Best Battles Poems | Poetry
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New Battles Poems
Don't stop! The most popular and best Battles poems are below this new poems list.
The Battles On
by Kiser, M. L.
On Losing Battles and Men
by Morris , Mark
by Sands, Heidi
by Rose, Ory
Battles Of Life
by LAKSHMI, K.S.
The Battles Of Life
by Buhain-Baello, Cynthia
Old soldier still battles
by Ochwo-Oburu, Solomon
Lighthouse battles Poseidon
by Raynes, Lewis
by Gauthier, Line
by ADAMU, YUSUF
View all new Battles Poems
The Best Battles Poems
Courage of Youth, Battle of Ypres, Flanders Field
Tough as nails young man with a red right hand
red-fire and whiskey ran in his blood.
Courageous seed of vast and cold hard land
quick temper, power of a surging flood.
Seeker of life, its promised mysteries
rash gambler with all he would ever own.
Born on ship in high wind swept, roaring seas
toughest warrior his town had ever grown.
Met his fate by volley of red-hot lead
buried on ground scared and battle blasted.
Aye boys, fodder that machine guns were fed
fools marching to death, long as it lasted.
Now flowers cover up and Time denies
scenes of battle torn soil and blood-red skies.
April 23rd, 1975
SONNET-(DEATH AND WAR'S FUTILITY)
Tribute to Courage of Youth-- Second Battle of Ypres, April 22nd 1915 .
Note- added - 8-26-2017
The name Flanders Fields is particularly associated with battles that took place in the Ypres Salient, including the Second Battle of Ypres and the Battle of Passchendaele. For most of the war, the front line ran continuously from south of Zeebrugge on the Belgian coast, across Flanders Fields into the centre of Northern France before moving eastwards — and it was known as the Western Front.
The phrase originates from a poem titled In Flanders Fields by Canadian Lieutenant-Colonel John McCrae, inspired by his service during the Second Battle of Ypres. The fields were not maintained for years before they were made into a memorial. Today Flanders Fields is home to thousands of poppies.
Found this while rummaging through some of my old poems. Decided not to edit it. Leave it as it was composed over 42 years ago..
Added the note for those not familiar with that battle and its horrific carnage, primarily from the insanity of large bodies of troops marching into direct machine gun fire.
Copyright © Robert Lindley | Year Posted 2017
It’s almost time and I must run
to watch/read Poetry Soap for fun.
It comes on every day at this time
and I don’t want to miss a single rhyme.
Some are about a long-lost lover
written by a secret poet undercover.
Some are about jealousy and some about trust
with rhyming lines filled with lust.
Competition is part of their game
with bards and musicians hiding their name.
They covet a prize and praise galore
laid at their feet and virtual door.
But when Poet A falls in love with Poet B
you can bet there’ll be flaming words from Poet C.
Or when Poet D gets Poem of the Day
Poet E will have something to say.
Sometimes it’s fun to read the rhymes of hate
whenever I can’t sleep and stay up late.
Battles of wits,
Poets who have fits,
Some who sing,
Some who sting.
Magical flights to lands of old
written with passion and pens of gold.
But it’s the humble ones I adore
whose words are pure, their egos left at the door.
Each episode an unending story
with poets and their pets seeking glory.
It’s addicting like dope.
I don’t want to miss today’s episode of Poetry Soap.
By: Carole O’Terry Duet
“All Rights Reserved”
Copyright © Carole Duet | Year Posted 2017
Vivid flashbacks from bloodshed battles
his soul still ravaged by devious dictators,
cries from fallen comrades still echo in his mind,
but he continues to walk upon a path of pandemonium.
Reluctantly he ventures forward with
vengeance portrayed through embers
engulfed within his frenzied eyes -
reflecting his mother's irreversible tears.
He is no mercenary nor a moneymaker,
just a repentant drifter, preparing for bedlam.
His purpose in sight, he closes his eyes,
but struggles to erase his thoughts,
as the sins of his ancestry inflict his mind.
Angels attempt to light his path with harmonic chords,
but demons cause havoc strumming broken strings.
Entering the kingdom of dry fountains,
where God has no influence,
he is afraid to inhale its corrupt pollutant air.
Charcoal clouds rumble,
before horizons shed unwelcome tears.
Before him platinum priests preach,
as court jesters dance with sly grins,
hiding metaphorical daggers behind their backs.
