"armament" poems
The night was passing, and the Grecian host
By no means sought to issue forth unseen.
But when indeed the day with her white steeds
Held all the earth, resplendent to behold,
First from the Greeks the loud-resounding din
Of song triumphant came; and shrill at once
Echo responded from the island rock.
Then upon all barbarians terror fell,
Thus disappointed; for not as for flight
The Hellenes sang the holy pæan then,
But setting forth to battle valiantly.
The bugle with its note inflamed them all;
And straightway with the dip of plashing oars
They smote the deep sea water at command,
And quickly all were plainly to be seen.
Their right wing first in orderly array
Led on, and second all the armament
Followed them forth; and meanwhile there was heard
A mighty shout: "Come, O ye sons of Greeks,
Make free your country, make your children free,
Your wives, and fanes of your ancestral gods,
And your sires' tombs! For all we now contend!"
And from our side the rush of Persian speech
Replied. No longer might the crisis wait.
At once ship smote on ship with brazen beak;
A vessel of the Greeks began the attack,
Crushing the stem of a Phoenician ship.
Each on a different vessel turned its prow.
At first the current of the Persian host
Withstood; but when within the strait the throng
Of ships was gathered, and they could not aid
Each other, but by their own brazen bows
Were struck, they shattered all our naval host.
The Grecian vessels not unskillfully
Were smiting round about; the hulls of ships
Were overset; the sea was hid from sight,
Covered with wreckage and the death of men;
The reefs and headlands were with corpses filled,
And in disordered flight each ship was rowed,
As many as were of the Persian host.
But they, like tunnies or some shoal of fish,
With broken oars and fragments of the wrecks
Struck us and clove us; and at once a cry
Of lamentation filled the briny sea,
Till the black darkness' eye did rescue us.
The number of our griefs, not though ten days
I talked together, could I fully tell;
But this know well, that never in one day
Perished so great a multitude of men.
2.6k
Powering whisker's tense, the unfurled orange;
teethed with nature's rosy armament.
Brother Tiger sniffs. burning nose
whispers of passion
with breaths of love.
More than two million years under human life
And she knows more than you, a white milliner
roses bloom
rose is a dove.
Brother Tiger gazes off into the East
Rose smiling, rose laughing,
Roses are searching for proud preys
Heaving breaths
dynamic, catlike stealth.
Heartbeat’s thunder
****** shadows hide.
She sends him a fairy-white rosebud:
“Hey Love, let’s off to search again for spring…"
"come home safe, Brother Tiger: Don't be feared"
Chant and roar along please
A kiss of desire on the lips.
Feb 24, 2022
Feb 24, 2022 at 2:35 AM UTC
She's the purest of lights on the heavenly firmament
She's like the shining star, a beautiful golden ornament
She's the hope you feel in the air, our highest monument
She's like a poet, with a feather in her hand as an armament
She's the spirit of a new beginning, on a white shore obelisk
She's like the essence of our dreams, our private novelist
She's our mindowner, our thoughts monopolist
She writes from bottoms of our hearts
She writes from the tips of our wings
She writes straight from the skies
All hail the queen!
the queen,
of poetry.
Jul 18, 2015
Jul 18, 2015 at 2:44 PM UTC
Days like today bring me to reminisce,
of the life we shared, now an abyss.
Recent life has been testing,
this lonely Mother’s Day solidifies your resting.
Today it feels more like you were never here,
what type of life is it that I’m now investing?
Posed with the question of happiness.
what is this meaning without you?
living today admonishes the truth,
only former memories allow me your bliss.
Mixed feelings of love and hatred,
circumvent in this current conquest.
As I contemplate reaching out I'm reminded,
that your remains are all that is left.
Be at peace with the truth,
is the message you conveyed well.
I question God about this new reality,
a life filled with constant duality.
Your loss is permanent,
& recognizing this is pertinent.
This daily battle without you,
I cope because your gift of a DNA armament.
“Time brings perspective”,
were the words that escaped from your soul.
