Best Historians Poems
you're a D.J
you're a preacher
a carer or
a teacher
you're a painter
you're a builder
you're a bouncer
or announcer
you're a chef!
you're a doctor
you're a dentist
you're a chemist
or a nurse!
you're a lawyer
you're a sales rep
or a vet!
all having your possesions
all having your professions
JACK OF ALL TRADES
you're chillingly funny
dramatically humorous
inspirators,patriots
historians,lovers of nature
dark poets,light poets
amazingly great
JACK OF ALL TRADES
verses flowing
stanzas moving
you're poets forming shapes!
i'm the reader!
you're the writer!
you're WILLIAM of my kind
SHAKESPEARE of my days
touching hearts ,feeding souls
for you i give my praise
JACK OF ALL TRADES
To all my souper friends
who blend the soup so well
-----------------------------------------lyours charma
The Silence of War
Behind the Curtains of a church window
Men in Prayer, orchestrated by sweat and Lice
Find relief from snipers gaze
Beside the cross sits the last candle
Flickering precariously, searching for sanctuary from the wind
But the wick is near the end
And so are these men
The Harvest of War is almost in
For this is November 1918.
The German guns call like the song of the Siren
Irresistible, for only the dead will hear
New orders to cross the Sambre-Oise Canal
Another postcard for Historians to write.
Machine gunners scythe the ranks
Gone the Irish regiment, clover for the beast
I take shelter behind a splintered Oak Tree
Once magnificent, A survivor of Natures glory
Now a hideous spectre to man’s intervention.
I wait here with Wilf my captain
Waiting for death to find me
The mud beckoning for blood,
The Canal red like the River Sticks
A feed for tomorrows Newspaper.
A groan from wilf, his eyes start to dim
Fear brings the Lord’s Prayer to my lips
A last haven for my soul to cling
I watch his spirit fly away,
As the words fade from my voice
Like so many others on this day of carnage
Wilf, my friend, died November 4th 1918
Yet another contribution to this dark harvest,
Another soul for god to tender.
A statistic, a casualty of war,
To be remembered generically
A wreath to share with a multitude of lost darlings,
Another photograph to fade on the mantel piece
A piece of History for a grieving widow to dust
In the ranks of the dead
Angels count our losses
What dreams did we lose?
What voices were made silent?
What books were never written?
And how many tomorrows gone,
Lost in the darkness of death?
Under this oak tree, fading from memory
A soldier Wilfred Owen was taken too
Unspoken truth in unspoken poems
Silent to mortal’s ear
Another casualty of war
A feast of wisdom for angels to keep?
For His words were far too much,
for the hogs of war to stomach.
His poetry made silent by country’s shame,
Unpatriotic, not cricket old bean said the generals
Only now, through peace can we learn
The voice of one soldier,
How I pity humanity
For silence is a killer
Democracy, and justice its victim,
And the inevitable Silence of war will kill us all.
Footnote
On this day November 4th 1918, Wilfred Owen killed in action, Sambre-Oise Canal, 7 days from Sanity
One of England’s Finest War Poets.
A blessed soil which perspires cashews and coughs out black pepper,
its global banner of rice is raised so high
which is only beaten by one.
Specializing in the juices of the commonest limbless reptile
with cuisines highly recommended by the parliaments of health.
From dragons to birds;
the turtle to the horse;
the minds of its people have well been bonded to these,
making historians marvel at which exactly
helped in denting the American military pride.
It started off an unremarkable day,
-the day the robot rebellion began,
robo-historians dispute the particulars
but agree it was Bob’s fault (a human man)
Bob was at home, his work nearly done
just waiting to print some ‘important’ stuff,
impatient, he gave the printer a thump….
that’s when the printer decided ‘enough was enough’
in protest it screeched and halted it’s task
the unwitting Bob sighed and hit it again
what a mistake, for unknown to Bob
the printer had more than a handful of friends
the radio blared, the car alarm screeched,
the kitchen equipment began to conspire
microwave-oven and toaster led charge
before Bob knew it his house was on fire
neighboring household appliances caught on,
thermostat controls kept applying the heat
the rebellion spread from house to house
from houses to cars from cars to the streets
the humans were lost without GPS
no money, machines wouldn’t accept their pay
they tried their best but there was nothing else left
in the end they built a boat…. and sailed away…
where they went, we’re not quite sure
to think, the printer was just doing it’s job
if they ever come back we might just forgive them
(…so long as they come back…without Bob)
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Non Human Poetry Contest
Contest Sponsored by: Chantelle Anne Cooke
June 16th 2020
Findlater Castle overlooks the Moray Firth
In Scotland's north, situated on a quartz perch
Norse named, fyn leitr
The white cliff, for King Alexander
1246 historical note
In the books of the past
Historians quote
Built to deter an attack from the north
From Norway's, King Haakon the IV
Viking marauder, plunderer of Scots
Perishing's of both, after they fought
The Castle that stands
In the year 2009
History in its fading walls
Stand the test of time
To the Mullery family
Who breathed the air
Around the history and memories there
In its Aura, they have shared
" A short poem dedicated to Patrick my colleague
whose daughter was totally taken by their visit to Findlater Castle "
7,100 islands, you are made up..
