Best Hero Poems | Poetry
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The Best Hero Poems
Achilles, The Journey To Troy,
(Part Two) of (Part One-titled, Achilles, His Heart and Soul Were Mortal)
Woe! wretched horrors Olympic gods sent that day
mighty king suffered, his treasure stolen away,
power of Troy against strongest of Grecian might
testing magnificent force of great Spartan fight!
Saving proud Greek honor was the summoning call
an arrogant king demanded Troy's suffering fall,
swift as Hermes, to warriors, messengers sent
his request answered, they came in flooding torrents.
As Grecian phalanx were boarding its warring ships
strong was the question upon the warriors lips,
Achilles! Achilles! Will our fight he now join
for he answers not to king's selfish whims or coins.
Roaring loud happy cheers as his ship sails were seen
warriors, certain victories plunders they'd glean,
his godlike bearing seen at, warships splashing prow
for not even Troy's massive walls, could stop them now!
Soon Troy's riches they would gather with bloody hands
slaughter its haughty citizens, burn its rich lands,
steal its power and gold, take its women as slaves
for its sins, cast its rabble into early graves!
With sacrifices made to Ares they could not fail
their gods had sent favoring winds to fill their sails,
Poseidon. rewarded faithful kings, gave their dues
they sailed on with pride of warriors and ships crews.
Eager to land and fight battles for glory's sake
to Olympic gods they prayed, their lives not to take,
gift them courage and hone well their slashing sharp blades
allow the joys of victor's homecoming parades.
Dawn's rays saw Achille's ship surging far ahead
he had his prowess and dark blood-lust to be fed,
in his heart he knew, this battle would be his last
glory and fame taken, would set the world aghast!
As night fell, they knew new day's light, would blood-lust sate
they each sought to placate dark master of their Fate,
with prayers and incense to burn throughout dark of night
each prepared for this, the greatest of all their fights!
Robert J. Lindley, 8-12-2018
(Part Two) - The Journey To Troy
Copyright © Robert Lindley | Year Posted 2018
Hidden beauty I know can dwell
within a body worn and frail.
I think of one who had been doled
great miseries, so once grown old,
his body seemed a dismal shell. .
Although he’d lived on earth his hell,
grown nearly crippled and unwell,
his inner fortitude was gold -
Life’s many hardships could not quell
his positivity, nor fell
that strength - his fire against the cold -
a virtue that should be extolled!
In knowing him, I well could tell
For Skat's the Premiere Contest number 14 Poetry Contest
Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2015
In Remembrance of Veterans Day
November, 11'th, 2018
&&&& &&&&&&&&&&&&& MM&&
&&& &&&&&&&& &&&&&& &&&&&&
&&&& &&&&&&&&( ) &&&( )&&&&&&
#####[ ]####### &&&&
My heart is yours my only son
With courage fought the war was won
Laid to rest amidst poppies red
Your dreams awoke as blood was shed
The wounds you bore now transcending
Upon lives saved in defending
Heaven awaits with open arms
My only son with healing harms.
Wars! were never a means to an end...in my opinion, only to satisfy the Global Elitists...with profit, power, and land...but yet we must salute, honor and give thanks to the countless women and men, who with exuberant courage gave their lives...just so we could sleep at night...
This poem is dedicated to my friend, Robert Lindley who is doing poorly at the moment...but as a soldier marches on...and to all the women & men who currently serve their Country...god bless and let's show them some love.
Sponsored by: P.S. AWTRY
N/A for contest
Copyright © Winged Warrior | Year Posted 2018
He cloaked her skin
with a dark silk gown
made of tattered wings
neath the hunter' skies
He covered her hair
with a mourning veil
Upon her face
his hands did play
the vacant gaze
the secret pains
His brush did paint
the monaliza's eyes
upon her lips
he carved a smile
with no expressions
of what one is to behold
Secret whispers still untold
Ghostly mist will keep on lingering
in the silence of her soul
There she stares
from the old portrait
Would somebody let her go?
Was this the girl who entered his dream?
Did he paint her pain?
Was she the same?
