The So Called Coward And The Traitor
A traitor to his Country many of him do say
He never enlisted to fight in the war far away
But he marches in every anti war parade
Some say cowards are born they cannot be made.
But some have strange ways of defining a coward
By his higher self the man has been empowered
His dad died in war a hero but the son to war said no
In making a stand courage he has to show.
In not going to war he did not rob a young wife
Of the father of her children and the love of her life
And robbed a mother of her beloved son
Many call him a coward and a traitor yet he's not harmed anyone.
The so called coward and the traitor goes out of his way
To help the poor old lady frail, vulnerable and gray
Helps her out when she needs him and never asks her for pay
The young man is my hero of him she does say.
The last post will never be played at his grave
But the so called coward and the traitor in truth is quite brave
He did not go to war distant from his Homeland
And for what he believes in he does make a stand.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Just One More Dead Hero
So much about his courage we have heard of and read
So sad about the brave man so sad to hear he's dead
A decorated soldier from a war far away
The Reaper claimed the life from him suppose he had his day
One the nationalists and patriots used to celebrate
But with the coward and the traitor he shared a common fate
Not one to respect money or bravery or fame
To the Reaper the life of the coward and the hero are equal and the same
Though memories of the man he was will take some time to fade
Next year he won't be around to march in the war veterans parade
Ninety two when he died his best days long gone
Just one more dead hero and life does go on
The coward and the hero and those of wealth and fame
Are made equal by the Reaper he treats them as the same.
poem by Francis Duggan
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The Ballad Of Jesse James
Jesse james was a man
And he killed many men
He robbed the glendale train
And he took from the richer
And he gave that to the poorer
Hed a hand and a heart and a brain
Oh jesse had a wife to mourn for his life
Three children they were so brave
But that dirty little coward
That shot mr. howard
Has laid jesse james in his grave
(instrumental)
On wednesday night
When the moon was shining bright
They robbed that glendale train
And the folks from miles about (yeah they can)
They all said without a doubt
It was done by her frankie and jesse james (yes it was)
Oh jessie had a wife, to mourn for his life
Three children they were so brave
But that dirty little coward
That shot mr. howard
Has laid (poor) jesse james in his grave
(instrumental)
Well the people held their breath
When they heard about jesses death (yeah)
And they wondered how poor jesse came to die (how did he die? )
It was one of his guys, called little robert ford
And he shot jessie james on the sly
Oh jessie had a wife to mourn for his life
Three children they were so brave
But that dirty little coward
That shot mr. howard
Has laid jesse james in his grave
Has laid poor jesse in his grave
He laid jesse james in his grave
song performed by by Van Morrison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Im a Man In Love
Some called me the fool of the fools,
To shout your name my lungs out,
To walk on thorns to reach your hand,
To swim the deepest depths to get to you,
To jump the highest heights to be with you,
Im not a fool, Im a man in love
Some called me the coward of the cowards,
To hang the boots and pursue love,
To go on knees for the moment with you,
To dropp a tear for a woman,
To let the arrow pass through my heart,
To surrender my heart in battle for love,
Im not a coward, Im a man in love
Some called me the charmer of the charmers,
To woo a woman of high vestige,
To be loved by a woman of pronounced nobility,
To have the heart of a woman of great modesty,
To be in that moment where all men longs for,
To rest in the comfort of a lady,
I have no charm, Im a man in love
Some called me the weak of the weakest,
To drown and be flooded in bucket of water,
To be heated and melted by the sun,
To fall on top of a chair be hurt,
To forget what I heard a second ago,
Im not weak, Im a man in love
Some called me the hero of heroes,
To fight for it and never give in,
To defend it always and never give up,
To hold on to it and never let go,
To stand for it and it alone,
Yet im not a hero, Im a man in love
Some called me the wise of the wisest,
To write her a poem and never tire,
To utter words that make love to her,
To speak what makes her shed a tear,
The expressions that make her feel loved,
Im not wise, Im a man in love
poem by Gaylord Munemo
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The Hero Is Dead
Many people the praises of warriors do sing
And they talk of war as if war is a good thing
There are tears in their eyes when the last post is played
And proudly they march in every war parade
Every day in war zones more people do die
And the war supposed to end all wars was based on a lie
And more wars are waged now than ever before
The lessons of history we tend to ignore
The coward from the battle turned and ran away
But the hero is dead and the coward lives today
They talk of the heroes in battles lost and won
But in war there's no winner when all is said and done
From the heat of the battle the coward ran away
But he is a very proud grand-dad today.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Heores
Heroes
Being a hero means little to me,
For I have see men labeled as a coward die as a heroes
And men called heroes run like cowards.
