Forum Activity for @ralph-jones

The war babies by Ralph Jones

West Coast Eisteddfod Online Poetry Competition 2018

middle of the night lasers flashing
sounds of bombs and buildings crashing
children wake, scared and screaming
parents wishing that they were dreaming

living through their worst nightmare
wishing they were someplace else, but not there
all around them buildings ablaze
air full of a blue misty, murky, cloudy haze

sky seems full of fighter jets
as missiles are sent up to try and intercept
streets full of rubble and carnage
not a sight for children, of such a young age

but death and bloodshed, to them is a way of life
they know of nothing else, they know only of strife
so much bloodshed and hatred, through young eyes they see
death and destruction all around, a future shrouded in misery

these children, born into war torn zone
some with no family, or homes, on the streets all alone
children destined for a life of misery
children who are just war babies

they never asked to be born
for bombs to be dropped upon
to see parents and family die
and even at such a young age, they ask “why”?

why does there have to be war?
what is war for?
if only the war mongers would try
And look at things through a child’s eyes

and maybe then the fighting, that has gone on for years
could end, and the children would have no more tears
so, they could sleep peacefully in their beds
and not wake up to carnage, and more relative’s dead

but these children, who only fighting they know
who survive the bombs and lasers as they grow
are taught this is their life, and become the next war mongers
and leave the crying behind, for those much younger

updated by @ralph-jones: 09/06/18 04:14:23AM

Hunting humans (insatiable) by Ralph Jones

West Coast Eisteddfod Online Poetry Competition 2018

Give the man a bit of power
He may turn it into our darkest hour
Doing his business in the manner of a tweet
With generals, lapping at his feet

A man whose needs are insatiable
His quest for power is insatiable
His wealth and self-esteem is insatiable
His ambition to rule the world is insatiable

A man of no political will
Who lives in a big house on the hill
Spouting out words, although he is never seen
As he does his talking behind a computer screen

With the need to be supreme, in air, sea, space and on land
Always wanting to hold the trump card
Holding court, only to those he can control
Total manipulation is his goal

A man who thinks “what’s mine is mine, what’s yours we share”
Who’ll take what you have without a care
Who’ll look down on you with contempt
Not caring what you want, it’s what he can get

Surrounds himself with a nuclear armoury
Then tells a regime, in another country
That they can’t do the same
Does he think he’s playing games?

Calling his generals around a table
As he threatens a regime that he calls unstable Does
he have a finger twitch?
Or is he handing out a death wish

For his own gratification
To obliterate another nation
Then, as the missiles roar across the skies like thunder
He’ll be safe in his bunker

So, is this just a prank, or a sickening plan?
Or an insatiable desire to go hunting humans?
The project of a man, unhinged and volatile
Who’s willing to risk all, behind a dark demonic smile

updated by @ralph-jones: 09/06/18 04:08:51AM

The World He Never Saw by Ralph Jones

West Coast Eisteddfod Online Poetry Competition 2018

The politician sits on his fancy leather chair
Could be in any city, could be anywhere
Going to meetings in chauffeur driven cars
Putting in expenses, for a journey twice as far

As he claims expenses for the world and his wife
He knows little of the working class life
Sipping gin and tonic, his little finger in the air
For the people who put him in power, he no longer cares

Fine food and wines, in exclusive clubs he will eat
While the working class struggle, to make ends meet
Some driven to use food banks
For which they gratefully give thanks

In their luxury cars, they drive past every day
Turning a blind eye, to those sleeping in doorways
Down and out people, living under duress
Coping with alcohol problems, and mental illness

Zombie like beings, painfully thin
Needle marks and blotches, covering their skin
Every night in shop doorways, they rest their head
They are lucky, so many of their friends, have been found dead

Lost to a system, that no longer cares
Names deleted from a computer, as if they were never there
Buried in unmarked graves, like a Victorian pauper
Nobody caring, that they were someone’s son or daughter

People who only eat, if they beg or steal
But the politicians don’t, care how these people feel
In the doorways, sometimes covered with just a coat
They are not registered on any census, not eligible to vote

But when questioned, the politician is as wily as a fox
They have all the answers, only care about the voting box
Never acknowledging, what they saw in the doorways
Closing their eyes as they go past, hoping they would go away

