Best Campaigns Poems
the only real winners in conflicts ~ are the arms manufacturers
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bombing campaigns don't ensure victory ~ people's resolve is stronger
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wars are expensive for everyone involved ~ peace costs you nothing
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why are schools and hospitals always targeted ~ they cannot fight back
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Just because others do not share your views ~ doesn't mean that they are wrong
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history remembers the warmongers ~ but why not the peacemakers
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talks about ceasfires and peace are futile ~ without trust and compromise
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lennon and plastic ono band sang give peace a chance ~ so why don't we
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why do all the despots in the world ~ have weapons of mass destruction
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skeletal buildings a dreary landscape ~ once thriving communities
Written 14th April 2026
Clans, Ilks and Tartans
Woven into threads of red and black,
Girded by grids of white,
Distant plaintive bagpipe memories
Of sunset over Kilmaurs –
A crest that bears a unicorn
Touches royal roots
As a poet’s tribute to a patron lost
Watches neighbors Campbell and Montgomerie
Then looks out on the seas from tidal lands
Of Ayrshire in flings and reels with swirling kilts
When explorer’s feet recall on new world shores
The mew of seagulls soaring –
Politicians, engineers and entrepreneurs -
Over Fork Over – Cunningham, a clan of auld.
Blocks of green and wine
Stripped with blue
Look back into the heather
Covering highland hills of country dances
Where spring wanders in hunting kilts
Beneath clear cerulean heavens,
Boldly enduring;
A crest that bears a coronet
Of storied noble and knight
Whose melancholy legend
Whispers in glens and gloaming
Of standard bearers for a king
Watched by Ogilvy and Stewart
Lindsay, a clan of auld.
Like sunlight bouncing off of autumn leaves
In crimson, golden amber, umber greening hues -
A sword dance of squares and lines in twirling kilts -
Near the sparkling waters of Loch Lomond;
Clan neighbor Graham and cousins MacCammon
See the crest adorned by a coronet
Prize of battle;
The wind remembers
Tiny windswept island Clarinch -
A battle cry of Clar Innes -
Campaigns of kings and exiled queens –
Chieftain’s seat sees a president and prospector -
Hence the brighter honor – Buchanan, a clan of auld.
Cousins of the same ilk
Bear the names of families -
Of highland lands
And lowland memories -
Seaside and mountain territories -
Kilts wearing colors interwoven patterns
Born of clans with
Tartans telling legends and the stone of destiny,
Plaids dancing at the piper’s hand,
Ancient names, though maybe hidden, still live –
Cunnyngham, Lindsey and MacCammon
Of Buchanan –
In Celtic refrains like iridescent whispers
Woven through clans of auld.
This is the story of my Scottish heritage through the mottos, the tartans, the history and geographic references to the clan homes.
I saw an old wagon wheel in the antique store the other day.
What type of vehicle it must have conveyed, I couldn't really say,
But I let my imagination roam as I studied the old wheel,
And pondered its odyssey and what secrets it might reveal.
Its iron tire was pitted and rusted due to age.
The wooden spokes were intact but their age was hard to gauge.
Its diameter was about five feet and its tread six inches wide.
Ah, if it could only speak to me, its mysteries to confide!
Could it have carried a pioneer family in a Conestoga wagon west,
With the anticipation of a new beginning in their relentless quest!
It with other wagon wheels rutted well-worn trails along the way,
And traces of those treacherous routes are seen to this very day!
Could it have graced an army lorry drawn by cantankerous mules,
Driven by a pugnacious trooper to deliver hay, grub and tools?
The wear and tear was evident due to many military campaigns,
Crossing perilous rivers, mountain heights and endless arid plains.
Or could it have borne a farmer's wagon as he plied his trade,
Hauling crops of wheat, corn and oats once the harvest was made?
Oh, the many miles it endured through the mud, dust and snow!
I left the store still musing about its odyssey of so very long ago.
