Dignity
at par
with you
my equal
in this fight
you are
so gentle
when i
lose the grip of
my sword and it falls
on the ground
you have the courage
to pick it up
for me and tell
me
i need it most now
and then
the point of the sword
now faces
frozen at the eye
of my heart
i stare
coldly and i perspire
to the thought
of my death
at this point
you say
tnanks it is fair
and i look at
you again
at par
shoulder to shoulder
my equal
you let me go
you put your sword
in your scabbard
and take the stride
on your white horse
and leave me
agape my mouth
opens
you are at par
with me
my equal
you have all the chance
to kill me at once
but you didn't
you make me live
now
a new man
a fighter rising from his fall
gentle and
brave as ever
to fight
my own wars.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
If 1 And 2 Were Equal
If 1 and 2 were equal
we'd have as many hearts as fists
If 1 and 2 were equal
we'd have confused shopping lists
If 1 and 2 were equal
there'd be less phone numbers to dial
If 1 and 2 were equal
noon would surely last a while
If 1 and 2 were equal
there'd be a nose under each eye
If 1 and 2 were equal
you couldn't say no to 'you and I? '
If 1 and 2 were equal
I think I'd be much more happy
'cause if 1 and 2 were equal
I would not be so lonely
poem by John W. McEwers
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Equal Rights,2011
equal rights to live,
equal rights to love.
equal rights to believe,
to speak out, to stand up
and be counted.
equal rights to work,
equal rights to study.
equal rights to build.
equal rights to profess faith,
equal rights to pray.
equal rights to give...
equal rights to live,
equal rights to love!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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To Lose Yourself
The sword comes down
Your friend on the ground
You scream your rage
His blood forms a pool
The tears on your cheek cool
Your friend is dead
You gather your courage
Before you discourage
You stand up to fight
You have no chance
You stand askance
You draw your sword
Your courage anew
Your nerves are few
Screaming, you charge
You will not have your revenge
Your friend is not avenged
You lose yourself
You're lost forever
Forced to endeavor
Your life is ruined
The Allies
August 14th, 1914
Into the brazen, burnished sky, the cry hurls itself. The zigzagging cry
of hoarse throats, it floats against the hard winds, and binds the head
of the serpent to its tail, the long snail-slow serpent of marching men.
Men weighed down with rifles and knapsacks, and parching with war.
The cry jars and splits against the brazen, burnished sky.
This is the war of wars, and the cause? Has this writhing worm of men
a cause?
Crackling against the polished sky is an eagle with a sword. The eagle is red
and its head is flame.
In the shoulder of the worm is a teacher.
His tongue laps the war-sucked air in drought, but he yells defiance
at the red-eyed eagle, and in his ears are the bells of new philosophies,
and their tinkling drowns the sputter of the burning sword. He shrieks,
'God damn you! When you are broken, the word will strike out new shoots.'
His boots are tight, the sun is hot, and he may be shot, but he is in
the shoulder of the worm.
A dust speck in the worm's belly is a poet.
He laughs at the flaring eagle and makes a long nose with his fingers.
He will fight for smooth, white sheets of paper, and uncurdled ink.
The sputtering sword cannot make him blink, and his thoughts are
wet and rippling. They cool his heart.
He will tear the eagle out of the sky and give the earth tranquillity,
and loveliness printed on white paper.
The eye of the serpent is an owner of mills.
He looks at the glaring sword which has snapped his machinery
and struck away his men.
But it will all come again, when the sword is broken to a million dying stars,
and there are no more wars.
Bankers, butchers, shop-keepers, painters, farmers - men, sway and sweat.
They will fight for the earth, for the increase of the slow, sure roots
of peace, for the release of hidden forces. They jibe at the eagle
and his scorching sword.
One! Two! - One! Two! - clump the heavy boots. The cry hurtles
against the sky.
Each man pulls his belt a little tighter, and shifts his gun
to make it lighter. Each man thinks of a woman, and slaps out a curse
at the eagle. The sword jumps in the hot sky, and the worm crawls on
to the battle, stubbornly.
