"armoury" poems
It is not to be thought of that the flood
Of British freedom, which, to the open sea
Of the world’s praise, from dark antiquity
Hath flow’d, ‘with pomp of waters, unwithstood,’
Roused though it be full often to a mood
Which spurns the check of salutary bands,—
That this most famous stream in bogs and sands
Should perish; and to evil and to good
Be lost for ever. In our halls is hung
Armoury of the invincible Knights of old:
We must be free or die, who speak the tongue
That Shakespeare spake; the faith and morals hold
Which Milton held.—In everything we are sprung
Of Earth’s first blood, have titles manifold.
2.3k
Unperturbed in austere times
Unentangled in a web of complex signs
Unfazed by a vicious complex
I find solace in the face of duress
Configured to righteousness
I am withdrawn from Cross and Crescent mess
Invisible against a tide of boisterous wave
I weave my way and gravitate towards space
The sun a distant memory
Passion and zeal my most valuable armoury
In the heavens i light my stars
In paradise lost i leave my mark
With Noah's design hacked
Not even Jupiter can navigate my ark
Unlike terminator I Am Back
Mar 28, 2017
Mar 28, 2017 at 3:27 PM UTC
It is not to be thought of that the Flood
Of British freedom, which, to the open sea
Of the world’s praise, from dark antiquity
Hath flowed, “with pomp of waters, unwithstood,”
Roused though it be full often to a mood
Which spurns the check of salutary bands,
That this most famous Stream in bogs and sands
Should perish; and to evil and to good
Be lost for ever. In our halls is hung
Armoury of the invincible Knights of old:
We must be free or die, who speak the tongue
That Shakespeare spake; the faith and morals hold
Which Milton held.—In every thing we are sprung
Of Earth’s first blood, have titles manifold.
2.1k
Alexander K Opicho
(Eldoret, Kenya; [email protected])
On this 23rd day of December, 2013
Mikhail Kalashnikov is lying dead
In the coffin on the pyre
In Moscow the city of Russia
Away from Siberia his child hood home
Waiting to be buried by the people
His invention the Ak 47 and 74
Has not yet killed,
Good bye Mikhail Timofeyevich Kalashnikov
Son of Alexandra as you travel to land
Of the dead where a million of Rwandese in Africa
And million of the Vietnamese are now citizens
After having been shot dead by the AK47 and AK 74
You will not be lonely you glorious son of Russia,
You natural tinkering skills
Gave the world ubiquitous weapon
That has done wonders you looked on
Tell your gods where your poems you wrote are
The world is now free from your vice of the AK
Man can city now in peace and read your poetry
As the fettered politicians have no where
To get the weapons for mass peasant destruction,
Reveal to us the armoury in which you stuffed your poetry
as the gods of peace turn your guns into plowshare
Jan 23, 2014
Jan 23, 2014 at 7:26 AM UTC
Everywhere I go, each step I take
it is only your face, your laugh
that I ever see
closing my eyes to rest
the ripping and shredding
of my heart, I only see
you.
How I fell and how safe it felt
cursing myself for believing
once more that my heart
guarded as it is
my wellspring of all life
choosing to say
okay.
Be gone the protection
weaponry, armoury and
letting her smile, generosity
of heart, comfort and ******
my naive self, love is blind
as we spoke whispers of
love.
Calling myself a crazy girl
in love, maybe I imagined
the realness of the encounter
trying to believe she's just
another girl who I love
no different than lovers
past.
But she'll never be just another
my love for her deeper than
all those others who reached
inside my body grasping
my soul, always forgotten
drifting away, like all the others
gone.
I really am the forgotten girl.
© Sia Jane
----
"For the moment I can think of nothing— except that I am a sentient being stabbed by the miracle of these waters that reflect a forgotten world."
Henry Miller
Dec 10, 2013
Dec 10, 2013 at 1:59 PM UTC
Who is I?
In the Now. I am of true boi essence.
A writer, a recluse, abandoned only of fate: Destiny ever alluring in the palm of my hand.
Limited only by my own inabilty to be present in only one consciousness.
I am split between reality strings.
A permeant spectre, caught betwixt parallel dimensions.
At times incoherrant, lost in esoteric translation.
I am physic(al) - I of breath + flesh, perception being my holster, corruption my armoury.
Intuitively, i am harmonious, sanctonious, welcoming of illuminations and the darker side of each unfettered moon.
Awareness sleeps by my side. Each waking minute guarded. of commonality.
I am enlightened.
I am bouyant.
mobile, fluid-like in kinesis.
Conventional existense being the foundation over which i fly.
Arms outstretched, willing risk to be my pull.
