Best Helmet Poems
Each day we need our armor for the fight,
to wage the battle from daybreak to night ~
protection to wield.
The struggle is against not flesh and blood
but evil forces; enemies of God
souls, the battlefield.
The belt of truth fastened, the strong breastplate
of godliness, gospel boots laced up straight ~
faith, our robust shield.
Wearing the helmet of his saving grace,
God's Word, the two-edged sword ready in place ~
His wisdom revealed.
Dark days are coming; pray and do not fear.
God's armor helps his people persevere ~
Satan's fate is sealed.
// Based on Ephesians 6:10-18 //
written 10 Aug 2020
helm gold
face old
steeled eyes
sealed guise
firm nose
born woes
lips locked
pain blocked
old scars
past wars
blood shed
he bled
Inspired by:
She Who Once Was the
Helmet Maker’s Beautiful Wife.
Sculpture by Auguste Rodin
nude glory, she of uncrannied pelt,
stroked by many, might not know
she’ll sit erelong on stone as
wrinkled bronze
waiting yet to be touched.
muscle melts from bone,
hair, once auburn-splashed on brow,
turns colorless now and dull. Who sees
the girl with rose wine cheeks, the
prime of a daughter turned old?
Kathryn McLoughlin Collins
April 14, 2013
The horned helmet of the dawn has met my sight
They’re shouting loudly, that I’m wrong – I’m right
The sky is putting on the armour of mournful clouds
I’m man with weapon I’m not farmer let someone shouts.
I’ve taken sword with hand of vengeance I’ve taken shield
I’ve never seen the kind angels and I have built
the ship to sail in land of Glory to seek and find
And maybe I will tell this story for famous Skald.
The morning’s giving me direction to be the One
I’m waiting so for satisfaction my will be done
I carry woes and pain and fury on peak of sword
I want to win I want it truly to be the lord.
I’ll share the blood without the weeping there is no choice
I hear myself that death is creeping I hear the noise
of battle and I kill with smile I’m tough as stone
I see the dead they stand like file I see the dawn.
i was explaining this at the
breakfast table
my wife pulled that electric chair face
but i consider
that it is better to
be adventurous than
cautious
my son takes another bite
of his jam on toast
and my wife
gives me those
ultraviolet light looks
she is our ozone layer
preventing
us from ripping apart
our
delicate
alveoli sacs
i am her wrinkly moon man
Going down the slopes
be sure to wear your helmet
watch out for that tree!
We came upon a clearing
In the scattering of the town
Bomb damage as scenery
In this place called Caen
The village square we reach
Shell casings pepper the ground
Blood and spillage flows
War is all around
In the distance we hear
That the enemy are retreating
The losses our heroes
In this theatre of beating
The local school
Which had seen the worst
A tribute exists
Of the fallen first
In the debris there stands
His weapon of war
Upon it sits
The helmet he wore
This patriot
Of the land of the free
The Stars and Stripes
He will no longer see
As we continued our quest
To free Europe and beyond
So many solitary helmets
Will unify our bond
.
Half-Orphaned - A letter to a son from a father in heaven
Dear Son,
Sorry!
to leave you half-orphaned
to abandon you with my death
Sorry!
for not picking you from school
for missing out on your football matches
Sorry!
to dump you and your mother with a financial crisis
to have you to see your mother cry every day
Sorry!
for not wearing a helmet that day
for not fighting back from death
Your Baba from Heaven!
All I can think of is that dented firefighters helmet
As I recall that concrete and twisted steel tomb
Those dazed and dusty faces lost in disbelief
In the rubble of the fallen towers
Only moments ago, the planes assailed New York
Pulverizing the heart of the nation
Steel supports gave way, bodies fell from the smoke
Our delusions of safety burning away
From the debris we plucked the pieces of hellish reality
The rescue workers keeping theirs, and I mine
Holding fast to the hope of a chance to find life
Somewhere in the hazy gray of uncountable names
Those who’ve been lost now sleep around us as we work
Although they’ve been consumed and ripped
Their spirits, our hope, and a brighter future remains
Healing the wounds, cleaning the blood, and drying the eyes
As we lifted a piece of broken wall the helmet fell free
Tumbling down the tor of steely concrete to land at my feet
Burning the truth of that day beyond any comprehension
Side by side we worked understanding...that unspoken moment
he keeps saying it's
gonna
be a bumpy ride
but that's life
and all these spin-offs
about juggernauts
space fairies
and
helmets with no chin straps
riding in his
space cow
across the galaxy
i'm considering a chin-strap-beard
we are
one tonight
i explain to the human geography teacher
in the lounge
that i am a completionist
i don't just
watch some episodes, but finish the lot
he counters, "did you see every episode
of duck tales?"
the man is mad
There were many ingenious things that helped win World War Two.
