Historical Events Poem

[Cortheya]

A few days ago I posted a post asking for an idea for my poem. so here's my poem with a sincere thank you to those who helped me. I know I'm not very good and I was constrained by the limits the teacher imposed on the prompt such as rhyme scheme but here we go.

And the Fire Rained Down

They wouldn't surrender, they wouldn't give in,
so the bombs were dropped all over the town.
The rain of death, of pain of suffering.
And the fire rained down.

Over 2700 degrees at day and at night,
a woman aproaches, bundle in hand.
She falls in pain, the light fades from her eyes.
The bundle is a baby, on fire before it hits the land.

Thousands upon thousands had died,
at least those that were found.
A firey holacaust by bombs was created.
And the fire rained down.

 

[Berethond]

Spoiler: No Iambic Pentameter?

I'm just kidding, it's good. I wrote a haiku about Hiroshima.

But I can't find it right now
AHA!

We drop'ed the bomb
On city of Hiroshima
Disintegration

 

[RebelRising]

I like it; it's not overdone, and the rhyme adds a sort of morbid charm to it. The baby part's the best. There's only a couple of mispellings in the last couple of lines.

All in all, a very solid poem - have you turned it in yet?

 

[Matronadena]

It may be a song not so much a poem, but off the top of my head:

Cold winds on the moors blow.
Warm the enemy's fires glow.
Like the harvest of Culloden,
Pain and fear and death grow.
Twas love of our prince drove us to Drumossie,
But in scarcely the time that it takes me to tell
The flower of our country lay scorched by an army
As ruthless and red as the embers of hell.
The Campbell and McFall did the work of the English.
McDonald in anger did no work at all.
'Twas musket and cannon against honour and courage.
Invading men stood while our clansmen did fall.
None other than children are left to the women,
With only the memory of father and son.
Turned out of their homes to make shelter for strangers,
The blackest of hours on this land has begun.


then there is:

A chlach ionmhainn,
Lia Fàil neo Clach Sgàin, fàilte!
Chuala mi an naidheachd éibhinn
gum bi thu saor bho ghlas na cathrach,
's gun till thu ruinn a-rithist gun dàil.

A chlach ionmhainn, is ionmhainn leinn thu;
mallachd air an rìgh a ghoid thu
Se Òrd nan Albannach a bh' aca airsan,
an rìgh a rinn cron oirnn 's a thug sgrios;
fada an leigheas, tha fhios againn.

Lia Fàil neo Clach Sgàin, fàilte!
Gun till thu dhachaigh a-nis sàbhailte
gum faod féin-riaghladh a bhith againn,
a-chum 's gum bi ar tìr neo-eisimeil;
gun till thu ruinn is sinn a' feitheamh
ceud mìle fàilte a chur ort!
Se mo dhùrachd nach till thu a-chaoidh
gu Lunnainn, a chlach ionmhainn.


Dear stone,
Lia Fail or Stone of Scone, welcome!
The joyous news I've heard
that from the coronation chair you'll be set free,
that you'll return to us without delay.

Dear stone, we love you dearly;
cursed be the king who stole you.
The Hammer of the Scots they called him,
who brought harm upon us, wrought destruction;
long the healing, as we know.

Lia Fail or Stone of Scone, welcome!
Now may you return home safely
that we may govern ourselves once more,
that our land be independent;
return to us for we are waiting
to welcome you a hundred thousand times!
That you may never return to London
is my earnest wish, dear stone.

 

[Pimppeter2]

The itsy bitsy spider.....

 

[Flying-Emu]

The itsy bitsy spider.....

There once was a man from Peru...

I'm not much of a poem critic, but I really think this could have been better had it been in measure. Not necessarily iambic pentameter (although that is the greatest method of poetry), however.

 

[Matronadena]

ooh I remembered another one...it's actually a poem-turn song from Blàr Chùil Lodair ( battle of culloden... I THINK I remember it correctly..

Dh' iadh ceó nan stùc mu eudann Chuilinn,
Us sheinn 'bhean-shíth a torman mulaid,
Gorm shùilean ciùin 'san Dùn a sileadh,
O'n thriall thu uainn 's nach till thu tuille.

Cha till, cha till, cha till Mac Criomain,
An cogadh no síth cha till e tuille;
Le airgiod no ní cha till Mac Criomain,
Cha till e gu bràth gu là na cruinne.

Tha osag nam beann gu fann ag imeachd,
Gach sruthan 's gach allt gu mall le bruthach;
Tha ealtainn nan speur feadh gheugan dubhach,
A' caoidh gu 'n d'fhalbh 's nach till thu tuille.



On Cuilinn's peak, the mist is sailing,
The banshee sing a note of wailing;
Blue eyes, ready with sorrow are streaming,
For he that will Ne'er return...MacCrimmon.

No more, no more, no more forever
In war, or peace shall return MacCrimmon.
No more, no more, no more forever
Shall gold, nor love bring back MacCrimmon.

The breeze on the brae, blowing mournfully...
The brook in the hollow is wistfully flowing
Where branches their darkest shades are throwing
Birds mourn for him that is never returning.

 

[Matronadena]

I'm wracking my head to remember more, I was so overly saturated with them as a kid that half of them mush together..


more or less to give you a view at some older poems on the subject of recording events and what not should it offer any aid in structure.

I like yours though,