"barracks" poems
That small man who always sang
That small man who danced in my head
That small man with youth
Undid his shoelaces
And broke all the barracks of the festival
Suddenly everything collapsed
And in the silence of the festival
In the ruin of the festival
I heard your happy voice
Your voice so torn and fragile
Innocent and desolate
Came from afar and called me
And I put my hands on my chest
where they trembled ******
Seven broken pieces of mirror
with your twinkling smile
10.8k
I enter Auschwitz 1.
Apprehensive crunches with every step.
I stand in a gas chamber.
Fully clothed.
With oxygen flowing freely.
I stand on a spot where thousands have stood before me.
But I'm able to make an exit,
Yet I'm rooted to the floor,
Transfixed with horror.
I feel like the last remaining tree,
surrounded by a forest of death.
Deforestation makes me sick.
*
Birkenau has a secret
that it doesn't want to tell.
A broken ending stood still.
The arches.
The ruins.
The tracks.
Thuds of reality slapping my face.
Stood inside the bleak barracks,
our guide asks us
"Imagine what it would like to be here -
What you'd see,
smell,
hear."
My eyes widen open in a scream,
they sting, fighting back at the image conjured within my mind.
I take a sharp breath
and close my eyes.
I am scared.
Nov 18, 2010
Nov 18, 2010 at 10:00 AM UTC
There was an army of ants in the plastic plants
So I poured light through a magnifying glass
And I created a fire on the artificial grass
They scurried and hurried
with flames on their backs
Like soldiers on a hopeless plain,
searching for invisible barracks
And I sighed as they died,
because we are all the same:
Scurrying and hurrying from invisible pain
Aug 27, 2014
Aug 27, 2014 at 10:10 PM UTC
All I wanted was a cigarette.
We weren't allowed to smoke.
He knew where to go.
We swept sidewalks together.
Raked sand together.
Talked about life together.
His window was across from mine.
I think he saw me changing once.
Maybe more than once.
He was getting dishonorably discharged.
I didn't think he was a good man.
I didn't think he was a bad one, either.
It had been two weeks since I landed in Monterey.
I only wanted a cigarette.
He knew where to go.
I bought the Southern Comfort and bottom shelf gin.
He carried them with him to his room.
I didn't think anything of it.
We raked sand together.
We ate lunch together.
We watched movies together.
We sat on a makeshift bench by the ditch by the installation fence.
We drank and smoked and laughed.
I taught him Farsi and he taught me Russian.
Russian for "hello" and "goodbye."
Russian for "This is allowed."
Russian for "This is not allowed."
I think he saw me changing once.
He tried to kiss me on the cheek.
I told him no, my boyfriend wouldn't like that very much.
We smoked some more.
We drank some more.
We laughed some more.
It was 2130.
I had to be in my room by 2200.
He said not to worry, I'd be back in time.
I insisted and tried to leave.
I fell to the ground.
He didn't help me up.
I only wanted a cigarette.
He kissed me on the mouth.
I did not kiss him back.
I was immobile.
Paralyzed.
Drugged?
He kissed me again.
And again.
And again.
I did not kiss him back.
I had a boyfriend.
All I wanted was to smoke and drink and laugh.
He grabbed me by the ankles.
Pulled me over the ditch behind the army barracks by the installation fence.
I could hear soldiers coming back to their rooms.
I was paralyzed.
I always thought I would fight.
Fend him off with car keys stuffed between my fingers.
I looked up at the tree branches above me, my watch said 2147.
That was the last time I prayed to God.
There were leaves in my hair and dirt on my arms.
There was something less than a man between my legs.
It looked at me with hate in its eyes.
We swept sidewalks together.
God kicked back and swigged a PBR
while I was ***** behind the army barracks,
over the ditch by the installation fence.
He helped me up.
I couldn't stand on my own.
How sweet.
I vomited by a tree.
I was disgusted with myself and him and God.
I wanted to drown in Southern Comfort and bottom shelf gin.
He walked me to my barracks building.
