"cavalry" poems
He came to Jerusalem mounted on a donkey
People went out to meet him,
Waving the palm branches they bring
And hailed him as their king.
Yet, people don’t know the sorrow
The coming week would bring
Soon, Glad acclaimed will give away,
To jeers and mockery.
In God’s redemption plan,
He’d be condemn to a cross on cavalry
But he knew that he was a sacrificial lamb
To die for the sins of man in misery.
Today is the day when Jesus will passed
Give praise to son of God,
Shout the benediction of his name
From the sky and to the sod;
Hosanna to the Highest!
Apr 12, 2014
Apr 12, 2014 at 8:06 PM UTC
What can I read her
What can I read her
on a Sunday Morning
What can I do that will
somehow reach her
on a Sunday Morning
I’ll read her the news of
The Indian Wars
Full of criss-cavalry, blood
& gore
Stories to tame & charm
& more
On a Sunday Morning
~~~
Some wild fires
Searchout
a dry quiet kiss on leaving
~~~
Like our ancestors
The Indians
We share a fear of ***
excessive lamentation for the dead
& an abiding interest in dreams & visions
12.3k
The one I love's no Achilles
No massive strength or bravery,
No leader of the cavalry,
yet he leaves me searching, endlessly
for a single drop of nepenthe
to cure my heart of this disease
called love.
I am no Aphrodite.
But still I hope that he can see
The good I know's inside of me.
And then maybe he and I can be
A flawed Megara and Hercules
And somehow thrive, terminally,
in love.
Jul 29, 2015
Jul 29, 2015 at 1:21 PM UTC
The battlefield was here, where these cattle graze
The cavalry and Comanche fought the better part of a day
Guns against arrows, savages against the savagery, they were out-drawn
Braves against the bullets, so helpless their plight
Defending their land and families
Maybe they were right
Now, it’s just a valley
The way it was back then
The day before that massacre of forty honest Indians
This is their memorial
This bright day above
A view that lasts for miles
The many trees and shrubs
And the wild flowers
That grow between the rocks
Their maidens wore them in their braids
Before their loves were lost.
Mar 26, 2017
Mar 26, 2017 at 6:11 PM UTC
The pockets of our greatcoats full of barley...
No kitchens on the run, no striking camp...
We moved quick and sudden in our own country.
The priest lay behind ditches with the *****
A people hardly marching... on the hike...
We found new tactics happening each day:
We'd cut through reins and rider with the pike
And stampede cattle into infantry,
Then retreat through hedges where cavalry must be thrown.
Until... on Vinegar Hill... the final conclave.
Terraced thousands died, shaking scythes at cannon.
The hillside blushed, soaked in our broken wave.
They buried us without shroud or coffin
And in August... the barley grew up out of our grave.
5.9k
Behind the eight ball
she sits.
Resigned.
From her pimp's
leash,
she's lead.
Deadweight, she feels
his ways and ills,
like cattle, that's branded.
Best she hustles,
or be backhanded.
Once molded,
she learns to light up
Big Daddy's cigar
and bring him his pie loaded.
More cabbage to fill his gold baggage.
Sometimes he spares a small leaf for her.
Though times she short, his fist takes sport.
And every night
she plays for the band
of her john's,
singing their song,
while a thousand ****** of light
inches along all wrong.
The nameless, faceless and most relentless
getting their fill.
A flower in her wails loves not fear.
However, Big Daddy's eyes are always near.
She knows better than to run
past the pasture gates
onto verdant fields,
free as a bird,
without a home, money or vocation
and ever so fearful of Big Daddy's gun.
A flower in her wails loves not fears.
As she remembers those first tears.
A Big Daddy's indoctrination.
It started off on social media,
a whim
a fantasy went wrong.
Three nights her body violated,
Big Daddy's cavalry,
descending on her picnic,
wax and whips,
a thousand ****** of might,
and the scream of the night.
Coldcocked.
Say hello to the new girl on the block.
A flower in her wails loves not fears.
Her youth robbed as the days morph into years.
Like a blur.
The guise, the lure, the drugs, the fear.
The trap.
Eighteen young became twenty-four old.
A lost puppy to her folks back home.
And every lost night
she struts her Prada dress a little higher
Big Daddy has a buyer.
