"bombers" poems
Nobody marching toward us
Their guns making us die.
No tanks are come clanking
No bombers in the sky.
But our Congress and generals
When oil or bases seem needed;
We appear armed and threatening
Peace and love talk not heeded.
No country has attacked us
With troops and lethal artillery.
But our leaders expect us to
Go open up their arteries
And **** their women and children
And laugh while they all die
And we are expected to do this
And never think to ask why.
It’s almost like big companies
Were sad when WW2 ended
So they started attacking countries
We really should have befriended.
We let Russia have free reign
To **** and ****** and steal
Almost as if their aggression
Wasn’t really true or even real.
We looked around and made them,
Those evil old warlike excuses,
That some country threatened freedom
And we pretended they weren’t ruses.
We attacked Korea and Vietnam
We were just supposed to observe
That they were yellow people there
And think they got what they deserved.
We didn’t stop there, as Reagan took
A duly elected leader and put him in jail.
If any country did that to our country
The conservatives would howl and rail.
Then the Bushes tried their best to take
Iraq to steal their oil and punish them
And created an era of stronger hatred
And anti-American outrage and mayhem.
No foreign country has attacked America;
So, the point bears repeating once again.
We need to stop acting like bullies here
And start acting like decent statesmen
And women who have the bigger picture;
The growth of peace in our battered world
So, other countries will not take their guns
And shoot our flag when it’s unfurled.
Sep 26, 2018
Sep 26, 2018 at 4:56 PM UTC
Terrorism, ****
Car bomb, **********
She feels vulnerable,
No love to keep her warm
9/11, kidnap,
Human trafficking...
She’s been forgotten,
Left alone in the dark
Serial killers, H1N1,
Child molesters, ***
She shudders with the cold,
And Port Au Prince is flattened
Hijack, ******
Drive-by shootings...
She feels groggy,
Influenza sets in
Weapons of mass destruction,
Cuban nuclear tests...
There starts a tingle in her nose,
Her eyes pinch shut
Genocide, organs on the black market,
Xenophobia, suicide bombers...
With a bellow from her bowels,
From flaming ice the cumulus anvil that infects the world
May 23, 2014
May 23, 2014 at 5:04 AM UTC
They came for us with tanks and guns.
We stood our ground—the old and young.
All our troops had mustered round
our Capital--Sacramento town.
A New Republic, we’d declared,
and its defense,
among all would be shared.
With the Bear Flag flying high
we all came to fight and die.
Young men in their combat boots
repelled the dictator’s first wave of troops.
Civilians came from South and North
to resist the fascist ruler’s force.
From Frisco and from San Jose,
from San Diego and L.A.,
from Calistoga and Marin,
thousands had come pouring in.
Then US bombers burned the city,
for the orange Fuhrer had no pity.
They won the battle, but we all know
from history, how these things go.
An occupation cannot last
against a people whose strength holds fast.
The tyrant’s troops will tire, while we
will fight on, until we’re free.
Feb 18, 2017
Feb 18, 2017 at 11:17 PM UTC
hooray say the roses, today is blamesday
and we are red as blood.
hooray say the roses, today is Wednesday
and we bloom wher soldiers fell
and lovers too,
and the snake at the word.
hooray say the roses, darkness comes
all at once, like lights gone out,
the sun leaves dark continents
and rows of stone.
hooray say the roses, cannons and spires,
birds, bees, bombers, today is Friday
the hand holding a medal out the window,
a moth going by, half a mile an hour,
hooray hooray
hooray say the roses
we have empires on our stems,
the sun moves the mouth:
hooray hooray hooray
and that is why you like us.
6.4k
Terrorism has mushroomed
all across the world.
Greenery here is not less,
some terror must be unfurled.
I 've heard that some desi
terror outfit has taken birth.
More shadowy than shadow,
their secrets difficult to unearth.
Help is required from security
agencies of developed land.
There they lock up terrorists for
years without trial on remand.
They've trained dogs to smell
terrorists before they become one.
Our country is developing fast,
soon it will be second to none.
Full use of the cyberspace
this local foxy terror group makes.
