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"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.
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2.6k
The Battle Of Salamis
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.
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49
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.
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Feb 24, 2022
Feb 24, 2022 at 2:35 AM UTC
Tiger Meets Rose
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.
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Jul 18, 2015
Jul 18, 2015 at 2:44 PM UTC
"Queen of Poetry"
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.
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May 14, 2017
May 14, 2017 at 7:35 PM UTC
A Silent Reminder
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
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Sep 18, 2017
Sep 18, 2017 at 11:38 AM UTC
a few early morning quickies for those needing philosophical arousal and short attention spans
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
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82
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.
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Jun 9, 2015
Jun 9, 2015 at 1:45 AM UTC
I ******* THE DEVIL
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.
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72
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
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May 17, 2022
May 17, 2022 at 8:59 AM UTC
The World Is A Double Edged Sword
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
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May 9, 2019
May 9, 2019 at 4:32 AM UTC
Acceptance is a celebration
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.
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Jan 7, 2019
Jan 7, 2019 at 10:40 AM UTC
The Book of Peace
*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.*
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Jun 17, 2014
Jun 17, 2014 at 6:53 PM UTC
Velvet gloved argument
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?
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Jan 4, 2016
Jan 4, 2016 at 2:55 AM UTC
Hey, Hey, NRA
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.
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Apr 17, 2014
Apr 17, 2014 at 10:25 PM UTC
Tightly Wound Psychos
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.
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Apr 28, 2016
Apr 28, 2016 at 11:16 PM UTC
Means To An End
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
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Aug 10, 2015
Aug 10, 2015 at 5:22 AM UTC
How He Loves Me
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.
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Feb 16, 2019
Feb 16, 2019 at 9:48 AM UTC
Conversation with Myself
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.
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96
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.
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Nov 6, 2015
Nov 6, 2015 at 1:32 AM UTC
Hate and Heaven
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.
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Jun 21, 2021
Jun 21, 2021 at 12:12 PM UTC
For Angelica
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.
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Sep 5, 2016
Sep 5, 2016 at 8:43 AM UTC
Social Coma
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
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Mar 2, 2015
Mar 2, 2015 at 10:16 PM UTC
Heinkel 111
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.
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Mar 28, 2013
Mar 28, 2013 at 7:45 PM UTC
A crisis of a thorn.
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.
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Apr 3, 2014
Apr 3, 2014 at 4:15 PM UTC
Power Cut 2
******* 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.
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Sep 23, 2019
Sep 23, 2019 at 1:53 AM UTC
C'mon Everybody, Join The Party
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
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Feb 22, 2015
Feb 22, 2015 at 9:44 PM UTC
Beauty Breaks My Heart
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.
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Jun 19, 2019
Jun 19, 2019 at 3:48 PM UTC
I Cannot Have A Song In My Throat
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
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Sep 1, 2016
Sep 1, 2016 at 3:21 PM UTC
The serening flyer