's important happens indoors.
Exercise to philosophies.

You get what you see.
The panhandlers ask
just once, won't risk
friendship, justice.

No sale today
in the finite city
where, for the shoe shine,
pedestrians are infinite, times two shoes.

6

Faith = wait + trust.
But don't anticipate.
Popper prohibits prediction.
Niebuhr expects destruction.

I believe in God
doesn't mean there's a sketch
of a man in my head. It must mean
all will be well in the end.

Satisfied with snow
or summer. And now
with dying old or younger.
Gold or paper clips. Gulps or sips.

In the final resting place
in the city of the dead
are there all night card games
and sometimes open swims?

Each inch, square, or cube of Earth
brim with grasses and sedges, dragonflies and spiders, sparrows and eagles.
The tiger lily and the water lily and the lily of the valley, the calla lily.
When a girl on a bicycle smiles, that is a smile.

Copyright © Robert Ronnow | Year Posted 2015

Details | Shape |
                     
                   ~ War Over  Now ~

                      w riting words frustrated
                        a writing unworthy
                          r emains in passing thoughts

                               o vercoming fear of judgment
                                 v alidating a soul broken 
                                   e nters a spirit of one passed
                                     r eassuring inspiration driving to continue

                                        n ew forms written
                                          o vercoming dark with light
                                            w anting to change by inspiring love forever ~ 


                            
                                       
  

















                           

Copyright © Shanity Rain | Year Posted 2013

Details | Bio |
It's been a long time since Saddam Hussein was executed by the Arab authorities and the U.S. Armed Forces (the U.S. Army, the U.S. Navy, the U.S. Coast Guard, and the U.S. Air Force). This guy had been terrorizing the entire Arabian nation since the Cold War and Operation: Desert Storm. Saddam had been torturing people for no reason and chopping up his victims limb by limb. The Arabians and the Americans are glad that Saddam Hussein's dead, especially for what he did to these people, even his wife.  It seems that he had pure hatred toward other people, including us Americans. Saddam was responsible for the deaths of all innocent Iraqi's citizens. the loser was also responsible for starting the war games in Iraq and stuff. Mr. Hussein was the President of Iraq until he was captured by the U.S. Armed Forces and the then-President of the United States of America George W. Bush. Saddam Hussein was just like Osama Bin Laden, even when that guy killed all of the U.S. citizens in New York City on Tuesday, September 11, 2001. And because of Hussein and Bin Laden, the United States of America had lost its innocence, even since 9/11. Not only was Saddam Hussein a gutless coward, but on top of all that, he was also a womanizing cheater and a heartless assassin, too, as well. But now that this human-killing, soulless, heartless Neanderthal has been executed for starting war games, terrorizing unexpected citizens of Iraq, and killing the men because they couldn't get jobs, go to school, or whatever (good riddance), the Iraqis back in 2004 had moved on with their lives. and not only is Saddam Hussein dead, but Osama Bin Laden is also dead. And as far as the Iraqis, the U.S. Armed Forces, and the U.S. citizens are concerned, the giant Pit of Inferno is exactly where they belong. We all wish Saddam Hussein, Osama Bin Laden, and other terrorists had never been born.

Copyright © Brashard Bursey | Year Posted 2011

Details | Free verse |
I sit at my desk, an unremarkable posture
Crooked back, crouched forward
Hands, shaped like lobster claws
Ready to pounce on the invisible prey
However, my quarry is a thought, not yet set to reveal itself
Scrambled thoughts of memories ferment 
Oozing out and dropping to the floor
Trampled on
A phrase or two lifts and permeates through my fingers
A loud click of the keyboard, followed by another
A symphony of automatic gunfire 
This is a war zone
A killing field
Then silence
Coffee at nine
Internet browsing for the rest of the morning

Copyright © John Trainer | Year Posted 2014

Details | Rhyme |
With every word, with every phrase,
You breathe, you come alive,
A tale of truth, mapped with reality,
Or a dream unlived for which you thrive,
You live through what is written,
Or you choose to hold your pens,
It doesn’t matter how it ends,
Because it’s the end where it all begins,

