No more do I worship……
man made idols in the sky
God fearing is mere words 
Exorcised now are they that don’t exist…
Label how you feel 
It matters not…..
Religion to me if you call it such
My brothers…..
I am not worthy to receive you, 
but only say the word
I will be at your side with a full magazine
Venerated are those that fell
Glory be as you march
through the halls of Valhalla 
Its you I truly love
Once a year I drink at your alter
To the glorious dead.

© Tony McNally

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Raise your glass

Raise your glass
Have a drink with me
To those comrades
Who fought and died with me
From the Bogside
To the angry Falklands sea
Raise your glass
Have a drink with me
For the fallen
I salute you
One more for the road
It would be rude not to
So raise your glass
Have a drink with me

© Tony McNally

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Mort pour la , For the dead.

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Life saver

The memories of a young and innocent boy, the memories of a different childhood, so many memories he remembers not, images thrown away, long forgotten, yet lingering deep inside, holding on not letting go, a piece that changed everything, creating what stands today, memories people don’t know of, memories people wouldn’t dream of, few would understand, as they say it takes one to know one, that young and innocent boy, changed forever, his once young and ever sweet smile, never same, sweet and soft yet holding a secret, not so innocent, not so free, the freedom taken, the confidence crumbled by an insignificant few, the childhood of a boy, a boy with a heart of gold, a heart hurt, torn at again, and again, yet never closed, the young boy turned guilty, never the same, they say if you can’t beat them join them, that heart no longer wanted the pain, the disappointment, it turned dark, shading the warm and light it embraced, those insignificant few, who cared not of him, had pushed, forcing his path to change, no longer strong enough to hold on, no longer wanting to hold on, hold on to the story that followed, that young boy was no longer that young and innocent boy but a growing adolescent, with heart full of hate, a hate he or no other understood, towards the world, towards his closest, the pushing and pulling, the tearing and beating to his heart, had left no space for love, a space that once was filled with love, filled with peace, no longer truly in control, he followed his suppressors, following their footsteps, not taking his own, that boy learned to hurt, learned to cheat and lie, learned to not care, learned to take without approval, he learned to tear at others the way he had been torn at, those memories, that boy in no control, blinded by himself, blinded by the hate and anger, the hate and anger no one really understood, the hate and anger he never understood, never figured out but later learned and matured from, that anger and hate had forced a change, that adolescent was leaving his world, to start a new one, a new one not holding a long future, a short lived revolution, a revolution that would leave scars, scars that would disappear, then surface, to remind that boy, remind him of where he come from, remind him of what he was, these scars came from a different suppressor yet the same, same shit different story, this short lived revolution, was a one, only he knew, a one he never revealed, never until this day, his creator never discovered, scars that for many lives to come would decide every move and step, every choice, every decision, the scars that made him feel not wanted, not needed, the scars that made that boy, feel like he had no purpose, the scars that brought thoughts of end, thoughts of whether there was any point to go on, the dark had turned to pitch black, had he any desire of continuing, any desire following this lonesome road, this road now filled with the hate and the anger, the resentment, the nasty belief that nothing good, would ever come of this, this waste of a life, he was too coward, to finish what his creator had started, he dared not finish the job, put an end to the horror, he had no choice but to push on, was he too coward, or was it that young follower, that soul that he envied, a soul he had grown side by side with, that soul he had hurt, hurt so many times, mistreated and bullied, yet loved and hated at the same time, was this the meaning, the meaning for living, he was too young, too young to understand, to know, but something had to change, because his smile was long forgotten, a smile many to this day question its presence, a smile very few witness, a smile with low self-confidence, never again innocent, that boy, that adolescent, now neither, but a young man, a young man changing worlds yet again, leaving everything, everything but the memories, change was coming, light was dawning, many could say it wasn’t so tough, many would say they’ve experienced worse, maybe, maybe not, but no one would ever know what that boy felt, what that boy remembered, no one would ever understand or feel the hate and anger, the dark, the resentment towards the world, that he believed he was born with, even today still wonders, but a hate and anger that now fights with a love, a light that grows ever stronger, the young man, that once was a young and innocent boy, was now a fighting young man, a young man fighting for his life, fighting for what he loves, fighting for those he loves, still he suffers from the memories, the scars and his suppressors, from the lives he’s lived, the experiences that made what stands today, he looks back on that day, the day he was too coward to end what was given to him, to end the mistake of a life he felt he lived, and wonders, what was holding on, what was it, that didn’t want to let go, was it that young soul that pushes him still to this day to do better, just to impress, that young soul, the only soul to always awake that innocent boys smile, the only soul that actually could truly hurt, truly scar his soul, he was the soul that saved that innocent boys heart, a true hero, a hero that would never sadly never know, never really know what he did, he saved a life. He saved…

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The One Percent

We are the one percent;
We are proud of it.
We live in brotherhood,
We few.
We entertain the rest,
For if there was no one percent,
The world would be nothing.
We are the one percent,
And we are proud.

