Best Battlements Poems
Mourn not my Son... your Father's dead
And there's nothing to be done.
Do not mount the battlements in my defense
As the race was fairly won.
The kitchen table has not been set...
My chair lies stark and bare.
No one leans against the window sill
To enjoy the good night air.
The wooded trails lie hushed and quiet
Where my thoughts no longer stray.
The geese who consumed my crusted bread
Grow more peckish by the day.
And excuse the Baker if he looks confused
When I am not there to buy his rolls.
And commit to the Ferryman two copper coins
As we all must pay his toll.
And Nature will seem modestly indifferent
As the Sun will rise again.
But remember well this road we've traveled
Where I called you Son and Friend.
Gird yourself against the slings and arrows
And receive my falling torch of deeds undone.
But before you walk the hallowed ground
Be sure to overindulge a little fun.
I weep for those who have not journeyed
Upon the wondrous track to mark our gain.
But with you my Son...who really knows?
We may yet... get to do it all again.
Mortality is lovingly given by the Grace of God
And to its betterment all should strive.
But alas our lives have one primal flaw...
No one here... gets out alive.
With this my spirit soars to celestial heights
So please accept this well-earned death.
And as Son and Friend... we will meet again.
When you partake your final breath.
And be not shy... about my demise
That allows me to walk on Heaven's path.
As only a fool like me would keep a toaster...
In the same room a person takes a bath.
The End
Categories:
battlements, appreciation, death, humor,
Form:
Rhyme
With the onset of advancing age, so I find,
A man grows weary of all mundane talk;
Occupies his every spare, idle thought
With that of the slow, reflective kind.
Regretful of many a squandered hour,
Turning his back on the squabbling nations,
Their woeful, self-serving deliberations,
Dreams wistfully of his own starlit tower.
Should he hopefully find that blessed stair,
Wound insides of the ancient, dim lit wall,
Where tread from unseen feet sometimes fall,
He could but elevate himself above his cares;
There, throwing his soul upon the night,
Lift his gaze upon a tumultuous crowding!
His thinning pate adorned with a crowning
From a far-flung, pale, distant light.
And if he was to fix his mind upon that point;
To that moment forcefully bring to bear,
With every ounce of fibre when stood there,
An unremitting will to somehow exploit,
That, which, the mystics so jealously guarded...
Then, perhaps, he might too ascend?
For, in all reality, at the very end,
All is thrown off...the very body discarded.
Therefore I will choose my own finality.
I give my remaining days to old worn steps
Enclosed in rock, a turret that silhouettes
Against an endless sky; and if it should be
That I find such hallowed battlements
Give aging legs the strength to slowly climb,
To praise the celestial and sublime,
When reaching up where my God frequents.
For though those stars seem out of reach,
Unattainable by grand, omnipotent design,
Nevertheless I am thusly to be inclined
To offer up a prayer and unto him beseech:-
"Immortal father who created mortal man,
Ye who sits above all earthly thrones,
Give unto me old tools and rubbled stones,
And I shall endeavour to do what I can...
To rebuild that abandoned, crumbled tower...
For, Lord, be it only by dreams men are
Truly empowered"!
Categories:
battlements, philosophy,
Form:
Rhyme
A glint in the black, like stars
Pearly, polished, pointy peaks of a fiend
Fangs of self-deprecation, puncturing every effort
Coursing the flow of doubt, discouragement and defeat
I may not see your face, beast, but your teeth betray you in darkness
Dripping with the blood of my best effort and intention
Inexperience and ignorance, clotting ...
I am but a babe in the woods of poetic expression
Searching like Hansel, for crumbs of excuse and artistic insight
Oh, I see your vestiges, hear the gnawing of your dismal disregard
And your umbra shades every scribble ... every keystroke
But I know you well ... I know who placed you there
Yet, with a sword forged in kind encouragement and friendships, rare
I will stand on the battlements, and fight to the end
And should you gain the last word, it shall be inscribed ... in my blood.
~ 8th Place ~ in the "Plucking the Poisonous Parrot" Poetry Contest, Maureen McGreavy, Judge & Sponsor.
Categories:
battlements, analogy, introspection, metaphor, poetry,
Form:
Free verse
It stood on the top of the hill
dominating all of its surrounds.
Its drawbridge these days lay open
spanning with ease the now dry moat.
