"bunkered" poems
Bunkered--
that's how they are now...
my soft places once shared with you
sequestered, behind barricades of knowing.
When you sold me out, did you think I would not find out?
My spirit wails at what is lost, the wall between us...
Fire, revenge? Nay, a knife will not assail you--
I refuse to be like you.
Oct 31, 2023
Oct 31, 2023 at 4:22 PM UTC
I see you
I see through the mask you wear
I'm not fooled
So stop pretending you care
We both know
Your not who you say you are
The poison is slow
I can't believe you ever let it get this far
Stop lying to me cause i know the truth
They don't want you to speak
The demons that chase you
Let me show you the way
But, beware of the shadows that want you to stay
I can't pretend to know how you feel
So I won't but please know that I'm here
I don't want you to fall, but don't drag me down
Free yourself from this thrall
Or we'll both surely drown
Unveil your mask, break your chains
Open up your eyes
And you will soon see the enemy is bunkered
deep down inside
Tick tock tick tock
We are running out of time
The bombs about to blow
There is nowhere left to hide
Are you my friend or my foe?
I have stood by your side all these years
Exposed to your toxic radiation
Was it worth all the tears?
I'm done with this affiliation.
Aug 20, 2018
Aug 20, 2018 at 2:12 PM UTC
Yet again, I am struggling to sleep,
Yearning for my soul to keep.
Day by day pass with no remorse.
Death scouring the lands on his tireless horse.
First there was Marcos,
Then there was Kain.
Death is coming for all of us,
As morale begins to wane.
Shots are fired in hot sporadic spurts,
I duck for cover as my shoulder hurts.
Blood flows down my arm as I grasp my gun,
I close my eyes as my comrades begin to run.
I am paralyzed, planted in the bunkered earth,
My comrades carry me as they flee.
I fight with sanity, refusing to see my own worth,
As bullets fly by, in an endless torrent of maniacal glee.
The pain sears, racing through my mind.
Muscles, tissue, bone, beginning to unwind.
Concern crosses my comrade’s face,
As he looks at my pained disgrace.
Earth spews from the ground to my right,
Launching us into the thick fumed air.
I scream again as my pain rears its roaring might.
My vision fading as our bodies land on our earthen lair.
Death’s whisper then did creep,
His cold breath in did seep.
I feel no pain as I know its time,
To join my mates, out here on the Rhine.
Apr 12, 2012
Apr 12, 2012 at 5:32 PM UTC
One for the man bunkered down in the trenches
sent in by his country as a henchman.
He's laying in the mud, praying for safety,
losing less blood than what's shed daily.
In this hazy hell, a drug buzz is needed.
Morphine seeps in, easing the beaten.
And in no man's land, a man cries for mercy
but his cries are cut off by the hands of Murphy.
Early in the morning, he packs his bags.
Rucksack on his back, heading back to base camp.
There's a damper in the room, sunken like the marsh.
Friends have fallen, it's clearly marked.
And his heart aches but they can't be dead.
Nah, he sees them every time he lays down his head.
From time to time, he jolts up out of breath,
but he never felt more alive, when he was close to death.
It's not a sob story, no it's just old glory
Two for the man bunkered down by the park bench,
clutching a cup, praying for penance.
He's laying on cement, waiting for change,
and trying to stay dry from the ******* rain.
In this day and age, a drug buzz is needed.
Morphine tabs, tap in the defeated.
Lungs splitting, teeth gritting, he's wishing for mercy.
Two times the dose, he curses out Murphy.
Early in the morning he packs his bags.
Rucksack on his back, he heads back to PADs.
He grabs a tray, sits alone, and says grace
because there's no space open for the "nutcase".
Arm's race to golden gates, he dragged a debt.
He carried his country as heavy as regret.
He carries his friends, they dangle from his neck.
But the thing about memories is that you can't forget.
It's not a sob story, it's just old glory
© Matthew Harlovic
Oct 11, 2014
Oct 11, 2014 at 12:25 PM UTC
If my eyes are windows,
i'd prefer them latched shut,
not with sleep, or drunkenness,
but with the hopes of,
and i'm not being cynical,
that when i open them,
i won't be surrounded by the smog,
the **** storm, the 21st century
excuse for a culture,
provided to you by use of TMZ,
MTV, BET, any acronym,
but behind those eyes,
storm windowed, bunkered,
rests a mind that knows only doors,
to open and close as it sees fit,
allowing whatever it pleases to pass,
but not without judgement,
unlike those unruly eyes,
allowing light to shine through,
and darkness to permeate.
Dec 25, 2011
Dec 25, 2011 at 3:54 PM UTC
Ganges drying mud
Armed hungry thirsty tide
Self-Grandiose hang dead
Money-ed bunkered islands
Generations despair, lost
.
