"battleship" poems
I reached up into the top of the closet
and took out a pair of blue *******
and showed them to her and
asked "are these yours?"
and she looked and said,
"no, those belong to a dog."
she left after that and I haven't seen
her since. she's not at her place.
I keep going there, leaving notes stuck
into the door. I go back and the notes
are still there. I take the Maltese cross
cut it down from my car mirror, tie it
to her doorknob with a shoelace, leave
a book of poems.
when I go back the next night everything
is still there.
I keep searching the streets for that
blood-wine battleship she drives
with a weak battery, and the doors
hanging from broken hinges.
I drive around the streets
an inch away from weeping,
ashamed of my sentimentality and
possible love.
a confused old man driving in the rain
wondering where the good luck
went.
16.2k
If the beautiful pea green boat had been painted battleship grey,the owl and the pussycat would have stayed at home and not 'sailed away for a year and a day',but it wasn't and they did.
The story ends quite badly some would say quite sadly,the pussycat got rid of the owl,stating in his defence, that fowl was for the eating of and not for spouting like a whale in Edward Lear's fairy tale.
If only the boat had been painted battleship grey the owl might still be with us today.
Jan 30, 2014
Jan 30, 2014 at 6:33 AM UTC
i-
swallowed a bunch of love seeds
and they grew into a few different shapes
i -
knew not what was what or how was how
i-
tended a few and the rest fell apart
i-
shared the bounty
trying to spread the blossoms that fell
i-
learnt again
that not everyone likes the smell of flowers
but perhaps
noticed
they
needed them the most
i-
don't mind playing the fool
for learned truths are not easy to come by
and
i-
sunk the battleship
in favor of having an artificial coral reef
so that
i-
can whisper secrets to those who don't mind stopping to smell the underwater daises
.
Nov 5, 2013
Nov 5, 2013 at 8:09 PM UTC
Board games, card games
your games, my games,
I can't get enough.
Checkers, Chess, Stratego,
Battleship, Clue and Risk
require such strategy
and a taste of boldness.
For Twister and the Slip-n-Slide,
you need flexibility and dare.
Monopoly, Ultimate Frisbee
and Slaughter Ball all require
a good amount of aggression,
where Senet, Operation and Connect Four
only need clever patience.
For Jenga and Topple,
you need the skill of a gymnast.
Rummy, Gin, Go Fish, Blackjack and
War, you need only an opponent.
Now, go play!
Written By:
Andrew D. Robertson
Aug 12, 2014
Aug 12, 2014 at 5:08 PM UTC
Angry, Annoyed, and Jobless
Starting to feel hopeless wondering what it takes to make it and if I have it or if I can even find it.
Friends changing, time passing, learning the youth is not everlasting.
Face changing showing some aging starting to feel the body aching.
Looking at all the time taken. Many roads could have but should have that were never taken.
Searching for employment in a maze of internet searches and job applications.
Getting red starting to steam with the same response with different logos.
Not knowing why it's always a no go. Went to school got a couple of degrees.
One is just a mantel decoration made of cheap balsa wood and lies.
The other is great but never enough. Wanting more companies always want more.
I think education and jobs are working together.
Education is the wheelbarrow that takes all of your money
Jobs is the boot kicking you in the *** to remind you that you do not have any and that you need more.
Every time we pass go with another job interview we get a glimpse of hope but it drives off in a car or sails away in the corporate battleship.
That leaves only the dog to **** on our dreams and leaves us wondering where is our dream of lots of money and a big top hat.
Just left to feel thimble like and try to iron out the details of your life
I am tired of looking tired of getting told no. Going to do it on my ******* own.
Load up the cannon with what money, hope, and dreams I have left and shoot for the stars and hope I can reach mine and fulfill my dream and escape this monopoly game of life.
Feb 3, 2012
Feb 3, 2012 at 11:49 PM UTC
In a dream I was a battleship
and you were France's foreign shore
Or
I was a mustachioed American soldier
and you were a 25 dollar French *****
Either way
I crashed into you
I was stranded
I slept on your beach for days
Starving & thirsty
But you fed me in other ways.
