Best Rally Round Poems
Children get seized at the border;
parents are led away in cuffs.
Under Presidential order
ICE morphed into a gang of toughs.
The United States has no shame
they sold their soul to the devil.
Asylum seekers weren't to blame
for Trump sinking to this level.
Kids are a political tool,
kidnapped from fleeing families.
Enforced by Republican rule,
laws mandate these calamities.
Nazis and fascists rally round
Trump, waving confederate flags.
Hate's propaganda is unbound,
their blood chants recruiting scumbags.
A bigot's voted in power,
a nationalist is in charge.
A man defined by Trump-tower
is revered by cultists at large.
Democracy's reached a crossroads,
a lunatic has won the race.
And holding the nuclear codes
he incites his ass-kissing base.
Such anniversaries
I dread...
Such memories,
of remembering the dead
The lifes' path
Births ,deaths and more
knocking on my door
I must open the door,
these things must come
I cannot avoid,
part of things I have done
Things I saw
This path...
Filled with boulders
Walk round
Walk over
Take a crying shoulder
A path can never end...
Until I arrive at deaths' door
A journey strewn...
with births,deaths and more
People and things to mend
People I will see soon
So many times I lost my way
Yet, the path always found
Family and friends , rally round
I walk another day
The people I know
who have gone on before
Were here today,
on the path
They showed me the way
They too,were on the path
Births,deaths and more
They took part
This is true.
on my path
They were meant too
Letting me see,
the things I saw
One day....
Soon...
I will be on a path,
helping others
who have not gone on before
I will show the way,
through an open door
Lighting the way too
Let me tell you a story……..
Nothing new under the sun really.
Happened many times.
Autumn flourished and Christmas was near.
Hark, the bells tolled.
The womanizer discovered love.
Too late.
For now she died much too quick.
Friends rally round.
Especially Lisa, his illegitimate daughter.
All in vain. For now his love is dead.
A year passed.
He stood near a window
as fluffy snow fell gently.
He looked at that set of seashells,
An ivory box and inside his old watch
which she gave him as mementos.
Outside raucous seagulls flew,
a harbinger of further devastating storms.
Yet the worst tempest was in his heart.
Tears fell profusely.
But time flies.
Rapturous Spring is in full swing.
Tranquillity reigns in his heart.
All the family drift
On the boat on the languid lake.
Lisa happy to be with her father,
And his new wife.
He holds his own child with care
Will it be the end of his womanizing?
A white swan glides near.
Euphoric tranquillity reigns.
16 April 2022
Form N - Narrative - New Poems Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Constance La France
Theme: Life
Always expect the unexpected.
Don't be shocked by a surprise.
Sometimes our nonchalant complacency
presents a new gift in disguise.
The future we had planned for
isn't always whats in store,
but for each lost opportunity
we'll find another door.
We will find a way of coping
when we thought we never could.
What seemed at first so negative
can be transformed into 'good'.
The seed of faith grows hardier;
the weakness becomes strong
and soon what first seemed 'gloom and doom'
sings a much more hopeful song.
Inside each grey and blustery cloud
there lies a silver seed of hope.
It nestles in the misery and
grows to help us cope.
It blossoms into friendship
we never knew was there;
it blooms when people 'rally round'
and show they really care.
So, don't be shocked by life's surprises.
Don't let them knock you to the ground.
Let the bellow of the storm die down
and hear the tinkling silver sound
You don't miss a slice off a cut loaf
At least that's what most cheaters would say.
But they're not talking about their wives
Because in their minds they have surmised
That their wives would never view life this way
So if this is a carved in stone fact
About how all of our wives would react
I for one would sure appreciate
If someone out there could set me straight
How wives handle this issue with tact.
Men crave what they see on the big screen
And are constantly caught in between
Wanting what it is that they can't get
Forget about heart aches and regret
Last time I looked men ain't all prom queens
So come on boys let's all rally round
And try not let the male species down
All I ask is that we recognize
I am not trying to patronize
But shouldn't the real kings wear the crown.
The monster rose out of the sea,
Intent on devastation.
The wreckage it left in its wake--
Beyond imagination!
The world looks dark and dismal, now.
Heartbreak, on every hand.
