A Cut Above The Rest
My great-grandfather was a soldier
and Rebecca was his loving wife.
They were wed in what was then India
and she was accustomed to army life.
They lived in an Indian army bungalow
on the outskirts of the city of Lahore.
Whilst the Major was away on duty
a guard kept their home secure.
One evening as the sun was setting
an open window let in the breeze.
The manservant lit the oil lamps
then retired to the bungalow’s eaves.
As Rebecca sat quietly reading
the sound of a thud came from outside.
From the wall she took her father’s sword
and stood behind the curtain as if to hide.
With the sword raised high and ready
she was in a position to take a swing.
Nervously she stood there waiting
for whatever the night would bring.
From behind the closed curtains
a hand and then an arm poked through
and then with a swipe of the sword
she severed the wrist in two.
A loud scream of pain followed,
as the man left his severed limb behind.
When Rebecca later told the story
she said the burglar left more than he could find.
poem by Orlando Belo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Rebecca
In my mind , talk about rebecca , suddenly so fine
In my mind , visions of rebecca , suddenly shes mine
All night , seems she put a spell on me , oh yeah
All night , gonna be the death of me
Ill go out and get her
Rebecca , youre dreamin out loud
Rebecca , you got your head in the clouds
Youre savin yourself for someone , rebecca
Hangin on tight , waiting for rebecca , dancin in the dark
Satin and lace , shes so fine and mellow
Creature from the stars
So wrong , runnin with rebecca now , oh yeah
So wrong , gonna be the death of me
Ill go out and get her
Rebecca , youre dreamin out loud
Rebecca , you got your head in the clouds , alright
Youre savin yourself for someone , rebecca
Rebecca , youre runnin away
Rebecca , you cant face the day , alright
Cos you only live for the night
Rebecca , youre always runnin around
(break)
Ooh , talk about rebeccas eyes
Evrything you fantasize
Well, she drag you down to earth
Shes the devil in disguise
Break you down to size
Rebecca , youre dreamin out loud
Rebecca , you got your head in the clouds , alright
Savin yourself for someone
Rebecca , ooh , youre runnin away
Rebecca , you cant face the day , alright
You only live for the night , rebecca
Rebecca , youre dreamin out loud
Rebecca , you got your head in the clouds , alright
Savin yourself for someone , rebecca (fade)
song performed by by Bee Gees
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Bungalow
Bungalow
Bungalow
By the sea
Bungalow
In the sea air
Climbing rose
Time to spare
Luxury accommodation traps the sun
So were working every hour that God made
So we can fly away
Saving it all up for you
Bungalow
Bungalow
Silver shore line
In the gorse
You can be mine
Standing prime position for the town
Working for this vision through our lives
So we can fly away
Saving it all up for you
Bungalow
Bungalow
You wait and see
song performed by by Xtc
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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He Entered Into Battle With A Blunt Edged Sword
He entered into battle with a blunt edged sword,
But he did not know quite why.
His sword selection was done without motive,
To battle and kill his fellow man.
So subconsciously he picked out this sword.
This sword not of this world, not out to cut to bleed.
But this innocent man didn't wish to realize,
What prize he would pay.
In midst of this battle, recieving the swiftest,
Blows from his enemy,
This soldier just kept getting hurt.
Five, six and seven more blows made him hit back,
This soldier proudly used his blunt sword,
Till his nemesis bearing a razor sharp one,
Came along and challenged the already fallen one,
Who gave a swift plunge into his enemy's heart.
But the enemy did not stagger or fall.
Neither did the soldier with the blunt sword.
This soldier's enemy left the battleground,
When he saw that the one with the blunt sword,
Knew all along the possibility of his death.
Still he fought, so he himself could die,
Which the other soldier was saddened by that man's stance.
He told that man, 'if we all fought battles with a blunt
sword,
Then we would all truly win,
For the battleground would know no mortality.
He further told him, 'because of you, your side
Truly wins. But so does our.
We love you,
Blunt edged sword soldier man.'
poem by Vera Sidhwa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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6-11 (true Story)
A softball game,
With two 7th grade teams.
In a open grass field kids play,
In the hot sun.
Along the first base line, were the moms
Cheering their girls on.
It was the top of the 8th inning,
No outs and Centrals down by one.
Junction City is up to bat,
Central out in the field.
It took four pitches to get the batter out.
Gale Anders is up next, strike one.
Turning to terror in the next swing of the bat.
The ball goes flying over the fence,
Missis all the moms, all but one,
Nursing her baby she didn’t see the ball coming.
The ball hits the baby in the head whose life has just begun,
Just three weeks ago ReBecca Purkey was born.