Logan Robertson
7/27/2018
Jul 27, 2018
Jul 27, 2018 at 6:32 AM UTC
Guarded within the old red wall's embrace,
Marshalled like soldiers in gay company,
The tulips stand arrayed. Here infantry
Wheels out into the sunlight. What bold grace
Sets off their tunics, white with crimson lace!
Here are platoons of gold-frocked cavalry,
With scarlet sabres tossing in the eye
Of purple batteries, every gun in place.
Forward they come, with flaunting colours spread,
With torches burning, stepping out in time
To some quick, unheard march. Our ears are dead,
We cannot catch the tune. In pantomime
Parades that army. With our utmost powers
We hear the wind stream through a bed of flowers.
4.7k
The deeps of darkness have been raised
As if their being was kindled.
The warm night of peace is at an end.
The devil is he that rages unchecked this night, and there are none to withstand him.
The shield wall breaks, the cavalry routed, and the meanest defence stands alone.
What shall become of these men?
Death surely, for the miracles of poetry give lie to no truth. The curses of old are set in concrete.
Death has gained his presence here. He smells victory. For the living in their mundanity see only their existence.
This existence that means nothing in the tomes of the greater good.
There is no life, only sorrow.
There is no victory, only decimation.
Only the naive think thus.
Victory is not that of arms and steel.
Nor of land or gold or tales of which bards sing
Victory is in the fight that was fought.
For they that wage the good war, and fight the good fight, all is victory.
Defeat is beyond question. Life is not of consequence.
The act alone reigns supreme.
This isn't joy. This isn't glory.
For victory chooses not the last man to stand, but the last to fall in defiance. Victory belongs to the departed. The victorious dead.
And such as it is. It shall end now.
And it's end alone worthy of song .
For all who bear witness to it.
We die, we do not flee.
Mar 23, 2016
Mar 23, 2016 at 2:32 AM UTC
Oh, black and white bumble-bee
I heard that you came for me.
Since then, I've been running away.
Your awkward skin coloring
and dotted-line poetry
is surely a sight to amaze.
But, I've got no infantry,
so I called my cavalry.
I'm sure that you'll battle for days.
Oh, black and white bumble-bee
I heard that you came for me.
Since then, I've been running away.
Your awkward skin coloring
and dotted-line poetry
is nothing I'll see on this day.
Jul 20, 2010
Jul 20, 2010 at 1:27 AM UTC
[Verse 1]
Baby, I’ve got a bad wander lust
Probably cuz I’m trying to get a head rush
The white ponies come to tie me down
But they don’t know I want them now
I’m covered in my own desire
And that reminder won’t make me cower
I’m hungry for the flash of white
For numbness in the cold of night
[Chorus]
Baby, it’s that wonder dust
Got me aching to get a head rush
I know they are coming to get me
Coming to get me, the ******* cavalry
I know pain comes when they are gone
I know it’s wrong, but it has been too long
I’ve got my arms spread open wide
For them to come and jump inside
They’re coming to get me
Coming to get me
The ******* Cavalry
[Verse 2]
I know what they want, and I can’t wait
Their bittersweet tang I long to taste
They will be here when I die
But at least I will be riding high
The cavalry won’t stop until
My nose is packed, my brain is filled
I can’t wait until that last day
When all the pain has gone away
[Verse 3]
I know you don’t see me like this
But it would be my dying wish
For my mind to fly upon white doves
And reach the place so far above
My face will never feel the pain
For the cavalry will have done its thing
They medicated all my soul
And now I’ll never feel the cold
Jan 13, 2011
Jan 13, 2011 at 8:39 AM UTC
you kidding me, right?
nachos? tacos? tortilla wraps?
guacamole molé molé?
sombrero(s)...
the revised eastern european
moustache?
tequila!
that's it?
well... not if you consider
the second tier of soy boys -
the ones that drink that...
budscheiss that's
"der könig aus bier"...
one word... no... actually two:
CER-VE(H)-ZA(H) -
probably the spanish word,
that sounds better than all
the other spanish words...
what did mexíxíxíxíco give
us?
the orthodox script
of a german beer:
yeast, hops, barley, malt,
water... fizz: boom!
a fine summer's day...
mexíxíxíxíco beer?
