Best Civil War Poems
Lincoln never imagined
today’s white victim zeitgeist,
pouting persecuted supremacists,
their clenched jaws and fists.
Civil war rages in limbic memory.
Encoded somewhere,
the panic attacks and mirages.
Nobody is qualified because everybody is responsible.
So many whites have graduated from the struggle,
showcasing their diploma from the mill.
Lincoln never imagined
modern virtual vitriol,
merciless memes lashing out at specters,
infusing, inciting depravity among the sleep deprived.
These words are battleships aimed at the reviled.
The unshielded summon civility.
They beckon familiar principles.
But rabid cougars wait in hiding, eager to pounce.
All the feeble markets for platitudes have failed,
as subliminal cavities endure each generation.
Mental lynch mobs, rebel flags, supremacy’s utopia.
Lincoln never imagined
a 21st century cartoon president,
a white nationalist clicking social network epithets,
a whining overgrown tormenter
with a cult of Stalinist believers.
Where are the intelligible?
How is all this animated fury converted?
What is the lesson plan?
Who will bury the code?
How long this agonizing journey into normality?
Lincoln never imagined.
Published Tuck Magazine 04/ 2019
When civil war's
knocking at your door
Isn't it up to you
This evening I listen to a Rock 'n' Roll band
Their track is Civil War, as our world now expands
To us it's the same size but to others they despise
For the want of greed exists in their killer hungry eyes
Where do I start, to say of their evil spread
A different starvation leaving the world in evil dread
It's not our today's but our yesterdays years
That our history tells us, of our everlasting torn tears
Cambodia, the Lebannon, and Sri Lanka's Indian sun
Rebels who demand better at the end of a gun
Guaetamala and Peru with their Shining Path
Villagers in terror decrying it's ever last
Democracy is our power in it's controllable exist
Like the Shining above, how long will our future paths persist
Recent news in the Arabic World, has taken tyrants by surprise
For decades they have stolen with their torturing infidel lies
I could go deeper and deeper to describe these evils acts
In wanton blood spillage, to increase civil war torn facts
For this is the world we live in, it appears we determine to live
Maybe in our lifetime it will be on our doorstep, we open, our lives will sieve
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/war-8.php
When civil war
is knocking at your door
Isn't it up to you
to stop it
or allow it
to grow inside your heart
and grow inside your life
and tease your evil side
until you also die
like all of those you let die
Critically injured
How deep the cut
Surely time would heal
A river of blood
From the wounds
Her sons lay dead in the fields
Extremities mangled
Conscience tormented
From sores that festered and burst
Bloated bodies
Stench of death
As bigoted hate was rehearsed
Reluctant surrender
Her fever broke
The physical damage immense
The worst had past
Was the belief
Final outcome remained in suspense
Her body blemished
By the scars
A never ending reminder
Emotional wounds
Linger and loom
Sadly she can't put behind her
an original poem by the "poemdog" Daniel Turner
(Civil) War
With incision, create division.
Bury the red, white, and blue.
Play them all, they will fall.
A masterminded coup.
O say can you see, they all disagree.
Just watch the division grow.
Hating each other, brother on brother.
Milk and honey no longer flow.
Blood in the street, vision complete
War won, by words on the net.
So easy to do, nothing is true
Fake news a sharp bayonet.
We're in the foothills of another civil war.
The divide between left and right is burning and widening.
They have we the people, distracted and divided.
What's right is wrong, what's wrong is right.
Peace undermined by rich squeaky mice
The silent behemoth of indifference.
The bent, dormant scales of justice.
The uneven eye of the media leviathan.
Universities raping our children's minds.
Impregnated with Stalin, Lenin, Putin, and Xi's dirty seeds.
What's right is wrong, what's wrong is right.
Slapping Lady Liberty in the mouth
with metal tongs of intolerance.
Cutting out tongues of free speech-
of religion-of differing opinion
The socialist/commies and pacifists wonder why
we the people dream upon high-caliber nights.
It's because mad clowns and liberty cleavers
are running amok in the government.
The elite and naive are emptying jails onto our streets.
Rabid dogs are defiling peace, warping our history.
Useful idiots are slicing the stars from old glory.
Always burning and cutting and reaping and running.
Never sitting-talking-loving -discussing-seeding.
The entitled and elite sitting smug in gated communities.
The war eagles are quickly awakening as arrogance sleeps.
