Best Badge Of Honor Poems
while eagles soar high
over rugged mountains
of south carolina
through writings shared
WolfSpirit takes shape
my mind pictures the man
in all his wisdom
half human half spirit
i hear his deep voice
gentle with tones of
clarity and insight
the philosopher speaks
with intensity and
full gamut of emotion
from depths within
he wears his name like a headdress
more than a mere badge of honor
he pays tribute to both
land and its creator
behind him a noble lineage
of a proud peaceful people
his code is truth and honor
delving into life
and its many meanings
pondering the implications
of beauty and the beast
his poetry reflects on
dreams alive and broken
past hurts and scars
life and love interwoven
and all the rest
that binds mankind
through harmonious melodies
of visions of brotherhood
AP: 1st place 2020, Honorable Mention 2023
Be proud of your scars
oh daughter mine
now a mother of children dear
Remember the time
they suckled your breast
gorging on the food of love
Worried lines on your face
anxious frown on your brow
a love story you cannot erase.
Oh daughter mine be proud of your scars.
Pendulos breasts wear with pride
your babies now full-grown and wise.
Stretch marks remain to tell
that you carried your babies well.
Oh daughter mine be proud of your scars.
A badge of honor
that's what they are.
Thickened waist and cellulite disgust many
yet tell a story so sweet so true.
Oh daughter mine be proud of your scars.
Uptilted breasts shapely hips
elegant thighs tell a story of their own
but you gave your babies all you had
with love and tenderness.
When they're grown and gone away
you will remember them still
by the scars you bear today.
Oh daughter mine be proud
Be proud of your scars.
Silver Strands
Platinum it was, not a hint of gold
Silver tiara was grandma’s crown
Brushed over her head, to a bun rolled
She always refused to wear it down
It shone in the sun silvery bright
Her bun boasted a badge of honor
Holocaust survivor fled at night
Now in the free world as a senior
Nazi tattoos, numbers on her arm
Smallpox scars were evident too
But they never filled her with alarm
A lucky lass, she had made it through
A dark-haired teen had boarded a boat
Marrying a man she met at sea
Just their clothes, nothing else to tote
Seeking the Statue of Liberty
Each silver strand was born of worry
For family in Poland left behind
Her escape had been made in a hurry
In a brave quest for freedom to find
*Written for Susan and Andrea’s “Silver Strands” contest and inspired by my maternal grandmother’s escape to freedom
The clanking sound of spurs, the sun’s glare
off the shiny doppelganger derringers.
Her hat tipped onto her sweating brow.
“Contests! We don’t need no stinking contests!”
Her cowhide boots kick up the prairie dust.
She’s not your quintessential grandmother.
Her torrential windpipe words ready for a fight.
“I will be number one! Like it or not!”
She spits tobacco into the air, daring a challenge,
and it drops at the feet of the biggest contest.
“Chew on that one...for a while!”
A patch over one green eye, the jealous one. She wears it
as a badge of honor. No one messes with Lady Cogburn.
Like showing off pictures of her family, she lets a scroll roll loose.
Her adjectives and verbs, nouns and sounds.
“I dare anyone to steal my verse! Who's brave enough
to roll out one of their own!”
She spits and stares them down, as one courageous chick
steps forward and just as quick she lays her low.
“Contests! We don’t need no stinking contests! Now the rest of you scram!”
Dodge City, the ghost town, has one occupant. She lights her Virginia Slims, lets her poetic smoke circle the air — like vultures.
7/20/2018
Contests! We don’t need no stinking contests! Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: John Lawless
I will not be your puppet in a minstrel show
Because I guarantee no Mammy, Jezebel, or Sambo lives here
You may try to control my thoughts and dreams
But I will not be your Venus Hottentot
As you stare in awe of my beauty through a glass cage
I will not be your freak show
or your gateway to a cultural experience
So please find your own
I will not be your token prize that you flaunt for credibility
Referencing my existence ever-so-often to quench your thirsty guilt
I will not allow you to parade my black skin as a badge of honor
I will not let you touch my kinky locs
I will not let you use my tears to wash away your sins
I will not ‘dance monkey dance’
I will not sing or perform for you
My body is not a vessel for your insecurities
Do not twist and turn my limbs into a web of amusement
I will not plaster a smile on my face while you poke and prod my soul
Because I do not belong to you
She became a symbols of American pride,
as she made her run down the tracks.
Those big drivers turning eight wheels
and smoke pouring from her stack.
Pulling cars from Chicago to Memphis,
on across that Delta Land,
running down to Baton Rouge and over to the Gulf Coast sands.
She saw the Yellow Dog run where the Southern Cross the Dog
ate shrimp in New Orleans and ribs from a Kansas City hog
She pulled corn out of Illinois and a load of wheat to sell
Rumble on down to Mississippi on the Monday Morning Rail
The engineer, with his hand on the whistle,
keeping the train on time.
