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Flavia Nov 2012
Why do you do this?
Your Army of Nothings
Who lay in the sun
and are all but sweet
who swelter and sweat
in that fresh cut grass
mowed by a man
you can't hope to know.
And you,
you there, with the grin
Who's side are you on anyway?
What made you the prince
of the Army of Nothings;
The leader, the first in command.
You spout and you spit
that ******* and bare
your teeth at me like you're the bomb
dot com
You're such a disgrace.
parading around
with your head up your ***
"So what's new?"
Oh, shut up,
You can't even fill out your pants.
Why should I care for you,
why should I feel?
How will I ever come home?
Where welcoming words
and magical treasure,
and stories that never come true
but are good.
Where futures of light once reigned so supreme
I swore they would never run dry.
I thought you'd missed out,
you know, then and there,
of the life that we talked of in dreams.
No flowers and chocolates,
no diamond rings,
just love.
Made of stuff so much deeper
and denser
and finer
and lovely, and warm, and alive...
But it's over, and done.
and I can't have it back.
So I go on avoiding
the Army of Nothings
as they come marching in
marching in
one two, at the ready
I feel deep in my bones
that breaking and tearing
Help me, archangel!
Save me! You promised!
You said you would always be there
in that carved-out big apple
our home, once upon
when we laughed and were happy and good.
But goodness runs out.
You made that as clear
as a crystal that needs to be smashed.
And I did that, remember?
I left it all broken and you were so proud
So proud I had chosen
the right over wrong.
yet you overlook
all the splinters of glass
all there
all here
all lurking in me.
I don't want to cry
or beg or to fight
But I loved you in ways
that she found unacceptable?

So silly, so stupid,
so big that it keeps you away

Not that I care very much
For your army of nothings
or things that remind me
of memories gone with the wind


**But I do.
Keith W Fletcher Apr 2018
All along that grey draped zig-zagging shoreline
The men sat or stood in resolute silence
Each trying to reach back into minds
Scrambled like eggs by the fear of impending violence

Soon the hard faced men will open the gates
As the race will start as hearts will change pace
Then by push and twist they load like cattle
Into great grey hulking hearse's barely floating
Plunging through grey roiling seas toward thunder
Echoing across the channel quotation marks of the battle

That rages ,engages not turning ÷ripping out pages of history
When the water turns red punctuated by the floating dead....
........The question marks and periods
Exclamation marks in the book thats still being written ...
        ......to what end?
That is what makes any plot a vagrant thought
With a premise being an unresolved mystery
Such are .....
The vagaries of the ever repeating chapters of human history!
Lovely Nobody Dec 2018
I saw him in a K-Vibe store
His sight melted my ice-*******.
He saw me watching and smiled at me.
Walked the short distance, my heart filling with glee.
Our hands brushed,
We both blushed,
And then I noticed the thing that broke the love spell
He was wearing an EXO hoodie
And I a BTS sweat with koya smell
And hence we couldn't be together
for I am an ARMY and he an EXO-L
A POEM DEDICATED TO THE COLD WAR, NOT BETWEEN US AND CHINA
BUT BETWEEN ARMYs AND EXO-Ls

Lol its just for fun
No hard feelings for EXO-Ls


Kimnamjoon_kimseokjin_minyoongi_junghoseok_parkjimin_kimtaehyung_jeonjungkook_BTS
Nic Mac Mar 2018
I don't want to shoot,
I don't want to win
I don't want to 'fight' the way we were trained,
I'll fight with my heart and a can of white paint.

Wounded flags fatefully fall.
Under the spell your command.
But watch me you will, I'll make them true,
Watch me you will, as I make them free.
We don't belong to you.

I'll brush them clean, with the truth of our tears,
Unwilling participants of the sick game,
We never wanted to play.

I don't want to shoot,
I don't want to win
I don't want to 'fight' the way we were trained,
I'll fight with my heart and not with your aims.
I'll fight for us all,
For we all die the same.
To go with an illustration I did of a dying solider who, In his last moments, painted a flag white, aswell as the emblem on his arm...