ReBecca’s mom rushes her to the hospital.
Where the doctors told her,
That she could go home after the MRI.
If anything happened within 24 hours call.
They called ReBecca’s mom with the MRI results,
They told her the ball shattered her skull,
Into something like a spider web.
But the skull repairs itself,
So not to be alarmed.
ReBecca lasted 23 hours then,
Her little brain just couldn’t take it anymore,
She started having seizures.
Taking her back to the doctor,
Her mom was scared and,
Didn’t understand what’s wrong with her baby,
That is perfect in every other way.
The doctors said that it’s unlikely,
ReBecca will ever walk, talk, or feed herself,
She will be a veggie.
If this child was to live.
Because she has a traumatic brain injury,
Which lead to the seizures,
And she has epilepsy.
Hard pill to swallow for her family.
One minute this baby was healthy and happy
The next doctors are telling them she will die.
P.S. My name is ReBecca Purkey this is the story of my life. we are not as medically advanced back then as we are today, We didn’t know as much about the brain that is why doctors sent me home. This shows you anyone can overcome anything. I am 18 and have now graduated from high school with a regular diploma and soon go to college, become an Autistic teacher. I will always have a brain injury and epilepsy but that doesn’t stop me from doing anything. I am ReBecca Purkey and this is my story, what’s yours?
poem by Mrs. Cynosure
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Last battle
I have no wars
Left in me.
I am broken
Except in will.
My strength left
Is but for a few battles.
My sword
Has grown heavy,
My hand weak.
The only strength left
Is in my heart.
Let my will then
Carry the fight for me.
Let my will
Bring me honor
Let my will
Swing the sword
For freedom
Let my will
Carry me to
My last battle
'Live free or die'
poem by James Timothy Jarrett
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Tough Love
Tough love
Rebecca was a horrid child.
Her antics drove her mother wild..
Child experts offered their advice
but seldom came to visit twice.
Although her mother tried her best
Rebecca outdid all the rest.
She was unpleasant rude and crude.
An anti social attitude.
She seldom did as she was told
and thought she had the right to scold.
Her mother’s efforts at control
She seemed to have no other goal.
Than making life a misery
for members of her family.
But then her grandma came to stay.
Rebecca came to rue the day.
Grandma applied psychology
Rebecca placed across her knee
She tanned her little bottom hard.
Grandma had but scant regard.
For what the experts had to say
She raised her kids in the old way.
A firm hand lovingly applied
across Rebecca’s small backside.
Quickly changed her attitude.
Because her Grandma understood.
That little girls should never be
allowed to think that they were free.
To act and speak unpleasantly
without they paid the penalty.
Rebecca very swiftly learned
she got exactly what she earned..
She soon became a paragon.
Her bad behaviour was all gone.
Which demonstrates that Grandma knew
exactly what she had to do.
To make Rebecca toe the line
applied a little discipline.
In her own old fashioned way.
It worked a treat I have to say.
She changed Rebecca’s attitude
and earned her mothers gratitude.
Old fashioned ways had proved the best
to change Rebecca from a pest.
Into a most delightful child.
Although the experts all reviled
her methods. They could not deny
they were effective.I wonder why.
Perhaps they lack experience
as well as simple common sense.
Until they’ve raised a family
I doubt if they will ever see.
That discipline lovingly applied
beats everything which they have tried.
A child must know her boundaries
She cannot do as she pleases.
I think this story serves to show.
Although the experts think they know.
Experience will always win
when teaching children discipline.
20/05/2009
http; // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I Had A Vampire
I had a dream about a vampire
His hair was fair with flames
His eyes sparkled like sapphire
Only a few who knew his name.
He had big and bulky muscles
And he stood around 6 feet tall
Only the bravest of the bravest
And the fearless of them all
Would ever be so valliant
As to even walk up to the tree
Where this monster awaits for dinner,
And say 'Lord, be with me.'
The bravest of the bravest
And the fearless of them all
Would take upon this vampire
And possibly make it fall.
He drew his sword out of his sheath,
And approached the wicked beast
For it leaped into the air
And onto him the very least.
Man slung his sword left and right,
But vampire had already won
With a bite of pearly white fangs
The evil deed was done.
But wait why is he standing up?
Man was a man no more
For vampire only bit once,
And the venom had the score.
Two vampires now there are,
Out to get the strong ones
The men who think superior
And did what had to be done.
Now an army of vampires,
Each one different but the same
Hung to the courage they had
Still a few hold their name
Of man, though they were not man,
But they had a man's willpower
To overcome this evilness
And fight hour after hour
Against the two strongest monsters,
The ones who started the fall
They tore away the bravest of the bravest
And the fearless of them all.
