Long Medals Poems
Long Medals Poems. Below are the most popular long Medals by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Medals poems by poem length and keyword.
With the Sun's knock they opened their eyes
"wow azure sky and bright sun in the chilly December."
That was a normal day in school
Nothing was wrong with anything
Students gathered in the main hall
Were taking lessons on First Aid
Suddenly there was bang....
And then not one or two but seven
Heavily armed terrorists entered the hall...
"Say your prayer, for your angels of deaths are here"
They opened fire, shooting in all directions...
Screems, bullets, blood, and bodies everywhere.
It was a mini doomsday... A Qayamh in Peshawar
The devils then moved to the classes
A teacher was trying to protect her pupils,
She was burnt in front of her students
Then commandos arrived and killed the monsters,
But the damage was done..
149 died that day
144 were young students
Youngest was a six gear old named Khola
They left homes smiling, with dreams in the eyes
but were brought back with holes in the bodies
Many mothers lost their minds
Many survivors still in trauma
A boy Waleed Khan received 8 bullets
Six of them in the face. He said,
"My scars are my medals, I wear them with pride,
I am a survivor, No one can scare me"
It's been six years,
Yet the scar on our hearts is fresh
The pain won't go
The smell of innocent blood is still in the air
Again it's 16th December
Their last day in school
The last day that wasn't ment to be
Sshh Listen!
Can you hear them in the air...
December 15th, 2020
A school in Peshawar was attacked six years ago. Terrorists didnt intend to take hostages but to kill only. It ws a terrible day
In the twilight of my melancholy existence, love savors its bravery, like a vulture allergic to the suspicious aspects of ephemeral glamour, in a final macabre choreography.
On the edge of the precipice of my dramatic choices, my sacrifices reveal the artifices of their curses, but also the selfishness of their spiritual benefits in the face of the imposture of the supposed crucifixion of Jesus Christ.
The eloquence of my silence allowed my innocence to resist the violence of arrogance.
The tyranny of hegemony and the xenophobia of foreigners breed racial savagery and imperialist barbarism, while Western supremacy is transformed into a burlesque comedy trivializing negrophobia.
Suffering generates sentences, but sometimes repentance opens the way to independence, so that insolence can never turn into condescension.
Between the medals and the funerals, between the reunions and the reprisals, battles grip the rudder of my destiny, with a range of tortures.
My emotions oscillate between devotion to justice and the promotion of disbelief, urgently seeking remission of my transgressions, before the purification of the flames of hell plunges my divine spark into the furnaces of illumination.
The liberation of my ambitions contributed to the strengthening of my convictions, so that my determination unleashed the full extent of my potential.
My distance from dementia is minimal, even if the angel of death exempts me for the moment from the penances of the eternal abyss, my blasphemies sow the seeds of a new hope.
The history of my people is the memory of its victories and the grimoire of its disappointments,
Despite the decline of the pharaohs, the savagery of slavery and the barbarity of colonization, she taught me saving lessons so that my Africanness could flourish throughout the Earth.
In the permanent search for truth and sincerity, I aspire to freedom, equality and fraternity,
To a serenity, far from the vanities that humanity loves to adulate to forget its fragilities.
Between my feelings and their punishments, stands the sanctuary of the last judgment, their compliments obscure the lights of my cosmic atom.
In the quarrels of my past, the aftereffects persist, recalling the rebellious periods of my tormented soul.
I will never trust human beings, even if immortal love challenges my conscience.
Mikey is an Invictus man,
Gets many medals in archery,
Sporty and keen he continues,
From his previous Army career.
In the Queens Dragoons Guards,
Whilst training he got stuck, fell,
From a rope bridge: broken neck,
Spine, and paralysed from chest.
Help for Heroes helped him live,
He joined the recovery programme,
Several sports took him clean:
Cycling and Ironman triathlons.
But the moment he held a bow,
He knew that archery was his,
To reap with and to sow, build,
To elevate his wins and attempts.
And he was so good at it, supreme,
That HfH asked him to start, set up,
An archery programme for them,
At Phoenix House Recovery Centre.
He took individual bronze, Invictus,
And also team gold. In Holland,
He won a solid individual gold,
And also the team bronze, in 2015.
