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Best Hero Poems

Below are the all-time best Hero poems written by Poets on PoetrySoup. These top poems in list format are the best examples of hero poems written by PoetrySoup members

Search for Hero poems, articles about Hero poems, poetry blogs, or anything else Hero poem related using the PoetrySoup search engine at the top of the page.

See Also:

Poems are below...


New Hero Poems

Don't stop! The most popular and best Hero poems are below this new poems list.

Looking for a hero by Duffy, Alex
My Hero by Robertson, Skye
What is a hero by Coffey, Keith
The Real Hero by Ferguson, Duncan R. M.
Ode to My Hero, Honest Abe by Dietrich, Andrea
My Loved Hero by Johnson, Joyce
My Hero Connor by Loo, Laura
My Hero - My Best Friend by Brownlee, Lee
My Hero by Chalise, Deepak
The ultimate hero by Smith, Jeremy

View all new Hero Poems

The Best Hero Poems

 
Details | Hero Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Hidden Beauty

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 -
                                         Hidden beauty!

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
                                            hidden beauty.


For Skat's the Premiere Contest number 14 Poetry Contest




Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2015

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The Portrait

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 Mysteriously the vacant gaze the secret pains His brush did paint the monaliza's eyes upon her lips he carved a smile with no expressions nor expectations of what one is to behold Enigmatic, Suffocating 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? He stares He ponders 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 Futures slowed Hopes dashed Dreams crushed Was he to save her? Thoughts echoed in his mind Is he her savior? Her mystery? Her hero? Will he fly to her side? Will he be her star that shines? Listen closely the portrait calls save me, come save me


Copyright © Cupids Arrow | Year Posted 2014

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Unsung Hero - The Soldier

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 -
What if?
Why?

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. 




9-16-2014


Copyright © Kika Ayala | Year Posted 2014

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Mario and Luigi: The Untold Story

(Submitted to Heather's Famous Couples/Duos contest. I hope you all like!)  :)

“Save me, Mario & Luigi!”

As they both read the Princess’ distress call,
Written in dark cherry lipstick on his walls
“Mama-Mia, I just painted this damn thing”, Luigi whined.

They ride off into smiling clouds’ horizon
Knocking out hopeless Goombas & misunderstood Turtle shells
Rapidly exhaled hustles over flagpoles and grassy valleys
To see who will capture her 1st kiss...and NOTHING MORE

Towards that immense castle in the sky,
They climbed against its walls like two dogs in heat for the 1st time

Into un-screened window archways, they dive in
Their eyes stare threateningly against the Dinosaur-Lizard cross-breed reject

Mario & Luigi begin dropping mushrooms to see stars and taste invincibility.

But, like this battle, it only lasted 10 seconds!

For out from the Onyx darkness, a new hero emerged
Green, not with envy, but of Greek god magnificence
And a strut that would make a pole dancer jealous

He struck down with such brute force, tearing down the gates of Heaven & Hell
Jesus & Lucifer were pissed

It was Yoshi the dinosaur!

With one fell swoop & a high pitched Braveheart-style cry,
He starts dropping eggs like he’s been ovulating for days
Tossing them with such focus & epic awesomeness against his enemies
Knocking them down one by one

He gracefully sweeps up the Princess, staring down towards his enemies
In a condescendingly lifted face, places an old-school Boombox on the ground
With loud decibels of MJ’s “Don’t stop ‘til you get enough!”,
Yoshi pulls out & drops the mic, embracing gravity’s last word

The Princess devilishly smiles at her new green hero and rides him into the sunset.

Game over.

©Drake J. Eszes


Copyright © Drake Eszes | Year Posted 2013

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Echoes in the Stone

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
Outnumbered 
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!"

   SKAT


Copyright © SKAT A | Year Posted 2010

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PoetrySoup Heroes

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

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Unsung Hero - My Mom

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!



Entered in “Unsung Hero Contest” sponsored by Carol Eastman (7-30-
2014).


Copyright © Pandita Sanchez | Year Posted 2014

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Joan of Arc

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

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I Only Understand Now

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
Together… finally…
Forever.
Never
Worry…
Never
Forget…
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

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A Lost Soldier

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

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PoetrySoup Heroes


Second Chances 


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

~7th Place~
Contest: PoetrySoup Heroes
Sponsor: Catie Lindsey
Judged: 11/12/2015

My PoetrySoup Heroes:

Broken Wings
Rob Carmack



Copyright © Sandra Haight | Year Posted 2015

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'Pardon me, could you pass the Grey Poupon'

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

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POETRYSOUP HEROES

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. 


written:  10/30/15





Copyright © Dan Cwiak | Year Posted 2015

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Stepping Through Time

Stepping Through Time I find that I’m dancing 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 wearing a handsome beard! Feb. 5, 2017 for the Stepping Through Time Poetry Contest of Kim Rodrigues


Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2017

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Self-Actualization

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

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Eyes of Blue

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

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I'm my Daddy Made Over

Dedicated to my Dad Jerry W. Niday 3/20/1952 - 6/18/2013


I am who I am because of him
He’s the reason for my son’s name
He gave me my courage & my strength
To stand tall even when standing wasn’t easy
Stand for the ones who can’t
To think and fend for myself
I’m my Daddy made over

Taught me to fight back 
To never back down
How to pick myself back up
When I’ve been knocked down
Fight for what I believe
I’m my Daddy made over

He gave me my stubbornness 
Gave me my pride
Gave me my temper
Taught me not to take crap
To speak my mind no matter who
Work for what I want
I’m my Daddy made over

How to keep my emotions in check
How to handle large amounts of pain
When in trouble he always had my back
He knew how my mind worked better than anyone
I got it from him
I’m my Daddy made over

Even though he’s gone
I’ll stand and continue on 
I may stumble I may fall 
May even get hurt along the way
But I’ll pick myself back up
I’ll dust myself off and stand tall
I’m honored and proud to say
I’m my Daddy made over


Sabrina Niday Hansel



Copyright © Sabrina Niday Hansel | Year Posted 2013

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Superman

Superman has always been a superhero of mine One of my favorites of all and that with me is more than fine. Superman he's so handsome and he's so very cool He can fly!And he's so bright,smart,and he's never a fool. Superman in his superhero outfit looks so sharp and good And for truth and justice for anyone always proud stood There's no one in the world like Christopher Reeves as Superman Superman fights for everything that stands for good and that's his plan. Superman,fight for the American way and has tons of die-hard devoted fans He always comes shining thru for all,evil in all his films he bans Superman in the world of superheroes is my number one and many of us agreed No other superhero can ever beat him with all its unique attributes indeed. Dorian Petersen Potter aka ladydp2000 copyright@2014 10.09.14


Copyright © Dorian Petersen Potter | Year Posted 2014

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We Lost More Than a Dad

We lost more than just a Dad that day
We lost half of how we came to be
We lost we four girls first love
We lost our Best Friend

We lost more than just a Dad that day
Our Mom lost her Soul Mate, Her other half 
Our children lost their Papaw
We lost our family’s foundation 
We lost the glue that held us together

We lost more than just a Dad that day
We lost the Strongest man we ever knew 
We lost the man we looked up too
We lost we four girls Teacher of many things

We lost more than just a Dad that day
We four girls lost our Hero
We lost some of our Light
We lost part of our Heart
We lost part of our Soul

We lost more than just a Dad that day
We lost some of our Courage
We lost some of our Strength
We lost some of our will to fight back
We lost some of our will to carry on
We four girls lost more than a Dad
We lost more than just a Dad that day


Copyright © Sabrina Niday Hansel | Year Posted 2013

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BLOODLESS - Tale of a Hero and the People He Died For

You knew you were going to die. 1
And yet you came, thinking no matter how insane,
the man on the seat of power would never want you dead
… it would be too much on his head.

And so you came, and there in the brightness of the day
they took your life away, on the tarmac… in broad daylight. 2
I was too young to  fully understand, and yet I cried  -
The greatest leader we never had, the greatest leader we needed to have … died.

August 21, 1983 was a day of ignominy.
The nation suffered from shamed infamy;
Too many people, not just one witness,
yet not anyone saw, everyone was witless.

The world mocked our country of too little people.
Seemed all we could do was pray on the steeple,
we were hopeless, hopeless…helpless…
Quo vadis, Filipino?

The tide of justice was slow in turning,
even though on the streets, one felt intense mourning.
Peace loving people were silently seething,
faithful and compliant, yet inwardly…defiant.

Seventeen years seemed still not enough,
the man on the throne just couldn’t give up;
With close-knit advisers, and media sanitizers -
If one contradicts, he sees the gunpoint…with silencers.

What must have you felt the days after you left? 
Did you think we were too blind, too mute and deaf?
Took almost three years for us, to finally get our act
I guess we were too set in our ways, too afraid…to react.

What the man in power and his cronies up the tower.
must not have considered… are the new movers and shakers.
There was only so much we could take…
There was only so much we could tolerate…

February 25, 1986 was the day we started to fix 3
the road of our shamed history. 
It was the day People Power came to be
the man in power was kicked out from tower
as ordinary citizens , nuns and everyone
faced his armed men aboard the tanks.
People unarmed, just some bottled water, 
a few sandwiches and bunches of flowers.

It was the day we looked up the sky, 
offered a fervent gratitude to heaven’s door -
and told Ninoy…thank you for believing 
“The Filipino is worth dying for”. 4



History Notes:

1. Benigno "Ninoy" Aquino, Jr., then senator and leading opposition leader (to Pres. Ferdinand Marcos, Philippine dictator who was in power 1965-1986) was advised  by the First Lady not to come back from 3-year exile in the USA, as there was a plot to assassinate him. As to whose plot, it was not clarified.