How sweet.
I made it to my room by 2200.
All the girls watched me stumble down the hallway.
I was so violently alone.
Taps wailed outside the window.
I left my hat by the bench by the ditch by the installation fence.
He brought it to me the next morning.
How sweet.
Apr 22, 2013
Apr 22, 2013 at 8:38 PM UTC
Tonight my gums ache
Because of the sin of 2:41 am
And the cigarettes I stole from you
After we drank the red wine
Your father exclaimed was royal
And originally drank by Paraguay princes.
I returned home dizzy with fatigue
And empty of joy and sorrow
Apathetic because I am not engaged
So I thumb my phone book to find
Anyone who will talk or kiss
Me numb, tonight.
I can't sleep after because the box fan is purring
And the October air is not
Devoid of Magnolia scent and hope
So I lay in my bed with crumbs
Sticking to my stretch marked hips
Taunting me even beneath the barracks of my sheets.
I saw no sky-moon when you left
So I smoked another Camel Crush
On the back porch watching you leave
Once our lips sanded the sin permanent
Into our raw faces and pulsing fingers
Smacking "joyful joyful-be filled! Filled!"
I barricade pillows against the concrete headrest
That my inherited mattress sleeps on
So the cold has to try harder, tonight
Even though your lips felt dry
and your sighs left ghosts exhaling
In my mind and neck and *****
This is how I justify sleep tonight:
An attempt to evade sins damnation
And my nature that, by Tuesday,
Will be able to paint over
The deep white lies you tongue
Painted across my prickled body.
Come, rest and restore my soul
To its belief that words are sharp
Though the imprints of your nails
And the burgundy couch fabric
Left on my body and on my soul
Are eulogized by the alarm clock set for 702am.
Oct 13, 2012
Oct 13, 2012 at 1:48 PM UTC
The Master Corporal said to me
"I'm gonna do a show"
"Don't worry what I say to you"
"I just thought you should know"
Injured, badly two weeks gone
I was set to be held back
My knee was torn apart and
that, was not something I could hack
The day I was demoted
My Master Corporal came to me
He said "Turner, I hate to do this"
"But, it's for the best...you'll see"
I waited for inspection
With the others all on line
They were standing at attention
Me on crutches the whole time
"Turner, is there anything"
"That I should hate to find"
"Is there stuff inside your locker"
"of a non-military kind"
I stood there at attention
Waiting for the end to come
As he looked all through my kitting
Found dust upon my gun
He opened up the locker
And a moth came flying out
It flew past the Master Corporal
And then it danced upon his snout
The yell...was heard in England
"A pet...you've got a pet"
"Who said that you could have one?"
"It's not allowed...A PET"
The moth found the first window
flew back towards him once again
Left some moth dust on his beret
And he flew away right then
The Master Corporal's outrage
At being "mothed" by my new pet
Was one I don't think many
In our platoon would soon forget
He started throwing clothing
Chucking boots around the room
I knew it was all acting
But, those boots can really zoom
When finished he stood waiting
For a response, I stood and stared
I could not break out a smile
I had to show I didn't care
He moved on through the others
Looking for more moths on the way
But, that first one and it's face dance
Well, it surely made my day
He drove me to my barracks
Up to my new platoon
"I hope you liked my show today"
" I know I'll see you soon"
"Just do what you are ordered"
"And one thing don't forget"
"When you next have an inspection"
"Don't have an insect for a pet!!"
I remember fondly that last visit
He knew it hurt for me to leave
But, every word in here is truthful
You can choose to not or to believe.
Aug 4, 2013
Aug 4, 2013 at 9:22 PM UTC
silence
sadness
regret
remorse
fortitude
and defiance
permeate
the
bricks
made
by
convicts
for this
old church
so far far
away
from
english
shores
and on
the pews
so narrowly
wrought
they
listened
to the
chaplain
say
heaven
was the
place to
seek
repentence
was the
key....
and on
the cobbled
floor
they
scratched
their marks
before
they
made
their way
back to
the convict
barracks
the hell
of each
and every
day....