His schedule became a badge of honor,
As he ran the railroad line.
He rolled through village and town
then turned the throttle loose,
A hundred tons of solid steel, a
hundred cars and a caboose.
She was called “the future of America,”
Before the diesel took her place.
She kept her date with destiny and lost
In the final race.
History has told the story of an era
that has come and gone,
A hundred years of running the rail,
the steam engine has sung her song.
The green monster, they are everywhere being worn like a badge of honor. Have you seen them, where did they come from. Could one of them be you, say it is not true. Some say they are only after the green money, they are really after the entire pot of golden honey. Do you need a clue, they are after what belongs to me and you. They take what is not theirs, they have no cares. Hurt and pain they bring, they want to make you sing. What evil they live, never knowing how to give. They will not change, so stay far out of their range. You do not want to catch their evilness, do not turn into their green sickness.
Jealousy is the green monster, this is something to ponder.
Date Written: 6/23/2021
1 Place
A Brian Strand you choose Contest Judged: 8/12/2021
Sponsored by: Brian Strand
I’m Linwood’s daughter
I still carry his last name
Like a badge of honor
Despite the purple pain
Knowing him was an honor
Despite all the hard truths
As a precious poet who ponders
Despite amethyst child abuse
But I prefer to be as a sifter
Letting the darkness fall away
For now he’s with Big Dipper
And his memory in me safe
I focus on the good things
I’m lucky to have this view
He taught me to denim dream
Plan execute and follow through
He wasn’t a shy man at all
His smile and laugh was sun
He had the stance and walk
Natural of a confident one
He wasn’t a tall man yet
Personality filled the room
He was a chemist the best
Ahead of his time like a bloom
Like a flower in the winter
He managed to grow anyway
Racism hard times didn’t hinder
Creative father at 18 born in May
He was naturally neon funny
Could lift your spirits high
He always earned his money
And carried hisself with pride
My dad was an optimistic hero
I could always talk to him too
As I look out the past’s window
I see his eyes in the mellow moon
I see him as an arch angel now
For he was a champion on earth
His smile was a cure for frown
His love was as holy as church
I am Linwood’s daughter
He was 11 when his first scars began to appear
In the beginning his scars were small and not very deep
Originating at school his hazing began
This boy was bullied
He was changing and his friends didn't like it
They teased him
He was a twig and had a squeaky voice
He had no one to help him
So he turned to the blade
He cut daily to escape the emotional pain
His body continued changing
His scars became deeper
He couldn't handle becoming a man
He couldn't handle the stress in coming of age
As he developed he gained responsibilities
The world expected more from him
he wishes he could go back to the boy of his youth but knows he can't
His body growing bigger
His shoulders broaden
The weight in becoming a man is heavy
He wants to stay this little boy
The thought of being a man terrifies him
Now has mood swings
He's not happy all the time like he used to be
He angers easily and
Wish to remain that little boy
Then he realizes
He must learn who he is as an individual
He must endure the changes
He must push on
Listen to advice
Stay fit
Be patient
These scars are symbolic
A badge of honor
Decorating your self-identity
Transforming you into the man you wish to become.
paws on his casket
he drops a white rose
onto his friend
a soldier come home
his final badge of honor
4/15/13
for rick's rose tanka contest
They told me that it was going to be alright,
My daughter what a pride,
Smiling, happy to have joined,
The symphony of military life.
Back then it was alright,
Till they brought her in a coffin,
A body gored without eyes,
A badge of honor,
Compensation,
And the Kenyan flag.
I fodled her shaven head,
Hugged her legless body,
Then I realised I was 60,
And still I cried.
"She's gone to Paradise,
to be with God and the Angels in the sky,
To sing in white and fly like a kite."
None of that could stop the pain of death,
From roaming,
Staring into my eyes telling me that I was weak,
As the priest poured the dust Atop her coffin,
"Ashes to Ashes, Dust to Dust,we all return,"
The heat, the pain, pins and needles,
The sweat, the blood, the coffin going down,
I was beaten at last.
I covered my eyes, the tears coming in torrents,
Sobbing because she had gone so fast,
lips shaking, teeth rattling, mucus dripping,
The world turned blurry and all went black,
I opened my eyes my friends by my side,
I realised,
That all this while I'd been acting tough,
And still I cry.
I took my first steps
barefoot on the cracked earth,
the whispers of ancestors carved clean
into the script of our days.
Under the watchful eyes of Mma Ishmael,
her hands, calloused yet tender,
shaping our dreams like clay,
teaching us the rhythm of resilience,
how to dance in the rain,
how to find joy in the simplest of things.
Dikaelo, with laughter like a river,
flowing through our hearts,
her stories painted with the colors of our land,
carving paths through the thickets of youth,
guiding us with a compass of love,
reminding us that even in rust,
there lies beauty,
a testament to endurance.