MALTED, BARLEY...
don't ask me how the genius
figured out a smoothness
so subtle,
that you actually had to shove
a lime wedge into the neck
of the bottle...
or, as i did - buying an almost litre
sized bottle,
and a lime -
looking at this ***** goliath
at the checkout thinking:
david?
am i david?
did we really enslave such people?
david, meet goliath...
goliath wanders off like some
happy ****** giggling and brings
another strawberry milkshake
to the checkout...
so the west, enslaved these
nearing 7ft Baobabs?
king david's audacity,
nothing more...
so i buy the CO(H)-RHO-NA(H),
and a lime (30 pence a piece)...
**** no knife...
guess teeth will have to do...
shove a whole lime in bits and bites
and walk on...
seriously?
guacamole molé molé?
that's the best you can do?
drinking a beer with lime...
compared to the h'american
budscheiss?
who... apart from the japanese...
extracts alcohol...
from: ******* rice!
malted, barley...
whoever that sergio
sanchez was...
hats off to him...
sometimes it's just nice...
to take a break from the heavy cavalry,
orthodoxy brew of german
beers...
americans?
know jackshit about brewing
a decent beer...
mexicans?
they put a lime in it!
**** you have to drink it!
Jul 24, 2018
Jul 24, 2018 at 6:44 PM UTC
It is a quickened erosion of the spirit
culminated in bad habits
a crisscrossing lattice
over and under like a ferret
Its too small and quick to fight
this parrot is breaching thoughts with its well versed screech
Luring the cavalry into its cancerous reach
Benighted by several regiments of blight
Enticed by visions of a name spelled in the constellations
Do not forget you are a child of the stars
The strength within you contains quasars
A single mind, your mind, has the ability to illuminate a nation.
Jan 10, 2013
Jan 10, 2013 at 10:29 AM UTC
I'm In Survival mode
Survival mode,
Trying to thrive in a world
Where many men struggle to live
The Coldness is unforgiven,
Fridgit and Focused
I'm in survival mode
Sometimes your only option is to be strong look around if there's no cavalry for you in your current perdicliment it's time to tap into survival mode, to Muster up strength to take the blows of life Wicked hands, durability in many circumstance here I stand a man on mission, this can't beat me This can't be how I end, I have too much dignity to be broken down so easily,
Built from material of life lessons not a weaken man my mindframe beefeed up, swallow my blood before let go my pride I'm unfraid to die I'm in the grind for mine I'll be fine, beliefs embodied by courage of path pavements trails of effort I'm a hungry beast prowling for Legacy to feast
Entering into my Predator mode a state where easy success chances are slim no room to pity in defeat, no matter how disappointed, frustrated, exhausted, I may be if I'm still able to breath and hold my own I Gotta keep fighting I have to tough through it ignore the fact I'm Hurting what I want out of life is worth it, my faith in GOD even when things ain't perfect patient for a victory that's well desrevant, that if I shall fail then I parish on my own terms facing these harsh conditions
I'm In Survival mode
Survival mode,
Trying to thrive in a world
Where many men struggle to live
The Coldness is unforgiven,
Fridgit and Focused
I'm in survival mode
© Copyright Reserved 2019 by ED RJ.
Sep 25, 2019
Sep 25, 2019 at 3:56 AM UTC
Boudicca, long hair tangled and bunched; fiery flame red hair.
Warrior queen of the Iceni, daughter of these isles of tin.
Defender of freedom, leader of men, slayer of legions.
Through the mist the Britons, Celtic in origin; saw the legions.
Row upon row of tightly packed troops, shields locked together!
Flanked on either side by cavalry. Above the silence orders could
Be heard echoing across the field, the leather harness’s creaked
Metal chinking, horses stomping and snorting, in the stillness.
Through the mist came the first rays of sunlight glinting on sharpened
Swords and spearheads; horns began to blow as the steady
Stomp of the legions moved forward in formation.
Boudicca’s eyes peered out from a face of blue woe. Bow strings
In turn began to creak death, as archers pulled back on their bows.
A slow chant from the Iceni, slow at first, began to build into a crescendo
Of noise, as the boom, boom of sword and axe rapped against wood shields.
