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nick armbrister Mar 2020
What to do with our enemy?
There's nine hundred and ninety terrs there.
With sore limbs and no toys.
In time, word will get out.
Compromising us in future.

Over the edge!

You four, take three men each.
You know the drill.
The SF guys nodded and trotted off.
It wasn't said but done.
Were they being recorded?

Hopefully.

Would save the SAS a job.
Showing the world what happened to terrs.
Off the cliff one at a time.
Like jumping out of a plane.
Or into a swimming pool.

But with a four mile terminal velocity drop.

Two ex-terrorists are kept.
Prisoners.
Our mission continues.
We'll get back safe.
No one is lost yet.
Nothing will stop us.

For we keep your world safe.
GIRLS, GUITARS, GATLING GUNS
Jimmy Boom Semtex
nick armbrister Mar 2020
Photos
The larger than life SAS patrol saw the explosions.
They danced and flickered and sang like a drum.
Then silence.

They know we're here.

Later, the SF men came across their enemy.
A thousand angry ragged heads.
All lined up and armed for suicide.
The SAS get captured!

World's best captured by muzzahs.

Lined up themselves, a speech is given.
Muzzah leader goes on about Allah and all.
Trooper Captain has a plan: a mad one.

A roll call will be made.

When Rollbottom's name is called, it's time.
He'll drop his trousers and moon his ****!
It'll be cold as they're so high up.

It begins.

Rollbottom?
Here Sir.
He got his chance to shine.
No longer a tour guide for no one but me.
Make us proud, friend.

Moons his **** and dances...

Later. The captured muzzahs, one thousand of them, are stressed.
In an American Gitmo stress position.
There's no escape!
Some do try in a French built Russian 'tank'.

It slides on the ice.

Tumbles off the edge of the mountain.
It's a four mile almost vertical drop to the bottom.
All eyes see the APC fall, becoming smaller.
It bounces a couple of times off cliffs.

Only stopping at the very bottom.

No fire but distant clangs.
No more escapes!
Over the edge with most of their arms.
Later. The SAS mission continues.
from GIRLS, GUITARS, GATLING GUNS
Jimmy Boom Semtex
ZACK GRAM Sep 2019
ill drop a t-bomb ill start world war 3...

ill blow up the moon...

ill turn off the sun...

ill make the world stop turning...

ill **** everyman on earth with my bare hands...

no construction can compare to your illusion

youre a ******* boss

youre a ******* GODDESS

ILL DO LIFE FOR YOU

I AIN SCARED

I GO OFF SON

ITS RIOTS IN THE STREETS

PULL UP

1 WAY IN 1 WAY OUT

50CAL 2 MILE

LAZER

CALL MY KU KLUX COPPER HAND

DROP THE CHOPPER HANDS

AIRBARGES FILLED WITH CRATES OF MONEY

RESSURECTION

PRAY TO THE LORD NO QUESTIONS

10K BODIES SINGLE HANDEDLY

NOONE ELSE

ME ***** ME ZACK

THE ONE AN ONLY

I GET INTO THESE WOMEN MINDS

**** THEIR EMOTIONS

no need for materials when its all soul...

soul music love from the heart...

bringing gifts passing blessings...

the day you got me wrong the day i ****** them all...

now we got SATAN OR YESHUA...

we in love all the above tatted till death...

me an you togther forever...
i love you
c Apr 2018
Dear Fearless Writers--Fighters,

Never in my life
Have I felt such an
Embrace
By those both
Like-minded &
Inspiring

I've written more since
Joining you all
Than I ever have before
I hope to publish
My works in time
Thanks to you
HelloPoetry

Thank you to Eliot &
To the rest as well,

c
Happy to be here. You are all so supportive and inspiring. I'm beyond excited for this app to come out. <3
Corrie Jan 2018
I am a third generation of ****** assault victims.
A third generation.
My mother before me had experienced assault time and time again.
I don’t believe I even know all the stories.
She experienced men who thought that because they can push your head where they wanted meant that she would not, could not, fight back.
Man, were they surprised when they felt the sharp ridges of her teeth sink into their shaft.
My mother is a fighter.
Her mother before her experienced a man who hid behind a medical license
He said if she wanted to be cleared to go back to work, she simply had to pull down her pants.
She was there to check on her shoulder.
She told him that there was no way and he could tell the company whatever he wanted but she was not going to be taking off her pants.
They later arrested this man for molesting dozens of patients.
A ******* under the guise of a medic.
My grandmother was a fighter.
And don’t you dare think that for some reason growing older gets you a pass.
At 72, she moved into a new apartment building with people of all ages and backgrounds.
One day, walking home, a man decided to press his naked body against a window while she walked by.
He gyrated his hips and touched himself as she ran by.
Sometimes I worry if he’ll step out from behind the glass.
Me though? I do not know if I am a fighter.
Maybe its because my assault took a different form, one they rarely talk about.
When my older cousin asked me to play a game I was thrilled to be a part of her world.
It took me years to realize that where she kissed and what she touched and the game we played was actually how women have ***.
Years later I had a boyfriend, and for some reason when my lips said no, he heard ask again.
Ask again and again until she feels worn down. Ask again until she gives in.
Because that’s your boyfriend, aren’t you supposed to fulfill his needs?
How dare you be *****, or sick or not in the mood.
Men have needs, and can’t you see when they commit to just you, that’s your role.
When I was 21 I naively thought that I could make friends with a boy.
I told him before we ever met that I was not looking for love, nor ***, just a friend.
However, he reached for the check. However, he reached for my neck.
He kissed me, big whoop, I can live with that.
But then he put my hand on his lap to feel his hardness and asked me to **** it.
I lied and said not tonight, knowing I would never see him again, and left.
Maybe I am a fighter.
Maybe every woman I know is a fighter.
When my mother, my friends, my sisters, my roommates, my cousins, and the stranger on the street has a story like mine, don’t you think that it’s time?
Time to teach men that women, we are fighters.
I am a third generation of fighter.
Simon Soane Oct 2016
Perplexed in glorious rush
of telling you
thank you,
for the days,
hours,
minutes
and seconds
of this.
The Willow Dec 2015
How can you be
consumed with love
but not in it?
He and I
are speckled with fireflies
all around us
within us

