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Poems On / About HERO  10/31/2014 7:41:03 AM
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Cups Of Earth

Daydreams without heroes- underneath school
Underneath cathedrals: angel-less
Playing hooky, spending all of their Roman Candles,
While the daylight flickers
Like the light through a zoetrope:
And now you see her brown skinned, being chased
By foxes
Into that world over the trees,
And what you would have wished to speak to her
Has clouded in your mouth
Like the guts of an orchid- and you can only
Guess at what she does, as the night inevitably overspills
Its cups of earth.
Robert Rorabeck

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The Seed-At-Zero

The seed-at-zero shall not storm
That town of ghosts, the trodden womb,
With her rampart to his tapping,
No god-in-hero tumble down
Like a tower on the town
Dumbly and divinely stumbling
Over the manwaging line.

The seed-at-zero shall not storm
That town of ghosts, the manwaged tomb
With her rampart to his tapping,
No god-in-hero tumble down
Like a tower on the town
Dumbly and divinely leaping
Over the warbearing line.

Through the rampart of the sky
Shall the star-flanked seed be riddled,
Manna for the rumbling ground,
Quickening for the riddled sea;
Settled on a virgin stronghold
He shall grapple with the guard
And the keeper of the key.

May a humble village labour
And a continent deny?
A hemisphere may scold him
And a green inch be his bearer;
Let the hero seed find harbour,
Seaports by a drunken shore
Have their thirsty sailors hide him.

May be a humble planet labour
And a continent deny?
A village green may scold him
And a high sphere be his bearer;
Let the hero seed find harbour,
Seaports by a thirsty shore
Have their drunken sailors hide him.

Man-in-seed, in seed-at-zero,
From the foreign fields of space,
Shall not thunder on the town
With a star-flanked garrison,
Nor the cannons of his kingdom
Shall the hero-in-tomorrow
Range on the sky-scraping place.

Man-in-seed, in seed-at-zero,
From the star-flanked fields of space,
Thunders on the foreign town
With a sand-bagged garrison,
Nor the cannons of his kingdom
Shall the hero-in-to-morrow
Range from the grave-groping place.
Dylan Thomas

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Read more: hero poems, star poems, green poems, sky poems, god poems, sea poems



My Heroes

Let me start by saying I love sports and I’m not too proud to claim
Despite the exorbitant salaries and the criminals I still love to watch the game.

We tend to think of our athletes as heroes, they are admired and embraced
But since we hardly know them...isn’t our hero worship a bit misplaced?

The other day a pitcher for my team- that would be the Rays from Tampa Bay
Was sick but went to the mound and pitched 6 innings anyway.

He was lauded as a hero in the paper just for going in
And giving our team the opportunity to come out with a win.

I think it was admirable and certainly his reputation I don’t want to smear
But wouldn’t it be easier to go to work sick if you made 9.8 million dollars every year?

9 million dollars to pitch once every 5 days...that’s a lot of fortune for his fame
9 million dollars to throw 100 pitches in perhaps 33 or 34 games.

And he’s not even one of the highest paid pitchers, but no doubt he has the riches
For he makes two-hundred and fifty-thousand dollars every time he pitches.

What makes a hero is not a strong arm, a good back swing or a great bat...
It seems to me a hero is quite a bit more than that.

What about the mom or dad who never makes the front page
As they try to provide for their families while making a minimum wage?

What about the everyday people of whom we often don’t speak
Working 8 to 10 hours every day,40 or more hours every week?

What about the teachers, the doctors, the nurses, there are so many...take your pick
The first responders, the soldiers, the truck drivers who go to work when they’re sick.

Who after working two-thirds of their day would love to be of the belief
That they could call their manager, say their tired, and get some needed relief.

Who would love after coming home early...to have the added perk
Of resting for another 4 days before going back to work.

I do not begrudge this pitcher, certainly he has a talent that’s quite rare
But when it comes to picking the heroes in my life...I choose to look elsewhere.
Jim Yerman

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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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