Best Sword Poems


A Sword of the Heavens Did Glean

A sword of the heavens did glean

From railings and arbors 
of dead thorn and bramble,
where ghostly reminders remain

Fall droplets of blood ‘pon
a crimson embroider
 left carelessly out in the rain

Our story begins
in a deep mountain valley,
a village so peaceful and free

When one day the darkness
did unsheathe its horror
with metal and death you will see

The army of Satan,
a wicked battalion,
Hell’s fire their sabers were forged

Dark Skeletal visions
in leather and armor
 the depths of the earth had been gorged

With razor sharp weapons,
they slashed and delivered
such pain which had never been found

Through echoes of pleading
and lives quickly ending
in puddles, thick red on the ground

While women and children
were herded like cattle
in mass to the edge of the square

With onyx eyes leering,
midst snickers and cackles,
their captors insanely did stare

When on the horizon
a light brightly shining,
engulfing this nightmarish scene

A porcelain stallion,
its rider a shadow,
a sword of the heavens did glean

From steel hard as granite,
angelic depictions,
a handle of pure solid gold

Once heard in a fable,
when wizards were roaming
such power, the stories foretold

As swift as an arrow
he entered the village,
his steed all at one with the game

With blade silver glistened,
like lightning bolts flashing,
igniting a righteous born flame

Spinning and thrusting
as if a tornado,
a blur now incensed of the glow

With whirlwind fury
and dust clouded thunder,
he dealt them a terrible blow

The evil fueled army,
beheaded and fallen,
the villagers shouted and cheered

When to their amazement,
this heroic savior
as quick as he’d come, disappeared

So there is the story,
a sword made in heaven
is now part of history’s reign

Along with the rider
who wielded its honor,
and hopes he will come back again


9/13/18

Written for the UNSHEATH YOUR SWORD Poetry Contest
Sponsored by John Lawless

Premium Member Sharp Sword

Steel
Hilted
 Arced or straight
 Razor edge with
Point
~
 Sharp
 Weapon
 Of conflict
Reflects sunlight
 Death



Written on 20th March 2019-03-20

For light up the page 3 poetry contest

Sponsored by Joseph May.

Viking Warfare

I left my home, the world to roam
it’s been now twelve years gone.
From a boy to a man
was a dreadful short span,
as I journeyed to valleys beyond.
Now the king, he has spoken
and battle has broken,
I’m wise to the ways of the world.
Long on the sword,
as we seek our reward,
to see our flag unfurled…
Sailed by starry dark of night,
our longships cross the sea.
Where a hundred headless horsemen
guard the gates of Galilee.
Each dawn’s a daily dance of death,
through battle smoke like dragon’s breath.
With echo axe to armor chink,
each onslaught we rebuffed.
You can invite the devil for a drink
…if you think you’re man enough.
Heavy’s the head that wears the crown,
when the blood of brothers’ beckons.
Weak is the sword, as it lies on the ground.
If there’s a will, there’s a way,
there are weapons.
But once the battle has ended
and our journeys’ been made, 
there’ll be air in my lungs, 
and blood on my blade.
As was foretold, our flag was unrolled
in the past… now once again!
Vikings prevail, each time we sail,
in the age of wooden ships
… and iron men.

Copyright © 2018


Premium Member The Sword, the Spear, and the Shield

As the Nordic gods all gathered around
for there is a treasure that I have found
The Celtic gods all came as well
To listen to what I had to tell

For the Fenris Wolf has been unleashed
no one shall save Odin from this beast
Both the gods of Aesir and Vanir alike
when comes Ragnarok will have to strike

Brother against brother shall fight this day
And the Midgard serpent no one can slay
Thor takes three steps, after being bitten by the snake
no man or god will ever see him awake

As the Celtic gods, all looked on in awe
None of them could foresee the fall of Thor
So the Celtic tribe of Danaan formulated a plan
to help the Norse gods they’d be led by Bran

The mother of the gods, Danu was there too
And the Morrigu joined in with their Ravens flew
Nuada and Lugh led their warriors to the field
With the sword of light, a magical spear, and shield

But the Norns had weaved in runes this event
and no matter how they tried they could not prevent
The outcome may be bleak but there is some relief
A man and woman survive in the Old Norse belief
© White Wolf  Create an image from this poem.