Dec 5, 2014
Dec 5, 2014 at 8:26 PM UTC
On watching Indian Polity
Such was my country twenty-one Summers ago
In a starry night I ,with my wife Prema young
Walked along the road of midnight Mysore slow
As snow veil clad chilling breeze rippled along.
No ****** , drunkard, rowdy, as hyenas did draw
No clique with camera to strip or **** did throng
An auto -driver so friendly took us to a lodge; so
Gladly with son Sudev we enjoyed Dassara song .
Now, in every city , I fancy , Sahasralinga’s attacks
From Bars with bars such barbarians may pounce
As executive dread such law-breakers to punish.
Political aspirants languid sit in and pronounce
In Parliament to protect the culprits from barracks
Deceiving democrats and putting them in anguish.
======================================
Note: Prema: name of wife; Sudev: name of baby(son). Sahasralinga: nickname of Indra /Devendra.(King of Devas who live in luxury. Parliament: the legislative building. Mysore: the city in Karnataka,India former capital of Mysore kings. Dassara:a state festival in Karnataka,
==========================================
Aug 26, 2013
Aug 26, 2013 at 6:37 AM UTC
What’s so funny?
I was remembering an Army Barracks day.
A day before Boot Camp graduation
We get our first set of official orders.
Assignments posted on bulletin board.
Striking me now so hilarious;
How the dumbest among us,
Got picked for Intelligence Corps.
Amusing the thought that
Thugs with lowest class standing
All seemed G-2 bound.
Jesus, the anchorman, got Fort Meade,
Considered The Bigs by talent scouts.
Although I was 6 foot-one,
In this or that corner
Weighing in at one hundred & 95 pounds,
My Yerkes scores too high for NSA duty.
They sent me to college instead,
Doing COINTELPRO field
Campus surveillance of
Jewish intellectuals,
John Birchers and
Radical, anti-Castro,
Cuban exiles.
The University of Miami,
Known as “Suntan U” back then.
Miami: the eye of the storm in 1972.
A Republican Convention in progress.
New wine in old wineskins;
No thing to write home about.
Jun 26, 2014
Jun 26, 2014 at 1:17 PM UTC
I'd like to mention that my city Karnal was once the bastion of the armed forces.
Close to my house in NDRI campus until half-a-decade ago stood remnants of the old British Barracks - an irksome reminder of the colonial period.
But we went inside the rickety ruins of an olden period to play hide and seek and sometimes just for fun as an adventure.
I had seen them - the erstwhile barracks in that dilapidated state only, carrying the Union Jack painted at some places, and I had seen the ruins crash to ground - a reinstated taste of Indian freedom.
The Colonial army camped here until the occupying British chose to shift the army camp to Ambala due to high occurrence of mosquitoes in the city of Karnal and found this place fit only for a great cattle yard.
Karnal has seen negligence & side-lining ever-since along the course of history.
The Indian Oil Corporation's petroleum refinery was decided to be built in the neighbouring Panipat city & so was the National Fertilizers Limited's manufacturing plant built there and not in Karnal.
In Karnal they built research institutes, filled with greenery these make the city a comfortable place to relax at ease.
But ****** shameless people don't realize the value of plants & trees and keep removing them off the face of Karnal & even where I live, in the NDRI campus - acronym for the National Dairy Research Institute campus.
****** blood sucker stupid human beings are sometimes more irritating than the malarial mosquitoes.
They cut trees assuming trees shelter mosquitoes!
True they might be but I keep wondering what about the potholes dug by them into the coal-tar & gravel roads to facilitate the installing of religious & marriage tents.
But nothing can be done to change the people whose mindset has been falsely ligated with the thought of we are the best & we won't change.
