Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Olive Aug 4
Something has changed in me this week
Small and cynical but not so meek
A voice I once knew and thought was engrained
Turned out was a student that’s now fully trained
She no longer whispers her judgments and lies
While she sits at her desk now she actually tries
To get to know who I am instead of rejecting
And brushing me off with her constant correcting
Now I get to embrace the feeling of free
From hearing a voice that is finally me
Accepting myself takes truly getting to know myself, which takes dropping judgments, standards, comparisons, and asking who I am right now and how I can be true to myself.
Don't panic at all
Don't bother at all
What if the buildings are
Damaged dangerously?

What if all the walls
Are full of cracks
Things can be easily controlled
And you have enough money

So don't panic at all
Don't bother at all
Use your money with caution
Apply your mind, use your money

Get all the walls painted
With very nice painting
Paintings of the folks
Paintings of the modern era

Paintings of saints and heroes
Painting of beautiful landscapes
Raise slogans here and there
Unfurl flags and sing the anthem

What if the rivers are di*ty?
Only raise awareness campaigns
Put hoardings and banners everywhere
Do nothing else, but show everything

Just adopt these cheap tactics
You can save lot of wealth
And can spent on yourself
Or can buy more votes with it

Paint the bark of all the trees
Break all the records of shame
Create a new fake history
Make silly new records

What if there is poverty
Just make monuments for god
And ask people to pray there
God is there to listen the prayer

What if there is unemployment
Ask your businessmen friends
To start training centres and train the youth
And make money, money and money

Leave the trained youth as they were
Ask them to create employment for self
Call it self-employment, call it freedom
Ask them to rejoice this freedom

Open new schools and colleges
But don't appoint staff in teachers
Collect hefty amount of fees
Spent that fees on yourself

Also spent some to collect votes
Manage the peoples
Manage the machines
Manage history, manage geography

Manage the media, manage the news
Spread everywhere, fake news
If you do, what I have said
You will be the king again
Sure Shot and Short Formula to become King Again and Again
Michael Mar 19
The Ninth Battalion (Australia)

By Sun-filled day and frosty night,
O’er rugged hills and desert sand,
We learned to work as teams, to fight
In jungles of another land.

From every city, State and town,
All the lovely countryside,
Impelled by grim war’s cold, bleak frown,
Gathered we at fair Woodside.

And some of us were volunteers,
But mostly we young conscripts were,
With youthful hopes, ambitions, fears;
Young men’s dreams of love were there.

And lusts, for we weren’t choir boys,
Nor simpering wowser, nor old maid.
We searched for brawling, drinking joys
And chased the girls of Adelaide.

Oh Adelaide, what wondrous pubs,
The Rundle, Gresham (Mind you Roy?),
The Western, Finden, all were hubs
Of social, sinful, youthful joy.

But scarce the city trips sublime.
Beneath the awesome stars our home.
And Sun-bronzed we became with time,
Leigh Creek, Cultana, ours to roam.

At Murray Bridge we fired our weapons, honed our drills;
Formed Section and Platoon at Humbug Scrub, and that was fun.
We dug-dug-dug to prove to them that be our skills,
And by night stood freezing piquet on the gun.

Canungra’s forest, where chilled to bone
We learned to ambush and by sudden flare to ****.
The Flinders Range, those hills of stone.
Shoalwater Bay did prove our skill.

And at the last and having passed our nation’s test,
(for some a final accolade)
And to that question answered yes,
We made farewell to Adelaide.

At Murray Bridge we fired our weapons, honed our drills;
Formed Section and Platoon at Humbug Scrub, and that was fun.
We dug-dug-dug to prove to them that be our skills,
And by night stood freezing piquet on the gun.
Michael Mar 12
The Royal Military College
and a definition of Leadership

When I was posted to Duntroon
As C.S.M of 'weeds and seeds',
Its grounds I'd walk each afternoon,
Reflecting on my task, it's needs.

Diverse, the soldiers working here;
Musicians, cooks, the stewards and, it's queer
That from my office window to the square,
Listening to the distant band rehearse, I'm so aware

Of differences. My 'Weeds and Seeds' has lot's of them:
The C.Q.M.S., has just one foot, the other taken by a mine.
The sergeant clerk one leg, one eye and D.C.M.
Drivers without licences; all these are mine.

