This Poem was Submitted By: Robert L Tremblay On Date: 2004-01-29 18:33:53 . . . Click Here To Mail this Poem to a Friend!

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Freedom

Dead men do not speak  But their voices cry  For the unborn meek  Who'll not live to die  In a world so bleak  That the blessed sigh  And the wicked seek  Refuge, judgment nigh.                                          Nuclear nightmare.  We all know the fear,  Being born so bare,  Already, death so near,  Begins with a dare,  Ends beneath a tear  In death's gloomy lair  Where judgments are clear. Tallest men be small, Greatest, so humble, Before trumpet's call When walls will crumble And structures will fall From final rumble Of warrior's ball, When warheads grumble My sorrow is great, My heart so heavy With grief for the fate Of humanity; But, is it too late For my sanity? I choose not to hate Therefore, I am free.

Copyright © January 2004 Robert L Tremblay

Additional Notes:
Another one from my "early" collection, some twenty years ago.

This Poem was Critiqued By: Jordan Brendez Bandojo On Date: 2004-02-04 18:29:44
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 9.93939
Hi Bobby, I'm glad to see your writing twenty years back, were you not yet in the graphics poem at that time? This one is the simplest form of your pieces. I like the rhyming pattern. It is pleasing to the ear when read aloud. Every line is short, I could not imagine how your simple poems become complex as what you have now with your graphic poems! A very great impact is created in the first input you have; "Dead men do not speak But their voices cry " Something deep in it. You depicted darkness so with the second stanza "nuclear nightmare". Authentic phrasing with "death's gloomy lair". Dramatic is the ending. From the darkness of death you established the association of the idea of freedom. I could just relate the idea that because of fighting for freedom some great men became dead and they no longer speak yet their voices cry. Thanks for sharing this to us, Bob! Jordan

This Poem was Critiqued By: marilyn terwilleger On Date: 2004-02-03 20:15:55
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 9.56410
Hi Bobby T. I know it is rather late to be critiquing but I intended to comment on this poem earlier but by the time I got to it the list had been swallowed up and it was gone. But now it is back so I will say a few words. In the first place, as all that read it know, you could have written it yesterday as the message and the words are from this moment in time...sad but true. We haven't learned anything have we? I guess the question is will we ever?? I like the way you start this piece with...'dead men do not speak but their voices cry for the unborn meek' then you go on to speak of the horror of war..you speak of death, fear, nightmare, walls that crumble, warheads that grumble, sorrow, fate, and hate. And your own grief for the fate of humanity. But you choose not to hate and therefore you are sane and free not like the war mongers who choose to fight to become famous for their daring feats of strength....or whatever possess them in the first place. Also you have not only written an important piece you have done it in exquisite rhyme. Who could have known when you wrote this twenty years ago that humanity still can't get it right? Thanks for sharing this one. Peace...Marilyn
This Poem was Critiqued By: Claire H. Currier On Date: 2004-02-02 07:43:34
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 9.54795
The title Freedom reminds me of Mel Gibson's movie..........and it was wonderfully executed as is this poem dear sir......good structure, easy word flow, images projected as one reads down and the word freedom is felt withim along with other emotions and life situations.....sorrow, heavy heart......choosing not to hate is superb for there is your freedom in yesterday's world as well as today's....life is filled with paths we take, free choice is what allows us to do this.....the Lord watches over His children from the beginning of time........and still freedom is the way.....be safe, thanks for posting and God Bless, Claire
This Poem was Critiqued By: Mick Fraser On Date: 2004-01-30 15:08:36
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 9.22222
Hello Robert L Tremblay; I do like your early collection. They seem more direct (some would say that your poetry has matured). I prefer direct, perhaps do I dare say...less sophisticated messages like this. Your more recent angst seems (again I say seems...who am I to know for sure) more desperate. Enough of that crap....on to this poem. I love the first two lines...was it you that created that phrase? I am sure that I have heard it before, but maybe with a few word changes. Those lines spaek volumes and are a shaking wake-up. Those unborn...sad. Not being much of a believer except in the woman I love and my own capacity to teach and care, I do have trouble with judgement day. Sure, we have pushed nature way beyond her limits and nuclear fallout could potentially kill us all, but so could many other ignored problems like reckless diplomacy and aviary flu. I am doing my part by sending chicken sushi to pennsylvania ave regularly. Stanza three does it for me. Each carefully chosen word makes me shiver. Like I said b4, your early stuff is simpler in it's need to rhyme, but more powerful than even Superman. crumble/rumble/grumble...perfect..like winnie-the-pooh gone bad. Finality....Bah...it's never too late as long as you are still trying. I am happy to hear that you don't hate...and just who's measure of sanity counts? I had a fun ride with your "blast from the past". Mick
This Poem was Critiqued By: Mark Steven Scheffer On Date: 2004-01-30 11:41:52
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 10.00000
Bobbie T., Ahhh . . . the stuff of best vintage. And i was wondering what you were writing 20 years ago. Grapes from the same field. Over the hill from the grapes of wrath. With a taste of love and gentle kindness. Query: can one (you) get drunk from this stuff? Mark
This Poem was Critiqued By: Regis L Chapman On Date: 2004-01-29 23:05:14
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 9.32000
I seem to remember critiquing a poem very similar to this, but was acrostic. I hate to sound repetitive, but this so reminds me of 80's metal, and bands like The Fixx. I find myself wanting give a nearly identical critique to that poem, but I don't want to do that. Thanks, REEG!
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