Jun 4, 2013
Jun 4, 2013 at 3:28 AM UTC
quite honestly, i don’t want you to remember this.
i don’t want you to finish reading and think man,
at least i’m not that pathetic,
you know? if i can make you feel better
about your own life, then great,
i’ll take it, but god, please don’t remember
me after you’re done.
i think that people exist when they’re thought about.
if it was that easy to blink out of existence,
i’d erase my name from every government database
and, i don’t know, go and live on an island
until i got eaten by sharks.
actually, let’s talk about that instead. sharks.
everyone’s scared of them since jaws
came out, but statistically they ****
one person every two years. that’s 0.5
people a year; half a person dying.
i’ve killed more people than that in stories.
but hollywood thought “hey, let’s make the big scary
shark into the villain”, and everyone said “okay”
and ate it up with big wild teeth
and now people don’t swim in shallow waters
because their shadows look like seals.
i wonder if someone made a movie about me.
‘the big scary sad life of never leaving your room’,
because people cross the street when i notice them
cross the street,
so it’s only a matter of time before i join
the barracks of some statistic, too.
Jul 17, 2021
Jul 17, 2021 at 9:13 PM UTC
She's risen coarse on rusted tracks,
through sandy loam, a summer sheen.
Rainbows are but colour barracks,
fair violet, through verdant green.
Through sandy loam, a summer sheen
sparked exile of Fall's fleeting mist.
Fair violet, through verdant green,
adds tint to sun in pigment grist.
Exile sparked in Fall's fleeting mist,
cleared light, silky ivory.
Adds tint to sun in pigment grist,
silhouette of this noble tree.
Cleared light, silky ivory
are petals cast in modest mould.
Silhouette of this noble tree,
tattered leaves, raging wind unfold.
Petals cast in a modest mould
are magi of summer solstice.
Tattered leaves, raging wind unfold
simply envy of breezy fleece.
Magi of the summer solstice,
Purple blush on sun dipped petals.
Raging envy of breezy fleece,
Scalding wind that scarcely settles.
Purple blush on sun dipped petals
Rainbows are but colour barracks.
Scalding wind that scarcely settles,
she rises coarse on rusted tracks.
Jun 6, 2021
Jun 6, 2021 at 3:47 PM UTC
He sat in the barracks
Comtemplating over
His life
Relationships
Watching many of his friends die
Some in his arms
Others before his eyes
What hurt him the most
He had no one to call his own
Back home
He shed his tears for his comrades
Behind closed doors
He never wished to be seen crying
For in his mind he thought emotions
Were his weakness
As he sat on his bed
His thoughts drifted to his relationships
Many women had come in and out
Of his life
Hurt and destroyed him
Both mentally and emotionally
Until he met a woman
That even though she was married
And had her own problems
They became very close friends
He tried having several other girlfriends
But they threatened to hurt themselves
If they didnt hear from him
While he was overseas
He found it rather annoying
So the only one he talked to
Was his best friend
They would laugh and flirt around
In a sense it helped him
Get his mind off the battlefield
Other women came into his life
And did the same as the others
As time wore on his best friend
Stood beside him
Silently watching
Little did he know she was more valuable
To him
He realized she had done something
The others could not do
Through everything
She had taken his heart without him
Even knowing
Over time he cherished her more
He longed to hold her close
To keep her safe
But he didnt want to make her choose
He knew someone would end up hurt
He just didnt want it to be her
So he decided to wait
And to this day he waits
For the love that seemed so far away
For inside he was
A Lost Soldier
With a heart
Full of Hidden Wounds.
Aug 10, 2012
Aug 10, 2012 at 12:42 AM UTC
Tyres and fires burning
circles of rubber
Rolled down black tongued roads
Heading to city centre
Where others meet
To greet the mighty ruler
With sword and soldiers dressed
In fibreglass shields, green helmets
truncheons with spikes backed water cannons
snipers on rooftops searching for vipers
to drill bullet holes
The tyres rolled in and rounded in a circle
Cutting off escape routes and
Dividing believers and non-believers
Piled high, pulled tight with pitchfork patience
The leaders orders more tyres.
Anything from cars, buses and bicycles
that could hold up the chains of freedom.