Oh! those gods of ancient times who looked kindly upon this land-
and its people- it was from their hearts we toiled while they dwelt silently among us- they who witnessed the blood we shed.
Oh! how we cried out their names for liberation as they guided us to command an army - to fight for that which was ours.
See how they witnessed as the earth turned red.
Oh! how we prayed to our Mother when our bellies were empty- our backs broken, and the dead lay on the ground,
Did we not see as the Eagle soared above us while a hot sun burnt our skin.
Oh! see now how they sleep, easy and comforted by our sacrifices- our toil and
our suffering - does not the Mother herself smile upon us with affection?
Our sons gather about her safe in eternal peace.
He could fight and win battles, could this General Ulysses Grant!
Other of Lincoln's generals were continually sayin', "I can't!"
Though 'twas well-known that General Grant relished his schnapps,
Even soused he could concoct solid battle plans by studyin' his maps.
Becomin' frustrated with his other generals and their lack of action,
Abe suggested to an aide that if it would help them get some traction,
He'd like to know what Ulysses drank and where he got the stuff,
So he could send a barrel to every general to get him off his duff!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) All Rights Reserved
They stood in the bright Andalucian sunlight
The noble sunflowers with stance upright
Massed yellow ranks portray solidarity
Faces and heights display uniformity
Unquestioning loyalty to the hot sun
First the seeds are sown and their hearts are won
Swaying in the breeze their gaze never falters
As their master’s arc continually alters
Brown, yellow or purple faces can be
And a bright yellow halo surrounds all three
Broad coarse-toothed leaves on spiral stems lie
These giant plants stand fifteen feet high
Beneath their beauty lies valuable treasure
Leaves, seeds and oil to be used at our pleasure
Dried seeds are eaten or ground to make bread
Oilcake to stock and poultry are fed
As blazing sun sets on hot, summer days
Sunflowers bow their heads through lack of sun rays
But with summer over they wither and die
Ready for use as food supply
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Published in Ensalada Mixta: Observations and Inspirations
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Little can compare with the dazzling yellow of fields of sunflowers in the Spanish sunshine. However, it is a short-lived spectacle and soon decay takes hold. It is a story about nature’s way. It is also a story which can happen to the people of a country – hope, oppression and destruction. The difference is that there is no choice in nature but there is a choice for people."
2nd place in Have You Published. Sponsored by Line Gauthier November 2020
On the northern plain of Africa,
Tyrannically tortured tongues wail for revolution of injustice
To embrace the prescription of democracy by neighborhood
Amber anger of our pitiless god has now being awaken
How many million tongues shall lick this ripen death?
The aftermath begun the ceremony of blood-bath in Benghazi
When peaceful demonstrators were battered by rage of military strikes.
And anger-drenched folks without training fell in love with deadly weapon
Unimaginable anger of winged weapons handshake the fine faces of Misratah
Blood-dripping vibrating limbs were separated from their sources.
And human blood was made the entertainer of the day
The laughing horror stood by his principle of apocalypse
A thousand children without parents, lost
In gaze of orchestra of flying missiles.
The broom of earth now intervened
The god of the stars and stripes-the mouth-piece of mother earth
Led the assembly of giants worms who donated their agents of death
"No fly zone", "Operation odyssey" wore the mask of death
The Dead and companions were invited for a feast of Missile-roasted mortals
From your screen, smiling skull smile at your astonished eyes.
Who will lead the dreamt resurrection of justice,
When Zeus has refused to let go his sword?
The lost just began!
Hell is knocking on the door
O God, this is it now
Save our souls this is war
Scarlett, Rhett, Tara
“Fiddle-dee-dee War War War”
~ ‘I don’t give a whoop’
Poet’s note: Okay, okay, you’re right! Rhett Butler didn’t give a “whoop” in the most famous line of Gone With the Wind. If the film censors had their way, it may have ended with a “whoop.” But they didn’t and the rest is history.
Mark Toney © 2018
*When is the End of Civil War?*
Life goes on
And it never ends
Nobody would hear me
No one to depend
On the street, full of flowers
I wrote a poem
Nobody reads it
Nobody came
I hear many voices
and see many frames
They've gone to ashes
and were of no fame
Why did they kill each other
There are many names
For love of a nation
or it'll never end.
Busaba Patanawiroj
4.6.2010
Tis' not genocide!
Government- and- locals fight.
Darfur- Civil War!