To his right overfull hospitals have no beds,
as penniless patients plead to be cured.
To his left the self proclaimed vain king
sits on his cardboard throne,
throwing dollars into a blazing fire place.
To his side his tyrannical hypocritical queen
hides behind her simulated smile,
oblivious to her narcissistic prince's incest desires
towards her clueless imbecilic princess.
It's an endless loop of greed cultivating corrupt seed,
which continues to breed nefarious creed.
Miserable masses attempt to break free,
but their liberation is dissected by cretinous henchmen.
In the marketplace of Machiavellian thieves,
merchant pawns auction fragmented dreams.
Sold to the biggest idiot!
His eyes full of disbelief, now rage with anarchy!
Intoxicated knights raise their half empty glasses,
as he calmly walks into this man made sand castle.
Gifts the cunning conniving cook some cyanide,
which he empties into his delectable broth.
Both watch as the elevated ones savour it like dogs,
perishing dramatically to their deserved downfall.
Beyond his childhood playground,
now with rusty swings and slides,
he places a crimson rose upon his mother's grave,
kissing her untouched headstone.
Expressionless he walks into the distance,
as storms wash away weak foundations.
25 July 2018
Copyright © Silent One | Year Posted 2018
Achilles, The Journey To Troy,
(Part Two) of (Part One-titled, Achilles, His Heart and Soul Were Mortal)
Woe! wretched horrors Olympic gods sent that day
mighty king suffered, his treasure stolen away,
power of Troy against strongest of Grecian might
testing magnificent force of great Spartan fight!
Saving proud Greek honor was the summoning call
an arrogant king demanded Troy's suffering fall,
swift as Hermes, to warriors, messengers sent
his request answered, they came in flooding torrents.
As Grecian phalanx were boarding its warring ships
strong was the question upon the warriors lips,
Achilles! Achilles! Will our fight he now join
for he answers not to king's selfish whims or coins.
Roaring loud happy cheers as his ship sails were seen
warriors, certain victories plunders they'd glean,
his godlike bearing seen at, warships splashing prow
for not even Troy's massive walls, could stop them now!
Soon Troy's riches they would gather with bloody hands
slaughter its haughty citizens, burn its rich lands,
steal its power and gold, take its women as slaves
for its sins, cast its rabble into early graves!
With sacrifices made to Ares they could not fail
their gods had sent favoring winds to fill their sails,
Poseidon. rewarded faithful kings, gave their dues
they sailed on with pride of warriors and ships crews.
Eager to land and fight battles for glory's sake
to Olympic gods they prayed, their lives not to take,
gift them courage and hone well their slashing sharp blades
allow the joys of victor's homecoming parades.
Dawn's rays saw Achille's ship surging far ahead
he had his prowess and dark blood-lust to be fed,
in his heart he knew, this battle would be his last
glory and fame taken, would set the world aghast!
As night fell, they knew new day's light, would blood-lust sate
they each sought to placate dark master of their Fate,
with prayers and incense to burn throughout dark of night
each prepared for this, the greatest of all their fights!
Robert J. Lindley, 8-12-2018
(Part Two) - The Journey To Troy
Copyright © Robert Lindley | Year Posted 2018
The brave are more than ones who battle on
in fields of warfare, showing valor true
The brave are more than those that wars have won
There is a truth that must enlighten you:
the ones who fight the battles in their minds
who daily strive to keep their fears at bay
the ones who chose to draw away the blinds
and force themselves to face another day
the ones who have the courage to keep sane
are ones who need the medals to reveal
that they are striving hard to deal with pain
though they are taught their battles to conceal
The brave are those who struggle to survive
They are the ones who fight to stay alive!
Copyright © Eileen Manassian | Year Posted 2016
We'd laid old George to rest the week before,
at ninety-one he now rejoined his wife,
no heirs to his estate, so one thing more
to do, and that's clear where he'd spent his life.
Downstairs had been quite easy, George was neat,
his things all had a purpose, neatly stored,
for tidiness this home was hard to beat
all clean and dusted, nothing was ignored.
It seemed almost that since his wife passed on
his solemn duty was to keep a shrine,
no other purpose now that she had gone,
he spent each day just sat, biding his time.
A plain and simple man, a life lived long
but opening a hatch proved we were wrong.
