Hero

History remembers many heroes. But everyone has their own heroes: it may be a father, a person who loves, or a fictional character altogether. Why not? Remember that heroes are always around, they live among us.

«A Different Kind Of Hero» by Heather Griffith

A hero to me is not just a person who died for their country
or went inside a burning building or stuff like that.
A hero to me is a single mother who survives every day by herself,
A teenager against all odds getting through life,
An alcoholic walking into a rehab center,
A father being not just a father
but a friend, caregiver, supporter, a brick wall for his kids.
A friend, who no matter what or how wrong you are,
stands up for you and takes your side.
A hero, who no matter how hard they are being hit or pushed or beat down,
no matter how bad they are emotionally or physically or psychologically,
they stand up and keep going.
They push through the pain of life, love, kids, work, school, drugs,
sports, parents, heartbreak, alcohol; that to me is a hero.
A person who isn’t just there, but is there living, breathing, and surviving.

***

«A Different Kind Of Hero» by Kelsee Briscoe

He is not the kind of hero who is fighting in the war.
He is not one who sails offshore.

I don’t call him Sergeant, Captain, or Sir.
His title is DAD; that is for sure!

He is the fixer of my broken things
And the household doctor when I get bee stings.

He picks me up when I fall down 
And always turns my frown upside down.

He keeps me safe when I sleep at night. 
He gives me seconds when I have a big appetite.

That’s my Dad. That’s who he is.
He deserves a medal for the things he did.

***

«A Hero» by Robert William Service

Three times I had the lust to kill,
To clutch a throat so young and fair,
And squeeze with all my might until
No breath of being lingered there.
Three times I drove the demon out,
Though on my brow was evil sweat. . . .
And yet I know beyond a doubt
He’ll get me yet, he’ll get me yet.

I know I’m mad, I ought to tell

The doctors, let them care for me,
Confine me in a padded cell
And never, never set me free;
But Oh how cruel that would be!
For I am young – and comely too . . .
Yet dim my demon I can see,
And there is but one thing to do.

Three times I beat the foul fiend back;
The fourth, I know he will prevail,

And so I’ll seek the railway track
And lay my head upon the rail,
And sight the dark and distant train,
And hear its thunder louder roll,
Coming to crush my cursed brain . . .
Oh God, have mercy on my soul!

***

«A Hero’s Judgement» by John Sochayseng

I looked the sky that night
The moon was still there, so bright
Lonely clouds passed me right
Its dark shadows feel me fright

I walked up straight
You can see no mate
but only me, A bait
In this time, I am non-people trait

If only I had the fund
I would gladly give my land
but I have non even a wand
Just a pen and a mighty hand

I am slowly rotten
About to dive by the raven
I was up to it whatever happen
Sadly, I was forgotten

If I were born to live again
I would never, A second either
I knew there were no ten
Would give me to my letter

I am sorry mother land
Its the future holds thy hand
Even a light shows upon
There is nobody who can

This is how lust the people now
Reminisce no to thy past
No one who takes a vow
To the hero’s who cast

for the motherland who asks
time, love, faith and trust
even their hearts that last
just to finish thy task

***

«American Heroes» by Cheryl Alexander

America has so many heroes.
Many, we know not their names,
They are policemen and firemen,
Soldiers and boxers.
Most, with no Hollywood fame.
Heroes come from all walks of life,
From every race, religion, and creed.
Helping citizens in trouble,
Assisting those in desperate need.
I have had many heroes
Throughout my entire life,
My parents, my siblings, my kids, even strangers
And a hero who’s made me his wife.
How fortunate we are who love our country,
Giving unconditionally,
How fortunate I am to be an American
Whom someone’s hero is me.

***

«Coronavirus – Have You Seen» by Beryl L Edmonds

Have you seen the doctors who hardly get to sleep?
From sad weary eyes, silent tears they weep.
They’re battling to save hundreds of lives,
Yet see so many dying right before their eyes.

Have you seen the nurses, tired and worn,
Just come from doing many hours on the wards?
Have you seen them out, walking on lonely streets
Searching empty shelves, for nourishing food to eat?

