Love's Purple Rose (poem 29)

(Not one of my best, but its been a while)

Love’s purple rose can be caught by a gaze from a far.
Love’s purple rose is not earned through time spent.

A lingering smile, a heart that skips a beat.
A smile that holds in memory, that can be recalled at moments notice.

Love’s purple rose is not earned nor won, but given by nature and a souls desire.
Love’s purple rose cannot be found, forced nor hindered.

A knowing that is heart deep.
A knowing that radiates through the body and mind.

Love’s purple rose comes but once.
Love’s purple rose is destinies desire.

Wait for Love’s purple rose.

Copyright © 2015, William Cody Winter.

Traitorous Traitors (poem 28)

Treason is committed by busy bees lurking in shadows on the left. Treason is committed too when by those who spectate and postulate and do nothing. Treason is most foul when those who should defend lifts tongue to only support others. A Traitor turns their back on their nation’s history books. A Traitor cares enough to defend other cultures, but not enough to theirs. A Traitor turns a blind eye to the plight of their country and culture, but sheds a tear for a war fought in a far off land. Traitorous Traitors betray their ancestors and the blood in their veins. Traitorous Traitors deceive themselves in thinking their action will have no future consequences. Traitorous Traitors are as bad as the enemy they defend. Copyright © 2013, William Cody Winter.

The Stealth Assassins (poem 27)

*This could be about demons, it could be about a plague or it could be about something else. You decide!* The Stealth Assassins flow by like ghosts in the corner of the eye. They move with the impunity of Saints, though they are anything but. Their hatred and contempt for fellow man radiates from them like the brightness of the sun. Their greatest weapons are their deceit and the ignorance of others. They trick then corrupt those in high places, with the promise of gold and riches. The Stealth Assassins spread like an unstopped plague from shore to shore, continent to continent and person to person. They blacken hearts, enslave the innocent and kill those who try to stop them. Their power is to make their victims forget their heritage and embrace the Assassins’ dark ways. The Stealth Assassins murder human rights where they find them. DON’T step into the Stealth Assassins’ shadow or you could be next! Copyright © 2013, William Cody Winter.

A Diamond Jubilee For A Diamond Queen (poem 26)

The very word Diamond means Unbreakable as is her loyalty.
She never wavers nor cracks.
She cares more by the day as others care less.

As others sell Britain to the highest bidder, she shows that we were once more than just a bit of soil.
Once her people would have turned the soil red with their own blood to protect their nation, and she still would.
Once her people loved their land, but now they have no notion of what a nation it formerly was.

She works like a slave, for little gratitude from the masses and even less from the government.
She continues her duties at 86 that nobody even at 66 should.
Just on an average day she attends meetings, investitures and opens countless red government boxes to sign, yet often by the public she is called lazy.

Now 2012 is a chance for us not just to take a day off work, but to stand by her as she has with us.
Now 2012 is not the year of the London Olympics but the year of our Queen.
Now more than ever is the time to cheer, wave and shout ‘Long Live The Queen’!

Copyright © 2012, William Cody Winter.

Passion For The Written Word (poem 25)

Letters on a page, words in ink.

I have a passion for the written word.

A passion to absorb the knowledge held in these little black characters.

The magical little marks have the potency to create worlds or topple governments.

They have the potential to enlighten the most ignorant among us.

They can set off an explosion of fireworks in the cerebrum of those who will but venture to turn a page.

Letters on a page, words in ink.

I have a passion for the written word.

A passion to absorb the knowledge held in these little black characters.

1865 or 2012 feather quill, pen, typewriter or computer the words are splashed on paper or monitor, but always just as effective.

From the Gutenberg Press to Project Gutenberg, from Shakespeare to H.G. Wells the greats come and go, forever leaving a trail of words behind them.

Letters on a page, words in ink.

I have a passion for the written word.

A passion to absorb the knowledge held in these little black characters.

Copyright © 2012, William Cody Winter.

I Just Don’t Feel Any More! (poem 24)

I Just Don’t Feel Any More!

