Long Prisoner of war Poems
Long Prisoner of war Poems. Below are the most popular long Prisoner of war by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Prisoner of war poems by poem length and keyword.
in prisoner of war is in prisoner of liberty
a prisoner's war is a prisoner's liberty
in honor is in prisoner of liberty
in honor is in prisoner of war
in honor,in prison,in war
honor is honor's bond of honor
honor is honor's bond of war
honor is honor's bond of a prisoner
prisoner is prisoner's bond
prisoner is prisoner's bond at war
in bond,in prisoner,in war
a bond of liberty is a bond of war
in liberty,in bond,in war
we stand,we stand in honor
we stand,we stand in war
we stand,we stand in liberty
we stand in prisoner of war
what we stand is between honor and war
what we stand is between prisoner and war
we stand in war
we stand in honor
A mother of eight
Left to raise them on her own
Damn that man...for dying
And leaving her lost, alone
A soldier of valor
Stood his ground in the face of fear
Now, he is court marshaled
For the lies they wanted to hear
A child hides in a closet
Hearing every thwack of the belt
Fighting the concern welling up
To be experienced, processed, felt
.......no grid
Pain beyond measure
Racks the prisoner of war
Trying to get through the moment
Til there will be no more
.......breath
Relief doesn't come
In fact, it builds and festers
Til the filters, ideals, beliefs
Are sequestered
.......to show themselves
and .........Give an account
to WHO?????
If one has no reason
And finds no need to question
Life is just a series of events
A journey without suggestion
Hmmm....what's that like?
Written by Trudy Schrader on 01-06-2019
Note: I have always had a grid. My encounter with TRUTH at 18 months set my path. Here I am now, faced with a truth I had never considered...it's a gift; therefore, compassion is necessary for understanding. I hope I have entered into the Grid deep enough to provide insight.
BECAREFUL WITH INSTALLING
XBOX SYSTEMS TO SMART
TVS HACKERS ARE WAITING
TO HACK INTO YOUR WIFI
HACKING INTO EMAILS SAD
PLACE THE BEST THING IS
TO TO BUY THE ORIGINAL
BALLY MS PAC MAN THEY
DO NOT NEED A WIFI ACCOUNT
MY TV EXPLODED MY
GRANDSON IN TEARS AS
CORRUPTION TERRORISES
US ONCE AGAIN DATA
BREACHES ON 7 YEAR OLD
CHILDREN VERY SCARY I AM
NOW STUCK ON A BREATHING
MACHINE PANIC ATTACKS IN
MY SLEEP I CAN ACTUALLY HEAR
STALKERS HACKER EXTRACTING
DATA FROM MY BRAIN THERE
ARE TIMES I FORCE MYSELF
TO ENTER CAVES UNDER THE
MOUNTAINS OF ISREAL I AM
SURROUNDED BY KINGS OF
JERUSALEM I FEEL SAFE AWAY
FROM STALKERS DOMESTIC
TERRORISTS FEAR AND PANIC
MY HEART IS QUITE ENLARGED
AGAIN CHEST HURT RIBS SWOLLEN
AS MY ANXIETY REACHES AN
ODD POINT KNOW THESE KILLERS
WERE DESPERATE ENOUGH TO
HACK MY GRANDSONS VIDEO
GAME SYSTEM ALLAH ARKBAR
ONLY ISIS TERRORISTS WOULD
ATTACK A 7 TEAR OLDS XBOX
FOR SPORT LEAVING THREATS
KILLED IN ACTION PRISONER OF WAR
P.O.W K.I.A BY AN XBOX GAME U.S.A
CORRUPTION FEASTING ON VIETNAM
VETERAN AND THIER FAMILIES
COMPLETE TERROR IN AMERICA
TWISTED THREATS INVASION OF
PRIVACY SEVERE CIVIL RIGHTS
BREACH LAWLESSNESS CARRIED
OUT ON A VIDEO GAME SYSTEM
HOW SAFE ARE WE HERE
VULNERABLE TO HACKERS
BULLIES IDENTITY THIEVES
His name was Lattie McGee.
I never met him, and he never met me,
but he touched my life in a profound way
when I saw his face on the news one day.
His little body was bruised and battered,
every bone in this child was broken or shattered.
He was tortured to death at the age of four,
on the south side of Chicago, like a prisoner of war.
He was beaten, he was gagged, then hung upside down.
He was burned, he was starved, and then he was bound
inside a dark closet to hang there and die,
for no one heard the little boy cry, no one heard the little boy cry.