By Nic Mac

Written by Nic Mac
Andrew May 2017
When I'm with other people
Their mere presence reflects my character
Their strength validates me as an individual
Friends sneak away and doubt creeps in
Who am I without my companion justifiers?
Nobody
So I'm going to build an army
And we're going to storm the walls of hatred
They'll throw their bombs
******, ******, ****
Usually more specialized weapons appear as well
All trying to use shame to strip us of our very humanity
We disarm their shame with pride
Not pride in the way one is born or lives
But pride in the face of those who tell us we should feel ashamed
Those hate filled walls will be trampled by our friendship
Once we've infiltrated the pitch black city
We'll seize their holy temple
And find me
Naked, crying, alone
We'll pick me up and dust me off
After all, I have an army to build
ZzyiP May 2018
there are chains on my desk,
you cant see them but i can,
in fact i can feel them.
i can feel them tight around my neck
pulling me away from my soul.
they slowly drag me 'forward'.
my grip on freedom weakens as the links tussle my neck,
the singing of birds fade and become more distant.
singing choirs cease to sing.
the sun shines differently,
its a dim light with no glimmer anymore.
i see less colours now and my muscles ache.
i move less, smell less, feel less.
its cold as i subdue to the pull.
my clattering and rebellious steps form rhythm
my legs conform as i march in sync with all the same misfortunates around me
dragged and dragged we march
there is no point to resist
now we march
confidently we march
but our souls were left behind
school, exams, educational system.
Sara Kellie Jul 2018
A Queen in waiting, a Princess no less.
Each day, a routine before being seen.
For some, a shadow and not of the eye.
The kind you'd find on that of a guy.
An army of pogonophobes in dysphoric confusion.
Each purging our wardrobes,
a repeated delusion.

A leading *******
from a pornographic circus.
The ***** under graduate from
a school of *** workers.
Your Hubby's vision in blue
is our secret down south,
'cause he wouldn't kiss you with
that ***** mouth.

So I'll stop you there Sizzle Chest,
with your cans of Stella
in your pristine white vest,
'cause this is real easy,
even for you Mr ******.

I used to be a Princess but
now I'm a Queen,
recently coronated
after all that I've seen.

Poetry by Kaydee.
Hazy musings from a land of candy pink
are the dreams of a Princess.
Amoy Mar 8
In the ***** fields the red plant glows
Shining bright row by rows
Highlighting our opiates blight
Soldier by soldier I save tonight
Ease their pain do it right
For they may stray towards the light
CK Baker Apr 2017
Sunday sermons are spilling on the inner city streets
through the green heaps and brown bags
through the downtown whisperers
and sage solitude souls

Army bands prepare for march
their trench members filling packs with canister and cane
the high command and tricked militia head pinned
quick on the look for splinter, lorry and skuttle

Traffic patterns change at the COP connect
camouflage bearers break formal stride
battle men slip between colorful floats
unsuspecting slumlords (vein pricked and weary)
grin in their second suite dying rooms

Twitching men and rubbernecks
sit discreetly on the corner wall
JJ and the chief revere a 21 gun salute
holy rollers raise cheer (in a moment of silence)
chess men hold steady
with ivory cues

Flames belt from the distant foundry
streets come alive with crackle and dust
members of the attic group glance down from a glorified perch
the elderly man in a straight jacket (happy in the now)
sits solemnly in a cold reflective stare

It’s not far from the steely mud holes
from the flying fragments and pierced broken dreams
from the arsenal digs and madmen (who quietly turned the *****)
the ivy trellis
and flowing white gown
is a nocturne fit
for this elevated rolling highland
आपका हम पर है बहुत बड़ा एहसान ।
हथेली पर लेकर फिरते हो अपनी जान;
करते हो आप वतन पे जान कुर्बान ।
जय हिन्द, जय हिन्द की सेना ।

Armin Dutia Motashaw
Michael Mar 10
This is a story from the Army Apprentices School, Arborfield, which was not far from Wokingham in Berkshire. I started my soldiering there on 15 January, 1959. It was a memorable first day because on the way there, through a window of the London to Wokingham train I saw a real, live cow and that evening, in the cookhouse, I had a pint *** smashed over my head. Anyway, this poem relates to the passage of information and the dangers of misinformation, and in a way is relative to my first day.

(While waiting for a train)

A bombardier and corporal were arguing the toss
About a job they had to do, about who should be boss.
The corporal said 'it should be me. You know the way we train.
My being in the Infantry means that I have the brain
To make sure job gets properly done, and doing it is really fun.
That being said - this job, you know, we really ought to flick it.
Would you believe they have us down to run a fire-piquet?