Like a fairy tale fortress it had turrets
that soared up high brushing the clouds.
Its four towers majestic as blankly,
they stared, covering all points of the compass.
Slit windows peered out of casements
through walls up to six feet thick.
The massive double oak doors
fifteen feet high and twelve wide
stood thrown open allowing glimpses
of the enormous courtyard beyond.
Battlements led to each round tower
that once housed the nobles.
Old battered forgotten furniture
grandly carved four poster beds.
A sword or two lay scattered
amidst the clutter and bird dropping.
Wide stone staircases meandered
curling round and round the walls.
A gallery or two dotted here and there
perfect hiding places above the hall.
Some for musicians to play unseen
Their notes floating through the air
as below the dancers swept and strutted
as the ladies hooped dresses swirled.
Long tables once laden with food
stood a skiff with broken legs.
Wooden pint tankards higgledy piggledy
strewn about midst wooden platters.
Tattered standards limply lay motionless
against walls dotted with scattered torches.
The Lord of these lands killed in distant lands
leaving an infant son removed to the city
by his grieving mother who sought to forget.
Now ninety years later his grandson views
the devastation of years of neglect and vows
to return the castle to the glory of its heydays.
After three long years of often brutal work
removing shrubbery, moss and decay
Life starts to re-emerge Flags flutter
gaily high up on the battlements.
Chandeliers sparkle and the torches flicker
Tables once more groan with a feast of food
Happy shrieks of laughter fill the grand hall
And one would swear the castle wore a smile,
as children played around the buttress's.
Categories:
battlements, fantasy, grandson, imagery,
Form:
Epic
I feel it so strongly deep inside the cry of your heart
It but echoes my souls endless fear of being apart
Use your strength to go on with life even though it is hard
Where is life’s joy when treated with such reckless disregard?
I wonder can I ever free you from this endless pain?
My body and soul are laden with such cold heavy chain
Lead me through the maze of your mind, let me break down the wall
The donjon has been built of adamant and shall not fall!
I will rend the dark veil and bright starlight will fill your soul
The battlements long secure crumble, your love makes me whole!
Written by Shane Cooper & A-L Andresen 25.03.2015
Copyright © All Rights Reserved
Categories:
battlements, care, deep, life, love,
Form:
Couplet
III
But, of course, I had no dizzying towers
To burn...only bridges; and they were torched
Years ago in the urgency of my direst hours;
Along with so many mighty battlements sacked,
Countless golden fields scorched...
Afterall -- it was the age of Bronze!
I should have well known that in the flight
Of birds, in each cold dawns pale grey light,
I would eventually come to see the unalterable
Fates of Wilusha's last Imperial Scions:-
Tottering precariously - on the brink -
A world in crisis! Then the elopement...
Did you not once stop to carefully think
It through? Giddied no doubt by bestowment
Of that accursed title; just as if it were the
Same giddying rush
You have experienced from the heady
Potency of a full bodied, Oaked Chardonnay.
The coy performance at being required to strip --
An inner excitement at your self's shamed
Nakedness! The obvious insincerity on display
When receiving an invite to dine at the gaudy
Little bistro; your hot skin noticeably flushed
With the delirium of wine; frequently
Pressed to partake of yet another glass;
There was, he casually said, much to be
Desired in a pleasurable rape. Her audible gasp...
As if, from that roadside window, she was
Suddenly staring out over the idyllic plains
Of mythical Arcadia;
His eloquent assurances artfully calculated
To lend themselves to a distressful behaviour.
Categories:
battlements, longing,
Form:
Rhyme
O’er the battlements I do roam
in a place far away from my home.
Seeing first-hand the horrors of war
longing for peace from all the blood and the gore.
Sleep, it escapes me as I lie down for the night.
I still see the faces of the men I did smite.
Visions of soldiers I once called my friends
Lying dead on the fields, never to see home again.
Once great cities broken and crumbling away,
a terrible price for all who did pay.
Yet in the end as victors we stand
O’er the tyrants who ruled with strong hands.
Homeward we travel leaving behind
all the horrors of war to a place so sublime.
Our families they gather to carry us home
to write down our thoughts in the lines of a poem.
Still as we sleep the demons do come
to remind us of things we long to be gone.
Yet as we wake screaming in fright
we pray to the Lord to make it alright.
When does it end the horrors of war?
When the forces of evil are finally no more.