Have you seen domestics, putting safety first
Keeping hospitals clean, fighting off the germs?
Bravely they go into infectious wards,
Never thinking of themselves, no not at all.

Have you seen the porters, down on their heels,
Walking many miles, pushing many wheels?
We must respect this valued band of women and men.
Though they go unnoticed, we can’t do without them.

Have you seen the caterers, keeping all folk fed?
The staff and the patients lying in their beds.
Such an important part to play in someone’s health,
A role that couldn’t be compared to any amount of wealth.

A great big thank to all National Health Staff
To every volunteer coming forward like they have.
You all have a part of our hearts, are in every prayer we make.
May God bless you all, keeping you well and safe.

***

«Goodnight Our Hero» by Juli Round

To be brave is to cry
But still to fight on,
And that’s what you did,
Our hero, our son.

The battle was hard.
We thought we had won,
But still you fought on,
Our hero, our son.

The happiness you brought
To the lives you have touched
Will live on forever
As you are loved so much.

When we close our eyes we can see you.
When we whisper your name we can hear you,
And when we reach with our hearts we can touch you.

Goodnight our hero, our son, our Dan.
You are just a child
But you have died a man.

***

«Hero» by Siegfried Sassoon

‘Jack fell as he’d have wished,’ the Mother said,
And folded up the letter that she’d read.
‘The Colonel writes so nicely.’ Something broke
In the tired voice that quavered to a choke.
She half looked up. ‘We mothers are so proud
Of our dead soldiers.’ Then her face was bowed.

Quietly the Brother Officer went out.
He’d told the poor old dear some gallant lies
That she would nourish all her days, no doubt.

For while he coughed and mumbled, her weak eyes
Had shone with gentle triumph, brimmed with joy,
Because he’d been so brave, her glorious boy.

He thought how ‘Jack’, cold-footed, useless swine,
Had panicked down the trench that night the mine
Went up at Wicked Corner; how he’d tried
To get sent home, and how, at last, he died,
Blown to small bits. And no one seemed to care
Except that lonely woman with white hair.

***

«Hero» by Ricky Baker

A Hero is someone looked up to,
Who others could love to be,
A Hero is someone, who is very courageous,
And willing to put their life aside for another’s happiness or well being,
A Hero is anybody, anybody who can make someone’s day,
Or to help out with a simple chore,
A Hero does not have to be successful,
Or to complete their great intention,
A Hero does not have to be able to fly,
Nor to have any other superhuman power,

A Hero can be of any sex, race, or species,
They do not have to be human,
A Hero is not somebody, who is good at everything,
They don’t even have to be good at very well anything,
A Hero is somebody, who could only listen,
They could make you smile with out any words,
A Hero is someone, who could stand up for you,
Or to agree in your beliefs,
A Hero could be your Teacher,
helping you learn towards your future,

A Hero is anybody, and everybody,
Everyone is someone’s Hero,
And everybody has a Hero.

***

«Hero In The Classroom» by Susan T. Aparejo

A simple being, hero in the classrooms,
Pen and lesson plans are his tools
In imparting knowledge to his learners
a father/ mother of almost sixty.

Teaching children of not his blood,
Nurturing then of knowledge flood,
Burning midnight candles,
Doesn’t matter all,
their achievements are his goal.

Addressing different learning styles,
With various teaching aids on files,
Preparing a friendly atmosphere,
Even none from his relatives care.

The forgotten hero in the classroom,
Toiling overtime forgetting time,
You wonder he is paid under time,
Job unrecognized, being late recognized.

Shock absorber of children’s home dilemma,
Protector of children’s right,
One lose footing is and err to faulty eyes,
the blame of one, an eraser of myriad works.

He is a hero, the invincible child’s dream designer,
His music is the melodious children’s laughter,
His destiny is to deal a challenge every year,
His joy is the star of diploma in each students’ finger

***

«Hero-Worship» by Amy Lowell

A face seen passing in a crowded street,
A voice heard singing music, large and free;
And from that moment life is changed, and we
Become of more heroic temper, meet
To freely ask and give, a man complete
Radiant because of faith, we dare to be
What Nature meant us. Brave idolatry
Which can conceive a hero! No deceit,
No knowledge taught by unrelenting years,
Can quench this fierce, untamable desire.