A name means nothing when it is all outside
And being called a hero is only a name.
For I have seen countless men live and die,
As only a hero could.
And yet they received nothing more,
Than a little golden star.
Countless heroes have lived and died,
But only a few ever truly earned such a title.
A true hero never worries about titles,
They do what is needed no matter the price.
A true hero is willing to make,
That ultimate sacrifice.
They will lay down their lives,
For their brothers-in-arms,
And give what they can for all those they love.
That is why I willingly gave,
My right leg for the man standing beside me.
I gave what I could so that he would live,
Hoping that he would do the same for another.
poem by Chad LaRowe
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Stories of.....
Courageous and fearful
are two similar things
though one has the spirit
to see what “action” brings.
Both of them are scared
there’s no denying that,
its’s just that one is controlled
and one beats it right back
Now this one may be killed,
maimed, or disabled
Though who is the “hero”
when you’re reading the fable?
It’s the hero who’s brave,
while the coward stay back.
It’s our hero who prevails
and often attacks
these monsters of evil,
these beings of harm.
And it’s often the coward
who raises alarm,
to summon the heroes
to come in good speed
While the hero prevails,
courageous is he!
And he will return
to good women, good will,
ro glory and riches............
unless he gets killed.
The decision is yours,
not that of the writer.
Do you run from this witch
or turn around to fight her?
Do you return to “glory”
and the respect of many
or were you hiding from courage
and never received any?
The story is yours,
you can write your own book.
You can fashion your hero
by the chances he took.
Or you can hold back
and stay well and alive.
While they looked for trouble,
you looked to hide.
But in all fairness,
many stories are told
of cowards who hid,
and grew rich and grew old.
And those cowards died
a nice, peaceful death,
dying in their beds
far from dragon’s breath.
So after writing this,
to be a fearing or courageous guy
ultimately lies in
how you’re looking to die. .
poem by Chris Weersing
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I'm A Coward
I ain't afraid of no lions
I ain't afraid of no grizzly bear
I got in a wrestlin' match with old king kong
He didn't even muss my hair
There's just one thing in the whole wide world
That make me doubt my stuff
I'm a coward when it comes to love
Now bring down old hulk hogan
King kong bundy too
Bring down old big mike tyson
I'll show them what a real man can do
They say the tougher' get goin'
Now baby that's when the goin' get tough
But i'm a coward when it comes to love
I'm a coward when it comes to love
I'm a coward when it comes to love
You can bring on a different sexy girl
At every night of the week
Buddy that's okay
But i start tremblin', my knees get weak
Whenever i hear her say
"do you love me baby?"
"do you love me baby?"
"do you love me baby?"
I got a muscle of iron
I got another muscle made of steel
But when we start kissin' 'n' huggin'
You may be the bravest man in the whole wide world
But buddy, that ain't enough
I'm a coward when it comes to love
I'm a coward when it comes to love
I'm a coward when it comes to love
song performed by by Bruce Springsteen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Jesse James
Jesse James was a lad who killed many a man.
He robbed the Glendale train.
He stole from the rich and he gave to the poor,
He’d a hand and a heart and a brain.
Jesse had a wife to mourn for his life,
Three children, they were brave,
But that dirty little coward that shot Mister Howard,
Has laid Jesse James in his grave.
It was Robert Ford, that dirty little coward,
I wonder how he does feel,
For he ate of Jesse’s bread and he slept in Jesse’s bed,
Then he laid Jesse James in his grave.
Jesse was a man, a friend to the poor,
He’d never see a man suffer pain,
And with his brother Frank he robbed the Chicago bank,
And stopped the Glendale train.
It was on a Wednesday night, the moon was shining bright,
He stopped the Glendale train,
And the people all did say for many miles away,
It was robbed by Frank and Jesse James.
It was on a Saturday night, Jesse was at home,
Talking to his family brave,
Robert Ford came along like a thief in the night,
And laid Jesse James in his grave.
The people held their breath when they heard of Jesse’s death,
And wondered how he ever came to die,
It was one of the gang called little Robert Ford,
That shot Jesse James on the sly.
Jesse went to his rest with his hand on his breast,
The devil will be upon his knee,
He was born one day in the county of Clay
And he came from a solitary race.
