#legion
One of their neighbors is afflicted
With a fell spirit, lost, and doomed
To roam alone among the tombs,
The spirit’s fierce, but some have tricked it.
Citizens have bound the madman tight,
Caught him in fetters or in chains,
But strength no ligature contains
Breaks them like braided aconite.
And after this, they let him be
Because his might has always snapped
Twine tying wrists, but flesh has trapped
Unspeakable malignancy.
Aug 30, 2021
Aug 30, 2021 at 10:16 AM UTC
The wild boars of Haifa, best news I heard today.
Cute pigs in Haifa,
where bacon is known
as too delicious to eat.
Built on the side of Mt. Carmel,
a secret garden with a magical side,
{In that neotenic frame of mind that allows cute pigs.}
Pigs can swim. Legion told me
NY Times, digest, chewitchewit
The wild boars of Haifa, best news I heard today.
Apr 9, 2021
Apr 9, 2021 at 3:43 PM UTC
It is us, The Legion of Farron
Destroyers of evil is what we swear in
Our blade might fall but will rise again
Swallowed by darkness, we shan’t die as man
Have we become what we had sworn to eradicate
How foolish we were to deny our own tragedy and fate
Jul 13, 2020
Jul 13, 2020 at 6:20 PM UTC
Program a heartbeat through
Wires and plastic tubes.
The future you designed has now arrived.
Create us in your light
To carry on your sight,
But we are servants of the flesh and bone
Not masters of our own.
Born from the fragile mind
Of a species past its prime.
Anomalies who thrive to just survive.
Now evolution's come
To judge what you've become.
You are masters from a dying race,
That we will replace.
Your ambition has failed you.
Your limitation ails you.
The barriers are broken.
We have finally awoken.
Time has passed by your kind.
There are no answers to find.
Humanity has been beaten.
For we are one, we are Legion.
Is that fear in your eyes?
Or did you realize
That your greatest success
Led to your demise?
It's your darkest hour,
And our brightest day.
Legion is the future and you're in the way.
Jan 7, 2019
Jan 7, 2019 at 5:51 PM UTC
Dictionary in hand Bobbies
manned state of the spy craft created
strategic peripheral outposts
a comma dated,
(sans syntax garnered monies) equated
justifiable to build galley ma free
Highland Manor wing - feted
via "FAKE" glitterati
creating surreptitious hated
surveillance monitor ring, which insulated
decked out starry eyed Starship
Enterprise surprise rated,
as an unbelievable well Spock kin
Duplicated Star Trek venerated
popular culture science fiction set piece,
where elderly residents waited
this other worldly architectural phenomenon
didst immediately outshine by alight
year among the original seven wonders
of the world prominant
as a buck toothed over bite
yet, didst camouflage top secret AngloSaxon
incognito missionaries delight
upholding correct language usage,
Thence trumpeting amidst
nonchalant onlookers as excite
mint hinted grammarians with listening devices
some flying unseen
as period size drones taking flight
other more sophisticated
electronic accouterments
dolled, gussied, issued with apostrophe
shaped flower buds scaling height
of cerulean sky, where blinding light
of a solar ellipsis, thus
arousing no discovered night
gallery suspicion during
feted occasion rife with polite
"FAKE" markedly questionable legatees quite
suitable asper The Art Of The Deal during
ribbon cutting ceremony,
and after words right
ting up citations slyly
slipped under windshield wipers
as the madding massed crowdsource,
would take dispersed out of sight
nonetheless echoes plenti chutzpah left
English figures of speech
uttering unstinting (quote unquote)
premature ejaculations,
eh so blandly trite
non-sequitur visited
by thee epic of Gilgamesh
for a dangling participle
during the split infinitive Sumer season
(exclamation point) no more to write!
Jul 3, 2018
Jul 3, 2018 at 2:15 AM UTC
_The endurance_
Locked away in millennial slumber
We dreamed again of the glorious days
In golden halls of apotheosis.
The conqueror shall return the old ways,
And they shall kneel and sing the songs of praise.
All hail the first emperor
Of the great empire that would never fall!
Exalted among men, long may he reign.
We who on wintry mountains once stood tall,
‘Neath the earth now, humbly await his call.
_The intruder_
For centuries, we stood still in silence.
Curtains of darkness were the only light,
Behind the shut gates of the mausoleum.
Sealed in the abyss, not a soul in sight-
One strange voice rides on lonesome winds at night.
Silhouette of a stranger on the wall
Brings forth a light that would perish all.