We know that what we long for once achieved
Will cease to satisfy. Be still our fears;
If what we worship fail us, still the fire
Burns on, and it is much to have believed.

***

«Little Super Hero» by Mike Kosman

Hey little super hero
With your batmobile parked right beside your bed
And teddy on the pillow by your head
You think I can beat up superman
And do lots of things that no one can
That I’m everything a dad is supposed to be
Son don’t ever think that you have to be like me

Hey little super hero
Somebody said a man’s not supposed to cry

And feel ashamed for being scared I don’t know why
We’re supposed to laugh in the face of danger
And be brave as the lone ranger
But little buddy, that just ain’t where it’s at
Don’t ever think that you have to be like that

Hey little super hero
I guess it doesn’t make much sense right now
But I’m trying to make you understand somehow
You’ll be a better man by far

If you be just who you are
And be honest in the things you say and do
This world will be a better place for you

Hey little super hero
I guess it’s time for me to say goodnight
In my heart I know you’re going to be all right
I’ll always try to guide you
And kill the fears inside you
Help you out in any way I can
Cause sometimes it ain’t easy being a man

***

«Memories Of My Dad» by Rebecca D. Cook

He wasn’t a hero
Known by the world,
But a hero he was
To his little girl.

My daddy was a god
Who knew all things.
And better than Santa,
With the gifts he’d bring.

I knew his voice
Before I could speak
And loved it when
He would sing me to sleep.

He changed my diapers
And sat up all night
When my body was weak
And I’d put up a fight.

He’d come home late
With not much to say
And made us all kneel
As he taught me to pray.

He taught me life’s lessons
Of right from wrong
And instilled in me values
That I might be strong.

And so through the years,
Like a hero he stood.
Working to give
All that he could.

His presence was important,
And we loved to see him smile,
For no one in the world
Could emulate his style.

And so, dear Dad,
My best memory to recall
Is the gift of your presence,
The greatest gift of all.

***

«My Hero» by Colleen R. Straight

My hero is my mother.
She alone raised me, my two sisters, and my brother.
I really do love her,
And I will always and forever.

Nobody else could relate
Or even try to imitate,
Because my mom is too great.
Someone I appreciate.

My mom is nice and kind.
Someone like her is hard to find.
She helps me be my best and shine.
My mom is the greatest mom of all time.

To her I would like to say,
Thank you for being there every day,
For helping me find my way.
I want to be like you someday.

***

«My Hero» by Amelia G. Perkins

Most people think of a hero as a superstar.
My hero is an everyday person.
My hero is my mom.

My mom is a hero; she stands for hope.
My mom is a person you see every day.
My mom is there when I’m trying to cope.
My mom was there when I was little and all I wanted to do was play.

My mom is strong and has beat all odds.
My mom is a teacher and works hard at her job.
My mom is a hero; she is my crystal ball.
My mom is a hero who I know will catch me if I fall.

My mom is my shining star.
She is the one I look to when times are hard.
Sure, she isn’t perfect, but she isn’t that far from it,
But to me she is as perfect as any mom could be.
Mom you are my hero, my everything!

***

«My Hero» by Tim Meister

My Hero can’t leap tall buildings with a single bound. He
doesn’t wear a black costume with a cape and pointy ears.
He hasn’t scored the winning touchdown or shot a three –
pointer at the buzzer to win the championship. My Hero
isn’t any of those things.

My Hero has scarred and callused hands from years of hard
work. His hair is gray from worrying if he was going to
have enough money to last another year. His voice is deep
and scratchy from the many stories he told. My Hero is all

of these things.

My Hero sat with me when I was scared late at night. He was
by my side when I woke up from burn surgery. He comforted
me when I had to take cold baths cause my fever was too high.
My Hero was all these things.

My Hero has loved his wife for almost thirty years now. He
made sure that I knew the difference between right and
wrong. He taught me how to work hard and the importance of

honesty. My Hero has done all these things.

My Hero has earned my love and respect. No one else could
take his place cause my Hero is my Dad.