Lush lips that couldn't smile
Sullen eyes that couldn't lie
telling of strife
unable to bloom
sheltered from the light
Was he to save her?
Thoughts echoed in his mind
Is he her savior?
Will he fly to her side?
Will he be her star that shines?
the portrait calls
save me, come save me
Copyright © Cupids Arrow | Year Posted 2014
Achilles, His Heart and Soul Were Mortal
Part One- (Years Before Troy)
Achilles* woke, his slain foes calling out his name
hearing merciless woes, his sharpen sword they blame
looking at the heavens he saw the moon glowing blood red
sending its message of truth about his victims now dead!
Rising from night bed, screams from those slain still ringing
he knew much more torment they would be bringing
there was darkness in his soul that, nothing could ever tame
his father* had made death and destruction his only game!
Small was the solace that, mortal men praised his deeds
how in fiercest battles he makes his victims bleed
dispatching each to Charon* for that final dark boat trip
on river Styx, to Hades pain hides in each thirsty sip!
As pitiful dead faces come through bloody halls
louder and louder heard are their dark cursing calls
those words become deep stabbing daggers and his heart is pained
he realizes, worthless value of great fame he has gained!
Asking mother Thetis* why she gave this curse
sincerely proclaiming that, nothing could be worse
To Peleus* his father, he in tears begins to speak
begging for mercy and the love he forever there seeks!
He not knowing, Fate had demanded his half-god birth
destiny's reasons hidden, he pondered life's worth
asking why could not Apollo*, his suffering now ease
not seeing, even mighty gods can not do as they please!
As silence grew louder, his soul already hurt
he saw dying faces falling on bloodstained dirt
As voices and bloody shadows sank back into stone wall
his heart and soul's in memory, stored every cursing call!
Seeing now, last vestiges of heavenly lights
Achilles took time to remember all his fights
soon begging for dawn, its soothing lights his pained soul relieved
away washed curses of those that had cause to be aggrieved.
Rising to meet bright sun and dawn's glistening beams
he felt its deep gifting warmth and Hope that redeems
Fate and Destiny granted this warrior another day
on this mortal plain, for now, his half-god body would stay.
Robert J. Lindley, 8-04- 2018
Rhyme (Mythology, Great Tales)
See More Detailed Notes Listed Above-
1. Achilles*: - (Of Troy fame*)
2. (Achilles) father*: - Peleus
3.. (Achilles) mother*:- Thetis his mother, was the immortal Nereid Thetis,
4.Ares* : Ares is the Greek god of war. He is one of the Twelve Olympians, the son of Zeus and Hera.
5. Charon*: In Greek mythology, Charon or Kharon (/'k??r?n, -?n/; Greek ?????) is the ferryman of Hades who carries souls of the newly deceased across the rivers
6. Styx*": "River Styx"
The waters of one Styx in the Aroanian mountains
In Greek mythology, Styx (/'st?ks/; Ancient Greek: St?? [stýk?s]) is a deity and a river that forms the boundary between Earth and the Underworld, often called "Hades" which is also the name of its ruler. The rivers Styx, Phlegethon, Acheron, Lethe, and Cocytus supposedly all converge at the center of the underworld on a great marsh, which sometimes is also called the Styx.
7. Hades*: In Greek mythology, Hades was regarded as the oldest son of Cronus and Rhea, Hades received the underworld, Zeus the sky, and Poseidon the sea, with the solid earth—long the province of Gaia—available to all three concurrently. Hades was often portrayed with his three-headed guard dog Cerberus.
** Modern interpretation Hades equals Hell..
Copyright © Robert Lindley | Year Posted 2018
He walked with her a good mile
and talked with increasing smile,
with wonder he sat,
for the gladness in her heart;
...spent her days with wild hope ---
that he was in her eldest dreams,
from the beginning smote her monsters
and eased her deepest fears...