You are still my everything,
and today I escape into your memory.
May 14, 2017
May 14, 2017 at 7:35 PM UTC
no matter when I go to sleep
no matter when I go to sleep,
my next door neighbors
wake me up,
arguing.
History and the Future,
the oddest couple,
always in opposition,
in a world of mutual armament.
these unilateral siamese twins,
every dialectic ends the same:
one says I'll **** you,
then, they both start laughing.
(Eléa's #1 fav)
9/15/17 4:35am
<•>
mark me as safe
though the namelessly hurricane is never ending,
the roof, a sacrifice in the wind's temple,
letting millions of naked eyes be persecution witnesses,
marking me as safe, but not saved,
surviving, the destruction, a beautiful curse,
this violent universe.
9/15/17
4:30am
(gifted to Joel & Kelly Rose))
<•>
address me with no assumptions
for we will provide the facts,
with liberty and justice,
we will fill in the redacted parts
in the bill of particulars,
of the indictments signed namelessly,
only as the
The State's Attorney,
woo hoo,
We Who Always Win,
Cause We Make the Rules
9/8/17 9:31am
<•>
21801BB705 VDAB7
given this, the key,
the rulers announced thanks,
but not in anyway a necessite,
we will just smash the locks
and burn your personal history down,
until now it has JUST been whiteout corrected,
you're welcome!
9/14/17
6:37am
(gifted to Evan Crow)
<•>
don't major in the minors
don't major in the minors,
classicism is a double entendre,
you don't understand,
but you will,
when you study headless statues
in a museum
come back to life,
do not act surprised.
progress is not an iPhone,
it's taking a long bathroom break
in the mind.
(Graces's fav)
9/10/17. 5:37am
<•>
All the old battles are new again
All the old battles are new again.
every old poem is but a pretense, a new work refreshed.
cutting edges dull knives, easily resharpened by new use,
fresh excuses.
stale words that stick humans, come to life,
as any and all of your favo-rite
army of (fill in the blank)
___ism's,
marching in the name of good riddance
of the disloyal opposition.
nothing new under the sun,
history books predict the future.
(Eléa's #2 fav)
9/15/17 3:55am
Sep 18, 2017
Sep 18, 2017 at 11:38 AM UTC
You can sing it to the tune
Of I Shot The Devil,
But I totally did it
Strictly on the level.
No, I didn’t know it when,
For another night of ***
He asked me to his den
Under the spell of some hex.
It was like he was to me
The hottest guy ever seen.
He was built like a star
His hair had a fine sheen.
Body and face were fine;
Toned and masculine.
I’d never seen him before
Though I had often been.
He used his elocution
And handy circumlocution
Better than a Rosicrucian
Sentenced to an institution.
He could twist the moment
Out of a frenzied foment
Then to a crazy torment
With muted arcane comments.
We met in a bath house
On Melrose, West L.A.
And somehow that night
Things seemed to go my way.
He gave me the eye
And I returned it in full.
I am fairly certain that
We both felt the pull.
It was all about debauchery
And he was calling the shots
Making me see I got stupid
Whenever I got that hot.
I let my **** do the thinking
And he seemed glad to show
That I would flirt with danger
And then, not even know.
He used his elocution
And handy circumlocution
Better than a Rosicrucian
Sentenced to an institution.
He could twist the moment
Out of a frenzied foment
Then to a crazy torment
With muted arcane comments.
So, I went back for seconds
At Hedda Hopper’s apartment
Across from Mae West’s place
Fueled with no armament
To protect me from what
Would turn out to be, for me
The scariest ****** encounter
In my busy, young history.
We were doing the deed again
But this time things had changed.
His appearance began to alter
Into something scary and strange.
His canine teeth grew longer
And his body turned fiery red.
I quickly dressed and left that place
And stumbled back home to my bed.
He used his elocution
And handy circumlocution
Better than a Rosicrucian
Sentenced to an institution.
He could twist the moment
Out of a frenzied foment
Then to a crazy torment
With muted arcane comments.
