Best Field Of Battle Poems
My better half whispers for me to do right.
I never listen to my soul until I'm desperate.
I feel it,I breath it.It makes my stomach roar.
My better half tells me I'm hungry. Eat.
I process the field of battle.
Just one more time.
Ill plant my flag.
My hands are stained red.
I am at the door to victory.
But the door is locked
The key wont turn.
Foiled again.
If you do that once more I'm done.
You promised. Swore.
Pledged your allegiance to my flag.
My flag is old and in need of repair.
Honor to my flag.It's done.
The battle is won in defeat.
I need one more chance.
My better half is taking a victory lap.
Raven was Death. She dwelt in death. She lived on death. Ages past, she had worn
the blue-black, purple, feathers of the raven and dined on royalty at Tower hill. A
tumble from grace had lodged her here in this fragile form. No more would her maw
drip ruby red, no more would her caw fill the mourning, or her soaring flight slice
the air like a Frenchman’s sword. A Raven, with clipped wings, was she.
Centuries had passed since she, in her feathered form, had feasted on the King.
**Bran the Blessed, giant, King of Wales, had been her down fall. Cursed was she,
as she dined on his eyes, in the field of battle. Ah, what did a raven know
of the curses of man. But, she knew now. Bran's head was placed,
as a talisman, on the grounds of Tower Keep in Londontown. She,
transformed, cursed, walks the night in this beautiful, weak, human vessel for
as long as, Bran's name is remembered.
Her satin-sandaled feet hold her earthbound. Just as superstition
holds her clip-winged brethren in the Tower courtyard, Bran's Curse holds her here.
No longer can she fly, but, she is free to roam. The churchyard calls her. Ashen skies no longer welcome her, but the gravestones, spade-shaped like the tails of carrion feeder, beckon. The evening corpse has arrived. Draped in mourning weeds of black, her death-like pall, luminescent in the moonlight, her lips a tell-tale crimson, she arms her self with a firebrand. The bluish steel glistens. Death with a gun, certainly, one could see the
over kill? She laughs. Looking skyward, she calls. “Husband*, children…”
she mimicks the caw of her unfettered kin. “Come to Ma Ma..dinner is served.”
*Raven's mate for life...or death? ;)
**Bran is the Welsh word for Raven/ King Bran the Blessed
***A NIGHTMARE
( A bit of drama in the garden last week)
The seed was scattered, and not long to wait,
a Blackbird was the first upon the scene,
moments later followed by its mate,
I could tell the former wasn't really keen.
It chased the female off across the grass,
a sharing bird it definitely was not,
Pigeons arrived, they couldn't let this pass
and started quickly gobbling up the lot.
Until a Magpie swooped upon the crowd
from left to right it jinked, chased them away,
to dine with such a bird was not allowed,
it smugly strutted, having won the day.
Just then, a blur of feathers from above
as bravely wading in on the attack,
unlikely was this foe, a Collared Dove
surprisingly, it drove the Magpie back.
Harassing the Magpie 'till it was gone,
leaving the field of battle with a squawk,
The combats all concluded, now just one-
but one was enough for the Sparrowhawk.
Around this globe American heroes rest in hallowed grave,
Fallen upon the field of battle, our precious liberties to save.
Most have their honored names forever etched in stone;
Other stones display that simple phrase, "Known But To God Alone."
Who could that gallant warrior be? we will ever wonder,
Why him, Lord, who in the heat of battle was torn asunder?
Whose precious son, brother, father was this valiant son,
Tenderly laid in consecrated grave, his laurals bravely won?
What could he have become, Lord, had fate not dealt him so?
Contributions he could have made to humankind, we will never know.
He gave full measure of devotion that others may live free,
Upholding the Constitution, guaranteeing freedom and liberty.
The young soldier was laid to rest with the somber notes of "Taps",
Awaiting Gabriel's clarion bugle call to shed his sepulchral wraps.
To once again march with comrades on that final patrol,
And stand formation for that terminal call of the roll!
Even tho' the soldier's name was lost upon the field of strife,
The Creator has his name eternally scribed in the "Book of Life."
The Omnipotent One e'er so compassionate, e'er so kind,
Will ensure when the last roll is called, he won't be left behind!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(© All Rights Reserved)
Two opposing warring factions, meet upon the AstroTurf
Battlefield, in the sporting arena of Victory or agony’s defeated,
Warriors of the pigs skinned javelin, tackle each other at the
White lines of collisions honor, marked by the numbered banners
Of the fifty yard kick off point, yielding unto the pillars of the
Goal post of champions!
In the heat of battle these heroes of gladiatorial games, called
The NFL, thrill and chill their fans to the inner bones of the
True sportsman living within all us, born in this great nation,
Known as the U.S.A.