Last desperate attempt - not to escape but die
In the ring of fire -soon lit
Underneath the tyres
Which created bursting black flames and bluegrey smoke
Rising above the rants of leaders and shooters
and crackling. Sparks that dulled the day
And lit the night with sparklers of power.
The paratroopers soon retreated into barracks
and the rioters took hold of the city keys,
And over broken glass and burnt buildings
settled in for the long haul to freedom.
The pawns moved on the chess board
knights moved in the night,
The queen was cornered
and checkmate came when the hollow president
flew the palace with his coterie of
ear chewers and shoe polishers!
The tyres burned slowly
the fires burned down slowly.
Freedom came at dawn on the 21 st day
when the rubber factory churned out again
many new models of tyres with tougher treads.
The circle begins again today.
Author Notes
The Revolution continues. All common day gadgets that could burn and blister the new agenda is rolled down the road into the city centre where the
protesters gather to set fire to ambitious policies, unpopular with the people.
The fires from tyres will rage all night and day.
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved.
Apr 1, 2014
Apr 1, 2014 at 1:21 AM UTC
Walking back barefoot
through summer's empty barracks
on the outer, upper edge
of my homework home.
Feeling the freedom of my feet
beneath a damp and gentle breeze,
the moon reveals the room
through which I let them roam.
With solitary silence,
I can pause and light a fire,
watch the ember enter in,
setting thoughts ablaze.
Holding a holy ounce of hope
below this tightly guarded soul
that there appears a stair
between our summer days.
The dancing dewdrops
sparkle and coat my feet anew,
and splash my every other over
with the starry skies.
Taper the tales where I'm detained,
creating paths to doors and gates,
to find a place to shine
like glitter in your eyes
a million little mirrors that flash and blink
and capture my imagination
as it floats on the clouds of a single flutter
and flies away through the river breeze
bringing all at once a peace and a fervor
and a reason to believe in the feeling
for this beacon before me
we frolic through flocks of freaks
to find a vacant space between them
and create our own vibrations
between the mad machine music
alive with beats and fidgets and dripping sound
bravely bouncing to blips and whirrs
to find our bliss within the instant
you stand there bopping smiling glowing
shining brimming sparkling flowing
rattle my heart like the limb of a tree
the girl on the rope swing attached underneath
and as witness to your swaying grace
it just can't help but palpitate
one by one i count the miracles
you
here
beautiful
and beside me
i am with you
my pocket's treasures are intact
and you're enjoying them
the music is masterful
the weather is wonderful
and there's a smile pasted on your face
and everything comes easily
and nobody's ruining our fun
and there is nothing that stands between me
and my hope
that someday
you will see as i see
our paths intertwining
like strands of dna
encoded through our souls
a beautiful future
worth risking a thousand lives
just to brush my fingertips against
worth the worst hurt in the world
just to try and climb for the summit
and even if i collapse en route
and even if you shoot me down
and even if a landslide unites me with the ground
i will rest in peace
because this time
i *******
tried.
I'm not in love.
But I am in love
with the idea
of being
in love.
Oct 16, 2012
Oct 16, 2012 at 8:56 AM UTC
Christmas 1968
the whole hospital hurt.
my bed hugged a corner
and the ward ached
away from me.
endlessly away.
I remember Nurse Merz,
who saved my leg,
and Fender,
who lost his.
mine was a small world.
we had clean sheets.
no one wanted to **** us
at night.
it was Christmas.
after rounds,
the medics
brought us shots of whiskey
in dosage cups.
far away to the south,
the hills
were swallowing people up.
I almost slept
without dreaming.
(106th. Army Evacuation Hospital
Kishine Barracks
Yokohama, Japan)
Feb 2, 2010
Feb 2, 2010 at 10:29 AM UTC
I am a cube in a dark chocolate bar
seasoned with a milky white
continent of courses
collision of cultures
chili and chill wind season
in overcoats of global ambitions.