Now he rode with her again on his great white steed,
'til the edge of some mystic dusk;
and turn they could though too darkling
the winnowed wood, and chasing with shadows
the misted nite path, and she finally bade him
and his hidden forest hideaway;
so quaint and annointed with its little beds,
and bruin skins 'ere the hearth
and lordly portraits above its mantel;
and he lit it alive with warmth,
and the moon had come swift through the garland window
And in her hand he thrust the dearest of wine,
with nectar lush for a goddess,
and dearer her heart for him more they dined;
yet he pressed no closer ---
and gazed delicately glancing her bosom,
remained mostly her lunar eyes...
and bade her a fine warm shawl ---
But the wine and fire...his eyes...
his eyes upon her though brief ---
stroked her where they fell,
and smiling she was longing his lips,
but caught her lust...
her heart! she could hear it drumming desperate
" I am almost too warm for your fine shawl..."
" Too warm? " said the lord ---
" no wine could simmer so, and the fireplace
too slight for such heat... your eyes undress me... "
And no nite they had ended...
nor any morning come betwixt them,
(but a kingdom of love in some forest green)
Copyright © Keith O.J. Hunt | Year Posted 2017
Unsung Hero – The Soldier
Warily he stood at the corner,
Wondering which way to turn.
A weary smile on his faded brow,
As he held out an old worn-out hat hoping for handouts,
A few miserly pennies or perhaps, even a piece of bread.
This once proud soldier,
Now reduced to being a petty beggar,
Was a remnant of a cruel war;
Where he once stood side-by-side with his comrades
And helplessly watched them fall one-by-one.
Cruel memories haunted his saddened heart,
As he each day he desperately tried to survive,
Wondering if it would have been better
If he too on the bloody battlefield had died -
But there was no real answer.
Maybe it was good that he had done his duty
Fighting for those who couldn’t.
But now he was forgotten and forlorn,
With no honor, no glory,
He was just a nobody.
With warm tears streaming down his cold cheeks,
Even now he thought of his fallen comrades,
Questioning if they were really in a better place -
His thoughts about his tortured past
Continued to cling to him,
Like the tattered coat
He wore during the day,
And used for a pillow at night.
In his mind, he was still on the battlefield,
Only this time he battled invisible foes -
A mind growing feeble, homelessness,
Hunger, loneliness, and most of all –
Not having anyone to love him.
Copyright © Kika Ayala | Year Posted 2014
ECHOES IN THE STONE
No one can turn back the hands of time
Reliving the war, TEXAS her independence
The tombs so deep, where real hero's fought and fell
A place so precious, sacred in every hold
A timeless journey, with no stop to heal
To find your eyes upon this treasure's glaze
Hearing stories not found in fairy-tale books
Finding GRACE in this AMAZING place
The legendary ALAMO, over freedom, a ghost town
Walking by the thousands, beyond this land
Echoes in the stones
A painful event, UN erased
Defenders of the ALAMO gathered to unite
With their life's they put up an honorable fight
Heroes who embraced a defeat in March 1836
A battle deeply wounded overnight
Bravery in their hearts
No time to be scared.
Where the wind now blows,
Echoes in our souls.
With one touch, embrace the south wall
Hearing whispers, sad echoes-I call
Chills traveled down my spine
Standing among all heroes who are still buried,
In their home at the ALAMO
Echo's in the stone
Proud of the ALAMO.
Echoes in the stone
Where a hero still stands tall
Heroes even beyond their last breath,
Death being their only bail
Heroically fighting with their own will and liberty
In hopes, that justice would prevail
The ALAMO rebuilt, standing strong
Full of life, in the center of San Antone'
The voices, the scream,
Piercing the stone
Fighting till their death
"Remember the Alamo!"
The echoes in the stone, a hero's home
Locked inside each stone of eyes
Heroes who died,
Cried their last words
"VIVA THE ALAMO!"
Copyright © SKAT A | Year Posted 2010
Unsung Hero – My Mom
My Mom has always been unassuming, never flashy,
But her name deserves to be up in bright neon lights.
My magnificent Mom, Olegaria, is my hero!
In her eyes, no one is a zero,
And she is a blessing to all who crosses her path.
Successfully raising her own five children,
She also helped to raise all the stray children in her neighborhood.
Her guiding motto is “You can’t believe in God and
Not care about others - whether it is people, plants, or animals.”
