Best Rescuers Poems
Wearing clothes to bed simply makes no sense
I must float freely on my waterbed
But when I wake in the morning, I’m tense
Wrinkles from the sheets on my skin imbed
Rolling out of bed, I lower my head
All of my windows and blinds are open
Crawling, I fear neighbors might see butt skin
A snake, I slither in my birthday suit
Trying to avoid boob sighting again
And the tattoo that sits on my “patoot”
I made a mistake reaching for my robe
The rack fell down hard, landing on me
Here I lay thinking my world’s out of whack
I struggle but there’s no way to get free
My Life Alert bracelet rang out quickly
No success grabbing a sheet from the bed
The rescuers arrived in warp-speed time
To find a nude lady well past her prime
Face down, the tattoo was now in full view
Explaining what happened, I’d quite a time
*Entry for Cyndi’s “Birthday Suit” contest
April 24, 2012
POW confined in a cage
Through Viet Cong jungles bullets raged
No sweat from his pores in unrelenting sun
Dehydration, famine, yet his needs were none
A tepid river so foul with blood’s scent
But the outcome of torture was not as meant
He tasted cool ice as his spirit soared
Freedom came fast once the war was ignored
Hovering o’er killing fields his soul’s eyes
Saw not the wounded, heard not their cries
Though his weak body lay crumpled below
Pain free he reveled on clouds, heaven’s snow
Through astral projection he’d been set free
Each day he survived, taking this journey
When rescued at last many months gone by
The US militia did not know why
GI Joe felt no hate, seemed so serene
And not one of his rescuers could glean
Why this soldier survived, what kept him sane
For they’d not escaped inside this man’s brain
The awareness he’d achieved spared his life
So he could return to his son and wife
Who’d prayed everyday that he would come home
Only to say they’d never been alone
Their spirits communed on another plane
And life as they’d known it would never be the same
*Entry for Caties Out-of-Body Experience Contest.
The whistles screamed that cold dark night
Winter, 1903
At least fourteen would perish
Way out on the prairie
The westbound Sunset Limited,
Eastbound Crescent City Express,
Met head on in a collision
Lives lost in great distress
Horror met the rescuers
Two twisted trains in flames
Of fourteen known to've perished
Of two, were not found names
A hundred plus years later,
On the date and pre-dawn hour
We'd come to the memorial plaque
With Teddy bears and flowers
Holding our thoughts in silence
We walked along the trail
Remembering the violence;
Their deaths upon that rail
Precisely 2:50 A.M
What was it? We don't know
But in our silent vigil
We heard a whistle blow
Sounding clear across the night
Once long, Three short, Last long
But there was nothing in our sight
Praying - we moved along
Our memorial under silver stars
For those perished on the track
Ended as we got in cars
With one last look-
a century back
We'll never solve the mystery
But do we need to know?
Commemorating history
We heard a whistle blow
children's laughter
on the beach. . .
storm clouds gather
My husband, I, and our two teenaged children are enjoying a picnic when we feel slow heavy droplets that develop quickly into an assault of angry pounding rain. We rush to our boat to return to the dock twenty minutes away. My son and I are alongside the boat on WaveRunners we have rented. As the wind strengthens, mighty moving ridges came rolling before our eyes. Fear grips my heart; my son begins to sob. I call out,"It's ok," trembling in the downpour.
All at once, one single billow heaves itself completely over our boat. My spouse and daughter desperately try to bail out water from the sinking boat as my husband directs my son and I to race to the shore for help. I now truly understand the reason for the name WaveRunners, for I am running for all our lives as my heart beats to the rhythm of the lake’s surging waves.
Help comes, but our rescuers drag our boat out of the lake upside down, wrecking it. Having just had a nervous breakdown months ago, my husband cannot bear the destruction of this prized possession, provider of his sanity.
our children's cries
as my husband blankly stares. . .
my unheard pleas
Revised for the "Emotions that Rock You" Contest of Craig Cornish
My father had been out of work for way too long.
At night, I often heard him and mom weep
Food was scant, but love was strong.
As was that hunger pain when I lay to sleep.
My little brother was too young to understand.
Still a babe in arms, he brought our only smiles.
I loved to play with him and hold his tiny hand.
It seemed to take away the hurt from life trials.
Then, one-day dad came home all excited.
He was talking so fast, grinning from ear to ear.
He said that our future was well fated.
That we were in for adventure was clear.
It was that new ocean liner, the Titanic.
Dad had been hired for the maiden voyage.
We were going along as his sidekick.
A family destined for American homage.
In just five days we boarded that ship.
Immigrating was a dream come true.
Accommodations would be a hardship.