In this virtual world whose
identity is real? whose fake?
This tricksy group makes
bombs sophisticated, smart.
It targets selected only,
suddenly before they can depart.
But few unintended ones died in blast,
must be suicide bombers, Indeed!
Terrorists don't understand political
equations, what is the need?
Now our Police catches
terrorists just minutes after the blast.
Their must be some-kind of relief
for citizens shocked, aghast.
My little brother eats my head,
wants to catch a tiger alive.
Jocularly I advised it is animal dangerous,
flesh and bone it can rive.
Instead we can catch a cat and
with continuous torture and grill
we can make it confess to be a tiger,
with third degree surely it will.
Dec 9, 2014
Dec 9, 2014 at 9:38 PM UTC
We, the people of this country, in your eyes are:
babblers, bachelors, bafflers, baiters, barkers,
beakers, beaters, brawlers, blamers, beggars,
bloaters, bloopers, bombers, boozers, blunders,
bruisers, bafflers, bluffers, burglars and burners.
That's why you feel compelled to keep your foot on our heads
keep us down, put us down, push us down
subjugate us, belittle us, berate us.
We, the people of this country, in our eyes are:
butlers, bouncers, bakers, buyers, barbers,
cake-makers, delivery-takers, cocktail-shakers,
taxi drivers, cancer survivors, employers and hirers,
music makers, entertainers, window washers, foster takers,
plasterers, carpenters, scaffolders, sparks and builders,
boxers, carers, coaches, tailors, shoe makers,
designers, illustrators, multi-language facilitators,
dog walkers, dog trainers, bikers and cycle couriers,
doctors and nurses and all the emergency services.
We are the People, the reason you are where you are now
you sometimes forget that we exist as people, somehow
locked in your ivory towers with gold plated showers
and MP expenses and investment banker pretenses
this is not theater, its real life drama, its not just a bluff
its time to stand up
and say enough is enough.
Jun 27, 2014
Jun 27, 2014 at 9:54 AM UTC
here comes the fishhead singing
here comes the baked potato in drag
here comes nothing to do all day long
here comes another night of no sleep
here comes the phone wringing the wrong tone
here comes a termite with a banjo
here comes a flagpole with blank eyes
here comes a a cat and a dog wearing nylons
here comes a machine gun saying
here comes bacon burning in the pan
here comes a voice saying something dull
here comes a newspaper stuffed with small red birds
with flat brown beaks
here comes a **** carrying a torch
a grenade
a deathly love
here comes a victory carrying
one bucket of blood
and stumbling over the berry bush
and the sheets hang out the windows
and the bombers head east west north south
get lost
get tossed like salad
as all the fish in the sea line up and form
one line
one long line
one very long thin line
the longest line you could ever imagine
and we get lost
walking past purple mountains
we walk lost
bare at last like the knife
having given
having spit it out like an unexpected olive seed
as the girl at the call service
screams over the phone:
"don't call back! you sound like a ****
5k
Bombers & bloggers
Tragedy is triumphant
Traffic gathers in a tweaked intersection divide
Wreaking of those fuming with exhaustion
Speed, cause you prefer the highway
Political in place of partial
The news carries dismay
Where is such trouble in this world you say?
Posing proposing, regulating;
Marijuana laws are changing
Complaining of taxing & weighing
Football, do you recalls, & puppy dogs,
Amber alerts & nostalgia where it hurts
Once again the news contright
Cut short cause it draaaags
Ruthless the truth is;
Everywhere you go, there the news is
You can't lose it, tied around your neck the noose is
Bed bugs It has;
Talking of spread shoots, ***** mags
This celebrity, the new 'fad', & that old hag
Throw up on the rag;
Forget it
Oct 22, 2013
Oct 22, 2013 at 2:29 AM UTC
sometimes i get
suicide bombers, rapists, killers, robbers and thieves
because their motives are visible through their actions.
but i never once in my life
bothered understanding businessmen, pastors, priests, muslims, religions, politicians,
and people whose motives in life
remain hidden
until caught red handed,
and also those people
who choose not to see the world naked for what it is.