Jun 9, 2015
Jun 9, 2015 at 1:45 AM UTC
The papers are wet with ink.
Russia is losing it's war.
North Korea is swamped with the Covid.
Tucker is backpedaling his replacement theory.
Finland and Sweden are enrolling.
Armament shipments are making a difference.
The Pope is apologizing.
That needs repeating: The Pope is apologizing.
(But why stop with the Aboriginals. Consider the Jews and Irish).
Fossil fuels are on the decline.
(plastic microchips are in our fat)
I can still buy Roundup.
Tobacco is banned in most public places here.
*** is not.
There are more drunks, and more behind bars, and in front.
We have safe injection sites.
I have robots asking me if I'm a robot.
There are more tv stations selections.
TV is not worth watching.
LPs are making a comeback.
Right to Life is Wrong for Many.
... and on... and on
May 17, 2022
May 17, 2022 at 8:59 AM UTC
People keep saying
“You should fight for your love “
But it still feels so unnatural to me
Such a disconnected thing to utter
so archaic this notion of fighting
as if I held the key
to universal order
Why would I aspire to such arrogant a feat
You must understand that when I think of love
I am engulfed with joy and warmth
that I cannot fathom war
so stop trying to send me into battle
I do not want to join the Calvary
Instead, I am placing my heavy shield,
weapons
and armament down
among the flora springing into life
‘Tis is a celebration in disguise watching him
walk away faithfully into the thicket,
eyes closed but in the direction of his true inward self
Now, why would I fight that
May 9, 2019
May 9, 2019 at 4:32 AM UTC
Turn the page,
And let me read something new
For now my innocence is torn
With no one wearing their real faces
Rudiments of utopian vandalism is born,
And I still hope,
That you'll seek me at the end of the night
And I still hope,
That you'll take away my reasons to fight,
Beyond the horizon.
Give me a blade to cut my wings,
Voluntary armament is the road to peace
Stacking up grave upon graves,
My emotions seek,
Trenches as their niche
And I still hope,
That you'll encase your arms around my neck,
When my back is against the wall
And I still know,
That you'll throw me away when the messengers bring, messages of war.
Jan 7, 2019
Jan 7, 2019 at 10:40 AM UTC
*We fight delicately, sniping, taking and giving verbal punches.
Our skin doesn't bruise, maybe our egos our minds,
but our bodies no.
Our velvet arguing is seamless, flawless.
Anyone listening would hear witty repartee.
A couple playfully bantering, no more.
Polite meritorious armament of words.
Primed to fire a salvo of cruelty.
Cruelty, covered and handled with crushed velvet gloves.
Textured, cultured, arguing.
Polite parrying, pleasant resentment.
A bottle of wine, remnants of a meal, wounds needing to heal.
Less or more cruel than a punch? This seamless linguistic pain.
Bruises fade, pain subsides, mental cruelty resides.*
Jun 17, 2014
Jun 17, 2014 at 6:53 PM UTC
Hey, Hey, NRA
Who're you going
To **** today?
A little girl at school
Or a little boy at play
Maybe a *******
From India by mistake
Home defense
Is a good excuse
But it's more likely
to be home abuse
Suicides are up
And accidents too
But they're guaranteed
By Amendment Two
We all need protection
From all the terrorists
Because they can buy guns
Even if they're on our lists
And don't forget the Government
We'll need our peashooter Glocks
Against their heavy armament
Hey, Hey, NRA
Who're you going
To **** today?
Jan 4, 2016
Jan 4, 2016 at 2:55 AM UTC
We rocked, we rolled,
strolled through the revelers,
rocket scientists
wearing ripped jeans
& pointed rattlesnakes,
some had rose tats.
Cocksure, we rode
the ferris wheel
above the skyline
of never never land
& right down the street,
there was enough armament
to level all the strip malls
in the Springs.
Funny, they told us
we were the violent ones,
the dangerous kind,
tightly wound psychos
who sung anthems,
those sweet child 'o mine
pop tunes.