You sank my last desperate battleship
And as I drifted into water
as deep and as blue as your eyes
I couldn't help but to miss
The comfort and warmth of your thighs.
Nov 7, 2011
Nov 7, 2011 at 6:00 PM UTC
I'm sick
I'm sick of every filter
I'm sick of fake photographers
I'm sick of fake philosophers
and Instagram pornographers
I'm sick of the fake feminists
who don't understand the movement
I'm sick of fake politicians
who make no ******* improvements
I'm sick of all the favorites
I'm sick of all the likes
I'm sick of ******* tinder
causing cheating every night
I'm sick of ******* eyebrows
like who ******* cares
when did we become so obsessed
with ******* forehead hair
I'm sick of religion
I'm sorry but it's true
it's caused so much division
in our red white and blue
I'm sick of trump supporters
who never read the news
they want to close our borders
but don't understand the ruse
I'm sick of fake people
who pretend for us all
cover their old selves in diesel
didn't hesitate or stall
I'm sick of Caitlin Jenner
she/he whatever isn't noble
committed ******* manslaughter
yet still remains boastful
I'm sick of post it note relationships
that last for three weeks
it's not a ******* battleship
just make the proper tweaks
I'm sick of all these hookups
it's become a culture
all of these pickups
initiated by the vultures
I'm sick of everyone caring
about what celebrities wear
I'm sick of overbearing hate
that never ever spares
I'm sick of all the judgment
of how a person looks
I'm sick of everyone watching YouTube
trading it for books
I'm sick of all this money
that we will never see
I'm sick of never knowing
what I'm supposed to do
I'm sick of schooling never showing
how to live our lives through
I'm sick of all this debt
that I'll be paying until my death
Im sick of feeling like our society is *******
but most of all I'm really sick
that this list has applied to me too.
Feb 17, 2016
Feb 17, 2016 at 11:11 AM UTC
You don't ship it like I do
In my spare time (all the time)
Instead of paying attention.
You're not as much of a fan as I am
You say I'm obsessed
I call it infatuation.
You can't fill the hole in yourself
Without a ship but you'd rather not
So you can shy away from shipping
I'm on a ******* yacht.
You don't understand the calling
Which is, basically, at this point, normality
And thus, I have no need for you
Go be a carbon copy.
But I will sail!
I will go down with this ship!
**** tumblr to hell
For spoiling my ****
But sail, I will, even still.
Oh, in my battleship
I'll rip your OTP!
My ship is stronger
My ship is closer to canon in reality!
So yes, your pairing, I will shred, I'll rip.
Apr 28, 2014
Apr 28, 2014 at 1:17 AM UTC
My granny was only twelve years old
When she got her first tattoo
She was kind of a rebellious child
Back in nineteen twenty-two
She hid that thing for a little while
'Til her daddy finally got wise
He took that girl to the woodshed
With ****** in both of his eyes
He asked that girl, "What did you do,
Don't you know that's gotta be a sin?"
"Now look what you've done to your body,
Has your mama seen your skin?"
Now my granny was a stubborn child
She didn't listen to a word he said
She didn't hide the one she already had
But she got three more instead
Now as my granny got older, so did her skin
And her ink was droopy and sad
You'd think that woman would feel remorse
But I think she was almost glad
Now the art sunk down to her elbows
As it wobbled to and fro
The butterfly tats would take to flight
Everywhere Granny would go
Now another tat was a bloodshot eye
But now it was always winking
On the other arm was a battleship
But of course that thing was sinking
Well that's the story of my granny's art
She lived to be a hundred and two
The day she died it said "Rest in peace"
Not the gravestone, her last tattoo
Oct 23, 2012
Oct 23, 2012 at 4:45 PM UTC
Like when they found the chariot
wheels at the bottom of the
Red Sea so was I surprised
at the faint reaching of the
fig tree, clinging to life amidst
so much dust, as it reached
ever upward in an infinite dance,
unaware of its eventual wanweird fate.
