Best Warme Poems
The night like clouded charcoal scorched,
A sea of trees with starlight torched.
A night where laws are sound asleep,
Anarchic prayers running deep.
Alone I hear the wretched screams
Of screeching trees... or so it seems.
The cries protract into the air,
Without a sound they disappear.
The shrieks have bartered now anew
With sounds of meat and boney chew
Discharging from the faithless trees
And snarling with my memories.
But creatures' gruesome growlings drown.
I smell the gunpowder and frown.
The waging sounds of war advance
In battle stance with gun and lance.
The sounds of bleeding men enhanced,
The sounds of fate and time and chance,
No sooner do they cross the trees
Than fade as all their voices freeze.
But worse than bombshell sounds occur;
The storms, the winds, the thunder stirs.
The roars that shake the forest's roots,
The flowers, soil, and passion fruits
A rainy resonance restocks
The grass the air the woods the rocks
And washes with its dancing tingle
All the sounds that intermingle:
A dreaming forest in the night,
And trapped within its fanfare fright,
It chokes me in its thunder thrill
And hangs me in the silence still,
And hangs me in the silence still.
As the new guy in school, I was blessed to be hanging around a few guys who were
considered "cool." I had gotten the heads-up about "Lee" the school bully. I did what I could
to avoid him totally. That changed one day after gym. On my way to 5th period I literally
bumped into him. I had always been a guy to show brotherly love. It surprised me when he
spun around and gave me a shove. I knew this would be the day to show how tough I was.
Even the other kids in the hall felt the buzz.
Something inside me instantaneously began tearing me apart. I closed my eyes and
listened to my heart. Of course, I could not visibly see spiritually. But something was
happening around me. I felt dizzy and my choices weren't easy. How was I to know several
demons were very busy. I was momentarily blind, and those demons were clawing at my
mind. Screaming "Hit him, hit him" and spiritually pushing me in the back. Yelling in my
inner ear to attack!
While this war was going on in my head, I thought I heard a swoosh as wingspread. I
couldn't see spiritually but hundreds of angels surrounded me with swords of fire that blazed
the color of sapphire. Me and Lee stood toe to toe in the corridor. Spiritually, Michael the
Archangel wagged war. Subconsciously I was aware of other kids standing around in the
background waiting, anticipating my next move.
Now a different softer voice whispered, "You have nothing to prove." Around Michael
and his glorious angels those demons lay dead. A sense of peace filled my head. Slowly the
anger subsided. My decision was decided. I no longer felt spiritually weak this day. I turned
the other cheek and walked away. Behind me I heard no curses and there was no attack. I
could have sworn I felt a pat on my back.....
Note: To a friend who enjoys my "stories".....
I want to explode in Palestine
Like a firework would do
In the blue heavens
I want to shatter my blood like
Pieces of glass
I want to spread my true colors
Like a house the falls into
Bits of rock,
Like the missile that flies from
My enemy’s truck,
I want to explode in Palestine
Tell me,
Tell me now about all these lies
That have clogged my ears
Like a kitchen drain,
That have made me a fool
In my country’s name
Tell me,
Tell me what it means to be
Untamed
To be lost in the memory
Of a child unnamed
For nothing, they say,
Shall ever remain…
Nothing, they say,
Shall ever remain
Not thoughts, not dreams,
Not the feelings inside
Not the souls of the children
That have so innocently died
Tell me Allah, tell me
If it weren’t for you,
Then why…must I ever reside?
I hate it being on point.
My guts they go so tight.
I don"t know what i"ll do,
if i really have to fight.
I creep along the path,
the jungle is so dense.
There is hardly any noise
and the heat is so intense.
My shirt sticks to my back
and my eyes are stung with sweat.
There is not any part of me
that is not soaking wet.
My nerves are jingling bad.
This fear of mine"s a sin.
It must not take control,
i cannot let it win.
I manage one more step,
when the heavens start to rain.
Then Hell joins in as well
and i feel a piercing pain.
My eyes are wide with shock
as my body hits the ground.