Apr 26, 2010
Apr 26, 2010 at 11:16 PM UTC
In{peace}ner
Yet again, I a(struggling)m to sleep,
Yearning for m(soul)y to keep.
Day by pa(day)ss with no remorse.
Death scouring the lands on his tire(horse)less.
There was Mar(First)cos,
There was Ka(Then)in.
De(coming)ath is for all of us,
As morale beg(wane)ins to.
Shots are fired in hot spu(sporadic)rts,
du(I)ck for cover as my shoulder hurts.
Blood flo(down)ws my arm as I grasp my gun,
I close my eyes as my comr(run)ades begin to.
I am paralyzed, planted in the ea(bunkered)rth,
My comrades car(me)ry as they flee.
I fig(sanity)ht, refusing to see my own worth,
As bullets fly by, in an endl(torrent)ess of maniacal glee.
The pain sears, racing through mi(my)nd.
Muscles, tissue, bone, to unw(beginning)ind.
Con(crosses)cern my comrade’s face,
As he looks at my pai(disgrace)ned.
Earth spews the gro(from)und to my right,
Launching us into the thick fum(air)ed.
I scream again as my pa(rears)in its roaring might.
My vis(fading)ion as my body lands on my earthen lair.
whi(Death’s)sper then did creep,
His bre(cold)ath in did seep.
I no pa(feel)in as I know its time,
To join m(mates)y, out here on the Rhine.
May 7, 2012
May 7, 2012 at 8:44 PM UTC
A restless fire burnt in her blue Aryan eyes
And she wore a pretty dress
Because she loved to be beautiful,
Even though she was by then
No more than a bird in a bunkered cage.
But the man she loved did not see:
He had other priorities, affairs of state,
Still blindly fighting a lost war.
The others in the bunker wanted to live
And prayed they might escape to the world,
Such as it was in those closing weeks;
But Eva did not care, as she knew her destiny,
Finally coming out of the shadows.
She so much wanted to be young and happy
Even when there was nothing to celebrate,
Even when their world was disintegrating
In those final doom-laden Berlin days.
Eva wanted so to dance in the Spring,
But there was nothing to dance about
And no one to dance with.
Eva had no fear of death’s sad sting
As long as she was with her beloved.
But as the dark days went by,
Inevitable hopelessness set in;
And then the very last hours came,
When all hope of victory was finally gone,
Destroyed by the roar of the conquerors’ barbarian guns
And their wild revengeful **** and pillage.
So kleine Eva finally married him, her Fuehrer,
But to what avail and for what hopeless future?
Soon they would be joined only in death,
Despised by a scornful, hating world,
Their corpses burned by devoted soldiers,
And then fought over by divided allies.
Little Eva was not very bright,
But her eyes shone brightly as she died
Happily, died for him whom she worshipped:
To her, Adolf was her friend and lover
And a shining hero, not the devil incarnate.
Dec 28, 2015
Dec 28, 2015 at 1:43 PM UTC
I guessed I could only remain alone
if the reason I was One
was altruistic
You thought I should not be alone
because the reason
(for you)
was so simplistic
I guess it was inevitable
that you touched my soul
because you truly had the gift
as a harbinger of peace
You thought I was simply
an easy touch, a gentle mark
you didn’t have to break a sweat
Just a simple, sweet release
I guess I was naïve, but not stupid
I knew things... should I run?
Should I stay?
You thought I would be intrinsic
to your ultimate power play
I guess I could have thrown an anchor
to the nearest shore and bunkered down
You thought I’d drift inside your maelstrom
and rest only when I found higher ground
I guessed there was
7 billion 650 million
4 hundred thousand
9 hundred and 25
Stars in the sky
You thought there was
7 billion 650 million
4 hundred thousand
9 hundred and 25
Reasons
to make me cry
But there was only 1…
Apr 25, 2012
Apr 25, 2012 at 7:21 AM UTC
Dinner by candlelight
underneath the stairs, down
in the bomb shelter,
dancing to love, peace, and paranoia.
An evening called quiet
resentment, where there's
canned goods and children's games,
Duck & Cover,
or if you prefer,
Heimlich Maneuver.
Then little sleepy heads
go gently into their bunkered beds.
They might not outlive
the threat, but
the plan has a half-life of a chance.
Nov 26, 2019
Nov 26, 2019 at 7:25 PM UTC
(Don't) go to war, my mother begged with wet eyes.
Your (family) country needs you. It will be your destiny (Demise.)
I took up my pack, shined my boots, shaved my head.
Two years down the line,
I'll be home
I'll be dead.
We went into the killing ground,
Got the go ahead.
Bunkered down.
Fired away.
