Best Warautumn Poems
There has been oh so many
And many are still around
They surround us old and young
For in our hearts they can be found
They can be members of our families
Who inspired us in many ways
It could be a writer on the Soup
Who displayed their way your ways
They could even be in the field of sports
Or even on a movie screen
But the ones who are heroes much more
Are in the places we will never have been
They are the ones who fight for our future
For when they are lost, we cry
They are the ones who lay down their lives
For they are " Heroes Who Never Die "
Inspired by Bryan Josh of Mostly Autumn who wrote
" Heroes Never Die " in memory of his father
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/life-7.php
On quiet days in mid autumn
When sun and clouds play ‘peek-a-boo’
Somber thoughts linger in crisp air
Of some other time and place where
Harmattan winds in December create
A hazy fog of dust and sand
Draping the sun from dawn to dusk
I hear sounds of children’s laughter
Singing ‘Ring around the Roses’
Playing ‘Na fo’ and ‘jumping rope’
No one took note the birds were silent
No one had seen them fly away
No one recognized the warning
Soon horror and mayhem would ensue
Little brown feet tender, yet fast
Pound the earth skipping, jumping
Lean and strong; weaving in and out
Through serpentine reeds of brown and green
Dust clouds rise, burst with each tap
Happy voices chanting a local jingle
‘Who bucks it takes it... free rope”
On quiet days in mid autumn
When leaves of Oaks and Elms
Brown, red, yellow, gold and rust
Carpet concrete sidewalks
Rustle loudly beneath my feet
I still hear eerie sounds of wailing
Of children’s terrifying screams
In some other time and place where
Harmattan winds creep south
Like an iniquitous invading force
Bringing in chill and fog of powdery sand
Then sudden sounds of terror assault the ears
Trembling in shock powerless to move
Little brown feet melt with nowhere to run
They huddle behind walls of mud bricks
Others dash towards the woods
Leaving broken flip flops and tennis shoes
Scattered on fields of dust
Through thickets, shrubs and razor grass
Little brown feet bare running scared
Now bruised and bleeding unaware
Hades’ orchestra plays its symphony
Emitting a cacophony of sounds
Mortars falling! Red-tail rockets sailing!
RPGs rip and the AKs unrelenting rat-ta-ta-ta….
While Harmattan winds like a steam engine blows
Long hard fierce and cold
Little brown feet will skip no more
A tribute to the Children of Liberia (Liberian Civil War - December 1989-2004)
Ever since birth my life has been war
Picking locks when knobs won't open the door
Breaking down walls when there's no window
Try to keep my wounds clean and my mind keen
Got nothing but memories and battle scars to show
******* by nature but rarely mean
I loose a lot of battles but still try to win the war
My heart keeps beating through the day and night
I've been breathing since Autumn of '84
My wisdom grows through the pain and fight
In war there is no true beauty
Only in death after the call to duty
This is my last battlefield
I am tired of fighting a hopeless war
Filled with sleeping corpses and nonsensical peasant strides
Feverish Generals who keep shooting down with empty gun barrels
Soldiers who wanton march in the mists and bog of the long forgotten mansion
and inns of the tortured citizens that live without hope but no longer can be seen
I am the last Old Man of this ruin and wreck of a once prospered Nation gone Dead
The arms that I still wear are weary
these eyes which endow me to see does not wish to vision any further
Every step that my feet do walk is ready to fall for a long autumn sleep
Forget the rage that fills every blood in the veins who seek to destroy any sight
or fancy of the rich and privilage of the hierarchy that only seeks Wealth and Fame
NOT ME DEAR SIR AND MADAME..I AM TIRED OF PLAYING YOUR EVIL'S GAME!!!