***

«My Hero» by Ernestine Northover

I sit in the chair that he sat in,
And sleep in the bed where he slept,
The silence is loud to my hearing,
How many times now, have I wept.

I view all the things that he collected,
Knowing how he cherished them too,
And here in my heart he will linger,
Because he was the one, of value.

He was my love and my hero,
My right hand and my sounding board,
A husband and friend, right up to the end,
For us there was never discord.

I sit in the chair that he sat in,
And remember how close we became,
He’ll always be with me in spirit,
I’m so proud to have taken his name.

***

«My Hero» by Paul Prescott

My hero is the best,
He is better than all the rest,
My hero doesn’t like to admit,
That he is my hero when he dose his little bit

My hero has love and respect,
Even he is my prime subject,
My hero is always on my mind,
Even though he is smart and kind,
My hero has a special name,

But I can’t tell you it cause it would put him in shame

My hero loves to pull a trick,
He is not smart no is he very thick?
My hero makes me smile even though I feel crying,
He says ‘I will always love you even though I am dyeing’

***

«My Hero» by Michael P. Johnson

Jesus my Hero God & man
My Lord who’s never far
I salute You because I can
And who in truth You are

What so many consider odd
Contra what fools may say
There really is an awesome God
Through love to show The Way

The Way to love to endless bliss
Beyond this world of fears
To a life far greater than this
In a Land free of tears

He is my strength my trusted shield
My fortress and my sword
Now to the foe I’ll never yield
My Hero is The Lord

A precious God a wondrous King
A Hero born to free
Who’s praises forever I’ll sing
For saving such as me

With hands aloft with head held high
With eyes watching above
Together my Hero and I
Will show my neighbours love

Surely my Hero I salute
For giving me His hand
That I may bear my Saviour fruit
Towards His Promised Land

Perhaps these eyes may soon grow dim
I’ll trust who is my friend
Should I wonder seeing in Him?
My Hero to the end

***

«My Hero Bares His Nerves» by Dylan Thomas

My hero bares his nerves along my wrist
That rules from wrist to shoulder,
Unpacks the head that, like a sleepy ghost,
Leans on my mortal ruler,
The proud spine spurning turn and twist.

And these poor nerves so wired to the skull
Ache on the lovelorn paper
I hug to love with my unruly scrawl
That utters all love hunger

And tells the page the empty ill.

My hero bares my side and sees his heart
Tread; like a naked Venus,
The beach of flesh, and wind her bloodred plait;
Stripping my loin of promise,
He promises a secret heat.

He holds the wire from this box of nerves
Praising the mortal error

Of birth and death, the two sad knaves of thieves,
And the hunger’s emperor;
He pulls that chain, the cistern moves.

***

«My Hero, My Husband» by Jennifer G. Dickerson

I thought your world was only me
And you will live your life so safely.
But you have your own responsibility
To serve your people and your country.
I am just a wife that cares for you.
Is it wrong for me to love you so?
You are a soldier and everybody’s hero.
Leave your family and in war you’ll go.
You have the eyes of a brave soldier.
You have the strength to fight forever,
A strength that I’ve never seen before,
Just to vanish evils and terror.
You spent most of your life fighting,
But terror it seems to have no ending.
I wanted you to stay and never go,
Be with your wife and be my hero,
But my selfish ways never stopped you,
Knowing you love your country too.
I am afraid not to see you again,
Afraid to live my life with pain,
But who will fight terror then?
Who will protect your countrymen?
My cry will not stop you from leaving,
And tears will stop from falling,
But my prayers are your shield of terror
And love that waits forevermore.
I will sleep tonight and look at you,
Give warm kisses and hugs to my hero.
You need to go for people and country.
It’s so sad our life happens this way.
But God has reasons that I didn’t see.
I know how much you truly love me,
And you have a duty as a brave Army.
I have faith you’ll be back someday.
I am proud from the day I married you,
Because you are my one and only hero.

***

«Our Hero» by Frances Ellen Watkins Harper

Onward to her destination,
O’er the stream that Hannah sped,
When a cry of consternation
Smote and chilled our hearts with dread.

