Best Salutes Poems
Well guys I’m going to tell you a secret
You don’t really know me
I have not been honest
I am not who I say I am
Yesterday I discovered the real me…
I’m a ninja – yes honestly I’m a ninja
I have proof from www.anagrammer.com
Ninja Salol …………………….…..Jan Allison
So I thought I’d have fun with a few names here
Hope no one is offended.. but they are quite amusing!
Casual Pull …………………...... …… Paul Callus
Diarrhetic Ande ….…………….Andrea Dietrich
Archaean Cans …………… …….Casarah Nance
Ard Man ………………………….......……. Armand
Hmm is Tit ……………………....…….Tim Smith
Savour Hart ……………………...…. Arthur Vaso
ill can Jokes ……………………....….Jack Ellison
Hencoop **** ………….….….…..Shane Cooper
Horny Rash Ram ……….………Harry Horsman
Lycra Nim ………………….…......……. Lyric Man
Go Mercurial Ire …………….….Maurice Rigoler
Peer over………………………......….….Eve Roper
Ramshackle Cure……………. Earl Schumacker
Salutes Sir…………………………....….Lei Strauss
Mercy Tis So ………….……....………Mystic Rose
Can Hear Microchip………Charmaine Chircop
Upgrade Gent…………………….….Peter Duggan
Warrants Done……………..….. Darren Watson
Sit Leprechaun................... Paul Schneiter
9th February 2015
Four-score years ago, the youth of Allied Armies stormed Normandy's shore;
Men in the December of their years returned today recalling the gore of war.
They wept at comrades graves who freely gave their all on that crimson strand;
Heros reaped by the Scythe of Death to ensure that freedom would yet stand.
Old men wept as the dulcet notes of Taps was played,
And rendered smart salutes as Old Glory was displayed!
Many of the veterans leaned on canes to guide their stride;
Others in wheel-chairs were helped by guides to ease their ride.
Gnarled hands that once held the fearsome weapons of war,
Beckon for peace that we shall know war nevermore!
Upon the plain above Omaha Beach lie 9000 buddies they mourn,
Who await Gabriel's clarion bugle call on that Triumphant Morn!
The glistening sand that once was stained by a hero's blood,
Is now cleansed by the ebb and flow of decades of tidal flood.
The beach that once resounded with the cannon's roar,
Now trembles with the booming surf rushing to the shore!
The hardships these gallant men suffered, we shall never know;
So much, so very much, to this Great Generation we owe!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
Salutations to Tiranga (Indian National Flag)
Mother India was freed from the British shackles...
To tyranny we bid adieu, new freedom welcomed!
'Tiranga' with due honour, replaced the 'Union jack'
Fluttered in the blue sky in the glory of victory!
Orchestra of happy moods had finally arrived,
Calling for celebrations with full pomp and joy!
Our National Anthem sung and Trumphets blown
All Indians joined festivity forgetting all woes!
Adding wings to this happiness,the Tricolour fluttered!!
Breeze of bloodbath and fetters all disappeared
Flew with resplendence this khadi splendour!
Three stripes horizontal with a central wheel
Top is the saffron for selflessness and valour,
Also marks vibrant hue of Ego absolution!
White in the middle stands for peace and purity
Also Knowledge and honesty attribute to it
The dark green in the third stripe is for faith and fertility,
Happiness and prosperity for a greener globe!
The wheel of dharma adopted from the Lion capital,
That once sung heroism of Asoka, the Emperor!
In navy blue is this wheel placed in the centre,
Progress it represents with spokes twenty-four
Ignites a spark of deep patriotism as it flutters
Wrapped around cadaver of the martyrs of this mother
Glory to Tiranga, Glory to the Nation,
World's largest democracy salutes this symbol
Let our flag soar high and keep our spirits boosted
Long live Tiranga till the sky is above!
For the contest: The State/ Country Flag - sponsored by: Judy Konos
By: Anulaxmi Nayak,
Country: India
Flag: TIRANGA - Indian National Flag
date: 08/08/2015
THEME: Salutations and admiration to our national symbol!
Ah, to this land of the monsoons
or should it have been the sunsoons?
Yet for frozen land tourists, a tropical hot boon.
Where bullock carts, stray dogs, horse carriages and cows
pedestrians, goats, bikes and rickshaws
scooters, trucks, motorbikes and cabs
all compete together in quirky medley of traffic jams
On crammed roads you could ram into bulls and rams
So brakes forever screeching, the cars forever honking, hooting
while beggers begged and pickpockets could go a' looting on a footing
But where else you'd see, ducks and ponds in the city
buffaloes wallowing in mud without fear or pity!