4/8/2013
Terry Burns
Categories:
battlements, war, home, home,
Form:
Dramatic Verse
The whole of my life is rather mundane, endured only until those few minutes gained; Yes, granted reprieve from this daily drudge, and allowed for the nonce, even if begrudged, to hold a feather,very sharp, to write with the tip. Slow and steady like a man taking sips…from the water of life after a long weary trip.
When all the gears are lubricated, operating efficiently, and the needs of the world weigh on someone else, the mechanism of creativity connects with the crenelated cog of self.
Dominoesk works cause my hand to haltingly write. Heart to mind, mind to body, body to hand, hand to quill…okay, so it's a keyboard, alright.
Emotion, like sand after a beach trip, pours forth from places usually dark, not seen, unlit.
Using that water of life and the sands of emotion, I build my castle with words and notions.
Intricate battlements, portcullis, bailey , and arrow loops. Protection from arrows of interruption, darts of responsibility, and soldiers of the Soup.
Until, Inevitably the drawbridge is breached, the end of my time finally reached.
Slowly I surrender my feather sword, in this messy, mixed metaphorical world.
The oven timer beeps and the phone rings, bringing me back to my life of mundane things.
Categories:
battlements, extended metaphor, metaphor, poetry,
Form:
Prose Poetry
I feel it so strongly deep inside the cry of your heart
It but echoes my souls endless fear of being apart
Use your strength to go on with life even though it is hard
Where is life’s joy when treated with such reckless disregard?
I wonder can I ever free you from this endless pain?
My body and soul are laden with such cold heavy chain
Lead me through the maze of your mind, let me break down the wall
The donjon has been built of adamant and shall not fall!
I will rend the dark veil and bright starlight will fill your soul
The battlements long secure crumble, your love makes me whole!
Categories:
battlements, love,
Form:
Couplet
A cacophony of cheers
Sand sprays like fireworks
From feet, hands, ball, hair.
Four women, two-a-side,
In a battle for the ages.
A motion of fluidity and a
Knowledge brought forth
From years in the fray.
Sun, rain, the elements,
Just more adversaries
In a long procession of
Combatants put asunder
By their clear dominance
Of a gritty game of volleys.
The Americans had few
Times met with struggle
Along their long journey
Toward the gilded yellow
Badge of Olympic honor,
But this night the glint in
The eye, the coordinate
Movements of limbs and
Lengths and deliberations,
The perfection of intents
And wiles and exertions,
Would not birth triumph,
But instead place a bitter
Pill flat on their tongues.
But such is the bare truth
Of warfare, and such is
The coming of wisdom ...
For without that sour taste
And constricting swallow,
We have no estimation
Of the finer, sweeter things
That the battlements of
Life hold within their walls.
Gold knows no favorite,
Nor does it gleam in the
Eyes of the fortunate only.
Momentum true is the key
And this night it flowed
For the sake of those
Whose feet knew this
Beach as their own ...
Who felt their home and
Peoples and affinities all
In the grainy coursing of
Cold granules underfoot,
And sometimes, when
The heart has the peace
Of its OWN around it, that's
All the difference needed.
But character outshines
The most precious ores,
And in that bold and true
Respect, our wonderfully
Beautiful and courageous
Girls of Stars and Stripes,
Shall ALWAYS stand at
The top of the podium,
And the anthem of our
Appreciation and pride
Will always play in their
Ears ...
We love you, Kerri
Walsh Jennings and April
Ross, and you are, without
Question or argument,
The very BEST.
Categories:
battlements, america, beach, courage, patriotic,
Form:
Free verse
In a dreary county castle,
a ghost from the past is seen to dwell.
It haunts the castle battlements,
and walks the halls at night.
It walks the halls and moans a sound
that sounds much like the wind.
A whitish form that sounds of wind,
and scares away all people from the castle.
It seems to hum a mournful sound
that speaks of things where spirits dwell.
Not seen by day but only at night,
its form then walks the battlements.
Above the moor the high battlements
reach the dark sky and are filled with wind.
On a moonless night
the eerie sound from the castle
filters through the lowland where no man will dwell.
Such a soul wrenching sound.
Creeping through the heather without sound,
two boys came near the battlements.
Past the cemetery where shades of night dwell,
their way was blowing cold with wind.
They crept close to the castle.
Truly a dark and cloud filled night.
