Best Lt Poems
Kirk: ‘Lt. Uhura, come to my quarters at 1800 hours’
Uhura: ‘Yes captain, might I ask what’s up?’
Kirk: ‘Nothing now but something WILL be at 1800 hours’
Bones: ‘Jim, is this a medical issue?’
Kirk: ‘You bet your ***** it is, Bones’
Sulu: ‘Captain, a Klingon ship is approaching’
Kirk: ‘Blast that sucker to smithereens, I got a date’
Chekov: ‘Captain, you’ll need protection on this mission’
Kirk: No problem Ensign, got a few here in my wallet’
Obi-Wan Kenobi: ‘May the force be with you’
Kirk:’ Thanks Obi, but you’re in the wrong contest’
Obi-Wan Kenobi: ‘This isn’t PD’s contest?’
Kirk: ‘HELL no, now SKAT will probably disqualify us’
Obi-Wan Kenobi: ‘Well, may the force be with you anyway’
Kirk: ‘Look Kenobi, nobody’s forcing ANYBODY here’
Spock: ‘Captain, I’m receiving a message from SKATfleet Command’
Kirk: ‘What Mr. Spock? And why do you always talk like that?’
Spock: ‘To qualify for the contest, the writer has to command the ship’
Kirk: ‘Damn it all! What the…FRONT AND CENTER WRITER!’
Writer: ‘Um…All hands on deck?...Anchors away?’
Uhura: ‘Ohh Captain KIRRK, it’s 1800 hours’…
Kirk: ‘Not now Uhura, I’m not in the mood!’
Uhura: Ohh Captain WRITERRR, it’s 1800 hours’…
Writer: ‘Kirk, you have the helm. I’ll be in my quarters’
Spock: ‘Fascinating’
Kirk: ‘Shut-up Spock’…
Tim Ryerson
Theme: Sexual harassment in the workplace
For SKAT’s contest
my brittle bones are like this fence, so built
on throes of horrors shrouded with the hilt
of war's inanely senseless blade, now dulled
by all the precious souls its edge has culled …
now ages gone, those boys amid their dreams
and yet the air still trembles with their screams
so daubed in bleeding sun, how death imparts
these fields of poppy roods and purple hearts.
~ For Lt Col John McCrae, and all life lost to war ~
~ 1st Place ~ in the "Purple 2" Poetry Contest, Kevin Shaw, Judge & Sponsor.
~ 1st Place ~ in the "Contest 545 Any Form, Any Theme" Poetry Contest, Brian Strand, Judge & Sponsor.
(In honor of the poem by Lt Col John McCrae, and all lives given to war).
It was nineteen ninety nine
a battle was about to begin
between the Indian Army
with the soldiers from Pakistan
My name is Yogendra Singh Yadav
a grenadier awarded the Param Vr Chakra
the highest honour for gallantry
this is how the fight begun
A stone loosened and fell as we climbed that hill
after three nights of carefully silently climbing
the Pakistan soldiers opened fire
from bunkers metres above us not a good thing
Neither up or down we could go
heavy firing caused eighteen officers and men
to retreat leaving just seven jawans
with one hundred and thirty five men above us then
We fired at the nearest bunker killing the men
the Pakistani army came to assess our strength with ten men
managed to kill eight but two of them escaped able
to report back now we were in a predicament
I carried twenty five kilo of ammunitions
the battle was fierce, we killed thirty five of them,
my six soldiers were killed also,
I was alone, lying amongst the corpses
They shot at the corpses making sure all were dead
I received fifteen gunshot injuries and my gun was taken
had grenade in my pocket, i pulled the ring and threw
landed in cap of one of the soldiers, exploded,he was on his way to heaven
They thought the indian army had returned
I picked up a Peeka rifle off one of the Pakistani soldiers
killing five soldiers, heard the voice saying retreat
to attack a MMG base further down the hill
I dumped myself in a drain, in no time was at base
saw the officer Lt.Balwan advised Pakistan army was on its way
Charlie and Delta was deployed to help Bravo Company
This resulted in the hill being taken by the Indian Army
This war took seven hours, and Tiger Hill was safe
I have been given a plot of land by the Utah Pradesh Government for my part in the battle.