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
Warriors of austere adventures,
soldiers for suffering and tribe survival,
children,peasents,women & men,the penny poor & candid criminals,
proud peoples,honest heros,
we marched on all the flesh of earth,
no terrain was forbidden for the fantastic forbearence of the foriegn fighters,
campaigns on the cold clay of Europe's mountain valleys,
the smeltering sands of arid Arabia where the sanctuaries are shadows,
mundane manuevors upon the hot hills of the mutinational Meditterrain,
marching in spread points across Russia's frozen waters,
mildly marching single file through soft dirt along the massive Mississippi,
going above and beyond the shattered rock the Hindu Kush does pile,
forging fanaticaly in columns of two against angry winds that whirl and wail
amid the plateus of Peru where pain is pink and mercy mute,
motives for marching can be exquisitely egregious,or simple and sanctified
like the beating of a boy in order to make a man rather than a brute,
Hannibal climbed the hellish heights of the Alps,
Caeser acquired apotheosis by the grinding of Gaul,
the Khan of Asia killed for culture,
irreproachable rebels like Moses and Boudica fought for posterity,for legends,
Joseph Brant and Alaric broke yokes of the Imperial vulture,
Cincinatus pushed forward the march to ensure the peace with plough,
Tom Paine for freedom of expression,Joan of Arce burned for rapture,
simplicity brings relief,and sometimes joy while on the move,
oddities like bluejays & baccon,
wonders such as hawks & large wildlife,
good things like clean water & a commrades cackle,
mysterious events of improvised spiritual ritual,omens deciphered
unique to each are rife,
in the snow & in the beach,through the mud,grass & crisp leaves we traverse
to bring the battle to the enemy,
to deliver the war with might,
we march so to bring the conflict to ourselves,
we march to meet,compete,and to defeat ourselves,
we march to meet our Maker's light -
J.A.B. %
Parents so proud four sons they raised
From the Highlands of Scotland in the pre-war days
On their crofts they worked morning till night
Unknown to them then of a future fight
The Germans have invaded a country so free
Poland was taken, the world shaken visually
Britain declares war as our men enlist
To rid the enemy as the fighting shifts
Europe's engulfed in a feverish war
Many are dying to comprehend what for
Four brothers sign up to fight
Soon a mother will pray every night
Campaigns they fight in, these theatres of war
Witnessing horrors never seen before
In their garden at home on the family crofts
Lies a bed of roses with petals so soft
Then one day with a passing glance
A pink rose dripping red in deathly stance
Their mother turns to the gate she looks
Telegram in hand from the postman she took
With trembling hands she opens with care
Upon reading the message in tear laden stare
Their eldest son in Africa was lost
As many many others deaths global cost
Every day as she passes the rose
It's pink petals bloom her tomorrow's fear grows.
.
He stared at his war medals;
As bright as when first minted,
His own lustre long since tarnished;
Only tear-filled eyes now glinted!
He belonged to a generation
That sacrificed its fragile youth,
And traded it for our defence;
For freedom and for truth.
Although a very modest man
Who accepted his war-torn lot,
He wanted the world to remember,
All the others left to rot.
A past filled with campaigns like his,
Couldn't easily be put aside,
Though through many a tortured memory,
God only knew how he'd tried.
Don't ever forget this brave soldier,
Who now struggles to pull on his vest,
For if you forget the alive and with medals,
You'll surely, never remember the rest!
I made a firm commitment long ago
to read great novels frequently, not just
when I had time to kill or took a class
in college, for then reading was a must.
I love suspense involving clients, laws,
and litigators. I have come to see
the ones that hold, for me, the most
are found in the library, Section G.
I've a confession. I first read a book
by this great writer twenty years ago
when an associate whom I esteemed
convinced me his is work that all should know.
I learned of what inspired him early on:
his decade as a lawyer, Harper Lee,
and hearing a young girl speak of her rape.
His passion for the truth would be the key.
When I read Grisham's novels, I'm enthralled
with every plot and subplot, those details
that loop and wind, connecting when the time
is right. Each ending's smooth. He never fails.
His characters could walk right off the page--
the saints and devils, all those in-between.
The themes are realistic, relevant;
the settings, sometimes places I have seen.
His novels often make me laugh out loud.
That's right--these books on graft and other crimes!
The funny parts just underscore the theme.
His sense of humor shines so many times.
Best sellers have long been his claim to fame,
but he has other interests as well.
He campaigns to set free the innocent
who languish in the jails and prison cells.
This Christian former Legislator's love
extends to baseball, home, and family.
Our state is proud to claim him as our own;
and his success, we're truly glad to see.
I included some of his novel titles.