Urban jungle eh, you'd think with a wink
and in many's esteem this land shan't ever sink.
Then pass the huge expanses of paddy fields and the rice farmers
and next come face to face with those Indian snake charmers!
Ah and the imposing edifice, Tajmahal, one of the seven wonders of the world
is no where else found, nor are the epic himalayas on any map unfurled
except for India, and a whole ocean with her name
The Indian ocean knows and salutes her fame!
As for me, meeting relatives there, is the best best part
then shopping too in each and every crowded mart
shopping like crazy, filling my spree's shopping cart!
Dreams herein, our progeny, still birth sometimes inside,
blind and rigor twisted, formless foetuses upon
the terrace steps where innocence bled and occasionally died
screeching for salvation when every shred of hope was gone.
Yet also soared in glorious flight, monstrous span
of righteous flapping wings in the stadium sky,
drummed thunderclaps, exultant fear insurgently began
inflaming souls and lifting living spirits heaven high.
Externalised, the primal chants and streaming scarves,
the goading, cheering, praising adrenaline infusion,
the fluid rush of gameplay, of two dovetailed halves
painted on an emerald canvas with fleet of foot profusion.
In a cloud of air horn banshees and muddied leather vapour
where studded feet slap pigskin like a hated face
spins a salt and vinegar smudged result newspaper
telling tales of holy triumph or damnation and disgrace.
Abused patriotism, the easy asylum of the scoundrel cur
whose omnipresent wield of slick wet Stanley blade slashes
carves desired resurgence of the way that things once were,
for Nazi flags, stiff arm salutes and pencil black moustaches.
Yet overriding all, the team and the game, the beautiful game
and the chasm rift between each side as deep and wide as forever,
the team is all, all is the team and will always be the same
and whatever divides team from team let no man draw together.
Scotland, rich in pride
Braw mountainous scenery
Stands proud and salutes
Saltire shares the wind
Tartan Highlanders kilted
Kingdom of the clans
In this psychological warfare,
where the fate of Romeo and Juliet
has not discouraged lovers
I was warned,
"tread carefully, only move forward if you are prepared
to battle against satanic adversaries not seen before."
But I'm a veteran with an amputated heart,
as my lion nature roars at 'tug-of-war' conflicts
and she keeps pulling at my heart strings.
Welcome to the circus of darkness,
where spirits rest in a silent surrender.
In my phantom kingdom
the queen of hearts is an outcast
upon an isolated island of misery.
Her life is a concoction of paparazzi and propaganda,
where serpents manipulate her innocent dreams.
In the illusion of separation,
an internal choir sings a siren's symphony of sorrow,
echoing through oceans and mountains between us.
In this haze of hopelessness I hope to be found,
but we are cursed with different shades of love,
where tears are melodramatic melancholy,
bleeding in black rivers of perpetual pain -
but her savage beauty is my favourite kind of madness.
In the unfairness of circumstance's wicked ways,
the Grim Reaper has auctioned my soul for sale.
I search for anonymous angels among us,
but in the graveyard of blasphemous bliss,
tattoo tears create crimson cracks on broken statues.
My immortal emotions drift like butterfly breaths,
imitating a bare brokenness of rags buried in paper coffins.
Before the euthanasia of time will you return that stolen kiss?
Gift me a kinder reflection from self entitled mirrored salutes?
It all started with a poem rebuilding a sanctuary.
in my poetic secret garden of confessions.
When my metaphors stole the moon for you,
fate had my heart held hostage to your infatuation.
Not everyone can see with open eyes,
but in the empathy of distant entanglement,
love untangled the tips of your tangled heartstrings,
then burnt them in ashes of enkindled embers.
Now that I've overcome your obscured boundaries of sanity,
placing lanterns upon midnight trails you follow,
I've defeated every malignant spirit.
Before words become tired and meaningless,
will you comprehend the innocence of my insanity -
forever love me where it hurts?
Her face is invaded by networked wrinkles
For she gave to the world all her valued best,
Her input to the current world has tired her
And she looks up to the grave for final rest.
She chose for herself a deprived lifestyle
So as to give to the young something good,
Cars and houses and clothes and fine jewelry –
All were junk if her children had decent food.
The jingling of up-to-the-minute gadgets
Does not amaze this brave and daring seed
That persisted through the lows of a mean life
To birth and nurture the wits that ages feed.