In Czechoslovak Mikey landed,
The team with a bronze to boast,
And is determined a medal to win,
In Rio, at the Summer Paralympics.
He was born on the 20th of July,
In the year 1975, crude rock days,
And lives in St Martins, Shropshire,
Shooting at Scorton Archery Club.
The Shield and the Light
In a city of smoke and frozen walls,
A fragile boy, with a heart of steel,
Watched the world shatter before evil,
Dreaming that justice could prevail.
A world that deemed him too weak,
Too small, too frail, too insignificant…
But the heart knows no bounds.
He longed to be more than himself,
To be the voice of the voiceless,
The strong arm for the defenseless.
And on a night in the laboratory,
Beneath fluorescent light,
Under the gaze of scientists and hope,
A symbol was born.
Courage was not measured in muscle,
But in the way one faces fear.
Every step into battle was a declaration:
“Though I tremble, I will move forward.”
And in his eyes burned a fire
That shadows could never quench.
He bears not only a shield of vibranium,
But the shield of hope and justice,
Raised against the storms of the world,
Against tyranny that shakes cities,
Against hatred that strikes like an unseen sword.
When soldiers fell,
He rose;
When the world groaned under injustice,
He spoke silently through his deeds:
“Do not let fear define you.”
His courage was more than a weapon,
It was a light that penetrates hearts
And awakens what lay dormant:
The hope that goodness can triumph,
Even when shadows are thick,
Even when the world seems lost.
Justice is not the law alone,
nor is honor a mere shield polished and hung on a wall.
It is the fire that burns quietly
in the chest of the one who stands,
even when all others kneel.
Steve Rogers learned early
that to fight the battles that matter
is to carry the weight of more than his own soul.
Every choice he made was a testament:
To protect those who cannot protect themselves,
To uphold truth when lies crawl like serpents,
To speak when silence is easier.
He walked into the chaos of war,
not because it was glamorous,
but because injustice wore a cruel mask,
and someone had to tear it down.
The cries of the oppressed were not mere whispers,
they were a drumbeat calling him forward,
demanding courage beyond his own fears.
Honor is a lonely road.
It asks you to reject shortcuts,
to refuse the temptations of compromise,
to stand when everyone else falters.
Yet it is the road that creates heroes,
not by glory or medals,
but by the quiet insistence of doing right,
even when no one watches.
After
By Michelle Morris
25/10/2022
They spend so much time
Focusing on the task
Training for the acts
But no time is ever spent
On preparing us for the
After
After the graduation
After the medals are won
After the wars
After enlisted life
After the mission
After the confirmation
After the wins
After the losses
After the births
After the deaths
After the goodbyes
After the hellos
After the marriage
After the divorce
After the dream is achieved
After the dream has been shattered
After the "they lived happily ever after"
So many "after" moments
But somehow we are ill prepared for
Life and
Death and
Everything in between
Do you know what to do after?
After all
It is your life
And you only get
One shot at it
Aim true
Aim high
Aim big
Aim pure
© Michelle Morris, 2022
That little girl, Toula, in third
grade stood,
Tears falling down her red face.
Because she had only won bronze
and third place.
Ah, what a disgrace!
Older Toula today, still looks at it
with chagrin.
Though decades have passed,
that very same medal, still does
her ravishing soul in.
She never got over not being at
the top.
Though her life is one of enormous
successes, and anything but flops!
The mystery is, why not throw
that medal away?
Toula still looks at it everyday.
Because....It always keeps her
reaching for the stars.
Not desiring to be part of the crowd.
No, not ever!
Just being her own gleaming feldspar.
One day with God..humbly and forever.
6/23/2019
8am PST
I stood
at the century-old gate
of my high school Alma mater
on Sunday morn last summer;
Excited as if I had a date.
I saw
people passing by;
The old folks recalled me,
Yes, they recalled me with glee.
And I humbly knew why.
I gazed
at the benches made of stone
beside the Marcos building,
where we used to sit and sing
as if the place was our own.
I smiled
as I set my eyes at the hall
where we performed comic plays
that brought laughters in many ways
to the audience, big and small.