This song was made by Billy Gashade,
As soon as the news did arrive,
He said there was no man with the law in his hand
Could take Jesse James when alive.
poem by Anonymous Americas
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Jesse James
When Jesse James was a lad
He killed many a man
And he roamed over the Scarsdale range
Robbin' from the rich
And givin' to the poor
He was dark and cold and full of rage
Oh yes he was, sing with me
Poor Jesse had a wife
To mourn for his life
And three children
They were oh so brave
But that dirty little coward
He went and shot Mr. Howard
Laid poor Jesse in his grave yeah
It was on a Saturday night
When Jesse was at home
Talking to old railroad Jed
Along come Robert Ford
Like a theif in the night
And he shot poor Jesse in the back
Poor Jesse had a wife
To mourn for his life
Three children
They were oh so brave
But that dirty little coward
He went and shot Mr. Howard
Laid poor Jesse in his grave yeah
He lays
Six feet under the ground
song performed by by Bob Seger
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Here's To Anti War People
To so called patriots and pro war people and those to enlightenment blind
They are not to be trusted and are traitor kind
But they march for peace and I see that as great
And they are the people that I celebrate
If anti war people are seen by some as traitors and guilty of grave sin
Then I too am a traitor amongst them count me in
For war never brings true peace despite what some say
And somewhere in the World war is waged every day
In Countries in Africa, The Middle East and Afghanistan and Iraq
People constantly living in fear of attack
From terrorists and extremists that war did create
Compassionless people who are consumed by hate
So here's to anti war people their praises I must sing
Their march is for peace and that is a great thing.
poem by Francis Duggan
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The General
The one holding all the cards in the art of love
and war never chooses to fight
For he surmises that fight without losing lives,
is the only one worth while.
A coward he is not, a strategical general he is.
He knows when hes beaten
And he knows when hes won
He never lets arrogance get the best of him
Or whims of a fancy mislead
He boosts moral any way he can
He is king in his men heart
He wears the worst cloths of the lot
Knowing only of what he needs not
When the enemy here's his name they either flee
Or become traitor to their own
Switching sides under the cover of night
They say cheers him as hes alright
poem by Ace Of Black Hearts
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And you love me
And you love me
I love you.
You are, then, cold coward.
Aye; but, beloved,
When I strive to come to you,
Man's opinions, a thousand thickets,
My interwoven existence,
My life,
Caught in the stubble of the world
Like a tender veil --
This stays me.
No strange move can I make
Without noise of tearing
I dare not.
If love loves,
There is no world
Nor word.
All is lost
Save thought of love
And place to dream.
You love me?
I love you.
You are, then, cold coward.
Aye; but, beloved --
poem by Stephen Crane
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The real hero is always a hero by mistake; he dreams of being an honest coward like everybody else. If it had been possible he would have settled the matter otherwise, and without bloodshed. He doesn't boast of his own death or of others'. But he does not repent. He suffers and keeps his mouth shut; if anything, others then exploit him, making him a myth, while he, the man worthy of esteem, was only a poor creature who reacted with dignity and courage in an event bigger than he was.
quote by Umberto Eco
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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A Grieving Mother
The patriots celebrating the war has been won
But the grieving mother weeps for her dead son
Who died a young hero in a war far away
His twenty third birthday it would be today.
Out of the young war dead war heroes are made
This morning she did not go to watch the parade
Instead she placed flowers on the grave where her son lay
And knelt on the grass for awhile for to pray.
She sees her son's death as a waste of a good young life
He never had the chance to make the young woman he loved his wife
He surely would have made a wonderful dad
One of the joys in life that he never had.
Today had he been alive he'd have been twenty three
Her son was a brave man none braver than he
She wept at his grave whilst through the streets of the town
The patriots did proudly parade up and down.
poem by Francis Duggan
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The Final Old Hero
The final old hero has faded away
His bones even beyond the state of decay
He gave rise to many a patriotic song
But to Mother Nature he finally belong.
He was a great King in a Land from here far
And he was one who led his army in war
He died a true hero on the battle-ground
And stories about him in folklore abound.
No heroes amongst the war leaders of today
From the heat of the battle they stay far away
The children of others for them fight and die
And the rewards of renown and wealth they enjoy.
I see them as manipulative deceitful and sly
Yet that the majority cannot see through them I do wonder why
For what they truly are many them cannot see
And the hero to many is a coward to me.