Met with a cold shaft of descending air
and particles of dust caught in the light
I climbed up while my friend steadied the stairs
feet dangling then disappeared from sight.
The torchlight didn't lie, I'd been deceived,
expecting just to find an empty space,
instead I stared unable to believe
how much there was in such a tiny place.
Now, yes, I would expect a Christmas tree
and Golf clubs that had long since seen a round,
a failed attempt at home brewing, maybe
and pictures he thought lost but never found.
But hidden in a tired old briefcase
were things well hid that old George couldn't face.
Tied in a green silk ribbon, slightly frayed
letters to him from his loving Maureen
about over the years the plans they'd made,
a little odd, since his wife's name was Jean.
A small cardboard box held a simple note
with medal and a ribbon tucked inside
thanking him, someone's wife had briefly wrote,
for being with her husband when he died.
I sat and read, transfixed, beside the hatch
the commendation from his high command
for acts of courage, mentioned in dispatch
in battles fought across Tunisia's sands.
It seems for these few things George had no use,
the man who wouldn't say 'Boo' to a Goose.
No time to dwell on this, I carried on,
my eyes attracted to a wooden box
the thing that caught my eye as torchlight shone
was that the lid had far too many locks.
This was no safe, a simple wooden crate
that otherwise one wouldn't think about
easy to break but did such locks dictate
that what was in there wasn't coming out?
A screwdriver was all it took to break
the brass hinges and hasps around the lid,
this liberty I was about to take
I suddenly was sorry that I did.
I paused for breath and let some moments pass
my preconceptions shattering like glass.
Swaddled within a crocheted woollen shawl
doll-like but skin with a leathery feel
chin touching knees curled up into a ball
at first glance, just a toy- but this was real.
she looked maybe, oh, three months old, I guessed,
and judging by the romper suit, a girl,
in cheery pinks and white she lay there, dressed
with matching bonnet hiding wispy curls.
Horror and disbelief fought for control,
recoiling, heart rate now in overdrive,
a stark realisation gripped my soul
that George knew of this when he was alive.
This open box no longer could disguise
the George we thought we knew was built on lies.
Composure now regained, I reached inside
and gently pulled the card out from her hands
on which the feelings mother had to hide
were written for someone to understand.
“ I had my child in nineteen fifty two
but out of wedlock gave birth secretly
they would have taken her, what could I do?
She's all I had and was the world to me.
I moved away and found another place
a dingy hole, so damp, not very nice
one night I woke and saw her pallid face
and realised for this she'd paid the price.
In case folk find out she must stay unseen,
Please take care of her, George, my love- Maureen.
The loft now cleared is empty, hatch is closed,
Golf clubs and barrels gone to garage sales,
the picture frames, well, I hung on to those
and good dish cloths and towels still tied in bales.
The medals and dispatches soon will sit
within a glass case for the world to see
since they're a recollection truly fit
for such a hero no-one knew but me.
And what of the secret letters? They're all gone
ashes to ashes, as they surely must.
Child's memory will no longer live on,
returned now to the ground to turn to dust.
no trace left for the future, no more proof
that there were two Georges under one roof
For contest 'Photo story', sponsor Eve Roper. Picture number three.
15th November 2017
Copyright © Viv Wigley | Year Posted 2017
These fair limbs that hold him in sweet embrace
Against the soft, heaving bosom of her breast;
The unblemished cheek pressed to his face,
Her hands hold the hand that lovingly caressed.
Clasping him safe, no more battles to fight,
Falling deeper she slowly comes to grips
With the simple fact this feels so right;
Nuzzling closer: hot passions on her wet lips.
A fashioning of perfect curvature...
Doubt even stars burn with this equal fire?
His lips take hers; and it occurs to her
They share what few do - a true love's desire!
Their pure union much more than just mere lust:-
True love endures when dust returns to dust.
Copyright © Brenda Chiri | Year Posted 2018
I fell asleep one dreary day
I lost my will, I lost my way
I ran from all I ever knew
And feared the call I was supposed to pursue.
I drank from wells set on fire
And filled my voids with unholy desires.
I dressed the part to play the role
And slowly began to lose my soul.
But, when your down and
And you finally have nowhere else to go
The only way to rise again
Is from the power of an eternal friend.