Reference I used
Targil Battle - Tiger Hill (I put that name into search engine). Seven hour battle that won Tiger Hill.
Penned 4 April 2015
Heads propped aloft by the crutch of dogmatic belief,
savoring each other, feasting upon flesh--
knife and fork,
delicate spoon.
Each course far from complete, they gorge through
eroded faces, evidence of features strewn to rot in the
panic of the fading sun.
Hugging like chums until folded into one writhing
mass, they remain dexterous enough to balance an apple:
proof of perilous symmetry.
In the distance, the white mission weeps under the
weight of the impending torrent.
Even the mercy of the mountains
can't protect from the ruin of man.
Inspired by Salvador Dali (1904-1989)
http://dali.urvas.lt/forviewing/pic09.jpg
Lord,let my legs move,
so i can walk to the middle of the ring,
let my arms work hard
to gather many points.
Lord,let my ears hear,
so i can listen to my coach,
lt my waist bend,
to move from the punches.
Lord, let my eyes see,
so that i can look into my opponets eyes.
let my mind think
of what to do next.
Lord, let my heart beat
to keep me pushing myself further
let my lungs breathe
to keep me alert and ready.
Lord, let me stay positive,
so the end is a mystery,
let me stay safe,
to walkout of the ring.
Lord, let me try my best,
so that i know i put 110%
let my coach be surprised in the end,
to know that i've come out on top again
Dedicated to Lt. Gen. George S. Patton, Jr. (November 11, 1885 – December 21, 1945)
I'd fought a hundred battles
through the ages past and new
I'd been a lowly foot soldier
But at times commanded too.
I was a witness of Arab mothers
Fleeing cities under-siege ;
A new age liberator,
The commander of the third.
I had served with Ceasar's legion;
The Carthaginians; and the Greeks.
When Arthur was in his Kingship,
I was a captain of the knights
A horseman tough and skillful
Of medieval cavalier;
But ages had transformed me
to dash with iron wheels
The only time I meet MacArthur
Was in the salient of St. Mehiel
We both stood erect, calm, and unmindful
To the guns and bursting shell.
Oh well take a look at Monty
Too slow for his advance
He didn't expect me to take Palermo
or Mesina to my plan
I was reproved of my harshness,
They knew not that I was somber too
I cared not of my language
As long as my point would get through
I'd mixed my words with profanities
That my orders surely stick
My men would always remember every word
While they're in the battle field
Oh my, I hate those yellow bastards
They have no place on this earth
I sent them to the frontlines
That no more they would breed
Those swivel chair commanders
Discounted my two days time
But brave soldier deserved to be rescued
Before his dog tag stops to chime.
So my men made it to Dunkirk
To the delight of McAuliffe
"Surrender!" yelled the Nazis
but "nutz" was all he said.
I was cut off of supplies and fuel
For Market Garden's sake
But after pissing the flowing River
I held the Fuhrer's nest
So soon another war was ended
Mine enemies had lost
The iron carver claimed the glory
And relieved me from my post.
He Was A Farmer
He was a farmer for most of his life.
A friend to all that came along.
Would help anyone with a dollar or more.
A jack of all trades and a master of none <He once said.
Loved life his family and his farm.
He is now gone to plow the fields in heaven .
Maybe milk a cow before Sunday church.
Then to a good place to eat. Missing Mary's cooking.
He'll be missed by all that called him Farmer Monroe.