But it was worth opportunities…new.
Dad worked as a scullion in the restaurant.
We were housed on the lower deck.
It was a very crowded lodgment.
We stayed together until the shipwreck.
Sirens were screeching people screaming.
We could not find dad anywhere.
Was he locked up as a cageling?
Could it be true; was he trapped down there?
Lifeboats were being lowered.
Mom held my brother, crying.
Dad must be somewhere cloistered.
We all feared a dreadful dying.
Someone put me in a lifeboat.
I reached for mom as it descended.
The Titanic was still afloat.
But my family separated.
The water was freezing.
I had forgotten my coat.
People crying, sniffling, and sneezing.
The lifeboat soon became an iceboat.
Within a few hours, death began.
Shivering, I crawled beneath two corpses.
A young girl destined to live without her clan.
Hidden from polar breezes.
That was the last time I saw my mother.
My mind holds the image clearly.
She, calling for dad, was cuddling brother.
Oh, how I loved my family dearly.
When rescuers finally arrived.
I was the only one alive in the lifeboat.
Beneath those bodies, I survived.
Then, I was wrapped in a warm coat.
I never did see America.
I was sent to an orphanage back home.
Life had dealt a great trauma.
Forever had sunken in the ocean's foam.
© April 9, 2012
Dane Ann Smith-Johnsen
Written for Poetry Soup Member Contest: My heart will go on and on.... Free Poetry
Sponsor Tracie ~*~ Indigo Dreamweaver
If you ever visit South Wales do go and see
The location of what was an awful tragedy
Famous for the wrong reasons the town of Aberfan
Suffered an unspeakable horror that was caused by man.
On the twenty first of October at nine fifteen
Was the worst mining disaster that Wales had ever seen
A spoil tip that had been piled high just above the town
Was loosened by rainwater and came crashing down.
Pantglas junior school was just below in its path
Children ready for lessons at their desks' they were sat
The tip hit the school a hundred and forty four died
When the news was released the whole nation cried.
Volunteers came and they dug down quite deep
The teachers and children were already 'asleep'
A farmhouse and cottages with people inside
They too lost their lives in the thundering mudslide.
In the horrific events twenty five did survive
Were found by the rescuers shocked but alive
Painful memories they have of what happened that day
It's a terrible burden they carry that won't go away.
A memorial garden marks the spot where they died
And on a hillside they're buried side by side
Their little white markers are harrowing to see
A stark reminder of that awful tragedy.
(Dedicated to all those who lost their lives at
Aberfan on that fateful morning of 21st October 1966)
Written on 21st November 2017.
The chain of death,
Is growing, link by link, with each passing moment
As the souls of the departed in Turkey and Syria
Rush upwards to the heavens
In search of peace and tranquility
After the abominable experience
Of being buried alive for days
Under the rubble of hypocrisy, and indifference
Of those who constructed unfit housing, just for profit,
But
At the same time, the souls exalt all rescuers who came to help,
From so many countries,
Risking, on many occasions, their own lives to save the victims of
The 7.8 earthquakes on the Richter scale,
Proving that it is not only Love that unites the peoples
Of the world, but also, uttermost pain!
© Demetrios Trifiatis
10 February 2023
-
The powerful earthquakes of 7.8 on the Richter scale that shook Turkey and Syria on Monday have caused the death of more than 22,000 people up to now. There is fear that the number of victims will double or even triple when the final count takes place. Let us pray, and do whatever we can to help those left behind: The injured, the homeless, and the hungry. Blessings.
-
When you have lost everything, and you are left stood upon flattened barren ground
Where the drones around you create a deep hum but you no longer hear their sound
A small body alone covered in dust; and in this child’s eyes nothing but a vacant stare
A family and friends wiped out in a matter of milliseconds, no one left for him to care
Tears rolling from his un-blinking eyes creating their own cervices on his clay like face
Such a bitter lesson on this small boy of a war he never asked for or wanted to create
Taken in the arms of the rescuers, and whisked away to a foreign land not understood
Destined to grow into a great leader of peace, his destiny as impregnated in his blood
Who took in that unsacred moment of time to see and feel the reality of a wasted war
Brought about peace to all nations, no weapons of war ever to be raised again he saw
When Iceland rose majestically,
A volcanic isle, born of the sea.
This land, that continents divide,
A place where fire and ice reside
And Norsemens sagas, too were born.
Goddess Aurora, brings the dawn,
Thor is thunder, God of war,
Odin seeks wisdom it's folklore.
A pagan faith forever blind,
Nature is savage,sometimes kind.
Those cold North winds began to blow,
And wintertime delivers snow.