Jeeps, Higgins Boats and Victory Ships just to name a few.
Other things were vital such as radar, C-rations and wrenches,
But the ungainly steel helmet won favor with guys in the trenches!
Though the soldier always tried his best to look meticulous,
That "pot" atop his head did make him look somewhat ridiculous!
Designed to protect the head as directed by Army ukases,
The enterprising American soldier found for it many other uses!
It was used as a portable sink in which to wash and shave,
And it came in handy as a bathtub for the occasional lave.
It made a great laundry tub for the scrubbing of his drawers.
(Heretofore, Mom took care of such mundane domestic chores!)
Hunkering in his foxhole to evade the dreaded Grim Reaper,
It became a useful shovel as he strove to dig a little deeper!
On numerous occasions in it he was served his meager chow.
It was used as a milk pail for milking an obliging cow!
To rest his weary bones the helmet became a comfortable seat.
For all-around utility this handy-dandy gadget couldn't be beat!
Oh! And by the way it saved innumerable lives along the way,
Since its sole intended purpose was to keep shot and shell at bay!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(© All Rights Reserved)
Into the midnight cold he rides;
a chance travel, on the wild side;
this is the vision, that always repeats,
whenever I think about that curvy Rockford Street.
Alone he travels on his way home,
until a mystery sends him flying into the air,
and has him crashing into the ground far from the road.
Where was his helmet? O’ where was his helmet?
In pain he lays all alone,
until two-friends rush to his aid,
and frantically made emergency calls from his phone;
paramedics arrive and relieve his friends,
as his journey into the unknown slowly begins.
Where was his helmet? O’ where was his helmet?
Now in a hospital lying on a bed,
with nothing but sheer pain streaking through his head,
mom rushes into the hospital with one of her sons by her side,
the other son was in Iraq unaware awaiting R&R and waiting on his airplane ride;
a devastated mother and a saddened brother both watched as the youngest sighed,
eyes watery with tears as they watched him slip into the cold night.
Where was his helmet? O’ where was his helmet?
I received the terrible news while I was in Ballad waiting for a good plane,
instead I was rushed to an awful flight and my heart felt immense pain;
I begged and I pleaded with God,
Please O’ please let this plane crash and let everyone but me live,
I love my youngest brother take me O’ Lord, take me instead;
he is too young God; he hasn't truly experienced life,
my goodness he was only twenty-eight and never had his own family, nope not even a wife;
by the time I made it to Rockford it was too late,
my youngest brother was forever gone as a chance travel sealed his fate;
tears in my eyes the pain still burns deep I must admit,
with only one question in my mind;
Where was his helmet? O’ where was his helmet?
I-t's a perilous world,
R-ugged wind makes one fret;
I-n the road of danger,
S-tart wearing your
H-elmet.
O-n Wednesday March fifteenth,
T-ricks of the enemies abound;
A-llow not your faith to fade,
B-ecause the Savior is around.
L-et the whole armor of God be taken up with conviction;
E-ven if the path is well-paved, wear the helmet of salvation.
Giorgio rode his red Ducati to climb a mountain
without a helmet to protect the fragile brain
from damage, then all sirens started wailing
as if an earthquake or a hurricane were coming!
" They won't catch me because cars
can't ride mountains or steep hills,
they get stuck in between rocks."
A large crowd gathered below, they yelled,
" Don't crash into big trees and break your neck like Bill did;
your dad is furious about the terrifying news and brandishes
a leather belt. Cops get out of patrol cars but soon realize,
climbing will give them a heart attack and called it quits!
Riding without a helmet may cost a precious life anytime,
use your noodle: motorcycles are more dangerous than cars;
I've seen dead bodies across highways to be replaced by crosses,
don't be the next victim and be listed in the obituary of the Enquire.
Giorgio found his hiding place in a small cave,
where fat, chittering rats roamed and snakes chased them for food;
he shivered and called his mom, she never came
to rescue him: his fear was worse than wrestling an enemy in a feud!
He stood still~
Eyes travel faster than a lightyear;
The many battles fought~
Still fresh in his mind~
The brilliance of his golden helmet
never fades~
Like the tenacity of his conviction
to fight and never surrender.
The man wearing the golden helmet
Must be also wearing a golden heart;
He must be a sweet husband
to his beloved..
and a protective father
to his only daughter..
He must be my father.
01.10.2021
Notes: (Credits to - © 1st-Art-Gallery.com 2003 - 2021 - All Rights Reserved)
The Man in this enduring canvas titled Man in a Golden Helmet by Rembrandt and dated 1650, is a particularly captivating and meditative rendering of a time-worn face beneath a majestic, almost juxtaposing, helmet. The contrast illuminates the painting with a profoundly moving sense of time having passed, at once both sentimental and sentient. Admired by the Impressionists and portrait artists throughout the centuries.