A world of rubble and debris,
Where once was sun and sand.
But this night is not forever;
There will dawn a brighter day.
The Gulf Coast sun will shine again,
And drive the gloom away.
We'll rally 'round and lend a hand,
For we're all kith and kin.
We'll work upon the fallen things,
Till they're rebuilt again.
The human spirit will prevail.
When this tribulation's done,
This land will rise up from its ruin,
And gleam in a new day's sun.
1861
Dust rises from the rutted road. Cannon laden caissons rumble slowly forward. A red sun competing with the campfires glow. Weary troops break camp, joining the ranks of
colleagues on the move. An enemy, unseen, lays before them, waiting to exact a deadly blow.
Bellowed orders cut through the hushed encampment, bugles sound, urgency pervades. Battle lines are drawn, men marching, resolve and fear etched upon their hearts.
Artillery from behind sing the opening anthem. Flashes on the horizon acknowledging their song. In quickstep they press toward the waiting army, searching til they face the long gray line.
A fusillade rips through the forward soldiers, leaving death and carnage in its wake. A
row of men drop in lines of destruction, their cries of pain soon muted by the battles call.
Panicked faces seek cover as their Captains, yell and threaten, urging them on.
Deadly canister screams overhead, delivering their fingers of death, Fragments of life left littering the field. “Close ranks” the Captain cries. “Rally round the colors.” In the
face of death the army presses onward, drummer boys beating cadence on their drums.
Smoke and bodies soon consume the landscape, fragments of lives lost, attesting to the
horrors of the day. On and on the contest rages. Giving, taking, winning, losing, dying.
Until welcome darkness cloaks the field of battle, forcing war to take a short respite
In darkened fields, litter bearers rummage through a broken army. Seeking those whose ravaged bodies won’t surrender, selecting those who might still have a chance.
Hot tears run down the face of hardened soldiers, gripped by a mix of anger, fear and
sorrow. Mourning for the sons and brothers taken. Respecting those that they must leave behind.
Unknown to them this is but a beginning. A scene to be replayed so many times. Our
nation would become a blood soaked homeland. Each side sure that they were on His side.
Time would leave its scars upon our nation. Destroying in an effort to unite. A terrible
price would be exacted. With the lives of many men it would be paid
The War Between The States officially ended April 9, 1865. The conflict cost 624000 lives.
An acquaintance of mine
(More the friend of a friend)
Was just told that her life
May be nearing its end.
She is ready for hospice,
Her doctor suggested;
She cannot go home,
Which is what she requested.
Her husband bailed out
When she first became sick,
Taking up with a lover
He found rather quick.
But perhaps I’m unfair –
Maybe illness aside,
He just fell out of love
Or what she could provide.
Still, right now she’s alone
At the end of her days,
Though her friends rally ‘round
In restorative ways.
It’s so awful to hear
Of a person you’ve known
Who will soon be laid out
With her name on a stone.
It’s a jarring reminder
Of what we deny
That as time marches on,
We will all get to die.
I DONT NEED ENEMIES WITH THE FRIENDS I GOT,
WHAT A FINE BUNCH TO RELY ON WHEN I AM IN A STICKY SPOT,
I PULL A BIT OF PORRIDGE AND THINK I WILL BE ALRIGHT,
THE BOYS WILL RALLY ROUND AND MAKE MY TIME LIGHT,
THEY PROMISE LETTERS BY THE BUCKET AND VISITS BY THE SCORE,
PARCELS EVERY OTHER NIGHT,DRINK,FAGS GALORE,
YOU WILL BE SWEET YOU WONT GO SHORT I HEAR THEM SAY,
DONT LOSE HOPE WE WILL GET YOU DOPE IT WILL KILL THE TIME AWAY,
OUT OF SIGHT AND OUT OF MIND SEEMS TO BE THE NORM,
LOOKS LIKE THEM MATES OF MINE ARE RUNNING TRUE TO FORM,
I AM NOT SHORT OF DRINKING PALS WHEN I AM IN THE CHAIR,
AS WHEN MY HAND IS IN MY POCKET ALL THE PIGS ARE THERE,
THEY CANNOT PUT PEN TO PAPER TO SAVE THEIR BLOODY LIVES,
AND WHEN ASKED TO PAY A VISIT ON APATHY ARRIVES,
WHINING LOAD OF SCUM EXCUSES ALL THE WAY,
AS REGARDS THE PARCELS,THAT WILL BE THE DAY,
IF I HOLD UP THE FINGERS FOR ALL THE TRUE FRIENDS I GOT,
THE TWO POINTING SKYWARDS WOULD BE THE LOT,
THAT SIGN HOLDS THE MESSAGE TO ALL MY SO CALLED CHUMS,I WILL DO THE SAME FOR
YOU ONE DAY,YOU SHOWER OF NO GOOD BUMS
Tankacrostic wow
Andrea’s fun creation
No nod from the Soup
Kindred poets rally round
Applaud form by submitting
People running for their lives,
Buildings falling,
The earth roars and splits,
Car’s turn over,
The earth is angry,
Gaping holes,
Collapsed roads,
Terror and death,
Devastation as disaster attack,
Before the stillness comes,
But wait!