But I tracked on, crunching through
the ancient dirt, scrolls strapped
upon my back, coarse leather digging
through my camel's hair robes, sandy
grit forced in the gaps of
my toes. I cracked the locusts
and devoured them, dampening their bitterness
with the sweet warming explosion of
wild honey. So with bound Pleiades
above me, I gave witness to
Jerusalem, saying "After me will come
one more powerful than I, the
thongs of whose sandals I am
not worthy to stoop down and
untie." And I took them into
the Jordan and made them new
men. As the chill waters numbed
their muscles, their hairs pricked up
like gooseflesh, the night echoing with
splashing water and murmured voices. But
slowly the people trickled away, back
to the twang of lutes, their
ladles of soups, and I was
left alone, sitting, contemplating, always waiting.
So I sent forth the ravens,
carrying my message, to meet at
the Brookhollow no matter the obstruction,
to come by wagon or camel,
no matter of rain or flood.
But they were stubborn and prideful,
and would be moved from their
couches probably by no less than
one of Archimedes' great battleship levers,
and even then with massive groaning
like the coarse wooden hulls of
those monolithic ships. Because the sweet
taste of pastries is lodged upon
their tongues, keeping them occupied with
this world instead of the next.
So here I'll stay, always waiting.
Sep 10, 2012
Sep 10, 2012 at 1:02 AM UTC
Chug along old friend,
someday you'll see the end,
days of rest on the quay,
maybe not as active as you'll be,
slowly now,
in you go.
One final bell,
one last whistle,
men salute,
the name is taken down,
now...
all you are is a relic...
a memory of past strength,
now a museum.
You had your day,
you won them long ago,
you took a lot,
you have a big bite,
now come,
into the quiet rest of harbour.
Time to go to sleep,
sleep now you old, old,
battleship.
Sep 5, 2012
Sep 5, 2012 at 5:17 AM UTC
Trick or treat
Hide and seek
Ring around the rosie
Battleship
Candy Land
Trivial Pursuit 2
Basketball
Truth or Dare
Multilevel Beer Pong
Strip Poker
Slot Machine
Russian Roulette Gun Play
As We Age
Bolder Games
Someone upped the ante
Jun 15, 2015
Jun 15, 2015 at 4:45 AM UTC
the dank hallway is filled with
the repercussions of conversations
that only she can hear
her dead phone rings all night
her lover stepped out for a smoke
ten years ago but hell be back in a moment
she loads her version
of disappearing
and a smile slowly fades onto her face
a deity of sunshine
her open vest sweating skin
is covered in particles of the dirt that
hides her eyes from seeing the dire face
of this long long year
like a blast furnace she keeps thouse thoughts
sealed behind the locked hatch
its battleship beginnings lend credence
to defensive posture she takes
when confronted by the ugly truth
he ain't never comin' home
guess my name
but you know my face dont 'cha honey
its the blackend end of all your burned down dreams
its the final chapter of all your unfinished novels
i am darkness within your own soul
her jagged edge feelings scare her
and she tries not to let them show on her sculpted features
but with rancid ticks and convulsions of the lip
they escape one careless emoticon at a time
don't all emoticons have screaming faces
bleeding eyes
she smiles for me
and navigates the narrow hall
past the groping old men
to a safe corner where she can disrobe her heart
and let the tears fly fast and furious
pills and molly
would solve she thinks
but holding my hand will do in a fix
if i can get her through the night
if i can get myself through the night
Oct 9, 2013
Oct 9, 2013 at 4:45 PM UTC
Patterns form across convex corneas
Geometric portraits of tangram animals
Hexagonal-faced lions
Triangular-trunked elephants
etc.
Tessellations of
anagrams
Draped over rods like Batik fabric smoothed over king-sized beds
Calculating Bayesian probability on fingertips
rote
styles
Whispering, "Carry the 1!" to columns of 100s
with a remainder? Try again.
