Armors Poems | Examples

The Gates of Hell

Gate or Gates 7-1-25  Based on Rodin’s Gates of Hell.  It struck me that Rodin’s gates are closed which made me think of a pastor who said he would want to set up a mission at the gates of hell, that maybe, there might be one last chance of forgiveness.  Agree or disagree, theologically correct or not, this poem is just my musings based on this perception by Rodin – the acceptance or rejection of grace - forgiveness.  
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Gates of Hell

Mercy stands outside 
The GHOSTLY gates of hell
Spreading amazing wings 
Benevolence
In GOSSAMER compassion
GRIEF-STRICKEN 
At the sight of unquenchable fires
For souls born from the pure fire of love
GROANING with tender clemency
Offering the finality of forgiveness,
Amnesty born from an empty GRAVE
In a garden,
An empty cross on a bloodstained hill,
Armors built in plates of arrogance
Scream,
Dissolve,
In the acid of this reality
Grace, never GODFORSAKEN,
Offers a chalice of ruth
For the ruthless,
A breath of pardon
At the execution of a soul –
Pilgrim thinker
Sits outside the gates of hell –
Building a mission on closed gates.

Satan Never Wins

I am stronger than you can ever be.
Satan will not get to take hold of me. 
I stand in the light when you try to hide in the darkness.
I see your plan before you even know what I harness. 
Your attempts to beat me down
Are not stronger than the strength He sends down.
The spirit is in my heart,
Jesus bore my scars,
God armors me. 
He knows you will always try but you misunderstand,
All I must do is call out His name
And you will only be able to bend your knee
And you will flee from my mind by His hand.
For the Father has already drawn the line in the sand.
I stand on the rock that is my God
And you, Satan, will take heed,
You will be gone.

The Person I Want to Be

I want to be like Moses
known for being meek
I want to control my anger
peace, I should seek

I want to be like David
knew what strength is
It is not through swords
neither armors and fists

I want to be like Joseph
stuck to the righteous path
walked through the obstacles
whatever may the aftermath 

I want to be like poor Job
remained faithful 'til death
lost almost his whole life 
but came to senses not to fret

I want to be like Samson 
not just because of his might
Using my strength for Jehovah 
even He is out of sight

FEATHERLESS ANGELS

Featherless angels, guardians of the land 
Hands that reach out to give a helping hand 
They have smiles that gleam and melt a cold heart 
They bring bright sunshine when hope seems to part

They are like bright  lights in somber places 
They give gold glimmer to gloomy faces 
They are like fountains where greatest love flow 
They are like armors when fiercest winds blow 

They don't have wings but they can fly 
For their soaring deeds touch the sky

Featherless angels poetry contest 
2nd place

When This Broken, Only a Dark Sonnet Will Do

When This Broken, Only A Dark Sonnet Will Do

In deep melting pot of sorrow's dark, seeping doom
nightmares, I saw hearse caravans rolling through gloom;
with sad echoes of creaking wheels and painful shades
came immense agonies of ever piercing blades.

My soul sought shelter from splinters of dying wood
shielding grief stricken heart from dark barely withstood;
curse that penetrates spirit's armors, valor's halls
with clouds of poison gas, seeping through castle walls.

Midnight shadows came, danced in repugnant scenes
vomiting spittle, with hideous stagnant greens;
Fate and Time, delay dawn's lights, its needed reprieve
enjoy all the more, epic loss as crushed heart grieves.

Dawn, its promise reminds, faith saves from sinful life,
I remember death's terrors and its bloody knife.

Robert J. Lindley, 7-23-2018
Dark Sonnet, ( Fate's Curses and Its Deep Plunged Daggers)

Ancient Aliens

Ancient aliens

The wears of this universe are in transit
The galaxies are overabundant
And in every universe there's problems
Strangers in kind
Who are these aliens and why they ain't kind
One billion years ago, yesterday
WALKED  on this terrain
Ancient aliens

Old allies, new slaves
Ancient ruins Norwegian caves
Roswell's calling government quiet
Where are American astronauts hiding
Roman Greek soldiers
Exposed in their armors
Cutting boards, shooting stars
Radioactive droids
Ancient aliens

Meteors guided flights
Star gazing in light
All of this is foolish
For there ain't no such thing as...UFO's 
One billion years ago, yesterday
WALKED  on this terrain
Ancient aliens

1/11/18

For Contest: Ancient Aliens
Sponsored by: Anthony Slauson

Until We Were Blind To the Stars

Day joined to expired day, 
nights lost to darkest night. 

Another year has defected 
to the phalanx arrayed against us, 
their iron hooves now thundering, 
their sheer number mocking
our plundered ranks. 

Do we then muffle our laughter,
and await the slaughter?
Do we extend our wrists,
by the flood of years barnacled,
offer them to the tides to be manacled?  

But no, we shall not forfeit the coming dawns,
nor grovel before time’s ghastly taunts.   
Let us thumb our noses at these turncoat hours, 
so their cackles shall forever be jarred by our song,  
their armors singed by our bonfires,  
and their bloating flesh branded with our footprints!   

Let us empty ourselves into tomorrow  
until we’ve drained our marrow, 
so that the moons shall remember
that one sepia heartbeat in time
when we rose to the smiting hand, 
again and again, 
until we were deaf 
to our hearts’ murmurs 
and blind to the stars.

