Best Ares Poems
Thundering down Olympus
Treads Ares
The battle master
Ashen
Piceous clad
Against midnights cloak
Returning human spirit
To the heavens
For upon drowning
Within his crimson gaze
Do we understand
That in faith
Lies divinity
Note: In Greek mythology Ares is the God of War.
Lift your chin,
Focus your gaze
because there,
in the corners of the dark
Is the Beginnings
of Catastrophe.
Be mindful
where you
place
your
feet,
as you Dance through
the Destruction.
Disregard
the bubbling
Fear of Inquiry.
You already have
the answers
to your
questions.
You know
Destiny is
Rotting
and Hope
is in
Paralysis.
No one, but you,
knows
the Torture
of being
a Leader.
And,
with that,
the knowledge
that you
cannot
be saved.
You fight,
without thought
of rescue,
to Sever
their
Strength.
To see them
fall,
like
the
graceful
Corpse
of an Angel.
You
Pray
for your
Enemies,
for you know
the love of battle
is a Vicious Romance
with no escape
till
the
end.
He
Makes my chest
Light up
Like
A lantern
He lives
through
my laughter
coursing through my veins
the return of my cheek's blushing colour
He has
unbelievable
healing powers
He is the combined essence of rain water and the mist rising off Niagara,
he is a like a thousand hugs from a mother, or a lifetime of lullabies from a violin orchastra
of heavenly archangels
He nurtures my
mind
better than food or water......
He is the reason that
my pen wanders...
He whispers and calls me his darling Laura,
He is my
serenity, peace and shelter
My muse
my
Ares and Aphrodite Statue
If hell is the place
to deprive men of their human nature
the battlefield swarming with dehumanized souls
is hell; and is in the real world,
hell is the hungry stray dogs licking blood on corpses
and vultures ingurgitating rotten flesh from the corpses scattered
around on the ruins; then, it would be the place where Ares reigns.
The cowardly Ares always conceals himself
behind the madness of the battle cry: enjoys watching
the sparks flying; swords crossing; he drives warriors into
harm’s way; binding their fear; imposing military order, exploiting
the absolute ranking system.
Ares compels them to exchange their only life
given by their mother with a piece of rotten earth
covering their terror-stricken soul with the flag named Patriotism
there is no friend or enemy in a momentary lulled battleground
you won’t see a friend or enemy, except dead or alive,
however, dead ones won’t say a word because they are dead
while alive ones groan and moan and cry out a beast’s howl
and in a such battleground, in the ruins where the time ceased
to move
a mother sobs while gathering her son’s scattered remains,
the mother searches for the son’s victimized soul,
becoming a waning moon in this solemn moment.
Our valor you reward with scars and dread.
The honors you bestow leave good men maimed.
Though back from battle, lauded with loud cheer,
the din of combat rings on in the head
of each who’s seen things better left unnamed
that slaughtered friends and comrades they held dear.
Your vultures spread their wings in sun to dry
the stench of carrion from bloody death
picked over, after ravaged by your dogs,
while armies, trained to never ask you why,
rush on until they huff-in Hades’ breath
to join him in his misty world of fogs.
Heroic soldiers, these who are now gone,
will never know whose side you’re really on.
Out of the beginnings of a winter storm that would last for days
A man clad in armor fashioned by Druids walked up in a gray haze
He’s Walker the Warrior, a hush whispered into the crowd.
He made barely a noise; his shield and sword silent, not a bit loud.
I held my breath, for his reputation proves he is the boss.
As he walked past me I caught a glimpse of a copper Celtic cross.
He is a lone wolf, one man whispered a few feet next to me.
That’s when I noticed the entity had no eyes that could see.
His hood was empty, as was his armor. He was the Walker!
Some of the others in the field scattered, not one squawker.
He is the most intimidating entity I have seen.
A god on the battlefield though when he puts on his mean.
Reputed to be fashioned from Ares, on a mountain top in the sky
We watched the Walker walk past us. He seemed to glide right on by.
He took over at the front and led us to victory that fine day.
We enjoyed the rest of the storm in our homes in hills far away.
I watched the endless procession of stalwart youth, resplendent in their panoply gathered, a
steelly passion filling resolute gait.
And I asked of them, "To what place does such noble assemblage march?"
"To the Temple of Ares, and Glory's Gate, to burn of names in Honor's book
That they may be reverenced by heroes," said they.
A thousand sundry banners danced in the morning breeze,
And the sun this day was no more radiant than hard Youth's gaze which beheld it.
