"bombardments" poems
You give me your arm
and we take to the streets
A plethora of bombardments
stimulations and senses
dissatisfaction ringing in our ears
but only faintly––––
and the rush of the waves
bursting down their lanes
crashing into the cacophonies of beyond
but all oblivious
wonders of our bodies
demons of the mind
enticing and exciting all the feathers of the future
ruffled and untangled
purity in its core
smells and sights flashing
immaterial and immortal
from time immemorial
Nov 21, 2012
Nov 21, 2012 at 2:41 AM UTC
i run the bath once more
and rewind your home, too
cuddled and tucked into each other's core
eleanor
all the sweet lies about sweet love
that were said from you
eleanor
roars howling outside my apartment
wet faces reflect on its windows
you were the patch around these bombardments
whetted daggers under her pillows
eleanor
casanovas in the city
fancying themselves swing stage licenses
hung me out to dry, technically
consider the pegs and dive into silences
eleanor
may god act as he see fit
i did mine, at least...
eleanor
if you've never been in love
eleanor
Jun 20, 2017
Jun 20, 2017 at 12:38 PM UTC
yes, theology reduced to the anti-speculative reasoning
to choose he v. she, as if what pronoun mattered
to be hardly exact - national effigies exist
for ex-patriots - immigrants is a
***** word used by assimilating cultures,
the small intestines and the
the tape worms - she ******* Europe -
he labouring Europe - winged Hussars in Ukrainian mud -
while Versailles was built - Poles, the French of the East -
Moscow was trivialised twice - once by Mongol,
once by Pole - Nietzsche maddened called for
the Slavic-Frenchmen - i can already see the proximity
of French with Polonaise - the duchy of Warsaw -
Napoleon - Justepatron - just partition -
or thus the two bombardments equal -
thus two kept a holy alliance - that the Pole
be Frenchman when a croissant was questioned.
Jul 18, 2016
Jul 18, 2016 at 11:32 PM UTC
There goes my mind, snapping like an elastic lifeline
over a sea of daggers.
Waiting on words like waiting on fuses
to be no more, in hopes the explosion won't **** my so-called pride.
...Whatever is left of it.
This isn't the first time.
Knowing my luck, it won't be the last time my hope relied on the sympathies of a bomb.
And wouldn't you know that bombs are unsympathetic?
I'm wasting away here, as I have been for years.
Enduring bombardments with every day, more and more of myself blown away.
I just hope when my day comes, I'm not too damaged.
...If my day comes.
...Will it come?
My heart: already nearly gone.
My face: atrophied to deaden all emotion.
Am I worth anything anymore?
So much blasted away,
day after day,
I only recognize myself
by my scars,
the craters,
like torn earth.
May 16, 2010
May 16, 2010 at 3:05 PM UTC
how do I write about the beauty of the world
when barefoot people pass before my window
in search of shelter
how do I share my pleasure of the birds' sweet song at dawn
when I see faces etched with panic
from deafening blasts of bombs
how to rejoice in love and friendship
when meeting people who could barely save their lives
after burying their loved ones
how can I write with passion of the kindness of the human heart
when I see thousands fleeing from the ruins of their homes
only to face police walls barbed wire
true words are hard to find
as said a poet of an older war
when it is a lie to speak
a lie to keep silent
not easy
Feb 21, 2018
Feb 21, 2018 at 6:45 PM UTC
Bleeding eclipse splatters anguish, scorching frozen terrain
Reservoir transmits despair, vaporizing humid remains
Noxious fumes plague ventilation, incinerating methane mutilates
Inhumane detonations ignite smog, dismembering shrapnel decimates
Bombardments stimulate hallucinations, assailants discharge magazines
Incendiaries barrage trenches, vulnerability flourishes disease
Artilleries eject carnage, atrocious quarantine impedes retreat
Projectiles massacre infantry, heinous airstrike parries deceit
Howitzer impersonates tempest, kamikaze technique revealed
Nautical battleships converge, perilous adversaries concealed
Submarines launch torpedoes, oblivious warships sealed doom
Submersed submersibles clash, claustrophobic vessels entomb
Drowning agony crushes depths, forsaken lagoon transforms necropolis
Aquatic daemons consume decrepit, infernal torment surrenders providence
Condemned mortals cauterize compassion, genocide exterminates consciousness
Snorkeling corpses mound topside, eradicated infestation forfeited holocaust
May 11, 2017
May 11, 2017 at 8:26 PM UTC
Should we be grateful ?!
We can eat three times a day.
Meanwhile people in Gaza are starving.
Should we be grateful ?!
we can drink coffe , fruit juice and cold drinks
Meanwhile people in Gaza are thirsty.
Should we be grateful ?!
We can sleep using a warm blanket in our comfort room.
Meanwhile people in Gaza are freezing in flooded tents.
Should we be grateful ?!
We can freely use wifi.
Meanwhile people in Gaza have difficulty getting internet.
