Best Warhorse Poems
Let us discuss the circus alive in the theater of your conflicts,
the Master of Ceremonies cremates caution
in the center of curiosity's conciet
where birds bleed songs of azure agony,
madness remembers the melody of a midnight march
to a shrine built from bricks baste with war sweat and stress
as Death sits solemnly thumping it's cranial cudgel methodically
atop drums taut with elephant hide,
a child approaches through the Hippodrome's east chamber
juggling three radiant orbs, omni, omega, ovation,
the audience of thousands uproars unanimously
when Hate, Love & Fate manifest as beasts of the best brutality
encircling the child with a primordial hunger in their bellies,
their handlers cocky and competitive, controls the animals with elements
such as air, fire & water, one by one they rush the child
with violent intent, in their hearts victim & victory are synonomous,
the tiger repelled by the fire of the child's imagination,
the bear repulsed from the whistle of his innocence,
and the lepoard refrains from the current of his youth,
in the balcony, Venus and Mars applaud proudly for sagacious survival,
acrobats appear, the grey one Fatigue, the green one is Resolve,
despite loathing each other they must be team or die from the heights,
gasps from a crowd caught in a conspiracy of soul piracy
as self destruction stands cackling on the arena floor with his anger crackling red,
attempting to whip the hands of the acrobats with a dragon's tail
encrusted with the crushed vertebrae of cowardice,
he strikes their wrists but they secure the dizzing stunt in defiance,
cheers collide with the chimera of acrobats transformed into an eagle's scream
while the Master of Ceremonies welcomes the women of warhorse wishes,
J.A.B.
I only be looking down now, looking inside myself now,
not head set in defeat but reflection, not the thoughts but the actual events that happened, wild flower child, yea right boom boy im a power plant, a quater-back serving audibles, wide-receivers run em in slants, run deep, swapping the rythym up, call it skill or pronounce them fiery darts of the devil, replay read a lot of fake words, deploy nothing but truths that carry troops, dead-zone drop-off swing wide scrape the danger, winged right there then, repairs upmost respected like I have a strong command of the english langauge, a strong sense of honor, PoW's plenty of wise men, plenty that u couldnt challenge on the battlefield, u better be ready to die when you walk in their battallion, Feel the valance the stealth, feel nothing feel what you feel wether its false politics American Goverment, I dont condemn my country, American people be the damn blindest, conditionally unseasoned , refutedly would he die in that war man? Well im a black speck in his eyes dying where ever it dont make a ****, you think a soldier gives a damn about being remembered, nah its about fighting your hardest, living longer, having your friends back, perfecting that last love letter, asking God for guidance, as waiting for it, Command given stretch the ammunition, permissions only to use your intuition, now i put a disatant on that idea's be balanced if you spot it u got it, six strikes 3 terrible battle plans, instructions be on a good heart. we life size- we realize it. we competition cams with a lope pulling deeper compression, true intentions blow up in your mind like mushroom clouds, like the repurcussion was a blast to the laws broken in an accident, cheap shells cheap never be Blaine c cheap s sweetlies b bashing breaking *****es, bullstrong. balls with the brillance, beautiful blows, brainstorming, bulls of bashan beaware the wheel of furtune turns quick ask me I slip out simple vibes I be on top soon. blanks broken hollypoints I keep one jax in the chamber, Bang baby I still hit hard with the power, bang *****es blaine me, can u blame me? Straight and narrow , not like in a false form, warfront back on a warhorse, back on the foremost thoughts of a man with a decision to make..
Sunderland N for Nuts 461 Squadron
Sunderland fought alone the Battle Of Biscay in.1943
Big old seaplane Sunderland, fought in the Battle Of Biscay
Had 4 engines, would she float, would German cannon make her pay?
Aussies put in belly guns, 2 old machine guns Vickers. fired only .303 bullets
Poms might laugh about this deed, the Germans didn't snicker
Only 8 of these Ju88s attacked, to shoot a Sunderland down
Aussies cut the crutch out of German might, with the Vickers caused a frown
Sunderland like a Swiss cheese, had so many holes left in it
5 ju88s went into the sea, 3 ran for home that minute
Germans said it wore heavy armour plate
And it fired a 37mil cannon?.....