The one with the hair of flames
And blue sapphire eyes
Leapt onto one of the biggest
And he fell down in surprise.
Vampire ripped him to pieces,
Shredded him apart
Tearing out the only thing needed,
His no-longer beating heart.
Vampire took down all the men
The whole army one by one
This time he made sure of it
And knew he finally won.
I woke up surprisingly happy
Knowing the vampire with flame
Had won an evil victory
But I still didn't know his name
Until one day I met him
In another one of my dreams
Or maybe it was real
Nothing is what it seems.
Whether it be a dream or real,
I woke up a vampire.
With flowing hair of flames
And he was my only desire.
poem by Rebecca Ryan
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You Are A Girl, Not A Soldier.
I am a girl, I am a girl
I live in a house full of men
They say to me each day
With a cold heart that
Needs to be mend
'You are a girl not a soldier'
I wish they could see
See through my eyes
To my heart that beats
With each strand of day
I wish I could be
That beautiful soldier
The one you look up to
The one who would guard you
Through your restful sleep
They risk there lives for our safety
I would gladly die
For the truth people try to hide
A young lady that could be
A soldier of an army
poem by Sword Angel
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Continuing Story Of Bungalow Bill
Hey, bungalow bill
What did you kill
Bungalow bill?
He went out tiger hunting with his elephant and gun
In case of accidents he always took his mom
He's the all american bullet-headed saxon mother's son.
All the children sing
Hey bungalow bill
What did you kill
Bungalow bill?
Deep in the jungle where the mighty tiger lies
Bill and his elephants were taken by surprise
So captain marvel zapped in right between the eyes
All the children sing
Hey, bungalow bill
What did you kill
Bungalow bill?
The children asked him if to kill was not a sin
Not when he looked so fierce, his mother butted in
If looks could kill it would have been us instead of him
All the children sing
Hey, bungalow bill
What did you kill
Bungalow bill?
song performed by by Beatles
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The End Of The Ming
Out in the hinterland the wild wolves call
While the soldiers shiver, strung along The Great Wall,
Their hands on their quivers, with their arrows, full flight
As they listen for the Manchu troops in the night.
They would beat off the peasants at the Shanhai Pass
As The Wall held firm, for the Ming's last gasp,
But the rebels beat the army of the last of the Ming,
In the city of the Emperor, the Old Beijing.
And they fired the city under Li Zicheng
While the Emperor despaired, he was called Chongzhen,
He threw a final feast for the House of the Ming,
And he called for his daughter, the Lady Chang Ping.
When the feast was over they awaited his word
But he slew each one with the point of his sword,
And his daughter too, bowed down to his will,
Then he fled the palace grounds, to Jingshan Hill.
And there with a rope on a myrtle tree
Chongzhen hung himself as high as could be,
While the leader of the peasants, this Li Zicheng,
Tried to found the Shun, as he buried Chongzhen.
But a General of the Ming, one Wu Sangui
He opened up the gates of The Wall one day,
And the Manchu troops streamed through to Beijing
Where they finished off the army, and Li Zicheng.
It was written in the stars, shining down on The Wall
That a dynasty rises as a dynasty falls,
But the soldiers on The Wall, now finished with the Ming,
Still keep a steady watch for the House of Qing.
For out in the hinterland the wild wolves call
And a soldier's duty is to guard The Great Wall,
For it little matters here about the Emperor's plan,
Just the wives and children of the soldiers of the Han!
poem by David Lewis Paget
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Soldier's Grave
THERE'S a white stone placed upon yonder tomb,
Beneath is a soldier lying -
The death-wound came, amid sword and plume,
When banner and ball were flying.
Yet now he sleeps, the turf on his breast,
By wet wild flowers surrounded;
The church shadow falls o'er the place of his rest,
Where the steps of his childhood bounded.
There were tears, that fell from manly eyes,
There was woman's gentle weeping,
And the wailing of age and infant cries,
O'er the grave, where he lies sleeping.
He had left his home in his spirit's pride,
With his father's sword and blessing;
He stood with the valiant, side by side,
His country's wrongs redressing.
He came again, in the light of his fame,
When the red campaign was over;
One heart, that, in secret, had kept his name,
Was claimed by the soldier lover.
But the cloud of strife came upon the sky;-
He left his sweet home for battle;
Left his young child's lisp for the loud war-cry,
And the cannon's long death-rattle.
He came again - but an altered man:
The path of the grave was before him,
And the smile, that he wore, was cold and wan,
For the shadow of death hung o'er him.