So hell yea,
we were tough,
the no-prisoner-types,
trained-to-kill fighters
wearing pearled buttons,
sipping Boone's Farm,
we continued
to spin circles,
spitting into the
cold Colorado wind.
Apr 17, 2014
Apr 17, 2014 at 10:25 PM UTC
D etermined To Eradicate His
Antagonistic Psychosis, The Bane
Of His Post-Last-War Existence, He
E mbarked On His Campaign, Less A
Scripted Strategy, Less Armament,
and Less Allies About His Flanks.
S he Not Only Emerged As His
Struggle's Armistice, The Indefinite
End To Combat, But Also As The
I mpetus Enlightening The Conflict's
Necessity, Verified Justification, The
"Casus Belli."
R elative To One Another,
Omnipresent Memories Of Her
Love And Realization Of His Valor
E mpowered Him To Accept Nothing
Shy of Defeat From His Adversary,
Traumatic Stress, For His Cause,
A Forever With Her.
Apr 28, 2016
Apr 28, 2016 at 11:16 PM UTC
as I make my way up the stairs
he plants his body in front of me
as a greeting
wanting to wrap arms around me
to see me safely home
to greet me from my roam
as I divest the armament
of a blistering painful day
his touch soothes the fire
whispering enlightenment
hands softly stroking skin
bleeding away the ire
Greeted as a conquering Queen
treated with gentle words
soothed with a scorching touch
bathed in lulling herbs
of richly scented water
drawn in a bath so warm
floating under heavenly scents
and basking, undisturbed
in a world of total chaos
reminiscent of wars we fought
and lost
Every day is a do over
a clean slate
no ones the boss
I'm just the lucky one
returning home
after braving a world gone mad
Just one little lady
loved by her Man
enough to appreciate her experiences
to greet her every day
at the door
to make her glad
she's coming home
Aug 10, 2015
Aug 10, 2015 at 5:22 AM UTC
Yes, I think I did it
Didn’t I do it
I mean, you saw me do it
Yes, you did
You saw me do
What I’ve never been able to do
Which was to say
Love you
Love me
It was nothing
Nothing at all
Nothing to do
Was it even true
I stare into space
Implacable clockface
Worn-out bookcase
All the knowing I stuffed
Shelved, just in case
Ornamental armament
Bounded & staged
Dialectical argument
I did nothing
Who did nothing
You did
No, I didn’t
Who are you talking to
Who’s asking
Don’t answer a question with a question
Don’t tell me what to do
Relax we’re only talking
Don’t patronize
Don’t criticize
Well that’s what I mean
Was I doing Nothing,
Or Something?
What did I do?
I mean
Was it Nothing
Or
Was it Something
Tell me
Was Nothing Something
or
Was Something the Nothing I did
or
Nothing the Something I did
I’m an Escher painting
One hand painting the other
Thing is
I don’t know
But that is the very thing I know
Talking to a friend today
She says
I got to go
My daughters calling me
Thing is
She doesn’t have a daughter
Or does she
Thing is
I know
She wanted to talk about her thing
And I wanted to talk about my thing
I know
How this looks to you
But here’s what you need to know
I’ve listened and listened and listened
I’ve been a listening machine
So shut the **** up
I’m not your therapist
This I’ll only do for my daughter
You mean our daughter.
Whatever
But, here’s the real thing
A think thing
You don’t have to say anything
But’ it’s better if you do
Because I need you to
But not like this
So maybe it’s better if you don’t
But, that’s not the real thing
Maybe It’s better if you do
Or don’t
Then Don’t
Then Do
Don’t
Do
Don’t
Do
Then Don’t
Then Do
Please Do
I think I’m thru with you!
But wait
I have to think this through
Where have I heard that before
Not from me.
Feb 16, 2019
Feb 16, 2019 at 9:48 AM UTC
I hate it all so much.
This hatred burns and scalds my skin
from the outside in and rips away flesh
like picking rotted flowers from my bones.
My clothes
are no longer here.
They left ashes in their place
a slow wake of fire dust
encircles me
like its digging out a tomb.
