"bandoliers" poems
Father for thy, promised blessing
Let there be no more uprising
Forgive the misunderstanding
God of love eases all suffering
Thy high counselor spoke of war
Those bazaar bandoliers and cigars
Clearly, there is no escaping
God of love eases all suffering
It’s sad to see the frantic cries
As thousands of torture soul dies
Stop the tears, regret and lies
Glory to God, and praise thee
Sep 10, 2013
Sep 10, 2013 at 6:57 PM UTC
what happens once the spark of consciousness disappears?
this thought was once one of my greatest fears
does a soul somehow disperse like vapour from deep within our ears
i've wondered about this for most of my years
and often discussed it with friends over beers
often i've had arguments that ended with tears
its so hard to exchange an opinion without getting jeers
people are too quick to ready their spears
or maybe most of us just have our heads up our rears
could common opinions help us connect with our peers?
is that why at opposition we aim our bandoliers?
so we can keep clean our own social spheres
from anything that might mess with our belief's gears
I fear to express myself, what if the wrong tribe hears?
and decide they don't like this noise and interfere
Jan 24, 2015
Jan 24, 2015 at 3:10 AM UTC
The Salvation Army Soldiers
Should take on new roles
Be a little bit more bolder
Armed with their three poles
And big black iron pots
Venturing across the world
To put out fires in hot spots
And demand the enemies
To turn to making plowshares
Place their indemnity
Bandoliers and bombardiers
Into those big black pots
Manned by the Salvation Army
r
Aug 28, 2013
Aug 28, 2013 at 7:06 AM UTC
A Pray For Peace
Father for thy, promise blessing
Let there be no more uprising
Forgive the misunderstanding
God of love eases all suffering
Thy high counselor spoke of war
distrubuting bandoliers and cigars
Clearly, there is no escaping
God of love eases all suffering
It’s sad to see the frantic cries
As thousands of tortured soul dies
Stop the tears, regret and lies
Glory to God, and praise thee
Feb 10, 2014
Feb 10, 2014 at 6:56 AM UTC
Dear Grandpa,
Nanna told me all about it.
The smell of ******
smoke and screams.
Bandoliers falling in all directions
with grenades honoring the occasion.
And the story of you,
And how you became confetti.
It’s been so many years,
the smell of barbecue
smoke and laughter reign now.
Kids run in all directions
And balloons join the celebration.
March 25th is a holiday now.
Nanna always brings a million memories.
She says she has to feed them,
because if she don’t
they’ll eat her up.
So she tells us stories about you.
I heard you even fought Victor Charlie.
Musta been one gnarly son of a *****
because I heard he won.
But don’t apologize.
When I was eight, my momma
told me I should be proud of you
because you put up a fight.
When Nanna was 25,
Two slender men in uniform
made their way onto the front porch,
knocked on the door,
And told her the same thing.
She sat on the porch for years
Waiting for you.
But the Rolling Stones don’t roll no more,
crickets don’t sing,
and Nanna’s rocking chair is retired.
Your grandson likes to play on it,
But we don’t want him to break it.
He's a curious little grunt,
so I tell him stories.
“Once, your great grandpa dodged a bullet.”
I tell him
“it went right past his God **** ear.”
He stops me and asks
The same question I asked my father.
But Pa, what's faster than a bullet?
Nothin'.
-a.m
Mar 24, 2016
Mar 24, 2016 at 4:32 PM UTC
later today I will write
...
where did I go just now?
to war against unworthy words, wearing empty bandoliers
to the ceiling of space for enlightenment by cosmic chandeliers
to endless, winding roads of thought, the worst of all dead-ends
to fuse the frayed neurosis that never seems to mend
to an area between particles, the purgatory of matter
to Heaven and to Hell, rather dawdling in the latter
...
too digressive to write today
or clear my head of chatter
Mar 27, 2014
Mar 27, 2014 at 5:25 PM UTC
Beating the Gums of War
“Hell hath no fury like a non-combatant”
-this phrase, attributed to many, dates back at least to the
American civil war
Channeling John Wayne, their semi-autos on show
Leather-boy bandoliers draped with lots of ammo
Hell hath no fury like a deer-stand commando
Old men beating their gums for war; oh, yes, it’s so
Each wearing his made-in-China camouflage chapeau
Hell hath no fury like a café commando
Idle hookah heroes in Houston, don’cha know
Want their country liberated but our children must go
Hell hath no fury like a narghile commando
Studs at their ‘puter games, screens all aglow
There’s nothing about George Patton that they don’t know
Hell hath no fury like a keyboard commando
And corpses for the lamps of China to make the oil flow
They want your child to die for profits – just tell ‘em to blow
Hell hath no fury like a private-jet commando
None of them made the first day of boot camp, oh, no
Though their thousand-yard stares are perfected guano
Hell hath no fury like a ‘way-back commando*
Sep 22, 2019
Sep 22, 2019 at 2:59 PM UTC
-in honor of Matthew Hennigan, Vinson Adkinson and everyone else who gave the ultimate sacrifice for their brothers and sisters in arms, you are missed every day
Oh, sweet empty mountain
in your quiet majesty,
Overwatching flowing rivers
meandering through a hushed valley,
And the sparsely growing forest
littered with ruins of times forgot,
In this silent, flowing landscape
for which many nations have fought
Oh, the things you've seen oh mountain,
from triumph to betrayal
To lovers' first awkward kiss,
and children battling so playful
And in waves, you saw it change,
one year peace, the next year tense
You have witnessed arc of all mankind,
each and every sad offense
You witnessed the day when they sat
upon your steep marble mountainside,
Wrapped in ratty tan blankets,
whose purpose was to let them hide
And fingers lay on naked triggers,
muzzles pointed to the road
Cloaked men carried bandoliers,
so their gunners needn't reload
And in the early dawn of light,
the first 'crack' echoed off your side
As a battlefield erupted,
the roaring of a violent fight
Oh, you ancient hunk of rock,
overseeing all as many died
In the distance could you hear,
the faint sound as we all cried?
Rest in peace you glorious ********
I love you Matty and Vinny
I'll see you again one day
Feb 26, 2020
Feb 26, 2020 at 7:46 AM UTC