Many leave when you’re at your worst
When your hearts so heavy, it’s about to burst
Many claim so many titles
Their efforts are futile and their time is idle
Their promises bleed through the incisions
For they can’t possibly understand the mission.
Battles have been the hardest at times
And memories have played with my mind
But, I keep marching like any good solider would
Even though most of the time I am misunderstood.
I keep on fighting the forces and the fears,
Knowing one day he will wipe away every tear.
I keep on giving it my best even when it’s not enough
For only one holds my heart when the waves get too rough.
I keep on believing that one magnificent day
I will see true glory wash away my yesterdays
I keep on believing that one marvelous day,
I will see the gates of my destiny enrapture my today.
By: Sabina Nicole
Copyright © Sabina Nicole | Year Posted 2016
Featuring: Keith :)
Fresh sand garments
The Mental Colosseum floor
~ AND THE POEM BEGINS ~
A mask, tiny holes
Dancing around my toes
Broad carbon steel
Safe behind my will
Equipment of revenge
Fencing the world with my eyes
I bow, with the morning dew,
My mind a dual in its own world.
When the curtains lift,
I prepare myself with a weapon--
Epee Crest to protect my chest
A sword sharper than fangs
I circle my blade around the door knob
Ready to face the world
Practicing --in hopes today, I won't retreat
A magical knightress
Painted in white
~ THE SHOW BEGINS ~
Queen Amri "VS" The Damsel
Wishing it was over
Stainless steel echoes
“Every poke counts”
Hoping & Taking
No room to disengage ---I retreat
Peacefully I secure my stance
I lean in, I disengage ---I flee
Back again, I lunge
The Queen is too smart to retreat
I -Amri, parry away from the argument of the lunge.
Recoil & Double tapped
In and out….. I'm struck
Back to the drawing board
On guard, I stand like a statue
Out of breath; feels like I'm dying
Yet I am still fighting.
The Queen knows what to do.
I Yield, She Wins!
Raising our foils
---At the on guard of another day
I move in swiftly, cutting like razor blades
Using refreshed energy
24 / 7
I attack, She provokes!
Sand runs its course
Victorious against the queen
Touch – tied – triumph -- Touché
Standing on my own 2 feet
I am the
-Grand Finale Show-
Conquering The Battles Inside
Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2013
Seven generations walked through your door,
Which stood so strong and always welcomed in.
You said goodbye when boys headed to war,
Two soldiers lost to battles they can’t win.
Your kitchen always busy as a bee,
With canning, baking apple crumble cake.
Stone hearth, a place for warmth and drink some tea,
The table decked with riches to partake.
The living room a place to sit and chat,
With pictures hanging for one hundred years.
A chair still there where ancestors once sat,
This room for laughter and at times for tears.
Your nursery where many babies grew,
With bassinet where ev’ry child did lie.
The paint would change at times from pink to blue,
A place where time would always quickly fly.
The floors within have felt each child’s first walk,
Their worn out wood drowned many times with stain.
You watched the aging people gently rock,
You’ve heard and felt the tapping of a cane.
I stand and listen in your sacred halls
And feel that you’re a part of everyone.
Each breath we took embedded in your walls,
Of fathers, mothers, daughters and of sons.
Old house of stone your warmth embraces me,
Your children now all scattered far and wide.
You still stand proud for all the world to see,
The thoughts of you, sweet memories inside.
The house my children grew up in.
Written by Brenda Meier-Hans
Giorgio’s Contest: Iambic Verse III
Best of 2014 1st place
Copyright © Brenda Meier-Hans | Year Posted 2014
The menace of war in the chaos of life
The peril of ocean when tempests are rife;
The danger of jungle where feral beasts hide
The terror that lies in a mountain slide.
All these things are simple child's play
Or frivolous sport on a summer's day;
These sad battles that rouse and vex
The heart and soul of love and sex.
Struggle and hardship, beasts of prey
Are there to menace all human clay:
The bird uncaged can take to his wing
But the hazard of love is another thing;
Under the torment of passion's control
Love crushes the body and steals the soul.
A minute of rapture, an age of despair,
These are the gifts of love's warfare.
Always and forever since time began
When man dared woman and woman lured man;
In that sweet peril that prowls and lies
Is a bloodless conflict when eyes meet eyes.