Plot Cartesian coordinates with mechanical pencils
click! click! click!
Crying, "Awwwww.....
you
sunk
my
battleship!"
Mar 3, 2014
Mar 3, 2014 at 11:28 PM UTC
What is a friend?
A relationship with one that that would eventually come to an end.
No matter how tight the bond brew,
how high we reached to.
The illusion of fellowship would soon fade like a flu.
What is a friendship?
A connection with one that would eventually collapse like an old battleship.
No matter how many promises were made,
how many times I came to your aid.
The hurt of betrayal would last as a stab by a blade.
Who am I?
A baby once believed that friends cannot be buy (bought).
A child once thought that friendships would never die.
A boy once dreamed that the wine of brotherhood would never run dry.
A man now stares at the sky, grieve and wonder why....
That one day we have to say goodbye,
to those who we called friends just as a lie,
and look forward then move toward onto our adventures of life.
Feb 13, 2015
Feb 13, 2015 at 2:42 PM UTC
My body may be a battleship, but you truly are my general,
And if I fail to protect you, sail me into the sea,
If I break rank, if we all go down, know that I am not afraid,
Know that from the first moment this was my goal,
Know that you are my prize and my award,
My judge, my jury and my self-appointed executioner,
If this is love, then love is a war.
Aug 5, 2015
Aug 5, 2015 at 7:42 AM UTC
When ships set sail, their masts held high
Daunting flags, painting the sky
With rails gold rimmed
And sails sharp trimmed
A crowd appears, waving adieu, goodbye
Thunderous roar, unequaled praise
Wind catching sheets
Anchors raised
A bell rings softly and waves do lap
Against the hull of a wooden throne
From far off shores this scene is spied
With two friends of oars we've always tried
To reach for that deck
In fervent eye
Climb on board or surely die
Tattered clothes, sailors cap
Smudge on cheek
Shirt of burlap
We push off deck
Yet crowd is gone
A journey ventured with bright sun dawned
Water ripples with our wake
Small and steady pulses we make
Though we row to catch schooner bold
As we creak of wooden old
Land gestures for us to stay
Why venture out on choppy bay?
Whispers roll and caustic laugh
With sun beat oars a line is set
No motive sweeter, nor regret
Sweat beads mix with salty froth
Cutting across the water green
Battleship chugs with billowed steam
A voice escapes you as you scream
Sputtering away, with muted cries
And oars but stop
Far from home
As head does drop
Splintered hull tears apart
We're left to cling to shattered planks
And fight to stay afloat
Alone
With far off yacht a speck
Atone for water slapping neck
We groan with defeated boat and deck
Driftwood in salty surf
Connecting with shore
We walk back to land
Imprints swallowed by golden sand
A new rowboat to be procured
Again we build to flag down our Brig
And stand upon its polished bow
We persist to where we are but now
As we strive to grasp victory bell
We strive ever onward
To sail with our destined
Caravelle
Jan 30, 2014
Jan 30, 2014 at 9:36 AM UTC
My granny was only twelve years old
When she got her first tattoo
She was kind of a rebellious child
Back in nineteen twenty-two
She hid that thing for a little while
'Til her daddy finally got wise
He took that girl to the woodshed
With ****** in both of his eyes
He asked that girl, "What did you do,
Don't you know that's gotta be a sin?"
"Now look what you've done to your body,
Has your mama seen your skin?"
Now my granny was a stubborn child
She didn't listen to a word he said
She didn't hide the one she had
But she got three more instead
Now as my granny got older, so did her skin
And her ink was droopy and sad
You'd think that woman would feel remorse
But I think she was almost glad
Now the art sunk down to her elbows
As it wobbled to and fro
The butterfly tats would take to flight
Everywhere Granny would go
Now another tat was a bloodshot eye
But now it was always winking
On the other arm was a battleship
But of course that thing was sinking
Well that's the story of my granny's art
She lived to be a hundred and two
The day she died it said "Rest in peace"
Not the gravestone, her last tattoo
Oct 18, 2010
Oct 18, 2010 at 11:14 AM UTC
"I saw you eyeing this"
I wasn't.
