Drifting over field and fence,
Cautious, as gently falling snow,
Settling quietly on the frozen lawn,
Eyes blue, like Southern Atlantic ice,
We watched you watching us,
Giving you needed time,
And, in time, you approached,
Slowly, nervously drawing near,
Slender, almost frail, hungry,
Perhaps, just in need of a friend,
Silent, emotionless, resilient,
Battle scarred and war torn
We reached out our hands,
You laid down your shield,
We provided shelter,
We gave you hope, faith
No towel dries these stains
Dragon scales that pierce my soul
Hateful words that scorch my heart
Your reptilian heart
Stay hidden among strangers
Battle scarred by your coarse touch
Magpies musing to get money,
Mock at misers sans magnanimity.
Lands laugh at those that wend
Their way mumbling: my land, my land.
Lover, at the lady-love’s spouse,
Proud, playing with the love-child in his house.
Death scorns, laughing aloud
At the battle-scarred king in shroud.
_____________________________
Translation |07.08.2024| free verse, fun
The Sanskrit verse:
arthaah hasanti uchita- daana viheena lubdham
bhoomyoh hasanti mama bhoomih iti bruvaanam |
jaaraah hasanti tanayaan upa-laalayantam
mrtyuh hasati avanipam rana-ranga- bheerum ||
We wander through so many gardens,
doting robins, ignoring the crows.
Our personal oasis is an unfinished poem.
Plastic flowers may last longer, but their dead scent,
cannot compare to freesia and frangipani.
In fading grey sunset,
I crumble, crouching in musk air.
An arch frame with withered wood skin
and paint peeling in need of black dye,
but still Shalimar honeysuckle wraps like a quilt,
weaving around amber roses and velvet clematis.
Battle scarred thorns may stick and prick
these gangly timber legs, but each blemish
is soothed from butterflies floating from petal to petal.
In speeding winds I rock like an armchair,
helpless to save cherry blossoms falling,
creating a carpet of pink upon flakes of green.
Knotweeds sneak through a resurfaced pebble path,
but my dandelion heart seems fond of its purple tint.
Midnight raindrops sting like sake,
but I know dawn will bring bright blue skies.
barefoot and present
old soft shoes naked
foot wiggling toes grimacing
I come to manipulate the ground
that I stand dirty souls
marching forth
battle scarred
wiggling toes
grimacing with rhythmically amalgamated
marching forward March up one, two. three four
Holy clean feet and soul
I am barefoot standing on uncleaned soil
6/8/23
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr © 2023
There was an old battle scarred bear, one day the old bear slowly dragged himself out of the woods to die.
Two young hunting dogs saw him and they attacked him.
All the old bear wanted was to die, but the bear reared up and fought the dogs off.
With all the strength that was left within himself he chased them away, then he layed himself down on a hillside and he died.
One might ask-if the bear wanted to die then why did he fight the dogs off, why didn't he let the dogs just finish him off.
Because the old bear wanted to die with dignity, and there's no dignity in giving up, when you have the slightest strength left within you, remember that.
He was a man that knew the word ‘monster’ well
though he never quite spelt it out.
My dad told me that he had seen stuff.
He had a Meerschaum pipe, you know
like Sherlock Holmes,
and he knocked it out
on a battle scarred wooden table.
As an inquisitive child, I had to ask.
“What’s a monster Mr.?”
(in my young mind
monsters were kind of furry and cute,
they had googly shaped bodies
like the cartoon ones we see now.)
He sighed and thought a while,
then said:
“See that little sparrow pecking at crumbs
on yonder windowsill lad? I nodded.
"That creature is a monster to a worm."
Battle Scared Area Did Bombard
After the area they did bombard
it had been badly battle scarred
Out from forest soldiers did flow
In past golden wheat would grow.
Windows rattled and walls shock
Bright red blood flowed in a brook
From dead who are no longer here
To heaven they all did disappear.
Are honorable and have been brave
Who now do lie in a lonely grave
Where singing bird can be heard
With God often I have conferred.
Our soldiers we will always love
Were welcomed by God up above
According to our understanding
Are in heaven after safely landing.
From reading book 1776.
Damn the wind and curse the sand,
Sunburned face and calloused hand.
Stranger in a foreign land called Outremer.
Take up arms when duty calls.
Prove to God you’ve got the balls.
Grit your teeth and storm the walls of Outremer.
Dark encampment, picket line
Posted on the desert’s spine.
Nourished by the bread and wine of Outremer.
Fever tempered, battle scarred,
Cold as steel and twice as hard,
Earn salvation standing guard in Outremer.