Replied his mate, the bombardier, 'even if it's cavalier,
I'm the one that fires off gun so I should get to have the fun.
And working the Apprentice School appears to me to be quite cool.
These AT's., they know their stuff, and work they'd never think to cuff.
Why, one even told my daughter, ‘on fire you never use hot water.'
Perplexed, his mate then asked 'why not, use h2o when it is hot?'
'Stands to reason' said his mate (they stood at Railway Station),
'Hot water on a burning fire just ups the conflagration'.

The two both spent that weekend off at home and in the yard.
Concluding individually the task was just too hard.
And so, selectively, they chose (so soon as they got back)
To do the work at Arborfield a smartly dressed lance-jack.
A Fusileer with bright cockade, four GEC's and bright
(though he said he'd had to give up two for getting in a fight).
He drilled the boys of Arborfield exactly as he orter
Whilst urging them to 'never, ever, ever use hot water'.
I am not just a person in
a uniform, I am a Soldier.
Every time I arise,  I obey;
Each time she calls, I step up
To defend her freedom,
To restore her home of peace
I arise,  I obey, I soldier on.

Into the forest of her terrors
I charge, not without fear for that
which is mine but with love and strength
and faith, I March. Defending the labour
of heroes past, I march; fighting
for dreams of her children bright-
the  future she deserves.

I arise, I obey, I soldier on.
In the army I serve Nigeria,  my
Country with heart, might and spine.
Though a thousand times I have fallen,
bits and pieces of me, lost to her darkness,
still I obey, knowing it may be my last. I arise,
leaving my family and friends behind.

I obey your call of duty. My service and loyalty
I pack on with my combat gear, that you may live
to see yet another day, to feel yet another ray of
light on your face. I am not just a person in a uniform.
I am your Soldier,  the Nigerian Soldier,
Ambushed and slaughtered in 40s, 70s and 100
for lack of resources.

Bless me O Nigeria as I arise and obey
Send me to your enemies with arsenals
and might to match the fire in my eyes.
As opposed to the massacres of me, let
the headlines read of our gallant victory
For my victory is yours over those who
threaten our unity.

I am not just a person in a uniform.
I am your Soldier
Do not let my bravery dissipate to stupidity
For I rise,  I obey,  I soldier on
still.

©Belema .S.  Ekine
©belemascribbles
dedicated to all the brave Nigerian soldiers fighting the war against insurgency and terrorism. To those who we have lost and those still fighting for a better Nigeria.
Rowan Jupiter Dec 2018
a box
packed lovingly
from a mother
to a son
far away
in another land
he doesn't know

the contents wholesome,
inspected still
once, twice, a thousand times

before it even ships

a box
packed lovingly
from a mother
hoping it will reach her son
far away
in another land
she doesn't know
His army perched above in trees,
Watching the front become a feast,
Who wins, care not, in the least?

"The cawing clan of Koronos..."

The thousands black they view the fight,
Staying late for supper -feeding at night...
Picking tender morsels in illumed moon-light,

"Swarthy minions of King Koronos!"

Corvid follow Man wherever he may go,
Feathery tomes of knowledge their treasure trove,
The messengers in the House of Jove...

"His static barbizon Aves; Koronos!"

There are many kings who come and go,
Becoming part and parcel in a wicked show,
But none of them will ever match the Crow...

"Engrosser of the dead; Koronos!"
Koronos is a king from the pseudo-historical Hercules accounts by Appollodorus and Pausanias. His name means, "Crow," in Greek. With the title this piece contains 96 words and two types of verse; rhyming verse and verse. Adding the metered count by line number you get 6, 7, 7, 8, and 20 or 48 times two types of verse; 96. So the metered count works two ways as the Greek and Hebrew mystics intended. The Greeks doublet'd coronae with the Celtic Kornus. The Greeks may be word-playing off Coronae saying that the King does anything and everything that is seen as good and bad?
my life was like a rope walk
a thin rope of sanity I walked on
and below was a thousand feet Valley of depression,
you miss a step ,you never come back.
struggling to balance myself ,
and then I met you .
the saviour ,
like the albatross
who came to save the ancient mariner.
you came into my life and with you came hope.
the rope beneath my feet widened ,
widened to become a plank.
and as you grew closer,
the plank became solid ground.
the valley started to disappear
and the fear melted down.
now I could risk missing steps,
enjoying the grass and the tiny falls.
it felt like never before ,
and there was no turning back.
but I realised, on the ground I wasn't alone .
not just mine,
but you had saved a zillion lives .
but that didn't matter now .
they all loved you and so did I .
so we all pledged :
to help you, to love you forever
and that anything that gets to you
have to first get through us .
we all are debtors of your love
and we will pay back by standing by you .
you are the nation of our happiness
and we are your A.R.M.Y.