Broken hour glasses of the War,
Acting as the mirror to see through the past,
The good is victorious, and is glorified,
And evil is evil, because in the battle they did not last,
With their blood, is inked the war diary,
So winner takes it all, and is called as ‘good’, hence,
As it doesn’t matter how the war ends,
Because it’s the end where it all begins

And then there is Romeo, falling in love
And Juliet waiting for him in the Balcony,
They kill Romeo, and justify the murder,
But love is charged for an unforgivable felony,
Died, the felons leave the stage,
But love lives irrespective of the skins
As it doesn’t matter how the life ends,
Because it’s the end where it all begins

You pose the king of you story,
Or in their game, you are just a pawn,
Your story is written in this moment,
Larger than life; this moment is never gone,
So when they bury you as a ‘Sinner’,
Be the phoenix to rise from your sins,
As it doesn’t matter how the Story ends,
Because it’s the end where it all begins

Copyright © Deepak Ahuja | Year Posted 2012

Details | Quatrain |
Battling the page,
Writers block at the brink.
Assassinated words,
Hemorrhage colored ink.

Rivers of ink flow,
From a massacre of words.
Stanzas of pain, grace the page,
Like of flock of olden birds.

Ballpoint swords strike:
In written catastrophe.
A stained battlefield resides,
With bloody poetry.

Copyright © Raul Moreno | Year Posted 2012

Details | Epic |
Space up your brain frame/
Flame up your main pace/
Dish up your thoughtful rhymes/
Blood out your soulful goals/
Scratch mark your tearful poems/
Dress up in your motherful tongues/
Spiting fatherland splits via ancestral grave-zones/  
Hang up your lyrical cloths/
Dope visions for lifeless poets/
Skin tones glorifying Lucifer's bones/
Convert brains its no animal stains/
Socks up your manhood pictures/
Wipe all your demonic tales/
Paint misfortunes of recital codes/
Drive through inspirational poems/
Prayers singing rap tones/
Dust of earth you are the Maker's breath/
Space up your brain space/
Kick start your waking up calls/
Shelf life records no political stones/
Fist up artistic roles/ 
Masculine verses exercising best prose/
Shaping Amandla when we strike blows/ 
Poetic armies baptized in the name of lost roads/
Flushed ish reflects case closed/

Copyright © Raymond Ngomane | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse |
Let Me Go!
I don't want this anymore!
I can't go to sleep at night,
all I seem to do is write.

Sometimes I read...
I read until I finish.
When I finally go to sleep,
I hear the sound of the alarm "BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!"

Oh gosh,
I can't handle this anymore.
I am going crazy here
and no one seems to notice it, my dear.

I cry myself to sleep.
telling myself everything will get better.
BUT IT DOESN'T!
And I know I mustn't

but I want that knife
just as much as I want that gun
I hate this world
and everything about this girl

She sings and tries to get attention
yet no one gives her the time of day.
She falls into the books she reads
no one knowing, it is escaping, she pleads.

This girl is me,
oh but you knew, right?
Since all I ever talk about is me!
Gosh, can't you see?

I'm my enemy!
I'm my own nightmare!
No one is hurting me!
It is me who shouldn't be let free!

Lock me up! 
Kill me!
That way I won't harm myself...
I'd like it if it was someone else

Please, do me the favor
and let me go
for no one can save this girl
from this cruel world.

Copyright © Ana Jusino | Year Posted 2013

Details | Lyric |
Written February 26, 2013


Its all this new slang
Got them banging their heads
Against their bicycle beds
And the foolhardy pledge 
To ride tricycles instead

We are the kings and queens
Of the wonderful yard
Of the street corner dancers
And panhandling bards

A generation will rise
So duck and cover your eyes
We're building up through the night
No need to put up a fight

Godspeed to those approaching death
They won't get to see
What we've got coming next
You'll faint from holding your breath

This cold case is closed
No need to stay in repose
To dwell on precious regrets
That are laced with vellocet

Copyright © Brandon Carter | Year Posted 2013

Details | I do not know? |
*A assignment was due in class. *

Every time a gun shoots
A tree looses its roots
Every time there is bloodshed
Along with it millions of tears are shed
Every time a heart is stabbed
Someone else’s life gets barren
As violence grows
Many more mothers moan
The sounds of destruction
Overpowers the voice of those
Who are innocent
Who suffer with no reason
Who beg for life
Who have heart full of innocence

