Battlegrounds Poems | Examples

Presidents and Poets

Their names have become
hollowed out husks
blown about the graveyards
of history. Emperors who once
claimed divine favour 
and the imprimatur of the gods 
now seem profane, despotic
caricatures of their age. 
Loud cheers have ossified
to a silence or a curse lodged
in the throat of the citizenry.
Power still seeps its poisons
into the body politic, 
even now into Prime Ministers, 
Premiers and Presidents
of so called united states.

I look for a place to find
a little peace from the crowd
and the howls of an angry world. 
Where once churches held
a sacred quiet, they too
have become loud stadiums 
for opposing forces, 
doctrinal battlegrounds 
between the lost and the saved.
I retreat to that private space
where like souls meet, a room
somewhere, a forest or a beach,
or a corner of one's own garden
and there teach myself to listen.
I hear what has always been there, 
transcending the reign 
of emperors, wealth, privilege 
and the power of the State. 
And so it is, I hold to my chest 
a well worn book of poems
by that saint, Emily Dickinson,
and here - renew my faith
and find a little rest.

Visions Of Shadows

I begin the day
Arguing what I need to say
Fleeing battlegrounds
Missing you when I ask for more
And you stepped away
Asking where did you go today?
I am seeing visions of shadows in my mind
The demons inside me cry out for light
And I sought salvation from my alien dear
In webs of death I saw my bones shatter into dust
As I wake my blood runs cold and My senses lose control
You never came to save me now I am dying all alone
I begin my day asking if I lost control
through the broken sight
We lost everything we stood for
As I stand alone
I never knew you did not return
Before I fall asleep
I let go of the shallow souls
Spirit speaks to me, Mirror lets me take control

Panoply

Poetry’s spoken armor
repels the pointed spear
warding off tomorrow’s scars
enemies in fear
Each word thus protected
as phrases form anew
to vanquish what the darkness brings
— new battlegrounds in view

(Dreamsleep: May, 2024)

THE VIRGINIAN

Always a citizens greet
Pleasure to always meet
Towns and Cities
Southern dialect witty
Freight trains through the state
Visits no hesitate
Mountains and Trees surround
Voices echoes heard from mile away towns
Virginia known for Victories
Battlegrounds and Entertainment
That’s a Virginian commitment
Virginian’s will always share their storytelling
But to listen you must be willing
The vast land
Numerous farm land at a Virginian demand
Virginian’s do their best
They are not like other states who could careless
Virginians with hearts true
The motto, “Pure Follow Through”

Battlegrounds

Childhood crept through
those long summer days
when the smell of pine
hung in the hot air.
Deep in the shadows
of that besieged acre,
heaven and hell played
out a lethal game
in what crawled, wriggled
or took wing. Death there
was silent and cries
froze in gaping mouths.

Dragonflies patrolled
the boundary
like miniature demons
and in hollows,
mandibles gnawed
on nerves
until the last thread
snapped and let panic loose.
Gowned in finery,
other terrors waited
to welcome fleeing souls
with a fatal sting
or to paralyze the will
and render living flesh
food for offspring.

At night, screams
broke out
and blew across
battlegrounds
to tangle in the thickened
skeins of dreams.
Years on, all have
sunken deeper
and slurried
into a faceless fear.
There are times,
even now,
when you can hear
the sobs of those still
wandering the wastelands
of restless nights
whilst good people sleep.

The Warrior

Every wrinkle tells a story,
In his frail old hands,
A lifetime of battles,
As he walked this land. 
Behind his tired eyes,
Secrets are hidden away,
Memories of conflicts he fought in,
Where he lived to fight another day. 
His exhausted frame may be stooped,
But if viewed close enough,
The man he once was,
Still rises above.
His aged mind remains sharp,
Sheltering tales of long ago,
Internal scars locked away safely,
External ones on show. 
He’s traversed the battlegrounds,
Survived love and war,
He deserves to be saluted,
For all that came before.

I Feed Corn To Pigeons

I've been to battlegrounds fighting for free
                I've run worlds searching fortune
                 now feed corn to pigeons

Black Civil War: Book 1-3

I saw a thousand guns
Numbered like the sand of the seashore
Bowing down slowly
To the half of a yellow sun
Staring at them with gestures
That spoke silent words of praise
In an unbelievable future of hope!

(Book 2)
The sunrise spoke to the confederation,
The sunset seemed to sleep in peace
Within the heart of a few future Jews
Who told tales and fables of segmented past
With presentable memories of shredded battlegrounds
To new semen’s slowly turning into men
And begged of them to transfer
This vehicle of priceless messages
To their future kind!

(Book 3)
Tankers of war labeled yellow and black
Painted pictures of a fate fair and dark,
Carried labels of a suspected authoritarianism;
Painted portraits of an undeniable militarianism!
Tankers of war labeled yellow and black
Painted pictures of a race in peace or part,
Carried labels of a suspected treason
Believed to be pinpointed by the south-south region!

