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he stirred from the waking dream
the only sound was marching feet
the roll of drums keeping the pace  
in the cold distance
the sky was cloaked in grey
and the air was thick with smoke and the scents of war
there was a reckless air to his demeanour
there was a dangerous glint to the steel in his eye
as he rode slow up the hard dirt lane
past the old stone wall carved with the names of the fallen
the thousand faces to go with thouse poor names
haunt his soul
the caskets were empty cause not a single man returned
not a single soul but him
so he stalks these hills
the grey wood barren trees
the trail wet from a late rain
his  tattered and stained uniform hanging loose
from his gaunt form
his cutlass in its scabbard by his side
he had drawn that sword  
all along the trails of the north
all through the desperate years of war
regretting each life he took
now old he eyes reflect only the passing days
he hitches his dead pony to the garden gate
and he will take some rest there
by the sweet roses
they smell like the grand ball that he attended
as a young man with that girl
back when he had promise and a future
back when before he had drawn his sword in battle
when he was just another handsome young man
in his neatly pressed uniform
now he falls to sleep at last to sweet dreams
of her and her gentle hand
time has come for reckoning
the last face he would behold
would be hers
and she was singing softly
as he slipped away
to join his loyal troops once again
for the final march into the kingdom come
and oblivion
his statue now gathers pigeons on the college quad
his face obscured by the shadows of academias desire to analyze
but you can still trace the track of his tears
 Feb 2014 AJ Claus
Peach
Heartless
 Feb 2014 AJ Claus
Peach
With patience he caressed my heart
His filthy hands gleefully left
Sticky black ink stains
He told me they would always remain

With determination I cut my heart out
My tainted hands painfully ripped
At blood filled sinew and muscle
I told him it would be like he never existed and grabbed a shovel

© 2013-2014 Peach
Call yourself a friend of mine,
Forcing me to “neck” beer and wine?
Lovingly mixed with ***** and gin,
And dash of ketchup added in,
Wasabi for that extra kick -
The whole thing just makes me sick!
It’s not fun or cool or clever,
But a study in peer pressure,
Present in the world we live in,
Where for a guy or girl to “give in”,
Is expected for their reputation.
But what kind of expectation,
Is encouraged sado-masochism?
A concept likely to cause a schism,
For those who didn’t use their head,
And unsurprisingly now are dead.
I am sure as you will surely see,
And the poet Dylan would agree,
That as long as you ignore
The deaths of one, two three and four
How many, many, many more,
Are needed til we scream and cry?
“We caused too many youths to die!”
And for what cause? Acceptance.
Whose loss is needed for our repentance?
It’s all well acting free and wild,
But each of us is someone’s child -
Whose loss would surely cause sadness,
Hurt and pain and grief and madness?
And stomaching death is much harder
Than soap or dirt or grease or lard or
Whatever miscellaneous things
This activity inevitably brings.
Just saying “no” might make you quiver
But trust me; it’s better for your liver -
And living x years sans hurt or maim
Is worth > than 15 minutes of fame.
So do the maths before you do it -
Or else I bet you’ll likely rue it!
 Feb 2014 AJ Claus
Frieda P
Some days, most days
i could do without my head
cut it off before i drown
suffocation is a slow way to go
living in the vast oceans of what has pass'd
         wars fought, battles lost
         the history that once was
written out, Morse code in my mind
    thunderous sounds of sinking ships
dots & dashes deafening, it never ceases to exist
.... . .-.. .--. help, sinking fast
   i'll show you the frost that killed the posies
  it remains intact like the iceberg that sank the titanic
    it drips enough to drown the opposing stroke'rs
      spaces between the echoes of a soul saved
        breathless, pleading for air before the third time
          waiting patiently for my three dots & a dash...
 Feb 2014 AJ Claus
September
Chance
 Feb 2014 AJ Claus
September
You spoke zero words to me, today
But that's okay—
I spoke zero to you as well
 Feb 2014 AJ Claus
May Sarton
Here is a glass of water from my well.
It tastes of rock and root and earth and rain;
It is the best I have, my only spell,
And it is cold, and better than champagne.
Perhaps someone will pass this house one day
To drink, and be restored, and go his way,
Someone in dark confusion as I was
When I drank down cold water in a glass,
Drank a transparent health to keep me sane,
After the bitter mood had gone again.
All armies are the same
Publicity is fame
Artillery makes the same old noise
Valor is an attribute of boys
Old soldiers all have tired eyes
All soldiers hear the same old lies
Dead bodies always have drawn flies
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