The ticking of time has forsaken her
And failing strength betrays her fast
Yet the world salutes her undying feats
As she unbowed breathes her last.
With his hand over his faded heartbeat
Tuskegee airman, Ohio’s son,
Takes off in a flight plan for eternal terminals
This living aviator legend –
Whose heart looked up to soar on metal wings -
Flew through skies torn by warring clouds
And kissed the earth when landing once again
Knew only well discrimination’s determination to clip his wings
This December child, forever linked in birth to a day of infamy
When battleships lay impotent at the bottom of a harbor’s pearl,
Logs his last flight plan -
A general with a single star to grace his epaulettes -
Salutes his heavenly commander in chief
To leave jet trails of victory across Heaven’s pure air of blue–
Wearing on his tribute stone a Distinguished Flying Cross –
A Bronze Star –
Flies through all barriers of race above the slurs
After launching younger dreams of flight in a life of service
As his last mission takes him home –
No mission impossible -
Past the jealous bonds of earth soaring into eternity,
Into the welcome caress of God who takes the controls
Who was and always will be his Heaven sent co-pilot.
Tribute to General Charles McGee – a Tuskegee Airman who never let discrimination clip the wings of his dreams to become a military pilot during WWII. He flew over 400 mission in WWII, Korea and Vietnam. Born December 7, 1919. Flew home January 16, 2022 at the age of 102.
I'm a solitary wanderer
Guided by the winds and the sol rays
I roam through lonely valleys
Sipping from streams to streams
Riding on cascade , up and down
Sleeping under stars and silver moons
Night’s canopy as tent
Wandering in the verdant fields
Rolling on soft grass
Swimming in colossal oceans
Climbing onto the mountain cap
Motleying acme of the sky
Drowning into the heavenly showers
Lay supine, dreaming
Of the sparkling stars
Holding them in the eyes
Life sparkles with glee and gaity
Solitary wanderer is I
Accosted from the crowd and streets
Blancbec meadows and gardens
I encounter with four seasons:
Frigid,blood-Warm,green ,and mahogany
Salutes and welcome me,a solitary wanderer.
Desertation is beatitude
I find meaning in myself
Meaning to sojourn in sole calmness
To sapid the sap of serenity and composure
That's how I turn myself away from crowd,
Wandering as long as meandering ogins.
__19/06/2018.
POIGNANT ECHOES 2
(Combo Mixed Verse Forms**)
Dark canopy, skyline deep black;
Morn suddenly flings radiance back.
-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --
Dawn hurls
Fiery outburst;
Shadows flee
-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --
Sparrow bird song, balcony choir;
Arise to morn with fresh new eyes;
Psalm sweet and strong, salutes day's sire;
Purge thoughts forlorn, explore new highs.
-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --
Awake
Aware now
Feel bold endow
Wakefulness enlightens
Feeling
-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --
Feel
Thought
Feeling
Touch once more
Surging whirlpool tracks
Going around mulberry bush
-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --
So here we glow
Around the swirls;
Churn fast and slow
In world that twirls.
-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --
Be of good cheer for love stays near
To deny fear that tempts us here.
-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --
Look up and see truth and beauty;
See what must be joy laid plenty;
See things fondly with ecstasy.
-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --
Listen now,
A voice calls
From deep within;
Style takes a hint,
Fill your blank page.
-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --
Flash of new day in a spreadsheet;
Plus or minus is but a choice;
Do what you say with your cheat sheet.
Know your finest in style of voice;
Smart works kindest in street-smart poise!
-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --
Ask and align
See sensuous signs
Keepsake knows kind
-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --
Leon Enriquez
17 Apr 2014
Singapore
-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --
(Note: Combo Verse Forms** -- Sequence as follows:
1 Couplet, 2 Haiku, 3 Quatrain, 4 Cinqku,
5 Fibonacci, 6 Quatrain, 7 Couplet, 8 Rhyme 3-line,
9 Free Verse 5-line, 10 Terza Rima fragment and
11 Acrostic Alliteration.)
He is an old Vet now, weighed down by the years.
He walks slowly with a limp, and has grey hair, eye glasses and hearing aids.
Ah, but there once was a day when he was young and strong.
A day when he raised his hand and swore to support the Constitution and protect
the people.
A day he stood erect, proudly wore his uniform and gave crisp salutes.
A day he shook his fathers hand, kissed his mother goodbye and went off to war.
A day he stood firmly and bravely against aggressive foes and did not falter.