In this victorious field of dreams, no illusionary visions exist,
For these powerhouse gentlemen, gain each footings sacred
Ground by athletic skill and sheer raw brawn!
To the meek goes the booing of the fumble, to the strong
The million dollar playoff championship, cheered on by their
Ever loyal crowds of adoring fans, whom are enthroned by
This sport of endurance and strength of will!
In this modern coliseum of champions, no touch down goes
Without a standing ovation, or Styrofoam’s thumps up signal
Of approval, in these concrete surroundings this is truly a time
Honored sport of traditions, to be remembered in the
Historical records of the future as a classical game,
To challenge the strongest of athletes!
Golden are the rings given as victory’s insignias,
But in the hearts of the players and their loyal fans,
The price of the championship game is worth the cost
Of every single ounce of sweat and exaggeration, shown
On this epic field of battle!
As the crowds roar, with excitements thrilling kick offs
Point of the triumphant, field goal point scoring, their
Human wave of appreciation, is set at the release level
Of thousands!
In the homes of America the volume levels of the cheering
Is off the ratio scales charts, as chairs go flying backwards,
And Bowls of snacks explode everywhere, for the winning
Play has just been committed, and the championship team
Takes the final center field of the victorious!
Hurray for the great sport known as football,
The American sport of champions has again earned
Another season of splendor in the turf war of victories,
Behold our favorite pastime, may this pigskin colors never fade,
As our flag shall forever wave, for this is truly the great
American sport of athletic skill personified!
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
Dedicated to every young man bestowed the honor of wearing
the glorious Oklahoma Sooners' Crimson & Cream
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Over sixty years, boy and man, I have been a Sooners fan;
And always hoped to be among the truest in the stands.
And while I don’t remember all the Players’ names,
They’re my Heroes, each and every one, because they play the game.
When they’re on the field of battle, my Sooners surely give their all;
And when they’re on the sidelines, just waiting for a Coach’s call;
Visions of Glory must be dancing in their heads;
The Glory of the moment and our cheers, the Glory of playing for
the mighty Big Red.
And for those Sooners who rarely played, whose names were
known only by a few,
Make no mistake my friend, each of them is my Hero too.
Like Soldiers waiting in the ranks, but never called to fight,
They ‘re ready and they’re willing, their spirit and their sacrifice
add to Big Red’s might.
I stand in awe of Sooner Magic. No, I never doubt it.
My Sooners could have never won so many Championships without it.
But don’t misunderstand when I say Sooner Magic won those games;
It was Sooners players who, once again, rose to the occasion and
glorified the name.
Sixty years of college football and my Sooners have won the most.
Their fierce pride and performance inspire this simple toast:
“My Sooners Team goes on and on, different faces, different names;
But my Heroes, Each and Every one, for win or lose…
They play the game.
At the start of the next war,
While the headlines scream "war, war, war",
Go fit a lens to your gun's barrel
And a reel of film in its magazine.
It would be a better war—don't you agree?—
If all the innocents soon to face your gun
Froze in a pose
Anticipating the shots to come:
Shots of them, I mean,
Not shots at them!
When the order comes to open fire
That'll be the time to peer through your gun sight
Ready to take to the field of battle
And go clicking away
At the follies of men in war,
The corporate vultures circling above,
And all the lies, lies, lies about the war.
For where blood spills,
There truth must spill too;
But oft in war, it's the pills we get
To cloud our eyes and dim our minds.
Then, perhaps, we'll someday learn
Why our boys and girls who march forth to war
Never do really as of old return.
The heroes of a thousand battles
Retreat to a thousand bottles
At the doctor's and the barman's.
Who we call survivors
And whom we call casualties
Their fates ultimately come equal:
One falls in the battlefield,
The other in the bottle-field—
But fall they all do, they all do, O lord!
The dream weaver of passion’s illusions paints magical visions
Within the soul of desires lost, the token King shifts wildly upon
The chess board of life, until he captures the Queen of hearts,
Melting her beneath his words of enchanting poetic charms.
But the black knight yields not the field of battle, for the flash
And glamor of a delusionary joust, can never win this maiden’s
Devotion, for her inner shield bars the mark of vows promised.
Oh in the bard’s eloquent lyrical tones, his sacred words sing
As sweetly as the nightingales soft lullaby, sweeping the dreaming
Damsel off her feet into passions imaginations world of pleasures
Fantasies, but a darker flame flickers in the night, guiding, calling
This wayward mistress homeward, for she belongs to the black
Knight heart and soul.
Bold is the white knight of clarity, trying to vanquish the
Dark arts beguiling spell, but no demons nor God, can part
These atomoshereic creatures drawn together by forces elemental,
For she is the light that balances his darkness,
And their binding love begets the balance of each other’s
Universe.
