Best Weapon Poems
"No Weapon Formed Shall Prosper Against Me"
(Isaiah 54:17)
When the slings and arrows in a torrent come my way,
when the sticks and stones are used on the same day,
I know who stands with me insuring victory, for
"No weapon formed shall prosper against me!"
If I must stand alone against ten thousand men,
I will stand my ground and shout "Bring It Then!"
Do what must be done but know this clearly,
"No weapon formed shall prosper against me!"
If it comes with fire, I will douse it with rain!
Whenever it attacks it'll be defeated again!
It'll never know the sweet taste of victory, for
"No weapon formed shall prosper against me!"
Bravery and courage on life's battlefield,
requires knowing when to battle and when to yield!
Though I walk through the shadow of death valley,
"No weapon formed shall prosper against me!"
HE who stands with me has a double edged sword!
HE's a warrior GOD who is named the LORD!
Omnipotent is HE and I courageously decree, that
"No weapon formed shall prosper against me!"
WTA-IV 4/19/2016
There was an old chap from Toledo
Who took meds for his bad libido
One pill made him fast!
Two pills helped him last!
With three, he surpassed a torpedo !!
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The church we sought to find a home in no longer exist.
Our courage is strong, our future belongs to temptation consisting sin.
Woods cut and gathered with selfless labor shall provide us a ship.
This is where I realized that Noah was wrong let the story begin....
The bible has been written by other humans and not by god himself,
If that were the case this place we call earth would surely be squashed by his thumb:
If Noah was chosen by the lord himself why wasn't there taken a vote.
Only those true to the cause, who never broken a law are the only ones who can travel afloat.
If you ask me workers with skills, hunters, doctors, and authors had to be put on the boat.
Waves. collided with storm, some fell overboard, and disease killing the most.
This was not a story written down in the bible, it was clearly a religious joke.
Finally a sigh, purely blue sky. God questioned himself an said this must be why.
After the glory of Independence wore off,
cold came with hunger, sickness with coughs.
Prolonged by sinister thoughts.
Tundra frozen softened, by mayflower drops.
Searching for freedom of religion has fueled actions of the devil himself.
Natives survived years beyond measure and offered to help.
Simple measures of using world greatest treasures,
are kind to share if all is replenished.
Rivers provide water to fish, drink, and refresh.
All mother earth asks is to be shared and respected.
In the name of any religion, sins are forgiven
mothers love fathers, and together form children.
God is good, life can be better.
jesus sacrificed his life for happiness of others.
Where did it all go wrong?
Roses are red
violets are blue
Your mouth is rubber
My feelings are glue
Why must you hate
I haven't a clue
Your narcissistic
Negative mind
Affects us too
Every time
Soon you'll find
Yourself alone
But before I go
I've got one more poem
Sticks and stones
May break my bones
But your words really f****** hurt
For every time I wake, another day
A chance there is to live another way
To right the wrongs injustice came to know
No more the songs of hate to be on show
Feel the world, heal the world
Make the love the weapon that’s unfurled
Oh, if we stop and take the time to care
Imagine if we took the time to share
To help someone we meet along the way
Put down the gun and then begin to say
Heal the world, feel the world
Make love the weapon that’s unfurled
To the fighting men and women and to all military personnel,
I only want to wish for you safety and God keep you well.
We are proud of what you do and you are always in our thoughts and mind,
I am working on a weapon too that when you shoot someone with it they turn
from mean to kind.
My Mean To Kind (M.T.K.) weapon is nearly done.
I’m in a hurry so I can produce enough for everyone.
Just point my M.T.K. and zap them once or twice.
The more the zap the more the nice.
No more blood will either side ever let,
Maybe just an honest days worth of sweat.
How cool will that be to finally bury the grudge,
And sit down with your enemy over a hot chocolate sundae with fudge.
Instead of a hateful staring glare,
Just zap him once and end warfare.
Heck I may just zap myself again,
I’ll zap you too and you can be my friend.
He finds himself among the dead,
the moving parts
of armored columns,
His hands are guns
his eyes are guns
His mind a weapon he points.
Drink raw vodka,
laugh and joke with the dead,
for they all saw the beast,
the clanking grinding machine
they marched away to war inside it
they know it, it speaks to them
behind their closed eyes.
Courage comrades, steady,
we are the harvesting of death.
We have weaponized the dead,
hammered swords from shears,
for the Motherland.
He staggers away from himself,
smoke still fuming from the muzzle
of his hot mouth
while other’s step carefully over
his broken cadaver.
War without weapon
=================
War takes place with
The help of weapons,
Weapons win or fighters win.
God alone knows.
Can a fight take place
Without weapons?
Yes, fights do take place
Without weapons.
The weapon is your mouth.
At times the words
Come out of your mouth
Are more painful than the
Wounds created by swords.
Sharp weapon is nothing Compared to sharp mouth.
The wound created by a weapon can be healed.
But not the pain created by words.
Words and swords
Hardly any difference
Except the 's' in front of sword
Both are capable of the same job, hurting people
Also, both words and swords
Can help people in their own way and style.