An idyll village by a stream,
Resplendent in a poet's dream.
Aurora dances through the night,
Fantastic bands of coloured light.
A blizzard came, the snow lay deep,
The mountain slope began to creep,
With noise like thunder from a gun,
An avalanche was on the run.
A mighty force, it's rushing sound,
Engulfing everything around.
The village now is buried deep,
For rescuers , no time to weep.
Where do they search beneath the snow,
No landmarks; so, how do they know?
Nature has shown her savage face,
This avalanche, her fall from grace.
The year was nineteen ninety five,
And twenty souls they did survive.
For twenty more eternal peace,
Oh! When will nature ever cease?
Is this the price they had to pay?
To live in fear another day.
On land and sea, just as before,
Mankind and nature, still at war.
As ancient runes, inscriptions tell,
This land where both can never dwell.
As legends say in every tale,
This constant struggle to prevail.
When man holds out an olive branch,
Nature, becomes an avalanche.
2/ 21/ 2015.
A young buck, who rescuers, called "Meatball",
was found shaken, lost, and perplexed!
They chose to keep him warm and safe,
till they decided, what to do next!
After some time, "Meatball" was sad!
He didn't like being secluded!
He apparently needed companionship,
at least, that's what the rescuers concluded.
Thus began a diligent search,
which lasted for two weeks or so!
It resulted in them being able,
to capture, a beautiful Doe!
The Doe was then taken, where she needed to go!
They all knew that "Meatball" was ready!
The group came up, with an appropriate name.
They decided to call her, "Spaghetti"!
Spaghetti and Meatballs, is pasta and meat,
as most, anyone, out there, would know!
But, how many knew, the same would be true,
when it came to a Buck and a Doe?
Note: This is based loosely
on a true story!
Like a penny, lost and worthless, woman
mother, and buried within the origin pit, dark
she brought me like a Jezebel into her life of mourning
mistress of the stage and child to horror
born, and off he ran, forced flight my father, loss
the hussy dies but on Edgar lives in awe.
Blood and death and pain feed Poe’s awe.
Why she had done, what soul had she, this woman
leaving him a found fledgling of loss?
“Why, why, bring me into this hellish dark?”
Coal black the pit and pendulum of this zealot father’s horror
the devil’s drink brought penitence and forced, mourning.
“Bastard child!” his stepfather screamed in mourning
as his new Mother looked on in awe.
And, his new brother watched on in horror,
the lash was not spared nor kindness brought by woman.
In the starkness of his mind there was only dark.
Abandoned child, Poe, and his rescuers brought only loss.
“Run, leave, you villains all!” He cried. “There is only loss!”
So on, he wrote into the dark and mourning.
The ink the Prussian blue released the anguish his dark.
Intuition, and superstitious fright will feed him awe.
Cousin, sister, wife, would be his woman
the banshees cry, her bloody death became his horror.
“Alone, alone…” The corbies’s caw brings horror,
but for the devil’s drink, he’s naught but loss........
“Lenore…..” He’ll wall his tainted heart away from woman
and make his blasted soul the start of mourning.
“To hell with you!” He screams at those in awe
of his blank and burned out hulk of dark.
Bricked in or deep within the ripest dark...
“God, so alone……….” He hides in horror,
forlorn, depraved and not at all in awe.
For there is no romance found in loss
no beauteous bounty in the dross of mourning,
no family, friend or wife not tainted, born from woman.
So, Poe lives and dies in awe of the dark.
Where woman’s deepest depths bring only horror
and loss is all he knows in light of mourning.
