Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Matthew Harlovic Oct 2014
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 god-**** 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
This is a hip hop song that I wrote and soon will be releasing on soundcloud.com/outtatune-1 You could argue that hip hop isn't poetry or you can read the story I wrote. For clarification, this story is about two different lives of the same man. The first, is of his time on the frontline. The second, is his time as a homeless Vietnam war veteran.
eleanor prince Oct 2023
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.
Eyithen Aug 2018
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.
A toxic friendship
- K T P - Apr 2012
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.
DJ Thomas Apr 2010
Ganges drying mud
Armed hungry thirsty tide
Self-Grandiose hang dead
Money-ed bunkered islands
Generations despair, lost


.
copyright©DJThomas@inbox.com 2010

Inspired by my poem 'BORN SCREAMING...' which succinctly weaved a complex story around 1950’s baby boom survivors. It’s pace, detail and depth coming from the listing parallel structures, alliteration and then the patterning in the three linked adjectives (e.g. armed-hungry-thirsty) in the last lines of the final two stanzas.
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.
Pains.
- K T P - May 2012
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.
In(Peace)ner was written to show a more post modernistic approach to the poetic verse, by adding the adjective of a word into the word itself, or the noun embedded within the verb.  Hope you like it!
Dorothy A Nov 2010
She married him just to get out of the house. He, in turn, was a great rescuer of helpless cases, and she was a damsel in distress. They were both so young. She was barely eighteen and he was almost twenty. It was the Spring of 1968, and none of her friends thought it would last. Those were the days of free love, and all her friends did not expect her to stay tied down for long. After all, she was young and did not experience that much in life.

At first, everything went smoothly. They both tried their best to be a good marriage partner, but their parents weren't good models. Their marriages seemed to be lifeless and void of love. So they  had to learn on their own, by their own, day-to-day experience.  

Soon she became bored with him, and he distanced himself away from her. He tinkered away at his workshop in the basement, bunkered down in his own domain while she found her haven in the kitchen. She quickly became love-starved, reading cheap romance novels to fill up the void.

She became relieved when she was pregnant with her first child, so she would not be alone anymore. Yet the birth of her son did not make life any easier, and it only added fricton to the distant couple. Another child, a daughter came only one year later. Instead of feeling closer to her husband, she only grew more weary of him, and he of her. All of her efforts was put into her children to attempt make her life happy. It did not work all that well for her, and she struggled with depression often. Yet she hid it, putting her best face forward in the midst of her desperation to convince her friends and family that she was fine.

They were both very surprised that the third child came around four years later, another girl, for he barely touched her. They had been existing like two roomates instead of a husband and wife.

It was nearly inevitable that he would stray from her. When she became more and more suspicious, she confronted him and he told her the truth. He did not love her anymore, and he was happier in the arms of another. She cried to her friends, and they all told her to divorce him. Even though she had few working skills, she was better off without him. She cried even harder, for she had to admit that she strayed, too, and she believed she may have been the first to do so.

She caught another man's eye, and she could not understand why a mother of three would be so appealing. Now she felt truly ugly, that her marriage was a lie, and there was no way back, but to be out of it. Most of all,  she felt that she wronged her children, and her illusion of a perfect family shattered before her eyes.

Her husband packed up his bags, but even he had tears in his eyes. He never meant it to be this way. What happened to the time when he could not keep his eyes off of her? He knew his children were counting on him, and he vowed he would always see they had what they needed--the basics like shelter, clothing and food. But they weren't going to have him, not like they once had. He felt like he let down everyone who counted on him, and it was a heavy load to bear.

So he went away, but neither of them could sleep at night. The other side of the bed seemed emptier than ever. The woman he thought he now loved was not going to make him any happier than he was before.

He now discoverd that he was just as much in his soon-to-be ex-wife's life as  he was while they were together, doing repairs on the house, paying bills, visiting the children. So why couldn't they give it another shot? They just didn't know how to revive the mess they were in, but both admitted they were willing to do do. She did not want him to rescue her, like she before, for it never worked in the first place.