Thirty years to life, Johnny Campbell received.
He showed no remorse, he never even grieved
for the tiny boy named Lattie McGee
who died so young and so tragically.
If the time ever comes for Johnny to be free,
I pray the parole board will look at him and see
that no man who tortured a child that way,
should ever again see the light of day.
Let him suffer alone, let him rot in his cell!
For what he did to Lattie, may he burn in hell!
Before he takes his last breath, before he can state his case,
I hope that he sees Lattie’s innocent face.
May he look terror in the eyes, may he feel Lattie’s pain.
May he struggle to survive, but let it be in vain.
When the last light goes out before Johnny Campbell dies,
may he forever and ever, hear Lattie’s cries…
forever and ever, hear Lattie’s cries…
Gradma singing her passionate Neapolitan songs
from a balcony adorned with scarlet roses...her deep voice
not a soprano's, but delightful and expressed in humaneness;
her long golden hair brushed by the summer's aromatic breeze,
to spark a new passion in her lively blue eyes!
And has she ever told anyone about
carrying along that secret?
When grandpa left Italy, in clandestine disguise,
for a long, hopeful jeouney to America in the late thirties,
grandma sacrificed and suffered much; and when the Nazis
invaded the peaceful town of Baiano,
grandma made trips to the small mill in Arciano,
to grind grain and make her delicious bread:
encountering many dangers and fears ahead...
making her the heroine History won't recognize!
Have the historians overlooked her incredible courage,
and let her carry along that secret?
Women and young ladies, including grandma, adored
the handsome and fearless man Mussolini,
who resuscitated the old concept of the Roman Empire with evil ways...
manipulating the puppet' hands of the loyal Fascisti;
woe to me, if I had lived and rebelled in those dreadful days:
I would have been imprisoned and possibly been killed!
Out of grief and anger, I speak against
every injustice and not carry along that secret!
My uncle, Stefano, was taken to England by the British
as a prisoner of war...a coerced man so torn;
and Emma a kind-hearted English woman ,
and a lovely nurse with an impeccable humanity,
visited him often and brought him a home-cooked dish;
someting wonderful could have bloomed between them...
but all records and details have been lost instead,
and mine rely entirely on faded pictured filled with memory!
What unthinkable steps, the dictators of this earth take, to gain
their day in an unpromising sun: suddenly power and pride...gone;
Hitler's land devastated by the armies of justice...
with no shot-down bodies falling into self-dug ditches!
Powerful people could have prevented this inhumane slaughter with haste,
but silently watched them die... carrying along that secret!
Prisoner Of War
Caught in your draft
With no uniform
Facing battle
Of a new form
Never was much
For walking in line
Yet the earth shifted
This round is mine
Was not warned
Never warned before
Captured as your
Prisoner of war
Fought my battles
Seen loved ones lost
Paid the prices
Suffered the costs
Done the routines
Got tough in the rain
Mastered the art
Of sucking up pain
But I was not warned
Never warned before
Captured as your
Prisoner of war
March, march
keep in line
Suck it up princess
This isn't the time
Not here, not now
This ain't the place
Smack a smile
Upon your face
Caught in your draft
Out of uniform
What battle is this
Where did you come from?
For falling in love
Ain't ever had the time
So take your grenade
Get out of my mine
Was never warned
Never warned before
Captured as your
Prisioner of war
March, march
Stay in line
This ain't the place
It ain't the time
Suck it up beauty
You haven't got the right
You're not allowed to fall
In love tonight
Was not warned
Never warned of you
Captured as your
POW
Never warned before
Now a prisioner
Your prisioner of war
From my younger days as a prisoner of war,
to my last days on the planet Tralfamadore,
with my traveling through time, I have no control.
Both good and bad episodes have taken their toll.
I am passing through time as easily as air.
In one moment, I’m here, and another, I’m there.
Please tell me, why am I being tortured like this?
My capture, plane crash, and wife’s death I reminisce.
I live through the bombing of a German city.
My wife dies while she is on her way to meet me.
On another world, I’m in a menagerie.
A beautiful, but dumb, woman is matched with me.
We live and love together. She has my baby.
I’m killed by my adversary, Paul Lazzaro.
The cause of my problem is what I want to know.
The dilemma I’m in has been causing me strife.
I would give anything to live a normal life.
Based on the novel "Slaughterhouse Five" by the late Kurt Vonnegut, Jr.