we are the liar fighters
marching on a high wire of vulnerability and despair
and on the other side is the neighborhood of the souls of our friends
they are alive
but they are not well

we grab hands on this tight rope
and sometimes he carries me
because he knows how I'm afraid of heights.

But I'm trying.

We slept under stars barricaded by clouds
but we didn't mind,
We were blinded by the stars burning in our bottom left ribs
where we keep our empathy.


We held hands
but it wasn't planned
it was only necessary


Quiet
so quiet
my mind was so quiet
it should never be this silent in a situation such as this

"I should be worried about what I look like
What I'm saying
If I'm desirable.

So they don't leave.
So I have more control. "


I am out of control
I can't force him to stay
but for the first time in a year
I might have found a home.

How can I not take the chance?

How can I not stay?
Dedicated to the Lion Man.
Michael-Angelo Aug 2015
Oceans couldn't keep me away from you, distances aren't reachable, I'll swim to you, love, street-fight or die trying, the stars and the infinite galaxies won't keep me from your love, it's the same old story, guy meets girl, but I am a fighter and a lover, I'll fight Bulls with no sword, I won't cheat, I'll use my hands, I'll run and ride wild horses to be by your side, I'll swim with sharks with no cage, fearless heart made with fiery stone, our love is deep, and I'll stop at nothing to die by your side, the same old story ... This story is endless, I'll conquer kingdoms, **** them with love to make you mine, till I crawl bare-***** ****** ravished to hold your hand and make you mine...
Just a little love poem for my current crush, hehe...!! ;)
Ignatius Hosiana Jun 2015
Their voices echo along the threads of time
I read their works on tattered pages
They say their words did but rhyme
Their's were for inspiration,not wages
They told stories like real witnesses
Of agonizing times and sicknesses
The soldiers of their sweet narrations
They say rode on horses of generations
Triumphant over the trend, glorious
Shooting arrows past lineages,like warriors
They fought against pride and Prejudice
Across boundaries, winged like Pegasus
They flew to bring merit of words and lines
And stood the test of time like wild pines  
They used sharp words instead of swords
Only received rejection ,sometimes nods
Walked long distances,endured perspiration
Sleepless ,so to cultivate some inspiration
They were young but with mature souls
Their relentless effort vividly like Moles
Burrowed through even hardened hearts
And with needles of kindness stitched cuts
Finely weaved justice on paper like Mats
And spread it for the world,across all parts
When speech was hated and persecuted
They stood strong and instead recruited
The course of changes threatened to slay
Erosion corroded letters worse than clay
Their beautiful hearts where kindness lay
Were battered and butchered causing hope to decay
A season came when all was but a lost cause
And were tales of how once upon a time it was
Yet again like a phoenix someday they rose
From the ashes of history, how? Nobody knows
They were stronger and mightier than mortals
And travelled through un fathomed portals
They built a very powerful mental kingdom
Above the prestigious tower of wisdom
Where they reigned like the fires on doom at Mordor
Freed so many prisoners of their situations
Across the entire universe and her nations
Gave them keys so they unlock more doors
Stanzas crawled like maggots across all avenues
With mixed feelings the world received the news
Though were skewed to embracing the return
Because for once they saw a flame of peace burn
Their tears were wiped by every piece they read
Poets let them realize war wasn't only in their head
Reason flowed like waters in fountains and streams
Readers believed once again in their dreams
And like poetry and poets they didn't sit back and cry
Every poem they read,sad or not told them to get up and try
And when they finally got victory over their inner strife
Not even once did they forget poems changed their life
Don't know why I wrote this one, just bumped in my head
Serge Belinsky May 2015
Cruel times, cruel hearts of fighters
Going to death under the orders of the fathers,
For the blood that binds them,
Both the brothers who fell and friends still alive,

Brutal century, cruel eyes of the war,
Staring with soulless of Satan on the human world,
Yeah heard journalists huskiness news,
Yes does not relieve a state of alarm of the soldiers ' mothers,
What are waiting for years for news of the children.

Is it possible the war to stop?
All sufferers to give a lot?
Blow out fires, bridges to restore?

But the smell of blood strong for the sharks,
Give no rest, so sweet it is.
When the war starts,
no one of the soldiers do not want ****.

But when the enemy kills a friend, who is close to, then comes the feeling of revenge, and the soldiers start killing out of revenge.
They are taking revenge for the bloodshed.

All the soldiers who honestly had fought for their homeland, is dedicated this poem.
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