Born in the barracks of colonial masters
who took their women from tribal backwaters
of empire. These beauties succeeded
in conquering their Masters
in the art of warfare in bed and beyond.
say what you will
I carry the cost of all completion
and show the combination of colours
on my skin
burnt in the sun of these wars and conquests
all six of us soldiers.
we took his language and her complete
abandonment to beauty grew in the night
of knowing the white ruled the rainbow
and hard liquor while the dark bred the boldness
or so. (Mama said)
we, as children of different cultures
in a potpourri of pertinence
got licked, kicked, bruised and burped
cooked and laid as chocolates always do.
But we grew in mamas wonder of the world
at large, while Dad knew all the blends of single malt
maidens from the highlands of his birth.
as happy children, aware of hard work and toil
we rose faster than the fumes of spirits
and set about travelling the shores of net profits
and university empires instead.
Mama laughed when we told her
of the worlds and wonders we had conquered
and how the colour of our skin spoke for us.
Dad knew all about peg measures
and pork chops, fork, spoon and gunpowder conquests
as hollow as his casks of wine
and maturing as slow as his wisdom.
Mama only knew the meaning of knowledge
with no degrees.
God bless them both
as they sit around a table
in that great place in the beyond
and discuss chocolate bars
skin and colourful wrapping
of all six cubes!
I am Anglo-Indian.
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, a month ago
Jun 11, 2014
Jun 11, 2014 at 8:43 PM UTC
Press play before reading - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RWtx0AvGAlw
Take all my ashes,
throw them in the earth,
in the wheat fields, the remnants of cotton fields, the tree roots and the minefields.
Take all my bone and sinew,
sew them in the empty spaces,
in the family hospital rooms, in the deployment barracks, in the wake of a tsunami, and the after burn of an earthquake,
Take all my blood,
seal it into a coursing river,
in to the vacumn of the solitary life, the parents watching bleeping incubators, the last breath on death beds, and the blue refugee bedrooms.
Take all my breath,
and throw it into the tide,
in to those that need words, in those that have lost their fight, in those who no longer care, and those that just can't move.
Take all my heart,
and throw it on the table,
give the muscles to the fleeing children, give the valves to the returned soldiers, give the membrane to families destroyed by poverty, and give the beat only, to my son.
Take all my wild passion,
and throw it in to the air,
in to the cyclists before they fall, in to the pianists arthritic fingers, in to all the first wedding dances, and into the young before they grow old.
Take all my tears,
and fill a bottle up,
fill up those thirsty and dying, fill up the lakes of dying fish, fill up those empty with grieving, and fill up the eyes of those who forgot how to cry.
Take all my love,
and let it just dissipate,
let it find its way, let it filter through the ******** let it wash away the guilt and shame, and let it fill you up.
Jun 18, 2015
Jun 18, 2015 at 5:25 PM UTC
I think back to 5 years ago,
To those days in northern New York,
Where my life felt like some coming-of-age tale,
Coming into my own.
Each day was its own chapter,
Shenanigans and hijinks,
Bar room brawls and short-lived loves,
Drunken tattoos and crutching on snow 2 feet deep,
Barracks parties and field exercise tomfoolery,
Oh, how it all seems like such a dream now.
Fleeing from authorities,
Cackling with buddies as we disappeared into the crowd to make it to the next bar,
Showing up to work on Monday with a recently broken nose, blackened eye, and shit-eating grin,
With my buddies sporting similar signs,
Our First Sergeant taking stock of these injuries,
And walking onward with a little smirk.
Walking through Watertown,
Feeling the age of that military town,
Filled with secondhand stores and oddities,
My God such a surreal dream.
Stuck in bed,
Knee wrapped up in bandages,
Protecting all the stitches beneath,
Looking out the winter at the blizzard outside,
Craving a working leg more than the percocet,
And knowing that the dream was coming to an end.
Jan 7, 2023
Jan 7, 2023 at 12:40 AM UTC
Karma to the leader who spits fire,
power to the unsung and the fellow youth.