An extraordinary human being, generous to a fault,
She would give her last slice of bread
To anyone who needed to be fed.
Nothing, including her time, is too good or too precious
To share with family, friends, and even strangers.
Often she’d sacrifice her own happiness,
If it meant that others would be happy.
While Mamacita is very humble, forgiving, and non-judgmental,
She is nobody’s fool and can be a fierce lioness,
Quick to defend her values and those she loves.
Caring mothers like her are especially rare today,
And should be declared national treasures.
Because of her powerful influence and the solid values she instilled,
I am a stronger, kinder, more conscientious, and better person.
My Mom helped me to see life in a more positive
And compassionate way – to treat people
How I would like to be treated.
Even though she is not a regular church-goer,
She prays several times daily and her home is her altar.
I thank God every day for blessing me with this wonderful mother,
And for her continued presence in my life.
Mom, you will always be my hero!
Contest: Tell Us About Your Mom (12-28-2015)
Sponsor: Judy Konos
Contest: Unsung Hero (07-31-2014)
Sponsor: Carol Eastman
Copyright © Pandita Sanchez | Year Posted 2014
The best advice came from my hero
since our very first days on the Soup,
he said to me ....be true to yourself
don't try to blend into the group.
When no one wants to write in rhyme
you told me ....write it anyway,
when no one wants to read rhyme,
you said to me ...write it anyway.
If this is your passion, why let it go
all opinions will be hit and miss,
poetry is not what others want you to do
only Heart and Soul make up the artist.
Did Poe try to follow the rest ...oh no
being unique makes any artist great,
perfection is what it is .....to you
only we can control the hand of fate.
So what if we are being a little archaic
by respecting those who came before,
the elders are remembered for a reason
they opened up the modern poet's door.
Thank you for teaching me to believe
because back then I just didn't see,
the talent, the potential, the poet
... that you somehow saw in me.
I have many Poetry Soup heroes....
but this poem is for Chan Hurst, "Just That Archaic Poet" ....RIP
Written on November 10th, 2015
Copyright © Kelly Deschler | Year Posted 2015
The Medieval era
was filled with wars and strife
between the French and English
at cost of limb and life.
The French became disheartened;
their victories were rare,
a humbling situation
which was too hard to bear.
A peasant girl heard voices
and visions she could see.
A maid who had a mission,
young Joan from Domrémy.
The King and other nobles
put all their faith in her.
This maid of calm composure
had dreams which they could share.
Entrusted with an army
she rode the horse she had
with banner and sword wielding,
in shining armour clad.
The English looked in wonder;
there were bewildered scenes
as Joan and soldiers entered
the city of Orleans.
With rousing words and courage
her men to battle led.
The English were defeated;
in disarray they fled.
More victories then followed,
her fame spread far and wide,
but when the voices ended
she lost the gift to guide.
In battle she was captured,
for sorcery was tried.
Condemned to death by burning
to wooden stake was tied.
The hungry flames devoured
the maid’s unblemished skin.
She called the name of Jesus;
found strength from deep within.
She died. It was all over
this heroine’s ordeal.
She was proclaimed not guilty
years later, on appeal.
A martyr, now respected,
who paid a costly price.
A victim of politics;
a saint in people’s eyes.
Contest: Joan of Arc
Sponsor: Isaiah Zerbst
*Joan of Arc admitted that she never used her sword to kill anyone.
To her, strategy was more important than the sword.
Copyright © Paul Callus | Year Posted 2015
He wrapped his arms around me
Never wanting to let go
I gently whispered in his ear
Daddy, when you coming home?
He said I'm off to battle today
To heal the wounded soldiers cries.
I don't know when or if I'll be back
The tears began to flood my eyes.
As father walked away
His smile, it did gleam.
His final words to me
Became but a nightmare within a dream.
The bomb rang out
Through the desert air.
When the dust did settle
They found father there.
The soldiers stood at attention
They saluted their brother goodbye,
And the eagle spread its wings
As a true American soldier, had died.
Copyright © Bobby Snyder III | Year Posted 2016
We talked at length
The hours we passed
The life you lived
Oh the horrors
So many men's live snuffed
Oh Arizona, a dedication
Whose souls be at rest
Amidst oily scum
And so many others
Sightless eyes watch
The world in disintegration.