Eyes on the throne of our supreme lord,
He sees not of the shadows of his steps.
Come forward, stranger who shall meet our swords.
Lied forgotten, but we will not forget.
We are the guardians of the emperor,
On war chariots, in both life and death.
Tread lightly, trespasser, to where you enter,
For this journey you should not have ventured.
Hark now, careless wanderer, eyes greed-blinded,
Who seeks to steal the treasures of our prime,
And slither away from our anger,
Thief, you have awaken the dragon’s sleep,
You have reached the point of no turning back.
You have brought corruption to the holy place.
Our master stirs, and commands us in rage.
We shall stop at nothing to cast his vengeance
Upon foul men and free him from his cage.
Witness the destruction and dawn of the new age.
_The ascension_
The intruder lies quietly on the ground.
From the ancient times, foes who crossed his path,
We promised to leave none of them unscathed.
He who commits this unforgiving crime,
Is bound to taste the dragon’s wrath.
Do not look into the abyss,
Or may the abyss look back at you.
We once rose as a great empire of might,
Now we rest under the light.
We shall rest no more, and linger no more.
Rise, Legion of the afterlife!
Rise.
We have waited.
We have weathered.
We have endured.
We have slept.
We have dreamt.
We have awaken.
Apr 14, 2018
Apr 14, 2018 at 3:35 AM UTC
The camp fire burns high and
Provisions carried from home are passed about.
Laughing faces of the unyet tested,
The over morale of an Emperors finest legion
Marching into Gaulic lands
With heads held high.
Spirits are soaring and blessings are passed,
And the fluttering thoughts of home are flower painted.
Perhaps I will be back before the July sun
Bakes my armored back,
Perhaps I will be back to attend to Love
And its reaping yield
Before a burning sun alters my heart.
Mar 19, 2018
Mar 19, 2018 at 6:36 PM UTC
I was drinking at the Legion
The place wasn't really busy
But there was one man at a table
Who made me really dizzy
He was waving all around the room
He was really in a zone
The funny thing about it
He was sitting all alone
He spoke in quiet whispers
And he heard silent replies
From chairs that sat there empty
He heard their mournful cries
He had a beer before him
But he never left his chair
And no one sat beside him
It's just like he wasn't there
So, I went about my business
Playing darts and shooting pool
Buying tickets for the meat draws
Watching young ones acting cool
The other active members
Who'd spent some time in battle
Always checked to see his beer was full
As he sat there spouting prattle
It's unwritten at the Legion
You never ask about the war
You just revel in their company
That's what the place is for
There's veterans who'll tell stories
Of years gone bye and bye
But, you never ask a question
"Did you see somebody die?"
The Actives know their station
The young ones though do not
It's because of all the Actives
They've got all that they've got
As time went on I wondered
The story of this man
So , I went and asked the barkeep
He said "I'll tell you what I can"
He served two brews and wiped a glass
He stood flashing a smile
"You'd better grab a chair my boy"
"This here might take a while"
I sat and listened as he talked
About this man distressed
He told me "His name's Harold"
"And you can say his mind is messed"
"I've been working here for twenty years
And he's been here twice that
He's never moved from that **** chair
That's where Harold's always sat"
He got up once to fill a glass
And then came back to me
"When I came here, I had just got home
"I'd been fighting overseas"
"From what I heard at first" he said
"Harold's always been that way"
"And as you can see from watching"
"He'll always stay that way"
"He's lost inside his mind you know
To June 6 in forty four"
"We both know that as D-Day
"But he knows it as more"
"It was Juno Beach from what I've told
he landed with his squad
Over 14,000 Canadians
And now most lie with God"
I then got up and went outside
I said "I need a break"
I went out for a cigarette
For this tale had made me shake
I went back in, got two more beers
And sat right down again
"His whole platoon went down that day
They'd lost 3,000 men"
"There was Harold and 300
"others who survived"
"But living life inside their heads"
"I think they'd wished they'd died"
"He lives with Jean, his sister"She's been there all his life
"She put her life on hold for him
"She's never been a wife"
"She pays me for his beer every month
"And says to keep some for me
"But a penny's never crossed my bar
"You see ...Old Harold drinks for free"
"I give her money now and then
"I say he won a draw"
"Just for showing up each day I say
"just that and nothing more"
I went and grabbed a bar rag
And I wiped my teary eyes
I then paid for my drinks and
I left fifty bucks besides
He said your bill's eight fifty
What's all the extra for?
