"admirals" poems
Somebody is shooting at something in our town --
A dull pom, pom in the Sunday street.
Jealousy can open the blood,
It can make black roses.
Who are the shooting at?
It is you the knives are out for
At Waterloo, Waterloo, Napoleon,
The **** of Elba on your short back,
And the snow, marshaling its brilliant cutlery
Mass after mass, saying Shh!
Shh! These are chess people you play with,
Still figures of ivory.
The mud squirms with throats,
Stepping stones for French bootsoles.
The gilt and pink domes of Russia melt and float off
In the furnace of greed. Clouds, clouds.
So the swarm ***** and deserts
Seventy feet up, in a black pine tree.
It must be shot down. Pom! Pom!
So dumb it thinks bullets are thunder.
It thinks they are the voice of God
Condoning the beak, the claw, the grin of the dog
Yellow-haunched, a pack-dog,
Grinning over its bone of ivory
Like the pack, the pack, like everybody.
The bees have got so far. Seventy feet high!
Russia, Poland and Germany!
The mild hills, the same old magenta
Fields shrunk to a penny
Spun into a river, the river crossed.
The bees argue, in their black ball,
A flying hedgehog, all prickles.
The man with gray hands stands under the honeycomb
Of their dream, the hived station
Where trains, faithful to their steel arcs,
Leave and arrive, and there is no end to the country.
Pom! Pom! They fall
Dismembered, to a tod of ivy.
So much for the charioteers, the outriders, the Grand Army!
A red tatter, Napoleon!
The last badge of victory.
The swarm is knocked into a cocked straw hat.
Elba, Elba, bleb on the sea!
The white busts of marshals, admirals, generals
Worming themselves into niches.
How instructive this is!
The dumb, banded bodies
Walking the plank draped with Mother France's upholstery
Into a new mausoleum,
An ivory palace, a crotch pine.
The man with gray hands smiles --
The smile of a man of business, intensely practical.
They are not hands at all
But asbestos receptacles.
Pom! Pom! 'They would have killed me.'
Stings big as drawing pins!
It seems bees have a notion of honor,
A black intractable mind.
Napoleon is pleased, he is pleased with everything.
O Europe! O ton of honey!
7.8k
When you don’t have to see
When it’s just a tv screen
Muted voices scream
But you can’t hear a thing
When you’re not on the ground
To feel the fear or hear the sounds
Then it’s easier to look away
It gets easier to stand and say
That waging war is okay
But when it’s your blood
Or the blood of those you love
When the price you pay is personal
Then the decisions are made more carefully
Too bad politicians and rich men
Don’t have to send their sons and daughters
Off to war to face an almost certain slaughter
Maybe if the generals and congressmen
The admirals and the president
Had to stand in the thick of it
I might trust their judgment
Mar 15, 2015
Mar 15, 2015 at 2:53 PM UTC
Ahoy Captain Courageous!
Cleave not thy ship from soul
Past heaving swell through
Stormy sleet this spellbinding
Siren to seek.
Away thee, Ahab! More than
Whale, this mistress heaps
Thy spirit to take thee
Deep ‘neath sandy shoal.
She sings... clings... captures.
Pour over rocks
Impudent-ass officer
Soon torn and tattered.
You know better than
Fools before thee!
Yea!
Your liquor lapses
Dead man dreaming!
Admirals and angels
Have fallen
Afore thee… oh wise one,
Ha!
Like notches on a barrel
Your soul… she’ll tow on her tale.
Jan 23, 2015
Jan 23, 2015 at 9:21 PM UTC
The Pobble who has no toes
Had once as many as we;
When they said "Some day you may lose them all;"
He replied "Fish, fiddle-de-dee!"
And his Aunt Jobiska made him drink
Lavender water tinged with pink,
For she said "The World in general knows
There's nothing so good for a Pobble's toes!"
The Pobble who has no toes
Swam across the Bristol Channel;
But before he set out he wrapped his nose
In a piece of scarlet flannel.
For his Aunt Jobiska said "No harm
Can come to his toes if his nose is warm;
And it's perfectly known that a Pobble's toes
Are safe, -- provided he minds his nose!"
The Pobble swam fast and well,
And when boats or ships came near him,
He tinkledy-blinkledy-winkled a bell,
So that all the world could hear him.
And all the Sailors and Admirals cried,
When they saw him nearing the further side -
"He has gone to fish for his Aunt Jobiska's
Runcible Cat with crimson whiskers!"