Why do so much violence?
That the child’s cry cannot be heard
When his father is killed
Why do so much violence?
That a mother moans
Over her child’s dead remains
Why do so much violence
For winning any stupid battle
Which is taking lives
Of people who have wives
And mothers and children

When you can keep calm
Talk things out
Do whatever you can
To keep violence out
Because there is no sin as big as
VIOLENCE

Copyright © donna lu | Year Posted 2013

Details | Lyric |
Dear friend
Where do I begin? 
I got so much on my mind
Sometimes I wonder where we stand
But my emotions is bout to explode
Like a volcano when its eruption
And your name came in mind
When it came to reach out for a hand
I’m overseas fighting
With mortars flying over my head
Bullets traveling toward my frame
Fighting for something I don’t understand
I’m crying cause I need help
And here I don’t have a friend
Today I am alive
But tomorrow I might be dead
And man with this
Always on my mind
Got me scared for the fact
I don’t know if I’m running out of time
Usually I call you
But I have to write this on a line
Cause my voice is so shaky
I can’t say a word but jus cry
To me you’re like a brother
You are always by my side
That’s why I’m writing you
Even though I feel shy
You always seen me tough
But never seen my sad side
I hate that I feel like this
Even though I don’t know why
And I think you are the only person
That can really calm me down
Even though in my eyes
I see death all around
Blood on the sand
Body parts on the ground 
Sometimes I think to myself
How do I stay alive living with a frown? 
But knowing you’re here for me
Is enough to hold me down
Jus writing this to you
Is making me feel better right now
One day we’ll sit down and talk
And on my face you’ll put a smile
But I hope that day comes
Before I’m the next dead person found

Copyright © Travis Johnson | Year Posted 2013

Details | Haiku |
A journeying man,
wars with words, armed with syll'bles;
Bleeds in the abstract...

Copyright © Chad Knight | Year Posted 2015

Details | I do not know? |
it felt like
fire
being in her arms
but the tighter i held on
the colder she became

it tasted like
home
her lips on mine
but the more i longed for her
the more strange she was

it felt like
love
the time i spent with her
but the time passed by
and i realized we were

only friends

Copyright © rachel blake | Year Posted 2013

Details | Concrete |
Poisoned Mushroom                   

                 ~The Atom Bomb will kill.~
                ~Death to all of mankind, at will.~
        ~Nothing is left, bodies evaporate forever.~
      ~Poison to the souls, the connection; severed.~
   ~The human race as we know it, will be no more.~
   ~Nothing left on earth to discover and to explore.~
  ~Beautiful bright skies and the green luscious earth.~
  ~Dusky skies, radioactive dust; silence and no mirth.~
  ~The world will never be the same, man is to blame.~
   ~There’s nothing left, to hold and nothing to claim.~
        ~Hell on earth, if this should ever happen.~
        ~Pray that this hand is not played out.~
            ~Not to live in radioactive fallout.~
                  ~To breathe the fresh air.~
                    ~For mankind to care.~
                      ~Before it’s to late.~
                        ~For mans fate.~
                         ~Peace for all.~
                           ~Last Call.~
                           ~Breath or~
                             ~Death.~
                              ~Strife~
                                ~Life~

Copyright © Twelve Noon | Year Posted 2009

Details | ABC |
My baseball cap is my helmet and my Nike's are my boots, 
My country is my hood and my colors on my flag are niether red white or blue, 
My weapon of choice is my two hands, 
sometimes it can be whatever when I am threatened with a great fall from my stand,
 I have no general or soldiers but I have family and above all I got heart. 
My battlegrounds remain in my own home and sometimes even in the local Wal-Mart.
 Every inch of my hood is up for friendly fire, 
Violence remains apart of life around here searching for peace is far from desire,
 Everyday remains but another day someone will die, 
but more importantly is that another mother, brother, sister or father will cry.
 But I am a street soldier so I am prepared for anothers or worse yet my own demise,
 And as a street soldier I must keep the battle in check, no not with what I see with my two eyes, but what war is really going on inside the mind,
 My battles dont come from without but from within......I am a street soldier fighting through time.....

