Best Assailed Poems
The glamorous uniform looked sharp in the posters about town.
Recruiters convinced the lad to join the Marines of great renown!
Reveille called, sergeants screamed, another tortuous day had begun!
He cried, "Lord, have mercy on me! What in the world have I done!"
The giddy lad proposed marriage to his beautiful young miss.
She happily concurred and he looked forward to years of bliss!
Now he has a common scold for a wife and a paucity of fun.
He lamented, "Lord, have mercy! What in the world have I done!"
The president-elect anticipated the perks and leading the nation,
And the dream of his dubious promises sailing through legislation.
He inherited unemployment, recession, wars and things left undone.
He puzzled, "Lord, have mercy! What in the world have I done!"
Assailed on all sides by savages and with things looking grim,
The impetuous Custer found himself hanging on to a sagging limb!
His last words might have been upon nearing life's setting sun:
"Oh, Lord! Have mercy on me! What in the world have I done!"
When we near the end of life's treacherous and rocky trail,
And are about to enter eternity through that mysterious veil,
We are apt to reflect on things we've done or left undone,
By pleading, "Oh, Lord have Mercy! What MIGHT I have done?"
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Categories:
assailed, funny, introspectionworld,
Form:
Rhyme
Land of gold
Glorious Pearl of the Orient
There's a story untold
About warriors of valiance
They snatched victory
From the hands that prey
To conserve liberty
And preserve autonomy
The raiders of foray
Armed with guns and steel blades
Pounced forward in a hurry
On their way from their ships
But the brave warriors stood
They were willing to fight
No one could have thought
They'd triumph with their might
Armed with their wooden blades
They pounced through the waves
They assailed the surging tides
With the courage in their hearts
When the minds that invade
Met the hearts with courage
The mighty raider laid to rest
On the shore far from crest
Yes, they were the brave
Who fortified the gate
So the feet of foray
Could not land on the way
His chieftain's shine
Was engraved in his shrine
Where his glorious divine
Would be honored through time
In commemoration of my country's national heroes' day
August 29
Categories:
assailed, hero,
Form:
Ballad
Steadfastly tethered
To an anchor of fortitude. My...
Resolve and faith often tested
Endlessly assailed, yet unbreakable
Never will I surrender to adversity, for...
God helps me thrive and persevere
Through a cavalcade of sinewy trials
Herculean, my strength
CONTEST 575 ,ANY FORM OR NONE,ANY THEME,UP TO A MAX OF 8 (E I G H T)LINES
Sponsored by Brian Strand (Winner: 2nd Place)
Date and written: 03/09/2019
Writing Challenge, March 2019 - Inspirational Acrostic - Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Dear Heart (Winner: 5th Place)
Theme # 5
Date and written: 03/09/2019
Categories:
assailed, inspirational, poetry, self, strength,
Form:
Acrostic
He disappeared without a word.
There was no writing on the wall
to let her know what to expect.
Was she naïve and blind to all!
Her expectations drowned in tears.
A thousand thoughts her mind assailed.
The world around her crumbled down
Was she to blame? Where had she failed?
Confused emotions left her nights
in disarray consumed with guilt.
The pain within was hard to bear;
felt like a sword plunged to the hilt.
She searched for answers but in vain
looked deep inside her crystal sphere
till her reflection laughed and said
she was a fool to persevere;
And in that instant she saw light,
elucidation from above.
The loss was his. She would move on.
He was not worthy of her love!
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
A Picture Prompt Contest
Sponsored by Brenda Chiri
Placed 1st
3rd March 2020
Categories:
assailed, love hurts,
Form:
Quatrain
In My Life’s Peaceful Interlude
Midlife for me was a peaceful interlude.
After my children left the nest,
there had been a climax of sorts.
Poetry had come; it flowed to me.
I’d spend long afternoons in sun’s warm glow,
happily attacking sheets of paper with my pen.
In my life’s interlude, I felt formidable -
as though I could live another fifty years. . .
and all would be well.
How I wish this feeling were immutable!
One evening visiting a nursing home,
I beheld an elderly lady sitting demurely at a table.
Her image was a graceful sketch in grey
which imprinted itself indelibly on my mind.
As she sat, so well-composed, although her hands trembled,
I noticed her frailty and how brittle her old bones had to be,
yet there she sat, this aged woman, lighting up the room
as she smiled at me!
I have always felt life to be tenuous,
but examples of that are coming faster now
as my old friends and acquaintances vanish from the earth.
Trials of my own have now assailed me,
and still I write and wonder. . .
Should I somehow manage to live a century
as that old woman surely had done,
and should I become bereft
from the inevitable losses the future is sure to bring me,
might I sit and manage as gracefully as she
a brightly lit-up smile for a passer-by?
