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Thread: The Barricades

  1. #1
    harder, honey
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    The Barricades

    Another poem I wrote when I was 16.


    Father always told me as I sat upon his knee,
    Grandad was the one who fought, he fought to set us free.
    The courage of the British men, marching, united as one,
    Heros standing together, anxiety and fear long gone.
    ***

    The passion and the patricism kept them battling through,
    There weren't men looking for fame, they did what they had to do.
    They dreamed of a peaceful place, without the brutality of war,
    A dream of live, a dream of hope, a dream worth fighting for.

    ***

    And as the drums began to fade, the glamour and the excitement were gone,
    These ordinary men who fought for us, what made them carry on?
    The stench of fear, the bang of gunshot, the horrified shouts of men,
    The only bit of light relief was putting paper to pen.

    ***

    The girls at home, waiting for them,
    grasping any scrap of news,
    The idea that people weren't getting hurt, it was all just a glamorous rouse.
    Their families were still close to their hearts, in crumpled black and white,
    It was us they did it for, wives and sons were their reason to fight.

    ***

    Five years were spent on those battlefields, trying in vain to win,
    They did it for human beings alike, for our creed and our kin,
    "We won," Grandad says, "we fought like men, not mice."
    Yet in his smile there are wrinkles, deep lines of sacrifice.
    I do not want to be the leader. I want to live darkly and richly in my femaleness. I want a man lying over me. His will, his pleasure, his desire, his life, his work, his sexuality the touchstone, the command, my pivot. I don't mind working, intellectually, artistically; but oh, God, as a woman I want to be dominated. I am going to be pursued, fucked, possessed by the will of a male at his time, his bidding.

  2. #2
    John56{vg}
    Guest
    lovely almost golden (I don't know, sounds golden to me),

    That is beautfiul, wonderfully beautiful.

    MY father fought in World War II (I am an old man) in the South Pacific. And I have read anything I can on the sacrifices of these young men who fought and feared. They were heroes all, becasue they were fighting a great evil. And that evil threatened you folks (the brits) most of all. The sacrifices are many for all the brits, those that fought and those that sustained bombings and sacrifice on a daily basis.

    What you poem show me is that you realized even at 16 that these heroes, these "chosen few" were just men (and women) who did what they had to do. But being normal mortal men made that heroism even more valued.

    Wise little one, very wise

    Thank you for sharing it,

    John

  3. #3
    Banned
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    Jan 2007
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    golden,

    this shows wisdom beyond your years. I am impressed with your command of the language also. Great poem.

  4. #4
    princess
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    thanks for sharing and im really sorry im late with reading this

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