saranghae BTS
thank you for being In our lives for 6 years .
BTS, not just a boyband to us ARMYs, but our inspiration ........our source of happiness


BORAHAE
patty m Feb 2015
Silly fools,
touching the planchette
as it invades the haunts of spirits and demons
their dangerous interaction
pointing to blackened letters
or the answers yes or no.

Open gateway something relentless creeps to the surface
unbeknownst to anyone.  
Do they think this is a game, this summoning?

Bluesman, playing his guitar
sings about a shadowy man
on a dark road and the bargains he makes.
Moonless skies and rumbling trains
a strange twisting in guts
as a crows caw spreading shiny wings.

Shadows, the long road is filled with shadow,
filigreed limbs darkening fleeting time and the trains with
their black smoky smudge muffling secrets.

A strange man turns up, like a carney in a traveling show
to show us a frightening future.
Spreading prophesies of horrible events along with the demise of millions, with demons gnawing human flesh.
Then too there was the promise of the dead rising;
exhumed bodies, an army of zombies marching.

Old men smoke their cigarettes, lungs crackling
in phlegmy coughs, rheumy eyes filled with pain
as they watch the children **** in frenzied dance
their heads spinning clockwise. . .  
The train chugs off in the distance
as the last illusion crumbles into a dark and rotting hole.

We no longer see the stranger.
as the song comes to an end,
yet disquieting things skitter on the edge of reason
as they slither through our fear.
Up ahead looms a fiery god staying
trajectories of doom and damnation,
while the Bluesman strums his old guitar
on a ghost train going nowhere.
Come join us in the garden
Your army days are done
Sit down and take it easy
Enjoy soak up the sun.

Now you need no longer worry
You will never be going back
Relax no need to hurry
Just forget about the past.

You say it's hard to carry on
Leaving the horrors of war behind
You often have those nightmares
From behind the enemy line.

So look now toward the future
The poserbilitys they are vast
There is that new horizon
Even though it's hard to grasp.

Come join us in the garden
Leave those fearful days behind
Look at all the lovely flowers
Representing peaceful times.

Look at this gardens beaughty
The war just had to end
Who knows what lies ahead of you
Your enemy could become your friend.
From the days of war come the time of peace
After the second world war came that new horizon
Never the less wars still continue.I had a friend who suffered PSTD.
To me that says humans are not designed for war.
Warren Jun 2
This is the story of Jeni Haynes, whose father inflicted horrific physical and ****** abuse on her from the age of four years old. As a result she created over 2000 alter egos to get her through it.
This is my account written with respect and love as  I feel she would tell it, just because some stories deserve a voice.

Dedicated to Symphony,
- For saving my life.

’I am an army,
A force of alter egos forged from the furnace of necessity.
Banded together in permanent transience,
Called forth by the voice purity.’
————————-
I am Symphony,
I’m 4
I came to Jeni first to comfort her through the pain,
Through the torture and torment of lamented youth,
I sang songs to mask the sounds of abuse,
Turned her face inwards,
Jeni found me because she needed me,
But I was not alone.
————————
There’s Judas and Muscles,
There always here,
Alters of Jeni’s yesteryear
‘We are hundreds,
thousands - an army to face,
We’re her solace,
Some of us permanently echoing inside,
some of us hide,
Some of us have a singular purpose,
All of us have the same intention,
To protect our Jeni without exception.’
—————————-
I am Jeni,
I have MPD  so they tell me,
DID is what it’s meant to be,
But I’m just me !
No one ever told me there shouldn’t be more,
Personalities and people behind the door,
So it’s perfectly normal inside my mind,
Just not what you would expect to find.