Then, an eagle, portentious? burst forth from the sky's vast vault to augur their triumph!
But they could not see his tired tear, so far the distance...
And soon, unleashed, the gods of carnage with ghastly abandon sang their drunken
Practiced hymn-
Of young hearts cleft by musket or spear, "Oh, let swords, lusting, rage,
And thirsting deeply drink
As the glory of kings is yet again
By the blood of children authored.
Then walked I 'mongst the torn and sacred dead
Through a sea of gore and Glory served...and
Came upon a writhing form whom playful Death had not full claimed
As charred lips mouthed their sad entreating:
"Grant me, sir, some kind embrace, and a hand not raised in wrath-
for now I die, all dreams undone, as forlorn seas strong beckon."
And then, another broken form lied grasping a comrade's dead limp hand
Whose emptied eyes now stared afixed upon some nameless moment of Eternity,
Lifeless, cold, and sad, unknowing the touch of the lover's dying kiss
Collapsing, still, and quiet atop him...
A father stooped to lift the head of his precious shattered boy,
As with Grief's awkward tenderness his fine locks stroked,
And hoped some life to thereby confer...
And a crescendoing rumble filled the valley. For Ares laughed.
Then I saw a spectral legion and asked of their shadowed ranks-"Where do you march, of
Withered souls?"
"To the House of Death and Tears...alas, to Death and tears."
Behind them not too much afar, with the clamouring of bugles and the thunder of drums rose
once more the strident cry:"To Glory's Gate!" as in witness the Dead sighed and Ares bellowed
in his mirth...
A Bit of Ares
We begin to number
the defining moments
as we start the slide
into a seeming oblivion
Clawing away our innocence
Sharpening our senses
baring our internal fang
uncannily unleashing the beast
We crouch keenly
surging with passion
roaring our desires
We start to prance
with a reawakened hope
we are prowling with zest
daring our dire yearnings
lust for greed displays
loss of human nature - or -
sin as a pasttime
15th July 2015
Checked howmanysyllables.com
An atrocity loose
Across state of Ukraine
Annexation Russian
Arms raised in defiance
Against staggering odds
An iron curtain drops
Agamemnon awaits
SEE HOW YOU IS
KNOW HOW YOU AM
GONNA MAKE IT DIFFICULT
SO I CAN'T UNDERSTAND
YOU GONNA MEDDLE WIFF ME
SO I CAN ERROR
FORGOT HOW YOU ARE
FORGOT YOU DON'T CARE
TALKING AINT
GONNA GET THRU TO YOU
YOU WON'T MIND
WHAT CAN I DO
TENSIONS BUILDING
GUESS THAT'S MY FAULT
IF YOU DONE WHAT THEY TOLD YOU
YOU WOULDN'T HAVE COME UP SHORT
CHANGE FOR FIFTY
IS TWO TWENTIES AND A TEN
YOU BOPUGHT BACK FOUR TENS
MAN WHERE THE HELL YOU BEEN
DIDN'T KNOW THAT
TIL YOU OPENED YOUR MOUTH
WHY YOU TALKING TO ME
NOW WHATS THIS ABOUT
BETTER GET IT RIGHT
TELL ME IT STRAIGHT
AINT GOT TIME FOR WHISPERS
I'M THE EARLY BIRD
YOU THE ONE THAT COMES IN LATE
GET YOUR GONNA GETT'EM CLOTHES
WIFF DOES FREAKY DRAWS
YA'LL THAT GONE GIRL STUFF
MAKE IT DIFFICULT
CALL AND TELL HIM
YA'LL AINT NO MORE
SHE THE AND YOU THE WHORE
BIG FLAT FEET
WHY YOU WEAR THEM SHOES
THE STRAP COVERS THE TOP PART
BUT THEM HEELS WON'T DO
AINT NO GIFT GIVING
WHEN CHRISTMAS COMES
DON'T ACT SO SILLY
DON'T BE DUMB
GET IT RIGHT
IT ALL BOUT ME
YOU SECOND BEST
WHY CAN'T YOU SEE
ADAPTING TO SOMEONES WAYS AND THE WAY THEY THINK AND THE THINGS THEY BELIEVE MIGHT HAVE YOU SOUL SEARCHING.
ANY RELATIONSHIP THAT MAKES YOU TO FEEL AS IF YOU HAVE TO MAKE DECISIONS THAT MIGHT CREATE "CAUSE AND EFFECT SCENARIOS" AREN'T RELATIONSHIPS THAT YOU SHOULD BE IN.