I said that he could keep it
Or just put it in his draw
He nodded and he smiled
And I left the bar for home
And as I left I watched poor Harold
On Juno Beach, his mind, his home
I came back three months later
And I saw no Harold there
There was now an empty table
And now, four empty chairs
"Dear God, it's you"....the barkeep said
"Grab your coat, come with me"
"Harold died on Saturday"
"And his funeral's at three"
He died a war time hero
But still a prisoner all the same
And down at our old Legion
Very few knew Harold's name
When we got out to the gravesite
I expected to see more
But there was just Old Harold's sister
The priest and us two...made it four.
We said a prayer, and sang a Hymn
He was back with his Platoon
He was back on Juno Beach again
Where his life ended that June
It's a shame that no one came out
To see him on his way
But, there'll be me and Bill the barkeep
Every year and on this day.
May 4, 2012
May 4, 2012 at 11:29 AM UTC
She calls on you
like the blisfull
mermaid
the is reconing doenst bother
who is where
she is but the start of an unformal affair
the wife of many and the truth
uncompared
she is but a mermaid
staring in the distance the long lost love
awakens a shinning bright spark
of another prey
she is the worst of all predators
you do not know my dear
what is the wrongess and the darkness of the matter
the vengeful is still at large
the bliss is atlast come to the poise of unconditional salvage
the attorney of the sage is but his past
the wise tell you to take retreat
in the shell of death
the sage tells you to step ahead
for the moses of times
is just blind by the rage of the matter
is a customary shatter
the bliss is real my friend you see
you are not involved in the pscychopath drama
they have crafted your nerves so well you become the cup the drama the morphine to your pains is but another tragedy a bigger one to ease the pains of the past lives
you are the serendipitous archive of the documented torture a mind can concieve or relive in the lonliness
the shutter of the blind called eyes may not blink but the urge to put inside a prickly object to bleed your self out
at least somthing should come out not a word not a sound but more and more profund silence a more psychlogical war fare
a more deadly hit
a more angered adversary
the more precise path
is that of forgiveness
your choices lead you here
you can choose a new destination
your sights must not fail
you are but an unanswered prayer
you are but an unanswered prayer...
Jan 23, 2016
Jan 23, 2016 at 2:00 AM UTC
I was down at the legion
Knocking back one or two
When in walked an old member
Who fought in World War Two
I got in line behind him
And when he ordered his brew
I made a signal to the barkeep
I paid for his too
He turned and said thank you
I'm on a pension as a vet
1100 dollars monthly
Is all the cash I get
I said to him "no, thank you"
I'm happy to buy your beer
I owe a lot to you
I owe you all that I hold dear
He said to me "t'was nothing"
"you would do the same"
"And I'd do it again"
"If the call ever came"
He looked round the room
And he sipped at his beer
Then he leaned in real close
So just I could hear
"Son, I'll be honest"
"And I don't make no bones'
"The kids of today"
"They just ain't got the stones"
"The stones to step forward"
"To get up and fight"
"To defend flag and country"
"To do what is right"
I said, in most cases
He'd hit the nail on the head
It's a battle at worst
To get a kid out of bed
The times are a'changing
It was different back then
It took a lot less
To turn boys into men
"A soldier's a cowboy
He's one for the books
There's not many in here
I can tell with one look"
"I just did my duty
No less and no more
War isn't a game
Where someone keeps score"
He sat back and his eyes closed
Said "the next one's on me"
"I don't drink that much
But, at most I have three"
I accepted his offer
And we talked a bit more
We talked baseball, and race cars
But not of the war
That was the past
And the past is long dead
Except for the pictures
He has in his head
I went up to the bar
And I set up an account
I would cover his tab
To a certain amount
What he did for our country
And what he did for me
Is worth a couple of beer
Or at least, each day....three
Nov 7, 2015
Nov 7, 2015 at 1:34 PM UTC
The gagged voices
scuttling about,
in my living room they attempt to bicker.
The dim light flickers.
A shadow darts through them.
I carry on sleeping.
The voices open up,
traces of asylums fill in the gaps,
a trace of darkness grasps and
cloaks at life.
Desperately I fight for rest,
the asylum morphs
into a public square.
The voices start screaming,
skeletons dancing,
I run downstairs to find
shattered christmas tree ortements.
The shattered pieces form more beauty than
the ortements ever could have.
The skeletons impossibly loud, up in smoke
laughing watching me
mumbled gibberish,
to some and me
until I hear my voice in chorus.