Nov. 3, 2017 for John Hamilton's 'Eight word challenge -5' Poetry Contest
Words used in the poem: 1. Brittle 2. Immutable 3. Formidable 4. Tenuous 5. Interlude 6. Sketch 7. Bereft 8. Demurely
Categories:
assailed, life,
Form:
Free verse
Violence in the political party
A pebble thrown to defend oneself from a barrage of 100- stones
The bully then complains of abuse—might never makes right
will we unite?—I Am Anaya “All for one and one for all”
Bullied everyday was he, his peer would tell the news agent
He was different, a loner, weird, wore camouflage
And so, we tormented him
A lunch bench, a boy sequestered was “bullied every day”
Silent, defeated, sunken, he rarely spoke a word
Clean slate, passes a routine background check
A dietary aid prepping food in a nursing home
Nothing unusual nothing remarkable
Republican at heart for God knows what gave way, donates
to the loyal opposition a progressive bent
A bit addled and mixed up, can we see?
Unleashing his wrath a man filled with hurt with hate
In his own backyard, the tormented dons the guise of the tormentor
The assailed becomes the assailant
The unthinkable is done, perched upon a roof
four-hundred feet away just minutes into the oration
he aims then pulls the trigger
obscure and distressed Crooks alters history’s course
with a firearm at the ready as a duty and right
Father Crooks kept many, in a very pro-gun town
At the hands of a 20-year-old man who was
bullied by their own sons and daughters
Counselors, both father and mother
trained to help troubled minds, how ironic
Where were they as their son’s inner storm brewed?
A blind eye turned away what shame, what horror
Yet the world’s most salient story
Categories:
assailed, abuse, anti bullying, character,
Form:
Political Verse
Before you go know this of me
lying here, beneath this tree,
that I once had your dreams too
but all too quickly my life here flew,
forced to dance to a different drum,
in a foreign field, where whistle and hum,
assailed my body and hurt my ears
and haunted all my primal fears
and robbed my youth and tore my flesh,
whilst, back home, there were fields to thresh,
ale to drink and girls to woo,
flaxen haired, who looked like you,
to court and marry and make heavy with child,
but now I lie, beneath poppies, wild,
that others may have what I had to forego,
please, think of this, before you go.
Categories:
assailed, remembrance day, war,
Form:
Rhyme
O child of stone, outcast, alone,
succumbing to desire.
Inside your chest, you’re sorely pressed,
assailed by a liar.
Do not believe the tales it weaves:
the lost, untethered heart.
Though it deceives, it silent grieves
the time it spends apart.
When realized, it bitter cries
for wounds it did impart,
and scarce conceives, much less receives
the grace of a fresh start.
But when it breaks, all of that ache,
like scales, just falls away.
A flood of tears, to be drawn near,
says what no words can say.
Your Father sates, and yet He waits
for you to freely turn.
Climb in his chair, incline your ear,
and hear what your soul yearns.
Child, fall asleep to rhythms deep:
a heart that fiercely burns.
Ah, to be blessed, and find the rest
your strivings never earned!
Categories:
assailed, father, love,
Form:
Quatrain
Before last breath, he finds a quiet space
As time's arc has reached its final expanse
Traveled trails from life are etched in his face
His sense of mortality is enhanced
On the long road, his heart had been assailed
Left to bleed memories that stabbed the mind
Where forgiveness was asked for times he failed
An enduring pain to always remind
Yet, could he have known a life more sublime
As he chased moments of laughter's sweet guise
His passionate heart wrote poetic rhyme
Read to the lovers who welcomed his eyes
This evening falls dark to replace the light
As his eyes close slowly with life's twilight
2/14/20
Categories:
assailed, appreciation, life,
Form:
Sonnet
Underworld, of changelings,
where shadows loom,
There lies a world, vitrified, consumed,
Its surface hardened, a relic of alchelimes,
a testament to sorrow, frozen in language
warning signs.
Once a haven of life, brimming with dreams,
now encased in glass, a tragic plightstoscene.
Whispers of laughter, now silenced,
veiled by the icy grip,
by memories assailed upon it's sardonic lips
North, stood a river, flowing,
purely succumbing to the liquid cascade of dreams.
Now stands a monument,
empty and obscure,
a sewage treatment plant of fear
and conspiracy, not theory,
but excremeofsupremacy
of Triremes of war eclipsing peace and prosperity.
A mosaic of black emotion, punishment's devotions.
Change resides in this vitrified tomb,
like fangled shards
of black mirror cutting Bards and Poets in handling, reflecting from corpused firmament womb, harpypsychords in accord with gloominess
and despair
etched on its face,
Obsidian tears.
The competing vision of the North-
sees a great Western deluge. A revival of the Sisterlings and the Brotherly.
Beasts roam like children in caravans
to witness mankind,
to pay homage for eyes opened,
having seen for the first time,
how things are meant to be, sublime.
Categories:
assailed, art,
Form:
He stares
into the distance of the days,
of those gone and of those yet to come --
he touches no one,
is touched by no one.
Yet noisy commerce
around him flows, constant movement;
but movement without a change of place,
no progress forward, no backward retreat --
an illusion of movement, only.
He sees youths --
with no sense of self --
and leathery crones,
unhygienic vagrants,
no place to go,
assailed by noises --
a repetitious assault
upon the ear and air.
Still he sits,
in frozen semi-trance,
staring always inward,
but also into distance,
sentient and inert.