maybe the UP activists are right
and that i shouldn't think of them as brainwashed kids or
just paid heads to do
what they do but their actions,
my thoughts and this poem
doesn't change anything.
i bet 100% of you
who are reading this would either think i'm deranged or seeking for attention.
i could go on and on writing
this **** and explain thoroughly
but the people's brain
are now wired to ex b's
hit single and yes,
mentioning that made
this a little bit funny but no.
as a ******* filipino
who should be typing this in tagalog, working overseas,
i've seen some fellow countrymen showed some pride
against their oppressors
from work but they don't get anywhere but jail.
i must've forgot,
the movie about manalo
trampled the one
about heneral luna.
see how helpless
we are in reality?
what's your photo that comes
with a bible verse got to do with others?
are you spreading
the word of God?
what does it do to you?
Sometimes I get
The New People's Army.
But I don't get Muslims
who runs businesses and the Chinese too.
Sometimes I wish
I could spread fake news
that doesn't harm others
and last but not the least,
I hope someday the world would stop not and smoke Marijuana all
at the same time
including North Korea.
I couldn't stop.
I also hope that these people,
those who has a lot of followers
use the attention properly but no, people are so ******* dumb and Salinger is right with Holden's, "People never notice anything"
and nothing's too big
if people will stop creating bigger things that'll only add up to the congestion clogging up the world.
and Allen Ginsberg is right,
we are breaking our
******* backs just to lift ******* Moloch.
**** your Mosques, your INC branches, your corporations, your religions, your borders and divisions, your trends that kills the minds of the youth.
**** your laws, about making Marijuana illegal.
**** your disguise and your intelligence.
I almost believe world cleansing is the answerbbecause the ant colonies are so much better
ruling the world.
I don't know anymore, my smartphone's ******
and I am not smarter. . .
Feb 14, 2018
Feb 14, 2018 at 10:06 PM UTC
Soldier man fights
Soldier man dies
He talks, he dies
He runs, in shame he dies
Soldier man says he needs
Better guns
Arsenal is obsolete
You ask soldier man to fight
Sorry die,
To war is to die
So let soldier man fight
Before he dies
Not to die before he fights
Better guns to fight bombers?
To call the shots in power
They say it's hard
But for soldier man to die
Is nothing but piece of cake
Soldier leaves his wife and kids
The king sends his to paris,
Ask soldier man why he fights
I do it for the love of Mother land
Tears in my eyes for you
Fear in my heart for you
Soldier man fights
Soldier man dies
Jan 18, 2015
Jan 18, 2015 at 1:00 AM UTC
-10-
Regular Albert Whisker,
FE Squadron,
born 1939,
joined up at 18.
First time away from home and loving it, sir!
-9-
One day,
I’m just minding my own
at the airbase in Stranraer
when two officers appear
out of nowhere
and they ask
they ask if I’d fancy a long weekend?
Why not? I say.
Why not?
-8-
We’re staying at the Governor Clinton Hotel,
It's in New York.
Everything laid on.
Trip to Broadway and all.
Three whole days of paradise
All on the MOD.
-7-
Oh Gor Blimey!
What a sight when we stepped off the flight
onto Christmas Island for the first time.
Crushed white coral dust.
Like nothing I’d ever seen.
-6-
Our job is mainly to just do our job
which is mainly just military driving.
Land-rovers, lorries, tankers and that.
And avoiding the island ***** -
three times a day, they'd all crawl up the beach -
but they didn’t pay us for that.
-5-
Someone showed me their diary today
and it had a letter ‘H’ under today’s date.
So I’m working on the beach
when the tannoi sounds:
“Sit down and cover your eyes.
Testing will begin in five, four…”
-4-
And there was light.
A flash right through your skin and hands.
The biggest bang I’ve ever heard.
A flash.
Through your skin and bones and hands.
The biggest bang I’ve ever heard in all my life.
-3-
Then it was over.
Nothing much changed.
-2-
Except the mushroom cloud was there for quite a time.
And the Canberra bombers, the white ones, they flew through the cloud like little spores.
-1-
Then one day they just said “You’re done”
and we queued up to fly home to England.