I hear the cackling of the
sturdy floorboards beneath
my feet begin to snap.
I hear the laughter breaking free
from the splinters and feel the spike
of their railroad pike skin pierce me
ripping away failing flesh
like train cars
until I am just cooked bone and hate
and spilled muscle.
My blood begins to soak into the oak
of the earth’s soil.
I hear it boil.
It funnels down through dirt like drain-o.
I peer into the hole like an open casket.
I see the soul of the planet so like me.
All cooked bone and boiled blood.
All rotted flower and liquid muscle.
It coalesces into an ocean of metal magma.
It looks like it knows how to hate like me.
The wakes wave like an invitation.
I feel the gravity of my skeletal frame
pull back into an arched bow
and let go.
I fall like an arrow on fire.
My cooked bone crashes into an alloy ocean
and shatters like fine china
I am fire dust in the form of crashed skeleton
and rotten flower.
I fuse into this lake of burning wakes
until the flames of our hate
soak into a bonfire of failed flesh and metal
I am home here
There is no armament of wood and laughter
There is only hate, blood, bone, metal, and rotted flower
It looks like heaven.
Nov 6, 2015
Nov 6, 2015 at 1:32 AM UTC
Sweet Angelica,
An overwhelm of your leafy
ramifications, waxed verdure
affections for a wayward wind.
My eyes caught the emerald glint;
now they glisten green
in a poetic apotheosis.
Should I deem you guilty
that 'twas the devil's walking stick
that sired you,
as virid envelope,
so delicate that every leaflet
would blend to a fine herb repast.
So I brave your prickly defences
in my manner of white tailed deer
and nibble of your leafy poetry.
A half mouthed curse that you sting
but your arbour rose
where none grew and I thought
you bloomed especially for me.
Rhizomes spiralled for life,
and the taste of muddied rain.
Other wanderers tried pillage
those jejune early fronds and
you recoiled in thorny armament,
a conflicted poetry I read on you.
Look at you now ...
largest leaf than any other in a North wind,
towering panicles that draw
a chorus of winged angels, quills.
These be the battlements of love
that will shed for life, in beauty
for when Summer leaves, there'll be Fall,
then the long rest of seasons.
Jun 21, 2021
Jun 21, 2021 at 12:12 PM UTC
Her cougar tooth grin honed in on my
position like a heat seeking missile out
on a mission; it must be the dead of winter.
My butterfly emissions are erupting like
some deep space transmission. WOW!
I'm tumbleweed dumb, numb fumbling
my words at every single tipsy turn.
She's calm, confident, toting an armament of compliments, executing my passion with the precision of an arsonist.
Sep 5, 2016
Sep 5, 2016 at 8:43 AM UTC
Engine: 2x Daimler Benz 601 A-1
Max Speed: 247 mph at 16,400 feet
Service Ceiling: 26, 250 feet
Range 1,224
Armament: 3-6x 7.9 mm machine guns
Bombload: 4410 lbs
Well armed
But underpowered and slow
Mar 2, 2015
Mar 2, 2015 at 10:16 PM UTC
Roses of consternation cry
as the lambs are driven.
Is steadfast an exit or a cry for help?
Sometimes being crashed, bottoms out
and strife as a personal armament;
merely becomes another structure.
Mar 28, 2013
Mar 28, 2013 at 7:45 PM UTC
Backed by a belief that butchery
is part of a survival strategy to cling
to the edifices of power blackened by the bomb
and bunker smoke of fighting in the trenches of hate
Hidden in hell holes beneath the barren browning landscape
scattered across the fragile face of the desert
soldier rats rush into pock-marked craters
as the planes overhead search them out with infrared
points to demolish and bury them
in the graves the enemy nation
carved for cemeteries
unmarked
in the battlefields of bourgeoisie.
War brings the drones of mercy
raining from the skies of hate
piercing through the armament of commands
from Generals decorated in medals of honour
from the Boys Club and green mossed jackets.