I recalled
the honours on us bestowed,
the medals -silver and gold;
the warm applause of young and old
that gave our parents something to behold.
I pondered
these things in my brain,
the changes from places,
to people's faces;
Only memories remain.
BRIAN'S SELECT 2,any form,any theme
Contest Judged: 6/3/2020 5:58:00 AM
Sponsored by: Brian Strand
1st Place
I, Too, Sing America (and did so in my diapers!)
by Michael R. Burch
I, too, served my country,
first as a tyke, then as a toddler, later as a rambunctious boy,
growing up on military bases around the world,
making friends only to leave them,
saluting the flag through veils of tears,
time and time again ...
In defense of my country,
I too did my awesome duty –
cursing the Communists,
confronting Them in backyard battles where They slunk around disguised as my sniggling Sisters,
while always demonstrating the immense courage
to start my small life over and over again
whenever Uncle Sam called ...
Building and rebuilding my shattered psyche,
such as it was,
dealing with PTSD (preschool traumatic stress disorder)
without the adornments of medals, ribbons or epaulets,
serving without pay,
following my father’s gruffly barked orders,
however ill-advised ...
A true warrior!
Will you salute me?
I hope my “small” attempt at humor will help readers remember the sacrifices made by the spouses, children and extended families of our valiant servicemen and women. It was not easy making friends only to lose them, time and time again, as I grew up a “military brat” on American air bases around the globe. I really did make sacrifices for my country, while winning every battle against the “communists” in our back yard.
Keywords/Tags: Memorial Day, military brat, service, war, duty, honor, heroism, soldiers, army, navy, air force, marines, child, childhood, children
Three-hundred bodies shrouded in the snow -
stiff symbols of man's evil painted red.
Did horror freeze on the faces also
of women, men and kids who simply fled?
They ran from men outnumbering each one
of them and who with mountain guns shot dead
the half of them who had no chance to run!
Imagine fleeing, filled with so much dread.
Two miles some women ran to get away.
Unarmed and innocent, they must have pled
when found, but troopers shot them anyway.
At one dead woman's breast, a child still fed!
Some boys who hid were told they would be spared
if they'd come forth, but they were circled by
a number of cruel soldiers when they dared
to show themselves. Those beasts wished them to die.
The boys were butchered; then they lay in mud
along with their good fathers once so strong,
Ravines and hills were running with their blood,
and vanished now would be their Ghost Dance song.
This happened in my homeland of the free
but not so brave, yet twenty medals went
to men who took part in that killing spree
(said honor given by the government).
That cold bleak morning, few of them survived.
For white folks, though, a great new century
was just ahead, but all the dreams had died
for those Lacotas killed at Wounded Knee.
For Anthony Biaanco's Guns Contest
Susie was inspired by the Beijing Paralympics,
To pursue her talent at swimming, to train hard,
So she was classified as an S7, deformed limbs,
And won three medals in London, one in Rio.
She has a BA in languages from Newcastle,
Which she uses in her British Council work,
And first appeared in Berlin city at the Euros,
In Germany’s 2011 IPC Championships.
In London she won freestyle bronze 100m,
Another bronze for the 400 metres freestyle,
And yet another bronze for the 4x100m relay,
Also free - it’s where you do the front crawl.
In the French city of Montreal in Canada,
Quebec, Susie secured 1 gold and 4 silvers,
Gold for the 4x100m freestyle relay 34pts,
Silvers for 50, 100, 400 free and for 50 fly.
In 2014 in Eindhoven in the Netherlands,
Susie took five golds: the 50m butterfly,
The 50, 100 and the 400 metres freestyle,
And another for the 100m freestyle relay.
Then in Glasgow at the IPC Worlds 2015,
Susie won a gold 4x100m medley relay,
Also a bronze for the 100 metres freestyle,
So Funchal 2016 (Euros) came naturally.
In Funchal which exists on Madeira island,
Susie took five golds: the 50 metres butterfly,
The 50m, the 100m and the 400m freestyle,
And another for the medley relay, the 100m.
So in Rio she rejoiced when she won gold,
In the 50m butterfly in a time of 35.07 secs;
She could not believe it because she’s 33,
And intended to retire after London 2012.