Historical poetry

My friend Crowfly and I will be judging
First,  runnerup,  and place if all goes well. Smart poetry people!

History buffs please tune in.
Historical persons or events, famous or infamous,
Use imagination and take all the dramatic license your poetik heart desires.
Love story based in truth. Midrash for the in between, our awesome jobs as writers!

2 entries max
No colabs
2 weeks


Old or new fine, but write sumthin special, might sway us!
C'mon dolls, lets see ya minds twitch!

We are so thrilled by the quantity and extraordinary quality of the entries thus far! And have decided to extend the competition one week. We want to give full attention and research to the brilliant pieces you have entered and allow more time for others considering entry.
Way to go!! All of you!! Its going to be very tough picking a winner!

Example piece.....based on F Scott Fitzgerald through Zelda's eyes.

Romance Fitzgerald


Hand burns my skin        
With hot touch        
Behind knee traveling up        
To divinity        
       
Sweet wet baptism        
In my thighs        
Before i die a rage in
Anger and lust        
       
Before you fade away  
Shadowed in nevermore        
Once young man        
Turned grey        
 
Suck nourish  
From my beauty
Live through vice
And distinction
       
Seeks redemption        
Between my legs        
A virgin spirit        
A sluts thrust        
         
Kiss lilly white        
Petals areola        
Try 'n tame        
But my savage beast remain        
       
Fuck you        
Fitzgerald        
Romancing        
The party after        
       
Make a gooood        
Woman crazy        
Mind travel        
And such        
       
Stretch arms        
Further to catch        
A past        
Too far flung        
       
Your sweet song        
My darlin        
Already        
Been sung.  
   
(for the Zelda's of the world!)

The beginning: Lillith's Revenge

Ha! God thought he was so clever in creating me,  
Such confidence in his mastery.  
From soil with Adam,  
A piece of work there for sure.  
And I give God credit,  
There was definent glory in my curve.  
 
But to think Adams ego  
would ever would ever want me any  
place but bitch seat!?  
To put Lillith on her back  
spread legged while he ride?  
Hell No!!  
Let that vapid Eve do Adams bidding.  
So i took off,  
Only thing I spread on my back?  
My wing.  
 
And then his plot to punish me...  
Laughable now,  
But in the beginning, such pain.  
He took my precious hundred children..  
Gave trechturous heavenly birth in vain..  
But i got back with hell bitch ironic comuppance.  
My lullaby,  
earthly women fear me with "Lillith abide."  
Erase me from history?  
My name lives in infamy,
In every song softly sung to their children 'for sleep.  
Afraid they asphyxiate by my hand  
in their gentle slumber.  
 
And i take my ride in ecstasy  
on their husbands.  
Seduce their dreams..  
turn liquid their desire,  
Collect their pearly seed.  
 
Now by night i sit in pearch watching.
Screech "Who! Who!" will be next..?  
Poor man, teehee, next sucker watch out!  
Lillith is cumming to make you her own kinda Adam..  
Desperate pawn in my plan.  
I am exacting Lillith's revenge...  
Fear me!

Here's another example piece folks.  It's based on the disappearance of a group of settlers from Roanoke Island in 1590.  

CROATOAN

Having come to virgin shores
Their eyes widen, and explore
A new land unspoiled
The richest soil, and deepest woods
With "red heathens" smiling from the trees
The settlers' stolid ways now shaken
Their Puritanism losing its grip
They drop their plows and axes
And learn to fuck for pleasure
Listening to voices in the breeze...
xxxxxxx
Parson Mather gazes at the cabin door
This carved word "CROATOAN"
Feeling temptation in every letter
"A bit much," he breathes
Leading his brethren from this empty settlement
Silent and abandoned in the twilight
And continues the pilgrimage to points unknown.

Best of luck!

Word limit? ... And must it be a poem? I have a flash fiction piece (>1,000 words) that I'd like to kick in as well as a new piece.

By all means doll, love to see it. We will say a thousand lol thanks for the interest!

From Olive Drab to Cornflower Blue
(Written in honor of World War II’s Citizen Soldiers)

The end of the killing had begun,    
and it was as if the world was just awakening,    
finding its conscience again,    
and its connection with reality.    
   
America was just adjusting,    
to becoming the heir to    
the throne of the World.    
Abundance and Peace,    
bought with millions of pints    
of pure spirited blood,    
that cascaded around our shoulders
like a champaign fountain.    
   
I had been demobbed out of Ft Dix,    
got a ticket and a check,    
in a whirlwind I had changed,    
from a killer to a citizen.    
From wearning a suit    
of olive drab,    
to one of cornflower blue.    
   
The GI bill,    
would punch my ticket,    
a degree would unlock the doors,    
previously shut,    
to the lower class    
such as I.    
   