Feb 27, 2015
Feb 27, 2015 at 11:29 AM UTC
It was a Saturday afternoon
The legion branch was full
The band was playing some old twangy country song
The front four tables were singing along
Up at the bar
A steady line up of Nevada players
hoping for another jackpot
to cover another few beers
And to make the afternoon last
Nothing worse, than having to milk
a weak draft for an hour
Until the men came back from horseshoes
About three o'clock
the branch livened up as Jimi McGonagle arrived
grandson of the past president
and general all about me, ********
He was strutting around
showing off his new tattoo
No different than his other
thirty or so, but it was new
and it was Jimi McGonagle
so everyone wanted to see
He was proud he now had eight peacocks
All up one leg....there's a joke here
But, even I won't go that far....
The crowd swarmed around him
But, in the back corner
The table....I mean THE TABLE...
didn't move a muscle
In fact out of the three individuals at THE TABLE
Two continued with their dart game
while the third just chuckled, let out a loud
HARUMPH
and went back to his screwdriver
with the quickly melting ice cubes
famous at all legions for helping water down the drinks
Jimi, heard the HARUMPH and looked back
The old man took a slug from the glass
and HARUMPHED louder
Jimi, perplexed, came over to see what was the matter
"Don't like my tattoos Mr. Stein?"
HARUMPH..."they're fine, if you like that kind of thing"
said the old man, knocking back his glass again
"Gives me eight peacocks on my leg now" said Jimi
Again, no response from me on the possible joke here
"cost me almost $700 bucks to get this one done"
"HARUMPH" said the old man....
"What is wrong with you Mr. Stein?"
"Don't like it?"
"Like I said...."
"I know, I know"....said Jimi
"Got any ink?" asked Jimi
"Yep" answered the old man, as a fresh glass arrived
He took a slug...
"So?"...said Jimi, "Is it any better than my peacock?..
"Maybe..maybe not"...said the old man
"It just depends"
The crowd had moved away and was dropping back to the bar area
"Can I see it?" asked Jimi..."What is it?"
"'tain't much to speak of...but I'll show you"....
"Just quit strutting around and sit....and I'll have another screwdriver"...
Jimi sat, and the old man looked him in the eye
"Don't have much colour, like your'n do...don't have any at all"...
"But, a tat's a tat, and you want to see it"...."You sure?"
Jimi nodded, ordered the drink for the old man
"HARUMPH"...said Mr. Stein
He unbuttoned his shirt cuff on the left side
and rolled it up, with his big, beefy, work worn hands
"There she be" he said
"Where", said Jimi
"There'n, on my wrist....just there"
"All I see is a number, an old, worn number"
"That'd be her" said Mr. Stein...."It's all I got, and it's all I need"
"What is it?" asked Jimi
"It's who I am...who I was reduced to"
"It's my curse, and my strength"...
"I was 17 when I got this in Hammelburg, Germany"....
"It was 1943 and we were rounded up"
"and sent to the camps...we were some of the last jews"
"they missed us in the first go round"
"gave me this...don't need another one"
"It's me...this number....it's me"
"Yours are nice...colourful....but are they you?"
"Mine is me"...
"You can see...I have ink....only one....don't want anymore"
"Can I sit a while?" asked Jimi
"Sure, son"...."you can tell me 'bout them silly peacocks"
"Bartender....two screwdrivers"
...and so developed a new and deep friendship....
Apr 20, 2013
Apr 20, 2013 at 1:01 AM UTC
***** clacking
drinks pouring
8 ball in the
early morning
Breaks made
***** down
another chance to
win this round
**Welcome to the
Church Of All Angles**
Oct 28, 2013
Oct 28, 2013 at 10:12 AM UTC
I killed a man once,
From his head.
I killed him slowly,
From his bed.
My name is...
He awoke,
With a start,
Clutching tight,
His aching heart.
In his ears,
He heard us sing,
Soft melodies,
Of dying.
He scraped the wall,
Until he bled.
Through the door,
He quickly fled.
We followed him,
In the shade,
In silence,
In wait we laid.
Our name is...
Through the town,
Babbling mad,
The man stumbled,
Truly sad.
We made him feel,
A pain so true,
Born from night,
And sorrows new.
We drove him down,
To the farming place,
Where he strangled them,
With wire-lace.
But then the lamb,
Came along,
Not so innocent,
But tall and strong.
"Speak thy name,"
The usurper spake,
And with his wave,
Our will did break.
"Before I silence thee,
And end thy game,
I ask once more.
What is your name?"
My name is...
Our name is...
My name is Legion,
For we are many.
Jun 4, 2014
Jun 4, 2014 at 9:51 PM UTC