I Do Not Wish To Hear Your War Stories
Do not wish to hear your war stories of battles fought and won
Since I saw on t v this evening a mother grieve for her dead son
Her son murdered by a sniper with a bullet in his back
And I could only feel pity for this poor mother in Iraq
Of war and stories of it I do not wish to hear
Men who declare war on other people are those who rule by fear
Tell me some happy story or otherwise let me be
Your stories of war and war heroes only bore and sadden me,
Of war and it's brutality so much written and said
And in the news headlines on radio I hear of more war dead,
Tell me some happy story laughter in me provoke
Today I need a break from your war stories instead tell me a good joke
Today a mother in Iraq grieves for her murdered son
And I've heard enough of war from you of battles fought and won.
poem by Francis Duggan
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The Matriarchs
The greatest battles since days of old,
We hear the stories now and then,
As down the centuries their echoes are told.
They're fought by the mothers of men.
The strongest armour their truth will pierce,
A mother's love raised to such height,
That there's nothing exists on earth so fierce.
For him to the death she will fight.
With no hesitation, she will strike his foe,
With him standing next to her tall.
She will teach him to exact justice, as through life they go.
For to balance situations, one and all.
Then she stands back in pride with a smile,
As he forward in battle steps out.
She's taught him to always go just one more mile,
For his foe to seek and rout out.
She'll always be there, on each level exist
For no warrior is e'er so strong.
She will guide his way forward through life's every twist,
Whatever it takes, or how long.
So please never doubt the stories you've heard.
The truth is the same now as then.
The greatest battles there are in this world,
Are fought by the mothers of men!
poem by Rosi Caswell
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For Oil Not For Freedom
My heart goes to those who grieve for their war dead in war torn Iraq
Life when it is taken cannot be given back
Those who started this war from Iraq may live far away
But to Karma they do have a huge price to pay
For thousands of deaths in Iraq the pro war media terrorists do blame
But terrorism absent from Iraq before the invaders came
To excuse the war instigators of their crimes this is their way
Though they had started something brutal and ugly that does seem fair to say
Poor Iraqi mothers for their war dead left to grieve
The stories of a pro war media why should they believe
It does not take courage a life for to take
And the legacy of war is death, grief and heart-break
They cannot be brought back to life the Iraqi war dead
For oil not for freedom their blood has been shed
poem by Francis Duggan
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By Those Interested In War History
By those interested in war history war history is read
But the winners write the war history or so it is said
That is how it is and will always be
What is true to one is not to another that's how it seems to me
Of war and war heroes many stories are written and many poems to recite
And mostly of war winners that war writers stories do write
And readers believe what they want to believe
And the mothers of the war dead for their dead children grieve
In war as in life 'tis the winners who count
And the stories of losers to little amount
For the dead war heroes many a parade
And far too many films of war have been made
And 'tis mostly the winners write the war history
That is how it is and always will be.
poem by Francis Duggan
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I would not know how I am supposed to feel about many stories if not for the fact that the TV news personalities make sad faces for sad stories and happy faces for happy stories.
quote by Dave Barry
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Wondrous Stories
I awoke this morning
Love laid me down by a river.
Drifting I turned on upstream
Bound for my forgiver.
In the giving of my eyes to see your face.
Sound did silence me
Leaving no trace.
I beg to leave, to hear your wonderous stories.
Beg to hear your wonderous stories.
He spoke of lands not far
Or lands they were in his mind.
Of fusion captured high
Where reason captured his time.
In no time at all he took me to the gate.
In haste I quickly checked the time.
If I was late I had to leave to hear your wonderous stories.
Had to hear your wonderous stories.
Hearing
Hearing
Hearing your wonderous stories.
Hearing your wonderous stories.
It is no lie I can see deeply into the future.
Imagine everything
Youre close
And were you there to stand
So cautiously at first and then so high.
As he spoke my spirit climbed into the sky.
I bid it to return
To hear your wonderous stories.
Return to hear your wonderous stories.
Hearing,
Hearing,
Hearing,
Hearing,
Hearing,
song performed by by Yes
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Wondrous Stories
I awoke this morning
Love laid me down by a river.
Drifting I turned on upstream
Bound for my forgiver.
In the giving of my eyes to see your face.
Sound did silence me
Leaving no trace.
I beg to leave, to hear your wonderous stories.
Beg to hear your wonderous stories.
He spoke of lands not far
Or lands they were in his mind.
Of fusion captured high
Where reason captured his time.
In no time at all he took me to the gate.
In haste I quickly checked the time.
If I was late I had to leave to hear your wonderous stories.
Had to hear your wonderous stories.
Hearing
Hearing
Hearing your wonderous stories.
Hearing your wonderous stories.
It is no lie I can see deeply into the future.
Imagine everything
Youre close
And were you there to stand
So cautiously at first and then so high.