Yes, you’ve seen
Many unimaginable horrors
Those only Man can inflict
You’ve grasped my heart
I watched you whither away
A hero by all accounts
God rest your soul
Oh gentle man.
God rest ye gentle man.
My heart aches
With your passing
Now I have your cherished one
She that you know
Rested in my heart
For years and years and years
The one that tended you
All that time
Oh yes, that woman of women
She is in my arms
Forever… my very first love
The thought of whose love
Brings tears to my eyes
Just so you know…
Semper Fidelis... you are my hero Donald Canan,USMC, WWII veteran Western
Pacific... he told death to get bent. May God Rest your soul.
Copyright © Michael Santner | Year Posted 2007
Winds caressing fringes of
her deep chocolate tresses
as tree nymphs nimbly hid
midst fallen maple leaves
happily prancing round toes,
whilst a crescendo of chimes
played off in near distances,
warm apple pie aroma wafting
upon a zephyr tickling her nose,
unfastened her reddish cloak
for her e'er plunging neckline
exposed an ample décolletage
voluptuously heaving in broad
daylight waiting to seduce a crafty
wolf in sheep's clothing she had afore
encountered on the way to grannies,
called ahead to make reservations
for her & handsome knighted chef
hiding amidst the dark forest with
his trusty sharpened butcher knife,
had acquired Wolfgang Puck's
wickedly-satisfying secret recipe
for savory pack-of-wolves stew
Li'l Reddish Revenge is a dish best served cold-blooded with liberal
scads of punitive napkins and a bottle of vindictively chilled Chianti
Copyright © Paloma P | Year Posted 2016
A soldier boy was calling me
His faint cry heard all around
The air was still and silent
And dusty sand lay on the ground.
The far outstretched plains lay before me
Carried on for miles ahead.
And many a soldier's body could be seen
Although most of them lay dead.
But still a soldiers voice called out
Which i could faintly hear.
But with so many bodies strewn around
I wasn't sure of which cried out in his fear.
But still I kept on reassuring him
With only words that could not explain
How much I really feared for his life
And if in death he would die from pain.
Then I saw a movement
Just slightly but it didn't go unseen.
Now I could rescue our country's hero
And give back to him a life that'd been.
For we must protect our country men
Who in a war for their land have bravely fought.
A true hero who's life he gave willingly
In their fight for freedoms rights their land sought.
Copyright © Anna Sabrina Tate | Year Posted 2016
It’s all about me!
It’s all about me
I am the King sitting in the tree
It’s all about me
It’s all about me
I am clapping my hands with such glee
My subjects love me as is my due
The Royal court loves me, yes them too!
King Arthur I am, Ruler of all realms in the land
It’s all about me
It’s all about me
I am the wisest King to ever be!
Hoist ye drinks and sing me praise
The Ale-house is full, its a King Arthur craze!
Its all about me, the Poet King reciting, loud and free
It’s all about me
It’s all about me
Guinevere knows my kiss is for she!
Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2017
Sometimes in life, we work so hard
to do the best that we can do.
Spend hours perfecting what we think
others will love and cherish too.
With gems created in the arts,
like those of written poetry,
The imagery comes from our soul,
the very depths of you of me.
Sometimes our hope for a reward
in judgment of a finished write,
does not fulfill expected goals—
although selections may be right.
Then comes along a second chance—
contests for 'Screwed' and 'Trashed' on list!
Perhaps a poem of heart and soul
will earn a placement that it missed.
Two heroes here in this great 'Soup'
provide for me that second chance!
New eyes to read, enjoy my thoughts;
perhaps a win, my score enhance.
Broken, your kind and gentle heart
can feel the depth of what I write.
Your sensitivity comes through
to see my words in different light.
And Rob, your love of poetry—
of metaphor and perfect form,
has given me the chance to shine
let meaning of my words perform.
So thank you Rob and Broken Wings,
you offer us that chance to score—
showcase our words and thoughts again.
Your second chances we adore!