Enticing Love to be my drag.
balance, mediums, equilibrium.
Lifted high amidst winds roaring with possibility.
I am stark in naked complication, although often prone to cover up in cynical, self critical analysis.
I am given of self; being the taker a refreshing discourse to which i stray accordingly.
Of culture i am a liar.
By nature i tend towards honesty only straying when survivalistic path need tread.
I am of blood,
private yet optimistically open to scarring.
By custom i am trained, civil, content.
Of instinct; native raw tongue, i am rampant, rapid in force, compelled to grow then emerge.
Only.
To submerge
is to take full scope.
i am telescopic
in view of A/all else to which i drown my vision.
I am unsure if i am young,
Although certain that my passage is still being lit by the glow of its entrance, dark passageways luring with their shadows and cavernous corners.
I am liberal, random in speculatory silence. I am idle, often motivated by industrial desire.
Mechanical in process, structured of cerebreal architecture, yet somewhat discombobulated in particularity.
Sporadic be my strain, its think tank choking always on the weeds of sorrow.
Essentially i am nothing: yet overwhelmingly everything.
I was
I am
I will
therefore i
Exist
to i as
A/all and nothing.
As yesterday is to tommorrow, and visa versa, i am a window, a door, a channel:
as closed as i am open.
Dependant only on my own deliverence of influence and potential.
Driven by the promise of future and the demands of my past.
I am a vehicle in time, my presence, my motion, my journey
is I.
Feb 9, 2010
Feb 9, 2010 at 2:13 AM UTC
since you've fallen in love with me
please remember that
I'm going to crumble
many times
please remember that
i will mess up -- a lot
but i don't mean to
please remember that I may not say much
but I pay attention
to everything
please remember
not to yell at me
or I will cry
and tell you I hate you
and then I will quickly crawl into your lap
and beg you
to forgive me
because I don't
in the least bit
hate you
please remember
that I want to know everything about you
so I will ask a lot of stupid questions
like what your favourite smell is
and please remember
that I will remember what it is
it's an armoury, right?
so if it changes
please tell me
and please remember
that if it thunders
I will cry
and I will not stop
until it stops
And since you happen
to be in love with me
please remember that
I am broken
and I may or may not ever be fixed
please remember
I will probably have more bad days
than I will good
and that I will frustrate you so much
remember that I will cry
and scream
and throw things
such as pillows
at the wall
but also
please remember
that I love you
and will continue to
with every last piece
of me.
May 19, 2014
May 19, 2014 at 3:05 AM UTC
If I was to read for you, My queen that glow,
A poem of beauty, as only few words could show.
Like Picasso as a writer, let me paint your body,
A whisper of grace and elegance, without noise of gaudy.
You posses a twin of eyes, an immaculate glitter of beauty,
From which life receives its absolute lenity.
To glow in such light of orchestration, Like a crown on the head of time,
Whence bliss takes its origin and befitting prime.
Your alluring smile, a linger of unstinted comfort,
To the stars in tender darkness of the universe, glumming in discomfort.
Each of which humbles at your engrossing presence,
And glows in congruence to the light of your radiance.
Your arms like shields,protective armoury that gets soul lifted,
Touch of your fingers, ten cradle of breath taking sweetness, heavenly gifted.
Each a perfect blend of liniment and mystic power,such,
To impel dead heart to once last beat at thy touch.
your smooth bottled neck, over your soft shoulders,
Holds a face of coherent beauty, eyed in all beholders.
A beauty indescribable by far, as only few words could tell,
How ethereally lovely it can be ; perpetually graced with the touch of angel.
Your walk of indefinable class, a lucid rawness of orchestrated elegance,
So much elegance that the angels gasp in the wake of your presence.
To dance into ecstasy,from which heaven's purity is formed,
In but of your light of all light, they all are conformed.
Those smooth long legs spread like the wings of a flyer,
Inner thighs speak a truth that would mute a liar.
And drip sweet smelling nectar that excites a man's desires,
Like an addictive drug, that makes him only want to get higher.
Beautiful seasoned lips even angels could not grace,
Like two ***** of icing sugar, leaves me breathless each time our lips come in embrace.
And the pressure they do impart,
Have the power to break the devil's heart.
Your two cupped breast,stretch the stitches of your blouse,
As if swollen with milk and honey, my flame only its water could douse.
The most tender of all cleavage,had touched my palms with finesse,
Which contact makes me frozen; a sweet emblem dancing to impress.
If I was to read for you, My queen that glow,
A poem of beauty, as only few words could show.
Like Picasso as a writer, let me paint your body,
A whisper of grace and elegance, without noise of gaudy.