That careless menace, forever sweet
Whose forlorn end, is joy's defeat;
Now and forever till time has passed
On passion's altar, hearts shall come last
Copyright © elizabeth wesley | Year Posted 2012
Israel of three thousand years
expulsed at times
enslaved by the Romans
gassed by Europe
persecuted by Saudi-Arabia
murdered by Iran and Iraq
shackled by Egypt
attacked by Jordan
robbed by Syria
sold out by the UK
bombed by the IRA
slandered with spit by Turkish terrorists
sent to the Siberian gulags in Russia
comrades they are not
evicted from many many lands
Battles house by house
street by street
once friendly neighbors
each calling the other traitor
a bloody war where no side
by prophecy they won
the twelve tribes returned
to the land of the Israelites
to their promised land
from sand they made gardens
from the desert they grew grapes
where terror reigns they
made an oasis
Anti Zionism still slithers
belly dancers selling their deceptions
naked harlots forever spew latent hate
evil men whisper, dead jew, dead jew
sadly, uneducated views saturate
seductively selling their false peace
like a woman's second hand virginity
They only hate, and dream of blood
if only, if only we had another flood
Noah would leave them all at shore
harlots, by any other name are simply
the devils horses
Israel shall forever be
the Middle East's democracy
the custodian of all of us
a religious trinity
their glorious capital
Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2018
Tradition and dress
A nations finesse
Symbolic in style
By a country mile
The drone of the pipes
Bonnie on the girls
Proud on the lads
In kilted skirts
Grooms at weddings
Kilt and dirk
But our Tartan and Pipes
Go back many years
Led soldiers into battles
See the enemy fear
Both were banned
A country naked
At the English hand
Our clans of many
In colours so grand
Woven by weavers
Our women's hands
All over the world
Scots are spread
Taking their Tartans
Of green, blue and red
It's a welcome reminder
To the kin of their past
Designed to last
This plaid of cloth
In every stitch
And like our pipes
From centuries past
This Scottish of Scots
Are here to last
Copyright © James Fraser | Year Posted 2009
As his mind drifts upon silent shores of uncertainty,
he ponders what was, what is and what is yet to come.
He wonders why no one understands the pangs of his soul,
unsure if his thoughts are heard, as they float away with the wind.
Misdemeanors of his mind are plagued by battles within his heart,
deliberating whether the seed of his creed will bleed or succeed.
Before him lies a path infected by vermin devouring dead crows,
behind him a collection of unchallenged emotions from a forgotten childhood.
25 June 2018
Example for eight lines of fate, when you wonder if it is too late
Copyright © Silent One | Year Posted 2018
When my final shadows cling on desperately
Where I fight formidable battles
to merely hold the light
I send you loving vibrations
and soul sustenance
Deep from the cathedral
of one heart to another
where today no choirs sing
nor symphonies play
Yet it is here where we meet
in spiritual solace
here to surrender
and exchange inestimable treasures
like unopened letters
Galaxies are stretched
over chronicles of shared history
Nebula birthing stars
will be exposed
in forth-coming conversations
bringing short-lived fulfillment to you
Hungry to feast
now will be the time
to approve your blood art vision
and with my own haunting surrender
as dappled shades ink stain your chest
I will reside with you and share, mesmerised
pens - by branding
as this will be your written reams to me
your artist's pallet or brushed canvas
no need for words
and yet creating
mysterious magical moments
Bitter-sweet the music
that dances taut guitar strings
but now blood approved
please go kick your heel up
return to your laughter
and ride on the breeze
for not all are lost
for I am with you always
to love, listen and comfort as one
with you in me and I in you
Copyright © Anna-Marie Docherty | Year Posted 2013
I used to live life full of dreams
Planning, for many years to come.
Where I will be, when I will go,
A future that was filled with fun.
Till the day my life was shattered.
Till the day when the hammer struck.
All my dreams now torn asunder
Nowhere to hide, nowhere to duck.
I stood my battles, fought the fight
We gathered and said our goodbyes,
Yet through all of your brave faces,
I could still hear the silent cries.
Last Will and Testament written,
Everything important was said,
“I love you,” still that magic word,
I’d sleep in peace tucked in my bed.
Then something magical happened,
I came back from places of dread.
Now more a part of the living,
Each day I get stronger instead.
Now I know what’s most important
Enjoy precious moments each day,
Learned not to live for tomorrows
That just might not come anyway.
I enjoy each sip of coffee,
Watching leaves turn colours and fly,
Kisses from my sweet little dog,
Every time I see a blue sky.