Hit the ground.
Served the flag.
Burned it down.
And in the middle of the field, there stood a soldier
And my (his) mortar took him (me) in the shoulder,
***and I whispered
And I whispered,***
See, Mom?
I'm sorry, Mom...
I was right.
You were right.
And in the end, no matter who was right,
I came home. I Died alone.
***There's a dead soldier in the ground,
a grieving mother,
a widowed wife.***
Jan 31, 2015
Jan 31, 2015 at 10:20 PM UTC
a bunkered white house ~~
this game of russian roulette
slowly unravels
© 2017
Jul 11, 2017
Jul 11, 2017 at 2:53 PM UTC
Her love
Is a ray of sunshine
It’s piercing bright
And I’m so afraid i cover my eyes
And run from her light
It’s so strong
And even though she’s not around
I can still feel how it pulsates
Every fiber in me gravitates towards it
But she doesn’t understand
How much I am a broken man
What I don’t show
There’s no love to give
It’s all be taken by the darkness
Thats bunkered down within me
And each time I go up against it
Another piece of me is just torn apart
From my soul
To my heart
She just might be my last chance
But if I go at it once again
I might not come back
The same man
As when I went in
Apr 30, 2018
Apr 30, 2018 at 4:44 PM UTC
Sometimes I wonder
Why I bunkered down in a den full of wolves
Being the only sheep
And hoping
Their belly’s are to full of raw meat
For them to worry about devouring me
Multiple chances
I’ve had to escape
But I was never the type to flock to my own
Or crowd up like sheep
Being lead in a herd is just not me
And I always felt as if I was never welcomed
Aug 14, 2018
Aug 14, 2018 at 4:10 PM UTC
A builder of bridges
or defender of borders
An olive branch crossing
or bunkered constraint
The history of man
seems to favor the latter
The future of man
—the first option contains
(The New Room: October, 2022)
Oct 3, 2022
Oct 3, 2022 at 11:20 AM UTC
"If you want peace, be prepared for war
Which is a sure thing without any either - or.
Is there anyone open to non-violence walk
Who has that drive for a peace talk ?
War must be fought think I, with no other solution
Guns once bunkered up won't know dissolution.
Call then the soldiers, set up the cannons
Destroy the forts, bulldoze the mansions.
Let unstinted carnage reign supreme everywhere
Procure the bombs today that lay the earth threadbare.
Not a soul should survive, I issue the command,
If any peace - promoter found, send him on remand.
Should one signal out any olive branch,
Tell him peace has now no chance.
Riding with power, I shall be the omnipotent supreme
Subjugating the world to my feet is my only dream.
Thought of war fails to give me moral jitter,
War will be raged finally, with repercussions bitter.
Sanguinary will be the history now as tainted will be the scene
The seen will be unseen henceforth as the unseen will be seen.
Enough of chasing elusive peace; now bullets from drone,
Wives will wail now and mothers will groan".
Thus finished he; History testifies that a dictator had his will,
Throbbed the cruel heart saying go for the ****
The heartless soul is deaf and dead to the peace notion
You debate for; he only debates against the motion.
War is a **** thing; a butchery; no act of a sage,
Humanity must reign supreme for all the world's a stage.
It's vivid that the aforesaid was uttered by a bragging wiseacre,
For this song digs at such rulers; is, at bottom, a power caricature.
Feb 11, 2020
Feb 11, 2020 at 10:36 AM UTC
I laid down my rifle
a long time ago.
No more shouting from trenches,
no more pride in the mud.
I surrendered.
But she didn’t.
She’s still bunkered up,
hiding behind sarcasm and silence,
armed with old pain
and the ghosts of nights I didn’t cause.
So I get hit.
Over and over.
Sharp words. Cold stares.
Misfired memories that land on my chest
like shrapnel.
But I’m not backing off.
I’m crawling through barbed wire made of what-ifs
and landmines labeled “don’t go there.”
And I’m close now.
Close enough to smell the old perfume
beneath the wine and wilted willpower.
Close enough
to throw in a grenade —
not of anger,
but of love.
Pull the pin.
Say the words.
Let it explode in light
instead of fire.
Let it end this war
with something softer
than surrender.
Jul 23, 2025
Jul 23, 2025 at 4:04 PM UTC
As it has been always, the hell of war resounds
Shell shocked and timid, the brave, slow to rebound
Greater souls and greater minds, have broken in the strain
My crutches of alcohol, and drugs, flowing in my brain
Returned a damaged toy, my usefulness at an end
No longer finding joy, in loved ones, or in friends
Even as the guns died down, and all the bombs were dropped
Within the silence I have found, it was my heart, that stopped
Oct 26, 2016
Oct 26, 2016 at 9:48 AM UTC