This is the war of wars, from eye to tail the serpent has one cause:
PEACE!
poem by Amy Lowell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Equal
equal,
..equal,
...equal,
....equal,
.....equal,
......equal,
.......equal!
dont it sound good?
wouldnt it feel good?
think about it,
and then do something about it!
equal!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Horse, you are truly a creature without equal, for you fly without wings and conquer without sword.
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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Beware The Pen
Raise your daggers raise your guns,
Rant and rave and burst your lungs
Chant on highest mountain top
Seal the roads make traffic stop
Shoot to kill as you think right
Blast with bombs in deep of night
Spread all rumours in your favour
Win each battle stop and savour
Preach to all converted lands
Shoot unless they show their hands
Send the soldiers brave and true
To do the dirty work for you
All things equal in your world
As long as it's your flag unfurled
Make your mark as you see wise
Grow your empire in the skies
Just one thing before you go
Something that you need to know
If but one pen is left to write
You may lose this fiercest fight
For pens the rank of soldiers swell
Such written words of courage tell
A victory cant be assured
The pen is mighty... not the sword.
poem by Dave James
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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What she told me
Arrived at last at the monastery
she listened as he asked
why are your aspirations so very puny?
why do you not aspire
to be liberated for the sake
of all mankind?
and, she said, she could
have cut the silence with a sword;
the two-edged sword, of unreason
and of reason; the same light
flashing from the hero’s sword
or burning steady, gentle, from the candle
there in the temple of the heart.
poem by Michael Shepherd
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Slowly We Rot
Kill all, fight death.
Lesion fighting love.
Fight them all in a living hell
Slowly rot and you die.
You will fight death as you slowly realize.
Kill them all fight death
And slowly read in the love.
Fight them all, join me, slowly we rot. slowly we rot.
Dead to all fighting
As you slowly read in the love.
Fighting the sword, the sword is your plow.
Dead to all fighting
As youre slowly rotting in hell.
Fight them all, join me, slowly we dwell.
Slowly we dwell.
De-char.
song performed by by Obituary
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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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By the Sword.
Your father made you
a sword out of metal
at the place he worked
and brought it home
one night after work
and gave it to you
after tea and said
Be careful how you use it
I don't want you using it
dangerously
ok
you said
and went off
with the heavy sword
into the spare room
you called the toy room
the place you fought
bad knights to save
damsels in distress
or have shoot outs
with cowboys
on the wrong side
of the law
and got your gun
out of the holster
before them
and plugged them
full of caps
or the pretend saloon
where you could go
for a shot of red eye
and once you had
the sword with you
you examined it carefully
running a finger along
the blunt blade
and then
you were set upon
by the enemy knights
out of nowhere
three onto one
and you had a sword fight
and being the top guy
you soon had them licked
and lying dead
and you heard your father
call out
from the dining room
Be careful you don't
kill anyone with that
and you murmured
Too late
I've just put them
to the sword
and he laughed
and your mother said
You shouldn't make him
weapons of death
it gives a false view
of the world
but your father just said
It's just a toy
just a bit of pretence
and a kid's got to have
something to use
in his defence
against invisible foes
and then they rowed
and so you shut the door
and put away the sword
and got out your gun
you could blow away
far more of them
and it was louder
quicker and more fun.
poem by Terry Collett
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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Equal?
How many men are created equal?
That's to hard to figure out.
How many men are created equal?
Preacher says 'ALL of us'
Hear him shout.
I guess he's forgotten what equal means.
He must be thinkin' about countin' beans.
One for you, two for me.
Count 'em up and you'll see
just what equal's all about?
Equal's really all about
who's doin' the countin'.
poem by Edwina Reizer
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Love and hate, put aside
All are equal by birth;
All are equal by death.
Let them have equal rights.
Love and hate, put aside.