The music of my Children’s voices,
Love of family never ends,
Carpe Diem, just seize the day,
That is my new motto my friends.
For Regina Riddle’s Contest
Seize the Moment (Carpe Diem)
And the prayer offered in faith will make the sick person well; the Lord will raise them up.
Living for the moment makes everything more special.
Copyright © Brenda Meier-Hans | Year Posted 2014
She doesn't believe in quiet love
wasn't born to bleed shyly,
couldn't care about the cost of conquest,
Too beautiful to be bitter, and too young to be cynical,
a cerebral seducer, a critical killer of caution,
too clever to be a casualty of competition,
the antithesis of a quiter
a warrior woman first,
the woman for whom I thirst,
When the battles are long
with the night swallowing safety
and your armor heavy
come to me with body ready,
be naked in my handsome hands
which grip your fatigued feet as if they are my clay of choosing,
sit into me in a bath of luxurious warmth, chamomile lavender calm,
Rebel Girl, happy and hugged with your back against my caring chest,
trusting my rubbing, loving my touching,
your lips moving in silent approval,
The war will return for us
testing our bruised wings of heart,
but tonight we defend this castle of loyal love
sheltered from storm and suffering -
Copyright © Justin Bordner | Year Posted 2014
My Dear Enemy
Here I am
In full armor
My quill is full of arrows
My bow is taunt and ready fro battle
My horse is pristine and shiny black
I am your enemy
As you are mine to the death
I shall take my bow and arrow
Pierce you through the heart
My king shall praise and honor me
For many battles so well fought
I know I have to shoot my arrows
To save my own pitiful soul
My dear enemy
I just long for you to know
Every arrow, every drop of blood
Every soul that must depart
Due to my fine skills and sharp arrow darts
I die along with you
I know not who you are
Yet a weep for your lost soul
I imagine other times
Maybe we would sit for tea and cookies
Laughing over words of glee
You and I so battle ready
I am sorry for all the battle scars
The blood that flows so deep
Every arrow that leaves my bow
I am sure it too, also weeps
My Dear Enemy
I prey today that before the dusk
One of you will have a finer bow
My heart no longer has the will
To fill my quill with arrows so
Today, I let one of you end my day
No longer can I live on this way
All my fine arrows fired
Have finally been on target
My Dear Enemy
I love you as any man
I have only love for humanity
I pray one day
Our Kings and Queens shall feel this way
As off the battle field, I am carried away
Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2015
To My Mama, My Best Friend
My loving friend can caress cares away.
With simple gestures meant to pleasure sway,
She turns my smile upright and firms its stay.
Such kindness meets my same, I do oft pray.
As balm she soothes incurred hurt, ache and pain.
Together, life’s rude battles lose their strain
As handled by our combined wit and brain.
I hope her loving light will never wane.
She matters so much to my fragile heart
That I view her as my dear counterpart.
We sometimes separate, but never part.
I love her laughter, value her brain-smart.
We grow and change like season’s nature hues.
With candor we explore life’s many clues,
And, God knows, we both paid quite hefty dues.
As precious gift, our friendship joys accrue.
What she may need, I pray to aptly grant.
What dims her joy, I strive to best supplant.
What hurts her feelings, I seek to decant.
What her heart wants, becomes my own heart’s chant.
... CayCay Jennings
October 2, 2016
Copyright © CayCay Jennings | Year Posted 2016
Shades of Poe , Speaketh
Shades of Poe oft run in my veins
dark, dirty little splashing stains
No Raven stirs my battered heart
nor any signs on my astrology chart
Dark mysteries seep in at night
shadowed beings birthing fright
Muffled sounds sent to alarm
evil crying to scare and harm
Then my soul cries out to Poe
help me now , for you must know
Remedy for this sad affliction
a spell to give quick eviction
Reply creeps slowly back to me
close your eyes to sadly see
Darkness that drives men mad
such my heart and soul once had
No cure can by me be so gifted
you need Light to be so uplifted
My words are my aid little as is
answer you seek can only be His
Son of Light only can save you
my darkness left me only that clue!
Robert J. Lindley 10-12-2014
note: Tis' the month the Dark spreads
its evil mists to kids tucked in beds,
scary voices crying muffled shouts,
battles and shadowed little bouts,
goblins, ghouls and witches now abound
imagine such and they are then found!