Sit, daddy, in rifle ready barricades
awaiting the crackle command
from higher up the food chain.
Those who make those decisions are unaware
a child sits at home playing with a little toy soldier
"Made in China" from printed plastic moulds
of mass production and extermination.
"Daddy is my hero.
He will come home for Christmas."
He wont. This time round, son.
Author Notes
The Toy soldier.
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved.
Apr 3, 2014
Apr 3, 2014 at 4:15 PM UTC
*******
Train yourself in the barracks,
Hurry up and become the monster,
Every monstrosity needs a reply.
So they told us in the school,
Only the mission was to bring peace,
Lying to us they were every time,
Daring us to learn armament,
It's so coughing wretched,
Especially weeding out the innocence,
Rising to become what they want us,
Succumbing to the pains we are not.
First, you lock and load,
Edge closer out in the open,
Even the scores with radical Islam,
Low you lie like the predator waiting for its prey.
Targeting the innocent people at times,
Razing their homes to the ground,
Alas, it's a necessary sin we commit,
People we **** are not just terrorists,
Perplexed by the horrors of war,
Even though we get nightmares about it,
Damsels in distress we are not.
Sep 23, 2019
Sep 23, 2019 at 1:53 AM UTC
Beauty hurts
I stretched the dirt
To cut the crust
Split the earth
To reach out to us
And find the past
Infinity sparkles
Beneath the soil
Sweet scent of raisin rolls
Roll me into memory
Beautiful but transient
**** the armament
Touch the firmament
Hit heaven’s eye
Not with weapons
But with dreams of the morrow
And dreams of yesterday
When beauty still looked the same
Soft childhood smile
Permanently plastered
On my mind
Loneliness mastered
But still cracks the plaster sometimes
Chipping the armor
And leaving seedlings
Of regret
Posing in pictures of the past
Beauty breaks my heart
Because beauty never lasts
Spoiled by winter frosts
Sickened and assaulted by winter’s loss
But sometime it comes back
Reincarnated in a flower
Or a butterfly
Feb 22, 2015
Feb 22, 2015 at 9:44 PM UTC
I cannot have a song in my throat
without the hour of my silence
smoldering in the ramparts of my thunder blush
where the seamless coil of my mortality
aches like a beacon on a cliff
of Nothing Else.
I cannot change my little Bibles
for a little Bliss.
I can only exchange the vapors
of my longing
for a non-touch
at the heart
of a wrong.
September is as brisk as a Discoteque
in a neon cadaver.
with all the palaver of a garden gnome -
full of further promises.
a prominent departure
where everything eminent
is Gospel.
I have pools of Time in my dislodged serenity
and all the ghosts to haunt me as lightly
as a gale.
I have come from an open wound
that has no closing argument.
Only the infinite armament of hollow guns
for solid snakes and
horizons made
of Nonsuch.
Before Begun
I had no Always
as much
as having
none.
Jun 19, 2019
Jun 19, 2019 at 3:48 PM UTC
Sun wasn't charming the artistry of horizon
Spirits began dripping down the urn of dejection
The core was baffling should I face it or shun
But ambience flipping, the atrocious ones had spun
Taken aback, fainted of the blazes and winds thrown out
Roars making the foes briefly feel they have lost it as the scout
acknowledged the squad's optimistic encouraging shout
Leaving the base now and climbing the air, glory was without a doubt
You could be barely seen as you ripped the air apart
The confidence ascertained you'd hit even the covert as a dart
The armament away just a button of your electronic heart
Time to **** intercept, perform the enthralling aerial art
The bandits neared as your cutting edge intellect beaconed
You were so camouflaged not their conscience awakened
The shot was fired and they got absolutely weakened
Conclusively the villains were done with and the rest frightened
As you came back to your motherland, in your hand was glory
We did you a salute as we too witnessed the whole quarry
The skies now cleared till the farthest making the earth calmed corey
And don't know why
But for me, serening the world will always be your story
Sep 1, 2016
Sep 1, 2016 at 3:21 PM UTC