As well - a different lot, there is Ground Maintenance. This, a platoon
Of Infantry, sick and lame, and drivers banned from driving.
And these, the dispossessed, so take my time that soon
The day has insufficient hours and I'm obsessed, and striving

To resolve what seems to me to be a sorry mess
Left by my predecessor and his Signals boss.
All this compounded by a soldier girl, a pretty stewardess,
Attracting cadets like children round the candy floss.

Doing extra training in the Company Orderly room, that girl.
Stripping back the Lino covered floor and laying polish.
And like the Lino was her weekend stripped of any social whirl
By my reluctance to charge her or to admonish.

This extra training, it was how I thought to exercise my will
On soldiers, disparate, without cohesiveness from within;
Without a unit. And besides, whoever would I find to give close order drill
If all I did was march the guilty ******* in?

Thus it was this day, a balmy, sunny, Sunday afternoon;
The sort of day on which the very soul rejoices;
That after having supped my beer in Sergeants' Mess, Duntroon,
And walking past my office going home, do I hear muffled, unexpected voices.

'Hello, hello. What is all this? What is going on in there'?
Mumbling, giggling, that's the sound I hear of busy industry?
Intrigued, I look to see my victim perched high on wooden chair
Placed on a table, while on their knees her busy, working coterie,

Cadets, bums up, heads down, nosing round the Orderly Room,
Bucket, mop, and squeegee poised behind the flourished, sweeper's broom.
'Oh look at me' I hear them cry - that universal lovers' call.
But their target, when she smiles, she smiles at them one and all.

While to my floor they give their all, a super, waxen, polished gleam.
Because of promises implied and sweetness smiling, seated there.
Of leadership still they've much to learn, t'would seem.
And what better teacher than the pretty girl perched on that chair.
I keep saying,
"This would be so much
more bearable if..."
But maybe
it isn't supposed to be
more bearable.
Maybe I'll train
and find new ways
of bearing the load.
Maybe I'll feel
that much lighter and stronger
when the load is lifted.
Asunna Feb 6
Baby, you're a lady.
you're meant to be dainty,
swimming in seas of purity.
Baby, be a lady
Perfect, trim & proper.

Baby, what's a lady?
no really, what's a lady?
Consumed by rivers of lust and sultry.
Baby, i'm not your "baby"
but let me tell you i'm **** well perfect.
Donna Nov 2018
My pug is quite mad
He bites everyone’s ankles
He got some issues
:) love my pug but his so naughty x
Catch up soon busy weekend **
Haruharu Oct 2018
So much work and determination for that moment.

Weeks of training, to predict all the opponent's moves.

Tears of frustration, blisters and bruises all over your body.

Looking at others enjoying food you're not allowed to touch.

Running, with a burning feeling in your chest.

All for that moment, those 4 minutes that can change everything.

Judges lined up, blue and red flags in their hands.

The fear of them not raising your color in the end.

The surrounding sounds go away.

Fighting gear on, nodding to you coach's distant words.

The sweat starts running under your helmet, heart's racing fast, the adrenaline kicks in.

The sign is given, it's time.

The mat feels bigger than it looks.

With shaky legs you walk out, to bow for your opponent.

Facing each other, you'll never forget the eyes of your enemy.

The whistle blows, the moment has arrived. It's time to put the weeks of training into action.

One final deep breath.

Fight. Fight for the time you've sacrificed.

Fight with all your might, to earn that medal around your neck.

Cause in that moment it's worth everything.
Jon Thenes Jul 2018
Hell shimmies when I am blunted ;
When I take a knock to the senses
When I am skinless,
singing stings
and misdirected by pain

If I had trained better
I'd be deep sea
Sussing distant messages
Operating with slight tremors, vocals and movement
and only when correct...
I'd be home
I'd be instrument

Not an act
Not a pet to society
No mood fool ;
and littered
Rapped at by experiences
Attack reacting
An embarrassment
Watching my own pattern spooling
the same sums
and spoiling with repetition
Next page