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K Balachandran Jun 2018
drum beats to murmur,
a lull in nightlong rain rage;
wind’s bugle again!
Mr B Aug 2015
How did I get here from where I was before,
A little weekend dabble and never wanted more,
I cannot become addicted, too good for that I'm sure,
But looking back I underestimated the power and the lure,
Half a packet here and there become 1 or 2 a week,
The lure of the white powder, I start becoming weak,
Sneaky packets in the day, trying to conceal,
Then when caught, convincing people that it's no big deal,
Lying to your loved ones, lying all day long,
Hiding from everyone and singing the paranoia song,
Once I pop I cannot stop till all the powder goes,
Doesn't seem to matter that I can't smell through my nose,
Nobody understands me or what I'm going through,
To them they think it's just a joke and don't believe it's true,
But I can confirm I'm an addict and I want you all to know,
And help me get away from this evil pure white snow,
I want to stop, I want it gone, I want it out my life,
I want to be a decent Dad and have a loving wife,
******* has been so evil and sneaky in its way,
Never think that you are too good to be lead astray,
Addiction is for junkies and skanks I used to spout,
Now I realise I didn't know what I was talking about,
I've nearly lost all I love and never felt so low,
I really need you to go *******, you really have to go.
RW Dennen Jul 2015
Bugle call in cadence be
spread your deep sincerity

Reverberate its call
within our minds
of good deeds done
for better times

Heroes of every walk of life
remembered by bugle sounds
into vesper night
It's sounding love of mankind
and sacrifice
About everyday people
like you and me
About brass sounds that triumph liberty
It's sounding our land, not laid bare,
by the right to speak
It's sounding about lives laid down
that freedoms seek
And through that bugle call we see
in taps that sound great dignity

We must fight
not to relinquish
our hard earned truth
in bugle calls of our youth

Now i lay my bugle
down to sleep
And still i hear that
that haunting sound
forever be
that ushers forth
our dignity
Hang strong "We the People" have the masses. This poem was meant for
people like Martin Luther King who gave forth positive contributions and died
in helping mostly the middle class and poor; have a good 4th.
Colleen Brown Jul 2014
March 19, the day you died.
The day a friend had left our side.
The call I got was short and swift.
My head spun, my heart adrift.

"Dead?!" I cried.
How could this be?
He had just left...
...I could still remember his glee.

A wife and children,
All left behind.
His story is enough,
to keep his spirit alive:

A joyful man, friends with all,
He loved his family, and trucked through every haul.
A handsome son, and three beautiful daughters,
All left behind: babes without their father.

He landed on our soil,
The land of the free.
Destined to be in his box,
His final resting memory.
"I'm sorry for your lost"
Just didn't seem right.
I had only lost a friend,
Not a mother, nor a wife.

The funeral came,
So bright and tranquil.
He loved his life,
And so many loved him.
A beautiful day, for all to hear,
Even when the bugle cried.
We listened to it's mournful lullaby.

I'm mad at you, but I'll be okay.
I could never stay mad at that goofy face.
Watch over your family, tuck them in at night,
And I'll keep from saying Good bye,
I'll simply say, See you in the sky.
A close family friend passed a few months ago, and this doesn't even start to cover the emotions since then. He was a radiant beam of sunlight that will never ever be forgotten.

— The End —