Sentinel
the sentinel
was not able
to complete the message.
ghosts released from shade
advanced in formation
across the well of dreams.
one dead sentinel
who saw their faces.
we know them only
by their backs
poem by Doug Bentley
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Wolfpack
Howling the pack in formation appears
Diamonds and clubs, light misted fog, the dead
Waving us back in formation,
The pack in formation
Bowling they bat as a group
And the leader is seen - so early...
The pack on their backs, the fighters
Through misty the waving - the pack in formation
Far reaching waves
On sight, shone right
I lay as if in surround...
All enmeshing, hovering...
The milder I gaze
All the animals laying trail
Beyond the bough winds
Mild the reflecting electricity eyes...
Tears, the life that was ours
Grows sharper and stronger away and beyond
Short wheeling - fresh spring
Gripped with blanched bones - moaned
Magnesium, proverbs and sobs...
Howling the pack in formation appears
Diamonds and clubs, light misted fog, the dead
Waving us back in formation,
The pack in formation...
song performed by by Pink Floyd
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Sentinel
As if he were a statuette,
The meerkat struck a pose,
Without a frown, without a fret,
Serene with upturned nose...
He was like some superhero,
Cape blowing in the breeze,
While he stood firm, looked high and low,
With no thought to appease...
The meerkat was the Sentinel -
The first to raise alarm,
Called on to be reliable,
So others could stay calm...
He was the Captain in control,
The General standing guard,
The Brigadier whose heart and soul
Kept vigil long and hard.
The Sentinel's experience
Helped others take their ease
And through maintained resilience,
He stood steadfast for peace.
One meerkat can make the difference!
A hero through and through...
If he can take a noble stance,
Then why on Earth can't you! ?
The poem is based on the magnificent painting
by Stephen Gayford called 'The Sentinel'.
More Stephen Gayford poems:
denis-martindale-dot-blogspot-dot-com
poem by Denis Martindale
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The Sentinel
I'm not a Buddha boy
I'm not a Muslim man
I'm not a Christian or a Jew
I'm not a Mormon freak
I'm not a Catholic geek
And I'm nothing at all like you
My mind, my heart, my soul is calm
While I sit here sauteriing my c-2 bomb
Got some wires crossed
In my twisted head
Connect the green wire here or was it red?
Cause it's my fate
I operate on hate
I go by many other names
But now
I am the sentinel
I want the world to know
I'm sending you all to hell
I'm tired and I'm wired here to blow
There's something disturbing
Going on in my turban
I'm home, home on dethe range
I feel my meditation so deep within
While my medication's kicking in
Cause it's my fate
I operate on hate
I go by many other names
But now
I am the sentinel
I want the world to know
I'm sending you all to hell
I'm tired and I'm wired here to blow
I am the sentinel
I want the world to know
I'm sending you all to hell
I'm tired and I'm wired here to blow
song performed by by Alice Cooper
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Sentinel
Each flower is a sentinel of God,
And ev'ry tree and ev'ry grassblade. Not
An unseen little stem, but that will stand
And wait and shine, and never ask wherefore
It came and why it has to whither. Thou
Art such a sentinel, O Heart! Thou hast
To stand and bloom and love beside the others,
And wither when thy work is done, the spot
Being given to another, whereupon
Thou standest. And that other heart is growing
And blooming into life beneath thy shade,
As strong as thine, as ruby-red as thine,
To wither and to fall beneath the scythe,
As thine has done. Why ask and why despair?
Why not be happy with the sun, the dew,
The other flowery hearts that, full of life
Unfold their petals, which are deep like thine,
And rich as thine? Ye are to be a glorious
And many-coloured meadow. Is it not
Enough? And must ye grumble? Must ye strive
To take away the light and dew, that fall
Not to your share? Behold the scythe! And sow
Thy seed and ask not where it falls. The wind
Of fate has carried it away, to place
Another sentinel, as unknown, as
Unsought for as thyself, in a far land,
To live when thou art gone, to bloom into
Some unexpected beauty with thy strength,
Thy blood, the thoughts that were companions once
To thee and that the wind hath blown so far
Away. Thou shalt not say unto thy seed:
"Fly thither!" It obeyeth not thy will.
Thou shalt not long to be another plant;
Thy tragedy is useless, and thy will
Is nought. With all thy strength thou art but what
Is wanted--tree or grassblade--never ask
Wherefore? Here is no answer. Fate itself
Knows not wherefore it blows, or tells thee not,
But takes thy noblest self to other climes
And leaves thee to the scythe. Complain not! Mourn not!
Long not to live another day, when thou
Art called, but bow thy head without a sigh,
In gentle acquiescence, sentinel!
poem by Carmen Sylva
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Conscience is the sentinel of virtue.
quote by Johann Kaspar Lavater
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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War Dead
As the sun sets tremulous,
The carrion church wardens,
Shadowy paradoxes, stand sentinel.
The pale eyed dead look on silent
At this memorial to conflict.
These stark floral tributes;
Wreaths woven in blood red
These poppies of sacrifice,
To the slaughter of wars past.
They do not glorify war.....no,
But honour the long dead.
(in memoriam Rupert Brooke)
P H Brookes Copyright 2011
poem by Paul Brookes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Ghosts of Dreams
We are all of us dreamers of dreams,
On visions our childhood is fed;
And the heart of a child is unhaunted, it seems,
By ghosts of dreams that are dead.
From childhood to youth's but a span,
And the years of our life are soon sped;
But the youth is no longer a youth, but a man,
When the first of his dreams is dead.
'Tis a cup of wormwood and gall,
When the doom of a great man is said;
And the best of a man is under a pall
When the best of his dreams is dead.
