Long Cold war Poems
Long Cold war Poems. Below are the most popular long Cold war by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Cold war poems by poem length and keyword.
I was born on July 20, 1958.
Being one of seven children and having a mid-summer birthday, even as a young boy, it was
not uncommon for my birthdays to come and go without much fanfare.
In the winter of my Fifth Grade year at school, we had an assignment to write a short-story.
I was already in love with writing way back then. My short story was on a topic that was
very much in the news at that time and a very interesting and exciting theme for a young
boy. I wrote a short story about me being the youngest astronaut in the space program and
being selected to be the first astronaut to walk on the moon. I was aware at the time, that
the US and USSR were in a Cold War race to be the first country to achieve that lofty goal
and I knew it was bound to happen soon. To make my story even more special, I wrote that
this wonderful event would take place over the coming summer, on my birthday!
Well, lo and behold, as the winter turned to spring and spring turned into summer the Apollo
11 space mission launched from Cape Canaveral carrying three astronauts, two of whom
were targeted to walk on the moon.
As my 11th birthday approached, without any notice from anyone else, I watched in awe as
the Apollo 11 made its way to the moon. On July 20th, 1969, the lunar landing module,
Eagle, set down on the moon! I remember expectantly waiting for the astronauts to be given
permission to exit the Eagle and step foot on the moon’s surface as the hours of my birthday
ticked down.
It was about 10:00 pm eastern time when my parents finally sent us all to bed on the news
that Mission Control made the decision to wait until the next day to send Neil Armstrong out
of the lunar module. With tears in my eyes, I went to bed thinking that I missed my chance
to share my birthday with history and to have had my short story prognostication come true.
At a few minutes before 11:00 my parents woke all of us up to come watch as Neil
Armstrong could wait no longer and talked Mission Control into letting him walk on the moon
without further delay.
So, at about 11:00 pm, on my 11th birthday, the men from Apollo 11 walked on the moon for
the first time in history. One small step for man and one giant link to history for one small
boy in Charleston, West Virginia.
And, that is when 11 became my favorite number.
We were the USA all tried and true
red, white and blue in 1952
our archenemy, our nemesis was the USSR
we despised them
We were capitalism, they were communism
we kids knew that we needed to win the space race
there was much cheering for our astronauts
We thought we were ahead
Lots of propaganda said we were anyway
The Berlin Blockade and Cuban Missile Crisis were on the news
There were McCarthy trials for writers and actors in Hollywood
USA children were taught to despise the USSR
The USSR was our enemy; it was okay to hate them
We knew they were bad, even if we did not know how
The cold war did not include actual fighting
But it sure did include propaganda and espionage
words 128
I know you are here.
I can feel you,
In the tips of my fingers when I pass through the path
Broken now by soldiers of summer that once swished strong bayonet’s
Fighting a cold war before resting on the icy ground
For I am blind to you,
I can’t see you
Blighted with my fathers curse to confuse you with others
But I know you are here.
I can taste you,
In the chestnuts that swarm in the heat of the marketplace
A buzzing of warmth from a natural source
A bubbling coffee to heat tired eyes
Yes, I am blind
But not as you think
Colour blind
This doesn’t mean I let you fall from my sight.
Elvis has left the building.
West Berlin, a significant place
Where life was lived at a frantic pace.
Me and Old Elvis together through the night
In those days when I saw things
In stark black or white,
And me and Old Elvis Singing The Blues
As I got pretend stonked on smuggled in booze,
And me and Old Elvis both gave thanks
That those nearby Ruskies, sat in their tanks,
Hadn't loaded up, cocked and opened fire
To blast away those miles of border razor wire
So their T54's could roll on down
To unite again this four part divided town.
It had been one hell of a long day
Convincing the locals we were here to stay
Counteracting the rumour the Comrades put about
That Froggs, Pomms and Yanks were all pulling out.
And now me and Old Elvis on the night shift
Music, fags, pretend booze giving me a lift
Heartbreak Hotel, Blue Suede Shoes
As me Old Elvis listened to AFN News
Kenneday and Kruschev juggling nuclear knives
Not very mindful of loss of millions of lives
Both of them seemed to be trying so hard
To be top dog in the big school yard.
Me and Old Elvis sitting through the night
Just waiting for the coming dawn's light,
The morning sun burning away the mist
So l could go and get properly Brahms and Liszt.
Night watch shift listening to the blues
One of the perks, I got to choose.
Me and Old Elvis holding the line
Duty Watch commander,
British Army Of The Rhine.
West Berlin 1962
Another night watch finally through!
One of those things I just don't bother to wear
The chocolate medal awarded for just being there
God how l loved my days of the long Cold War
They just don't make 'em like that anymore.
Elvis has left the building the Cold War long gone,
We still don't have the sense to quietly move on.
It seems to me these days egos have got bigger
And too many fingers rest on too many triggers.
And Elvis finally left the building
Don't you understand what I'm trying to say
Can't you feel the fears I'm feeling today?
If the button is pushed, there's no runnin' away
There'll be no one to save with the world in a grave
Take a look around you boy, it's bound to scare you, boy
And you tell me
Over and over and over again, my friend
How you don't believe
We're on the eve of destruction
Eve of Destruction sung by Barry McGuire
World War III
Could we on the verge?
Is this another cold war?
Will it end badly?
All it takes is a wrong word,
itchy finger, Russian coup,
a single accident and the world
will end in fire followed
by a long cold nuclear winter.
There will be no one left
to write poetry
Through the eyes of one born in 1952:
1950’s TV craze
Muscle cars, blue jeans
Poodle skirts, class ring exchanges
Simple time, grandparents involved.