2. Manila International Airport, right after he went out of the airplane. Media took photos from the window.

3.  There was so much social unrest, and Cardinal Sin, through the radio and other respected media men, finally appealed to all people to go out and stage a massive peaceful protest with people making human barricade against the tanks in EDSA Avenue, Metro Manila's main thoroughfare. No one was killed. Ninoy's wife Cory Aquino who won the election, took the oath of office. The People Power Revolution, the first of its kind, in the Philippines and in the world, was eventually copied by France and other countries.

4. Ninoy Aquino, in an interview a few minutes before he left the plane to his death.



31 July 2015


Copyright © KP Nunez | Year Posted 2015

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Admiral Lord Nelson

Blessed with ingenuity, he fought advancing tyranny
That stormed the sea in twenty-three  great warships sailing furiously.

That day, October twenty-first, saw Admiral Nelson at his worst,
As cannons roared, while gunners cursed. The times were changed, the tides reversed.

Lord Nelson, as an admiral brave with all his fleet defied the grave,
His native land and king to save:-- his life for freedom's cause he gave.

In but a half a dozen hours he humbled Europe's finest pow'rs,
And toppled Tyranny's highest tow'rs; yet Vict'ry found him crowned with flow'rs,

And not a place the crown to lay, on him, nor all who died that day
In sending Britain's foes away, across the stormy seas of grey.


Copyright © Isaiah Zerbst | Year Posted 2014

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Confession of a silent Artist

Creative writers are never given flowers while they still breathing poetry.

Biters wait patiently for the last breath to pay their respect and get paid with your work.

Claiming being sent by callings to keep the legend's work alive till infinity.

No doctor has the cue for this sick world.

But guess what we writers do care.

We keep writing spiritually we don't care.

Atleast i don't care, i know you'll be speaking my language with your theft.

Evidently i do share.

You are that invisible disciple i recruited to speak for me in my death.

It's the life of an artist who cares.

We don't seek recognition.

Recognition come to us that's why we endlessly spread.

We are angels with no wings heaven is closer to us we don't fly.

Paradise is home for holidays filled with dead writers.

An escapism from you hooligans.

Its a crime not a mime when you speak rhyme in my rhymes.

Thank God i'm still an infant in this poetry, i have a chance to fill up the grave you dug for me.

Your patience will have to patiently await my departure patiently.

I have enough time to unleash these constipated rhymes.

You think you got me.

I speak better in my rhymes like a machinegun tone spraying pee.

My skeleton is covered in mics louder i do speak rhythmic bones.

My skeleton is made out of cables transporting poetic stones.

My soul will be kept in your brain's museum.

There i said it.

Ye i meant it.


Copyright © Raymond Ngomane | Year Posted 2013

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The Fallen Hero

She’d made him out to be larger than life
A hero of the times with brawn and might
The one who could with word put end to strife
And fight the dragons, bringing dark to light

He was to her an angel strong and brave
Who claimed that truth was plain for her to see
She thought he had the power from pain to save
But though she tried her doubts she could not free

And then one day he fell in deep disgrace
The one who claimed to be steadfast and true
This noble knight on steed with angel face
Had changed from brightest light to different hue

Deep sadness filled her heart for his demise
No more was he a hero in her eyes

Jade





Copyright © Eileen Manassian | Year Posted 2015

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It's Dangerous To Dream

Behind a veil of darkness,
twinkling lights confetti night.
Yet, the constellations don’t
offer a familiar sight.

I miss you the most at night,
when memories come to me.
So, I take this time to write,
and share what you cannot see.

It's said God favors deserts
and His love lingers there still.
Yet, thinking about God feels
weird, when deployed here to kill.

Got some letters from strangers,
saying they're proud of me.
Yet, I can't say how I feel,
for my doubts won't let me be.

I wish I could talk to you,
instead of scrawling these lines.
But it’s dangerous to dream
amongst the bullets and mines.

Stationed in Afghanistan 
it's unwise to let thoughts roam.
Yet, as a shooting star falls,
I make a wish to go home.

Maintaining my composure
is much harder than it seems.
And so, I’ll close this letter
and visit you in my dreams.


Copyright © Emile Pinet | Year Posted 2015

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My Only Son

I woke last night, with a heavy heart,
miles away, and world's apart,

sensing you...  sensing you..

All through the night, and into morn,
headless fears and shadows form,

so forlorn...  so forlorn..

Feeling scared, and knowing why,
seeing nightmares in your eyes,

over there...  over there..

Images of ruthless foes,
dressed in black, from head to toe.

Jagged blade, held to your breast,
evil serpent, puffs his chest.

my only son...  my only son.


Hide my soul and blind my eyes!
Precious son, I hear your cries.

Brutal boots, and shattered bones,
taunting jeers, and heavy stones.

A thousand lashes to your flesh,
hidden under prison dress.

Gagged and bound, they drag you out,
Infidel! they cruelly shout.

Forced to kneel; so hate will rise!
Dagger falls..... alone he dies.

A life of honor, and good cheer,
taken from you,  with a sneer.

Heart of gold; at heaven's gate,
my precious son, in glory waits....


Copyright © Kimberly Shaw | Year Posted 2014