As he spoke my spirit climbed into the sky.
I bid it to return
To hear your wonderous stories.
Return to hear your wonderous stories.
Hearing,
Hearing,
Hearing,
Hearing,
Hearing,
song performed by by Yes
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Stories
Every year has its own stories in this life,
Every month has its own stories in this life,
Every week has its own stories in this life,
Every day has its own stories in this life,
Every hour has its own stories in this life,
Every minute has its own stories in this life,
And like the muse of the mind as we grow up;
So, we are all with stories to tell in this world.
As white as snow,
As red as blood,
As balck as charcoal,
As green as the grass,
As blue as the sky;
But everybody has stories to tell in this world!
And like the muse o love in the land of beauty,
For each year has its own story.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Wonderous Stories
(anderson)
I awoke this morning
Love laid me down by a river.
Drifting I turned on upstream
Bound for my forgiver.
In the giving of my eyes to see your face.
Sound did silence me
Leaving no trace.
I beg to leave, to hear your wonderous stories.
Beg to hear your wonderous stories.
He spoke of lands not far
Or lands they were in his mind.
Of fusion captured high
Where reason captured his time.
In no time at all he took me to the gate.
In haste I quickly checked the time.
If I was late I had to leave to hear your wonderous stories.
Had to hear your wonderous stories.
Hearing
Hearing
Hearing your wonderous stories.
Hearing your wonderous stories.
It is no lie I can see deeply into the future.
Imagine everything
Youre close
And were you there to stand
So cautiously at first and then so high.
As he spoke my spirit climbed into the sky.
I bid it to return
To hear your wonderous stories.
Return to hear your wonderous stories.
Hearing,
Hearing,
Hearing,
Hearing,
Hearing,
song performed by by Yes
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Wonderous Stories
(anderson)
I awoke this morning
Love laid me down by a river.
Drifting I turned on upstream
Bound for my forgiver.
In the giving of my eyes to see your face.
Sound did silence me
Leaving no trace.
I beg to leave, to hear your wonderous stories.
Beg to hear your wonderous stories.
He spoke of lands not far
Or lands they were in his mind.
Of fusion captured high
Where reason captured his time.
In no time at all he took me to the gate.
In haste I quickly checked the time.
If I was late I had to leave to hear your wonderous stories.
Had to hear your wonderous stories.
Hearing
Hearing
Hearing your wonderous stories.
Hearing your wonderous stories.
It is no lie I can see deeply into the future.
Imagine everything
Youre close
And were you there to stand
So cautiously at first and then so high.
As he spoke my spirit climbed into the sky.
I bid it to return
To hear your wonderous stories.
Return to hear your wonderous stories.
Hearing,
Hearing,
Hearing,
Hearing,
Hearing,
song performed by by Yes
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Stories
The stories
Night bed its mats
And also we are
Wait and see
The narrative begins with the story
The stories of long time ago
Between fact and fiction
The stories from the ends of the earth
And depth of the ocean
We draw the characters and imagine
Live roles
And sail far and far
And overwhelmed with happiness
And the longing pulls us
And eyebrows painted terms on our faces
The story behind the story
Delight our nights
The stories of my grandmother.
poem by Mohammed AlBalushi
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I heard stories from my mother's mother who was an American Indian. She was spiritual, although she did not go to church, but she had the hum. She used to tell me stories of the rivers.
quote by Tina Turner
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Stories We Could Tell
Talkin to myself again
Wondering if this travelin is good
Is there something better wed be doing if we could
And oh the stories we could tell
And if this all blows up and goes to hell
I can still see us sittin on the bed in some motel
Listenin to the stories we could tell
Remember that guitar in a museum in tennessee
And the nameplate on the glass brought back twenty melodies
And the scratches on the face
Told of all the times he fell
Singin every story he could tell
And oh the stories it could tell
And I bet you it still rings like a bell
And I wish we could sit back on the bed in some motel
And listen to the stories we could tell
So if youre on the road tracking down here every night
And youre singin for a livin neath the brightly colored lights
And if you ever wonder why you ride this carousel
You did it for the stories you could tell
And oh the stories we could tell
And if this all blows up and goes to hell
I can still see us sittin on the bed in some motel
Listenin to the stories we could tell
I can still see us sittin on the bed in some motel
Listenin to the stories we could tell
song performed by by Tom Petty
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Stories
If you were alive today
what stories woud you tell me?
Stories of what it's like without me
or of what comes after this?
Or would you hold back
all those things
and play upon my heartstrings,
then give me one more kiss?
I've often wondered if there is
a memory lane for lovers
where thought and memory covers
all our times of bliss?