"It's my writing journal. I'm a poet, In case you were wondering"
I wasn't.
"I don't know if I'm any good. I mean, people say I am"
Probably not.
Finally, I handed him the question he was fishing for:
"So what do you write?"
"Oh, well, I did recently complete a poem
comparing life to a game of chess"
He had the smuggest most punchable face ever.
*...seriously?
You and every other 8th grader who got that prompt in Language Arts.
**** you.*
Is what I should have said to him.
I don't know why he ****** me off so much
Maybe because he reminded me of a younger version of myself
Always pushing my writing in people's faces
demanding they have an opinion on it.
Hell, I still do that from time to time.
Who was I to judge this poor guy?
but I did.
After a few years, I forgot about him entirely.
I couldn't recall his face even at gunpoint,
and all that is left in my memory of him
is that stupid comment about life and chess...
Chess takes strategy, and skill.
If you're gonna compare life to a board game,
It's more like chutes and ladders,
pure chance
Like Battleship,
dumb luck
Like Solitaire,
all too often you're playing with yourself.
But when you aren't it's Charades,
you're always trying to guess
What the other really means
and it's always simpler than we're making it.
It's Clue
In that no one has all the pieces to the puzzles
But if we work together,
maybe we can solve the mysteries.
Scrabble
It's a bag of incoherent consonants and vowels
Having no inherent purpose,
Developing all meaning through your design.
And yes, a little like Chess,
In that I never learned how to play it.
Apr 26, 2013
Apr 26, 2013 at 1:56 AM UTC
"I see your hair is burning
Hills are filled with fire
If they say I never loved you
You know they are a liar"
-Jim Morrison
I used to be a girl who had very close relationships with eccentric women who talked to themselves & sang to kitty cats, birds, dogs, & who sometimes got cranky with squirrels who climbed into birdhouses. Women who had laughter follow them wherever they went. Who teased me but never made fun of me. Women who were much older than me, came into my life at various times, who moved in & out of it, fluctuating in immediacy but always loving me totally, always keeping in touch, never a hateful or spiteful glance. Women who saw me not as something to deal with, but something to help. I wasn't a chore. They were people who introduced me to things, included me in everything. Women who lent me books. Who played battleship, scrabble, cards, word games, catch, and pranks with me. Who invited me to watch movies, cook supper, pile wood, play in the sandbox or garden, walk on the beach with them. Women who spent time talking to me & doing things with me; both focusing on who I was & who I would be at once. Women who were grams & aunts & adopted family and who were not my mother.
May 10, 2013
May 10, 2013 at 11:24 AM UTC
The churning *** keeps my family one
The fog of delight hides us from the sun
A taste of complacence to keep me compliant
Frames of despair keep the hallways’ alignment
This battleship lands in Australia for now
And burns its own flag along with sundown
The captain is weak, the crewmen have perished
The telescope frowns when it scans the cherished
The cook yells, “My, with the onions, I cry!”
The maid is convinced,by her use of lye,
That this is a happy crew of the sea
Where everyone’s something to puke except me
I stayed on the bridge with a knife in my eye
The pensive maiden disarms with a sigh
Here lies the painting of a family brew
The mirror, indifferent of me, is true
Metal footsteps of a boy led blind
The chef and the captain maintain their grind
And thrive in contrivance of a world kept stable
Where all the rules lie in the food of a table
The boy has been strung across the bridge, politely
And left to a tool of love, coded tightly
There is nothing in the night’s facade of blue
I’m a ***** to the smell of the ship-crew’s stew
Oct 6, 2018
Oct 6, 2018 at 2:17 PM UTC
valiantly,
the Ship Fought.
many Days,
she took a pounding
her mighty Hull bracing;
against unforgiving Seas
her thick Armour;
withstanding Bombardment.