An owl screeched the night,
a most haunting sound.
Boys haulted near walls of the castle,
beneath its sighing battlements.
Lonesome cries of a disturbing wind,
spoke of a ghost who dared there to dwell.
Upon that weird lament they didn't dwell,
for this was their night
to face that ghost or wind.
Fraternity deemed they sleep there sound
on top of old decaying battlements,
within the wretched castle.
Eerie wind where spirits dwell
this castle haunted great at night
make sounds high in the battlements.
Categories:
battlements, evil,
Form:
Sestina
I dream beyond these battlements
Of islands in the west
Beyond the strings and sacraments
That occupy the rest
My gentle sister, soft and pure
Admires her silken sleeves
A subtle breeze begins to stir
The eucalyptus leaves
And like the leaves that tremble so
My mind will dance toward
A distant archipelago
Or ships that I may board
And though the only ship I meet
Is drawn upon a page,
In books or verses I repeat
These thoughts I can't assuage
I dance in sprays of golden flowers
That sprout along a stream
I walk along the shore for hours
Til night begins to gleam
For I'm too young to marry now
But houses will decree
I ask the wind to try, somehow,
to take me to the sea
-For Isaiah Zerbst's 'Edmund Blair Leighton' contest and inspired by his painting with the same title
Categories:
battlements, sea, dance, dance,
Form:
Quatrain
GUNLOM AT KAKADU
Between the rugged battlements of weather beaten rock,
A waterfall has carved its path through solid granite block.
That endless tone as water fell sure soothed one's weary soul,
The cool clear pool beneath its walls was like a crystal bowl.
Pandanus fringed its sandy edge, Swamp Paper Barks as well,
Its everlasting solitude sure cast a pleasant spell.
The intermittent song of birds sung melodies so sweet,
So took a spell to sit a while, to bathe my weary feet.
In future times when I get down, if life should make me blue,
I'll just recall that spot I saw, Gunlom, at Kakadu.
Categories:
battlements, inspirational, life, places,
Form:
Rhyme
THE CRYSTAL PALACE
The gods awoke, as they occasionally do,
and found Fred Cross in multitudes, alone.
Unconsciously aware of their unblamed fault,
they dreamed for him an appropriate abode,
a crystal palace flawed through and through
with veins of earthy, dark hued stone.
Sequestered by battlements of coldfiery ice,
concealed, it towered over existence below.
Fred Cross, through mirrored portals viewed
the warm chill of life from his lofty abode,
and despairingly content he quite often died
exploring the chambers of his intricate home.
By midnight's blaze through vacant corridors
he paced, stumbling on cobwebbed unrealities,
and contemplated empty passages scrawled
in volumes shelved in wormwood libraries.
To bed he went at darkened dawn, tired by lore
read studiously of man's strong willed frailties.
On sunset mornings he slipped boldly outside
to sense the roses he could not smell, to bare
his soul to one who cared. But alas, he could
not find a single one of all those there
that knew him well enough to share. He cried
and fled to his castle gate, hopelessly secure.
The gods returned to their perpetual rest.
Fred Cross lived forever in a palace of death.
Categories:
battlements, angst, corruption, spiritual,
Form:
Prose Poetry
Humpty Dumpty, it was not his real name,
A nom de guerre that brought widespread fame.
He played a court jester, amusing the king,
To act the buffoon, and sometimes he'd sing.
But when the king's castle, became under siege,
He pledged his fealty, only unto his liege.
While masquerading as a very large egg,
He secreted inside it, a gunpowder keg.
Then he sat on the battlements, on top of the wall,
Inviting the roundheads to cause him to fall.
Avoiding all slings and the arrows,of impending fate,
He raised both arms in triumph, to celebrate.
Faking demise, played out as if wounded pride,
Head first down the buttress, he started to slide.
The egg broke on impact, but Humpty had gone,
And there on the moat, appeared as a graceful white swan.
As the enemy charged, each claiming the prize,
Humpty had left them with a great big surprise.
An empty egg shell that was all battle scarred.
And a gunpowder keg, his secret petard.
With a flash it exploded, in a cloud of blue smoke,
When the dust settled down, the castle siege had been broke.
They searched for their hero, without one single trace,
But in truth , the king and his jester had big smiles on their face.
7/ 5/ 2018.
Categories:
battlements, hero, mystery, nursery rhyme,
Form:
Couplet