It’s not safe yet!
Here it comes again,
The aftershock,
Rumbling and shaking,
As people scream,
Then the calm,
It stops,
Rescuers go into action,
People rally round,
The trapped are saved,
Children pulled from the wreckage,
Something mystical happens,
In these times of trial,
Survival mode,
People actually care,
They change from the selfish,
Into loving human beings.
Sadness as the dead is collected,
We mourn our loss,
As life goes on.
19/11/2016
For contest sponsor
Anthony Slausen
COPLA CINCUENTA Y CINCO: This Bad Guy World
Centre-half’s the heart of defence
Danger comes from the Right and Left:
Ball politics
When heart’s corrupt fickle sans sense
Enemy dribbles through with zest:
Goal posts drumsticks
The second line’s the general
Prince and people rally round him:
Alert spearhead
Goal keeper pulls skin over all
Defence cataracts make him victim:
Balls bounce dead ahead
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2014
In New Orleans for some highjinks.
Here to rally ‘round the flag.
She’ll be open to suggestion
When I’ve got her bound and gagged.
I won’t need to solve the riddle
Of the chicken or the egg
To distinguish first from foremost
While I’m making Mandy beg.
You can bet your bottom dollar
Gonna taste forbidden fruit
On a fragrant bed of roses
In this house of ill repute.
Hog the limelight. Gild the lily.
Need to take her down a peg,
Teach her all the whys and wherefores
As I’m making Mandy beg.
There be rotten things in Denmark:
Humble pie and bathtub gin,
Sour grapes with gall & wormwood,
Magdalena’s Den of Sin.
Gonna need a pot to piss in.
Go and tap another keg.
She’ll be forced to face the music
When I’m making Mandy beg.
There’ll be ample food for thought
When I talk turkey with the cook.
I’ll be tickling her fancy
Till she babbles like a brook.
Then I’ll call her on the carpet
As the juice runs down her leg.
Demon rum, Miss Goodie Two-shoes,
I’m just making Mandy beg.
How easily forgotten those souls
of wars and battles of ten, twenty, sixty years ago,
when lives were given freely in belief and hope
for the dreams of freedom and democracy we spoke.
One more hero falls
added to the list, written on the honor walls
of who and what America still stands for
in promise and endeavor to be greater to our inner core.
The voices now seem to only whisper on the lips
as changes to our ever sought aspirations slip
into a dissention of heart and soul and ideals
that once defined who we were forged in steel.
It is an ever struggle to be vigilant in this sea
of the process to learning how we came to be
the country in which we were free to speak
and rally for the average man's mystique.
But like every nation reigns bestowed
times change, dreams and efforts erode
to steal away the progress made in pain
and erase the names of heroes slain.
Rally round the men and women who do not fold
embrace the dream and promises of old
that all be living open and free in the land
with opportune liberty and democracy at hand.
Arrives,
spring in green hues.
Buds and blooms opening.
The crocuses are in full bloom,
violet and pink amid slender leaves.
Bees rally round and songbirds chirp,
flying from tree to tree.
Season of cheer,
Arrives!
Jan.19.2023
~ Placed Second~
Hopes of Spring’s Return Poetry Contest
Sponsor- M.L.Kiser