Dec 29, 2016
Dec 29, 2016 at 3:33 AM UTC
It started twenty years ago
How it came to be here, i do not know,
But slowly it had grown from one
to a colony and then
to multiple colonies
Striving on blood and sugar
Oh yes, they love human blood and sugar!
They could have lived here forever
Their downfall was their greed
And over expansion,
when their presence became
more prevalent and started
invading more and more space
making me uncomfortable.
So, the artillery came down heavy on them,
They had to be destroyed
Every single one of them,
First, their food source was cut off
Then, they were annihilated, blasted out of my space,
I feel lighter now and a bit hollow
After all, a couple of decades inside me
I must have drawn some attachment,
But no regrets, the Aliens must go
And they went, not willingly but
Through force and heavy armoury!
Feb 26, 2013
Feb 26, 2013 at 12:52 AM UTC
Tacos, pulled pork and quesadillas
Garish and gaudy being the clarion call
for the food truck battalion
An armoury of captivating aromas
Savoury propaganda mastered.
The war is won.
Mar 27, 2018
Mar 27, 2018 at 9:14 PM UTC
Are there ruins in your head?
Where I see treasures
Is there pain in your eyes?
Where I see hue lit sunsets
Is there darkness in your heart?
Where I see fear
Is there a secret in your laughter?
Where I hear tomorrows
Is there deceit in your words?
Where I see promises
Is there armoury in your arms,
Where I find comfort
Is there anything real?
Where I have built air castles
Is there hope?
In those ruins, that pain, darkness, laughter, words, arms,
all that I am hopelessly in love with
Oct 31, 2016
Oct 31, 2016 at 1:52 AM UTC
The son of heaven, erupts with rage,
The south, dare profane my land,
The court tries to appease,
But to no avail.
The emperor's decree,
Bugle the horn and prepare for war!
The granaries full, the armoury filled,
The journey is long.
The soldier,
Kneel, to their parents,
Pray to their gods,
And fly kisses to their love,
Then they march.
Treacherous road, even more the goal,
The entourage proceeds,
Joins the youth, with sickle and hoes,
To their end,
For the love of their land.
South is in sight,
This green plain, todays battleground,
The sun dazzles the land,
As it awaits without care.
The enemy a swarm of yellow,
And ours the mighty black,
The dawn is long,
Close they eyes,
Reminiscence if it's their last,
The tears of mother,
The stern look on my father,
The embrace of love,
And the playful children.
Bugle,
And they march,
The horse gallops,
And within heart blazes a fire,
Of anger and wrath,
For their country.
Clang, the shields raised high,
Roar, the spears pierce deep,
And shine the metallic armour,
And dye the green with red.
The wind bellows,
And With it carries the smell of blood,
The land a shade of green and dark red,
A beautiful red poppy.
The light of day dares not intrude the flower,
Herein lies the true hell, feast upon it,
And see what you create,
The bugle calls the end of war,
But none a soul shouts a victory call
In a serene morning,
A widow, dares interrupt my court,
Within a web of spears,
The widow with eyes of fire,
Shouts,
"His Majesty, Your imperial highness, I hear
Your country won, What about the people?"
THE WAR
Aug 20, 2020
Aug 20, 2020 at 7:07 AM UTC
I need a gun.
It is my first waking thought.
But it is very dark here.
I bang my naked knee on something hard.
The armoury is this way. I think?
My palms touch, rub, smooth bare metal.
And then a switch.
Light blinds me more than the darkness before.
I am bleeding.
My skin is raw.
The armoury door is locked.
And the lock is oiled with anothers blood,
and flakes of a different kind of skin.
Inside it's warm.
Machined weapons hold no animosity.
My choice is slick, almost pretty but I need a glove to hold her in check.
In pastures green, I have been led.
I have lain me down by still waters.
There was no rod and no staff to comfort me.
But I have a gun now.
And a glove to hold her in check.
My raw and naked skin will pass you by.
My blood shall make rainbows in your peaceful waters.
Apr 26, 2012
Apr 26, 2012 at 6:08 PM UTC
This is a wordy piece of prose
Jumping in and out of rhythms.
I hate to be negative of any expression
But this is of no use to anyone.
I am not advocating return to form
But it might help
If you know how it works.
The simple vocabulary
Does not stretch the reader
And the Mystery of Darkness,
Is philosophical rambling
Defunct of elegance.
A consciousness exists
Beyond our understanding,
Seek this, close your eyes
And enter the darkness…
Poetry is more than just
Writing down your thoughts.
Some material needs formality
Of poetic armoury.
And your images? Where are they?
There are all the trappings
Of abstract thought –
But I can’t see no ****** horse.
