Best Brigades Poems
Look up! Snowflakes appear in streetlights
Hear children cheer as snow days are announced
Watch the powder fly during snowball fights
Listen as faith through joyful hymns is pronounced
Join snow angel brigades while on wintery landscapes we pounce
Walk briskly with me through the winter woods
Where boughs of evergreens droop with white frost
Don your boots and pull up your jacket hood
Let’s slide on the lake until our energies exhaust
Then trudge back home as snow drifts are crossed
Place damp clothes on a chair by the fireside
Pour a glass of wine and snuggle with me
Whispers of passion, ‘neath a blanket confide
Lights from the fir tree fill our hearts with glee
As you offer me your ring on bended knee
Little Toy Soldiers going off to war
None will ever live to see age twenty four
None of them even know what they're fighting for
Little Toy Soldiers going off to war
The world has always been this way
With Emperors and Kings
Fighting with toy soldiers
And the glory that it brings
Land, beliefs, religion
The basis of the war
fought by young toy soldiers
Who all die by the score
Time has taught us nothing
But, it's changed the way we fight
War is a full day job
Now that it is fought at night
The boards of little armies
Are now shown up on the screen
With all the little soldiers
Lit in different shades of green
They used to be all metal
Painted up in nice bright shades
With a General on horseback
Leading all his smart brigades
Then, the men were plastic
glued to bits of wood
Behaving as a unit
Just like a soldier should
Now, the war is different
They're up there in different hues
You can watch them fight in real time
Just like on the nightly news
The only thing remaining
The thing that's stayed the same
Is that nobody in power
Know the Little Soldiers names
Little Toy Soldiers going off to war
None will ever live to see age twenty four
None of them even know what they're fighting for
Little Toy Soldiers going off to war
April 29 2018
Autumn’s story is full of rustic shades
that echo deep from every vale and hill
of splendor and of forest colonnades,
as one by one leaves float and spin and spill
in frosted shadows and in evening’s chill
Dogwoods change,in carmine escapades,
to celebrate old summer’s standing still
Scarlet leaves and shades of marmalades
Shiraz, Claret and Burgundy distill
bright tones of nature for the soul to swill.
Amber, apricot and goldenrod brigades
capturing our gaze and hearts to thrill
Piles of forest treasures spilling in cascades
with dappled browns’ and caramel’s goodwill,
All opulence of Autumn to fulfill
Autumnal English Quintain Contest
Francine Robert’s.
First Place.
Title for contest was Quintessential Autumn
A Strand 1061
First Place
Published in PS It’s Poetry Available on Amazon.
Left And Right
Either side the cannons roar
Took of blood and wanted more
Salvo after salvo into the valley
Point blank range to deter the rally
Water poured over steaming muzzles
Russian gunner at this sight puzzles
Tis madness against this cannonade
Tis the sacrifice of the Light Brigade
The quicker they fired the faster they came
Under billowing flags and the Queens name
Torn and shredded they carried the fight
And many a soul, never saw that night
The Redout
The Russian generals looked in wonder
Stood in awe at the total squander
The cannons barked and took their toll
Removing horse from man, man from soul
Rifle, cannon, spoke the same
The Light Brigade on they came
Thundering hooves and yelling cries
All for the sight of the Russians eyes
And at the distance of a lance
The Russian soldier in a trance
Sabres cut and slashed in violence
All was death in the cannons silence
The Russians fled in disbelief
Last shot fired to the Brigades relief
Bleeding soldiers and tattered flags
Stumbled, tottered, like wizened hags
Down The Valley
Looking back along that mile
Bodies, horses, pile on pile
Wounded men lean on lance
Said a prayer in skyward glance
On the ground a sleeping parade
Remnants of the Light Brigade
Depleted souls but not of honour
Yet a picture of battles squander
On the conclusion of this battle
Fingers wag and tongues will rattle
But nought should be put to shame
The Light Brigade and its day of fame
At Night
When the moon shines that longest mile
Hear the hooves on lush green pile
The rattling sabres and rippling flags
And how he rode the horseman brags
In the night the ghosts they ride
Full of honour and full of pride
Falling acorns gather like pebbles on a beach
Floating leaves sway which are hard to reach
Blue jays sounding, seeking food to eat
Squirrels scrimmage in brigades, not doubting defeat
Brisk air puffing, glittering sun streams thru
Rabbits hip and hop over the wet morning dew
Sparrows and finches begin their daily flights
Breadcrumbs are scattered abound for their delights.