The sky is bright, lit up,
in a cacophony of sound.
My fingers feel my blood
and it fills me full of dread.
I am losing so much now
that soon i will be dead.
I have just become a number,
a statistic for the press.
Or even propaganda
to end this bloody mess.
My tour of dutys over.
I did my country proud.
Now they send me home
covered in a shroud.
This small town boys a hero.
Around my toe a tag.
my only badge of honour
inside this body bag.
I"d been here twenty weeks,
a war had to be fought.
But the saddest part of all
is i did not fire a shot.
You have to serve your country,
but let us tell the truth.
Nothing justifies
the killing of your youth.
So let"s salute them all.
For nothings ever won,
and let us not forget
the Mothers of these sons.
But the saddest point of all
and the burden we all share.
Is that everybody knows
that Governments just don"t care!
There now, that got that off my chest.
June 01/1916
So it’s off to war!
By they were glad
Singing and whistling a tune every lad
With a swing of their arms
and a smile on their lips
And a shine in their eyes
For the gals in white slips
So it’s march down to the station
To board for the front
With a hiss and a whistle
And pull and a shunt
Then just one last look
At the girls with a tear in their eyes
We will be home for Christmas
So no need to cry
The Germans can’t shoot straight
Their bullets are rubber
So hold your tears girl
There is no need to blubber
At the front ONE MONTH LATER July 01-1916
Battle of the Somme
So we will dig our trenches
And sleep in the mud
The weather’s quite cold
And the food’s not that good
Sarge blows a whistle
And over we go
One at a time or all in a row
The noise is quite deafening
The bullets whiz by
A strange sort of noise hearing men die
Some they go quickly with not even a whimper
Some take all night caught in the moons
glimmer
Trapped in the wire, trod in the mud
Guts lay beside them leaking life’s blood.
Screams and cry’s
They cut through the cold night air
For a man to end his life this way just don’t seem fair
Please Don’t leave me alone
OH MOTHER PLEASE HELP ME!
I want to go home!
My tummy’s hurting
Please don’t leave me alone
So I lay in my trench, hands over my ears
The rain on my face hiding my tears
While somebody’s father somebody’s son
Somebody’s sweetheart
Who’s life’s just begun
Pleads for his mother to stop his pain
And hold him in her arms
Just once again
But she will never hear
Her boys last request
She will never again see his boyish zest
never to hold him in her arms again
Or ruffle his hair or soothe his pain
‘Whistle Whistle‘
Well there’s no time to day dream
And no time to dither
‘Cause the Sergeant is calling
And so through the mud we must slither
Over the top keep your head down
Try not to trod on those laying down
Past little Jimmy stuck on the fence
This bloody war don’t make any sense
I feel a slight tingle running down my spine
My legs are numb they don’t feel like mine
It’s all going dark now
I think I’ll just lay down here
Feel really tired but mam will soon be here
To tuck me in and ruffle my hair
And tell me a story about ‘Rabbit Brer’
Lights fading fast now
Time to sleep
Good night sweet Jesus
My soul pray you keep
Private Dribble died today
'twas in his 19th year
a nickname's all he left me with,
his name I didn't hear.
He couldn't speak, but as he died
he asked me with his eyes,
to reason out his passing;
find truth among the lies.
His death was less than gallant,
the conflict void of reason,
and rife with chair-borne rangers,
war profiteers, and treason.
So when he left me standing there
condemned to watch him die,
I didn't have an answer for
the simple question,
Why?