And yet, beneath your armored shell,
Can your conscience really tell
Who’s the truer infidel in Outremer?
The ancient tree seemed to be thousands of years old
with gnarled branches that were covered with moss
the twisting limbs rising up to the sky and also stretching out, out
and some dipping into the ground then rising out again
it was a battle scarred tree from many a rain or snow storm
and I, lay beneath this magnificent ancient tree for hours, hours
_____________________________
September 3, 2020
Poetry/Verse/The Ancient Tree
Copyright Protected, ID 20-1283-245-03
All Rights Reserved, 2020, Constance La France
Submitted into the contest, COMPLETELY YOUR CHOICE(3)
Brian Strand
Honorable Mention
Battle scarred, zealous, victorious,
tested through terrains too inglorious,
unfazed, unconquered and laborious,
I am now home bound!
Unheard amongst many voices screaming,
love locked in heart with desires yet dreaming,
walking amongst dead with hope yet beaming,
to home safe and sound!
Rushing forward into loud hail of hell,
blood, bricks, flesh amongst ruins of crushed church bell,
soul shattered and ears ringing with death knell,
On way to home ground!
Across the seas with your thoughts your image,
yearning for your touch, body in a rage,
for warmth of home and your love to engage,
to have your arms around!
‘Tail rhyme stanza‘ contest
N/A
Sponsor Emile Pinet
Written 22/08/2020
For days without end my light was dim
Left battle-scarred by war within
Left heavy by this heart of sin
Left broken by the days begin
Though the warmth of sun kissed my face
I chose to wander in the darkest space
Watching the world in a flurried pace
As what was left all fell from grace
Held between palm and hand
I watch it fall like grains of sand
One by one without command
Until the dark in me could understand
The pieces left could scatter light
From every angle of every plight
No matter how the dark would fight
Each piece reflected hues so bright
I gathered all the shards to see
The beauty made from my debris
Yes the dark still stirs and calls to me
But the light within shall break me free
One day, I went for a forest walk feeling sad,
there was a great heaviness in my heart;
I could not even express why I felt so bad,
but, I think my life was falling apart.
Soon, I came upon a gentle slow flowing stream
where a majestic old oak tree stood guard
I looked at the old tree like I was in a dream
oh, it seemed that a hundred birds- I heard
The ancient tree seemed to be thousands of years old
twisting gnarled branches were covered in moss
it was humbling and beautiful to behold
branches grew upwards and stretched wide across
Some branches fell into the ground then grew again
it was battle scarred from many a storm
and gave me such strength I said a prayer, amen
I lay beneath for hours and felt so warm
There was a peace within me that was uplifting
if this old oak tree can survive the years
then, why can I not send my pain and grief drifting
so, beneath this tree I let go of tears
__________________________
May 2, 2020
Poetry/Rhyme/Peace and Tranquility
Copyright Protected, ID 20-1248-208-03
All Rights Reserved, 2020, Constance La France
Submitted to Brian's Choice 1
sponsor, Brian Strand
Third Place
She once had soft, delicate skin,
A complexion of pure and bright,
With long silky locks draping her curves,
Her glow was an elegant sight,
Until those thoughts of hurt and destroy,
Those thoughts she could not defend,
Talked every part of each quiet day,
Talked like a ghost in her head,
About how she’d be more, better than now,
Be more than a doll on the rack,
By landscaping herself under her clothes,
To a beauty that’s a little abstract,
So she worked with a knife, a blade made of steel,
She punished her skin in a war,
Until her battle scarred arms, legs, hips and thighs,
Shed her ghost down to the floor.
DEPTHS OF DEPRESSION,
Beyond these eyes,
rages a mental war,
in a darkness not seen before,
and a heart so hard,
from being battle scarred.
Feelings, fighting, flaming flashbacks.
Nerves become stabbing knives,
Stress is a marathon of distress,
nightmares without defence,
and prayers, like SOS flares.
Future is a vision of fatality,
deceived, defeated, unsustainability.
Happiness hides with hope,
from a creeping cold harshness,
a shadow of fear, following in rear.
Love lies in lament,
buried in black wet cement
Revenge begins to rage,
forgiveness flees,
from this emotional cage.
Curses have also crept,
from darkness, where luck is kept,
frustration is wrestling,
as sanity is struggling,
feeling sickly sad or mad.
Like an injured dog bitten by fleas,
then again kicked,
without understanding the pleas,
as living this curse is getting worse,
falling, deeper down, in sorrow to drown.
Then hearing echoed words of care,
and a mystical angelic hand,
tattooed " I have been there"
remembering words,
"Live life to learn and share",
and always give caring thought to those in despair
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