Flying over the front lines
with the French Escadrille Lafayette
a brown and barren belt below
a strip of murdered nature and yet
during the warm months of spring and summer
seeds in the shattered ground would grow
delicate vibrant crimson flowers
in row after row after row
and in those poppy fields
that's how we remember them
all the fallen soldiers
those unforgotten gallant men
tho' Waterloo was won in a day
in a mad minute this battle was waged
while larks sang overhead in the month of May
four weeks and more it raged
before they beat the Hun had them on the run
it soon became apparent to the allied commanders
it's a long way from the playing fields of Eton
to the poppy fields of Flanders
I remembered you
looking at the nose ring ---
of my dear darling
non-stop rat-a-tats
moving targets drop like flies ~
blood-soaked western front
a fierce, friendly fire
soldier retrieves dead comrade ~
own life hangs by thread
The ones as pure as steel
Will never accidentally keel
THE ONE WITH HER
Dropping down into an abyss
Waiting for the soulful caress
Reciting loudly the mugged up prayers
Falling down to deeper trenches
Deeper sores on the soul
Waiting for that arm to cry on
But she didn't seem near.
The daybreak was wondrously clear
Not a respite meagre
Inhabiting with my solitude,
the realm of the day
Growing wider
Maybe the end was nigh
Showing me the fire
Leaving out a sigh
Following to the end of trail
Gathering courage to ask the frail young woman
Turning to me having the familiar light
I learned that she was never out of sight
Just falling a little behind
But always kind
The one winged bird was mended
Gallant again to claim the sky.
Midnight moonbows whet the lake;
Halo whirlpools swirl and swirl.
A little boy’s paper boats
Spur on his dreams, near and far.
Set their course, they will find her
And in turn she’s christening
Panlike path of make believe.
5/14/2020
FINISH LINE IN SEVEN Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Nette Onclaud
Theme #2
Whither the true gentleman who holds the door open for a lady
Whither the noble scout, escorting an elderly matron 'cross the street
Whither the friendly officer who greets me as I pass him on his beat
Whither the shopkeeper who knows my name, who seeks my welfare
Whither chivalry? Where has it fled?
Where are the gallant knights in shining armor today?
The gentleman? --passed on, bidding farewell to a world where he has no place
The noble scout? --become timid and weak, emasculated by equality's
relentless drumbeat
The friendly officer? --grown mean and wary, cowed by violent lawlessness
The shopkeeper? --relic of an age that is no more, replaced by a faceless
superstore
Chivalry? --buried in the annals of history
beside gallant knights in shining armor
languishing in cobweb-covered attics
rusted helmets shuttered forever
Great Things Grow In Gazebo
In gallant gazebo great things grow;
Like my curiosity which you do know;
Do ameliorate;
Not humiliate;
To Trump brain caused a severe blow.
Jim Horn
A gallant, unbidden, appeared one night
inside my room; mere words he never spoke!
He came creeping softly in the moonlight.
A gallant, unbidden, appeared one night
with caresses so sweet I felt it might
have only been a dream once I awoke.
A gallant, unbidden, appeared one night
inside my room. Mere words he never spoke.
Sept. 21, 2017 for Broken Wing's Form U - U Pick the Form Contest
Form is Triolet with ten syllables per line. Word is Unbidden.
Stoked in low;
stoked in high;
Try to reach up;
to that sky.
Your placement here;
Has just been in passing;
It's over now;
Life's not that harassing.
Don't look down;
Too late, don't frown;
Come with me;
We'll have the new town.
Never again;
Shall I turn away;
Never again;
Shall I stray!
I'm leaving now;
I'll see you soon;
Come, let's hurry;
It's almost noon!
Give it a chance;
Give it a stance;
Look at you;
You're in France?
Let me tend;
Let me bend;
It all comes down to this;
My gallant friend!
Show me now;
Show me then;
It is how life goes;
It is The End.
Revised Edition: August 23, 2021, 1:52 PM (EST)
Do any of you out there have a special talents
That are rare like a high wire act requiring balance
Or speaking many languages
Maybe slaying nasty savages
My special talent is being positive and quite gallant
Gallant Scotland's Fame
From Atlantic to North Sea
Ours is land again
With Europe’s largest oil reserves,
Our country again free.
All for Scotland’s freedom stand
Marching in national kilts,
Bagpipers are playing new hymn –
Saluting the country’s rebirth.
Caledonia – Scotland my country
With blue flag as skies above us,
White cross as innocence of Christ,
Independent, faithful and free.
It was my evening, that's
For sure -
"Its your aura"
For sure -
At last I'm good
At something.
"Spot the Equity card!"
"When are you going
To be a superstar?"
Said Sarah.
That seemed to be
The question
On everyone's lips.
At last, at last, at last
I'm good at something.
And so the party...Zoe
Called me...I listened
To her problems;
References
To my innocent face.
Linda said:
"Sally seems elusive
But is in fact,
Accessible;
You're the opposite -
You give to everyone
But are incapable
Of giving in particular."
Madeleine was comparing me
To June Miller;
Descriptions by Nin:
"She does not dare
To be herself..."
Everything I'd always
Wanted to be, I now am.
"...She lives
On the reflections
Of herself in the eyes
Of others...
There is no June
To grasp and know."
I kept getting up to dance
Sally said: "I'm afraid;
You're inscrutable;
You're not just
Blase
Are you?"
I spoke
Of the spells of calm,
And the hysterical
Reactions,
Psychic exhaustion,
Then anxious elation.
"Gallant Festivities was based on two pages of informal journal notes dating from 1982-'83, although all names have been changed.)
Gaily gallant, ride forth over the mountains beat by the rough winds of may,
Ride past the islands and towns in which you can’t stay.
Let the breeze kiss thee face, on thou journey, thou journey home,
And wear the mud proudly on the only clothes thou own.
Keep thy sword sharp and wits sharper, to succumb thy loathsome enemies,
Curse the gales and rough waters of Poseidon which through thee across the sea,
Oh, the stories in which the beggars and sirens will tell once thou reach home,
Pride, fame, reuniting with thy patient wife all of the fortunes thou will own.
Don’t be dazed by the beautiful immortals who call thou name,
And hold strong on your little fragment of hope to keep you sane,
Let the birds sing righteous songs on thou journey home,
Return to the patient wife, and reclaim the thrown in which you own.
NOTE: A young college football player who plays for a team that I follow was seriously hurt this
past weekend. I wrote this poem in honor of that young man and in hopes of a speedy
recovery.
The scarlet warrior with foe in sight,
Stops the advance with all his might.
First, a roar of great celebration;
Then a silencing of the elation.
Prideful eyes from thousands of fans,
Watch attentively with folded hands.
On the ground lies one of their own;
A knight fighting gallantly for his home.
From the banks of the ole Raritan,
Prayers and thoughts for Eric LeGrand.
Representing his school and his state;
Of his courage and valor there’s no debate.
Playing a game he dearly loves;
Blessed with ability given from above.
Now relies on his inner strength,
And all our support to every length.
I only know Eric as a Rutgers’ fan,
But some day would like to shake his hand,
And on that day when he retakes the field,
On my knees, to God, I’ll give thanks and kneel.
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