Sandra M. Haight
Contest: PoetrySoup Heroes
Sponsor: Catie Lindsey
My PoetrySoup Heroes:
Copyright © Sandra Haight | Year Posted 2015
Beneath embered brands of burning roof,
The firefighter waits.
His mask is on; he’s donned his gloves,
Ready to enter the fiery state.
Once again to battle beast,
Whose heart burns with flaming hate.
On hands and knees he treads with care
Over blackened brittle floor.
Making way through smoke dark rooms
Fighting fear from door to door.
Outstretched arms reach for muffled screams
Heard above the deafening roar.
Hoping to find before too late,
The source of curdling screams.
A scenario played all too oft
Within the hero’s dreams.
The task at hand his only thought
And the safety of his team.
Crying, scared a young child waits
For rescue from choking heat.
Then through the blackness something tugs
And pulls his trembling feet.
A Vadered voice says “it’s OK”
And hugs him to the street.
The fire alone remains to beat;
And return to fight he goes.
To find the beast alive and well;
Destroying, as it grows.
He aims his weapon at the seat
And from it water flows.
The devil dies as fire gives in
To the water’s cooling spray.
The house is gone; but at least,
No lives were lost today.
So back he jumps on bright red truck,
And into night he rides away.
In quiet contemplation,
The firefighter stares.
Holding back a hundred thoughts
That known might seem him scared.
But he pushes fear aside,
And treads where others do not dare!
Copyright © Joseph Soper | Year Posted 2017
I'm only allowed the names of three
so I will write of those that would be for me.
There are so many that this is unfair
but, since that is the rule I must list there:
Carolyn Devonshire who gave me the courage to write
with her words of encouragement on this site.
She always found a "silver lining" in my work,
and never told me that I write like a jerk.
Tho it has been years since I've been around
her help and inspiration never set me aground.
She never left me twisting in the wind alone
as she helped my poorest works to hone.
There is also a Poet Destroyer for whom I have praise
I wish my words to her level I could raise.
Why her "Poet Destroyer" pen name I could never see
unless, of course, you compare mine to her poetry.
Mine is crushed by the words she can write
but I am ever grateful to her for wanting to put mine to flight.
When you have a writer who can put you to shame,
it's only natural that you want to do the same.
CayCay Jennings is my third choice
as she has helped me to "refind" my voice.
I appreciate her critiques of the work I do
all I can give is a big "THANK YOU".
She was one of the first to welcome me back here
and always gave me words of good cheer.
Her suggestions have been given with such grace
sometimes they put a smile on my face.
There is her writing which is also so stellar
as compared to mine, some of which belong in a cellar.
Some of the things she has written down
Have with me, a deeper meaning found.
So these are the three heroes that I must name
but so many more have done the same.
Not only are there poets whose names I could not call
to give them the honors they should have one and all.
Yes, I have heroes here unnamed
because my pen had to be tamed.
But know that I appreciate each and all that you do
Whenever I write, I'm thinking of you.
Copyright © Dan Cwiak | Year Posted 2015
Stepping Through Time
with a tall man.
Joy floods my soul, for
I am with my hero!
He’s awkward and lanky, but
his arm is strong around my waist.
As he smiles down at me, I recall
people had called him homely. Could they not
see - emanating from his dark eyes -
integrity’s beauty? I dare
touch his shaven face, longing
to tell him how special
he is and how one
day, he will be
Feb. 5, 2017
for the Stepping Through Time Poetry Contest of Kim Rodrigues
Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2017
Security, self-esteem, and basic needs;
Everything on Maslow’s scale I seem to nearly have.
Life is good, but do I have it all?
Fulfillment in all things? What am I still in need of?
A final need exists which requires extra
Creativity! Often those who achieve it are seen as heroic.
Their autonomous personalities are quite distinct!
Unlike ordinary souls, they’ve attained the highest plateau.
As masters of their fate, they do not know the word inertia.
Lincoln is a prime example. How many on this earth ever had his great will?
Integrity defined him, as nearly did agapai.
Zest and gratitude for life were his, and he had no need of glitz.
Among humanity, he was like the fairest of the pearls found in the sea.