Copyright © Robert Lindley | Year Posted 2014
The battles on the field are harsh and tough
The looting in their wake engorged with greed
Abundant spoils of war are not enough.
Atrocious in their acts that make no sense
The women and the girls are taken slaves
Abusing them with lust and violence.
Unable to resist the touch of shame
The captive females cry in pain and fear
Their lives will never be again the same.
And when the dust of war has blown away
The children of the foe get born to those
Who months before fell prey and ravaged lay.
Unwanted children still need loving care
Mothers find it hard to nurture such babes
Shame is endured by children in despair.
Their lives are defined by horrid attacks
Evil men who satisfied selfish needs
Indignities make them fall through the cracks.
Who loves a child rejected by its kin?
Society offers them no solace
The “enemy’s child”, created by sin;
But all these children still have hearts and souls
Rejection renews the cycle of pain
When there is no one who cares or consoles.
Co-write: Paul Callus & Carolyn Devonshire
@ March 2015
Copyright © Paul Callus | Year Posted 2015
Legs that can’t fly
Heart that can’t love
Kisses under go a rye
I am blind
Only seeing within the past lens
Only holding on to memories
That wont last
Your sweet smile fades away
As I whispered in my deepest of dreams
Now I live inside insane mad thoughts
You have moved on
I am not longer in your way
My love lingered
No more can I sway
I have lost directions
Flowers never come in May
Waves’ roll to shore
Angels play in the tempest sea
They know not love was not for me
Blankets keep the royal lovers warm
I left to winters charm
Coldness is my home
Chilled thoughts haunt my very bones
Broken and all alone
Battles yet fought
Over me grave
Besot, tears still drop
Poetic flowers bloom
Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2017
Twilight has it's own wings and its own melody
Battles with the mystery of a sun setting horizon dawning hues
Pearl white smile's from the moon, in a mood of beautiful seduction
Oracle within one thousand chants dances with the shadows of night shades
For you, I will catch every star that I see in the evening sky surrenders
Sparkling silver dust their trails leave magic spells whispers deeply winds
Drinking from the milky way a mix of delicious chocolate
Icing of a thousand shape shifting patterns emerge glowing
Soft caramel and gorgeous nougat smiles golden melting
Under a canopy of stars you remain cradled forever beautiful
I would love to dance like planets that circulate around the sun
Blood's rivers are like red cherries and float like wine
Its colorful aura exudes amazing happiness
Sweet like a dream, I lean my cheek on lace pillows
Everything feels so right, our love will grow strong
A collaborated poem
Anne-Lise Andresen and Liam Mc Daid
Copyright © All Rights Reserved
* Poem of the Week ; 14.01.2018
Copyright © Sunshine Smile | Year Posted 2018
Listen to poem:
Of huge and white wings
Dream or delusion
Reality or make believe
Show me yourself
Spread for me your wings
Wrap me in your arms
Surround me in safety
Take me to the skies
Whisper in my ears
Things of heaven and earth
Share with me your dreams
Beautiful winged warrior
Your scars show your strength
They're your badges of honor
For the many battles you went
Brave angel of mercy
Come and take my hand
I can be the fighter for once
While you regain your strength
For I also have my wings
My scars are proof of my fights
I'm not as strong as you
But I can hold my ground
Rest your head on my lap
Let me be your balm
Share with me your burden
In the morning we can fly
March 15, 2017
Copyright © Claudia Polydoro | Year Posted 2017
I see you coming, old age
Approaching at an ever accelerating pace,
Your face so grim
Your expression so austere
Your look so menacing,
A frightening sight you are
Many battles I have fought in life
With vigor and youth at my side
Thus victorious I emerged
Now that my allies slowly abandon me
One after the other,
I am left alone the last battle to fight
A battle, I know beforehand I am bound
At this moment as trials begin
When all seem to get tougher by the day
A new ally I have found, willing to help me,
All my courage to amass for to confront you,
Oh merciless old age:
The wisdom I have acquired all these years
Of my life! *
© Demetrios Trifiatis
18 June 2017
* This poem was honored as POTW on the 25th of June 2017. I thank everyone who has appreciated it as everyone who visit me and comment for without their love nothing would have been possible. THANK YOU PS!
Copyright © Demetrios Trifiatis | Year Posted 2017