Verse vs. worse

I read somewhere that poetry is often uplifting, pulling you out of the blues on occasion, not just ennui. I write poetry, though just to express myself - to myself. None of it is written to be read by others. It is not meant that way, that is.

However, I have decided to put up some over here. A friend of mine remarked (rather caustically, I thought at the time) that I hadn't put up anything new on my blog for a while. And I realised that it had been a while. So here is something I wrote, for you to read, Vg. You probably won't like it, but how is that any of my concern? (:-)

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Ballad of the soldier's Mother
(Or Courage)


Come hither, grandson of mine,
A story I must tell.
Of you mother when you were only two,
I shall tell you all that befell.

In those days, those heady days,
The world was drunk on power.
And to increase this might a big war grew,
Closer and closer by the hour.

Your ma was a cookery maid,
As I never told you before.
But all who know of that fateful day,
Know she was as a woman much more.

The lord and master of the house,
You'll find his namein the history books.
He was the only man sane,
Who saved this nation from the crooks.

Yet a week before he made that famous speech,
A great tragedy had occurred.
A heinious crime, a killing attempted,
Of which naught was ever heard.

A killer sneaked in from a window,
Let open to cool the stifling heat.
Your mother saw him 'n he grabbed her neck,
But she uttered not a bleat.

She was a strong-willed thing if not strong,
In the ways the killer was instead.
And though then she knew that she would die,
To save the lord, no tear was shed.

They scampered up to the study,
Her mouth closed by his hand.
And even with the barrel in her ribs,
Her eyes shone like a fiery brand.

And on the very brink of the shooting,
She bit his hand and gouged his eyes.
But though it was sudden, the killer was tough,
And a shot was hear amongst his cries.

The shock threw her onto the floor,
And her vitals began to bleed.
The killer turned to search his victim,
And finish his evil deed.

The woman though bleeding couldn't
let her life be given in vain.
She clutched the villain's feet 'n pulled
Down inspite of the deathly pain.

The black-clothed black-hearted man stumbled,
He was taken completely by surprise.
And by now the guards had come and lit,
The room as bright as sunrise.

The villain the caught and bound and tied,
But for her they could do naught.
Every one of those stoic hearts bled,
Till a physicial was brought.

The old gentleman of medicine,
He did his medicine-ly things.
But slowly a ghastly pallor spread,
The kind only arriving death brings.

She tried to push the Doctor away,
And asked to speak to the master.
And he knelt down by her side,
As she spoke all hearts beat faster.

"My lord, oh my saintly sir,
They sent this man to kill thee.
But more than you or me the sought,
To kill your peaceful philosophy."

"Do not let them succeed my lord,
Even to victors war brings misery.
Save this land, these humble simple people,
Guide them to happiness and prosperity."

"Do not cease in your efforts, you stalwart,
Thought tought times try to make you bow.
Do not forget that a son was orphaned,
Just as I go to leave you now..."

"The darkness is almost complete,
Send for a priest or preacher.
Or if none be found nearby,
Send for a pure-hearted creature...."

But those were her last words,
The priest arrived a minute too late.
Yet I believe a million times blessed,
She left for heaven that fateful date.

That statue you pass on Mother's Square everyday,
Is of hers, do you now guess.
It wasn't that lord, nor fate,
She alone got us out of that mess.

So tomorrow when you go to volunteer,
In the Army to try to be a man.
Remember that strength lies not in muscles,
Nor is endurance signaled by a deep tan.

Your ma, bless her soul, had neither of these,
But she was the stongest 'un I've even known.
Go, seek out your own destiny but never,
Forget the strength your blood has shown.