He may live on by compact and plan
When the fine bloom of living is shed,
But God pity the little that's left of a man
When most of his dreams are dead.
Let him show a brave face if he can;
Let him woo fame and fortune instead;
Yet there's not much to do, but to bury a man
When the last of his dreams is dead.
poem by William Herbert Carruth
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Who is he that gives it to the real
gives no peace to the soul
but searches the means to get the ends
the remnants of the wings
in broken hands clapping
solutions to their idols
night and air nothing to declare
to customs awake at dead sentinel
bullet birds of steel ready to kneel
and rifled targets rising to kill
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The eyes like sentinel occupy the highest place in the body.
quote by Marcus Tullius Cicero
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Steps On The Road!
capitalism...
has ridden the backs
of the working poor,
both here, and
around the world...
till these backs are broken!
now these backs have faces,
and the faces have names.
we can no longer allow
the few to own the many...
the time of economic slavery
is over! it is finished!
dignity, respect,
and equality....
these are the steps
on the road to tomorrow,
a tomorrow based and
founded on freedom!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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We have been taught to regard a representative of the people as a sentinel on the watch-tower of liberty.
quote by Daniel Webster
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Mountain Sentinel
Upon a cold and humdrum day,
Snow leopards sit alone,
As if to pause, to rest, to stay
Upon their mountain throne...
And so this creature let life pass
Upon his craggy rock,
Where cold snow covered blades of grass,
Their present growth to block...
Time passed so slowly like a dream
As if no place to go,
Mid temperatures now quite extreme
As it began to snow...
The creature sighed and tapped his paw
And flicked his tail again,
But it kept snowing more and more
As he sat there and then...
It was his lot in life, you see,
His portion if you will...
Lord of the mountain, let's agree!
Oh, my, ain't that a thrill?
I'd rather stay as warm as toast,
Cold mountain sentinel...
I'd rather stay at home than boast,
'Behold, I'm Lord of all! '
Denis Martindale, copyright, July 2012.
The poem is based on the magnificent painting
by Stephen Gayford called 'Mountain Sentinel'.
More Stephen Gayford poems here:
denis-martindale-dot-blogspot-dot-com
poem by Denis Martindale
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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60 Second Song For A Bank, With The Words, may We Help You Today?
This song was first released on the aerie album. it is the only album it has been released on.
Oh I love the changing seasons
Green and growing all around
Smiling faces laughing children
Making such a joyful sound
In my dreams I see tomorrow
Time and children of my own
Someone who will stand beside me
Helping me to make ourselves a home
If your eyes can see tomorrow
Though it might seem far away
If you have some dreams to build on
May we help you today
Words and music by john denver
song performed by by John Denver
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Two Hearts, One Love
One life
Is finite
Two are
Constantly
Recombining
In infinite
Possibility...
They free
Each other
The way
Of lovers
Escaping past
The sentinel
Of eternity...
©All Rights Reserved-2009
poem by Romeo Della Valle
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Eulogy
And so now it comes to pass
by the even tide of mass
see them gather yet alas
they remain still as stained class
for they know only too well
that the story they will tell
conjures up an ageless spell
guarded by the sentinel
so it goes forever more
ever steady to the core
that the sign they came for
waves majestic from the floor
song performed by by Judas Priest
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Hidden Scars
To most of you who have not killed
and suffer not from dreaming filled
with flash backs known to fighting men.
Who must relive the moments when
they had no choice, they had to kill
or be killed. Which haunt them still.
It may be they disturb your dreams
with grunts and groans and muffled screams.
Be patient try to understand
these dreams they cannot countermand
are far too vivid to ignore.
So comfort them try to restore
their sense of being here and now
until their racing heart beats slow.
They say in time these flash backs fade
but until then the ghosts parade.
Across the minds of sleeping men
and drag them back from now to then.
Survivors sometimes suffer more
than those who died whilst waging war.
The guilt they feel is all too real.
Wounded minds are slow to heal.
17-Mar-08
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Poem of Many Dreams...
Middle class dreams
Can only assume wings
And fly across fancy-sky
Dreams remain dreams
Dreams with wings
Fly away beyond...
Dreams absorbed
Remain within
To follow the dreamer
Dreams dead
Turn into ghosts
Suspended in the air
They pervade mind's grave
Haunting the dreamer in the night...
(09 Aug 2011)
poem by Indira Babbellapati
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Family is where
It is not just like circulation,
with it's complete formation.
There's a mother, a father,
a son and a daughter.
Family has it's own faces,
The one takes seriously.
Other makes you happy,
many different races.
A family brings you laughter,
even sometimes give you tears,
or a family make you brighter,
but the one you will fear.
Is this the true family?
where is the place of happiness?
the one treat you badly?
or the one fill your emptiness?
poem by Aldrin Villena
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Mindscape
The wings of darkness
enter my portal of solace
revealing to the inner me
the constellations of my dreams
where no mortal flies.
The harbinger of fate’s hand
is played out in the frigid vast
assumptions of ones thoughts
adds new food for the table
of our troubled lives.
The sentinel stillness
watches from the towers
with the guardians on mountains
of our choosing mind.
The labyrinth of energy
where our atoms are stored
may itself becomes an atom
of some large working store.
30 October 2009
Author's Note:
Please take this poem as a poets flight with fantasy and nothing more.
poem by David Harris
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Early Works - Candle
The lonely candle sits in the window
like the guiding light of a lighthouse beacon.
A sentinel with a warming glow
whose fingers reach into the darkness
holding out hope for ware faring souls,
which in the darkness have lost their way.
9 February 1987
poem by David Harris
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