Premium Member With Sword and Lance and Bill

Come by the Sword, Die by the Sword

They stood in ranks a thousand long
High upon the hill
The Roman legion, fierce and strong
With sword and lance and bill

The Briton hoards below them stare
With wild fanatic eyes
They jeer the foe and beg them dare
With anger and despise

Come and fight you cowardly foe
Come and meet your fate
We’ll cut you down, row by row
Send you to heavens gate

With scoff and scorn the Romans yawn
What empty threats you speak
We’ll rip you limb from limb this morn
You’re scrawny, thin and weak

Down below, laughter roars
Your bellies, we will slice
We’ll lay you dead, in your scores
Come prove your men not mice

We will arrive and make you pay
For indolence and taunt
You will eat every word you say
When they come back to haunt

It’s easy up on high to gloat
But everybody knows
It’s our intent to cut each throat
And leave you for the crows

But when we make our move towards
There’ll be no shy nor rests
We’ll plunge our sharp and bloody swords
Deep in those ragbag chests

Think of your girlfriends, mothers, wives
For them there’ll be no gains
Will be, as we, cut short their lives
When we spill out your brains

For one last time you’ll see the sky
Cause you’re not leaving whole
When heathen head is raised up high
On legion victory pole

Gasp deep upon your final breath
Invader of our land
Your destiny this day is death
By rude and brutish hand

With sword and lance and bill
All break into their stride
With voices booming still 
Blood fills the wide divide
,         ,         ,         ,         ,
,         ,         ,         ,         ,
,         ,         ,         ,         ,
,         ,         ,         ,         ,
,         ,         ,         ,         ,
,         ,         ,         ,         ,
,         ,         ,         ,         ,
,         ,         ,         ,         ,
,         ,         ,         ,         ,
,         ,         ,         ,         ,
,         ,         ,         ,         ,
,         ,         ,         ,         ,
,         ,         ,         ,         ,
,         ,         ,         ,         ,
,         ,         ,         ,         ,
,         ,         ,         ,         ,
March forward to today
Though forces re-arranged
And ask them in what way
Anything has changed

Premium Member The Pen Versus the Sword

The incorrect usage of tense
And phrases of total nonsense
Wipe out brain status
With more apparatus
Than the Department of Defense


Premium Member Sword of Justice

Fear overcasts hope

                     Terror has devoured Paris

                       Long is justice’s sword!*




                       © Demetrios Trifiatis
                          16 November 2015


* Those who committed this abominable crime would never 
run far enough for to escape the retribution of justice!

Premium Member The Sword of Betrayal

Mightier than the sword
Is the icy stare
Of a woman scorned

Her silence may slay 1000 men
As she locks the door to her wounded heart
Dragons dare not melt the ice

Premium Member Muse With Pen and Sword

My soul rides the pen.
Flowing through the nib,
my thoughts are revealed;
flowing onto the page
in dark, liquid waves.

As a vessel, I pour;
all within me, spews forth.
Naked rivers of ink
Reveal muse’s secrets.

Muse wields her sword,
sliced opinions, fall away
upon journal pages.

Pen-to-paper, scratching letters and 
words that betray us both.
She talks too much and insists that,
there are others who dream and believe, as we do.
Why do I feel like I must keep silent and 
Let her do all of the talking?

With Pen, she speaks;
with sword, she conquers.
I am her vessel and I must let her pour.

Premium Member Beneath the Sword of Damocles

Beneath the Sword of Damocles

As we nurse our nuclear nightmares
in a not to certain day
We are conjoined in common phobia
of madness or foul play.

In '45 the gadget was born.
Collective minds formed this creation. 
Where medicine was the safe place 
for containing its radiation.

Little children of the Fifties
hid beneath the classroom desks
closed their eyes and dreamt of mushrooms
saying, "This is just a test."

Beneath the Sword of Damocles,
possession had by all
Who’ll be the first to get one off
and spread the fireball?

Everyone wants a power sword
to wave above the next,
a challenge to the strongest,
though nothing will be left.

The chance exists to burst the sun
and hurl it into space.
A few will long for greenery,
the world that was this place.

Speak with Japan's hibakusha
of burnt flesh, white light, black rain.
Listen to their tales of horror
feel the hatred in their pain.

With a wave of a finger
falls the sword of megatons.
Ask yourself will the survivors
be the truly lucky ones?


