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Poems On / About HERO  8/21/2014 1:15:43 AM
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  301.     

Knight In Shining Armour

The valiant hero stood his ground,
Defiant in the sun,
His shining armour shone around
On almost everyone!
The crowd assembled, like they do,
As if to cheer him on,
The villain of the piece to boo,
As if he'd soon be gone...

The villain slapped his gauntlet there,
Right on the hero's cheek!
The hero trembled with a glare
That some thought quite unique...
'How darest thou, thou craven knave!
Now suffer for that slight! '
Back to their horses they marched brave,
The knave against the knight!

The horses tensed their muscles hard
To bear the extra weight,
The two men posed and then 'En guard! '
Their faces full of hate...
A preacher begged them to repent,
Make peace, but would they hell...
'Oh, dear...' said he, then off he went,
Looked back and bade farewell...

The fight began, as most fights do,
Courageous to a fault,
They beat each other black and blue
And then they called a halt...
Time-out for nose bleeds to calm down
And nervous knees to rest...
Before they sought the victor's crown
And comely maiden's chest...

The villain twirled his moustache back,
That drove the hero wild!
He gave the villain's rump a whack
And that sure got him riled!
'How darest thou! ' was his retort
And soon revenge was his!
The hero's rump got what it ought,
The villain couldn't miss!

The crowd was in hysterics now,
Guffaws were everywhere...
The hero wiped his sweaty brow
And thought, 'The cads don't care! '
With that, he turned and rode away,
To head for yonder hill...
His rump was sore, his heart was gay,
His armour shining still...


Denis Martindale, copyright, October 2012.
 
Denis Martindale

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  302.     

How Long Will The Hero Go Beating The Villain?

It appears almost ludicrous to see the hero beating the villain in public
And the poor and helpless villain getting a good beating
Into the hands of the hero,
Who is an expert of judo, karate, boxing and kung-fu,
The martial arts and fighting skills.

Just for a girl, as for love at first sight, at first glance, he can do marvels,
Can kick and fight with,
The hero fighting with so many,
From the slums turning into a capitalist,
A big man,
How can it be?

The poor villain is often presented in a bad light,
But the reality is this that the hero not a hero,
But a villain
And the villain a hero in real life,
Which but you know not,
I know it not.

They show it falsely and misguide the emotional public,
Which is men like me,
They dodge and turn away from them
And these lead to violence and spilling of blood,
Youngsters like to behave in that way.

But the truth far from,
A superstar can spoil the life of a girl for an extra-marital affair,
While the other may be found in a live-in relationship,
While the other may keep two wives,
While the other will run away with the wife of another,
The big boss word may be just a linguistic jargon,
I do not know it who is whose boss?

The villain who indulges in murder and violence do not do it really,
But the simple minds will catch it
Without feeling about the consequences,
The fire arms will lure them
And to smoke, drink and dance common,
But everything has got a limit.

The side heroine too is a beautiful girl,
But she has not got the part
And this is for which she suffers and bears the brunt.

 
Bijay Kant Dubey

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  303.     

Heroes

There are no super heroes in this world,
but there are heroes abound.
They are ordinary people
just like you and I.
They cannot leap tall buildings
with a single bound,
or scale walls with their fingertips.
They cannot fly without wings,
nor stop speeding cars
just by standing in front of them.
What they can do and do
is go out of their way to save lives.
They want no recognition
for the risks they sometimes take.
A spur of the moment action
is all their bravery takes.
They put their lives on the line
so others may live,
and then walk away from it
when it is all over
as if nothing happened at all.
These heroes have names and faces,
but are hardly known at all.
They are never out for fame,
just to help another living thing
that may be in distress.
Some are recognised and honoured;
others just go on their way
becoming unsung heroes
who just saved the day.
For all those unsung heroes
who are around us every day
this poem is my tribute
to you one and all
with a big thank you from us all.
You have shown us what real courage is.
You may not be known to many,
but to those you’ve helped
they will always remember you
as being the hero there
when they needed one the most.

20 July 2008
 
David Harris

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  304.     

The Forgotten Hero

He rambles, solitary along the streets, His body enervated with aching feet,
He’s spent half his life deserted and alone, Heading for destinations unknown.

His clothes are soiled, rancid and torn, The shoes on his feet are totally worn,
A carrier bag holds his only effects, An outcast, an exile one of societies rejects.

Just a forgotten hero, who done his country proud,
But now he is forgotten, just a beggar in the crowd.

He’s an old man now, going on seventy four, A veteran and hero of the second world war,
The medals on his chest, he will not trade, They’re just a small reminder of the price so many paid.

A heroes welcome he received, in 1945, Now he struggles day by day just to stay alive,
By day he sits there begging, with memories in his head, Of the wounded and the dying and the ones he left for dead.

Just a forgotten hero, begging amongst the crowd,
Huddled in a doorway, a blanket, his only shroud.

The blinds of darkness are pulled upon day, It’s time to find a place to stay,
Headed for the local park, He makes his way through the shadows of dark.

It’s minus two and he shivers alone, Stretched out on a park bench, his icicle home,
The sequestered memories of his life flash by, As his haggard body let’s out a sigh.

Just a forgotten hero, sleeping out in the cold,
A park bench as a bed, no place for the old.

He’s found in the morning, by a passer-by, She stares, sheds a tear and asks herself why,
He’s no longer a burden or public liability, now that he’s found his peace, and tranquillity.

On his grave there is no inscription, No cross or stone of any description,
A mound of earth marks where he lay, But he’s still not known, even to this day.

Just a forgotten hero, who done his country proud,
Not even missed by the apathetic crowd.
 
welshrebel GMR

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