The winter storm had gathered strength
And Its fury was felt through its breadth and length
As snowflakes flew the streets turned white
The city became a ghostly sight
They blamed it all on nature's wrath
As snowplows tried to clear clogged paths
And people stuck inside their cars
Thanked their rescuers and lucky stars
Icicles, like frozen spears, hung from window sills
And clung to trees on snowy hills
As into winter's deep freeze we plunged
Some folks believe it. Others do not. The legend told in the Bayou Cannot. The only witness who can swear that it's true, are the creatures who live in the bayou. The owl told the gator, the gator told the frog, about the horror filled night that changed their home in the bog. Far off on the mainland, miles from the marsh, in a large city, where living is harsh. A man's world invention sprang into life. A breath of fresh air to man's world of strife. A new deisel engine, queen of the line, would make it run for the very first time. The sunset limited it was aptly named. Gleamed in the station waiting its moment of fame. Boarded by folks going south, some headed out west, none mindful of anything, but each's own quest. New York to L.A. via the southern run. So it was, the trip had begun. Back in the bog, things were happening too. A barge made its way north with its captain and crew. The day had been hot. The night had turned cool. The fog roiled in, with its blanket of dew. The captain steered his tug, painfully slow, caution was key to safely deliver the tow. All of a sudden there was a scrape and a jolt the barge floated free, not held by a bolt. Panic seized the crew! "We've lost the tow!" "MAYDAY!" screamed the captain over the radio. Amid the chaos and moans of disdain, another great jar, "We've got it again!". Back on land not far down the track the Limited sped with a clickety-clack. Approaching the tressel no one noticed the shake. Who could blame the poor folks; the hour was late. Midway over the bayou came the tressels demise. A great shiver another great quake, tons of speeding steel, folks met their sad fate. Days went by weary and sad. Rescuers agreed none worked a wreck this bad. Twisted and bent the engine was pulled from the muck and the slime. "102" came the final count, the coroner spoke and noted the time. A weary voice shouted "Wait!" "Sir, I disagree!" Tired eyes turned, what did they see? A weary man held in his arms a child about three. Today believers say "an angel wanders." "A tiny spirit" Others agree. On foggy nights when no moon can be. A tiny light flickers so you will see. "It's a firefly!" Say the skeptics of haunt. The creatures disagree and murmur their taunt. They know the spirit of the child now lives in their swamp.
Written by my grandmother Sandra Burch
Perhaps you see me
it may be your gift to see
or merit for hard work
or maybe you paid for it with the lashings you endured
but surely it is now your inescapable wretched curse
as the truth haunts you
but you cannot close your eyes
like me.
It is my fault I am as this
to be as false as I am
false is my name
I cannot love that
I have buried it inside
and run away
because it is too ugly
easier to smile and pretend.
My grandmother saw it in my blackened soul
clever and easy to lie
she hurt me
made me ashamed
and broken
to protect the world and even me
but her tricks did not work
because I have killed too many hearts
and poisoned those that survived
even my own.
I am cold
and it is right I have suffered so
because I lost my heart
and replaced it with a ticking clock
that pretends to beat like a happy butterfly
and tries to convince me I have feelings
that I cannot reach
I am a masquerader of abundant hollow emotions
that laugh and smile and cry
but I never face myself
in the dark alone
because there is nothing to see without a light
my flame has no fuel
unless I suck it from another's bloody neck.
I do not know myself
because I cannot bear to look
but I hate myself as much as you hate me
and you should
because every love I'm given
is less for the world
I am a black hole
I give to get
like Hansel and Gretel's keeper
I only give love
to fatten up my lover
and open her precious tender trusting heart
so that I can consume it in eventual flames
and steal all of their future hope
and faith in humanity.
And I don't know how to stop
and am too afraid to stop myself
with the knife I keep hidden
but never have the courage to use
because I am a dark monster
that pretends to be inviting
like a pristine beach
on a boxing day morning
beckoning humanity
to my shoreline
so I can consume them
with my hungry tsunami
and leave them writhing in pain
with all hope in shambles.
Rescuers arrive in love
one after another
I greet them with open arms
as if I am deserving
needy
blinded behind my veil
pretending to myself until it is too late
and just as they almost open my heart
I swallow them under my next crushing wave.
. . . …. ….. . .
He lays his head on grass, breathing the sky
A rhapsody of hues trumpets rest day.
Blue Mountains, a lush parade like sun’s dye
Sweeping over hills wafting minted spray,
A mantle of fog drapes wedge peas up high,
While bobs roam in a space of home’s fresh ray.
Here, a man holds a gaze from wetlands call,
Inhaling lyrebird songs as wind chimes toll
Riding on colt, hooves paddle the creek floor
But clear peace is disturbed by crackling sounds
While magpies burst from trees, ready to soar
The air smells of smoke, the man quickens few rounds;
Scenes of Katoomba flames thump in mind’s core
Reminded by the burnt spread on forest mounds.
A pledge of honor to guard range of Oz
Is his code to keep wildlife from wrath’s cross
Amazed, wombats loudly screech on a hole
Teasing gums to play as they blow gray mist
A choir of mixed notes rattling like popped coal
The gorge answers with a lyrical twist,
Firefighter grins with joy in his soul
Winding sweet hours cradled and dusk-kissed.
Clouds caress his ride, graced by Mountain cruise
All is safe through music of the bush
(c)
. ……… . .
*In 2011, Blue Mountains (in Katoomba town) was threatened
by a wild blaze that was eased and controlled by a hundred
brave fire fighters of Australia. This is dedicated to the 100 rescuers
who saved this region listed as a World Heritage Area by UNESCO.
A pleasure to have visited this wonder a few years ago.
Tracie Edwards’ A Lil' Bit of Aus Contest