R.I.P. Monroe 5/15/17
This is about a man whose name is Jesse
Born In Kansas and raised in Missouri
Was called to fight for his beloved country
And assigned to defend an outlying territory
Jesse fought as hard as any American would
For freedom and democracy he did everything he could
For Uncle Sam, even in danger steadfast he stood
Believing in his heart that everything will turn out good
He was with the Death March in Bataan
But he was helped to escape by his special someone
Josie was the name of this special woman
Who walked along with the March since it began
It was in the territory that he met Josie
A woman whose dad was from Cincinnati
The two fell in love cause they had chemistry
They had their first child in nineteen forty three
In forty four he was again captured by the Japanese
He was already sick cause he caught a disease
Was taken to a prison camp and placed under lock and keys
In the end the harsh conditions led to his demise
Josie tried to look for his grave but failed
She couldn't do anything and in sadness she wailed
There were reports that he died in the hell ship as it sailed
But to get proof to the true cause of his death we have failed
Jesse died in January of nineteen forty five
Stories about him that Josie told kept him alive
In the heart of his descendants his memories survive
Love for him in their hearts continues to thrive
But every time I go to bed and close my eyes
I see his face and think of the truth that I despise
My whole body stiffens and I get as cold as ice
Sadly thinking that still, in an unknown grave he lies
NOTE
(For my grandfather US Army 2nd Lt. Jesse C. Boak of the 33rd Infantry
Regiment, who was declared MIA in WWII. His body was never found and true
cause of his death was never known.His name is listed in the Tablets of the
Missing at the Manila American Cemetery and on a Memorial Monument at the
State of Missouri
Grandpa even though I never got the chance to really know you I will always be
proud of you-JEB)
JESSE C. BOAK
2nd Lt. US Army
1917-1945
Awards: Silver Star, Bronze Star, Purple Heart with 2 Oak Leaf Clusters
30,000 Lt. Calleys - LEST WE FORGET
The My Lai Massacre - 1968
There's a sound in the dark
of a shot to its' mark
and it's ended a dream for good
for a boy in his prime
who's run out of his time
and he dies from words mis-understood.
There's a girl putting out
it's what her life's about,
and the only way she can survive,
but she gave all she could
more than anyone should,
then she's wasted, because she's not alive.
It's the land of the dead
and it' s pumped in their head,
anyone looking cross-eyed must die,
it's a license to kill,
you can bet that they will,
in the flash and the blink of an eye.
It's the dark. It's the cold.
It's the growing too old
It's the leaving of loved ones behind
to a peace never found
and a war all around,
though it's not any war they can find.
© 1995 ron wilson aka vee bdosa the doylestown poet
Form:
lt can greet you as an equal
compliment you like a friend,
can produce a new beginning
or, assault you with an end.
lt can trick you into thinking
that what you believe in now, is true;
then, make you feel like an idiot
as lonliness swallows you.
Life wouldn't be much without it
t'wouldn't even be grace from above;
we all experience it in many forms
that's the audacity of love.
It can also bring you comfort
and can ease your worried mind,
soothe you when you're hurting
and teach you to be color blind;
soften even the hardest of hearts
and give the spirit of a dove,
kill hatred with a knowing glance
that's the audacity of love.
In Flanders Fields
In Flanders fields the poppies grow;
Their roots reach down to twine amongst the bones,
The mouldering bones.
Each skull in grinning disbelief voices
Its eternal question, for what? And no answer comes,
No answer comes.
There are no lungs to find;
Long rotted from within, from gasping breaths of gas,
From choking gas.
No flesh remains to clothe the
Bones; torn from limbs by hammer blows of fate,
Cruel, indifferent fate.
No heroes these, but common men
Who selfless thought to serve, to do the right thing,
Unquestioned right thing.
Their souls now wait deep underground;
Deep amongst the rusting, shattered fragments of twisting Death,
Of youthful Death.
Only the Sun kissed faces red;
That wave upon the land above, serve to remind,
Ever remind us.
In Flanders fields the poppies grow.
(With acknowledgement for inspiration to Lt Col John McCrae)
To the memory of my Grandfather, who endured the Somme and spoke not a word of it. Each year, he and my Grandmother made thousands of poppies to sell on Armistice Day for the survivors of that Contemptible Little Army.
The first game of spring
It was the first game of the year.