Boudicca flame haired warrior queen stood proud and fearless on her chariot;
Daughters on each side of her, defiant against Gaius Suetonius Pauline’s
And the might of Rome.
Oh what a sight it must have been!
Feb 3, 2015
Feb 3, 2015 at 10:51 AM UTC
126
To fight aloud, is very brave—
But gallanter, I know
Who charge within the *****
The Cavalry of Woe—
Who win, and nations do not see—
Who fall—and none observe—
Whose dying eyes, no Country
Regards with patriot love—
We trust, in plumed procession
For such, the Angels go—
Rank after Rank, with even feet—
And Uniforms of Snow.
2.6k
THE BOXING DAY SALES
WHAT CAN I SAY ABOUT THE BOXING DAY SALES
WELL, THE MALL IS OFTEN A PLACE FOR PEOPLE TO
DO THEIR STUFF, BUT BOXING DAY EVERYONE
IS PUSHING OVER EACH OTHER
THERE IS NOTHING WRONG WITH GOING TO THE MALL ON BOXING DAY
BUT BE PREPARED, IT’S LIKE ALL HELL BROKE LOOSE
YA SEE, PEOPLE BUY THINFS THEY NEVER USE
AND THE MOTHERS BUY KIDS LUNCH, NEVER GETS EATEN
KIDS RUNNING AROUND, SAYING YEAH WE AIN’T AT SCHOOL
LET’S CELEBRATE LET’S CELEBRATE
YOU SEE BOXING DAY IS THE FRANTIC DAY
IF YOU LIKE THE REGULAR DAYS AT THE MALL
NEVER GO ON BOXING DAY
CAUSE, THEY CALL IT BOXING DAY
CAUSE PEOPLE AT THE MALL BOX YOU OUT OF THE WAY
TO EXCHANGE THE TACKY COAT YOUR MOTHER BOUGHT YOU
TO A STYLISH RED LEATHER COAT, LOOKS BETTER AND COSTS THE FUCKEN EARTH
YA SEE IN MELBOURNE, THE BOXING DAY TEST, WITH AUSTRALIA AGAINST THE REST
AND THEN IN SYDNEY, IS THE SYDNEY - HOBART YACHT RACE, AND THAT IS RAD
AND OFTEN PEOPLE ARE CAMPED OUTSIDE SHOPPING CENTRES
TO GET FIRST GRASP AT THE BOXING DAY SALES
WITH ME, I SHOP FOR THE MOMENT, SOM I DON’T GET DISSAPOINTED
I DON’T NEED TO FALL ASLEEP OUTSIDE WESTFIELD BELCONNEN MALL
I AM USING PANADOL CAUSE ATHENA’S METHANE IS POUNDING
BUT THAT IS PREVIOUS LIFE TRAUMA, YA SEE THE PARACETAMOL IS REALLY GETTING IN
AND I CAN FEEL, WITH THE COCA COLA, AND REGULAR BRUSHING
THERE WILL BE ON INFECTION IN MY MOUTH, I DON’T WANT THAT
I PUT MY VIDEOS ON SOCIAL MEDIA TO ATTRACT A COOLER KIND OF PERSON
YA SEE, I DON’T NEED THE FIRST THINGS IN THE BOXING DAY SALES
I GET WHAT I WANT OUT OF LIFE, I REMEMBER A SONG
THE FESTIVAL OF SYDNEY IS OUR DAY, SYDNEY SYDNEY SYDNEY OI OI OI
I HAVE MY HOME NOW, SO I DON’T NEED TO HANG AT THE MALL AS MUCH
BUT CURRENTLY I AM DOING A TAPESTRY ON PATRICK DUNBARS LITTLE LEAGUE BASEBALL
I FEEL COOL, I FEEL ON TOP OF THE WORLD, LOOKING, OVER CREATION, LOOKING
THE ONLY SOLUTION I CAN FIND, AND AS I SANG FINE, PETER BUCHANAN
A MATE IN WOODBERRY IN THE 1970S, DID A REALLY COOL FINNNEEE
WITH A DEEPER VOICE, HE WAS COOOL MAN
I FAKED HIM TO PROVE A POINT TO THE YOUNG DUDES SAYING
JUST BECAUSE THE OTHER YOUNG DUDES UNDERSTOOD DAD’S WAY
DOESN’T MEAN I DID, HE LOOKED LIKE A REAL PAIN IN THE ***
TAKING MY COOL KID AWAY, BUT MUSTN’T DWELL, WE MUST HAVE FUN
I AM OFF TO THE CAVALRY MATCH TOMORROW, TO SEE THE FIRST
BUT I AM LEAVING AFTER THE FIRST MATCH, NO BUSES IN THE NIGHT
AND THE BOXING DAY SALES BRINGS OUT THE RIFF RAFF THE ROUGHER TYPES
AND THE CHEAP SUPERMARKET PUDDING JUNKIES LIKE ME WHO NEED TO GO TO THE MALL TO LEAVE THE HOUSE
BUT BOXING DAY SALES ARE FUN, IF YOU AIN’T IN THE INITIAL LINE
THAT CAN BE FRANTIC
Dec 29, 2014
Dec 29, 2014 at 3:07 PM UTC
it isn't all black and white
the choke-hold of history
shades of red and brown
paint the scenery, too
the documented imagery
forgotten in the fray
a little big horn playing mournful
songs as the cavalry marches on
to the tune of galleons and guns
no passport required
when the port was young
émigré and immigrant
displacing native sons
who also once were pilgrims
breathing in the sun.