Welding his golden wand, the dream weaver builds
Crystal castles in the air, shinning illusions of Camelot,
Tripping the light rays of magic, tossing diamonds as
Confetti shards that sparkle beneath the moons elliptical
Brilliance, yet the queen’s devotion does not waver,
For she loves another, with the whole heart of salvation
Everlasting faith.
In the cold chill of the night, the Queen of hearts
Awakens, stepping lightly as If made of air itself
She steps behind the dark battle horse of fate,
Then placing her fragile hands made of porcine glass,
Into her mighty lord grasp, she mounts behind
The King of black, riding into the distant horizon
Abyss of darkness.
Screaming in protest the wizard of illusion falls
Into madness’s sorrow, for his lost love betrayal,
But she smiles in the night, embracing this
Lord of passions flame.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
Watching Homer struggle
to explain how a god wounded by a mortal
cannot die but may hereafter live with minor pain
and the humor when that god
complains to Jove that His supervision of His daughter
is inadequate and His Love too unconditional
while Diomed (or Tydides)
wreaks havoc on the Trojans and Hector
gives it back (in kind)
anatomically correct descriptions
of spears piercing jawbones (and groins)
sons without fathers hunting and fishing thereafter
alone. Written
amazingly presciently!
as a metaphor for Vietnam (our war)
forgotten consensually
as this generation slips lazily away
to Hades (or kayaks to the huckleberries)
where the lights are always blue, gentian actually,
supper's served at 4 and former adversaries
pass the heavy hanging time playing pinochle (and pool).
We're selling the house to pay the taxes.
Pallas Athena wars among the men
from the axle of her chariot
and Venus is injured by Diomed,
standing in the field of battle where she never should have been,
in her adorable hand.
What has this to do with Solomon in jail.
Not the Jewish king, a black American male,
same thing.
Your children can be failed at school and marched to war.
You can be taxed and sent to gaol for the honor of it.
anyone lived in a pretty how town.
We have no obligation
to perform the Iliad or read poems and even Homer
considers Achilles effete (compared to Hector)
and Odysseus is wrong even when he's right.
Therefore, modern man explores
the mathematics of circles in coordinate planes and their tangents
when (sooner or later)
the secret of warp speed is discovered
expansion of the species will be limitless and permanent.
Tell me not, in mournful numbers,
Death is but an empty grave,
And the soul dies in that slumber,
Which will rot its bones away.
Death is merely but a passage,
No, the grave is not its goal;
Beyond the boundaries of age
Hearst you true words of the soul.
'Tis enjoyment and 'tis sorrow
That destined is to fill our days
And 'tis true as we grow older
We find us farther from today;
Yet art is long and time is fleeting
And we must wisely choose to change
How we spend our current meeting
While onward march we to the grave
In the world’s broad field of battle,
And torment of impending death
Be not scared, nor be frightened
Rather lift up high your head
Believe in the coming future
Learn from the passing past
Make your living in the present
Leave handprints on many a heart
Lives of great men are all studied
But truly remembered are only those
Who’ve departing left behind them
A bright smile, of love a dose
Memories, that perhaps another
Pushing through the feats of life
A forlorn and shipwrecked lover
Seeing, once more shall fall in love
Let us then be up and doing, persevering
With a goal deep in our hearts and minds
Still achieving, still pursuing, knowing
With love nothing is far behind
And even though one day we surely
Meet our passage through death and grave
We boldly move on forward trusting
We’ve made the best of every day
And behind us that we loved ones leave
To spread the knowledge we’ve acquired
“Of death afraid you shall not be,
And can become all you aspire”
Debbie Guzzi
Contest Name
For Love of Language
Cricket-Rounders
A new bloodsport in the town,
We call it Cricket-Rounders,
The bowler runs up to the pitch, (22 yard run)
And the bouncer surely crowds ya, (rising ball gets ya)
A cricket ball as hard as iron,
At a hundred miles an hour,
If it gets you in the head,
On ya grave we put the flowers,
So ya better wear head protectors,
Good gloves upon ya hands , (broke fingers)
Borrow Joel Garner from the West Indies yes, (world champ bowler, cricket)
He’d bowl ya outa the grand stand.
When ya run tween the bases, keep ya eyes upon the flic,
The ball is coming to knock ya down , with bruises bloody quick, (knock down yer out)
If ya hit the ball over the fence it’s a bloody six,
And to the boundary only four, so eat your weety bix, (3 strikes yer out)
11 men a side till they’re bowled or caught/knocked out,
Bruises are good for heroes, yes no bloody doubt,
A world wide game it is to be, a war on the field of battle,
Don’t forget to duck your head for sure,
Or yer brain might start to rattle…
Cricket bat or baseball bat for the batter. … Pad up…
Don Johnson invention 3-nov-11
Time is a man made construct whose sole purpose is to bring an ordered form to the
events of our lives. It has no place in the overall picture where what is…is, and what
isn’t may be but remains to be seen.