A Avatar Fantasy

(Fiction)
A Avatar as green as can be 
Her skin so green that matches her zodiac nature
Her hair are as long silk like vines.
Her shiny armors are to powerful against human nature
A woman warrior indeed she is.
Her army suits are a perfect fit like a warrior princess.
Everything matches with nothing out of place.
When the wind blow her hair flows and smell like cherries.
She attracted the fools for love that like to be at her feet.
She will turn you to stone ice with a glare like Medusa.
Not even a prayer could save your soul from her glance.
Her throne she rules is made of gold and burgundy.
The floors are crystal and crystal clear.
Don't get her angry for if you dare, you won't be able to escape the revelation she prepare.

Give Your Best Shot

After plenty of days of hard work
This is the time of exemplifying your strength
Your confidence and inner power
Finally seen by my fellowmen 
You may not see it but I feel the change
From the time you were innocent
Yet there was willingness and hunger
In your eyes there’s a starvation
Now you come in to me even better
Strong and want to be much better
This is your game, your time
You will play in your game
Bet you never want to waste any of those times
Our struggles will be paid off
We’ll now switch our armors
Lead what the future should be
The moment you’ve been waiting
Finally comes in just few days
Give your best shot and learn while you can
See how you’ll nail your own game

Those People

"Those People", they are everywhere,
They pass you on the street.
They smile and say good morning
To everyone they meet.
They hold the door for strangers,
And always seem polite,
They donate to the food shelf
Because they once felt hungers bite.
They remember every birthday,
Send your favorite cookies when they are baked.
They give until there's nothing left,
While you take and take and take.
Doing everything their power,
To put a smile on your face.
All the while, concealing what's inside of them.
That big, empty gaping space.
As children, they were abused and broken.
As adults, they wonder lost. 
Successfully appearing normal,
No matter what the cost.
But secretly they fear the night
That's when their Demons come.
Seeping through their armors cracks,
To torture just for fun.
"Those people" are all different
We are not the same.
I guess if this was a meeting
I would've started with my name.

Fragments of African Patriotism

Fragments of African patriotism
Lie scattered all over Africa and yonder

There are specialists in grabbing the pieces
With no one interested in knitting together

The Arab -phones are picked, cooked, eaten
By the swords of Saladin

Anglo-phones are picked, cooked, eaten
By the Lions of the Sea

The Franco-phones are picked, cooked and eaten
By the axes of liberty, fraternity and equality

The Christian-phones are picked and massaged
By hidden and revered powers of the soul

The rest of the broken pieces hard to put together
Are picked, minced and eaten raw within

Ethnicity, self-interests, ignorance and greed are 
The armors of destruction and betrayal

These fragments of Africa patriotism and unity
Make African continent good for sorrows

The question that pinches my heart is this:
Who will knit African patriotism into one piece?

We Are

In your fears
             I am insecure
In your hesitancy
             I am left waiting
In your flight
              I am alone
In your self doubt
              I am inadequate
and in the shadows of your eyes
              I find the trails of my mistakes
              the recrimination for my selfishness
              the evidence of my self-centered mess 

In the palpable silence between us
    is the weight of all our fears and pain
     the distance that keeps us numb
 armors our hearts from further pain

    Staring across the table in contented silence,
   Knowing though our aches are isolated and unvoiced,
the other knows all our voids, the shadows, and broken shards.

Our mutual lonesomeness is the glue of our Love, the binding of broken into One.

God's First Angel

/Kind and sweet was 
His gaze at first
Smooth and pale was his skin
Beauty beyond description 
Calm and peaceful was his voice
God's first angel!

Perfection was his image
God made him!
Good in his nature 
but he made evil
I could be like God was his thought
A master of my own

Be careful around him
For he was a clever one
"Gather up your armors
Revolt, for we are all gods"
But he spoke his language 
Lies!

A Fallen angel is all that is left
Of him who revolts
I met the devil
For he said "let me introduce myself
I am the devil and I bring pain"


Composed by Anita Odure Odeh/

Hold On and Steer

When the unforeseen mistrel swipes the land,

tiny warriors trudge against the force.

“Back down! Retreat!”, the general commands.

The musketeers recoil back on course.


Then the torrent readily disembarks,

the entire army rolls up horse and foot.

A few lucky ones hop on Noah’s ark,

their chiseled armors soaked with sludge and soot.


When many lightning bolts descend to strike,

the runnel puts on a golden brown cloak,

keep spinning to show and tell, like a tyke.

Unheeded, the beast goes berserk and croaks.


Then emerges an ugly tsunami,

too marred, the canoe gives in to this strife.

Unyielding, the orts repair unity,

primed to take it down head-on with their lives.


When the wreckage is wrecked with such a flair,

then their raw thumbs stands upright in the air.

Puppets of the Lord

We are the puppets of the lord! Our bodes are bouquets to furnish,


Inside our bodies are like armors which fight strive, protect and die.

But as they say everything god gives, returns to god after death.


In the same manner our bodies return to him.

But an exception I see in the soul inside all of us.

The soul created, lived and keeps living even after death.

It was created by god.

It returns o god but never gets destroyed.

I wonder why ? but I am glad to know anyway!




By Manthra

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