Feeling, Healing and Discovery

Lost and found; together how?
God and sinner enjoined now
Searched for love in the wrong places
Always attracted to the wrong faces

Solitude allows for reflection, deep
The aim: to get a good night’s sleep
The physical man stoops in shame
His spiritual side seeks no fame

His emotional envelope, confounds	
Soul and spirit on battlegrounds
Personal discovery awaited ahead
Prepare to be surprised and scared

As the Smoke Lifts

disillusionment gathers
like an incoming storm
with impending doom

rainless clouds
become the reigns
of the thunderous rage
toppling statues like trees
along paved walks
where peace one gathered
flags now burn upon the grounds
and those that fought to protect
lie unearthed within the fury
as headstones tumble
like dominos downward

common grounds become trampled
battlegrounds now redrawn
as the world looks onward
through the haze of destruction
awaiting the smoke to lift

yet the storm
rages on
unscathed 

June 28, 2019

N-A rerun 9
Sponsored by John Hamilton


Brian Strand new poetry contest 2
Contest judged 6/29,2020
(it's the only n/a I have from this time frame, I don't consider it political but if you do and care not to place it, I understand!)

Change

There's a war going on in these streets,
Hearts are losing beats, the innocent weep, buildings fall to the concrete, while thousands of people move their feet,
There's angry voices wanting them to care, poisonous fogs fill the air,  men in formation telling them to beware. 
Police brutality and riot violence, it's all the same
There's injustice, and hatred but with a different name
There's bullets, and gasses, and crowds to hard to tame.,  
Soldiers fill the streets, helicopters are in the sky, 
The weak and poor stand their battlegrounds and the strong man cries. 
Equalities has been divided, power is stripped from the man,  business owners dreams crumble,while the unprivilged lock hands. 
Leaders step down, poor communities gain power, more dreams burnt to ashes after the midnight hour.
America rise up, put both feet on the ground, honor all our brothers and sisters from white to brown.
Make our unity unbreakable throughout the land our forefathers found. 
Lock hands and hearts throughout the nation, let equal rights end this war 
Let's rise above all nations , United we shall stand, even stronger than before.

No Righteous War

How often does the battle rage
 in scripting men and women of youthful age
to the war on which we lay our rights
 calling all to the battle cry of fear and fight?

Freedom comes with a disastrous price
 when misspoken words enrage the hate and internal vice
of gun and cannon roar to steal away the best of lives
 only to be recorded in nameless historic archives.

Combative battlegrounds of confrontational hostilities
 mark the flesh and blood scourge of future inabilities
to struggle to live in peace and learn to compromise
 for land or some fool-hearty franchise shaded heroic disguise.

  There is no righteous war to sanitize the tears
  and children's cries left behind to remember and agonize.

They Say

When he cooed, doves flew to him
  When he smiled, the skies brightened
When he sighed, the seas stirred
  When he signaled, worlds were enlightened

They say he never raised his voice
  Never became angry or cross
They say he didn't walk, but glided
  That his feet gathered nor dirt nor moss  

He was seen in times of trouble, severe distress
  In lands of drought and famine, in the debris of tornadoes
On battlegrounds everywhere, in the aftermath of war
  When floodwaters receded, in the wake of volcanoes

An enigma bound by a riddle, with a tiny heart for a seal
  Absent an ego, from this World his Fate was to steal

War of Tyrants Part 8 Rejoice

Bright sons and daughters of war
Rejoice for you are now the bringers of light
Vanishing the darkness
Now take life by the hand
Tie the threads of a new upbringing
To be in cold, desolated in the nature of evile
Now we can scream from are vocals of joy
We have escaped the void
The chosen few stood against many
Escaping the deepest of fear
Illuminating the heart
Once remembering are eyes written in torment
But we will forever have are wounds of emptiness
We had to face the scorn, believing in are useless tears
Tired of the fight, falling into the nightmares and shadows
We shall remember the fallen
Are brothers and sisters of the battlegrounds
Those who kept their heads held high
Their honor goes far beyond death
For they shall be revered forever in time

Shadow Play

Just finger play above his head,
three little brothers in a bed;

light shafts beam, shadows command,
of airplane flight on ceiling spanned.

So great a love, this brother bond,
the brand of love that goes beyond

what mortal man asks of others,
answered only in a brother.

The sun will turn incessant rounds,
to rise one day on battlegrounds

that cover earth and sky and sea . . .
where little boys should never be.

That tiny one, the baby son,
who crowed with glee at childish fun

is caught in flash of light between
the crosshairs of an M16,

and those two older boys would give
their own sweet lives if he could live.

November 18, 2017

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