Karma to the selfish king who's hungry for credits
power to the silent minds who makes it happen
Kudos to the spirits who never raised a flag,
One's who move to ****** the corrupt and the imagery.
Down the castle walls of greed and mainstream barracks,
Time will evade the white cloth into jet black.
Power to the youth of silent hearts and quiet souls
Never surrenders naked in front of a blistering snow.
Time is the weapon, the rule is very sober.
In time you will rise, and dethrone the master
Mar 2, 2012
Mar 2, 2012 at 1:02 PM UTC
Nighttime session, the troops gathered in the barracks
I am the early bird waiting while I think of words
See the sorry *** in the glass start to mutate
My face scrambles in a madman’s flash of brilliance
I shake in disbelief, making my supposed normal return
The last of many flashbacks to a freaky fungus festival
My companions enter the stomping ground unaware
A trace of spasm in my body, of light refraction in my gaze
Within ten seconds I went from stagnant and stationary
To drunkenly wobbling, blind-deaf-mute-terrified
My vision was the first, flooding steadily with snowy diamonds
I noticed a distinct detachment from myself and my location
Head began to throb and ears shot jets of sound
Like a pulsar detectable to keen eye on rampage
Bright white light, increasingly suffocated by diamonds blinding
Sick and driven to escape, my face drained of all color
My surprise became overwhelming and unbearable to me
I made a hopeless barge through blurry barrier
Dive into the bed that will bring me sane comfort
Curl in ball, pathetic and fetal, waiting for the war to end
Nov 24, 2010
Nov 24, 2010 at 6:02 PM UTC
It’s about time
our design
came to life
Early morning light
casts a florescent glow
onto the autumn leaves
when the air around me
bends and weaves;
A-thing is to arrive.
as lightning steals your eyes,
I could not see them then
and I cannot see them now.
Is it only what is found between us?
at the point of relocation lies a charm;
a bad idea, an incentive, if you must
for where there is emotion there is harm.
Trust is always amiable,
the truth was always hard to explain.
drugs that play like cannibals
and sleep that keeps you like a slave;
inside my barracks
and I sleep alone.
the hustled train
delivers mellow drones.
Lips in hands,
eyes in mouth,
something I need
to talk about.
But things would start to grow moldy,
every bone shapes up to limbs that crack and shake
they fall down.
they fall apart.
Aug 23, 2012
Aug 23, 2012 at 9:30 PM UTC
Black and White Black and Yellow. The second keyboard and a small pinpoint. B İzimi'i. Now the warrior story and the very bad woman. AAPP 3 / Bailey Lionesses and Natte Naidi,
In the 40 years since the leader of the Abyssinian diocese, a female leader marches to Tacitus, and the BBC and BBC leaders have been assigned to soldiers of Saudi Arabia's Gala soldiers. The young man and his grandson have cited the Syrians,
Churches, Muslim Plans and a series of generations. Black and White smoke in the BBC, BBC News, BBC News, Laptops, Food Supply and Arabia, the mouth of the mouth, the Welsh Orders model, many free programs
in the Arab Emirates, Tinkengi candy brush, and Latina Natalie,
slim and slender.
Point out your song and song in the big throat!!
Africa, Australia, USA is part of the Geographic
Division of the United States, Europe and South America. George Griffin's words, livestock, martyrs Emperor Thomas, their friends and their families,
and the German light, the strong ideology and Christianity
that symbolized the Christian life, the bridges were gathered in Russia, England and the United States. In the morning fire and poetry, a brief booklet of the Uppsala, and a lawyer and former colleague respect the son of a dead man. In the second hour, the woman was a delusion, a god, a Roman god, in the same god, a Roman goddess of Rome. In the eye, the old trees are screams and high health benefits. The Mexican Mexican Mexican Museum, Vitamins and Minerals, filled with mountain chains, dense clouds and miraculous dreams. The beetles in my head were "in England, Guinea, the United Kingdom, the barracks, the raging, and the lives of marine life in the United Kingdom." Antiplical machines are the first payment for the first poem of the poem. It was posted on the special foot. Black and White Black and Yellow. The second keyboard and a small pinpoint.