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Down the Road

Once there were two brothers walkin down the road.
The path split off in front of them in directions unknown.
One path was wide and well lit.
The other was so strewn with stumbling blocks that few ever go up it
Each one chose a side and said...

Down the road
I hope to see you again
Down the road
I'll think of you my friend
One took the path of forgiveness
the other, the path of sin,
but no matter what they agreed
Down the road
they'd meet up again.

A little while later, while climbing his mountain
One Brother looked over.
Seeing his brother living a life of ease made him think
Please God please, let him look at me and see...

that down the road
Your judgement will come as said
Down the road
I don't want to lose my friend
I chose the path of forgiveness
he chose the path of sin,
but no matter what we agreed
Down the road
we'd meet up again.

Oh God hear me now
as I look at the path...somehow
someway...Please don't let him
stay on the path of sin.
I love him too much not to see him again down the road
in heaven........

Author's Notes/Comments: 


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Share the Dream

Ugonna Wachuku  


Day breaks in on us slowly. 
Today's journey through life 
will be full of riddles and 


Life will surely bring new
suprises and strange

shadows to humankind,



Shadows of this new day
will certainly accompany
us through inspiring village
paths and forests of hope

and inspiration.


On our way to the farm,
new meaning to life will
be found, with creativity

and innovation through  

ancestral green leaves

in home forests. 


Ancestral footprints will
be followed on our way to
plant hopeful crops for our
coming harvest.


Whether there will be a 
harvest, we cannot tell. 
The world have changed so 
much since grandma and 
grandpa were children 
in the family.  


Then, our ancestors could 
smell good weather and 
refreshing rain. Now, we 
smell cyclones, nuclear 
pollution and destructive 
rain filled with this flaming 
scent of climate change

and inflicted instability.   


Anyway, my friends, we

are headed for the farm:  


We must plant our crops
for hopeful coming harvest.
We have fresh, good hope

for healing of humankind.  


We have bountiful, fresh
dreams and love for beloved

humankind's thriving survival 

on this trying earthly journey

called life. 


Our dreams are real and
worthy enough to go round

enchanting earth with love

and family oneness.


Come, my love.
Come, humankind.
Share the dream
of my simple soul.


Cape of Good Hope
darling, share our
dream of bountiful
new harvest and

healing for humanity. 


Come, my friends.
Walk with us through
ancestral village paths
to our farm of hope,

healing and love



Come, all of you
who will:


Globally, walk with us,

gladly, this new day;

for humankind's









Share the Dream 

~ Critiques/Comments ~ 


Mona Omar

lets all share the dream of happiness , peace and love


Helen Schmidt

Ugonna,  This is a lovely poem of hope and dreams of making the world a better place.  Would that these dreams come true!  Best regards, Helen


Amy Riberdy

A poem filled with hope for the beauty of the old world to survive in spite of the destructive nature of a modern life that threatens to destroy the beauty of the land & a way of life..  Amy


Misty Lackey

for some reason I could see this poem on a huge flag or on a huge blue sky for the whole world to see feelings that set free the mind on todays nature and world..



Bonjour(Swiss) Ugonna,  As I read your poem, I thought about those who did not make it to another day, following the attacks on New York twin towers and on the Pentagone.  Yes each day is a day of hope even if the changing world around us threatens to rob us of our subsistence, loved ones and hope.  Each day is a new beginning not only for us but also for the coming generations.  We have to pass on the dream unless we die.  This poem is fitting for such time as this.  Thank you  Michelle  


Deborah Russell

For some reason one of my favourite books comes to mind, "The Good Earth", by Pearl S. Buck. A book which still lends passages to my mind, years after reading it for the second time. Of course I would like to think that most of us do 'keep the dream' of green pastures close to our hearts. Again the form of the last three stanzas is a goblet. And the wine flows freely dripping from the stem. An inspirational image!   


Gail Henderson

beautiful words it is amazing  

when i read this poem it was  

like the words were flowing  

of the pages great work keep it up.

2002-07-10 02:29:24  


Adele Smith

This poem shows that sometimes we don't know what life can bring us. Only with Hope and understanding does we seem to move forward in life. keep up the great work

2003-06-01 15:38:59   


Ruth Lovejoy

I really feel your heart in this piece! An outstanding one!

2008-01-13 15:32:22 


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