Disappearing, as if they were never there
As the politician goes back, to his comfortable leather chair
Sitting in his private club, discussing the newly passed laws
A million miles away, from the world he never saw

updated by @ralph-jones: 09/06/18 04:03:49AM

The Wedding Cake by Ralph Jones

West Coast Eisteddfod Online Poetry Competition 2018

The wedding cake
For this special occasion, is perfectly baked
With a miniature happy couple on top
A cake that is the cream of the crop

The cake that has pride and place of the wedding breakfast
Celebrating the love of two people, a love they hope will last
Religions, and ethnic origins, are put one side
As family and friends, support the bridegroom and his bride

A Father, that gives his little girl away
Will always remember this proud day
If he does it more than once, he will always wear a smile
And remember the day, he walked his daughter down the aisle

And always cherish the day
When he is asked “who gives this woman away”
When he nervously answers, “I do”
And smiles and thinks, the rest is up to you

See the Mother weep tears of happiness
As she looks at her little girl, in her wedding dress
Thinking back to the day, she first cradled her in her arms
===========================================

At the reception, that is the start of a new life
For the new Husband and Wife
Singing and dancing, happiness and tears
Even the wedding cake is in tiers

Tears of laughter, tears of joy
Wishes of happiness, and a long life may they enjoy

updated by @ralph-jones: 09/06/18 03:57:55AM

One Last Drink by Ralph Jones

West Coast Eisteddfod Online Poetry Competition 2018

Oh, I wish I didn’t have that one last drink
It didn’t seem I was that drunk, I just didn’t think
I ignored all the advice, and the warnings
“You’ll be bad in the morning”

Beer, vodka, wine and whiskey
It was going down like if was free
It was turning into a heavy session
Drinking like it was going out of fashion

Some drink to drown their sorrows
While others drink, as if there’s no tomorrow
Some say they only drink to be social
But most people don’t need an excuse, to go down to their local

When I woke up, my mouth was like a dustbin lid
And I couldn’t remember a thing that I did
The sheets on my bed, they were soaking wet
I must have had the alcohol sweats

My wife though, she didn’t agree
I can’t possibly repeat what she said to me
The sheets are now in the washing machine
I said, “never again”, you might know what I mean!

I tried to blame the taxi, for being late
But I was still in the pub, in a drunken state
Had to face the music this morning
I’m in a world of trouble, I’m on my final warning

The smell of stale beer, it makes me want to heave
Why did I get in such a state, it’s hard to believe
Go to the bathroom to wash, and clean my teeth
When this taste in my mouth goes, I might get some relief

A greasy fry up might help, bacon, egg, sausage and fried bread
A cup of strong black coffee, and two Aspirins, for my aching head
Beans or orange juice go through me like a speeding train
I‘ll end up sitting on the toilet repeating “never again”

A little man is banging in my head
I wish I could go back to bed
But my wife is there, with a face like thunder
“That will teach you for being greedy” I feel too bad to answer

Started to have flashbacks, about the walk home
Had to relieve myself in the bus stop, was I alone?
Tried to think, was I with my mates
I must have been in a sorry state?

Then a horrible thought, came into my mind
My underpants, I must find
I remember running up the street
Undoing my belt, clenching my cheeks

Getting to the door, my trousers down by my knees
Gritting my teeth, struggling to find my key
As with double vision, the door lock I sought
But as I opened the door, too late, I was caught short

The rest of the day, I felt like a wet rag
Told my wife I felt “ok”, just so she wouldn’t nag
The Aspirin were starting to work
Still felt ill, but my head didn’t hurt

All day my wife has been asking “what’s that smell”
I’m too hungover to notice, I don’t feel very well
But I had to admit, there was a funny aroma
Then I remembered, I hid my underpants under the sofa

My wife went up to have a bath
It’s not funny, but I had to laugh
I retrieved the underpants, I won’t wear them again
I threw them in the bin, and blamed the smell on the drains

As the day goes on, start to liven up
That greasy fry up must have soaked the beer up
My head has stopped banging, I don’t feel sick
That greasy fry up, has done the trick

