I am the silence when the broadleaf sleeps,
The jagged fortress that the winter keeps.
They call me "Holly," but my roots run deep
In the hard promise that I swear to keep.
I do not soften when the daylight fails;
My leaves are leather, sharpened into scales.
I watched the maples blaze and spend their gold,
Then stand in silvered ruin, bare and cold.
I watched the frail rose wither on the vine,
But the red jewel in my crown is mine.
When all the forest yields its vital hue,
My green is staunch, my crimson is true.
The birds seek shelter in my thorny shade,
A small, dark refuge where no sound is made.
The hungry deer will pass my branches by,
Respecting armor raised up to the sky.
My strength is not in height, but in my spine,
A steady, ancient, militant design.
I am the token pulled in from the wood,
To mark the season that is understood.
I wait for spring, but never bow to fear,
The bright, bold heart of the turning year.
All aboard the bizarre Farage barge..
Unless of course you are from abroad..
.
Narcissist catalyst.. old school fraud..discord twist..
Can't resist.. staging the raging red mist..
Fist of Mob rule tryst does persist..
Depraved raves..insist..craved faves..
Won't save slaves & knaves..
Hellbent they are sent..
To graves under the waves…
Foolish votes for ghoulish gloats..
Seedier media leaders lying..
Defying the dying..
Folks crying..ghastly ghostly boats..
Crude jokes delude..lewd masterstrokes denude..
Corporate rascal castle debacle floats..
On dank murky murderous moats..
Scuffles.. muffles ruffles & kerfuffles
Pokes & provokes just for bank notes..
The ubiquity of inequity
This poem or tome..
Every face…race should be.
Free to roam..
In this place..
We all call home..
A
mute
poet
wonders why
seeds from soulful words
fail to blossom his lotus voice.
A silent knight jousting against his militant muse,
whose armour is a sword of metaphors piercing verses to bleed through poetic forms.
Militant
They say the only good thing, besides invention that comes out of winning a war is the ability to brag about your heroic feats along with your comrades.
What can I add to a dead man's grave
Should it be flowers or just some words that they said
Awful as it seems there's nothing as grand
As the feeling of relief when you bury a friend
Knowing their demons have all been released
Watching them fly you know your friend found their peace
The Adage “every time you hear a bell
Another angel gets out of hell”
Was obviously created by the survivors of a fight
For those who won by losing their life
There are those who can stand and those who can't
Yet all will follow the universal chant
We know who we are the “beaten and maimed”
And we remember the ones who died from the chains
Why is retaliation is no longer allowed?
Because we will grant the devil choice of his crowd
And pray then too our mighty holy lord
That if we are chosen, he will sharpen our swords
And if it is time for the war of this world
Please keep in mind it will be won by the girls.
Boko haram terrorists
Times without number
A neighbourhood unsettling with a bomber,
Their grabbed territories
Zones of a thousand worries!
A people in panic
Piteously plan their escapes route,
Their pursuers, a manic,
Who must them funnily shoot!
It’s a horizon of unthinkable sleep
And the digging of graves not decently deep:
It’s a constant brandishing of a superior weapon
That precious lives make a lottery coupon.
North-East Nigeria to forever a story tell
That Borno was once a plain cell,
Each is increasingly a militant
Not convinced that innocent lives are important.
Excellent kidnappers they’ve got
And Suicide Bombers a lot:
It’s a pant welcoming an explosive,
Whose impact is a monster:
It’s wearer, an unbelievable youngster,
Obsessed with destructions, extensive.
Crazily, every Boko Haram
Takes non-adherent for a ram,
To readily his daughter
Slaughter and quarter
For a voiced and heard “Blood of Jesus”
What an Islamization of Nigeria
That should True Muslims anger in Algeria …
Hilga was militant,
Inflexible, unflappable,
Morbidly so.
She was so strict, being with her
made the hair on my
legs stand at attention.
She was abrupt to the
Brink of unkind, yet had no idea
Of this.
When Hilga was ready to retire
She had no place to go.
No family, no garden,
No man,
No child,
No yard.
Just a small empty
Apartment on a
Boulevard.
A kind, caring, co-worker
Wanted to throw her a little
Party. We attached it to a
Faculty meeting, so people
Would show.
Best day of Hilga’s life.
She had never had a party
Before. Watching her have
Fun was so much fun,
Some of us did not go out the
Door.
We took her out night-clubbing
Until a quarter to four. She
Left with a man name of Henry
Bee Dee.
Oops. Correction. We lost
Sight of her at a quarter til three.
She came back to school for
A week and a day, and she
Was a whole new Hilga,
And ready to play!
Resilient to Militant
There may be many who will become militant
To our programs so we must be resilient
Bouncing back with both feet on the ground
So we will end up safe, secure and sound.
Success should achieve as well as assume
Being sure for progress to allow some room
So that every time that the end is in sight
We will have happiness along with delight.
My hair has turned grey and may be receding
But forward and on I shall still try to be leading
All of America the proud who apparently do
Want to help everyone's dreams to come true.
In times of toil and trouble in a campaign
Where they complain enough to drive you insane
My brain has a bell that often bongs and rings
Saying start seeing other bright side of things.
Jim Horn
You're a heart militant
you've kidnapped my
heart at instant
now am needing you like
an infant
it doesn't matter if you're
distant
as long as this feeling is
intact..
Am feeling like William
Shakespeare
now you know why am
rhyming without fear
am doing this cos i care
okay lets be fair
i feel on top-the-roof
when you're here
Anytime i call,and you
answer
you make me feel like a
break-dancer
even your smile is the
radiation that cures
cancer
You are a supernatural
gift from above
cos you descend on me
like a dove
i promise to keep it burning
like stove
These are my words and
expression
i pray they create nice
feelings and good
impression...
if nonchalant meant blithe unconcern
the militant florist arced the bouquet
through the air like some Olympian
athlete with the greatest chalance
the muscled biceps rotated smoothly
with grace and purpose as the
petaled red and blue grenade of
flora with ferns hurtled toward you
the florist then alone, stood erect
not watching the flowers as they
curved the baby-blue sky to you,
but at you, to see if you would
catch the meaning and catch
the cellophaned caress of love
elegantly presented before you or
allow it to strike unbiased ground
love, whether thrown or carefully
handed over, is still a beautiful
gesture from one to another and
common as sunrise, rare as gold
© Goode Guy 2011-07-04
inspired by an image
http://www.banksy.co.uk/indoors/flowerchucker.html
Yes, I know "chalance" isn't a word....'til now. ;-)
Today's pain
is tomorrow's gain
My Hustle
is yesterday's struggle
High rates of death
increasing like inflation
This is a dedication
for those who died for our nation
This goes out for that father
who earns his honest living
So he joins the Army of One
& his only thoughts is killing
Thumping of a 50 Cal'
while the M4 clapping
I remember soldiers
used to prepare for a war
that will never happen
Thunderous marching by troops
about to set it off
Loud Boisterious voices
of cadence sounding off
If you don't have GOD
you better have some spritually
Everything you've seen in your nightmares
is now a reality
Fighting to live, as we live to fight
brothers in Arms, as we all unite
Forty-rounds through the chamber
the barrel hot like the sun
cold steel rips through flesh
or you can die by the gun!!!
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.