But before he touched the shore,
The shore of the Bristol Channel,
A sea-green porpoise carried away
His wrapper of scarlet flannel.
And when he came to observe his feet,
Formerly garnished with toes so neat,
His face at once became forlorn,
On perceiving that all his toes were gone!
And nobody ever knew,
From that dark day to the present,
Whoso had taken the Pobble's toes,
In a manner so far from pleasant.
Whether the shrimps, or crawfish grey,
Or crafty Mermaids stole them away -
Nobody knew: and nobody knows
How the Pobble was robbed of his twice five toes!
The Pobble who has no toes
Was placed in a friendly Bark,
And they rowed him back, and carried him up
To his Aunt Jobiska's Park.
And she made him a feast at his earnest wish
Of eggs and buttercups fried with fish, -
And she said "It's a fact the whole world knows,
That Pobbles are happier without their toes!"
3.2k
Mind of mine, you alien child.
I spoon-fed you for many years.
I pretended it was a plane in some cases
and the things you spat out
I fed to you again.
Mind of mine, you shadow of a melody.
Homeless drifter on the A41
with a 5 stringed guitar and no common sense.
Begging for a shoelace to tie on
whilst you go hungry.
Mind of mine, you nervous gun clip.
You know you’re unloaded
so your barrel droops like a snowdrop.
No hippie can put a flower in you.
and your shakes are breaking my wrist.
Mind of mine, you scar butterfly-collector.
Snatching red admirals with a chameleon tongue
and when you stitch them in
their red eyes close on dusty wings.
I know you’re lying when you can’t feel a thing.
Mind of mine, You’re a ****** full of love
and a belly full of drugs.
Positive negative flip, as love is in electrics
and you’re still such a bad liar
to tell me it’s anything else.
Mind of mine,
I can be such a bad parent to you
and an even worse child.
Nov 25, 2013
Nov 25, 2013 at 6:42 PM UTC
Letter from a dead man,
His souls up where is he?
Letter from a dead man,
To Heaven or hell he will see.
Letter from a dead man,
To where at can he be?
Letter from a dead man,
No more food can he feed,
Letter from a dead man,
His life's up as you read.
Scared so scared like the millions heard,
Scared of death and me,
Food for thought like the old man said,
An innings of eighty three,
Letter from a dead man,
Stand up remember thee,
Letter from a dead man,
His hymns sheets of real cacophony,
Letter from a dead man,
Sing up and let it be,
Letter from a dead man,
Switches off his life machine,
Letter from a dead man,
A celebration of his legacy
Buried treasured no mans land
In the hills of this cemetery,
Ashes to ashes dust to dust
Just remember him when he leaves.
Letter from a dead man,
To the point of its will,
Letter from a dead man,
No good when he's lying still,
Letter from a dead man,
No more laughs his body chills,
Letter from a dead man,
After he takes his last sleeping pill,
Letter from a dead man,
In Forever credible.
Disappeared no land frontier,
Tales to wander now,
Tears for fears after all these years,
Distinguished with a crown.
Letter from a dead man,
Shall he spell out to you now,
Letter from a dead man,
More ups than been downs,
Letter from a dead man,
Snarl bites from a vicious hound,
Letter from a dead man,
Safe grace under ground,
Letter from a dead man,
Not safe as it sounds.
Worry, Worry, Super Hurry,
To the day that they bereaved,
Money, Money not so funny,
Something changes as he leaves
Letter from a dead man,
Its with you that he thanks,
Letter from a dead man,
A new change of circumstance,
Letter from a dead man,
Sons&Daughters; admirals,
Letter from a dead man,
As love has a chance,
Letter from a dead man,
He's happy with its deliverance.
In days gone by I took to past,
Reflected on happiness as if to last.
So many wondrous days, jolly, quiet, crazily loved been raised.
In many parts chapter arts, like as youngsters we drove our racing carts,
I pinned a bullseye dart with an eye to target the centre of my whole being. Teenage days of bad school days to my first pint with the Trin! Laughter and such worked harder as much for the shackles I threw away!
Up, Up and away my off spring played with hay, did me proud as they made their way! Middle age to this very stage to people I've met. In love, friendship, peace and loyalty to you I will never forget.
Letter from a dead man,
Insane or nice you may think, but with a life time guarantee.
Letter from a dead man,
With r.I.p love from me..