Should we be grateful ?!
We can freely use electricity.
Meanwhile people in Gaza have to charge their cellphones using solar panels.
Should we be grateful ?!
We can relax and enjoy the beauty of nature.
Meanwhile people in Gaza are trapped in dangerous chaos.
Should e be grateful ?!
We can go to any places we like.
Meanwhile people in Gaza don't know where to go.
Should we be grateful ?!
We have money to buy anything.
Meanwhile people in Gaza have difficulty getting donations.
Should we be grateful ?!
We can buy all the necessary things.
Meanwhile people in Gaza cannot buy anything because prices are increasing.
Should we be grateful ?!
Our children can play in the park and go to school.
Meanwhile children in Gaza are exhausted from queuing for water and food in the sweltering heat.
Should we be grateful ?!
Our children can sleep peacefully while having sweet dreams.
Meanwhile children in Gaza cannot sleep because of the sound of non stop bombardments.
Should we be grateful ?!
Just because our lives are still pretty normal.
Meanwhile the lives of Gazans are far below normal.
November 2024
By Alvian Eleven
Dec 9, 2024
Dec 9, 2024 at 1:29 PM UTC
Ladies and gentlemen,
Boys and girls.
The story I bring is one to tell,
With Dragons and beast from far away lands,
Witches and wombats and beast from the sands.
Golums and ghost, great goblins gone gruesome!
Mighty warlords that would survive if you nuked em!
Werewolves so powerful that they consume the night!
Don't worry, no vampires to ruin the plight!
Bombardments of beast, broken skulls, bad burdens.
A tantalizing tail if ever you've heard one!
Zombies so evil, your skin crawls with every word.
I'm not lying when I say that the fear is obsurd!
But before I give you this recital,
I ask and I beg, I need a **** title!!
Sep 26, 2015
Sep 26, 2015 at 7:42 PM UTC
Older-than-you people speak
But their words scream
Bombardments of condescension and pseudowisdom
"Things will happen and people will change"
They don't
And they don't
Ensnared by the lure of expectation
Their promise is just beyond your grasp after a billion grasps
One step away...for a trillion miles
But the potential of the now is undiscovered
Yesterday filled with regret and nostalgia
Tomorrow, well, it never comes
Nowness could be happiness
...Once the rest is gone
Isn't that what they should tell you?
And, but, can you?
Sep 26, 2012
Sep 26, 2012 at 1:54 AM UTC
This
Is
Ragnarok
The violent end of worlds you’re pagan ancestors feared
Watch as the strikes from Thor steal your comrades from you
No Valkyries to guide you
No Valhalla to welcome you
Ankle deep in mud and rats and **** you load your rifle begging the God you believe in that you won’t have to **** another man
How did you find yourself here?
An Englishman fighting Germans in France
Because a Serbian killed an Austrian in Bosnia
Or an Italian, 43 years after your country was unified
Or a Serbian, longing to free your countrymen from Austro-Hungarian oppression
Or maybe your a Russian, a Frenchman, a Turk
Hear the whistle blow
Now is your time to storm from the trenches into razor wire and the the hail of bullets
You will likely be slaughtered
Like the 40,000 French soldier during one week of the war
This is a tragedy
But this is also a holy experience
Like for T E Lawrence
Fighting for a cause he never thought he would believe in
Or Ernst Jünger
Surviving bullet after bullet
Endless bombardments
This is the heroes journey
Do not let your children’s children take away from your sacrifice
When they say you died for nothing
You believed in your nation and you believed in yourself
Do not let them take that away from you
You who returned home and were ignored if not simply forgotten
Who returned home missing limbs, missing homes, missing loved ones
You who were traumatized shell shocked
Who could not return home
Who returned to what was supposed to be home
But life went on without you
So you found those who fought with you
From your bonds you formed brotherhoods
Formed paramilitaries
But that all comes later
Right now you look death in the eyes and can’t help but laugh
Laugh to keep yourself from crying
Laugh because you have never felt more alive than in this moment and never will again
And in this moment you can’t help but cry out
AVANTI
ARDITI
Jul 28, 2019
Jul 28, 2019 at 10:14 PM UTC
It was the first time in a long time.
I had resigned myself to being locked in my fortress, alone, but safe.
Then you came.
You were a friend at first, and then you were more, and I opened my shackled doors.
Things were good. They were hard sometimes, but they were good.
You wandered my castle for a time, acquainting yourself with the parts of me you could reach. Sometimes you hurt me when you were hurting, but I didn't blame you. Because I loved you.
After more time had passed, I allowed you into my throne room.
Told you what had been lurking in my depths, the fears I felt and how the mortar of my structure was crumbling. I let you into my very core. I thought you could help.