Fall is here, crisp leaves crunching, a seasonal birth
The foliage beautifies and encompasses our mother earth
Various hues adorn the banks of the creeks and streams
A moment to escape catching the sunlight’s autumn dreams.
Sergeant Major O'Malley, Seventh Cavalry, had served nigh on three decades.
He rose through the ranks havin' served in squads, companies and brigades.
Second lieutenants were nuisances and he treated them as if they didn't exist!
He took recalcitrant lads behind the barracks to administer discipline with his fist!
You'd better have your horse and tack lookin' keen for Saturday mornin' parades,
Or Sergeant Major O'Malley would sear the ozone with his thunderin' tirades!
He'd escort you to the stables to shovel manure if you ever mistreated a horse!
Sergeant Major O'Malley's colorful lingo left one with a feelin' of remorse!
He had absolutely no patience with the foibles of raw and bumblin' recruits.
Lord have mercy on the hapless lad who failed to shine his saber and his boots!
Should a trooper snooze in the saddle when escortin' the colonel's stage,
Sergeant Major O'Malley would stomp and rave unleashin' a towerin' rage!
At the break of dawn when reveille sounded, he'd burst through the barracks door,
Yellin' "Up and at 'em me lads! Outta them bunks! What am I a-payin' ye for!
Ye sorry excuses fer sojers! Hie to the stables! Them hosses needs oats and hay!
And when that's done, git back here to eat yer grub and scrub this filthy bay!"
Things were different when he dismounted his horse and entered his house!
The one who gave orders and 'wore the stripes' at home was his formidable spouse!
He meekly responded to her constant commands with a resigned, "Yes, my dear."
"Taps" was a welcome sound at close of day in Sergeant Major O'Malley's ear!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
It was a summer of indifference
Billionaire Nazis who preach ethnic cleansing
And powerful ladies clad in iron
Play tug of war
With the hearts and souls of the people
While governors deceive the populace and their own parties
And confused men in collars and cassocks
Betray their vows, principles,
And even the people
They are supposed to lead.
It was a summer of blood
Black mothers in black clothes
Attend the funerals
Of their Black sons
Killed by
Their own Black Brothers
Or by Blue Klansmen
With smoking guns and shining shields
While urban brigades
Mourn the loss of true knights
Murdered by
Desperate, exhausted, and enraged men
Who have witnessed more than enough
Of their people being oppressed
By those sworn to protect them
While the suburbanites and gentrifiers
Look the other way
Or applaud the lynchings
While savages plow into school children
Behead Christian babies
Rape Christian women
Slash the throats of priests
And destroy Christian communities
Even though we are supposed to be
People of the Book
While those who peacefully practice Islam
Are being told they are unwelcome.
It was the summer of chaos
People parade the streets
With signs
Shouting
Black Lives Matter
Blue Lives Don't
Men use toilets
Next to little girls
Six years olds
Are being taught about
The birds and the bees
And the ticks and the fleas
Infanticidal Mengelites
Teach girls
confidence and resourcefulness.
We are no longer people
With free wills and open hearts
We are no more than pawns
In a political chess tournament
Of the Sick Left
Against the Cold Right
What is right is wrong
What is wrong is right
Dear Lord
When will you have enough?
When will the
Fall of Jerusalem
Finally arrive?
Maybe that is the only way
This madness will end.
How many more chances
Do we need?
How much longer will you stand there
While the pigs come to
Spit on Your Countenance
And crush Your pearls?