Wildly leaping, madly sweeping,
All relentless in their sway,
Like a band of cruel demons
Flames were closing ’round our way

Oh! the horror of those moments;
Flames above and waves below-
Oh! the agony of ages
Crowded in one hour of woe.

Fainter grew our hearts with anguish
In that hour with peril rife,
When we saw the pilot flying,
Terror-stricken, for his life.

Then a man up rose before us-
We had once despised his race-
But we saw a lofty purpose
Lighting up his darkened face.

While the flames were madly roaring,
With a courage grand and high,
Forth he rushed unto our rescue,
Strong to suffer, brave to die.

Helplessly the boat was drifting,
Death was staring in each face,
When he grasped the fallen rudder,
Took the pilot’s vacant place.

Could he save us? Would he save us?
All his hope of life give o’er?
Could he hold that fated vessel
‘Till she reached the nearer shore?

All our hopes and fears were centered
‘Round his strong, unfaltering hand;
If he failed us we must perish,
Perish just in sight of land.

Breathlessly we watched and waited
While the flames were raging fast;
When our anguish changed to rapture-
We were saved, yes, saved at last.

Never strains of sweetest music
Brought to us more welcome sound.

***

«Our Hero» by Robert William Service

“Flowers, only flowers — bring me dainty posies,
Blossoms for forgetfulness,” that was all he said;
So we sacked our gardens, violets and roses,
Lilies white and bluebells laid we on his bed.
Soft his pale hands touched them, tenderly caressing;
Soft into his tired eyes came a little light;
Such a wistful love-look, gentle as a blessing;
There amid the flowers waited he the night.

“I would have you raise me; I can see the West then:

I would see the sun set once before I go.”
So he lay a-gazing, seemed to be at rest then,
Quiet as a spirit in the golden glow.
So he lay a-watching rosy castles crumbling,
Moats of blinding amber, bastions of flame,
Rugged rifts of opal, crimson turrets tumbling;
So he lay a-dreaming till the shadows came.

“Open wide the window; there’s a lark a-singing;
There’s a glad lark singing in the evening sky.

How it’s wild with rapture, radiantly winging:
Oh it’s good to hear that when one has to die.
I am horror-haunted from the hell they found me;
I am battle-broken, all I want is rest.
Ah! It’s good to die so, blossoms all around me,
And a kind lark singing in the golden West.

“Flowers, song and sunshine, just one thing is wanting,
Just the happy laughter of a little child.”
So we brought our dearest, Doris all-enchanting;
Tenderly he kissed her; radiant he smiled.
“In the golden peace-time you will tell the story
How for you and yours, sweet, bitter deaths were ours. . . .
God bless little children!” So he passed to glory,
So we left him sleeping, still amid the flow’rs.

***

«The Dead Hero’s Grave» by Francis Duggan

He fell in a battle from here far away
But in his native earth his remains now lay
The war that he fought in by his side not won
And the aged mother she still grieves the loss of her son.

A fading bouquet of flowers on the dead hero’s grave
Placed there by the mother who loved him for her son who died brave
He fell in a distant battle four decades ago
And he was a great person as she ought to know.

In his early twenties just twenty one years
For her long dead son the widow has not shed all of her tears
In her early eighties sad and bent and gray
The clock on her life it is ticking away.

He was her only offspring which seems the more sad
And he did not have the chance to become a dad
He died under gunfire a noble young man
In a war in Asia in distant Vietnam.

***

«The Death Of A Hero» by Francis Duggan

From Meelin he came to Millstreet Town to die
For Ireland with a bullet in hie eye
And though more than eighty years since then have come and gone
The name of brave McCarthy still lives on.

He died in agony and painful pain,
His blood flowed down the flags of Millview Lane
If every Irishman were half so true
Then Ireland now would have the thirty two.

And though his only reward was the grave
McCarthy died for Ireland and died brave
He could have turned and ran away that night
But he stood and fought for what to him was right.

The Irish Republic is a part of Europe now
And our Ministers to Europe’s big men bow
If he’d survived and stilll lived on today
‘Twould be interesting what he’d have to say.