Good and comforting words
Are a great solace to humans.
Similarly, swords can be used
For useful cuttings
Armed with stolen kiss
A breathless moment
Echo with star sprinkle
Without gunpowder by a higher power
The simple beauty
Juicy fruity
A signature of love
As conquered the world
~ Thugs all together ~
10.09.2017
Sun :) - A-L Andresen :)
Copyright © All Rights Reserved
The horned helmet of the dawn has met my sight
They’re shouting loudly, that I’m wrong – I’m right
The sky is putting on the armour of mournful clouds
I’m man with weapon I’m not farmer let someone shouts.
I’ve taken sword with hand of vengeance I’ve taken shield
I’ve never seen the kind angels and I have built
the ship to sail in land of Glory to seek and find
And maybe I will tell this story for famous Skald.
The morning’s giving me direction to be the One
I’m waiting so for satisfaction my will be done
I carry woes and pain and fury on peak of sword
I want to win I want it truly to be the lord.
I’ll share the blood without the weeping there is no choice
I hear myself that death is creeping I hear the noise
of battle and I kill with smile I’m tough as stone
I see the dead they stand like file I see the dawn.
final dismount, final ride
pasture waits for dappled roan
girth mark of the lonely byways
lather from the battles flown
dew eyed weary, spinal backed
stumble step'd and nostril blown...
stirrup brass with bugle hung
faded strap and leather worn
bridle twisted, crackled spur
broken packboard, blanket torn
carbine scabbard, saddle sore
salt and stain wrung round the horn...
cosmoline and splintered stock
powder burned and pointed lead
flashpan crusted, blackened sight
ramrod tamped and barrel fed
faceless names etched in the action
thunder echoed, eardrums bled...
now the rider, less the man
mustered out a thousand suns
restless eye and palsied hand
scattered mind behind the gun
drumbeat sigh and breaking heart
no true glory grasped and won...
in the world
of the world
in joy's cascade as much as grief
season turns
while seasons end
wind blows down the autumn leaf.
In every war
propaganda has spread
many lies and fabrication
to rally support and justify war
to a misguided nation
Feeding fear hate and patriotic pride
for lawful genocide.
Power self interest and greed
motivate those in the shadows
to sell their souls
and squabble like fat pigs
from the overflowing troth of profits
from which they feed.
The real enemy is not
The man women or child
on the street
but Satan
through the powers that be
that lurk in the shadows
in obscurity.
Peter Dome.copyright.2014.March.
Hand a pen ,break the silence.
Let the world hear our voice.
Write a song, create a poem.
Hand the tool for our future.
This is the high time to act, to react.
Too many people, too many lives.
Had wasted and gone so fast.
Through terrorism's act,attack.
Hand a pen, tell the world.
Children are suffering around the globe.
No food, no shelter,no clothes.
Will there be a future,where is hope?
Nation stands over nations.
No clear visions, full of illusions.
Poverty seems has no solution.
Industries causing pollution.
Hand a pen, speak your mind.
Royals are ruling,ruining lives.
Dictators,parliaments,ministries.
Why they can't solve these miseries?
No division, fair consumption.
Spread the wealth in proper distribution.
No partiality, kill crabmentallity.
Pull each other hands to serenity, equality.
Light the torch, spread the news.
This is the moment to hear our views.
Wear the weapon of restoration.
Hand a pen, make a new dimension.
A moth to the heart of the light, flamed
A memory semi-precious, almost alive
A random arced flight of a bullet not aimed
A gymnastic crimson misted dusty dive.
An event striking elsewhere, a country un-named
His memories stop, awards to come; cease,
Mass shock, horror, and politics blamed
Kind words at his funeral, sandwiches and teas.
His very last printed picture has a small hole in it,
Then something red…
Then nothing...
but
useless,
unfocused,
light.
( Based on an event where a photo-journalist that I knew, was killed in a war )
Fire-blown mounds of ash do swirl
About a charred pathetic doll
With one surviving dead man’s eye
Whose eyelid flickers back no more
Torn up like a tethered fox
Mail-shirt bloody, helmet gone
Sinking in the ooze of death
Upon the hungry battle-mire
A crash of sliding masonry
As a church wall mourns
The king’s hall burns forlorn
Like the world tree
Laying low at land anchor
A survivor peers across the muddy field
Naked trees like sticks
He retreats into a ditch
As, drifting from the smoke,
The ghosts of a viking host march forth
Wolf-creations, struggle-weary
Bloodied axes hanging
The spy lies back
Earworn by gnarled yarling
Considers the greed of man
Where no church or school
Might ever stand again
And, with muddy water in his ears,
He tries to remember better years
Rowing across a goose-fed mere
With a curvesome lady companion
How they found a golden bed
Hidden in the lofty reeds
Where, with finches twittering, they made love
With full warm tenderness
And the breeze rippled across the water
The thud of heavy boots
A song not overmood
Wakes the warrior from his dream
As, with black-toothed grin and priest's gold chain,
A bearded carl raises his sword
And, with a curdling roar,
Thrusts it into the lover’s heart.