Saw the new ones, the ‘moonies’, getting off the plane.
Sad to leave I was, yeah.
It was a good posting.
And nice weather, never rained,
Not rain at any rate.
Then, not long after, I was sent home for good.
They said I’d caught a cancer off a someone and
for me own good
I had to be discharged.
-0-
Sad really.
It was a good posting.
Sep 21, 2011
Sep 21, 2011 at 5:00 PM UTC
Children ..
Why are the great armies of the world not rushing to the children of Syria tonight ?
Why has the world turned their backs on their plight ?
Let's try carpet bombing the cities with loaves of bread and powdered milk with all our might !
Drop canned rations from our bombers !
Feed children regardless of political persuasion !
Take the children under our wing , free their precious minds from this misery !
Lay the ********* rifles down and let the children eat every night !
Why do the armies turn their backs on them tonight ?
Jan 18, 2016
Jan 18, 2016 at 8:37 PM UTC
The Hawker Hurricane is a British fighter design from the 1930s. Some 14,000 Hurricane and Sea Hurricane fighters and fighter-bombers were built by the end of 1944。 August 1940 brought what has become the Hurricane's shining moment in history: The Battle of Britain. RAF Hurricanes accounted for more enemy aircraft kills than all other defenses combined, including all aircraft and ground defenses. Later in the war, the Hurricane served admirably in North Africa, Burma, Malta, and nearly every other theater in which the RAF participated. The Hurricane underwent many modifications during its life, resulting in many major variants, including the Mk IA, with interchangeable wings housing eight 7.7mm (0.303in) guns;the Mk IIC, with a Merlin ** engine; the Mk IID, a tankbuster with two 40mm anti-tank guns plus two 7.7mm guns. During the war, Hurricanes were sold to Egypt, Finland, India, the Irish， Persia, Turkey and the USSR Air Corps.More in http://www.rangorango.com/124-series-c-1_5.html
Aug 28, 2013
Aug 28, 2013 at 4:08 AM UTC
Tell me, Gentlemen:
while you soared higher than your fears and dreams could ever reach, into the blue crystal infinity,
did you hear the voices of angels echoing off the wings of geese migrating south for the winter?
how did it feel,
fighting for a nation that measured your worth in disheveled water fountains, mop buckets, dust rags, and potato peelings,
defending stars and stripes stained with the same molten white abhorrence smeared on ******** bombers?
did it hit you like a G force?
when you climbed into that cockpit, audaciously red, the blood rushing to your head, was it bitter hand fulls of cherries sweet?
when you returned home through back doors and alleyways to face an Uncle Sam with burning crosses in his eyes,
when you stood curbside at your own homecoming parade feeling confetti and streamers tickle the bridges of your noses,
tell me how it felt, Gentlemen.
will my brothers and sisters who fight only for tennis shoe wealth, understand the worth of those medals on your scarlet blazers?
if I listen hard enough to those jets breaking the sound barrier will I hear your story?
tell me, Gentlemen,
what was it like to fly?
infinite respects,
Curlie Fries Mcgee
Dec 15, 2012
Dec 15, 2012 at 8:06 AM UTC
my friends said last night
I should write something light
something shiny and bright
to the readers’ delight
no fights and no terror
no soldiers no war
no suicide bombers
no refugees galore
after all it’s the season
when altogether we sing
of the love that we bring
to each other
within reason
so I am doing my best
NOT to make a clean breast
of the worries that plague me
cuddle deep in my nest
only welcome the guests
who brings me good news
and carefully wipes
all bad cues from their shoes
ere they enter my house
so
to rouse our good feelings
we all listen to the chimes
of the church bells a-pealing
and to a poem that rhymes
Dec 27, 2015
Dec 27, 2015 at 4:48 PM UTC
Inside of my body
Amidst death and poison
a virus lurks
in every
puddle,
pumping
blood that flushes
my tired heart
like
the river
Styx
Amidst this
battlezone
that is my
failing being
lies
a secret, sleeping
The cells swim by
They are
rarer
now like precious gems
the factories of my
fighting body
produced like
diamonds
born amidst feverish
forges within
a toxic mine
The gems,
they call them T-cells,
are now suicide bombers
converted daily
by the
whisper of
necromancy
They call
this
hex ***
a war against
your own
treasures
Yet my T-cells
are more,
runes blazing
mystic and
glowing,
antigen sorcery
that wards against
failing
Amidst
the 300,000 +sleeper
cells
that abandoned
my cause
Insurgence
bulges with
nightmare
The cells
clamour
growing with the whispers
of past victims
now roped into the
mystic chains, the wizards
call it RNA,
that bind us
An ironic family
of ghosts
who live
in each other
"junk DNA"
My body
is no junk;
instead a treasure
- what do they say
one man's trash?
