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 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.”
PTSD
Here we go again, reality is setting in, or is it?What is it?
It sometimes feels more like a dream, not the pleasant fairytale kind, but of the nightmare genre.
Gotta go back to ga-ga land, back to where Alice lives.
My way to cope, there's no hope there, but it's tolerable.
Stuporville, is better than that other world, the place that war dropped me off and deserted me.
I no longer have identity. I've been labeled shellshocked and crazy. Missing in action, left behind, a prisoner of war.
Another casualty, wounded, carrying a hidden, nasty scar forever.
Got DNA that says yep, that's him, but my friends don't recognize me, heck, I don't recognize me.
Has anyone here seen my old friend John, I just turned around and he was gone.
They say I'm getting better, time heals all, increase the zombie pills, make him fall, back to the future, but not the past, my world is spinning so so fast. What year is it anyway. Put him into therapy, with others like him, misery loves company you know. Maybe I should go back, find myself, or the part I left there. Does anybody care?Well I know my mother still does. I can tell by hugs that don't want to let me go, and tears that say" I know, I know". I hate to see her cry. Sometimes I wish I would just die. Spin the wheel, a one in six chance, this could be your very last dance. You got to pay to play though. Goodbye MIA, so long POW, tag me KIA. "Click", Uh-oh, here we go again, chased by madness and guilt, blood spilt, war is hell, do tell.
Reality is setting in, or is it?
Don’t even try to woo me
I can resist you
My mind is fortified
Reason screams reasons to be careful
Caution goes off in flares
My mind is alert
Aware
I can resist you
Oh, but my body
My body plays traitor...
My eyes adore you….
they take in every detail
of your face
your body
every contour and muscle
every masculine trait of virility
Your lips…my eyes linger on your lips
And make love to them……
My eyes speak surrender
My hands tremble
and give me away
I clasp them together…tight
knuckles white
For in another minute
they would escape and seek sanctuary on your body
Caressing your cheeks, your chin
they would travel down your neck
feeling the protruding strength as you swallow
they would take ecstatic trips across the expanse of your chest
Finally moving around your waist to pull you in
My teeth bite my lips
in an effort to keep my tongue imprisoned
for it longs to be unleashed
to run along the lines of your face
to slide on your lips...wetting them with want
making them part
so that it can dip inside your mouth and play
to lose its way
all over your body
I can resist you
My mind is fighting valiantly
to keep my body in check
Oh, but I feel damp desire spread
in the heat of your presence
As you move closer
Looking down into my eyes
I exhale the pent up emotions
brought on by the ripples of anticipation
longing for a touch
that I want so much
and my body's ablaze
this passion craze
Floods my face
rosy red
I can’t look away
and you smile
a warm slow smile
You smile
knowing the battle of mind over body
is about to end
my body will yield
submit in surrender
because your fierce made me tender
And so with the confidence and grace
of a seasoned soldier
you move in for the kill
agile with thrill
you hand tilts my chin up
and your mouth covers mine
smothering the words of protest
the mind has sent as last minute backup
you hold me up
crushed against your enveloping body
as I collapse into your arms
My mind?
prisoner of war
gagged and bound
empty of thought
ravaged by sensations
As you work your way
to your final victory claim
Knowing as you do
That you
Are
irresistible
to
ME
Eileen Manassian
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.
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…
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.
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
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!