Written November, 1969, Nuy Ba Den firebase, Song Be, Viet Nam
Being only man,
Waiting till I die is hard
More than it is long
I walk razor sharp
On the edge of true belief
Bruised with impatience
In a double world
Of sinister partitions
And a squalid mask
Judas has come back
Again in each lukewarm saint
His coming pushed back
I keep but one faith
One longing decrees my will
For the jasper gate
But look, the false throng
Their ancient pretense cuddling
In tensed rituals
So I sag with it
My bleeding feet on the edge
Of the flaming sword
Welcome, just me in
Let me see the primal tree
Shield me from their sin
how many people in your life that have been murdered?
probably none
my grandfather was a war herp
coma tosed
to have his wife a cripple
so i could run away scrambling from bs people for the rest of my life
11 tragic deaths in my life,
my family and friends
and their family and friends dropping like flies
the bills sent for the ambulance ride
leave me wondering why did you even bother come
to pretend to save my life
to wake me up and send me out the door
without being able to thank the people who just kept me alive
4 suicides, and im the lucky one to survive mine
4 murders have taken place in my life
and three tragic accidents
i have no idea what it would belike to see my family smile
theyre all dead
nothing but bs people come to watch me cry
who dont know who i am
never talk to me
and have no time for someone like me
off i go back to the hospital for more poison
and brag about malpractice
my stomache that cant digest any thing without pain or discomfort
but hey off your meds i can finally achieve an ********
love music by the way
the terrorist psychological attack with my name on it
offering me reason after reason to cry
what do i need another excuse to hate you
the politicians i cant contact
the police force harassing me
breaking my door down to ransack
stalking me to hand out tickets
breaking my nose afer a hostage situation
and its the bs people who tell me
trying to kill myself was the right thing
the military doesn't care
but make things happen over night
love watching you walk around in your underwear
at my pity party to be happy for you
but im not
im jealous
i hate you for it
your bs people
like these poetry sites with no clue
nice poem huh?
what a read....
go die
maybe after i get crippled they will have the heart to shoot me
but i doubt it
been raped, and tortured, and drugged, and beat by police, and held hostage
to be cyber stalked and have my accounts compromised
off and on and off and on
for 13 years
go kill yourself
war pig loser nation
what do you want me to say?
i know why people drop bombs now
i truly do
put me in a tank
and suck my d ick
existance is my enemy anyway
i hope he quits bothering to live
screw you face book
and twitter is a terrorist organisation
go ask microsoft
Thuglife is a real thing,
you got children out on the streets playing with guns,
selling drugs and even going so far as to sell themselves for a little bit of money,
thinking that it's cute to be down with the bloods, gd, crips, latin kings, and all the rest.
Thuggin up is the way of life they say,
but here I am as a witness that its not.
I used to run with the gangs,
thought that was hot, it was the stuff.
Friends got shot and I didn't care at the time.
Was a runaway from foster care, and
got busted one day trying to be down with the gang life.
Picked up for shoplifting because the old head told me to,
Placed in a group home, pregnant,
Was an evil young lady and just used to cuss everyone out.
Placement showed me the way and showed me who God is.
Used to get beat by the old head and thought that I deserved it,
I was his property and that's how it went.
Reality kicked in when I got sent to the group home,
Old head left me even though he knew I was pregnant,
Said don't come back till you ready to handle the knifes again,
I didn't play with the guns and glocks, I had knifes instead,
I was glad when I got out and lucky that no one shot me when I did.
It ain't usually that easy to get out of the thuglife,
you either get jumped out or shot up and 9 times out of 10
either way it goes you going to die, because
you know they every move and they scared you going to
snitch. Thuglife aint no joke its a real thing.
Dear John was not what I came to be
It’s a Dear Jane sent to me overseas
As if duty isn’t calling and I have the time to read
It’s only five words that have been written to me
“I love you, I’m sorry,” seems like empty narration
When I’m fighting here for both my country and my nation
Like a bullet piercing through an emptied hollow chest
The pain I feel from the wound lies beneath my Kevlar vest
Words escape my mind and I feel my heartbeat drop
As if my artery is spurting and my blood will not clot
It’s not enough to finish me despite the deadly blow
No matter how much I think I’ll die here all alone
I'll dig my fingers in and I'll fight it every breath
The blackness will not take me this will not be my death
Five years, five words, is that all that I’m worth?
One word a year will be my enduring curse
Love can’t stop a bullet but it can make you bleed
Now I finally realize I’m the only one I need
Why won’t my memory of you fade?
