Best History Poems

Black Diamond Night (a coal miner’s cemetery) 

Where the ebony, we call “NIGHT”,
Old black rocks sit under the twilight
Diamond shape eyes unclear and lonely, 
Sinister through hostile spirits only,

I stumble across these stones without a bone
A solitary confinement alone,
From a barren zone the light transcend
Only...

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Over the top lads, for old Blighty! Hold the colours high!
Say a little prayer for me, for this summer day we die.
My brothers from the ripened field and blackened mill, shop floor, 
Your brother in a killing field to fight a rich man’s war.

In bloodied...

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American Indian, Nightshades, Moonshadows And Howling Wolf

Thirsty for red moon, its sacred beams and eternal pull
howling-out to speak to this dark and blind world, without fear;
Your echoes enter, soulful bones of insightful red man
birthing growing urges to return and run truly free,
falling upon ancient trails,...

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Nature trail extends for miles
Surrounded by wetlands and lakes
Each step I take brings me closer
To an old plantation, where I climb the stiles

For it was here that slaves once toiled
To raise and harvest sugar cane
Their cries and moans can still be heard
And the Plantation’s magic...

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Their mere weapon was their forbidden courage, hands barren with  no armaments, no ammunitions, marching towards the proud valley of death, dedication born from their sempiternal dreams of a free land. 

Their bare weapon was their incessant patriotism integrated  under a sensitise unique...

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We the People
Will disagree
On taxation and prosperity
On liberty and duty

We the People
Are every color of Christianity
Every Jewish prayer, every song of Islam
The puritans, the atheists and the Amish
Are neighbors here

We the People
Are Jamaican and Japanese
Swedish and Samoan
Cuban and Cherokee
Moroccan and Mexican
The Irish and the Inuit
And...

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Glory and honour oh man of the North
Valhalla waits to welcome thee
Spend a night of passion with thy Lady
For tomorrow death or conquest await

Come into my arms my beloved
Thou art the queen of my heart
Let us share this night it may be our last
In joy...

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He walked down Goverment Road West
With a white cane, in shaking hand
Wearing Stevie wonder glasses
People called him the pop bottle man

With a white cane, in shaking hand
At the time he seemed old to me
People called him the pop bottle man
Searching the alleys for his treasures

At...

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Bha e brèagha an-de
(It was Beautiful Yesterday)


There was a sailing vessel
With many a sail proudly lapping in the wind
A flag of the Celtic honor, in ruin an rented
As all the sailors sing
Of my love for you
From long ago
Before death became our friend
Oh would I be...

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_____________
(_____GOD_____)
(_____LORD_____)
(_____ JESUS _____)
(_______RABBI______)
(_______TRUTH_______)
(________SAVIOR________)
(________ MESSIAH________)
________(_______ HOLY SPIRIT_______)_______
___(_______________ KING OF KINGS_______________)___
(________________ EVERLASTING FATHER________________ )
(__________________ THE PRINCE OF PEACE___________________)
(__________________GOOD SHEPHERD__________________)
(_______________ LION OF JUDAH_______________)
(________ LORD OF ALL________)
(______MIGHTY ONE______)
(_______HOLY ONE_______)
(______ DELIVERER ______)
(_______SHEPHERD_______)
(______MEDIATOR______)
(______ADVOCATE______)
(______REDEEMER ______)
(______CAPSTONE______)
(_______PROPHET_______)
(_______SAVIOR ________)
(_______THE WAY_______)
___(______ALMIGHTY   _______)__ 
__(_______THE BREAD OF LIFE_______) _
_(____________THE LAMB OF GOD__________)_
(_________THE LIGHT OF THE WORLD_________)...

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There is no difference,
the saints whisper and every enemy and ally
wake to forever’s difference,
that neither knee nor tongue will deny.

Doubt bit into Innocence and sold
the first coffins wrapped in pride.
Creation became a seed – a box filled twofold,
when under silt,  Eden died.

Secular tides engulf...

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oh ...

Gustav, how you pique the senses
          captured passion's plural tenses

lovers twined in percale folds
          caught supine with spattered golds

porcelain dolls in fetal slumbers
   ...

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Plunging, lifting, plunging -as wind blew ashes all around -
the shovels' blades incised the cold and black encrusted ground.

Attached to shovel handles were the arms of skeletons - of men,
who pausing, hacked and wheezed; then bent and smote the dirt again.

With bruised decrepit bodies -...

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this non conformist city
breathes a calm but edgy air
through gaps in the graffiti 
and the street art everywhere

its face is sometimes brutal
but its heart and soul seem not
and it walks a sexy diverse walk
that’s cold yet somehow hot

(but I know I’m getting older
when those fun...

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