The go lumpducks vs the hot rugcats.
On 1st base for the hot rugcats is: Tiny judy mad cat
On 2nd is Flash betty furball
At short stop is licky slip maybell
On 3rd three leg piggy polecat
Rt field Cassy cool cat
Cfield Tiffy Mudcat
Lt field Vicky short pants Field cat.
Pitching Wild arm Jayne legcat
Catching Junkcat Kitty
The game is cancel due to Rats on the field the team is hard to control
A real mess the lumpducks left after the first rat was tore apart.
But that's your line up for tomorrows game.
"We are the dead. Short days ago
We loved, felt dawn and saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved ...."
By _ Lt. Col. John McCrae (In Flanders Field) 1915
________________
Let me tell you a story . . .
I recall a little boy who played in the sandbox
and drove me crazy most of the time
I had to chase him everywhere
but he had a dream to be a soldier
a Canadian Peace Keeper
we, the family were proud but frightened also
Dad would say, he is a peacekeeper so he will be okay
anyone who tells you peacekeepers do not die
is lying because they do ...
my little brother came home in a box
like so many he fought in a battle far, far from home
I visit his grave often
passing the rows and rows of white stone military markers
my great grandpa fought in WWI
I have a photograph of him in uniform
my grandpa fought in WW2
he never spoke of what he saw
grandma said he came back a changed man
I think a lot about all the men and women who go to war
who have given their lives for peace
wish I could go to Flanders Field Cemetery
and see the 12,000 crosses row after row
is war to be part of this life forever
for, it seems there is always a war somewhere
I read somewhere that
the poppies are dying in Flanders Field
_____________________
November 13, 2021
Poetry/Narrative/Where Poppies Grow
Copyright Protected, ID 11-1606-322-13
All Rights Reserved, 2021, Constance La France
Written for the Premier contest, War
sponsor, Kai Michael Neumann, Judged 12/22/2021
Seventh Place
March 16, 1968 Viet Nam
30,000 Lt. Calleys
There's a sound in the dark
of a shot to its' mark
and it's ended a dream for good
for a boy in his prime
who's run out of his time
and he dies from words mis-understood.
There's a girl putting out
it's what her life's about,
and the only way she can survive,
but she gave all she could
more than anyone should,
then she's wasted, because she's not alive.
It's the land of the dead
and it' s pumped in their head,
anyone looking cross-eyed must die,
it's a license to kill,
you can bet that they will,
in the flash and the blink of an eye.
It's the dark. It's the cold.
It's the growing too old
It's the leaving of loved ones behind
to a peace never found
and a war all around,
though it's not any war they can find.
© ron wilson aka vee bdosa
Form:
Tucked away feeling safe in the notebook's metal binder
Waiting; the pen thinks of the times spent with the poetess
She would slowly, gently remove him and caress the arthritic padding
Maybe even place him against her soft lips, then
Begin writing upon lined pages
Where his black ink came alive
Each word formed in rhythm with her thoughts
How the pen loved being the vehicle to convey her every thought
Oh no! Here comes the evil man who took her away that night_
He picked up me and her notebook slammed us into his truck
Please, God, I pray don't let him use me to write another dark shady list
Aughh!! I've been ripped from the ring of notebook
Gripped by the aggressive, hateful man
Almost broken by his powerful muscles
The notebook's metal binder pulled and bent out of shape
He with evil and hate etched into the lines of his face, clicks
My point comes out into the darkness of night
Please don't let my ink flow onto the pages so pure and white
The writing begins but the ink doesn't flow smoothly upon the tip
Rope
Duct Tape
Hacksaw
Shells//sputtered ink refusing to write
P
The pen with heart aching is thrown far away landing in a dark corner of this room's evilness
I'll never be caressed by the poetess again
Please God don't let him kill her when he returns
Sponsor: Casarah Nance
Contest: You Want It Bad..Then Bribe Me
Written: September 24, 2015
Too much TV watching ID, Dateline, Lt. Kenda, etc.