Said bullets bounced off it mate?
Its death were still a planning
So she waddled back to the British coast
And landed on the beach at Cornwall
Aussies got sausages, tea and toast
Brave Sunderland then did fall
Don Johnson
Moral:Don't fight with the Aussies they might give you a touch up.
The fight by Sunderland N/461 against 8 JU88s on 2nd June1943.
One man died on the Sunderland Ted Miles a Lewis gunner,
most of the men were injured. All 8 ju88s were hit by the Aussies.
When a fighter/bomber ju88 started firing the Sunderland went into a
corkscrew move, to evade cannon shells each time,
during the twenty attacks made on it.
Sunderland had been a pre war 4 engined sea plane,
the current Jumbo Jet of its day. The bullet riddled old warhorse carried
them home to England.and broke up on the beach
http://www.australiansatwar.gov.au/stories/stories_war=W2_id=67.html
Friday 13th August in 1943 their luck ran out 6 more Ju88s attacked
Sunderland DV968 eight of the earlier surviving Airmen
from the deadly Nuts Flight disappeared
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We’ve laid down our swords
And hanged up our shields
But the war still rages on in our hearts
We’ve tamed the warhorse
His saddle rests in the stable
But his stride still charges our frontlines
Our trenches buried
A soldier never stops his march
It will continue to consume him to his own end
And all those close to him
Will be his unintended victims
On the battle brought to his doorstep
So we’ve built a war machine
To deliver nothing less than glory
Designed perfection in total destruction
He moves with stealth
His existence camouflaged
You’ll never see him crumble as he salutes you
Honourably discharged into a violent society
Opposed to his order and discipline
To endure sounds of gunshots and chaos in the streets
Forced to relive his nightmares
Of exploding missiles and discharged mines
Screams of the dying and the agony of the wounded
Staring into the empty distance
He sees the worlds he's helped destroy
Following orders to protect and serve his own
He understands the sacrifice
As he holds his child in his arms
How he gave new life with his gun’s final breath
Surrounded by loved ones
Desolate as an abandoned battlefield
Missing the lives he's lost...dreading the lives he's taken
Explosions in his head
Shrapnel in his heart
He's a spear thrown deep into enemy territory
...I salute thee brave knight
For I sleep inspite of war tonight
A war once ended peace will endure, but yours is uncertain
Tribute to the Soldier!
A brother, a warrior...a sentinel...a hero
Thabang Jan Ngoma
07-17-2015
Sponsor: Kelly Deschler
Contest Name: Men Only #2
Scottish charm Gods grace merry place
Long tables brightly colored cloth canopy
Foresters tales minstrels manuscript
White flowers hanging garden priests
Veins on forehead thick black beards
Castle hall best jesters bravest beef
Scarlet cross mantle linked chainmail
Gallant warhorse plaited headpiece
Kindhearted man loved her deeply
Sage smoke vapours rose sunrays
Mighty hunter brought quarry home +
breathed deeply the scent of flowers
Red-and-gold garlands on his neck.
Black horse riding on the night,
Red eyes gleaming, parody of blood moon,
Warhorse, armored with steel, ready for war,
Sky horse, living in the world above,
Dawn of night, his name is called,
Nightmare, come,
The black horse rides down our of the sky,
To the black armored warrior below.
Together Nightmare rides to battle with his master,
Intelligence burning in his crimson eyes,
A nightmare going to war.
Screams ring out in the air, over the bloody battlefield,
The war had begun and Nightmare rejoices,
Trampling and kicking enemies to death,
Nightmare goes to war.
Ominous dawn murderous day
warhorse hooves defeated flay
Mace and axe steel to bone
vacant eyes face of stone
Natures tears from mothers eyes
never these loins a son will rise
Courage worn in tattered skin
ashes to ashes as all begin
Stephen
When I come back I will be a warhorse
Twenty one hands high
I will ignore my mistress, taking no direction.
I will run toward the valley
Where I will be free with no bridle or saddle
Thundering through, amazing other creatures.
My coat of many colors will dazzle the mares.
I will be a stallion
Well hung, and proud
Unless I choose to be Irish-setter red.
Irish setter red might be the best.