Apr 13, 2015
Apr 13, 2015 at 7:49 PM UTC
A man amidst two fools
Is a fool, a big fool
So it's for most of us
Cos' we ditch our dreams
To Paul pry with friends
We forsake our missions
For the flash of friction
With cast of distraction
Today might not really pays
But it's the truest of days
Dare not waste a bit of it
Nor spend a morsel like a spendthrift
Invest thy cowries of time
In companies of focus men
March beside valiant soldiers
That thy victory may come with ease
Friends are thy armoury
Don't battle with the rust of them
Thy friends are thy clothes
Don't suit-up with the rags.
Apr 11, 2016
Apr 11, 2016 at 10:20 AM UTC
The flame i used to see is gone,
Sighing deeply i ask you,
"am i not good enough anymore?"
The silence and the yawning of the door answers.
"Your eyes are cold and hollow."
still no reply it leaves me to wonder,
How much further till the end of the ride?
Until we confess that the love we once held has died.
finally a pained and drawn out whisper,
"theres no warmth in your embrace"
You say to me on the final day.
"Thats because you beat the flames out.
On sunny days when theres no need for flames,
You took out your armoury and slaughtered me."
Still to this day i bare the marks
Leaving the staining all over my skin.
Leaving me to wonder why?
Leaving me to question how?
Broken and undone i woke and bathed in the sun.
Without you here my side is cold,
But my heart is racing,
Freedom that is ever more intoxicating.
Jan 5, 2011
Jan 5, 2011 at 4:34 PM UTC
Slice the city into two parts
rub salt into open wounds
break down the armoury, shell out the sickles
and spikes and bamboo arrows dipped
in poison berries ripe as raspberry juice
and arm the tribes with tentacles
that search for other tribes
lurking in the shadows of the camouflaged blackness
pull 'em out and punish them in broad daylight
take an arm a leg -cut a tongue loose
so words uttered will sound like jungle anecdotes
in a litany of lies.
I will come swinging
with a mascara maiden
and two henchmen trained as axemen
intent on cutting policies of power
into shreds of excuses to remain seated
on a throne of oiled skulls and feather dusters
Take heed, brother
I buy guns for a slot of land infested with rhino
and elephants and diamonds
as big as hippos dipped in strange ****** rhythms
a thousand years old brewing quietly.
We own this land
The white man came in and took it
"He got the land we got the bible"
We must take it back somehow
and sacrifice all of ourselves
in due process.
Slice the land into two chunky pieces
You take one
my mistress takes the other.
Feb 24, 2014
Feb 24, 2014 at 11:34 PM UTC
She and I are heading West,
into the setting of the sun.
Where,
the day's been filled and the light spills away
and the night makes its bed
that is where we shall stay,and
at my side she'll be there for me
my locked and loaded armoury
riding shotgun.
May 21, 2014
May 21, 2014 at 12:57 AM UTC
It cannot be a Sunday
if we're not at church and don't pray
if we're not down on our knees
minding P's and Q's.
I refuse to believe that this day is all we need to feed the inner working of the soul
or
that the dog collared man , by courtesy and intervention of some God we barely know can show me a path better trod.
Sunday
is just another rod to beat me with
another stick,
one more trick in the armoury of magic men who don't know when to quit.
That being said,
I've read the good book,taken a good look at the evidence,weighed up the possibility that if He does exist
I'd be foolish if I missed out because of my doubt.
So
I'm getting dressed now,going to church,listening to the sermon,singing hymns and later down the 'flying fiddle' for a Pimms or two.
Aug 17, 2014
Aug 17, 2014 at 3:34 AM UTC
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Feb 11, 2019
Feb 11, 2019 at 8:33 AM UTC
Fierce and invisible
Force working Suo moto
Slave when things go bingo
Enslaves you the human ego
The reverse gear to progress
Like the gear essential to live life
Its presence gives the sense of I
Nothing adjourned sine a die
Pendulum swinging between
Depression Elation & the inbetween
Causes every man made error
Bravado and fear tools used to manouvre
Pin sized injury
Builds up enough Fury
Its its own judge and jury
Words and Actions the weapons in its armoury
Anesthesia of the Brain
Caused when the Ego strained
Relationships thrown under the train
Delusional state it makes us remain
Esteem and Respect
The value it decides
Insult and Injury
In its lacking resides
Fragility its liability
Stability its respectability
Equanimity its tranquility
Duality its quality
Root cause for worry
Removal needs surgery
Surgery called self enquiry
In the Answers lies the finality
Philosophers and Saints
Thinkers and Prophets
Darkness removing wonders
Guiding in the process
Jan 15, 2022
Jan 15, 2022 at 12:55 AM UTC