I once felt the gut spin of nervousness.

I once felt the heart flutter for an ill-placed crush.

I once felt the sinking sensation of disappointment.

But now I just don’t feel any more.

Frankly I just no longer give a damn.

I once felt the rush of excitement.

I once felt the anticipation of hope.

I once felt the heat of anger.

But now I just don’t feel any more.

Frankly I just no longer give a damn.

I once felt that I needed Love.

I once felt that I needed Success.

I once felt that I needed Money.

But now I just don’t feel any more.

Frankly I just no longer give a damn.

I Just Don’t Feel Any More!

Copyright © 2012, William Cody Winter.

For Shame, For Shame (poem 23)

The Trumpets sounded, the flags waved.

The Men and Women said I care.

They died in the heat of the Crimea.

They died in the damp of the World War One trenches.

Now you don’'t buy poppies.

Now you burn the poppies in the streets.

For shame, for shame

They died on the British Isles.

They died on foreign lands, far away from home.

They return now to empty streets or vial protests.

They return to the media that spits like venom, it’s just a job like any other, there are no heroes.

They jumped to certain death, when you said jump.

When you say jump they say how high?, not ‘I’'d rather sit on my ass and watch some more TV’ like you and I.

For shame, for shame

You think you can say that soldiers, sailors and pilots are not heroes, I say get away from that comfortable seat and go die for your nation, then tell me again there are no heroes!

JUMP!

Copyright © 2011, William Cody Winter.

The Horror In The Mirror (poem 22)

I have been plagued for quite some time by a horrific image in the mirror.

As I approach a mirror I must do so with great trepidation, for what I see there is a monstrous image.

It is a monstrous being with no saving graces, grotesque to the very point of making a person recoil with disgust.

Just the sight of it with the realisation that such a thing could exist makes all who see it give up on humanity.

I have been plagued for quite some time by a horrific image in the mirror.

As I approach a mirror I must do so with great trepidation, for what I see there is a monstrous image.

How could such an abomination exist?

How could such a crime against nature roam this land?

I have been plagued for quite some time by a horrific image in the mirror.

As I approach a mirror I must do so with great trepidation, for what I see there is a monstrous image.

What I see is something with no life, no intellect, no future and no hope.

Then I finally realised what it was in the mirrors, it was just... my own reflection.

Copyright © 2011, William Cody Winter.

A Sunset Over History (poem 21)

A history like none other.
A history of pride and glory.
A history of Kings, Queens and Knights in shining armour.

A history of being conquered and conquering.
A history of crusades and crusaders.
A history of fighting for rights and freedoms.

Now this history of pride is scowled upon.
Now the history books on school shelves sit gathering dust.
Now the unappreciated freedoms of yesterday are killed by the day.

A history of a sun never setting on an empire.
A history of an island nation that conquered the world.
A history of nobility and great intellect.

Now the sun has set over the empire.
Now the sun has set over talks of it’s history.
Now the sun has set over it’s neglected people.

Now the sun can never rise again!





Copyright © 2011, William Cody Winter.

An Old World’s Captured Image (poem 20)

(A poem I wrote for the tenth anniversary of 9/11)

Thy old world’s beauty gone forever.

Captured at a moments notice by faceless bystanders.

A bygone world captured by a small shift of a hand and a click of a finger.

A still picture, a moving picture.

A camera, a camcorder.

All captured the horrors of the loss of innocence.

All captured the horrors of the loss of an old world.

A still picture, a moving picture.

A camera, a camcorder.

All captured the horrors of the start of an endless war.

All captured the horrors of the start of the fight for freedoms.

Glass, Steel and Flesh burnt.

Four giant birds of prey fall from the sky.

Within a few short hours thy sacred old world is lost.

Within a few short hours thy old world is turned to one of terror and dictation.

A still picture, a moving picture.

A camera, a camcorder.

All captured within a few hours the death of a civilised civilisation.

Copyright © 2011, William Cody Winter.