If you were alive today
those stories you would bring me
would thrill me and please me
Your stories I still miss.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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11-15-09***- - I Miss Mirth
I've recently taken a long hard look
To see what's missing in this world
Things seem to be getting worse
What is making modern life so cold
Thinking back - - - what did we used to have
That made us eager to get out of bed
What did we have then
That was bouncing around in our head
I think it was the potential for mirth
I awoke expecting some joke to come
I knew a friend or my uncle would dropp by
Or I'd hear a story from an old bum
Sometimes a hobo's stories were best
He's tell us of his travels by rail
And for a nickel
Of lands he'd set sail
But each story always had a good laugh
I was expecting meriment every day
Not just on Christmas Eve
When did I lose this way
It was others making up stories
Just to get my money
Didn't create mirth
Those stories weren't funny
Whether told by my church
Or handed out as financial advice
There is no smile on my face
As I look at the resulta of the roll of modern dice
poem by Tom J. Mariani
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Stories
Through every window, we look out
what we see on the other side
holds many stories waiting to unfold.
Stories of great achievements
within someone’s life.
Stories of gathering love
found with in open arms.
Stories of perusing heartaches
where someone has gone away.
Stories a million fold
that surround every living thing.
Stories we are not aware of,
but happen before our eyes.
Stories to share with all
from those who can see them unfold.
The next time you look out a window
try and see what is really there,
the stories that are everywhere.
26 July 2009
poem by David Harris
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A Famous Dog Story
The story I am about to tell you it well may be true
For the one who told it to me for to give him his due
Is one who does not make up stories nor neither is he
One prone to imagine it would seem to me.
We were swapping dog stories myself and old Lew
Of dogs we heard tell of and dogs that we knew
Of dogs who are honoured in story and rhyme
The history of their greatness has lived on in time.
But the best dog story he told me was one I heard before
When I was a young school-boy going back five decades or more
The greatest dog story that he can recall
Perhaps is the greatest dog story of all.
A story from early Spring the weather was cold
The red shorthorn calf had strayed from her mother a young five days old
In the field by the farm-yard the cow bellowed around
But her calf did not reply and was not to be found.
The farmer searched for her with Shep his brown cattle dog
But no trace of the calf in the field by the bog
He then thought the calf may have strayed and in a bog hole drown
Still no trace of the young heifer though the bog he searched up and down.
But in the gray dawning of the very next day
Old Shep the brown dog to the yard made his way
With the red heifer calf suckling on the end of his tail
That the clever dog had dipped into a full milk pail.
The mother cow was delighted her calf she did lick
And none more relieved than the old farmer Mick
As he patted his dog you're a hero he did say
This a famous dog story that lives on today.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Storyteller Emma Jean
I’m wearing a sparkling blue ring,
from precious Mother Emma Jean.
This ring gives me power to storytell,
Emma Jean told stories and she did it well.
Now she told a story I will never forget,
she weaves the story of the “Headless Horseman”.
telling her story in Missouri at a really young age,
better then Grimm’s Fairy Tales writes it on the page.
Her voice changes in fluctuation and stance,
weaving words like a rhythmic dance.
Even though Emma Jean’s gone,
I will tell her stories so they will live on.
Written by Christina Sunrise on Feb.15,2011
poem by Suzae Chevalier
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Well, religion has been passed down through the years by stories people tell around the campfire. Stories about God, stories about love. Stories about good spirits and evil spirits.
quote by Andrew Greeley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Iraqi Freedom
They have brought Saddam to justice and handed freedom back
Or at least that is what you tell me to the people of Iraq
But i always thought that freedom included freedom to live free of fear
Whilst every day from Iraq of more deaths through violence we do hear.
If you think Iraq is such a great place to live in you should try living there
And with the basic freedoms that you now enjoy your notes you can compare
For you do not seem enlightened on matters of liberty
On your ideas of Iraq i for one could not agree.
And your ideas of freedom seem quite laughable to me
How can one even know of basic freedom if of fear one can't live free
You should spend your next holiday in Iraq with your wife and family
Otherwise your ideas of freedom i cannot take seriously.
When you talk of Iraqi freedom talk is cheap and words are easily said
The only news we hear from Iraq is of more Iraqi dead
As a holiday destination Iraq i would not recommend
Unless of course you are suicidal and you wish your life to end.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Man On The Street
I was walking downtown
When I heard a strange sound
So I turned back around
When I saw a man on the ground
He had no shoes on his feet
I said have you had something to eat
He said he`d be glad for some heat
He fought in a war
In a far distant land
When he came back home
He found himself alone
Wounded from battles
His mind more then rattled
He was laid off from his job
His boss said he didn`t matter
He fell into depression, became even sadder
His mother is old, lives in a nursing home
His father is dead, He fought against the reds
So why is this man left out in the cold?
When you go to the store to buy you some gold
And you go to the church to save your soul
Remember this story that I just told
poem by Joseph Whelan
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