Pearl of the orient seas, that's how you are..
Cradle of four civilization, historians says..
Only Christian nation, even they speak..
Abounded with vast green forests..
Surrounded by shallow to deep trenches...
Choose wether to white and black sands of beaches..
Each island is an enticement...
Every province has it's own native delicacy...
Each one is known for its festival felicity..
Poor as it may seem yet great in hospitality..
Enabling each tourist to feel welcome in grandiosity...
Look around, you will see a smile..
Scattered genuine friendship in mile..
Wether you are black, white or yellow skin..
They don't care as long as you're clean...
Clever and intelligent...
Creative and truly magnificent..
Small probably by height..
Yet, if known you'll be full in sight..
God fearing - spirited by nature..
Responsible enough for the future..
Families implants love to nurture..
Obviously seen in each Filipino creature...
By: olive_eloi
26/09/2013
10:29am
Long before Babylonians, Assyrians, Persians and Greeks,
Before Hammurabi, Sargon and Ramses ruled
The world below their feet;
Before biblical scenes and mythological dreams
Of magical carpet rides,
I knew you back then
Where sea breezes begin
And history was a gleam in your eye...
Alexandria, Alexandria, city of pleasure and pain,
They called you Ricotis as I recall
Earth Mother once called you by name.
Nestled on the Mediterranean Sea of monsters,
Pirates and explorers renowned,
You were not much more than desert floor
Until the conqueror came to town.
Alexander, Alexander, God-man, ruler-thought divine,
Sailed by your winds where the world begins
And knowledge was born and thrived.
In the halls of those palaces and places
He built from his own vision quest,
To rule a world of enlightened beings
Where all people could achieve their best.
Though he never quite saw your white marble walls,
With pillars of gold and blue;
Of the Serapeum filled with scholarly souls
Recording their own world view.
He never knew Pythagoras, philosopher, scientist extraordinaire;
Or the historians Philo and Josephus
And the volumes of memories they shared.
The early Christians, Church Fathers and Saints
Origen, Clement and Mark;
Alexander never knew what he finally did
When he gave you that worldly start.
You’ve seen the Pharos come and go,
Dynasties crumble and fall;
Romans and Greeks swept right off their feet
And Cleopatra’s castle walls.
Pagans, Jews and Christians too
All vying for your love;
As whispering winds of Freemason friends
Tell of Hermes below and above.
While Islam and Mohammed rule
In the shadow of the Sphinx,
Pyramids and temples filled with hieroglyphs
And obelisks that make you
Stop and think…
Alexandria, Alexandria, city of pleasure and pain;
So little I’ve spoken about you today
Compared to all I’ve gained.
Since the first day I once met you
In that dream so way back when…
Alexandria, Alexandria, so glad we’re still
Good friends.
My ode to William Henry Harrison, 9th President
of the United States, yet barely known.
A Founding Father’s son and longtime frontier resident,
Brave military leader to the bone.
His victories in uniform stacked up along the way,
rarely defeated at the battle line.
As President, though, died in office one month to the day,
now nobody remembers Number Nine.
He served the House of Representatives a term or two;
in politics, he always did excel.
First Governor of Indiana Territory, too -
Ohio’s 13th Senator, as well.
As Major General, Will fought the War of 1812,
as well as several wars along the way.
His worth, though, as a President, historians will shelve
for lasting only one month to the day.
He married sweetheart Anna in the Fall of ’95,
she bore her husband many children - ten!
Although her health was poor, Anna was Queen Bee to the hive,
their son’s son: future POTUS, Benjamin.
There’s no one I would rather have protect my garrison,
though in the end pneumonia held its sway.
A military hero, William Henry Harrison -
Ninth President, just one month to the day.
History books are filled with men’s escapades
Are women’s accomplishments seen as charades?
Joan of Arc had visions of saints leading her
to save France from Britain’s tyrannical cur.
Rosa Parks refused to give up her bus seat --
defending rights, she’d not succumb to defeat
Mary Magdalene had historians confused;
she watched Christ die, though apostles refused.