He spoke of victory - spoke of cheer:-
These are the words, that are vainly spoken
To the childless mother, or orphan's ear,
Or the widow, whose heart is broken.
A helmet and sword are engraved on the stone,
Half hidden by yonder willow;
There he sleeps, whose death in battle was won,
But he died on his own home pillow.
poem by Letitia Elizabeth Landon
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Dead Soldier
Where the sword has opened the way the man will follow
'Look! they came, the triumphant army!
Over yon hill see their weapons peeping!'
Still I spoke not but my wheel sent turning,
I closed my eyes for my heart was weeping,
My heart was weeping for a dead soldier.
Who is he who looks towards me?
''Tis no man but a gay flag flying.'
Red was his mouth and his white brow thoughtful,
Blue his eyes—how my soul is crying,
My soul is crying for a dead soldier.
'Kneel ye down, lest your eyes should dare them,
Kneel ye down and your beads be saying.'
'Lord, on their heads Thy wrath deliver,'
This is the prayer that my lips are praying,
My heart is praying for a dead soldier.
'Best cheer the path of the men victorious,
For he is dead and his blade lies broken,
His march is far where no aid can follow,
And for his people he left no token,
He left no token, the dead soldier.'
The way of the sword a man can follow,
See the young child with his gold hair gleaming.
When falls the oak must the acorn perish?
He lifts the blade and his eyes are dreaming,
He dreams the dream of the dead soldier.
poem by Dora Sigerson Shorter
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Sword
There's a sword affixed in a glass case,
There on a western wall.
There's a photo there of a soldier
Who answered his country's call.
There's of the sword, a story to tell;
And of men - how the dice may fall.
In the east ‘neath the rising sun,
With his family gazing on,
In a uniform smartly fitting,
Stood an officer of Nippon.
At his side swung his sword - katana,
And to war he would soon be gone.
From his people were gifts bestowed:
A small book of prayers to take,
And a camera to record
The conquests their son would make;
So his family's photo he took;
In the book he would keep the keepsake.
The sword of his samurai forebears,
Fitted with ancestral blade,
Temper and balance so perfect,
Forged true - by true craftsman made;
There on its handle so ornate,
Three cherry blossoms were laid.
Sharkskin it inlaid the handle,
Tassel showed officer class,
Perfect the fine crafted pommel,
Shone bright its high polished brass;
Proud was he of this fine weapon;
On to his sons it would pass.
Triumphant in battle it served him
Until the fighting it turned
To defeat for the forces of Nippon;
Here was their might to be spurned:
By another Imperial Army
At Balikpapan, as Borneo burned.
There as the officer bravely
Brandished his sword in the fight,
Gunfire and shell fire around him,
Smoke of war - oil and cordite;
Surged on the valiant diggers,
Hopeless the Japanese plight.
Never surrender - his motto,
There with his comrades he died,
Amongst the corpses - the carnage,
A digger sergeant he spied
A sword in the officer's dead hand,
Its scabbard lay there at his side.
Weary of death was the digger,
Still for some reason he took,
There from the dead man's shirt pocket,
A stained and a tattered small book -
It fell open, and there on the first page
Was the picture the officer took.
The digger he took up the sword,
And he slipped the book into his pack;
His young eyes showed no trace of feeling,
He strode off and didn't look back;
He'd hardened himself to war's horror,
But humanity he didn't lack.
So now when a visitor questions
The history of that old sword,
Says the old man - it's there to remind him
When nations with others are warred,
How soldiers who fight for their country,
May take bloody death as reward.
There's a sword affixed in a glass case,
There on a Western wall.
There's a photo there of a soldier
Who answered his country's call,
And a bloodied book, beneath the sword
That tells of a soldier's fall.
In memory of:
QX13210 Sgt A.N. O'Brien,2nd 31st Bne.7th Div AIF
and of an unknown Japanese officer.
poem by Dennis N. O'Brien
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Ballot Or The Bullet
Give me liberty or give me death
No truer words have ever been said
Well are you prepared for your very last breath?
Dont you dare start what you cannot finish
So when we face, face the adversary
No longer are we the minority
And when history repeats her hour
The pendulum will swing, swing into power
Though not in vain like our forefathers
Freedom, never had no room for cowards
For in the end, there will be equality
By any means necessary
The ballot or the bullet
The choice is up to you
The ballot or the bullet
Tell me what you gonna do
The sword or the pen
Can be held by the same hand
Whats it gonna take to liberate?
An emancipation, a false proclamation?