I sigh for Your
City on the Hill
And long to see its gates
Meanwhile, I tarry to the mountains
Before I am tempted to
Join the sultry, drunken orgy
Of lost souls who hang the decent
And silence the morally outspoken
Whilst chanting
Eat, drink, and indulge
For you only live once
Memorial Day
Behind the pomp and circumstance
The celebrations and parades
Remember those who battled
The platoons and the brigades
Take some time to think now
Of the freedoms we possess
Of who fought the battle
Those who didn't second guess
Respect the soldiers duty
Give thanks to those who served
A handshake and a smile
Is worth a thousand words
It might be a long weekend
That many now will never see
Think of them this weekend
And give their life some dignity
Now, go and have a hotdog
Ride the float in the parade
Enjoy the fireworks exploding
Have a Happy Memorial Day
A parade requires a horde of supporting cast to put on a show:
Platoons of committees plus cops to control the traffic flow.
But an indispensable element of any successful parade,
Is the ever-viligant crew of the poop and scoop brigade!
A parade ain't complete without John Deere and Farmall tractors,
And a legion of politicians and other such obnoxious detractors.
There's the usual haughty equestrians riding prancing steeds,
Followed by the scoop brigade disposing of equine misdeeds!
Members of the marching bands must be careful where they tread,
Being very alert for unforeseen obstacles that may lie ahead.
But with a crack poop and scoop brigade that is really on the ball,
They can march with resolute stride stepping in nothing at all!
A parade must have silly clowns and a queen of something or other,
Colorful floats, fire engines and classic cars trailing one another.
Some even feature giraffes and elephants plodding down the street,
Posing a special challenge to the brigade but they won't concede defeat!
You've got to tip your fedora to those stalwart scoop brigades.
Without their attention to detail and participation in parades,
And dealing with emergencies without the slightest cue,
Many awkward and stinky situations could very well ensue!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
If really true friends stay by you when time is bad
Then I shall stay for you at the end of love
To catch you as you fall so hard
So to prevent a friend from getting so hurt
If really true friends stay by you when time is tough
Then I shall stand by you when you woo love
So I can untie and lubricate your tongue when they get tied and rough
And give braces to your shaking knees to avoid an embarrassing fall
If only true friends stay by you during hard times
Then I shall stay by you the most on your marriage
Not to consume the Curry and thyme
But to feed them to your courage
If true friends mean helping
Then in that room whenever your bed goes creaking
I will call the police and brigades
Because with that noise and groans, I know something's at stake
How brave are our fire brigades?
As they battle bushfires each day,
Yes, it's summer in Victoria,
Not exactly the Waldorf Astoria,
For all the fire brigades,
Our respect they've totally gained,
Laying their lives on the line,
When the weather's too hot and fine,
Burn, Victoria, burn,
El Nino's torrid urn.
Our noble defenders, each day,
Real heroes in the news, I say,
As they battle bushfires today,
How brave are our fire brigades?
The Ruba’iyat of Créteil Lake – Part Eighteen
Even as the lower rubbed its dazed eyes over Her hillocks
The light-foot Lass of Lahore made her way past the boating docks
Past the Marie’s dank reedy banks over Her heaving breast
Tip-toeing over the complaining boards of Her nose-bridge locks
Hugging a bottle labeled “OMAR” where Her bust cut an arc -
A left-behind lame garden warbler tweeted its dirge dark
While the doe-eyed Lass tilted the bottle at the water’s edge -
Her own secret message to save the Sufi Khayyam from wreck:
“Oh! Illustrious Beacon of the Saljuk Empire!
Pray! Let me so much as I might deign to sing sans lyre!
The WORD is out: Your Eminence’s proscribed by penal mettle:
The Republic’s Procureur Général wants you in pyre!”
“Your humble sister begs your esteemed bardic indulgence:
Two fitful summers gone past we did cross each other’s presence
Me a mere slip of a girl from yon Ghaznavid Empire
Heard the clamorous reed warbler’s Himalayan penance!”