You always said you had my back, but at what cost?
The bullet wound through your chest tells me where we stand-in the middle of a bloody
gang war.
Surrounded by blood and innocent bodies.
I bet I can count the total amount, give me a sec.
3, 15, 50, 200 dead bodies on the ground floor.
What ever happened to our dreams-living the millionaire dollar life, when all we have is
thirty cents in our back pocket?
We stood together ‘till the end, but what now?
I really don’t want to get shot.
At least not like you did-by your own girl who just happened to be in a gang war.
We knew our luck wouldn’t last forever, chasing and snatching dreams with no failures.
Even now,
as I see you on the ground, as I hear the gun shots, as I see bodies falling, I can safely
say “We’re the luckiest people alive.”
Greatest of military men, Carthage's son, bright and bold
Took the elephants of war over the Pyrenees frozen cold
And would delay the Gentile's time fulfilling when the race
Stood proud, under your command of the second Punic war
But then that Africanus, your student with love displaced
Entered North Africa, to plunder, to maim, and there to scar
Except you had relinquished pride for love of native land
To find your Waterloo at Judas unwaning hand in the sand
Tell me how you conquered Spain again, tell me how Iberia
Under Africa's constellation slipped from darkness and hysteria
Into confidence and light; Tell me about Bithynia's fast fleet
That routed the Pergamons, and revenged Antiochus plight
Look now how Alexander, Caesar, Napolean, before your feet
Lay their laurels, and in Tunisia old men eyes gleamed light
When your name is called, but where is your grave, great one?
How past all mighty empires in the dusk of the setting sun?
DREAMS OF A KOSOVO GIRL
KOSOVO 1999
Can you tell me where my friends have gone?
I've so many things I have to share
of rock guitar, and building on
a dream that hides away somewhere.
Can you tell me where they took my friends?
I know I heard some shots that day
it is the sound that never ends,
here in my mind, it's there to stay.
Can you tell me what that smoke might be,
over the hill where I used to live?
It looks like hope removed from me
does life not have some more to give?
Can you tell me where my youth has gone?
I would fall in love, if only I could,
but seeing life, as life goes on,
I wonder if I ever should.
He had loyalty
He had honor
He had me
And a daughter
But being the man he was
With pride and good will
He gave himself up
To the stars and stripes
I remember him saying
Don’t worry I’ll be fine
And he would look away
And I’d be crying
He gave me his word that he would be back
He wanted to be a firefighter after the war
But god had other plans
And a notice came to my door
Saying
He had loyalty
He had honor
To the wife
And to the daughter
He said before he was shot
To give this to you
It’s not much
But it will do
He loves you both
And wants you to remember him
So with that
I give you this
And inside the package that came with the letter
Was a plaque that read
This man was loyal
This man was honor
Drover Dick
by Don Johnson
Brisbane..Australia.
Our Colonel was Dick Marson,
on the New Guinea campaign,
He was for us, old Drover Dick,
who down the Cooper came. ..........Aussie cattle rustler (duffer)
The one who rode with Redford, the cattle
duffer mate.
They took a thousand head, to South ......from Queensland to Adeliade SA
Australia straight.
This man who was our hero, was a first war
veteran true.
He led us up the Kokoda trail, we'd take tea
with a Jap or two.
The bursting shrapnel sliced his gut,
his stomach it dropped out.
There was no doctor to stitch him up,
just the Muleteer about.
I had used a mule team in the Middle East,
with the Second Twenty Fifth.
We took supplies to the troops at least,
till they blew my mules to bits.
I used to stitch their packs up,
and counter line them too.
Old Dick knew I could do the job, to make
him good as new.
So he said just send for Johno, to put me
guts in straight.
The muleteer can counterline,
or I'll be just crowbait.
I blanket stitched him mate, was as neat as
I could be.
He stood erect said, "That's first rate"
then he called out....
"Follow me !" .........As my father of the 2/25th battalion told me about the ww2
New Guinea, September 1942.. Aussies versus the Japanese.....Kokoda trail..