B İzimi'i. Now the warrior story and the very bad woman.
AAPP 3 / Baily Lionan Nattenaidi In the 40 years since the leader of the Abyssinian diocese, a female leader marches to Tacitus,
and the BBC and BBC leaders have been assigned to soldiers of Saudi Arabia's Gala soldiers. The young man and his grandson have cited the Syrians, Churches, Muslim Plans and a series of generations.
Black and White smoke in the BBC, BBC News, BBC News, Laptops, Food Supply and Arabia, the mouth of the mouth, the Welsh Orders model, many free programs in the Arab Emirates, Tinkengi candy brush, and Latina Natalie, slim and slender.
Point out your song and song in the big, big throat!!
Africa, Australia, USA is part of the Geographic Division of the United States, Europe and South America.
George Griffin's words,
livestock, martyrs to Emperor Thomas,
their friends and their families, and the German light, the strong ideology and Christianity that symbolized the Christian life, the bridges were gathered in Russia,
England and the United States. In the morning fire and poetry, a brief booklet of the Uppsala, and a lawyer and former colleague respect the son of a dead man. In the second hour, the woman was a delusion, a god, a Roman god,
in the same god, a Roman goddess of Rome. In the eye, the old trees are screams and high health benefits. The Mexican Mexican Mexican Museum, Vitamins and Minerals,
filled with mountain chains, dense clouds and miraculous dreams.
The beetles in my head were "in England, Guinea, the United Kingdom, the barracks, the raging, and the lives of marine life in the United Kingdom." Antiplical machines are the first payment for the first poem of the poem.
It was posted on the special foot.Black and white Black and yellow.
The second keyboard and a small pinpoint. B İzimi'i. Now the story of the warrior and the very bad woman. AAPP 3 /
Bailey Lioness and Nattenaidi In the 40 years since the leader of the Abyssinian diocese,
a female leader marches towards Tacitus,
and the leaders of the BBC and the BBC
have been assigned to soldiers of the Saudi Arabian Gala.
The young man and his grandson have quoted the Syrians,
the churches, the Muslim plans
and a series of generations. Black and white smoke
on the BBC, BBC News, BBC News, Laptops,
Food Supply and Arabia, by word of mouth,
the Welsh Order models,
many free programs in the UAE, Tinkengi;
candy brush and Latina Natalie, slim and slender.
Point out your song and your song in the big throat!
Africa, Australia, USA UU;
It is part of the Geographic Division of the United States,
Europe and South America. The words of George Griffin,
the cattle, the martyrs, the Emperor Thomas,
his friends and their families, and the German light,
the strong ideology and Christianity
that symbolized the Christian life,
the bridges met in Russia,
England and the States United. In the morning,
fire and poetry, a brief leaflet from Uppsala
and a lawyer and former colleague respect the son of a dead man.
In the second hour, the woman was a deception,
a god, a Roman god, in the same god,
a Roman goddess of Rome. In the eye,
old trees are screams and high health benefits.
The Mexican Mexican Mexican Museum,
Vitamins and Minerals, full of mountain ranges, dense clouds
and miraculous dreams.
The beetles on my head were
"in England, Guinea, the United Kingdom,
the barracks, the rage and the lives
of marine life in the United Kingdom".
The machines antiplicas are the first payment
of the first poem of the poem. It was published in the special foot.
Jan 23, 2019
Jan 23, 2019 at 8:45 PM UTC
Derelict concrete buildings from the second world war sit like the skeletons of dinosaurs with gaping holes where someone used to look through windows dotting our island that look now empty eye sockets in great big skulls
lookout towers and brick built barracks and cinemas and pump stations and piers reach out to supply ships that now either turned to deep reefs for fish and sea creatures of myriad kinds or cut up and recycled into modern metal sea horses carrying a new generation of teenagers on to some kind of glory death and war.
Apr 22, 2014
Apr 22, 2014 at 1:54 PM UTC