“This bottle with the missive I know the Lady of the Lake
Will to you waft: tidings dire as to keep me awake
Through bitterly biting lonesome nights you stumble and rove:
Take heed! POLICE cycle-brigades have tripled round the lake!”
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2014
So Glad am I; Glad is the Sky
So glad is the sky today --
The brigades of breezy-spells
Are on loose.
The wind is witching out
Of the dry pallor,
And giving away to a 'feel'
Grinding in the Onomatapoeia.
A chill-clad nature,
Howling out to me,
And to you.
So glad is the sky
It's raining now;
It's raining hard.
At your return -
Returns the rain,
Retires the summer sun.
Glad is the sky --
Sending forth the brigades of wind-spells
To shake 'your' conscience.
I am awake, so.
Keeping my vigil;
Heard of onomatpioea;
Hailing your turn
From the open balcony,
soaked by the gust of that 'feel'.
Condo Commando Landings
They came in shiny silver saucer shaped air ships
With cylindrical flashing red lights in the night
From Planet New Jersey
Alien space crafts…. I mean .… weather balloons, (according to NASA)
From many light years…. I mean… traffic lights away
Landing in Miami first with a thirst for power
They slithered from the… ‘Weather balloons” in zombie brigades
Heads tilted, drooling, snorting and looking for trouble
Your condominium community is their new headquarters
Condo commandos are here to stay
A cruel fiduciary species without any borders
Going from door to door
Giving owners & tenants lists of rules with magnitudinal orders
Millions of regulations, line item expenses, and assessments
You must fulfill….You will fulfill…you will comply or die!
“Resistance is futile!” They cry…. Or mumble…or moan
Or whatever it is the walking dead do
If you walk on pavements you will be fined
If you have babies they must return to the womb
No plants…. No flowers… No signs on your condos
And keep your doors closed at all times
Don’t think about crime. Don’t ask any questions
And pay your condo dues or be sequestered
Odin looked confused, and Thor did too,
But none of us bothered to wait
Ten thousands years of warrior souls,
Charged the dark foe right out of the gate.
My boys they shot out Fenris’s eyes,
And the old 7th cav, they rode in
Slashing hard with drawn, curving sabers,
They cut off the monster’s four shins.
The wolf he roared, and his great mouth flared
Blood-read teeth set in wide-open jaws…
But a slew of TOW missiles leapt from the lines
And streaked into the beast’s gaping maw.
The wolf he collapsed, trailing gray smoke,
But Fenris’s life had yet to be spent
So the samurai charged, long katanas drawn
And his flesh they chopped up and rent.
Up came Jorumgandre, the world serpent
Expecting a loud chorus of screams.
Instead he went up in a fiery rage,
Bombed by a hundred B-17s.
A breaching charge set against his flank,
Tore a great, gaping hole in his side
And the Boys of Dunkirk rushed in headlong,
Shooting up his guts ‘till he died.
Then Surtr drew near, his big sword aflame
Ready to bash, to burn, to lay waist
But along came the treads of Patton’s brigades,
And shelled his ankles to make them break.
Surtr fell back and was lost to a swarm
Of plaid Highlanders dense, in a charge.
And when they sheathed swords, all that remained
Was a corpse, quite unusually large!
Finally came dread Loki, marching along
At his back the great host of Muspell.
But from the rear came Puller and US marines,
And to that dark horde, they brought hell!
As they fought, the Berserkers, they charged
Norsemen delivering the last blow,
The horde crumbled quick, turning to flight.
Leave Loki standing alone in the snow.
He turned to run but I shot out his knee
And then dragged him to the gods in chains.
Thor just shrugged, and Mjolnir he swung
And dashed out the deceiver’s brains.
It was the only blow the gods did land,
Most were too stunned to lift an arm.
The Einherjar had slaughtered all before them,
Not a single god had come to harm!
CONCLUDES IN PART III.