I think I’ll find out if the boys are about
Then I’ll make an excuse to go out
These hangovers, are not as bad as people think
So, I think I’ll go out, and have one more drink

updated by @ralph-jones: 09/06/18 03:51:10AM

The Odd Sock by Ralph Jones

West Coast Eisteddfod Online Poetry Competition 2017

I opened my drawer, and what did I see
An old odd sock was staring at me
A most unusual sight I thought
As it was a pair, I was sure I bought

The other one, it must be there somewhere
Although, I looked everywhere
In and under, and behind the drawer
Until at last, I found what I was looking for

In front of me, another lone sock was to be seen
But to my horror, this one was blue, not green
So, after looking high and low
Where the other sock is, I don’t know

But this one, had a hole in the toe
But does it matter! who will know
Most of my socks are the same, I never fail
I will have to start cutting my toe nails

But, why should I care
I have a sock, for each foot to wear
And if they are nice and comfy
Will anyone see

And if someone makes a comment
I’ll just say, it wasn’t an accident
As these socks, were the first I found
And back home, I have another pair hanging around

It’s not as if I’m wearing odd shoes
As I haven’t got a pair of those
And as I’m wearing jeans
The odd sock, can’t be seen

But think about this!
It’s not else’s anyone’s business
What I wear inside my shoes
So, I’ll carry on wearing the odd socks I suppose

updated by @ralph-jones: 11/24/19 06:16:51PM

Teardrops by Ralph Jones

West Coast Eisteddfod Online Poetry Competition 2017

as a young boy into manhood grew
he wrote a letter, to the father he never knew
it was his twenty first birthday, and many presents he had
but he would gladly swap them all, for the love of a dad

a father, he would never know
as from a boy, into a man he would grow
with only the love of a good mother
who would love him, like no other

at night, he would hear his mother weep
as he lay in his bed, unable to sleep
as to God, his mother would pray
to see her one true love, for one more day

as a young boy, he didn't understand
when he would creep into her bed, and gently hold her hand
and kiss her on the cheek, as the tear drops would flow
gently down her face, and onto the pillow

for he knew, a better mother no one could have
a mother, who had shown him nothing but love
a mother, who had always put him first
who had always fed and clothed him, always quenched his thirst

a thirst for knowledge, and education, and it came as no surprise
that as he grew older, he grew into a man who was truly wise
honest, and wise beyond his years
a man she would be proud of, she could see that through her tears

as he started to write, he recalled memories of times that were hard
of how he would play alone in the back yard
how he would play with his school friends, seemingly without a care
but always thinking that one day, his father would be there

he also recalled the time, as older he grew
that his mother told him something, that he already knew
she sat him down, and said there was something she must say
something that she had put off, until this day

she told him how the father, that he had never saw
was killed, fighting in the war
a war, that they said was politically motivated
a war, that the politicians initiated

as he sat quietly, taking this all in
he felt a tear drop rolling down over his cheek, dripping of his chin
leaving a smudge on the paper, as it dropped down from above
which he would look back on later, as a token of love

but as his mother spoke through quivering lips
and lovingly glancing at a photograph, held between her fingertips
a photograph, that she kept in a locket on a chain, close to her heart
that she would open and kiss, before the tear drops would start

she again wept, recalling a letter that started, sadly we regret
and ending with the words, killed by a sniper’s bullet
a letter printed, in a batch of thousands
none with the personal touch, none signed by hand

he recalled overhearing somebody once saying "how sad"
and saying “that poor child, he never knew his dad
a man who was killed in a faraway land
killed by a hidden gunman’s hand”

his mother told him, that the letter arrived
two days after she gave birth to a new life
cradling her new born baby, a baby his father never saw
all because the politicians, ordered a war

a man, she loved, with an undying passion
to gentle and kind, to be killed in this fashion
mown down, and to be placed in a body bag
brought home in a box, covered in a flag

his last journey, being driven through the streets
lined with mourners throwing flowers, as a hero they would greet
but all this, was of no comfort to the widow
knowing that her one true love, would never walk through her door

he thought of his own wife
had only just married, only just started their life
swore, that he would never go to war
vowed never to be sent into battle, never to be told what for

