Hard Fought Poems | Examples

Blur

Try to find good in each day
It helps me along my way 
I look around
Trying to see where I'm bound
Hope one day I'll be found
Sometimes not so sure
Life's a blur
Anger in my heart
Won't let it tear me apart
I have to be better than that
Pulling a smile out of my hat
Concentrating not on what's bad
That makes me sad
Sometimes it is hard
Especially if my soul feels jarred
Lost in a world full of hate
Looking for a clean slate
When I'm down
I refuse to drown
Stuck in a thought
Hard fought
Your mind 
I find
Is a rough place to get lost
Pain is usually the cost
Hard to separate 
Love and hate
Fate
Fear leaves you stuck on the same page
Rage
Leads down an empty road
Doubles your load
Step away
Open the door to a new day
Try to smile
It will help after awhile 
Make it your style.

Autonomy

I did not understand what this word meant. 
Why was it important? 
I read the definition  “self-directing freedom, especially moral independence”
A word that had meaning but carried no weight.  
No never meant no. It meant a laugh, a sneer or worse was completely ignored. 
Rights were something given to those who “deserved” them. 
White men who somehow just by nature of pigmentation and gender could take what they wanted and do whatever harm they pleased. 
Autonomy was for the chosen ones I thought. 
A word made up for others.  

My life completely changed not long ago. A hard fought struggle for something I didn’t think existed. I looked and saw it there with me.  “self-directing freedom, especially moral independence” 
I didn’t recognize it at first. 
Then it came to me.  Autonomy.  :)

Tormented Poet

When words have fled there's empty space
That echoes with nothing deemed stellar
No simple idea to embrace
Profundity gone it seems forever.

When chaos of life has intruded
Thoughts scrambled into tangled web
Creativity lost as mind's eye brooded
Blank page ignites emotions reason fled.

Ocean waves ebb and low with ease
Tormented poet desires tranquil pen
Dexterous words make readers believe
Hard-fought verse is legacy for men.

WRITTEN IN PSYCHEDELIC INK

WRITTEN IN PSYCHEDELIC INK

Wrongly chosen words convey naught
Creating impressions of the wrong sort 
Even when inspiring lines deny empathy
Especially showing contempt for simile
Causing bloody battles to be hard fought

It’s errors despite what has been taught
As some confusion can still be wrought
An innocent mistake rather than villainy
And ink is the black blood of metaphor

Such a psychedelic tone can’t be bought
When the brain is ordered hard to port
Bad interpretation is the hidden enemy
Betrayed in the garden of Gethsemane
Sometimes a poetic drift is never caught
And ink is the black blood of metaphor

Line 4

Beauty

So, what is Beauty?

One may say
it is the rose

another, perhaps, would say
luscious lips, and a cute ski nose

a loving mother would say
definitely her children

a proud father would say
his horses and hard-fought
land – 

God will always say
His Son

and His Son 
called Man

Incremental

one
slowly
adds, hard fought
with persistence
until much
feels like
naught


----------

A Sept, a seven line poem with syllable counts of 1/2/3/4/3/2/1

This Little World of England

Strange how we accept the lies.
Strange how we ignore the cries.

It’s strange watching fascists claim their pride for soldiers who died fighting for what they now justify.
It’s strange how we allow the lessons learned in our hard fought history to be snubbed for what the elitists ‘earn’?

Strange how we live our lives, ignoring the plight of our people as long as ‘us’ and ‘ours’ , ‘me’ and ‘mine’ can survive.

It’s strange what we’ve become. Accepting lies and deceit as the word of rule. Accepting the needless loss of so many lives and watching the destruction of our greatest institution before our eyes. 

We will be remembered as the generations of life who were fooled, who were weak, who were broken by Tory lies.

Stay the Course

No deeply rooted history,
nor implied ordered liberty,
abortion, gutted like a trout,
dismembered, lies there, bleeding out.

Hyperbole is through the roof,
a million times more fun than truth,
and so all things report as true;
they’re coming for gay marriage, too.

The court is not deciding fates;
that can is kicked back to the states.
Now each will rank on published lists:
abortive destination trips.

Chasm widens on the issue:
right to life or useless tissue.
More than ever, we decide
to separate and to divide.

Pro-life Christians must up their game,
not being pro-life just in name.
This is a war, if one will dare,
‘gainst darker forces in the air.

Though victory, hard-fought, was won,
this, a mere skirmish, not that one.
Though joined to us in life and pain,
till His return, work still remains.

With hope, we see a foretaste grand
of life preserved throughout the land.
He is our motivating force,
so we press on, we stay the course.

Refusing Diligence, To Do Even Basic Math

Refusing Diligence, To Do Even Basic Math

Why do we too oft blindly walk a deep, darken path
Through the volleys of arrows shot by Fate's mighty wrath
When in this wicked world, we could accept light's reprieve
By opening both heart and eyes to truth thus perceive
That darkness rests within our souls, all flesh is the same
That glaring fact, ensuing battles are no mere game.