Kachikau, a patchwork quilt of memories,
where the laughter of children echoes
against the backdrop of dusty roads,
where every corner tells a tale,
each grain of sand a witness
to the lives that have danced
under her vast, open sky.
Though the village wears its age
like a badge of honor,
we see beyond the rust,
beyond the faded paint and weary walls,
to the heart that beats in every home,
to the spirit that rises with the sun,
filling our lungs with the scent of earth,
with the promise of tomorrow.
Here, we learned the language of the land,
the secrets of the baobab trees,
the song of the wind that carries
the laughter of our forebears,
reminding us that we belong,
that this is our sanctuary,
our haven,
our peace
I reckon you could rightly say that I am from the old school,
But some of the politically correct stuff today, as a general rule,
Leaves me scratching my skull, baffled and so incredulous,
Groping for the proper words as I try to be cautious and sedulous!
When I was growing up many years ago, people were "happy and gay!"
I know I step on sensitive toes but that term would offend some today!
When you were "happy and gay" it meant that you were jolly and elated,
But "gay" has a different connotation today, completely unrelated!
When you "made love" in my day it usually meant you were "necking",
Parked in your old jalopy, music playing, smooching and pecking!
Nowadays, "making love" has a different connotation, but I'll keep it clean!
I shouldn't have to draw a picture - I think you'll figure out what I mean!
Families were disgraced in my day when young Susie was found with child.
She was scorned and sent to "visit Aunt Gladys" out of state, to put it mild!
Seems it's a badge of honor today and is something to be glorified!
Well, whatever, but if it were my kid I would be sorely mortified!
Gossip would run amok when a couple "shacked up" in my old hometown!
Today, "living together" is the politically correct term for settling down!
This was written with lingua in cheek but freedom of tongue guarantees,
That this four score old coot can write anything that he dang well please!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
An Accident
On August 20, 1963 I was on
The back of a motorcycle going slow
At a pace of ten miles an hour in front
Of a shopping center that bowed
The belly of the bow was a blind spot
A young man we knew came around
That bend doing 70 MPH we had no where
To go pushing the driver off onto the ground
Rolled my head into my arms when the
Car slammed into my right side crushing me
The bike and I flew one hundred and fifty feet
Slamming into the pavement and slid into a tree
The muffler snapped and ripped out most of my inner
Right calf, I had thirty seven broken bones plus
Four compound fractures, broken ribs and jaws
My right leg hung on by a tendon laying in dirt and dust
I screamed “Oh God help me” and the pain
Left and I only felt like I had a cramp
I lost almost my body weight of blood
I spent one year in the hospital with pins and clamps
Three years in a wheelchair and one year on crutches
Had 28 surgeries, traction, body cast hard and shoddy
Was in a coma for six weeks had 22,000
Stitches In my frail 12 year old body
Over a hundred kids sat in the lobby
Enduring the wait for the surgery
That lasted ten hours, guitarist was Bobby
Singing and praying, I believe they are
Why I am still here!
As for my scars
They are my badge of honor
For I survived
08/11/2014 Shadow Hamilton's contest
I guess this had to be said
The root causes for the way
I am kept awake at night
Summer heat no sleep
My only companions are
Past events and the opinions
My soul resents.
I guess it had to be felt
Every reflection and failure
To society, my appearance must
Be on point and tailored
To meet another’s expectations
My soul craves approval like
Success and celebrations emotional
Rollercoasters to ride on certain occasions
As a man fear becomes unacceptable you must
Be the brave one.
I guess this had to be heard Oh, sorry say that again?
I can’t hear you. My soul then becomes numb misunderstood
Makes you feel dumb because you must be the only one when
The second or third comments speak up son. Damn it another crack collateral
fracture to move forward must move faster to escape the disaster
in my life oh well, time to backtrack.
On the bicycle of this thing called my life, I fell off way too many times the bumps and bumps and bruises become a badge of honor look how bright they shine. So how do I heal as I deal with how the pain festers when the scabs of old wounds peel. I heard my brother say toughen up like the Navy Seals. For him, my heart is cold like steel stories I retold myself based on events half real.
I guess this had to be seen the rumors about me are not true I am not really mean
Although I do get mad and half the time I don’t know the words to describe how I feel. Your insults don’t hurt me I devour them like three-course meals. Lets talk about what’s really on this brain how lies were sold and how this soul growing up in the modern education system studied long-term and was short-changed but I guess the was all part of the plot to teach base on rigged curriculums and whether I learned or not teachers still got paid at the end the day.
I guess this had to be sensed since every human I ever crossed paths with subconsciously convinced that parts of my soul do not fit into the mainstream
No one left to pick up the pieces so forget about seeing the bigger picture when the vision is blurry.