A day he saw things a young man should not have to see.
A day he did things a young man should not have to do.
And day he wept over the graves of his fallen comrades.
Yes he remembers all these things.
He stands as the flag passes by in the parade and he salutes it as he has done many times before...
And he remembers.
Tic Toc I watch nonchalant
arms of the clock
Shift and rock
Grandfathers hands join-unlock
Conducting my living room symphonies
Horns and strings mingle in streams
Blending with screams
Torn from dreams
Nothing here's quite as it seems
Parading illusions own infantry
Unified steps for countless miles
Drum major smiles
All the while
Mr. Chaos with his wiles
Pounds balled fist to the ground and the world shakes
Soldiers black boots slip and fail
Legs become frail
march derails
From it's tracks and over the hill
Organized spectacle dropped by the quakes
Sister Order peaks through the clouds
Peeling the shroud
Eyes the crowd
Thunderous voice screams aloud
"AT ONCE I DEMAND TO SEE DISCIPLINE!"
Pick yourselves up and dust your boots
Stand tall recruits
Firm salutes
Rank- file assemble the troops
These logical patterns are systemic
Lines her pockets left over notes
Sly witty quotes
Inked and wrote
Folded origami boats
Set adrift on the Lyrical Ocean
Mr. Chaos from shadows sees
Bounds from the trees
Dives in sea
Swims to bottom- pulls plug free
Once calm waters now swirling commotion
Sister Order turns back around
Spectacle found
Scowls a frown
All was perfect- safe and sound
Til that trickster Chaos came and messed it
Removes her sandals- drives ahead
soles of feet tread
Dry sea bed
Picks up the plug-shakes her head
As she curses her brother- "THAT MISFIT!!!"
a flustered tango of Gypsy moths
drumming the porchlight; chalk artists;
the endemic disappearance of farms—silos lost
in unkempt fields; space stations; the sunlit-scent of lemon
oil on cherry wood; birth; the chasm between cultural
appropriation & cultural appreciation; the history in our dust;
loneliness & heartbreak; trivia; funky funerals;
climate change, hurricanes, earthquakes & neglected
victims; heirloom charm bracelets, homemade
wind chimes & the homing sound made by a singing bowl;
masquerade balls; cityscapes hidden in ant hills; fly
fishing; serendipitous skinny dipping; missing children,
teddy bear memorials, forensic identification, monsters
never found in sleepy towns; the horrors of zoos—
elephants gone mad, lions robbed of their pride;
book reviews; civil unrest, bad cops & good cops & young men
gunned down; brand new fire stations; cancer survivors who wear
baldness so beautifully; my favourite pair of jeans; river rocks
found by dearest hands; a letter that can never be
received; joyful celebrations; incandescent dragonfly
dreams; twenty million at risk of starving to death;
wildflowers shaking pretty little heads;
misogyny disguised as religion; forgotten veterans who die
a bit more inside every day; the rainforest, shrinking;
saintly stoners & postulant prostitutes; toxic smog;
madmen with warheads; cheese cake & ice wine;
every personalized Kama sutra move & the God-given
ecstasy of body on body language; holding hands;
why one giggle can change everything; Thanksgiving
prayers; abandoned minefields, boy soldiers & devastating
amputations; the songs of the working poor; lightning
over the lake; his timely phone calls; brotherhood & sisterhood;
love in its every form; old maps; twenty-one gun salutes;
the extinction of the Galapagos Giant Tortoise; being
five, being twenty five, being ninety-five; kites; dogs chawing
on ragged rawhide; church-like museums on a Sunday
afternoon; make-shift picnics; deja vu; thrift store
wedding dresses; long drives with comfortable silences;
fading freedoms; censorship; seamless moonlight;
introspective dalliances with self-acceptance; the power
of purpose; how to be the bigger person; how to go
in a new direction; how to rise above . . .
The Yearbook
The years have since gone by—
aged seniors now are we.
I scan each page to see
lost friends with teary eye;
then note, with relieved sigh,
some are still here with me.
Our yearbook is online—
my high school friends all there.
But posted clear to share,
a list beneath a sign
of those who crossed the line
and climbed our Heaven's stair.
Salutes to each dear friend—
here—joy and sorrow blend.
Sandra M. Haight
~3rd Place~
Contest: HexSonnetta
Sponsor: Andrea Dietrich
Judged: 09/19/2015
~6th Place~
Premiere Contest: Contest 204
Sponsor: Brian Strand
Judged: 09/17/2016
Form: HexSonnetta