Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Sep 2018
1.
There was the tremor of leaves,
a rustle of bayonet grass
parried the multihued calm
of dawn's smeared light.
"This is what we trained for," the captain said.
We hunkered behind stacked bags of sand.

2.
Filigreed shafts of light pierce
the bullet perforated leaf canopy,
bellowed yells punctuate the swirl
and buffet of turbulent air:
“Contact”,  “2 O’Clock”, “Incoming”, “
"Moving”, “Reloading”, “Ammo”.

3.
Fingers twitch, the grit of soil
twisted through their grip;
moon slashed carcasses glint, spent shells,
Earth exhales a vermillion mist,
rising, echoless, in this
a cathedral of leaves.
180926F
Gary Brocks
Written by
Gary Brocks  M/New York, NY
(M/New York, NY)   
  3.2k
     SamanthaX, Eryck, n-khrennikov and TJ Shadows
Please log in to view and add comments on poems