28.06.2010
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Small Mourning Pieces
No time to prepare
Shoved over cliff by sorrows
Float down now, gently
Grief comes as strong waves
Tide that never seems to ebb
Let it wash your soul
Nasty Opponent
Grief punches all breath away
Never a fair fight
No time for Heroes
Pain strips away a brave face
Wear no mask for now
Heavy stones of grief
Lighten them with memories
Friendships ease the load
Recipe for grief
Fold laughter into sorrow
Make a grief soufflé
Someone, unseen, cares
Patting shoulder from afar
Dwell in gentle thoughts
Some point you forward
Others put words in your mouth
Follow your own voice
Walking in grief's field
Plant dark flowers in the ground
Teardrops are the rains
Morning light is harsh
Wander away from sadness
Dreams infuse the night
poem by Mary Havran
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Power Of Thy Sword
Lord of battle I pray on bended knee conquest by the rising sun
I'll wait for thy command with flame and blood at hand
glory and a broken sword.
I'm the master of the world I have no fear of man or beast
Born inside the soul of the world
Riding hard breaking bone with steel and stone
Eternal might I was born to wield.
Let us drink to the battles we've lived and we've fought
Celebrate the pain and havoc we have wrought
Great heroes charge into the fight
From the north to the south in the black of night
The clash of honor calls to stand when others fall
Gods of war feel the power of my sword
Drink to the battles we've lived and we've fought
Celebrate the pain and havoc we have wrought
Great heroes charge into the fight
From the north to the south in the black of night
Fierce is my blade fierce is my hate born to die in battle
I laugh at my fate
Now pay in blood when your blood has been spilled
You're never forgiven death is fulfilled !
The clash of honor calls to stand when others fall
Gods of war feel the power of my sword
The clash of honor calls
I will stand when others fall
Open magic doors
The will know the power of my sword
There is blood in my hands there is blood in my eyes
With blood in my voice I scream as you die
Thirsting for vengeance and mounds of the slain
Shaking the forest onto the plain
Fierce is my blade fierce is my hate born to die in battle
I laugh at my fate
Now pay in blood when your blood has been spilled
You're never forgiven death is fulfilled !
The clash of honor calls to stand when others fall
Gods of war feel the power of my sword
Know the power of my sword
Know the power of my sword
Know the power of my sword
Know the power of my sword
They will know the power of my sword
song performed by by Manowar from The Triumph Of Steel
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The sword and the shield
Courage is not a sword to fight with.
Courage is ability to handle the sword.
Toughness is not a shield to defend with.
Toughness is ability to hold the shield.
10.09.2009
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Thunder Sword
Man did not fear man
But the hero fear death of hero
By the dangerous thunder sword
Thro his shine sword and bright eyes
That bends all head of tree with arm
Oh, thou spirit of thunder,
No sword no spear in his palm
But his hand sharp more than sword
And it killed more than fire
No man can face and defeat
Thro his molest fire of his mouth
The lightning echo on sky bewilder heart
And thunderbolts annoyed with mirror of man
Which no man can harm on earth.
.
poem by Olugbenga Ayoola.O
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Lay His Sword By His Side
Lay his sword by his side -- it hath served him too well
Not to rest near his pillow below;
To the last moment true, from his hand ere it fell,
Its point was still turn'd to a flying foe.
Fellow-labourers in life, let them slumber in death,
Side by side, as becomes the reposing brave --
That sword which he loved still unbroke in its sheath,
And himself unsubdued in his grave.
Yet pause -- for, in fancy, a still voice I hear,
As if breathed from his brave heart's remains; --
Faint echo of that which, in Slavery's ear,
Once sounded the war-word, "Burst your chains."
And it cries, from the grave where the hero lies deep,
"Though the day of your Chieftain for ever hath set,
Oh leave not his sword thus inglorious to sleep --
It hath victory's life in it yet!
"Should some alien, unworthy such weapon to wield,
Dare to touch thee, my own gallant sword,
Then rest in thy sheath, like a talisman seal'd,
Or return to the grave of thy chainless lord.
But, if grasp'd by a hand that hath learn'd the proud use
Of a falchion, like thee, on the battle-plain,
Then, at Liberty's summons, like lightning let loose,
Leap forth from thy dark sheath again!"
poem by Thomas Moore
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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