March 9, 2019, entered in Kai Michael Neumann's Book Worm Contest
A descension of value bows night scenes,
the purple canopy edges its hoist,
spirits cool Platte River to lose its sheen,
Nebraskans wake to clarion fields voiced.
A loyal guest calls, it's the Sandhill Cranes,
dancing lessons, fields fattening corn orts,
pecking and choosing established campaigns.
Last state, go afoul, -- a date with the courts.
Locals aid their tally, most from afar,
It is nature's clock, all good things must end,
fly north to breed, and brood, and up to par,
A month's here, till next year, that's how the trend.
Awnings grey, triumphant stirs, the tension,
inspiring, crescendo ... the ascension.
Spring
becomes
aggressive
as it campaigns
for the earth to spurt
forth resplendent colors
splayed in intricate patterns
that display the vibrancy and
toughness of reemerging flora.
Inspiring era of new beginnings!
she reaches behind the smokescreen
of her sunken eyed curtain veils
films of tears void of translucence
stoke reminiscent ashes that trace
another blinding thick-skinned defeat
hidden by camouflage and smears
touched up campaigns of bravery
her retinas a web of hallucinations
illusion delusion cataracts and dreams
stirred but not entirely shaken as
she reaches for another glass to empty
while numbness mixes with mirages
of victory over hits and misses
on battle lines of reconstruction
a palisade and shield from truth
her sentience slips into severance
from memories epiphanies and falls
from grace as she applauds the circus clown
and crazy court jester she became to be
in sadness badness insanity while
holding on to fragmented shards
screeching on the palette of many
a brush with fate curses and agony
she is a survivor of abuse and violence
exploitation and deliberate transgressions
and reaches deeply into her resolve
to allocate anger to where it belongs
instead of blaming her own kindness
she lifts the olive branch closer
to her tumbler spits out the hemlock
and trusts that tears will dry
once excoriations have dried up
until then she is not the drunkard
she is made out to be by sycophants
and hypocrites who spiked her
drink of life but merely coping
for the moment and longing for solutions
29th July 2021
No need for violence or aggression
A passive acceptance of oppression
A powerful tool for social protest
To be peaceful and not violence many will resist
It presumes the intent of social change
Some believe not using belligerence is insane
Nonviolence is a synonym for pacifism
When you hear this word, you associate it with Civil Rights and racism
Nonviolence is not inaction it is the patience to win
You gain a lot of support, love, respect, and friends
See many people do not like change
So many have used diverse methods in their peaceful campaigns
Dr. Martin Luther King seen peace and equality to all races in his dream
Mahatma Gandhi helped India win its independence through bigotry that was extreme
I think that we should inevitably re-shape the social order in a lack of prejudice form
If we constantly use peace, we can weather many of these racial motivated storms
To listen to another's point of view is largely dependent on reciprocity
Not injustice, hate, and apathy
That is what makes me so angry
Remember what Jesus’ says, "love thine enemy”
"Nonviolence means avoiding not only external physical violence but also internal violence of
spirit. You not only refuse to shoot a man, but you refuse to hate him."
Martin Luther King
Treat people as if they were what they ought to be and you help them to become what they
are capable of being.
Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
An eye for an eye only makes the whole world blind.
Mahatma Mohandas K. Gandhi
I love this planet
The environment I hold dear
I say no to Oil
I say no to Plastic
I say no to Garbage
I say NO NO NO to carbon
Oh the trees breathe carbon?
I will have to look into that Ted!
I say no to meat
Those animals are carbon monsters
We all should hug this planet
Preserve this global biosphere for our children dear
You all must cut back
All of you
You may not pick and chose
What fits your fancy
No more vacations away for you
No more cars
No more planes
No more Computers or high speed trains
No more deodorant
It’s all passe
Clean air is my right, so all of you stop
I shall preach to you this, day in and out
I shall scold you for polluting about
I shall travel the globe, by air you see
To warn you all of the carbon to be
I need to fly, my time is important
My family comes first, but that’s only me
You must make sacrifice
All of you there
I spend your Carbon credits
Flying in the air!!!
Yours truly
Pascal Husting
Green Peace
One of Greenpeace’s most senior executives, Pascal Hunting commutes 400 kilometers each way to work by plane, the environmental group has admitted. The flights, costing about $365 return, are paid by Greenpeace, even though it campaigns to cut air travel, arguing that the growth in flying “is ruining our chances of stopping dangerous climate change.”