They made several trips to their church pastor for counseling. Each one had to forgive the other, and not harbor any hard feelings, in order to begin the process of getting back together. It had been nine years since they first married, and they weren't that young, naive couple anymore. Life had matured them, often the hard way,and they were ready to try again.

Even though all her old friends thought she would never make it, she had learned to love her husband like she could never do before. He had learned to be there for her, and not distance himself. They could have stayed together for the children's sake, but nothing would have been any better unless they changed.  They both knew they did not want a marriage of convenience, or in name only.

Life was certainly never going to be without troubles, but they had remained together, weathering every trial. And they never regretted that they chose to stay together.
Helen Apr 2012
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…
an oldie... :) but all the same... it's amazing how history can repeat itself....
Edna Sweetlove Dec 2015
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.
Carlo C Gomez Nov 2019
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.
Steele Feb 2015
(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.
GR Jul 2017
a bunkered white house ~~
this game of russian roulette
slowly unravels

© 2017
devante moore Apr 2018
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
Kurt Philip Behm Oct 2022
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)
devante moore Aug 2018
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
Rohit Chatrath Feb 2020
"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.
This self composed poem, crafted in couplets, is an overt criticism of war and war loving autocrats around the world. In a nutshell, the anti-war piece portrays satiric caricature of a reckless war - promoting dictator ; not an individual but a type; a self - righteous dictator who falsely believes unsolicited war to be the only solution for peace.
Sean Hunt Sep 2017
When life is hellish
you may be suffering from
the selfish fetish
forgetting everyone else
hopelessly in love with your self
shying away from the borderline
thinking of ‘me’
thinking of ‘mine’
whining the existential whine
bunkered down behind the line
that nobody drew
not even you
myopically mistaken
asleep
and oh so far from awake
Kendra Gatz Apr 2020
I’ll forever be alone
Trapped in the cruel prison of my mind
Where every thought is solely mine
Or so I believe to be true

Even when I’m lost in oblivion with you
My socks are wet and cold
From the puddles that surround me
Yet there is a bliss
Maybe it’s the hypothermia kicking in
But I’m finally happy

The little specks in the world
Mean so much to me
For what is the world without tiny specks?
Hold me close
Whatever happens next
Promise me you won’t forget

You will never think the way I think
And I will never understand the way you think
To a degree, none of us are the same
We’ll never be the same
You’ll never understand me
Hell, I don’t even understand myself
For if I saw a carbon copy of myself I’d probably scream

If you were to unravel my mind you’d see a fading beauty,
With its edges tainted by charcoal
Consumed by the fire
Not everything could be preserved
Vanished like the great works of Alexandria
  
As your mind wanders into the vast forest of life
Will you remember me as you are shivering in the shadows?
As you bathe in the sunlight surrounded by wildflowers?
As you’re hiding in a cave in what feels like your final hours?
As you are at the top the largest tree looking down,
King of the World?
As you take another to embrace?
With your hands upon her waist?
Will you remember my face?
The blackberries, how bittersweet they taste?

Love is priceless, but nothing is free
So what is really the cost?

We bunkered up in a birdhouse
But winter has passed
And we have to move on
For we were already consumed by the frost
So here I say farewell
Please embrace me once more as I crumble
In the ice, our love will be preserved until the end of time
And I'll forever remember when I had your heart
And you had mine
I will be consumed by what it could’ve been
But deep down, we both know here it must end

April Showers
Bring May flowers
But April is awfully long
LibertyHX1511 Dec 2020
Stand so fast
vivid motion
rapidly bunkered by your vision
two strikes
become into four fires

Astonishing how they wish for
a capsulated moment
frozen and caught between your lips
which will give them
pleasure and riddle

I need an answer
away from all of this
a substancial elixir
made in the deepest bayou
the one I keep recurring
cause you are something else
placed above all stars

Look at the power inside your eyes
what are you trying to hide
just feel the stream transversing
a train rushing to collide
like those dreams
soon reachable and sour

In precisely tender ignite
you reveal a truth indeed
within grasps of time
the slumber of hope has awaken
rising seas from forbidden grounds

— The End —