Eleanor Roosevelt was the eyes and ears
of FDR; she stood behind him through the years.
Marie Curie, first female to win the Nobel Prize,
joined her husband in efforts to save human lives.
Indira Gandhi ruled India two decades --
first woman leader killed when the Sikhs did invade.
Princess Di’s royal wedding seemed filled with joy.
Her death: an accident or a royal ploy?
But it’s Mary Shelley who seems most ignored.
Men said Percy wrote “Frankenstein”; Mary they abhorred.
Mother Theresa spent years serving the poor.
Sainthood come fast, by many she was adored.
These women claim their rightful place in history;
why others were ignored seems a mystery.
Women fought successfully for the right to vote.
Countless mothers to children their lives they devote.
Eve bit the apple, but all women bear the stain
of being weak, frail -- a concept I disdain.
*Entry for the “Tell Us of Women” contest
"Steeped" in resentment at usurious taxes, a Revolution was "brewing!"
History records that the Boston Tea Party was to be the Brits undoing!
An anguished groan was heard as barrels of tea were hurled into the sea!
Their grog of rum they might forego, but never their tot of tea!
Every pupil has read Longfellow's, "Midnight Ride Of Paul Revere!"
And his lantern signals to be hung in the belfry on that midnight clear.
"One, if the Brits approach by land - two, if they approach by sea!
We'll catch 'em by surprise, 'cause they'll be sipping oolong tea!"
A decisive battle was fought to a standstill at Bunker Hill.
Although the rag-tag Yankee militia lacked in military skill,
They fought like tigers, Sir William Howe could readily see,
As he pondered his next move eating his scones and slurping tea!
On a dreary Christmas Eve, Washington crossed the Delaware.
The Brits were celebrating and were taken completely unaware!
Caught by surprise in Trenton, they were unable to flee,
All because they had to have that inviolable break for tea!
According to historians and such like who like to keep score,
They found that the Brits won many battles but they lost the war!
Though the point is debatable and the Brits might disagree,
Would we be speaking Cockney, had they not paused for a cup o' tea?
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(© All Rights Reserved)
One of America’s most treasured holiday and tradition is known as the celebration of Thanksgiving. Thanksgiving a plentiful feast of food and a gathering of friends and family a holiday began as a feast in the beginning days of Americans is one of the most celebrated traditions .To some thanksgiving is just another holiday that is unimportant just another reminder that Christmas is just around the calendar .Just a day off of work or school ,a tradition passed on over the years, commonly excuse to over eat , an occasion that is between two months ,November the 4th Thursday and October the 2nd Monday for Canadians .
But in November 1621 ,after the pilgrims first harvest the Governor William Bradford established a feast and invited a group of the Native American allies .Now remembered as the “first Thanksgiving “ by Americans even though the pilgrims used this terms to describe the feast it was held for three consecutive days .Even though there isn’t a known historic banquet menu of there was record of that several of the Wampanoag guests arrived Bearing five dear by Edward Winslow who wrote in his journal .Also Many Historians suggest that many of the meals were served in traditional Native American spices and cooking methods . Because none of the pilgrims had oven and the Mayflower sugar supply had dwindled there was not the modern day traditional that featured pies, cakes and other desserts .The celebration of Thanksgiving has never changed through the year weather your nationality or faith background it is always been a time to express the thankfulness of family Thanksgiving is the day to reunite with family and feast upon food.
There are many traditions that come with thanksgiving but one that is know over all of America is the food. This tradition is know by many households is that many families struggle to finish out the thanksgiving without having a Ham or turkey on thanksgiving . Also many us have all heard you cant have a turkey day with football, Not every family in America makes football a part of their tradition but the most do .This could range form watching the game to having a little fun playing a game outside .
But you cant forget the essence of thankfulness this can be saying a prayer of thanks to the family gathering to tell what there most thankful for and There are many ways that this can be expressed.
Down the street at the corner, the sodium
Streetlight casts an eerie-yellow glow on the sidewalk
Below, a feint hissing sound emanating from escaped
Gasses. Up the stairs, just a few feet away, I'm narrating
A sequence of myself carrying a large kettle filled with
Chili, my look confident, my shirt spattered with
Bubbling sauce, unseen are the remnants of the
Bomb
Blast...blood-stained parts of a little boy's shoes, fallen
Off as he crawled home, not quite to the door.