I remember the elan, ( I learned that word in France, it means with vigor)    
with which I would pursue    
the rest of my life,    
so as to be worthy of the burden,    
of surviving it all,    
but how do you survive?    
   
We drank and bopped,    
as Jazz worked so hard,    
in vain,    
to cleanse our hearts,    
of scenes & smells,    
forever burned,    
into drafted minds.    
   
But how do you look at the sun?    
After feeling it burn your neck,    
hiding in a hole in Italy,    
while Krauts shelled the hell    
out of your outfit,    
blasting your Brothers to atoms,    
before they could even scream.    
   
How can you marvel at the sea?    
After wading through,    
the Crimson Norman tide,    
with the snap of rounds,    
whispering death,    
and lining the ocean floor,    
with the bodies of the drowned.    
   
How can you marvel at snowflakes?    
After freezing in Belgian forests,    
running from captivity,    
only to be gunned down in fields,    
left as frozen angels,    
after being caught unarmed.    
   
I never stopped to ponder,    
the minor tragedies    
I had known,    
during my time in the vulgarity.    
   
We came ashore on D-Day +30    
the sailors said,    
they were still pulling stiffs,    
from the icy green water.    
But we didn't see any.    
   
I was just glad,    
not be melting in some    
damned jungle somewhere,    
crapping my life away,    
from malaria,    
fighting the Japs,    
with their fanatical charges,    
and vicious blades,    
which sent heads flying.    
   
The Bocage took our first,    
snipers in hedgerows    
clipped our Skipper,    
a Yale man,    
bound for politics & fame,    
but instead fell face first,    
into a pile of French cow shit,    
and all those ivy-league brains    
soaked into the field    
with the cold morning rain.    
   
We all shit our pants,    
that first real fight,    
but the toughest among us    
smacked us on the helmets,    
and slapped frozen faces,    
into action    
to save ourselves.    
   
The Krauts ran away,    
leaving eight behind,    
after our tanks showed up    
& blasted them to pieces,    
they laid face up,    
with shocked faces,    
next to two dead cows,    
whose faces looked bored.    
   
The rest flashed by,    
a year of hot moments,    
I never knew,    
if I ever shot a fella,    
I only saw shadows,    
distant figures running,    
or falling,    
or surrendering.    
   
I cannot recall,    
how many times,    
I lost my mind,    
only to find it again,    
in a bloom,    
or the face    
of a buddy,    
offering a tin    
of hot chow.    
   
The future promised,    
miracles of peace,    
prosperity, and hope,    
our Ike became President,    
and our hearts took flight,    
we were safe for now,    
we had hung    
all the criminals,    
and restored the order.    
   
I hope I meet a doll,    
and have a few kids,    
the time is right,    
we paved the way,    
What can go wrong?    
Hitler is dead!

Queens Marathon

~ Dedicated to those who served during World War II and triumphed through the pain of surviving POW camps
 
"C'mon Peter! We've gotta keep moving. The others are way ahead."  
 
"It's my leg," I gasped,  "it's tightening up."
 
I was doubled over kneading my right thigh.   It did no good though, for with each heave of my chest my  lungs pleaded  for air.  Its' deliverance fed the pain the same way it does fire.  Murderously.  
 
"Jackie, I need to piss,  if I just take a piss," I reasoned with my eyes clamped tight.  
 
"Can't, you know that," he reminded me.
 
He came over and put his hand on my  back, and whispered, "We can catchup to the others.  I know you're not gonna let those loud mouths from Sussex beat us. Come on, one step at a time."  
 
With two pats to my back we were moving again.  
 
"The next station is just around that bend, " Jackie assured me.  "Get there and we're as good as home."
 
My stride was labored as I dragged my dying limp.  My own body was betraying me to keep me a prisoner of my darkest fears but I wasn't going to let the bastard win.
 
We had gutted out twenty-five miles.  My heart pounding like a hammer ever since I heard the word, "Go!"
 
We reached the turn in the bend and there she was, as promised an old grey farmhouse.  Though a half mile away the idea of being able to rest was heaven.  The space between her and us was a wide open meadow, and Jackie reasoned that we best wait until dark.
 
"We've come too far to get picked off by some Jerrie  patrol in broad daylight," he said.
 
"Let's pray for another clouded night too.  Don't need the spotlight," I added.  
 
With the decision to stop  I could let my body deconstruct itself.  
 
I sat there tasting my  sweat and inhaling the stench of anticipation soaked in my shirt.   It reminded me of the night my squadron was deployed to Dunkirk.  The plan went to shit and over a thousand of us were captured straight away.  
 
The hellacious march the Nazis' put us through in Poland took us to a camp just outside of Auschwitz.  
 
They expected me to work the  mines, and brash fool that I was at 18 I told them, "fuck off".
 