When you have just slipped and cut off your foot with an axe…that is not the time to
worry if you damaged its cutting edge.
To fear death is to fear life, neither one do we get a vote in, and both will occur
whether we like it or not.
BETWEEN BLACK AND WHITE ARE COUNTLESS SHADES OF GREY. IF THESE SHADES
OF GREY ARE NOT CONSIDERED, FACTORED, AND APPLICABLE, THE INDIVIDUAL
NATURE OF THINGS IS FOR ALL PURPOSES DENIED.
The grass is always greener on the other side of the fence. If not pass a law that
says it must be.
If we pull onto a road and drive long enough without exiting, we are assured in
arriving exactly where it leads.
When somebody else holds the reins of your mount, do not expect a pleasant ride.
The only way to insure your vote does not count, is to not use it.
Just because we choose not to accept or believe does not mean it is not true.
It is ok to have an opinion on everything…if you are willing to change one or two a
day. In other words be careful of trying to project your beliefs on any situation,
because at the bottom line the truth is, and belief is merely that…belief. Take your
time and seek the truth.
It is ridiculous to claim anybody died before their time. Every person is guaranteed
by birth exactly the amount of time they have coming…Thank you Lord
If caught in an avalanche, a wise man does not place his trust in an umbrella.
It is not cowardice if you are merely choosing your field of battle.
If your goal is victory remember it does not have to happen today.
A wise man takes his time and wins…fools rush to their defeat.
There are no accidents…everything is founded in cause and effect.
The greatest impediment to the truth… is belief.
The journey of self discovery is but eternity in length.
The Tiger General
Hobbes
The Tiger general strode onto the field of battle,
Tail flowing eloquently as he walked.
And then he turned to his men and began to speak,
They fell instantly silent as he talked.
The general led his men with a strong presence and iron resolve,
They fell into line at a quick command.
When they marched he always took the head,
And lead his men across the fields of sand.
His men followed him with love, respect and admiration.
His feats were the stuff that make up great tales.
Each fur who followed him took every order to a tee.
And when it comes to plans he never fails.
The tiger knew this battle was different then the last,
He felt the tides turn on the winds of change.
He knew that something horrible was about to happen.
He didn't know about the scope or range.
It was in the thick of the combat that he found it out,
and his face changed to one of hidden pain.
But he never showed his men a shred of doubt,
And each passing feeling he would detain.
He started loosing men at an alarming rate,
And he drew his blade and rallied the boys.
But the enemy had an advantage so large,
It made the master steel look like toys.
The guns were blaring left and right as the tiger stood his ground,
Never surrender he yelled to his men.
And nobody saw that he had shed a few tears
For brothers he would never see again.
The general never backed down and stood his ground,
He screamed that he would fight ''til his last breath.
And he fought with burning desire and passion,
He brought many a Soldier to their death.
And when it came time the tiger knew a showdown would occur,
As the two leader met amidst the fight.
The wolf opposite him unsheathed his own katana,
A true battle that would be quite a sight.
Each great leader was gifted with amazing skill,
They fought each other with tremendous guile.
And the further they got the more the tiger thought,
Soon enough the wolf will show his true style.
The battle went back and forth in a clash of sparks,
And then the wolf took out the tigers feet.
The cheater finally showed his true stripes and colours,
And brought the tiger general to defeat.
The tiger general's men rallied on to win the battle,
And even through death he drove them forward.
His men will always remember him as a friend and a brother,
And a man who truly lived by the sword.
The field of battle spread before us
Enemy soldiers approaching in ranks,
Suddenly soundless silver birds appear
Our focus changes to the sullen skies,
Bombs rain like missiles from the gods
We are defeated by an unseen force,
The nature of war is forever changed.
Written August 7, 2022
On the field of battle,
Young brave and strong,
We are stripling warriors,
Ready to bring it on!
We are fighting the darkness,
Piercing through with truth and light!
Charity is our standard,
Faith, courage and commitment our delight!
Captained by our King and Holy Commander,
We are guided by unconquerable right!
With flaming swords in hand,
This is the truth for which we fight!
Rising up to face the gauntlet of hell,
Yet we fear no death,
For we think upon our one true King,
And more firmly upon liberty than life!
We are true at all times,
In whatsoever things we are entrusted.
As disciples of truth and soberness,
We walk uprightly before Him.
We do not doubt,
God, will deliver us!
Our family, leaders and friends,
Have taught us to believe in Christ!
Bridge: (Said in a warrior’s voice)
With such miraculous strength,
And mighty power,
We did fall upon the enemy,
That we did frighten them exceedingly.
Oh what joy to be a warrior,
For not one soul shall be lost!
We will fight and win and never quit,
No matter what the cost!