To be like him, so talented, so good, so brave, so smart
Is something that I can barely fathom. I
Only can admire and strive to be like him, my hero!
Not many in this world ever can achieve the highest plain.
Written November 10, 2016
Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2016
When need arises they rise up in every town
No matter the toll it takes, they just carry on,
But not everyone will recognize who they are
For heroes of the town don't have name-tags on.
No one sings their praises in course of their deeds
To make a difference quietly they proceed
As if the music to their song is not yet composed
For lyrics, though written, have not been disclosed.
Don't search far and wide to see this phenomenon
Just look at human actions in their simplest form,
Like a mother who wakes up at stroke of every dawn
To care for her kids since the day they were born.
A father who toils daily to send his kid to college
Waiting to hug his child on the day of graduation,
And a teacher who delivers gladly gift of education
Working for low wages never seeking recognition.
Fighting fires in the neighborhood or in the wild
A fireman saves a child's life but dies before his time,
And a policeman who dies at the scene of a crime
Leaves young family behind at height of his prime.
A doctor who spends all night to save a man's life
When no one is at home to care for his sick wife,
And a brick layer who works in the heat of summer
To construct a pathway for the rest of us to walk over.
A child who didn't know how to use the phone
Saves grandma's life getting through the dial tone,
And a captain in the army dies to save fellow soldiers
While his young family left behind silently smolders.
Heroes everywhere fight challenges that are rife
They reside among us uplifting every walk of life.
November 20, 2017
Sponsor: Silent One
Copyright © Vijay Pandit | Year Posted 2017
What now of heroes can I speak
Who raise the mild and loft the meek
Bequeathing glory, love untold
With ne’re a thought their heart unfolds
A spirit bright so kind are they
Their own life’s pain they hide away
Their selfless gifts cast near and far
They’ll hand you moons and cast you stars
In what choice god you do believe
He’s planted in them kindness seeds
With selfless stealth they will achieve
To garnish souls with ruby beads
Intentions oft misunderstood
They only know how to do good
Altruistic warrior hearts
Empathy is their unique art
Incognito these ones remain
Actions speaking louder than fame
Gifted with words to comfort pain
Casting rainbows, banishing rain
Unsung heroes they will remain
Singing their songs without refrain
Broken angels with hidden wings
Healing souls whilst weaving heart strings.
November 26, 2017
Written for “Hero” Contest
Sponsored by: Silent One
Copyright © Judith S | Year Posted 2017
Through the gates of Absalom,
steed and gate did ride,
charging fast and furious
o'er centuries gone by;
peace did shout in vain,
the Lidless Prophets...
must come again,
nigh is the evening sky
but full of hope
The ramparts held fast, ballast and beam,
cannon-fire bombasting flesh and bone,
groans of death ---
such dreary breath!
of decay centuries old
The Rose of all that is Earth,
her petals unsheathed,
torn for time ---
tear and antiquity ---
her red sheen lilts in the new day sun,
begging for Love, she asks:
Shall they come?
Copyright © Keith O.J. Hunt | Year Posted 2017
A people persecuted beyond imagination;
To help them he felt, was his obligation.
He joined the army in World War II;
Not knowing his hell would be Eyes of Blue.
When he reached Normandy, the beaches were red.
Crawling over his brothers who lay already dead.
To give this tyrant, this devil his due;
Not knowing his own demons, would be Eyes of Blue.
He rounded a building securing a town;
A young German soldier was just coming round.
He plunged his bayonet, the quicker of the two;
Killing the young soldier, with Eyes of Blue.
He knelt down beside him with tears in his eyes;
How long this moment would last, he did not realize.
He closed the eyes as he thought he should do;
Thinking never again to see those Eyes of Blue.
The victor over many in Germany and Japan;
It was always difficult taking life from a man.
None would haunt him, this he now knew;
As long as the soldier, with Eyes of Blue.
He died an old man, to heaven he went;
For this honorable soldier, mercy was sent.
First time since the war, so sad but true;
A peaceful sleep, not seeing Eyes of Blue.
Copyright © Arlene Smith | Year Posted 2014