They call it abuse but it was way past that,
I cowered and cringed,
Paralysed with fear,
Praying he wouldn’t hear,
It was unavoidable,
Inescapable,
I couldn’t prevent it,
I was incapable,
Cried myself dry,
It was torture,
Repeated and repeated and repeated,
Through every sense,
The smell, the taste, the feeling and the pain,
So much pain,
Then Symphony came and things changed.
She brought with her so many,
An army to protect me inside,
Where I could hide,
They took it in turns.
Little Rikki was laid with the task,
It would brake his heart apart,
Each time he would send someone in my place
To face the horrors of my father to face,

And they did suffer,
Every alter, every time,
They passed the poisoned chalice between themselves,
Not letting it near me,
Keeping me inwards so I couldn’t see,
Without their sacrifice,
I don’t know where I’d be.
Crazy maybe.

There was Jay who spoke truth,
Kept me in line all the time,
Tried to protect me,
Run Jeni run
But he couldn’t protect me,
It would always be done.

They weren’t in my head - they were me,
Every one you could see,
I would let them step forward,
They would fulfil their need and then they’d step back,
It’s as natural as that.
It’s survival,
My solution,
A forced evolution of spirit and mind,
I was forced to find.
I’m not ill,
I’m just different.
This is who I am.
I am Jeni Haynes,
We all are in a roundabout way.

I asked people to help,
Told those of rank,
Drew blank after blank,
I’d accused my father of horrific acts,
Given the facts it’s not a topic that attracts.
So it was on me.

I studied,
One day they would see,
I subjected myself to the learn to have power,
In words and knowledge,
These are the weapons of modern times,
And I needed them more than ever.
I studied  psychology, Justice and crime,
Then I tried again.
This time I spoke their language,
I broke their arguments and lay waste to their  fears.
This time they would listen,
And they did.

I am strong,
Battle worn and worthy,
I have power more than most,
I could withstand pain,
Rained upon me over years of suffering,
I had focus,
Honed from an army that knew where to look,
And I had help,
We were heard,
We won our day in court,
That man that called himself my father,
Extradited from his exile,
Brought forth to testify for the wrongs he’d committed.
My 2hrs in court validated my years of silent abuse.
We spoke individually with one voice,
No plan,
I let those with the answers take the stand,
6 came forward to help me beat the one,
And they did,
He confessed,
Finally my fight could be laid to rest.

This is my story,
*****, buggered and systematically abused,
This is my story,
Of Symphony finding me broken and bleeding,
This is my story,
Of waging war against my father,
This is my story,
Of taking back me.
All of me,
Every part of me,
Until finally - I could see.

Jeni Haynes,
“May you find the peace you deserve.”
Robert Ronnow Aug 2015
I like immigrants, immigration. Legal immigration, Jane
passionately corrects. Actually my goal is a borderless world.
That's a new idea to her.
Gathering the neighborhood like family.
The men discuss sterilizing welfare mothers. I say You're working
      around the edges,
humanity has exceeded the carrying capacity of the planet,
even those with jobs. And spouses. And houses.
Yet it's an idyll of an early summer evening, new cut grass,
two baseball teams of children playing in it. Safe from Pakistan.
News photos of Muslim refugees, women in blue robes, biblically
carrying children away from holocaust. The fundamentalist army
not far behind, beheading sinners, sure in its righteousness
as the Holy Roman Empire.

Somehow Joel Osteen the evangelist comes up
while talking about how the Catholic Church is irrelevant in North
      America,
even Latin America and Africa are going evangelical.
Izzi likes Osteen, awesome extemporaneous speaker, no teleprompter,
up from bootstraps message and my wife says he's probably Jewish.
No one wants to go there.
Fortunately no one claims the Holocaust never happened or slavery
      was voluntary.
What is the carrying capacity of the planet? Two children
have replacement value. In China is it each couple or each adult that gets
one offspring? As life expectancy and standards rise,
family size diminishes. We draw together into greener, tighter cities
surrounded by farms surrounded by forests.
The children of three monotheistic religions, atheists and agnostics
play in city streets, work farm fields, explore forests, deserts,
      grasslands, space.

Two ancient female poets: Enheduanna and Sappho
are a revelation. The clarity of their complaints:
lost lover, lost city.
www.ronnowpoetry.com
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