American President John F. Kennedy compared the omnipresent threat of nuclear annihilation to a sword of Damocles hanging over the people of the world.   

The survivors of the Hiroshima and Nagasaki atomic bombings are known in Japan as hibakusha. There are about 48,000 of them living in Nagasaki Prefecture, and about 83,000 in Hiroshima.

Sword of Roses

What, then, is Love but a sword of roses
Which cleaves poor waiting hearts
And thusly drunk with the blood of saints
Exults in its own dissipation?

And mine, a soul it so jagged gashed,
A scarred and wilted husk
Which once had songs to Heaven sung
Yet now but gasps with the fetid breath of dying things...

Oh soft Night's tapestry:meadows, fields, 
The courtyards of the Moon!
Now but brittle corpses endraped in silken mask,
Their board and banquet but sullen Death
Mocking of Light, fair Hope, and fond Embrace...

Premium Member Raised Sword:

Expressions so deep that I feel within,
Has made me realize, it's time to begin.

Thoughts so tender and abrupt as well,
Exuberant so few that I just can't tell.

Capturing the essence of what it is to be,
Learning to be gentle and living so free.

The virtues of many will always fall,
As the foundations fail the Almighty shall call.

Reminiscing, of course, is good for awhile,
But not all memories are replaced by a smile.

And find one day you may just succeed,
To live your life with little to need.

For time is a luxury that no one can afford,
Death is always approaching with his raised sword.
© White Wolf  Create an image from this poem.

Premium Member A Little Ants Sword

Sam is a novice gardener who stamps on all ants
He doesn't like them near or crawling on his plants
Their Queen was angry and wanted revenge
For the ones that had fallen she wanted to avenge.

They planned to get inside and under Sam's clothes
Cover his whole body from his head to his toes
The queen gave her order for her ants to attack
Every inch of his body, every orifice and crack.

There were flying ant squadrons in groups of twelve
Soldiers in lines and a lone scout out by himself.
The others were preparing for a mass swamping
While Sam continued with his clomping and stomping.

They entered inside both trouser leg realms
These little feisty red insects, these hardcore rebels
From somewhere inside it was smelly and breezy
And their night vision eyes made navigation more easy.

Sam's legs were hairy and wiry, like a hot tangled jungle
With volcano like spots and some weird looking fungal.
They battled there way through, this united strong army
While Sam was going mad and looked rather barmy.
 
They bit, they chewed, they spat and tickled
Sam smacking himself as he wriggled and wiggled
At all times they were all on high red alert.
To avoid being splattered by this mad dancing berk.

These tiny ninja assassins crawled under his shirt
His four limbs wildly failing; he went completely berserk 
Flying ants swooping and diving to created a distraction
Sam's reaction to their actions gave them great satisfaction.

He jumped, he hopped, he twice did the splits
They bit here and there, including his small naughty bits
His limbs in and out; the ants hokey pokey
Limbs moving so fast they felt hot and smelt smokey.

Sam screamed "I am sorry please leave me alone
My garden is yours and every ants home
I didn't know aphids left you a sugary sweet treat"
I surrender, I give up, I admit my defeat."

Harmony and peace, balance restored
Nothing is mightier than a little ants sword
Sam's body now healed, no more ants in his pants
But beware if you ever harm a red or black ant.

                 04.06.24

Premium Member Vigilant Sword

All work ethics and human virtues, he hoards
for twenty-five years, he has never stepped on mud
in him, civil service has a lord
every signboard shows he’s a man of his word
against financial crimes, his clothings include a sword
the spectrum of his fans is nowhere near broad
and has rejected any pen that has written fraud.

Premium Member Armor of God

Each day we need our armor for the fight,
to wage the battle from daybreak to night ~
protection to wield.

The struggle is against not flesh and blood
but evil forces; enemies of God
souls, the battlefield.

The belt of truth fastened, the strong breastplate
of godliness, gospel boots laced up straight ~
faith, our robust shield.

Wearing the helmet of his saving grace,
God's Word, the two-edged sword ready in place ~
His wisdom revealed.

Dark days are coming; pray and do not fear.
God's armor helps his people persevere ~
Satan's fate is sealed.


// Based on Ephesians 6:10-18 //

written 10 Aug 2020
© John Watt  Create an image from this poem.

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