Girls want to be pretty, men call women girls
I Love Lucy
Topper, Loretta Young,
Show of Shows
Grandma’s house on Sundays. Grandpa’s teach skills.
Girls want to be beautiful, men call women “dames”
1960’s Marauding cold war
Russia cosmonauts
Space race
Grandparents are moved to nursing homes.
Girls want to be Jackie, men call women “wife”
JFK and Bobby
Dr. Martin Luther King
Killed by cowards
Grandparents give advice, but visits are more seldom.
Girls want to be housewives, men call women back home.
Early 1970’s, hippie revolution
Egyptian cat queen make-up, free love, anti-war.
Barbara Streisand, Sonny and Cher, Bette Midler,
Grandparents see an alarming pattern of disrespect.
Girls want to be singers and dancers, men get confused.
1980’s
Fur vests, striped pants
Disco Music, John Travolta, Sundays are just another day.
Grandparents have rights, and try to get part time custody of their grandchildren.
Women want to have rights, be independent. Men call them “busters”
1990’s, Turn of everything, selfishness on the rise.
Assassination of Innocence, church and family are scoffed.
Grandparents back off, not daring to give advice, seeing it is not wanted.
Women are working all over the place. Men are not the only bread-winners.
2000’s Computers are in houses
Children are alone, latch key
911 happens, people pray for a day or two.
Grandparents are nowhere around.
Men and women get depressed; children are too.
2010’s
I-phone. I-pad, I-know. I, me, I, I, I.
Lawsuits, lawlessness, spiritually bereft.
Communication breakdown; facetime grandparents once in a pink moon (rarely).
People sit next to each other and text. Confusion reigns supreme.
Breaking down of family is complete. Sorrowful, angry people, disjointed, sad.
Words are Going Missing
Words are going missing……and no one seems to care!!
Red lined!! Redacted!!! Clandestinely subtracted!!
Their meanings have been undermined
to alter documents - long signed
cater to the lunacy
that altered words will set us free.
Words are being conjured…gene splicing gone awry
because our conversations may be heard by passersby,
someone may be offended
because our language wasn’t blended
certified as neutralized
words no longer “Super Sized”.
Words are being muffled….silenced by the mob
demanding that we serve them – fresh corn- without the cob.
Words are being “weaponized” – the arming of perception
a conversational “Cold War” – exchanges of deception.
Words are going missing……gaps upon the pages
trapped within this horror…….a poet’s heart still rages.
John G. Lawless
12/1/2015
IN AND OF SYNDROME AWARENESS
Time to overcome
This dread Oppressor Syndrome’s
Large, self-killing sum:-
Self-oppression devastates:
Cancel the syndrome’s mistakes:-
Come revolution,
Heal syndrome’s devolution:
Curing delusion:-
It's time for revolution:
Let’s get to liberation:-
We’ve survived much worse,
Of the oppressor’s damned curse;
Now’s too, we must burst:-
Streaming justice back here,
Let’s get going without fear:-
We must get through this;
Can’t lose hope and be remiss:-
Chains, we must resist:-
This cold war, too, must be done;
Liberty claimed and won:-
Struggling years lay ahead,
Election chains must be shed;
Let’s put fear to bed:-
Let’s claim our democracy,
And our equanimity!
Fine November evening in 1964, when rocket ships were in vogue.
This one was no different, except it had been built by my family
As an escape device, in case the Cold War became a hot one.
We were afraid of Russia, of course. And the atom bomb.
A dragon sky of many hues winked in the distance;
She was blowing fire to the west, in the form of a sunset
Our red ruby rocket stood ready, in full launch mode.
All we had to do was add fuel and push the button.
Will we land in Saturn or Mars? We wondered. But Daddy was silent.
He said not to worry, but this was the sixties. People were assassinated.
The mist upon the turquoise lake gave me a feeling of calm.
Surely the Russians were not going to push the button tonight. Right?
What a year – Tim was just a little boy of 25 – naïve and
Lost in ‘innocence’ a critical time bomb waiting to happen
Blue-eyed he listened to Nena’s 99 Red Balloons flying high
While Band Aid wondered whether They Know it’s Christmas
Sticking plaster for an ignorant conscience
Plasters cast for broken souls and hunger
Summer Olympics in Los Angeles the world disunited
As the Soviet Union boycotted the Festival of Youth
Hollywood and Universal Studios Footloose competed
With The Killing Fields for consumption and Oscars
Dancing in full view of the Apocalypse
Khmer Rouge and Holding Out for a Hero
Miner’s Strike in Great Britain with Margaret Thatcher’s
Heavy handbag crushing legitimate opposition’s pickets
Reagan became ‘acting’ president and Space Shuttle discovered
That we have only have one lonely planet so we must muck it up
Cold War awaited nuclear freeze and
Hiroshima was declared a minor aberration
Metallica roared Blitzkrieg inferno and Armageddon
Iraq fought Iran and guess who was supporting whom
The US supplied Saddam Hussein with poison gas while
In Afghanistan they supported Taliban and Mujahedeen
‘The enemy of our foe is our good friend’
Coalitions must change freely in axes of evil
George Orwell comes to mind with Eurasia Oceania and
Eastasia altering alliances but then history must be forbidden
It can mislead young minds and wars have to be waged
For the sake of gory glory and self-righteous delight
Who reads books anyway and why and for what
They might seduce us to hail love and compassion
In 1984 Tim longed for flowers in hair scribbled Peace signs
On flare bottom jeans 20 years past The Sound of Silence
Had not mustered the courage yet to challenge the inevitable
Collusion of his inactivity with happy murder for money and oil
Slowly though he finds his belligerent voice and
Concludes that the 80’s offer more than nostalgia