Ain't That a Shame?
Hopefully, They will Say...
Does It Matter?
My Little Dog named-Art
A Bowl of Cheers?
Dreams of Yesterday
Do You Remember?
When is it all going to end?
Just Let It Be
La Vie en Rose
Heads in the Sand?
If I've Learned Anything!
The Path We Choose
A Soldier's Integrity
What is that Sound?
Back in the 50's Tonight!
A Red Rose
Golden as Gold can Be!
Robin Fly Away
The Demise of the Old Cowboy
What Will I Miss?
More Poetry >>
If the sun never rises again,
and the moon falls from the sky,
Boniparte was here, he existed that
no one can deny.
But war may change all of that.
Bonaparte by nature is a warrior, a savage and
a killer. He’s invade Spain, Portugal, Austria
and Rome’s mighty pillars.
The rage with in Bonapate’s soul, boils and bubbles
like an ancient volcano. No one knows when or
where it will erupt again.
Today across the plains of Belgium the mighty tyrant
rides, all of Europe will soon bow to his sword in stride.
Mother Russia beware, the clouds of war are in the air,
for Bonaparte is turning East and you’ve wet his appetite,
as his juggernaut of six hundred thousand strong, rides
headlong into the cold winter night.
Bonaparte may conquer the world, but no tyrant can hold it.
So he to shall fall by the sound of the trumpets at the wall.
His name shall be synonymous through-out history with tyrant, murderer, marauder off nations, emperor of death and destruction.
"He is the sworn foe of all nations and, if you will, of the whole human race!"
The year is: 1812
an France is the place.
Jackie R. Kays
©2000 - 2014 Individual Authors of the Poetry. All rights reserved by authors
[ Control Panel ]
Last 100 Poems