O'Reily@05032013
Jun 19, 2014
Jun 19, 2014 at 11:34 PM UTC
If wars were subject to a copyright -
Then candidates would have to pay a fee
Each time they appeal to the glorious past
When standing for the election, the proceeds
To fall like ****** weregeld on the dead
Who can never cash the checks anyway
If wars were subject to a copyright -
Then Hollywood movies should pay their dues
Whenever a bold, scripted commando,
Body-waxed muscles glistening with makeup,
Advances up Hamburger-Helper Hill
With a patriotic song on his lipstick
If wars were subject to a copyright –
The generals’ memoirs, the admirals’, too,
Would pay to lighten the blighted young lives
Of soul-fragmented lads whose pain and blood
Won the air-conditioned another star
And unctuous applause at the officers’ club
If wars were subject to a copyright -
The President would have to pay his bill
Each time he bangs the lectern for a war,
That glorious dux bellorum dux-ing
From the rear, while a squadron of pigs fly
Above, powered by pixie-dust and smoke
Dec 7, 2018
Dec 7, 2018 at 1:17 PM UTC
It happened in the blink
of a weary old eye.
The flutter of an admirals wings.
It was never remembered,
but never to die.
Like rain that falls
to the grace of the sea.
It was when he took shore leave in Java.
Under tropical skies and thunderous clouds.
When the Devil brushed passed his shoulder,
then melted away back into the crowd.
He knew he'd been touched by evil.
As the hairs on his neck stood like soldiers in line.
Ready for their execution.
Ready for their turn to return to light.
And as he stood there frozen,
not sure where to turn, not sure what to do.
A whisper he heard beside him,
"Cursed young soul, I have something for you."
"Your path has been crossed by dark forces,
yes darker than night and blacker than coal.
But I have always been waiting,
to show you the light, to deliver your soul."
"There's been times in your life when you've faltered.
I'm not here to judge, as every man falls.
But this is when evil tries alter,
all our desires, our one true call.
It sows the seeds of doubt and fear,
and mixes it with hate.
But now's the time to listen child,
for this is not your fate."
"Now's the time to listen child,
before now is too late."
Dec 10, 2013
Dec 10, 2013 at 11:38 PM UTC
July 3, 2011
These were the orders of the day,
issued by admirals
who monitor the lanes surrounding
this sea island and that now include
my desolated, desecrated, heart waves
that wash ashore.
With beacon searchlight,
high powered, prowl,
be a coast guard on the bay
of humanity, following wakes,
intersecting misaligned paths,
undoing crisscrossed roads
on a plane of water,
forever search,
permissioned only
to never cease, tasked only to:
Save the young ones.
For there is no cost
we will not bear,
take our mind's light,
our speech, the music from ears,
the fiber'd essence of
our tissue-thin life's weave,
but let us be, leave us,
to save the young ones.
Leave us not becalmed, baffled,
broken, discovering
what sound we make
when our throats are
grief engorged beyond bound,
so leave us the young ones.
When we fail, what it is,
I do not know,
how to name it, cannot,
for I am forever
star gazing, star lost, confused,
with every breath ruptured,
my own value to wonder,
and on and on to ponder:
Is there no end to the reservoir
of tears that accompany these
spilled and spoiled thoughts,
stained kisses on paper
where ink and saltwater connect,
and lay upon the surface of
memories that can't be blotted,
never be replaced or,
cry out, cry out,
be added to?
How many sad poems.
must yet invade my fingers,
ripping my mask of reason off,
making me unhappily familiar
with jagged edges of the sea,
each drop - a tipping point
into places I wanted never know,
a rendering reminder of
these days of disorder,
Save the young ones.
Sep 2, 2013
Sep 2, 2013 at 2:18 PM UTC
Generals and Admirals,
making the decisions
On squaddies lives and welfare
Creating the divisions
These combat explanations
The dictionary assigns
The following descriptions
Only the words benign.
A fight between armed forces,
Or, Take action to reduce;
The need for family losses?
Or more souls abuse?
Down among the soldiers
Is there anything more obtuse?
Stood by an adolescent shoulder,
Death in hands to use.
Brigadiers and Field Marshalls creed,
Battles must be won!
With no time for a private’s need
Or their families at home.
One day, with waiting over
Lovers may return,
Some that is, the others
Died in Hades, so listen, learn!
They died, and in their passing
Our freedom they allowed
Take heed, do not stop asking
Be heard and scream out loud,
To those we must make listen
To historical loud spoor
where fields of blood still glisten,
Please! Let peace endure….