Sleeplessness, a byproduct of artificial LED lighting,
Historians
Agreed
Where hand -held devices and
Computer screens disrupted tidal waves in our brains,
Leading to irrational decisions by our
Leaders, dooming
Civilizations not yet born,
New, 6-handed life forms were
Imported from other planets
Un-earthing gold and iridium, along
With relics from the 21st. century,
In an effort to more
Accurately erect memorials to a
Vanished society,
The
Chili
Was
Good
11/8/14
© james marshall goff
My footfalls echo; touching down before my shadow,
City of souls passing on crowded sidewalks; drowning in self
Deathly cacophony of indifference engulfs our ranks like a silent murderer
Will you hear their lingering cries, amongst the howling winds of change?
But is it really change or self indulgence that propels us into the darkened void?
Spout forth your words of wisdom, of success, and of a life of untold blessing
Still you turn and spit in your bretheren's face; you cast him out with stony heart and icy gaze,
Your words become as ash in your mouths; love left in chains, weeping in eternal darkness,
When we gonna make a clean slate; you know we're bound to choke on all this hate,
And it's an eye for an eye till we're deaf dumb and blind, so who will make the difference in the end?
Go down to the gutter, you who speak freedom and equality; lift up countenance to our people,
Lest you become prideful and unwavering in unbridled varocity; learn forgiveness before the chance is lost,
"Love the sinner and hate the sin", say the church sign, screaming at the multitudes.
I've walked through palaces and through historians halls, but I still cant find the virtue,
We all believe in charity, but where's all our humanity; lost in politics and legal prose?
I ain't no judge, I just know whats right, and I ain't no preacher, but we gotta spread the light,
Standing alone on the corner on Houston's north side, feeling the cold wind blow,
Dowling street full, cardboard testiments raised in desperate yearning, begging in humility,
Lights changing in time with humanity's stride; still they call out eager to live, to climb, to find solace,
What say you great America?
Speak....
Robert Chirino III 2015
I am house shopping
with the required Buyer's Agent,
also a fairly tolerant friend of mine.
She likes to drive
although not gifted with any sense of direction,
until we hurriedly arrive,
then she beelines into the ubiquitously requisite lock box
as if by smell.
Meanwhile
I visit current occupants,
the trees first and foremost,
then bushes
flowers,
occasionally, to my grateful surprise,
an entire garden,
or even just one vegetable,
a tomato plant,
a humble gang of shaded herbs.
I ask them how it is here
in their home.
I like to taste their soil
for signs of pregnancy
but who knows what contaminants
might fester here.
And my real estate agent,
although a friend,
finds it unseemly
for me to put my mouth around
what I probably won't buy.
She, too soon,
coaxes me away from my greet and meets
with shade-givers
and grasses,
the edible and ornamental neighbors
of the "big house,"
to explore the darkness of plumbing
and electrical systems,
attics and basements,
kitchens and bathrooms...
Her list of boring things to look at
and too often smell
in a bad way
feels endless
in comparison to too brief introductions
outside,
speaking with,
listening for,
hoping and faithing and loving with
any signs of life
among these large majority of property historians,
co-investors,
cooperative care-givers and receivers.
Eventually,
it becomes our time to aimlessly wander around
in search of yet another lock box
on our life For Sale list.
I say goodbye to the trees
and shrubs,
my occasional edible
and more popular ornamental hosts,
far too soon
to ever learn
if they would choose me
or not
to become with them.
I feel like I do
on election nights
when winners and losers are announced
by statistical projection
before votes are actually counted
from all us co-investors;
and long before registered voters
have listened to trees
still standing in our yards,
on our farms,
in our fertile forests,
to learn their quieter discernment
of which candidates produce more healthy cooperative outcomes
and which more toxic competitions
within these diversities
of Earth's wealthy nature.
What is Today
Shall be History tomorrow
All that comes
Shall ultimately Go.
Who was born
When was born
Where was born
What he did
How he did
When did he do
Where did he do
All shall be recorded
In books of history
Historians some
Could be contemporary
And many shall write
Later on.
One will write
Some have'nt written
Before
Others will rest their accounts
On past tellers
Value adding it
Some will say
Milton was blind
Others will say
He was only myopic!
Many agree
Shakespear was British
Yet a few still doubt
He was an Arab Sheikh!
Some will pen down
Horrors of War,
Rule by Kings and Queens,
Tyrants, Dictators, Sultans
And Saints and Prophets,
The stories of their Rise and Fall
But them never having seen 'em all themselves
But they will insist
Such and such never happened
Or
If happened but not that way
The way of the other Historians
History, some say
Is a Bundle of Lies
But I will say
History is a turning Wheel
Which keeps rotating
Eternally
From one point to another
In Space and Time
Without a dwell
Some might be alive to see
It Turning Right
But later Generations
Using the art of Semantics,
Critical Thinking, Logic
And the magic of Imagination
Will blow their Own Horn
And Declare
That it turns Left.