Copyright © Travis Lone Hill | Year Posted 2012

Details | Senryu |
‘ Lord Alfred Tennyson … ’ (Classical-Tribute)  62nd  Senryu



       Tennyson Thundered
‘ The Charge Of The Light Brigade ’
      Salutes … Six-Hundred

Copyright © MoonBee Canady | Year Posted 2009

Details | Verse |
(Chance Operations)

Twenty long contemptuous years;
A myriad of monarchies 
Bargained wickedly …
Bloody warriors ~
In crimson swells;
Soured proprietary wealth…



Copyright © Adell Foster | Year Posted 2009

Details | ABC |
Alphabet amazes me
Being 26 characters long
Creating adventures
Deciding the fate of heroes
Eyes reading stories of the past
Forgetting the truth behind words
Gatsby telling lies
Hamlet’s revenge
I can even create a world
Just for me to live in with
Kool-Aid flavored oceans
Lemon filled trees
My own tiny universe
Nothing but the alphabet weaves it
Only I can explore, unless invited
People in my world are twisted
Quieted they stay
Rebelling against authority
Saying only they’re allowed to fight
Tomorrow will be different
Umbrellas will be sent into the air
Vanilla ice cream flowing in rivers 
When I come to end the world
X-rays will be sent
You will see
Zero people left in the world of letters.

Copyright © Christian Guild | Year Posted 2013

Details | Narrative |
HE DECLARED WAR ON THE PROPHETS

Come my slaves he would say,
wash my feet and fold my clothes
he would stand so bold and heartless 
He is the ancient evil king
that gives so many bad dreams,

He would sits upon on his throne 
looking over his treasure lands and seas
while the Prophets are out in the fields
crying out to the lost sheep
about a kingdom to come,

It is cold out side
and many has frozen to death
but they stayed upon their toes 
and moved along like the steady wind
some has made a fire around stones
where ancient stories where being told,

Oh, but Dark Angel didn't like what he sees
he got so mean over what he has seen,
he hand many to be slain 
while he gave them all the blame
for why he is acting this away
then he shown all his power in a night,

Oh how I could heart the screams 
until thing got silent 
when he draw his sword and made blood shower
all over the land down into the mighty seas 
in darken dreams where I weep,

I heard the screams of an ancient time
that played upon my mind 
Oh, how the words cut deep into my soul
when I seen the foreigners loss their lives 
because they taken up the knife,

Oh, Dark Angel don't play nice
But, the Prophets in the field never stopped 
giving good advice to the ears that hear
Oh, but how Dark Angel stood near
bring on the fear that hears,

But upon on the Prophets pour out true wisdom
while the slaves where out digging ditches
for the dead who has lost their heads
the Prophets would say
the wages of sin comes death
but please don't be afraid,
 
they started praying in the name of Jehovah God 
and to our Lord Jesus,
That's when Dark Angel told the slaves 
to take off their clothes
Oh, how they felt so ashamed,

he would beat them down 
into the blood stained ground 
calling them so many bad things
you are useless to me he would say
to the slaves that was once his 
then he declared and said take off their heads,

In secret are hidden are the wisdom
of the forbidden
to the ruthless of all nations 
that is when he declared war upon the prophets heads
now come my slaves and do as I say.

Poetic  Judy Lilly  Emery (c)

Copyright © Judy Emery | Year Posted 2017

Details | Light Poetry |
As I set in my comfort, champagne glass in hand I reminisce over the master's of my plans.
Putting pawns in perspective, navigating the move before the move. Using a fail safe strategy
Leaving no way to lose. Seeing no problems just solutions , keeping my eyes on the prize. Relying
On bishops to keep me alert and wise. As I move forward my rooks take a stand, Keeping me in a position to always have the upper hand. With my Queen by my side my second in command, utilizing her ability to execute my opponents every plan. Securing a perimeter is a job for my knights
And at any given time be willing to put up a good fight. As a king on my throne the world at my feet,
My champagne glass runs full from all my enemies defeat.

Copyright © Eric Hatcher | Year Posted 2015