"afganistan" poems
Volcanic eruption
corruption
unemployment
recession, depression
Iraq, Iran, Afghanistan
Earth quakes
rumbles
Wall Street crumbles
Haitian children wail
tidal waves prevail
Global warming
fiction or warning?
Taxes, health care
how to handle
the next scandal
Hawaiian birth
takes precedence
over incidents. Coincidence?
Arizona immigration
discrimination
Oil spill
of gigantic proportions
contortions
in the Gulf
causing strife, ending life
Bomb in Times Square
where? not here!
just sit and sip your beer
watch the world go by
with a wink and a sigh!
Sometimes we are powerless
nothing we can do
our head in the sand,
don't understand
not care, or dare
to question?
What is our place
in this space
our destiny and fate
to help our world continue on
so our children can survive?
The world is spinning out of control
Iraq, Iran, Afganistan
Quakes, Rumbles, Crumbles
Global Conservation, Preservation
Distortions, Contortions
Bombs and Beer
Dare to Care
Frenzied
© 2010 Marlene Dunham
May 22, 2010
May 22, 2010 at 8:46 PM UTC
[After Flanders Fields, by Major John McCrae, 1915]
In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.
We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.
Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields,
the beaches of France,
Palestine groves,
Malaya's tropics,
Korean mountains,
Egypt's deserts,
Cyprus' beaches,
Borneo's forests,
Aden's marshes,
Falkland's heaths,
Balkan's tundra,
Afganistan bush,
Iraqi highlands,
[Keep list open....]
Nov 10, 2018
Nov 10, 2018 at 6:58 AM UTC
Remember the pitch of the leaky faucet
In the third floor restroom
Neither male
Nor female
Nor both.
Speaking in unison
That pitch
What was the ******* pitch
Dribbling eighth notes
Tears worth pinning on your wall
Next to your unused bottle of sunscreen
From the time we drank in your living room
And I realized you cared.
There is a star on my pocket
But I won’t remember it tomorrow
Nor will I remember why
I connected the six-petaled flower hole
To Afganistan. Sleek. Smooth.
I slid a straw through my ear
Gazing past the green disoperation
And noticed two formings of pimples beneath the right brow
But maybe I imagined that too
Along with the adrenaline and curiosity and false negativity.
Shooting through my ankles
Enveloping every muscle fiber
Every menacing footstep
I approach the door of Debussy
Wading deep into the kelly green
“Open” sign
Sharpied just so no one ever flips it.
Every frazzled hair follicle executes
Frustration towards the poor soul
Entering doom.
Marracas from elementary
I whispered beneath my mustache
“Fancy seeing you here”
Lingering my capillaries over their stitching
A live animal in a dead environment.
Pink toes and the Sostenuto pedal
Beckon my return to civilization
I remember why I’m here.
I remember why I’m not.
May 24, 2012
May 24, 2012 at 4:41 PM UTC
All these political ideas,
Some good and some bad,
Everything is just one big matter of opinion,
A matter of opposition,
Debate,
Chaos and war should cease,
But some powerful leaders use both as an attempt to find peace,
Or not,
To me they seem confused,
Bemused,
Could it be that these madmen want absolute power?
Of course it does,
Government is just oppressive.
When will the madness end?
And the killing?
The war?
The slavery of women and children?
The making of ******
When will the government stop causing pain?
I don't mean to pry Mister Prime Minister but how many promises do you keep?
Under your rule how many children weep every day?
How much blood is spilled for the governments sake?
How many war confused sailors drown in the sea?
Afganistan's going down well don't you think?
Hows Osama?
Seen much of him recently?
Could it be that you know nothing?
I'm starting to think that your not fit for this role.
I have some demmands mister useless Prime Minister man,
Do something about this decaying world instead of letting it rot!
Do something to help!
You shouldn't need a teenage anarchist poet to tell you that,
Now do your job,
Get up off your **** and motivate the rest of you liberal politician *****
Rant over.
Feb 21, 2011
Feb 21, 2011 at 5:45 AM UTC
I'm standing in a massacre
the sky is streaked with red,
we took the hill, we won the day,
but most of us are dead.
We fought to save each other's lives;
We fought for mom and dad;
now all of that's been blown away,
I'm weary now and sad.
The bankers took the houses
and Wall Street still stands tall;
we only took this ****** hill
that matters not at all.
I've been a soldier all my lives:
Shiloh to Vietnam,
from Valley Forge to Gettysburg
to bleak Afganistan.
But I am through with fighting now
these wars for gold and oil;
I'm falling back, I'm headed home,
to win my native soil.
You politicians better fly,
you bankers run away;
For I am home and angry
and that's how I'm going to stay.
You've never seen a battle,
You've never smelled the dead;
you shipped us off like cattle
to do the work instead.
Take back my broken medals,
Take back your shining lie,
for Armageddon's coming
and it's time for you to die.
I'm standing in a massacre,
the sky is streaked with red
we took the hill, we won the day,
but most of us are dead.
The bugles all are silent
as the night begins to fall,
but the living have a purpose
to go home and **** you all.
Apr 18, 2015
Apr 18, 2015 at 3:16 PM UTC
Yes they brought me home
Torn in body and mind
Claimed I was a hero
On the day I should have died
They carried me on a stretcher
So they could pin a medal on my chest
But was it really a tribute
To a man now close to death
My body now a shattered wreck
But a mind still so sharp and clear
I can hear their whispers
Resonating in my ears
This was the girl I married
The one who said that she was mine
She's still with me but with another
Living in a world of lies
Why? It wasn't my fault
That the I.E.D went up
And turned my fragile body
Into a mess of ****** pulp
So I can no long perform
Can no longer be a man
But was that a good enough reason
For you to find another man
You think that I don't know the truth
Shed silent tears in the dark of night
I lost my body but not my mind
On the day I should have died
What worth the marriage vows
When things don't go your way
What now the worthless words
She spoke to me that day
I left here as a man
Kissed my wife and said goodbye
Got blown up and shattered on a foreign field
I lived but wish now that I had died
Mar 17, 2015
Mar 17, 2015 at 1:53 PM UTC
Neajunsuri
Am scris mii de cuvinte, 0 răspunsuri
Sute de paragrafe în ani fără repercusiuni.
Locul mă înghite
Nu tot ce zâmbește, minte.
Și totuși încă scriu cuvinte.
Inima sparge în palpitații
Mintea râde și întristează generații
Iar mi-e frică, iar mă mint, iar adorm în fibrilații.
Neajunsuri, se rezumă
Ce să calculez, când tot e în venă.
Mintea conjugă, durerea e genetică.
Mama râde și mă-ntreabă dacă eu chiar am inimă.
Eu cu ochii pe sub unghii, ascult și jur că cineva mă strigă.
Poate e băiatul de pe trotuar spunând că sunt înstărită ,
Tata ajungând și-n Afganistan, are buzunar de armată.
Poate e doar o proiectare și altă inutilă supărare,
Un comentariu rupt în soare, o rază arzătoare.
Eu ascult și mi-aș astupa buzele.
Să nu mai aibă dorințe.
Adevăruri, minciuni... O sărutare.
Ce-mi mai stă în cale.
Îmi e frică, poate sunt eu
Nu oameni, nici minte nici Dumnezeu.
Rup din mine pentru nimeni
După încep să caut,
Liniștea caută și ea crize,
Nu mai *** să mă ascund.
Sep 28, 2021
Sep 28, 2021 at 5:41 AM UTC