My body
an
amalgamation
30 years
magic growing
twisted
like thorny vines
that must consume
their
helpless host
My
T-cells
inception
Worlds within me
the "JUNK"
of
lovers past
becomes entangled
in archives
carved in my bones.
Amidst recipes
of a poison
I cannot trace,
I am
ironically
linked
into
a
family of
ancestors
whose cries
beat in
my still
working heart
The drum
of the long fallen
crying for justice
...My blood
Our blood.
chains enmeshing
....ghosts I
will never know
Now parts of me
that lie sleeping in
Trojan horses,
all my own.
Jul 8, 2014
Jul 8, 2014 at 6:16 AM UTC
I'm sorry for all that was said and done.
Truth be told, drunks and phones shouldn't mix, I'll attest to that.
The later stages of being drunk lead to some very interesting confessions,
***** secrets spilled to open air,
If only someone would hear this drunken fool.
Confessions of words once whispered and missed chances,
Hidden feelings, and imaginary romances.
Words I might've ate, instead I would over contemplate.
Thinking about how I could never stand a chance.
But no one wants to hear this sober fool.
The outdoor type, was you to a T, never meant for me.
I can put up a tent, start a fire and that's about it.
I thought it was great, a small bit of your attention was all it took,
to teach me something not in a book.
But who's listening to this lying fool.
A bombers moon and the stars, I'd pick them over nights at bars,
Even if it were just to reminisce about a night we shared.
Hours walking to clear my head,
Of things that your friend twice said.
Yes, this confession of a regretful fool.
I'm sorry for all that was said and done,
For not saying at the time, but I've missed my chance,
I would bet on that with my last dime.
But I had to say, and I've got to know,
Did you maybe want to grab a coffee to go?
Jul 24, 2018
Jul 24, 2018 at 3:27 AM UTC
Do you remember me?
Do you know who I am?
You don't remember these soft drown eyes
Staring into the vacant depths
Of your glazed over eyes
Donut wholes on your sunk in face
Mother, I'm that 13 month old baby
You abandoned and never looked back on
I'm the nuisance in the back of your head
Wishing you would wake up and feed me
Change my soiled diapers
The way you should change your habits
Mother, pleas I'm begging
I'm crying tears of snowflake shadows
I need you yet you're not there
You're two inches from my face
Crashing into couch cushions
Like suicide bombers
Needle stil stuck in your arm
Filling your veins with a substance
That prevented you from loving me
Hello...mother
Do you remember me?
Do you know who I am now?
I wanted you to love me
Tell me bedtime stories
Keep the nightlight on
Long enough for me to fall asleep
Unafraid of what the shadows hold
Tuck me in and kiss me goodnight
Like the moon itself
Every night to the rest of the world
I want to be your world
Drenched in your loving moonlight
But no, the drugs you overdosed on
Prevented you from doing just that
And you still haven't learned your lesson
You called me several times
Telling me you love me
That you're sorry for leaving
But within the 5 minutes
It took you to choke your tongue
To say even one of those words
You sail away on that kite
Crash immediately into my heart
Causing missile words to bombard my walls
Calling me worthless, pathetic, and a waste
Hello...mother
Please remember me!
Please remember who I am!
I'm the baby you refused to hold at birth
I'm the last child of four
You wish you would have aborted
1 month prior to my concieving
Hello...mother
The late night hours of needles and pills
Powdery white lines cut like a chef
Must have erased me from your life
And if I could bleed every drop of your blood out
I'd carve canyons in my wrist
Let loose the dams
Drown in the wake
I don't want to be your son
I want to be the child of four you never had
Hello...