I can never comply with fastidious hygiene
Try as thee most persuasive person might,
he/him, she/her,
they, them... can never wean
yours truly always objected
being told when to bathe/shower
particularly when puberty
found yours truly a tween
and my mother (deceased eighteen
plus years - sess her bowl),
she exerted authority
and told her "take a bath,
or no supper"
analogous to a queen,
strict disciplinarian to boot
who wedded her king
(my late father) at age nineteen
the latter (day saint) quite keen
nevertheless both experienced
love towards each other
and tricked out their progeny
(myself included) with halloween
getup, I vaguely recall Amelie Beth
(their eldest daughter -
older sister of mine)
donned as an angel
lighting up night sky, an empyrean
permanent heavenly fixture
popular through Byzantine
epoch, which blinded
her brother (me),
cuz yours truly, the devil in disguise.
Here I sit scores of decades
now edging closer to the edge of night,
and approaching those twilight years
remembering protesting vehemently
(way past the bewitching hour)
not wanting to wash myself
in the tub (water frigid cold), I write
how mother dearest,
whose presence I wanted to smite
this puny progeny
grappling as a neophyte
whose Lilliputian stature
(when a prepubescent)
a over five feet in height
who when constantly
teased courtesy bullies
ran back to ma mommy
whose son totally affright.
If employed in social services field, why
the above might justifiably
smack of insubordination
hashtagging me as Pigpen thereby
wharf fare prompting me
to cleanse myself diving off a Quai
in an effort for Peanuts gallery
to accept yours truly well nigh
but unfortunately
getting mistakenly captured
as a prisoner of war
forced by Japanese to construct
two parallel bridges spanning
the river Kwai
as part of Burma Railway,
also called the Death Railway,
for the many lives
lost in its construction,
but my daring do,
(and boyish good looks)
found yours truly
whisked away to the island of Hawaii,
where hula dancers
choreographed, entranced, and finessed
their seductive routines
a native lass smitten courtesy
one wily word wizard
whose courage bucked up
after munching powder milk biscuits
taken as mistress
helped beget our daughter,
who became apple of mine eye.
Shriveled toes moving forth on muddled brown soil,
sending chills down the morose spine of brutalities.
Three hundred and fifty four days numbed in tyranny,
she crossed them in white on demeaned prison walls.
On twelfth of May, paced 20 yards in 20 guarded strides,
she now gleams her tattered uniform in jubilant pride.
Time to fly back to her nest like a migratory bird,
her chained hands released from blood red scuffles.
Chapped lips spill her bravery in rubies of free verse,
her solitude of raging strength somersaults as music,
her feet cleanse carpets of buried ashes in emerald blue.
Behold! A warrior glides over asleep pastures of onyx,
golden hues awaken rustling leaves in pearly drizzles,
lilac sunrise embraces her freedom veiled in sepia light,
rising spirits back in homeland, roars the prisoner of war.
Information used highlighted in bold:
Poem Name: Solitude
Written on: May 12, 2020
Views: 354 as on June 19, 2020
Type: Free Verse
Written on June 19, 2020
Views For Poems Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Funom Makama
~Winner: 4th Place
A woman who lost everything she owns stands there
by the waterfront where the waves beat upon the shore.
The woman-transformed-***** is a prisoner of war
being carried to the foreign land of an enemy general
across the sea; she cries ceaselessly tears in her eyes
for the unbearable sorrow, she barks fiercely in intolerable anger.
In the eyes of the woman who gazes up
the top of heaven from the bottom of the deepest sea.
She sees the last images of her blood-stained husband,
her dear sons and daughters, died in agony.
For her husband, she shared everything she owned;
for her children, she cradled and lulled them in her bosom to raise—
except for one son who was abandoned in the field at the time of his infancy because of an oracular ill omen.
All these sorrows are unwanted bitter memories to recall, crueler than
the cruelest fate for a woman to undergo.
Now, she climbs higher up the mast
to appeal to her deep inner heart’s mortification;
to let others see her transmuted figure, an ugly *****,
her annoying bark reaches to the furthest point of the sea.
Is Amphitrite heard her heartrending cry?
For the ship lists by the billow Poseidon rises,
alas, but then, she loses her balance and falls
to the deck vomiting blood, she ends her pathetic life;
this *****’s resentment tossed by the raging waves,
at the end, was thrown upon the shore and became a standing rock.
The rock beckons the ships that pass the straits to tell her grudge,
but to the heedless seafarers’ ears it sounds like the mere surges
that come and hit the rock. However, at times, it sounds
in their ears, like a ***** barking feebly from her bleeding heart
because of all her puppies are taken away;
that’s why, legend says,
the sailors called this rock “the poor *****’s rock.”