Aduain
Nov 14, 2018
Nov 14, 2018 at 5:06 AM UTC
verily this evening, from the veranda
i smell the fragrance of their arrivals.
the tall, slender, stockinged women
swaying like bamboo in the wind.
the admirals in white commandeering
vessels — the shear of wind, a tractable beast.
the ploys of men to woo the darling,
the hesitations of dames cloaked
in obvious handiwork of skirts.
they slalom through life's rugged streets
like blueprints of doors revealing
benign propaganda.
it is all too real to me. i have lived
behind the shadow of words.
it is all that i am cut up for — doting on
it still, yet a nonexistent blossom.
hearing them leave the interior of walls,
soldering the notoriety of burdens.
witnesses drowned in water,
their muffled voices reinvent the quietude. there is a dailiness overmastered by them, such rampant
mendaciloquence denied by me.
i move past cataracts of crowds
and hunt for the silence: this importunate need that feeds my bloodthirsty being.
i awaken the sleeping prowess
of words and listen to them.
now, leave me with my ocean.
i was meant to ***** in the blue
and froth like the last of unburied water,
dreaming of fish.
Dec 14, 2015
Dec 14, 2015 at 6:14 AM UTC
If Wars were Subject
to Copyright
If wars were subject to a copyright -
Then candidates would have to pay a fee
Each time they appeal to the glorious past
When standing for the election, the proceeds
To fall like ****** manna on the dead
Who can never cash the checks anyway
If wars were subject to a copyright -
Then Hollywood movies should pay their dues
Whenever a bold-scripted commando,
Body-waxed muscles glistening with makeup,
Advances up Hamburger-Helper Hill
With a patriotic song on his lipstick
If wars were subject to a copyright –
The generals’ memoirs, the admirals’, too,
Would pay to lighten the blighted young lives
Of soul-fragmented lads whose pain and blood
Gave the air-conditioned another star
And unctuous applause at the officers’ club
If wars were subject to a copyright -
The President would have to pay his bill
Each time he banged the lectern for a war,
The glorious dux bellorum dux-ing
From the rear, while a squadron of pigs fly
Above, powered by pixie-dust and dreams
Nov 10, 2017
Nov 10, 2017 at 5:10 PM UTC
"Please bookmark the important parts"
"Avoid impermanent pain for impermanent pleasure"
Obviously a detriment.
So go force-feed the children radioactive
seeds and chemical regiments.
Only to act surprised ending with substance dependence.
Not fostering the Soul
Always expressionlessness
"Don't tilt your chin so **** much like this"
Remain Static.
Until on an intimate date between Destiny Lane and Memory Way
I swear there is a way to maintain
an adoration for all souls in all forms.
Admirable Admirals in uniform
to the smallest worm
on the biggest farm
there is.
You're not born here from a matter of constant coincidences
The Incident occurred from either
Two young lover's pleasure experiment or
You were an accident.
Sometimes, for me, these things are hard to admit.
Trying to find, words to define; senselessness
An eerie uneasiness builds in his chest
Like the Father's First caress
of a heavenly mess that began brewing under a moment of carnal duress.
"Tie an Angel's tongue in a knot? Give her a kiss!"
Nov 28, 2015
Nov 28, 2015 at 5:27 PM UTC
How could it be
I now wondered
That here in winters depth
My thoughts could turn to spring-time
I'll tell you, love
How it could be
For it were thoughts of you
Alone among the flowers
There in the warmth
Gift of the sun
That gives the flowers life
As your love gives life to me
Which is fairer?
I dared to guess
Well lover, it is you
More fragrant than those flowers
That fill my mind
As if I see
Them floating on the breeze
Like dancing Red Admirals
So as you work
In the meadow
When spring-time comes again
I pray that your thoughts will turn
To what will be
With you and I
In the spring-time of love
Now sown within the meadow.
Dec 5, 2016
Dec 5, 2016 at 12:43 PM UTC
Born to the sea
Mind of water, flowing thoughts;
The currents beneath your words could change us all.
River heart, born to the sea;
The solace we seek waves to you and to me.
Join me on this voyage, over water, to a new land.
All hands on deck chairs are temporarily in the sand.
Cast ashore to repair our vessel,
But soon we shall cruise again, so hoist that sail!
Raise it so high, that the crow’s nest will not be our peak
And the land dwellers will be the last people that we would wish to meet.