All these token words that you legislate
Sound a little bit absurd. hey! and a little too late
When a house is divided, it just will not stand
Once its decided, a line drawn in the sand
Ah! the ballot or the bullet
The choice is up to you
The ballot or the bullet
Tell me what you gonna do
The sword or the pen
Can be held by the same hand
The ballot or the bullet
The choice is up to you
The ballot or the bullet
Tell me what you gonna do
The ballot or the bullet
The choice is up to you
The ballot or the bullet
Tell me what you gonna do
The sword or the pen can be
The sword or the pen can be
The sword or the pen can be
The sword or the pen can be
The sword or the pen can be
Held, held by the same hand!
song performed by by Van Halen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Old Enough To Know
Words & music:michael w. smith and wayne kirkpatrick
In the passion your heart is abused
He is pushing you, you have to choose
Oh, rebecca love is never
Easy anymore
Oh, rebecca so afraid of
Losing what is yours
Chorus:
Are you giving in to the pressure
Holding you again, now he tells you
What it takes to be in love
He believes youre old enough
But how you gonna feel tomorrow
When the day reveals
What you believed was for the sake of love
Dont you think youre old enough to know
Youre a breed of few and far between
Holding on to your romantic dream
Oh, rebecca, love is patient
Love would understand
Oh, rebecca, your decision
Is your only chance
Chorus
Bridge:
Oh, rebecca dont confuse what love is
With what some say love should be
Should be...
Chorus
song performed by by Michael W. Smith
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Mrs. Weatherby
Woe to you Mrs. Weatherby...
So greedy, self centered, always first
Real feelings are not hidden anymore...
Love only, your unquenchable thirst;
Rebecca, Rebecca, Rebecca...
Leaving your Andrew, just standing there!
Doing what Susan would never have done...
And what Martha, surely wouldn't dare;
So caught up in your 'Real World'
Is July 3rd, always a Happy B-day?
Post office boxes and moving around, constantly..
Insurance for Andy's birthday, come May?
Lost track of how many times that we read it!
A Southwest saying for sure-
'You're always first...real feelings...love only'
Today, are you feeling more secure?
Real estate investing now, Rebecca?
Or marketing insurance, Ms. Monroe?
Oops, sorry about using your former name...
What a viscious web you've woven & look how it still grows! ! ! !
By: Theodora Onken
March 24,2012
poem by Theodora Onken
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Closed Circuit
Rebecca Hall, Eric Bana, Ciaran Hinds, Julia Stiles, Isaac Hempstead Wright, Rebecca Hall, Jim Broadbent, Riz Ahmed
by Steven Knight from Closed Circuit (2013)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Too Unlucky
unlucky girl
Rebecca
who died
after slamming
the door
Poor girl Rebecca!
I must be a very lucky man
for i have lived
all my life
slamming
many doors behind me
and look
oh my!
I am
still alive.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Memory For Him And Me
Little buddle of joy wrapped up so tight
My only memory of our final night
That you left hurts, I'm not gunna lie
But you left me with one last lullaby
You were always so excited about life
Plans of a family and future, kids and a wife
We shared a dream so prepared for the time
That we would look after our own, yours and mine
And look at what have you left me with as a reminder
You left me and how we parted could have been kinder
I can't reach you any longer, alone waiting for your return
But I know you won't turn back, and the truth burns
Not the fact you left because I know you had no choice
They said my name was the last word you were able to voice
That's what twists in my gut, the knowledge that you didn't see
The chubby little face and angelic little laughter from our baby
Don't worry though, wherever you are watching from now
Because our little boy will always know you love him: that I vow
So sleep easy my dear because you will be remembered here
When I tell our boy tales of how his father was one without fear
poem by Rebecca Pepper
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Sword Of Mine
The Sword that I carry
Though made not of iron or steel,
It is a mighty sword
That I proudly do so wield.
Though it wont break the skin
Or combat the weapons of a foe
But this is a mighty sword of mine
More precious than silver or gold.
This sword that I carry
I proudly display it in my hand,
For I know this sword of mine
Is greater, than any other mans.
It comforts me when I am tired
It will warm me when I am cold
It will lie down beside of me
To protect, and strengthen my soul.
The sword that I hold
Is tattered, and so very worn
It has been a friend along side of me,
In the sunshine and many storms.
It has shown me a path to follow
And has lit the road that I walk,
And those nights when I was alone and scared
Then to me, I could hear it talk.
The sword that I wield
Though may be different, in shape or size,
But it is the same sword
Which for years has cushioned the souls cry.
It has been here since the dawn of time
And will be here when the great walls fall,
And then when all men of war and hate reflect,
My sword, will be the mightiest sword of all.
Randy L. McClave
poem by Randy McClave
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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