EMBARRASSED
AND SOMEWHAT ASHAMED
IT BEST DESCRIBES THE MOMENT
THEN WHICH IS NEITHER
PRESENT OF FUTURE
IS SUBJECT TO
BEING OPPOSED
IT IS HOW IT IS
TO THE DISCRETION OF THE HOST
THE PRIZE WILL REWARD
HE WHO MEETS THE CHALLENGE
THAT THE CONTEST IS TO RECOGNIZE
THE TWO IN OPPOSITION
TO MAKE HER PRIZE IN SUCH DEALINGS
WORDED FRICTIONED BABBLINGS
SORTED THROUGH IN GOSSIP
PROMOTED BY THOSE WHO WISH
TO INSPIRE TROUBLE
THAN IN OPPOSITION OF BEING
PART OF THE MAKINGS
WHO SHALL MAKE RULES FOR COMBATANCE
THEY SEPERATE THEIR SELVES FROM
WHEN THOSE THAT I LOVE MAKE
FRIENDS WITH MY ENEMY THAN I AM UNLOVED
AND THOSE WHO SUPPORT THE GOSSIP MAKE
THEMSELVES MY ENEMY
ONLY A FOOL WILL SUPPORT THE GOSSIP OF HIS
SITUATION
IT ALLOWS AN UNCARING CROWD TO WISH YOU IN FIGHT
WHAT TROUBLES ARE FIGURED FROM BRAWLING
UNLESS IT IS SUPPORTED MONETARILY
WHAT RULES REGULATES
THE CONTRACTILE SCIENCE OF
PROMOTION
BOUNDED BY THE TOGETHERNESS OF
A LOVE OF CERTAINATED TYPES OF FIGHT
MIGHT THEY BOX, WREST, JUDO, OR COMBINE
THESE EFFORTS IN A SEQUENCE OF DETAILED STYLING
WITHOUT THE FRUSTRATED EFFORTS OF BRAWLING
Oh god Ares, you magnificent brute
You scour the field of battle in your blazing chariot
Followed by the cries of anguish and despair
Of your feeble enemies being crushed and sliced
In your wake only blood and bones remain
As you cross the field of battle
As a living lightning bolt spreading fury and punishment
You are the living fire sent from heaven
To crush the feeble mortals who dare oppose
Those to whom you are the friend.
Love is said to be so many things a man can define, an unexplainable, heart-warming and deep sensation filled with the tentacles of nostalgia, a feeling so selfish to react to and unselfish to share with one's soulmate, Anthony and Cleopatra would be smiling from their graves at the sight of this beautiful piece of writing, maybe the wheel of time could bring them back, a romantic fuel that pumps the heart of man faster like the supersonic legs of a cheetah in the vast savanna or the reignition of a car engine fuel ready to hit the road, a wonderful spectacle sometimes perceived to be a crime, a rebellion of a sort maybe Romeo and Juliet would still be alive today unfortunately the hands of time has vanished with all that it had, though their love could never be but like bread and butter they were bonded for life and were permanent like glue never to be separated till their last breaths, meeting this beautiful lady across the ocean, looking eye to eye, it was made known and evident like a rushing wind that love at first sight was in the cards with the odds of over 2.5,that's the power of love, a wonderful blessing from mother nature, the cure to a broken heart in despair, the drive and enegma to react to these unexplainable feelings ti that sweet girl standing across the ocean so far away in sight it seems but yet closer to you in your heart, she sings this beautiful melody that melts your heart with your love temperature increasing daily at the sound of her irrestible voice like a fever to love and to be loved is so sweet as the lovely grapevines containing sweet - scented juicy grapes, love can be complicated sometimes, as trust can be lost like the tale of two cities but when they merge with understanding nothing can break them to pieces, indeed nature is the mother of all wonderful things God has created and love is a lucky charm, it shines in tge morning as the beautiful roses of the day and blossoms in the night as the beautiful shooting stars, love is sweet at least it has qualities to define it, Aristotle Onasis once said that love is a feeling composing of two bodies in motion.
Born of Ares,
In every life violent.
Born of Ares,
In every life brave.
Bound to children of Love,
Aphrodite’s daughters and sons.
In every life devoted,
to affection and protection.
In every life his,
those children of War.
Born of the bloodshed,
the chaos,
and the courage that comes before.