Notes: Of course I am for the environment, who isn’t? Time to stop blaming big corporations and even governments, even though they should do more, here’s a novel idea, if you don’t use it, they will go bankrupt trying to sell it! As for Pollution, if you are having a heart attack, a bandage on your thumb doesn’t do a bit of good. Solutions are complex and not as black and white as some make you to believe.
The streets of the Irish north
Separated by faith
Different religions
In our human race
During the troubles
Through the bullets and bombs
Sectarian violence
Engulfed in their wrongs
Soldiers and factions
In wanton maim
Left this proud country
In blood red stain
Years have passed
As the peace accord lives
No more slaughter
Where life was once sieved
Tomorrow, there after
No more feuding campaigns
For the
Belfast Child, sings again
Inspired by the Simple Minds track " Belfast Child " by an excellent Scottish Rock Group
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oFIMJxV2tjI
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/ireland.php
The age-old dream is a nightmare,
that has haunted us far too long,
still it lures in so many souls
with the sweetness of its song.
But beyond the simple melody
a darkness quickly appears,
those who preach of utopia
are the ones we should most fear.
It all starts out pleasant enough,
they want to build the perfect world,
with peace, love, and prosperity,
for every single boy and girl.
But on what defines perfection,
the can never truly agree,
tell them it’s abstract idea,
and they scream out ‘heresy!’
Not that this will stop the push,
they’re convinced that they’re right,
and any who would oppose them,
are an evil and a blight.
First it’s campaigns to convince
that they hold the greatest truth,
then to the schools for targeting
the dumb, impressionable youth.
They think that this will do the job,
but too many reject and dismiss,
then comes all the social pressure,
go along or you’re not ‘with it.’
And when even that doesn’t prevail,
they always turn to government,
use law to force you to agree,
or face a long imprisonment.
This becomes the tipping point,
since government is always force,
yet convinced they’ll bring perfection,
they’ll do what was once abhorred.
Some penalties put you in camps,
doomed to a miserable fate,
no longer do you just ‘disagree,’
you’re now enemy of the state.
It does not take much to see this,
such an endless, brutal trend,
Hitler’s ‘perfect’ Aryan Reich
sent ten million to their end.
And all those workers ‘paradises,’
their purges and class enemies,
Sent a hundred million folk to death,
to build their ‘ideal’ societies.
Even down on the smaller scale,
the same result you will find,
Jamestown, Heaven’s Gate, and Waco;
where people were burned alive.
How many would still be with us,
how many fewer would be dead,
if we could take utopia
and drive it clear out of our heads?
In fact the very word itself,
if you look back on history,
literally translates as ‘no place,’
in the original Greek.
As in no place can ever exist
where mankind lives perfect,
Better is the best we can do
without leaving people wrecked.
Best we keep shouting this truth out
before we all tumble and fall,
We must fear, fear utopia,
or else it will kill us all.
Take yourself on a journey into the past with this remarkable first book in the series, Sword of the Holy Grail. Award winning author and poet Isaiah Zerbst brings you his first novel, Oake of Caemarthen. Set in the breathtaking grandeur of the Welsh mountains and the mysterious wolds of England, this book depicts with startling historical accuracy the adventure-filled life of several families that lived during the Medaeval era.
Replete with tales of knightly daring, chivalry, and courtly love, this epic tale traces the campaigns of the final Welsh Rebellion until their conclusion, when the three mighty Welsh warriors, Oake, Tristan, and Afenedd return to their castle with their entourage, only to find their loved ones in the power of their mortal enemy, De Valence. Nothing but the very power of heaven and men willing to sacrifice their lives for their family can free them from his cruel grasp of iron.
Though Wales is torn by war, bereavement, mixed loyalties, and the death of their beloved King Llywelyn at the hands of the invading English, there is still room for miracles, good times, and the courtly elegance of romance.
This special first edition contains numerous poems by the author, as well as many authentic songs, ballads, and hymns of the time, over four hundred pages of edge-of-your-seat reading, and more than fifty truly astounding full-page colour illustrations, painted exclusively for this unparalleled novel by the renowned Scottish artist, Elgin Cannaught.
Written by Isaiah Zerbst on May the 22d, 2013