Why do we too oft blindly walk a deep, darken path
Refusing diligence to do even basic math
When from within, we feel those hard-fought battles raging
It is a war and true enemies we are engaging
Thus 'tis folly to not recognize that fierce-some foe
And find,  accepting evil allow darkness to grow.

Why this glaring reality do we too oft deny,
If not in our souls, darkness hides waiting to Light defy?

Robert J. Lindley, 11- 04- 1978, 
edited 7-12-2003, 6-02-2022
Sonnet 

Note:
Tis a somber reality that we too oft embrace life as a game,
Not seeing in youth, that it is our rashness we must tame.

These Woman

They are the softeners
Voicing breezy sweet.
Alleviating all at once
Living; and its heat.

Softeners; strengtheners;
Shady tree's head-rest!
Dulling the twin pains beneath;
World's; its hard-fought test.

Excerpt From the Compilation Prayer, Number 8, Sensitivity, Curiousity, Intelligence

Excerpts from the compilation: “Prayer” 8
Sensitivity, Curiousity, Intelligence

I wish that we can all practice nurturing 
and nourishing 
our Sensitivity, 
Never stop being Curious 
and asking uncomfortable questions,
Have the courage to wake up 
and use our Intelligence 
And take great care 
that we are not “Numbed” or “Overwhelmed”.
Especially:
By the huge amount of companies, apps and services
That “apparently” cost us nothing,
But whose (not so secret) objectives are 
To hypnotise, control, manipulate and sell – 
Especially to our children.
Or by the endless amount of mostly, 
sensation seeking media
Controlled by the spectres, 
some of whom we call leaders, 
That work best in the shadows
And only trust the light of day
When they hide behind their grand titles 
and practiced, smiling masks, 
Feeding their hungry egos and lust for power 
By creating separation, 
Panic, drama 
and questionable regulations and laws.
Who together
Are slowly, secretly removing our hard fought
Foundations and monuments of freedom:
Brick by brick...

© Sangeet Portals 2020

The Well

I dip from my well whenever I am lonely
I pull from this well every time I feel lost
It is my secured secret hiding place only
Excavating this hole came with a high cost

It was hand-dug; covered with an old wood plank
The water is now putrid and too moldy to drink
It was my grandpapa’s well; I have him to thank
I pour in a bottle of bleach to help cover the stink

I don’t pull it to drink it; it’s not for consumption
I use it on my green garden; especially the plants
I like knowing that it is still in prime operation
It kills the crawling pests; including the fire ants

My well is a treasure trove of long-gone memories
Ten generations relied on the spring water it gave
I will not fill it in; It has seen tragedies and victories
It was dug with human labor by long-ago slaves

My well knows my voice; yet, will not make a sound
I look down its stony neck for creative inspiration
To me, it is more than just a dark hole in the ground
It stands on hard-fought land for future generations

Stones

The scene is of a damaged car, stained with blood
attracting people who gather to form a long cord
help is urgently needed but the hearts of men are bored
acting like the victim has been banned by God
the only response is a rush of snapshots on the Ford.

Skimpy and on high heels, so obvious is this beauty
who passes through a gang with minds so dirty
whistles and smacking- young boys in full blown banditry
she resists, but on her body, they begin a party
her hard-fought escape finally comes through, but void of pity.

A letter is dropped in front of 542 on a beautiful day
from 543 comes this grandma who reads it in foul play
she peeps through her intruding window- oh no way!
Tears the entire envelope and in the nearest bin the pieces lay
she hurries back to 543 after condemning her neighbour's pay.

A city without compassion, people acting as drones
humanity is hurt, the heart is replaced with bones
robbing peter to kill Paul, extending same to Jones
connectivity only existing between gadgets and phones
humans don't live here, it is a town full of stones.

To Climb a Mountain

To Climb a Mountain


                      Snow capped mountains...Ascending to the skies
                                    Perilous journey...Hard fought
                                    Gods' grace awaits...Praise him

Lest Flanders Was Alive Come 11 November

Where once the mighty timid
Flanders soldier shook

Bathed in foriegn mud underfoot

All but one and two a man

Hard fought and pressed with bayonets clenched in hand abreast
expedient beating pumping chest

Side by side shoulder deep

To breach to cross go over top

To run and face a hail of rapid bullets

And fall beside my brethren brother's
called selflessly to arms

For to return name unknown 

With all and but medal to hang
and place my life and times upon

Heroic not in death and historic
battles rolled out come 
rememberance day for poppy 
sales

But rather in the blood of gallant 
resplendent regimental fellow
soldiers saved

Who regail the the tales and 
uphold the memories and names 
of those solent brave

To whom they owe their own 
salvation and lives to this day to

To them we say

We kneel 
We bow
We must
We shall salute

Lest we forget 

Unless forget we lest

The debt of gratitude yet still not paid

Is the price of peace

Is death and war

• Short Hard Fought Poems
• Famous Hard Fought Poems
• Best Hard Fought Poems
• Read Hard Fought Poems
• Long Hard Fought Poems
• Hard Fought Quotes