he looked up at his mother, and gave her a smile
with a lump in his throat, and a tear in his eye
a mother, who had given him so much
who had struggled, without a father's touch

a mother so dedicated, and so much love she gave
who the first time she took him, to see his father's grave
stood sobbing and trembling, as they stood there alone
as they laid flowers, and a tear drop fell, on the headstone

a headstone, like many, in many countries
prime ministers, and presidents would never see
the men who only ordered the wars
then turned their backs, on the horrors the soldiers saw

how many politicians, would send their own sons?
to be killed by a bullet, or a bomb, the answer is none
as they sit planning the next war in a secure room
as the soldiers are laid to rest, in a dark tomb

he finished the letter, and sealed it with a kiss
knowing, that no one would ever see this
for this was a letter, that he would never send
it wouldn't bring his father back, it wouldn't make the tear drops end

updated by @ralph-jones: 08/01/17 02:13:53AM

Second Chance by Ralph Jones

West Coast Eisteddfod Online Poetry Competition 2017

to lose someone you love can cause untold grief
heartache and pain, beyond all belief
a friend, a spouse, partner or lover
the pain you will feel will be like no other

but if you get a second chance at love
take it as a sign from above
be it for friendship, companionship or a new romance
take it for all it is worth, as you may not get another chance

as some treat life like a deck of cards
sometimes the hand that’s dealt, is very heard
but among those cards, is the Queen of hearts
a Lady who may give you a fresh start

a start, that does not mean you have to forget
those you have lost, as someone new you have met
for lost loved ones, will always have a place
as in your hearts, there will always be a space

many people never find true love in their lifetime
while for others, true love is taken away before it is time
life sometimes can feel cruel and unkind
after loving someone for so long, love again you may never find

but love can be there, it is just so difficult
and it may ease the pain in your heart you have felt
for no matter if a new relationship you start
you will always have your memories in your heart

memories, that no one can ever take away
memories, that are yours, until your dying day
memories, that you love and treasure
memories, that will always bring you pleasure

but if you find someone, who you would like to share your life
it is not their fault, for your grief and strife
try and give them a chance, to bring a little bit of love
and bring a warm glow into your life, like the sunshine up above

for they are not trying to take over, or make you forget
they are trying to help ease your grief, not cause an upset
for in this world, we are here for but a few short years
so, let us enjoy what we have, before it all ends in tears

for life is such, and such is life
too short for bickering, too short for strife
so, if there is a second chance for love or happiness
thank the Lord, trust his wisdom, and offer your prayers

updated by @ralph-jones: 11/24/19 06:16:51PM

Westminster Bridge by Ralph Jones

West Coast Eisteddfod Online Poetry Competition 2017

Leave for work in the morning, it’s just another day
Doing a job you enjoy, earning an honest day’s pay
Who would have thought it would be for the last time
A good honest man, who dedicated his life to fighting crime

A man so brave, yet so nice
Has now paid the ultimate price
Killed, by a coward with a knife
A good man, has lost his life

As others ran for cover, he stood his ground
He showed no fear, protecting all around
A man, proud of the uniform he wore
Who paid with his life, he could give any more

It is of men like this, that we should be proud
Whose name we should shout out aloud
A man, who never wanted to be a hero
Who perished, doing his duty, is now gone for evermore

In this man’s memory
We must let the terrorists see
That we will not be beaten, or frightened
And that we will, our country defend

And protect our people, and fight back
And bring to justice, the cowards of terrorist attacks
Let them know, that we will do all that we can
We must, in honour of that brave Policeman

In this country, we have the best form of police
Proud of the uniform, proud to keep the peace
Also, the bravest and best medical teams in the world
Doctors and Nurses, who stood tall, as the terror unfurled

Tending to the injured, unyielding, unflinching
Not caring about themselves, doing their jobs, not thinking
That they too, could be in danger most grave!
But their only thought, was of the lives they must save

So, from the mightiest people, to a new born baby
We must let the terrorists see
That we will not be beaten, not now, not ever
And to these people, and the policeman, we owe a debt forever

So, let’s get a message to the Islamic state
A system so corrupt, and built on hate
That they will never win
And our great Country, will never give in