the first great Wave
knocked a Rivet loose,
a Steel Plate dented
by the first big Bomb
she didn't Shoot back
ever hoping for peaceful resolve
but the Seas and the Bombs
all took their toll!
the first 3 enemy Ships
packed their Punch
but she stood firm
armour deflecting every Bomb
but the Sea grew Dark;
the very Water
that held her aloft
now threatened her very Existence!
the Sea destroyed Rivets
The Bombs dented armour
and slowly but surely
she took on Water
for it is the small Rivets that hold a Ship together;
small rivets that Bind Metal Plates
and when the Rivets fail
the Ship is lost!
Noble Captain stood on deck
the death of His Ship
a mathematical Certainty
again and again the 3 locust ships fired
again and again the Sea pounded
the Evacuation order needs to come soon
only the Captain to remain with a final solemn Duty
for a captain goes down with his ship
when all others are safe.
the Sea will calm down
the 3 will stop firing
once the Bow of the Ship
slips beneath the Waves
the Charges set,
ready to blow,
scuttle the ship -
Down she will go
Captain salutes Her
a fine Ship she's been
as he presses his Pistol
to his temple
right finger on the trigger
the left on the bomb's fuse,
A solitary tear,
3,2,1...
Aug 1, 2014
Aug 1, 2014 at 9:13 PM UTC
for all the world
he was a battleship
a tanker
all before him
pushed aside
lost in his wake
the wash felt
by many lives
inside he was a coracle
a dingy
rowing for dear life
hoping no one would notice
just how insignificant
he felt
Oct 4, 2021
Oct 4, 2021 at 5:15 PM UTC
You said you wanted to play a round of Sorry,
but that you didn't know the game,
instead you used Pictionary to draw for me,
but every scribbled messaged looked the same.
You said you related to Snakes and Ladders,
I guess because you like to go up and down.
You hope that I fall off and my leg shatters,
and the snakes eat me on the ground.
So go on and roll the dice, pretend to take a chance,
so go on and play nice, I know you've mastered that dance.
We don't need anyone else to play,
the two of us can share the blame.
So what do you say? Let's play another board game.
You suggested next Monopoly, your greed would help you win,
I think you just wanted to beat me, then wanted to rub it in.
I asked if you liked Risk, though strategy was never my strength,
your "no" came out very brisk, you never liked games of length.
You said you would love a round of Battleship,
I guess so you could shoot and bring me down,
watching me sink within my crypt,
right until I reached the ground.
So go on and roll the dice, pretend to take a chance,
we can play the same one twice, you'll keep your winning stance.
We can do it all your way, rules can keep things too tame,
so what do you say? Let's play another board game.
As a child your favourite game was Trouble,
but not because you're a living cliche,
you claim you liked to pop the bubble,
hoping each time it would break away.
Aug 13, 2017
Aug 13, 2017 at 10:18 AM UTC
You want to know what I love about you?
I love your beaming smile
And the way it makes
Your hazel eyes squint
And the way you kiss me like
I just got off a battleship
I love your soft cheeks
And pouty lips
I love your messy hair in my face
When your delicate head
Lays upon my chest
And the feeling of your soft skin
Pressed against mine
Your naive laughter
Bounces moonbeams through my chest
And makes your dark eyes shine
I love the way your body fits
So perfectly in my arms
Right next to mine
Like we were molded together
Long ago
Two lost pieces
That aligned in time
Like when Orion meets
Artemis in the winter sky
Far away from tear filled nights
Gasping last words
Into a phone speaker
As she says it didn't mean a thing
Like a pretty old box
Holding an abonded engagement ring
Last chance
Car crash and last breath
But every moment leading to the next
And you fall into my life like a comet
You ask what I love about you?
I'll tell you someday
To tell you now
Is like printing the words of Shakespeare
On soft cover page
Oct 20, 2015
Oct 20, 2015 at 4:52 AM UTC