Phil Roberts

Foo fighters

I am 64 and loves cats, rock music, and horror fiction and poetry






Yellowy balls of light
Whooshing ‘cross the battlefield,
Upon this unholy night;
War is raging ‘pon the land
And neither side will yield,
They know it’s, 'Stand or die!'

Whooshing sounds are heard
Above the German lines,
Is this a secret allied weapon?
Bursting out like rockets
In the moonless night
Are alarming phantoms.

Even for the Kaiser
Is this too much to ask,
From these frightened men?
Lying in the frozen fields
To perform a thankless task,
And not come home again.

In the British lines
Soldiers cower in terror,
As unknown planes soar high;
English troops are set upon
Due to an Axis error,
As spheres floodlight the sky:

German planes are responding
To the air attacks,
Thinking whooshing orbs of light,
Must be new British planes,
and when the fighting never slacks,
Both sides prepare to die.

Whooshing spheres of light
Spreading terror below,
Soaring ‘bove a battleground;
In the frigid still night
Where only the bravest fools will go
Both sides hear a chilling sound.

Strange fighters whooshing on high
Soaring through the firmament,
Yellow glowing lights;
As both sides cower below
Fearing the spheres are evil,
And death will fill this night.

So on the charge both sides begin
Staggering with an ice-filled heart,
To meet this unknown flying fiend;
Fiery yellow shooting orbs
With which each dire night now starts
And which only death can end!

THE END
© Copyright 2021, Philip Roberts
Melbourne, Victoria, Australia

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