Though his legend inspired the bards for to rhyme
The final old hero almost forgotten in time
He led his men in war and in battle he died
And true greatness of him never can be denied.
poem by Francis Duggan
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That Most Humans Crave For Glory
That most humans crave for glory is surely not a lie
And though you well may love your Country for your Country why should you die
Since dead heroes like dead cowards cannot help their Country in any way
Whilst alive you can help your Country even though you look old and gray
The dead hero cannot hear the bugler when the last post it is played
Though some may say his ghost is present at every war parade
The deserter is dishonoured from the fight he ran away
But to his Country he's of some use he's alive and well today
The dead hero he is honoured though to him that of no use
For to justify their recent war the war leaders use the war dead as an excuse
For another bloody battle a war they themselves will not fight in
Though in every war that ever was humanity did not win
You cannot serve your Country by dying for it so live for as long as you can
And die hopefully a painless death as a very old man.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Coward
Here stands the coward
As you look upon his face
So afraid of the world outside
His soul is full of pity and disgrace.
He talks behind ones back
When they are never around
As he is tough when he is alone
And he is always coward bound.
He will never talk face to face
When conflict heads his way
He will just run away and hide
And to GOD for protection he will pray.
He lacks the courage to do many things
As he always runs out of mans sight
He hides while no one is looking
As he can never fight his own fight.
He will make up his stories and lies
So he can cover up his cowardly way
As that is all that he knows to do
He is so afraid of all danger and pain.
He will laugh and will always smile
As that too is part of his act
So persons might believe he is brave
But bravery and manhood he does lack.
He is brave when females are around
Then he pretends he is something he's not
He feels their heads with his lies and stories
Or of deeds that other men had done and sought.
He is so much like a frightened animal
With its tail tucked between its legs
To all he shows that he has no courage
Which is more than a cowardly plague.
He is also known by other names
Which he has been call in the past before
He is also known as a chicken and sissy
And that too is branded upon his core.
He timidly wakes up everyday
And takes himself a sadly shower
He washes off the dirt from the night before
But he cannot wash off being a coward.
Randy L. McClave
poem by Randy McClave
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Scots Wha' Hae
Scots, wha' hae wi' Wallace bled,
Scots wham Bruce has often led,
Welcome to your gory bed,
Or to Victorie!
Now's the day, and now's the hour;
See the front o' battle lour,
See approach proud Edward's pow'r
Chains and slaverie!
Wha will be a traitor knave?
Wha can fill a coward's grave?
Wha sae base as be a slave?
Let him turn and flee!
Wha for Scotland's King and law
Freedom's sword will strongly draw?
Freeman stand, or freeman fa'?
Let him follow me!
By oppression's woes and pains!
By your sons in servile chains!
We will drain our dearest veins,
But they shall be free!
Lay the proud usurper low!
Tyrants fall in ev'ry foe!
Liberty's in ev'ry blow!
Let us do or die!
poem by Robert Burns
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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The Man who Keeps his Head
THERE'S a man who fights for England, and
he'll keep her still atop,
He will guard her from dishonour in the market
and the shop,
He will save her homes from terror on the fields of
Daily Bread,
He's the man who sticks to business, he's the man
who keeps his head.
Let the foe who strikes at England hear her wheels
of commerce turn,
Let the ships that war with England see her factory
furnace burn;
For the foe most fears the cannon, and his heart
most quails with dread
When behind the man in khaki is the man who
keeps his head.
Brand him traitor and assassin who with miser's
coward mood
Has his gold locked up in secret and his larders
stored with food,
Who has cast adrift his workers, who lies sweating
in his bed,
And who snarls to hear the laughter of the man
Who keeps his head.
Let the poor man teach the rich man, for the poor
man's constant strife
Is from day to day to seek work, day by day to war
with life,
And the poor man's home hangs ever by a frail and
brittle thread,
And the poor man's often hungry, but the poor
man keeps his head.
When the ships come back from slaughter, and the
troops march home from war;
When the havoc strewn behind us threats the road
that lies before,
Every hero shall be welcomed, every orphan shall
be fed,
By the man who stuck to business, by the man who
kept his head.
poem by Harold Begbie from Poems of the Great War
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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A choice
Which way can I go?
Should I go forward?
Or stay put like a coward?
Should I watch those who suffer?
Or step in and help?
Should I leave the earth alone?
Or should I help it grow?
Should I make friends with those who need a friend?
Or should I stand by and let them be lonely?
Which way can I go?
Should I go forward?
Or stay put like a coward?
6/24/12
poem by Regan Galloway
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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