Forgive me for this
I know you don't remember me
I know you don't know who I am
But I hate you
I can only thank you for making me a poet
Giving me this curse
Because I'm no longer your puppet
Or your voodoo doll
With 12 needles in his chest
I'm the kid you will never know
So this greeting shall be as strangers
You never cared to know me
So this farewell shall be as strangers
Goodbye...
...Mother
Jul 8, 2013
Jul 8, 2013 at 9:26 PM UTC
*England 1942
The war was endless she thought it would be over in six weeks when it was declared.
now three years later she found herself in this airfield crowded with young fighter pilots flying Spitfires and the bomber crews flying the stalwart Lancaster bombers.
She was twenty eight now getting to that age of being called a spinster of the parish. The young airmen were interested in her but really only for one thing.
She worked in the photography department of the RAF and developed pictures taken by the recon airmen of France and Germany and Holland .
Recently an American had joined her in the darkroom.
He was a big man and had a crooked smile and big hands he lay on the belly of the bomber plane taking pictures he laughed and said he never fired a gun in his life.
And that he had no beef with Germans he just fired his camera at them.
He liked to develop his own pictures and they worked alongside each other in the darkroom all though the war.
She got used to his crooked smile and big hands. He got used to her being there.
The war finally ended and he went back to the States. Where he opened a small photography store and built a darkroom with his own hands.
When it was finished he returned to England on a ***** steamer to save money. He knocked on the ladies door that had worked with him in the darkroom.
She answered and he asked her for her hand in marraige.
She accepted his proposal and they sailed back to new York.
When she explored the photography shop she found the darkroom.
On it was pinned a note in his nice neat handwriting.
It said I fell in love with you in the dark my love.
But I want you spend the rest of of your life following the light with me.
She was to be my grandma and he was my grandfather.
My father was born a year later
he had a crooked smile and big hands with a love of photography.
His specaility light and shadow.
I was born much later and did not share the family love of photography and was let off by God with only a crooked smile no big hands.
Instead I used to get into trouble at school for writing poems in the margins of my exercise books.
Grandma passed away a little while ago
i was given the task of clearing her personal items from the house.
In her memory box I found the note
in Grandfathers hand that he pinned on the door
of his darkroom so long ago.
It moved me to write this story.
So Go follow the light Grandma
Look for a big man
with a crooked smile and big hands
Hes waiting for you.*
Jul 2, 2016
Jul 2, 2016 at 4:51 PM UTC
How many massacres must we endure?
How does killing others, changes procure?
How many suicide bombers are being born?
Do their consciences ever leave them torn?
How many terrorist sympathizers we call friend?
Hardliners preaching terror is the new trend?
When next must innocent blood be spilled?
Inhumanity to man by man whose heart is hate filled?
When does the nightmares finally end?
Is peace and harmony around the next bend?
© Perveiz Ali
Mar 28, 2016
Mar 28, 2016 at 6:21 AM UTC
Mad politicians threaten nuclear war
While madder religious maniacs
Send suicide bombers to **** and destroy.
Bombers brainwashed into believing
That vestal virgins await them in heaven.
Children starve
While adults fight
For bits of land.
A world divided.
Plagued by hate and distrust.
Governments killing their own people
Except when tied by nameless bureaucrats.
Forests and wildlife being cleared away
For the sake of gold or drugs
Or other means of making Money.
It’s a mad, mad world.
In which everyone is born to die.
What use is that?
Perhaps already we are living in
Hell.
Just Saying.
Paul Butters
(C) PB 1\5\2017. 2 new lines added 8\5\17.