My crew and I are setting off on an adventure;
A journey across the deep blue, to a land of mischief and wonder.
The undiscovered land, on the other side of a new life.
We be pirates, so we be; so raise that Jolly Roger flag upon high.
Let all who see our symbol know the story of our ship.
The unsinkable voyager;
A blast from the past, blowing through the wind.
Raise the sails and let the wind take us in and move us on
And throughout the jagged edged cliffs and beyond!
And on past the mermaids that sit upon the rocks,
Singing such enchanting songs
And on past the things that they call ‘The Leviathan’.
Release the Kraken! The foulest beast from the Gods up above
And we shall continue this trek into the darkest of the ***
To the bottom of the barrel, right down to the Admirals eye.
Let the birds be our guide to our next paradise.
Land ahoy! There be treasure there for sure;
So onward ya scurvy rats and be prepared to fight once more!
We are ****** to forever sail,
Since the life at sea swallowed our cursed souls;
Now we travel these high seas in search of more silver and gold.
(C)2016 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
May 10, 2018
May 10, 2018 at 3:38 AM UTC
If wars were subject to a copyright -
Then candidates would have to pay a fee
Each time they appeal to the glorious past
When standing for the election, the proceeds
To fall like ****** weregeld on the dead
Who can never cash the checks anyway
If wars were subject to a copyright -
Then Hollywood movies should pay their dues
Whenever a bold, scripted commando,
Body-waxed muscles glistening with makeup,
Advances up Hamburger-Helper Hill
With a patriotic song on his lipstick
If wars were subject to a copyright –
The generals’ memoirs, the admirals’, too,
Would pay to lighten the blighted young lives
Of soul-fragmented lads whose pain and blood
Won the air-conditioned another star
And unctuous applause at the officers’ club
If wars were subject to a copyright -
The President would have to pay his bill
Each time he banged the lectern for a war,
That glorious dux bellorum dux-ing
From the rear, while a squadron of pigs fly
Above, powered by pixie-dust and smoke
Mar 22, 2018
Mar 22, 2018 at 7:35 AM UTC
Take me dream to pleasant dreams
In silence
On night’s island
where different colored flowers are awake under dark velvet blanket sky
In the presence of white admirals.
Black feline on the hunt
watching carefully this strange behavior.
Listening to silent night
of peaceful midnight longings.
Where in my dream I’ll pick for you beautiful wildflowers
Smell the sweet scent of nights air
while waiting for you
in my dream’s dream garden.
Shell✨🐚
Sep 17, 2022
Sep 17, 2022 at 6:20 AM UTC
Lawrence Hall
[email protected]
https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com
Barney Fife! Thou Shouldst be Living at this Hour
-as William Wordsworth did not say
Police chiefs are costumed as admirals these days
Or as generals, with medals and eagles and stars
Peaked caps and polished boots, more Patton than Patton
In stern command of parking-lot plywood lecterns
Their trousers are crisply pressed, as are their frowns
And all their seams line up with military precision
Each gold and silver button polished as befits
Leaders formidable to civilization’s foes
And thus they appear, gloriously attired
Explaining to their people why they’ve just been fired
(I admire police - beat cops, the proper coppers - but the resume’ builders who rise to high office and dress up like Hohenzollern postal clerks are another matter.)
Nov 20, 2020
Nov 20, 2020 at 1:54 PM UTC
Lawrence Hall
[email protected]
https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com
We Have No Enemies Among the Dead
For the Young Crew of the Moskva
14 April 2022
Eternal Father, strong to save,
Whose arm hath bound the restless wave...
O hear us when we cry to thee
For those in peril on the sea
-The Navy Hymn
Proud admirals and presidents rattle their medals
The young - in screams among burst steam lines die
Explosions and darkness and seawater and hatches sealed
The bulkheads blown, there is no up, no down
Only pain and horror and throat-torn shrieks
Proud admirals and presidents jing-aling their medals
Training manuals, pocketknives, and comic books
Naughty pinups, letters from Mom, wrenches, and boots
Toolboxes, ball-point pens, and coffee cups
Fall with the young deep down into the sea
Proud admirals and presidents dazzle the room with their medals
Mothers and fathers grieve in emptiness
Our Leaders caution them to mind their attitude
Proud admirals and presidents – to Hell with their medals
Apr 15, 2022
Apr 15, 2022 at 11:35 PM UTC