Let us learn from the Westminster bridge atrocities
And protect our Towns and Cities
Let us all stand, and be strong
And put terrorists where they belong

Confine them to the gutter, their rightful place to be
As they have no right to be in our society
And try as they might
They will not intimidate, or fill us with fright

And we must be sure, that we do all that we can
To honour the memory of the brave Policeman
And the medical people, who held their nerve
It is what they have earned, it is what they deserve

updated by @ralph-jones: 11/24/19 06:16:51PM

Teardrops - Ralph Jones

West Coast Eisteddfod Online Poetry Competition 2017

as a young boy into manhood grew
he wrote a letter, to the father he never knew
it was his twenty first birthday, and many presents he had
but he would gladly swap them all, for the love of a dad

a father, he would never know
as from a boy, into a man he would grow
with only the love of a good mother
who would love him, like no other

at night, he would hear his mother weep
as he lay in his bed, unable to sleep
as to God, his mother would pray
to see her one true love, for one more day

as a young boy, he didn't understand
when he would creep into her bed, and gently hold her hand
and kiss her on the cheek, as the tear drops would flow
gently down her face, and onto the pillow

for he knew, a better mother no one could have
a mother, who had shown him nothing but love
a mother, who had always put him first
who had always fed and clothed him, always quenched his thirst

a thirst for knowledge, and education, and it came as no surprise
that as he grew older, he grew into a man who was truly wise
honest, and wise beyond his years
a man she would be proud of, she could see that through her tears

as he started to write, he recalled memories of times that were hard
of how he would play alone in the back yard
how he would play with his school friends, seemingly without a care
but always thinking that one day, his father would be there

he also recalled the time, as older he grew
that his mother told him something, that he already knew
she sat him down, and said there was something she must say
something that she had put off, until this day

she told him how the father, that he had never saw
was killed, fighting in the war
a war, that they said was politically motivated
a war, that the politicians initiated

as he sat quietly, taking this all in
he felt a tear drop rolling down over his cheek, dripping of his chin
leaving a smudge on the paper, as it dropped down from above
which he would look back on later, as a token of love

but as his mother spoke through quivering lips
and lovingly glancing at a photograph, held between her fingertips
a photograph, that she kept in a locket on a chain, close to her heart
that she would open and kiss, before the tear drops would start

she again wept, recalling a letter that started, sadly we regret
and ending with the words, killed by a sniper’s bullet
a letter printed, in a batch of thousands
none with the personal touch, none signed by hand

he recalled overhearing somebody once saying "how sad"
and saying “that poor child, he never knew his dad
a man who was killed in a faraway land
killed by a hidden gunman’s hand”

his mother told him, that the letter arrived
two days after she gave birth to a new life
cradling her new born baby, a baby his father never saw
all because the politicians, ordered a war

a man, she loved, with an undying passion
to gentle and kind, to be killed in this fashion
mown down, and to be placed in a body bag
brought home in a box, covered in a flag

his last journey, being driven through the streets
lined with mourners throwing flowers, as a hero they would greet
but all this, was of no comfort to the widow
knowing that her one true love, would never walk through her door

he thought of his own wife
had only just married, only just started their life
swore, that he would never go to war
vowed never to be sent into battle, never to be told what for

he looked up at his mother, and gave her a smile
with a lump in his throat, and a tear in his eye
a mother, who had given him so much
who had struggled, without a father's touch

a mother so dedicated, and so much love she gave
who the first time she took him, to see his father's grave
stood sobbing and trembling, as they stood there alone
as they laid flowers, and a tear drop fell, on the headstone

a headstone, like many, in many countries
prime ministers, and presidents would never see
the men who only ordered the wars
then turned their backs, on the horrors the soldiers saw

how many politicians, would send their own sons?
to be killed by a bullet, or a bomb, the answer is none
as they sit planning the next war in a secure room
as the soldiers are laid to rest, in a dark tomb

he finished the letter, and sealed it with a kiss
knowing, that no one would ever see this
for this was a letter, that he would never send
it wouldn't bring his father back, it wouldn't make the tear drops end

updated by @ralph-jones: 11/24/19 06:16:51PM