Then I could blend in with autumn and the fire sky.
My name will be Beauty Thunder
I will be followed by magnificent faeries
And sneaky, mean elves will despise me,
Putting raisins in my oat bucket.
Yes, I will return to my mistress's stable in the evening
To have a formidable bucket of oats.
I am not a hillbilly after all.
And I love running water,
I will win the Triple Crown twice,
Showing up all the other horses.
Yet with no training at all.
None can break me.
For I break myself,
Always in charge
Even as a warhorse.
O' my beloved, hailed to his King's side
About his neck, his crucifix
About his breast, exalted pride
His charger armored for conflict
My heart racing at the ethereal sight
Our son, so young, his perfect mimic
Let me hold you, my beloved Knight
One more time, as we both know
Never will you return from this fight
But why, why must you go? Forget not your bow!
Tis but a whim of this jealous King
Who cares not, Of our family to grow-
From Heaven, be listening, for every year in early spring-
Ensuing this day hence, in your cherished memory, I shall sing.
Romance
*A charger is a big warhorse.
War is just a means tae a’ end
Deaythe’s the price of life.
Famine’s black horse
fills the gullet of Deaythe’s strife.
War is just a means tae a’ end
Deaythe’s the price of life
Power swings Wars red sword
the weak an’ young suffice.
War is just a means tae a’ end
Deaythe’s the price of life.
Conquest raises its mighty bow
crowning Kings with delight.
War is just a means tae a’ end
Deaythe’s is just the price of life
on pale horse the banshee rides
no matter the what your fief.
We are the fertilzer of the field
for life is all and deayth is real.
You seem not to comprehend
That I'm still so young
I speak my heart and mind
And deep inside I always think I'm right
My vision to me is then so clear
I'm full of life and love, I have no fear
You look down at me and never cease to me judge
You blame me and you tell me to hold no grudge
How wouldn't I and you barely seem to comprehend?
That you are far beyond my thoughts and set of mind
I'm still so young and my journey ready to go through
I'm full of passion and eager to reap what I sow and do
You claim I'm idiot and unable to see what is in me wrong
You let me think that my beliefs and values have no root or bond
I can no more with you argue and prove my vision to you
I'm confused and couldn't put into words what I believe is true
You push so hard and show me how wise and insightful you are
How dare you undermine my wit, the youth growing in me you deny?
You actually seem to forget how you once were that young
Rejoicing life, doing whatever you like, all your songs not yet sung
You seem not to comprehend
That of experience you are but young
That you are a warhorse facing a novice
A pity for a golden ager not to notice
You are still as I am an apprentice.
A warhorse weapon is neither weak nor strong when faced with a current charge. For charging is not just applicable to cattle. It is also discovered in islands less dominant. But Buddhists don't eat onions. Or do they? Imagination is a fragrance. And a dome dimension in a coffee is a different specie than a frog in an apron. Apparently apparatus ascertains apparitions. But aspersions are best left to a deviant bus driving upside-down on a highway. Highway man of a curve. How cute. How ornate. Haha haha xxxxx ornithological orifices and a multi coloured. Xxxxxx counter intelligence waltzes with multidiscombobulation. Z z z z z z
The madman in the attic with his army of demons turned you into a drifter inside your own purgatory. You become a prowler in this strange world of blackness that consumes the children of madness, turning them into the living dead.
Shinning his torch of hate into the darkness but underestimated that you had too much love to be running blind in the land god gave to Caine you were forever fighting back, taking things to the limit. But in the end the promise he gave you ended up being an Impaler to your lost soul and the overloaded whispered rage took you into the strange world as dark and eerie as Transylvania at night
You wore a mask like the phantom of the opera, hiding in the darkness of this cold world. You began looking for a faith healer to take you away from being another menace to society, into an awakening as a prodigal son. You knew you had to forget about yesterday and just remember tomorrow, so you could turn your world into another life. But the Genghis Khan and all the other killers that lived inside your head keep making you feel like a wrath child. You screamed and screamed feel my pain. You yelled stop the war....the war you fight on the battle zone prepared to die by the gun.
riding upon your warhorse your now running free to your sanctuary
* now I shed metal tears...R.I.P Paul Di Anno