In Meelin stand a monument to the name
Of the man who brought upon that Village fame
To the noble hearted one of great renown
Who fought and died in famous Millstreet Town.

***

«The Hero» by Burnell Raphael

Crossing the battlefield early today
Amidst bombs dropping, bullets flying,
I saw a soldier kneel to pray
Amongst the wounded and dying.

I could see a cross on his arm
As he knelt in the slimy mud,
He seemed not to show any alarm
Binding wounds, giving blood.

An enemy tank rumbled by
Crushing the wounded and the dead,
A soldier crying,”Am I going to die?
I’m badly wounded in my head.”

The medic crawled over to him
Looked, then bowed his head in prayer,
He watched as the lad’s eyes grew dim
Then covered the body with loving care.

A shell exploded at his side
Shrapnel ripped into his chest,
On the field the medic died
Thinking, “Lord, I did my best.”

***

«The Mind Inside My Hero» by Ana Lia Zaldivar

Unique friend imposible to find,
caring and loving for the ones who are,
The protector of broken hearts,
A true hero in my world.

Seems to be perfect for us,
but that’s only what the eyes can see,
’cause my heart can see something else,
A vulnerable soul under it’s shield.

My perfect hero has his sectrets,
Unknown for the ones who see with the eyes,
my hero is becoming weak with the time,
but he can’t realize….

The mind inside my hero,
Keeps feelings hidden,
for the ones he must protect,
to trust, and not be afraid.

A red rose in between many white,
similar to the others, but never the same,
feeling lonely on the inside,
wanting to hide and not to face the truth.

An exquisite prey in the jungle,
afraid of the hungry predators,
keep trying not to make any noise,
just avoiding to be haunted.


I can see him with my heart,
and I see his fears and his pain,
I understand he is only being human,
I still love him the same,
and still he is my hero….

***

«The Poet As Hero» by Siegfried Sassoon

You’ve heard me, scornful, harsh, and discontented,
Mocking and loathing War: you’ve asked me why
Of my old, silly sweetness I’ve repented–
My ecstasies changed to an ugly cry.

You are aware that once I sought the Grail,
Riding in armour bright, serene and strong;
And it was told that through my infant wail
There rose immortal semblances of song.

But now I’ve said good-bye to Galahad,
And am no more the knight of dreams and show:
For lust and senseless hatred make me glad,
And my killed friends are with me where I go.
Wound for red wound I burn to smite their wrongs;
And there is absolution in my songs.

***

«The War Hero» by Donna Nimmo

He sat at the bar, drinking his Jack
Talking about the war, since he came back
It ruined his mind, and broke his spirit too
He had seen alot of death among his crew
He drank till he didn’t have to think at all
He drank till he couldn’t hear the bugal call
When not drinking, he was taking so many pills
Disabled now, his wife paying all the bills
His very soul was tortured all the time
From crawling in the jungle in the dirt and slime

Hearing the shots fired every where
He was shooting too, just a boy there
He lived the war over every night in his dreams
In his sleep he could still his buddies screams
The war took a young boy and ruined his life
But he was proud, he had served in all the strife
This good man died just a year ago
He fought for our freedom and we do owe
Our freedom takes the life of young men
They serve their country and most come home again

All their lives will never be the same
Some will return whole and some lame
I’m proud to be a citizen of the USA
Where we’re strong and proud and will never sway!

***

«Your Hero» by Francis Duggan

The heroes of the masses they live for their renown
And the masses create their heroes and then drag their heroes down
And the masses are unpredictable they change from day to day
And some of their heroes like the Autumn flowers are quick to fade away.

Yet there are millions of unsung heroes and they live on every street
And every day a hero I feel privileged to meet
True heroes male and female yet by the masses unsung
The World is full of heroes of heroes old and young.

Some heroes of the masses are arrogant and proud
And their egos over-swollen from the adulation of the crowd
But give me the unsung heroes who go their own quiet way
Who out of the kindness of their hearts perform one good deed every day.

Many heroes of the masses are not heroes to me
Though every day I walk the street some true hero I do see
Your hero is chauffeur driven and drinks the most expensive wine
And you can have your hero but your hero isn’t mine.