You seemed to grow slowly hostile after I told you. My halls weren't filled with the usual warmth. Then I brought you to the throne room when my stone began crumbling and my throne began splintering, you agonized on how the splintered wood affected you, instead of giving me the support beams I needed to stay together. The wood of my legs split, and I was hurting, and I needed you most. I still bore your weight when you hurt, but my breaking, jagged wood was... Too much for you. Though before I began crumbling, you had told me you would endure anything, for you loved me.
But then you left.
My throne was broken, the stone of my castle shuddering without support; I was falling. I supported you in your loneliness, cradled you by my hearth when life was too much. But when I began crumbling, you decided my halls were not for you any longer. You would not help maintain that which sheltered you through brutal storms, that which always promised you a safe place to stay. You left.
And it hurt at first.
But then I was angry. My fire flared, knowing you told others that my crumbing bricks weren't really breaking, that I was an insult to those that truly needed help, even when you knew that the bombardments of my crisis shattered my walls, broke my throne. You would have people look at my cracked stone and jagged wood and think it a ploy for pity, even as I struggled to keep myself standing in the vicious storm that raged on.
I allow close friends to wander my halls after you left, and they help rebuild. Place mortar between the cracks of my walls, clean the cobwebs away from my corners.
I will not allow them to enter my throne room. Not yet. It will take time. I will rebuild my broken throne, my hands will bleed from the splinters, but I will prove you wrong.
I will be the King I was meant to be, I will show you how wrong you were about me.
I want you to know what treasure you left behind. What you took for granted.
My walls are fortified, my dear friends maintain it for me, and I hold them by the warmth of my hearth. I will support them as I did you, for they are grateful and help keep me standing.
Not like you.
Jan 22, 2017
Jan 22, 2017 at 11:29 AM UTC
It seems hard
But not concequential
To understand but still neglect the inner meaning
I've been meaning to look at you and understand a man
Mixed signals and arguments
Sacrasm and bombardments
Is all it gets
And I'm sure we have our differences
But I'm tired of it
Their is a void in myself
Where the desolate roam
And more seem to go
Underhanded it may seem but it seems to me
That this won't be fixed
I feel like it's the only way we communicate
My opinions spark the outrages
Now this feeling I'm gauging
Seems Amiss
There is rouble afoot
And the footstep I can't follow
Won't follow
Seems out of place
I guess even a parent is a person
And it's not the worst version
Of revaluations
Can't we relate the more in realize it's a debate
I'm trying
But im done trying
Let it repeat
Sep 12, 2015
Sep 12, 2015 at 5:30 AM UTC
Sol oh paniter of visions, curator of those under your light. Your passion is easily confused with fury and your momentary absences are known to be a time of danger and chaos
Basting the blessed and decimateing the damned,a infernal bliss.
General of the soil, those born from it follow your call under you they toil. maestro of the bloom and birds their harmonious notes in the air ,smelled and heard, from the plains to the berg but at the coast is when that celestial sovereignty ends.
Enters,a vision, Oh Luna; soft yellow dipped and dyed in the honeied hues of the horizon or a radiant alabaster, stark and chilled. cut from the heavens, apart of the city resting on that which scratches the sky but only visitors in the sights, you Nobly looking over. Teach me as you are, not as they say ,cold but ever observing seen every day.
You the Choreographer of the waves they dance by your direction, beautifully and brutishly birthing rainbows from their violate bombardments, for the birth of Brilliant ideas they have been the midwife.we lose and find ourselves in your teachings
Raising higher as you we age, as one should, on the path of the sage.
Oct 10, 2018
Oct 10, 2018 at 6:33 PM UTC
Light and deep shade dancing
As I stride the mountain pass
My fascination prancing
As appreciations bask.
There's a tui in the cherry
And a magic song he sings
As he annoints the morning air
With the joy a summer brings.
There's a vibrancy a-hovering
And a crispness to the feel
A clarity so scintillating
One might, actually, doubt it's real.
A sky, so blue to be azure,
Extends across, on high,
Cloudless with a baking sun
Impaling you and I.
These old volcanoes soar aloft
They, now quiescent, stand,
Clad thick in stands of Kamahi
And towering Rimu, grand.
Great Egmont with her snowy crown
Rears high above it all
To dominate the beautious-ness
Of slope and waterfall.
A tiny fantail flits about
And so entrances me
With aerial bombardments, flung,
In near impossibility.
The song of rivers plummeting
Down ferny glades and stone-
Causing me to laugh aloud
In serenade of home.
And sauntering through this wonderous-ness
Of magnificence in green,
This glory of New Zealand,
Is, indeed, the very best ...I've seen.
M.
Midsummer Taranaki, NZ
30 January 2021
Jan 30, 2021
Jan 30, 2021 at 6:00 PM UTC
When it comes time to celebrate Eid.
Children in Gaza do not celebrate with fireworks but with jet bombardments.
Children in Gaza do not wear new clothes but they wear shrouds stained with blood.
No laughter of joy , only silence in the morgue.
March 2025
By Alvian Eleven
Mar 30, 2025
Mar 30, 2025 at 10:53 AM UTC