Categories:
assailed, angst, depression, emotions, grief,
Form:
Free verse
When I spotted Saint George in a van,
I feared that his horse might be lame.
Or worse, in a Doggomeat can,
when hurt in some chivalric game.
Saint George, it appeared was not happy,
now carried around in this way.
He used to dress well and quite snappy,
with armour and sword on display.
It didn’t seem right, when I saw him,
in wellies and minus a hat.
I expect my Saint to be trim,
not looking like some bureaucrat.
“You there!” said Saint George to a swain,
“I need you to help with my quest.
They’re wanting a Dragon thing slain,
because it’s becoming a pest.”
“Noble Saint, may it please you to hark,
‘tis Ramblers and Naturalists Day.
They’re swarming all over his Park
and demanding a new Right of Way.”
“Yon Dragon is hid in his cave,
all cringing from lads and the lasses.
He claims he’s no longer so brave,
when facing the wrath of the masses.”
The Saint then climbed back in his banger,
but soon got it stuck in the mud.
He next was assailed by the clamour
of peace keepers baying for blood!
The Entrance, he got a surprise,
when told he must purchase a ticket.
‘For seeing a Dragon who cries,
when hiding behind a small thicket!’
Saint George soon fastened his tabard,
(of bio-degradable tin),
then drew out his gun from its scabbard
and gingerly ventured within.
“Brave Saint! You have come and will save me,
before I am forced back to crime
or ghastly do-gooders enslave me.
Thank goodness you’ve got here in time.”
“I’ve finished all Dragonly trades
and prisoners now been released.
I love little children and maids.
My fire fighting days are all ceased.
Saint George said, “I must go ahead.
This isn’t the world as we knew it.
The age of old Chivalry’s dead.”
He pointed his gun – and he slew it!
~
For Judy's "Hail to the Dragon Slayer' Competition.
Categories:
assailed, england,
Form:
Verse
Son, I'm so proud that you elected to serve in the United States Marines.
Military service is a family tradition - it just happens to be in our genes!
Your forefathers have worn the uniform since the genesis of this nation.
All were privileged to serve, feeling that it was their solemn obligation!
One of your distant relatives served as a lieutenant in The Revolution.
He lost an arm at Brandywine to boost this nation's glorious evolution!
A soldier on your mother's side was a sergeant in the Battle of New Orleans.
In letters he told of subsisting on meager rations of rancid pork and beans!
A grandfather shouldered a musket in the Mexican War affair.
Another, a corporal of cavalry in the Union Army served with elegant flair!
In the Spanish-American fray, one of your kin charged up San Juan Hill.
Your great grandpa led a platoon in World War One with consummate skill!
Your granddad was a fighter pilot in the South Pacific and became an ace,
And he later soared as an astronaut through the vast reaches of space!
I was privileged to serve as an army chaplain during the Korean War.
Your Aunt Sarah served with distinction in Viet Nam with the Nurses Corps!
So, you see son, you have a distinguished heritage upon which to build,
Serving all humankind to ensure that our quest for liberty is fulfilled!
Godspeed, Marine! Here's my old wartime copy of the Twenty-Third Psalm.
When assailed from all sides, it will provide you with great solace and calm!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Placed No. 4 in Gail Doyle's "Writing A Heartfelt Poem To A Soldier" Contest
July 2012
Categories:
assailed, father, son, war, war,
Form:
Rhyme
We would sleep oft as light as a flagging breeze, eyes dry and smarting; with minds ill at ease..'
Our lives then the currency to pay your dues, who would return from our sorties? we had not a clue.'
We fought off the nausea, as well as the foe, we'd tied wires to ailerons if it meant we could go..'
Our aim was sure, our desire's to win.' Our hearts burned for freedom; midst the dogfighting & spin,
We honoured this country, child maid and man, from the bankers, to the bakers; lords or labouring men.
Our thoughts oft assailed, by the task on our hands; our limbs felt fatigue, yet we held to the plan..'
We came back from our 'bailouts', to a pittance of pay; then returned to the sky by the night & the day.
Our flights held this country, kept its hope; earned its trust, we hold no regrets for blood spilled in the dust
We know that our sacrifice, will be not effaced; keep the faith we've delivered, here in our covenant place.'
©Joe Maverick 7/2/2015
Categories:
assailed, memory, war,
Form:
Rhyme
If one is compelled to stay longer,
If one’s senses are assailed,
If one is driven to suppose its motivation,
If one is urged to seek detail,
If the palette makes its statements,
If each stroke helps one define,
If the subject can be seen anew,
If one seeks to know the artist’s mind,
If one sees therein a beauty,
If one somehow identifies,
If one feels their heart is touched,
If one is thankful for their eyes,
If one is moved to remember,
If one can see it in one’s mind,
If one is pushed to revisit,
If one seeks out more in kind,
If the painting is acclaimed or
If it's “art” to only one;
Then it’s a perfect painting,
And its work is done.
Categories:
assailed, appreciation, art, beauty, character,
Form:
Rhyme