"Das Bein," was the reply directed towards the guards, and with that four of the bastards pulverized my right leg with their rifle butts.  They wailed at me the way the circus strong man uses a sledge hammer to ring that bell above him.  Each blow measured and deliberate.  
 
The sergeant hissed while I lie whimpering,  "We don't need your legs  just your arms and  back. Next time, it'll be an eye."  
 
That was five years ago.  
 
Jackie and I were now running what a bunch of us had dubbed the Queen's Marathon.  Rumors about the camps said American troops were within 30 miles of us, but not trusting the Jerries would leave us alive, we decided to break for it.  
 
Jackie partnered up with me straight away saying, "We boys from Dorchester stick together."  
 
So here we were.    
 
The last farmer to help us warned not to so much as shit in the woods because the patrol dogs could pick up our trail.  He gave us directions and the code to pass on to the next house where we could find help.  From there it was just a few miles to the Americans.  
 
Evening came, and with it we were standing at the door of the farmhouse.  
 
Jackie knocked and uttered but one word, "Cadbury."  
 
From that this beer barrel of a man with ruffled grey feathers for hair showed us in.  He lit a kerosene lamp and sat us at his kitchen table.   In the dark I could see him rustling in a  cupboard.  He brought out a Red Cross relief box.  
 
With the box on the table the old man pulled out another that said "Chocolate".  He reached inside like he was reaching in a baby's cradle and pulled out a tiny bit of sweetness swaddled in a wrapper that said "Cadbury".  
 
Jackie and I let the ambrosia filled with nuts and berries melt on our tongues.  Our host then brought out bread and jam, and cool fresh milk.  
 
Our host explained S.S patrols were nearby and we needed to make it to a cobblestoned wall at the top of the next valley.  Once past the wall we'd be safe because that's where the Americans were.  
 
The trek into the valley was easy enough.  The downward slope was gentle with fireflies guiding us.  Once in the valley Jackie and I could see the edges of wall outlined by the moon, but the slope up towards it was more mountain than hill.  
 
"We're almost there Pete,"  I could hear Jackie whispering in the darkness.  
 
I was about to make a crack about raising a pint when two hornets whizzed by.  The thunder came after.  The first bullet struck between us, the second went right through Jackie's back then heart leaving him face down.  
 
I looked behind us and on the other side of the valley, with the moon as their lantern, a S.S. patrol was shooting at us.  
 
I began running furiously, but the slope was besting me.  I was heaving like a drunken clod and   "Beat the wall! "echoed in my head.  
 
Bullets were racing all around me and just when I thought I'd lost and I'd never see the finish, this cackling applause came from atop the wall.  
 
I looked up to see Americans firing back at the Jerries.  They were laying cover for me while others were yelling, "Come on buddy!  Just a little further to go!"  
 
At the wall two hands guided me through the finish.  I had done it. I had run the bloody Queen's Marathon.  
 
Before we left we recovered Jackie's body so I could escort him home.  It's like he said, "We boys from Dorchester stick together for the long run."  
 

Dresdamanx...
First, thanks so much for kicking this off..And a very impressive effort sweetie! So many stirring images...really beautiful, while ripe with tragedy and tragic effects.
"as Jazz worked so hard,    
in vain,    
to cleanse our hearts," love the jazz purifying you....
"left as frozen angels,    
after being caught unarmed." horrifying image, unarmed frozen angels. And so many more.
"during my time in the vulgarity."
The line.
Great stuff!! Enjoyed so much.

LobodeSanPedro
Sweetie this is pristine in it's write. A lot of story in 1000 words, and gripping.
."  Its' deliverance fed the pain the same way it does fire.  Murderously."
Had me by here. Great!
"stench of anticipation" Phrases like this gave a very tangible quality to your story..
"From that this beer barrel of a man with ruffled grey feathers for hair showed us in." Along with description as perfect as that.
Very very nice doll. Thoroughly enjoyed this. Lofty endeavour you made look easy...wasn't..

Thank you for the detailed feedback ... Greatly appreciated!

Thanks!  Your comps are great!

Thanks a million for entering and sayin so doll, truely appreciated.

Generations

You stand
I sit

It's the only way
you get to look down on me

I've seen this show before
Green fields
That anthem
Children clashing
and laid out before mine eyes

For you
it's your grandson
and Pop Warner ball

For me
My brothers
on Hill 881

You stand
for the start of a game
I shot up on my knees
in Khe Sanh

So I don't stand anymore

My granddaughter
was to be here
to see her brother play

But we buried her last week
Fourteen
O.D.
On that same white bitch
that tried to take me

So I don't stand anymore

I'm just an old man watching
that flag
blowing over another field
filled with screams

So I don't stand anymore

It's the only way
you get to look down on me

http://cdn.history.com/sites/2/2014/01/Vietnam-War-Hub-A.jpeg

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