May 1, 2017
May 1, 2017 at 9:02 AM UTC
dismay is felt when opening the newspaper
to read Athena's astral charts
on many occasions her predictions are well out
which tend to make the readers doubt
to-day she stated that all Geminis
were in for an adventure
but she failed to also mention
the possibility of a misadventure
Taurus individuals supposedly
are going to win a truck load of cash
they'll be disappointed
should they not collect a stash
she said all Virgos
would be bidding their time
but how would she know
as few of them can march to a rhyme
this pronouncement she had written large
which told of a Capricorn who'd fly to Mars
yet this person hasn't got a rocket
which can propel him to Mars
here was one that reeled me in
she spoke of a Pisces eating a dog
her info was well out of kilter
we all know that all fishes prefer a frog
Athena was glowing in her outlook
for those Cancer folk saying they'd find a bloke
though none of them are in the market
for finding a bloke
she put in a good line for Scorpios
to be careful whilst using the hose
as they might get the nozzle
stuck to their nose
Libras were given an Athena heads up
not to take their dreams too far
why would she say that
when we all know that a Libra dreamer always makes par
she stated that Sagittarius ladies
needed to buy a spring party dress
though they've all got wardrobes
full of lovely floral brightness
what do you think of her
Leo chart for November and December
during these months
will they have a holiday to remember
she made mention of Aquarius souls
by way of Rock and Roll
few of those sixties baby bombers
have the legs to now Rock and Roll
finally her is what she telegraphed
for our Aries cousins in Perth
they'd all be reborn on planet Earth
yet none are seeking a rebirth
Athena's predictive Astrology page
is one we'll all need to thoroughly gauge
Sep 19, 2014
Sep 19, 2014 at 10:54 PM UTC
**
Who notices prepositions
unless they dangle
like earrings
begging the spotlight.
They act
like auditioning extras
or photo-bombers.
Of the people, for the people, by the people,
what does that even mean
when we, the people
are simply people
trying out humanity.
My nephew goes blah blah blah,
which is cute and could
mean anything when
spoken randomly _ an 18-month old,
like prepositions
_ the people:
_ God, we trust.
**
May 27, 2016
May 27, 2016 at 3:51 AM UTC
The *** Gardeners there were twelve in all. Hurrah! Hurrah!
everyone a Hero and answered the call. Hurrah! Celagh!
they were going out to war to fight the ***
soon be back as Heroes when the work is done
so get the Cheer Leaders ready...
the *** Gardeners are coming home
poison gas threatened from afar. Hurrah! Hurrah!
Soon be back as Heroes and first at the bar. Hurrah! Celagh!
they climbed over the top of the fields of fire
and complex networks of barbed wire
so get the fireworks ready
the *** Gardeners are coming home
deadlocked enemies on the Western line. Hurrah! Hurrah!
their bodies were earth their hands were slime. Hurrah! Celagh!
they didn't have time to take a breath
out of duty to the King they laughed at death
so get the flagpoles ready
the *** Gardeners are coming home
specialist bombers of an infantry platoon. Hurrah! Hurrah!
our Heroes longed to be home so soon. Hurrah! Celagh!
overhead shellfire scared them out their wits
dropped in their trench and blew them all to bits
so get the coffins ready...
the *** Gardeners are coming home.
Nov 8, 2018
Nov 8, 2018 at 12:41 PM UTC
Life, will take your hands and break every tendon in your fingers
Life, will rip your fingernails off like the 12th ticket in Stop&Shop;'s deli counter line
the cold, dead selects you purchase by the ounce for weekly lunches remind us all
of the patience we practice each day
Patiently waiting in line patiently waiting to buy
He's waiting for her to text back and she is waiting for her heart to attack
She's been hearing the war for years now, gunshot reminders and grenade bombers explode through her bloodstream to haunt any destiny of peace
We want you to be Okay
everyone wants some semblence of comfort but there are needles in my eardrums
the music isn't piercing me anymore
I miss notes and sailboats streaming into me
I know where they are but my fingers are limp
Life will numb your fingers
so when your mother buys you gloves and hats on your birthday
muster the golden mustard stained napkin in your heart and wipe the selfish tears
A piano is unrealistic, that opportunity passed years ago
Be thankful for the very light reflecting off of the silverware, remember
Life will never be simple or fair
you will always be here but wish you are there
Sometimes you will feel like nobody cares
and that's alright
nobody has to care
except for the gremlins that live inside my hair
Dec 8, 2013
Dec 8, 2013 at 10:40 PM UTC