Dec 4, 2014
Dec 4, 2014 at 8:04 AM UTC
Two rows of a faceless infantry
fall into line;
I am their general
for this callous battle.
Overlords awaken;
their mirrored armies in meager shadow
to these giants that have played
the game of winning before.
The front rank advances slowly,
private by private; caressing the
battlefield as if never to return again.
The cavalry cry out into the night,
A horse’s metallic neigh that pierces through
to the other side’s defenses,
and the surrounding warriors join in for the hunt.
A piece for a piece;
The desperate deal is made
between the masters of their
horrified soldiers.
Do I dare repeat
such insidious acts within my fleet?
The crown shakes with fear,
for the opposing ranks are drawing near.
Towering higher than the castles upon the deck,
I make my way to the monarch in check;
Swords left littered across the field
as the fires of carnage have dwindled low,
but trampling through grief, groans, and woe,
The other side is forced to yield.
Nov 27, 2021
Nov 27, 2021 at 1:39 AM UTC
Third Date
She talked and talked and talked,
an East Coast, cultured accent;
"So what are you anyway,
half-German? *** really?
But you look so......British, I guess..."
He stroked her knee.
She gesticulated loudly,
and talked.
"So you were at Princeton,
WOW, that's impressive."
He squeezed her knee.
"I baked cupcakes on Friday night,
my Mom's recipe.
I don't even eat cupcakes,
what's that all about?!?!
He squeezed her other knee.
She wore a mid-thigh,
black and white dress,
swirls, that sort of thing,
interesting cleavage.
He was back on the first knee.
She looked Italian
(it was 'Ristorante Acqua al Duo' after all),
Amy Winehouse eye flares,
head swaying,
resting on her palms,
swaying again.
He had his back to me.
She fingered the wine glass,
tall and generous,
devoured
the last inch,
came up for air and talked again.
He wore a blazer
and cavalry twill pants,
loafers and no socks.
She was hot,
really hot,
fanned her brow with the dessert menu
"Tiramisu was so deeeelicious".
75 degrees on the Prudential window.
He perspired,
fidgeted,
loosened his collar,
looked for the waitress.
Oct 21, 2012
Oct 21, 2012 at 6:45 PM UTC
i am a poet and still
i can’t comprehend these symbols
these missing heartbeats
and hours spent counting thimbles
i am perplexed by love
shall we seek herbs and remedies
lose ourselves in cures and compounds
must our inner territories be colonized
while we remain captivated by inconvenient theories
struck down by doubt and insecurity
the mind wields no ammunition
and yet its cavalry has desecrated the land
without the slightest sign of inhibition
or a trace of empathy, justice or compassion
will we make a new peace treaty
will the blessed earth be forgiven
and can the sweet essence of her children
comprehend the innocence of spring
oh how our hearts yearn for dancing
still you spend your dollars and your pennies
but give your emptiness to the king
i eat oats and honey cooked upon the fire
while you distill golden nectar from the garden of desire
in the ancient inside-out alembic of your will
and imbibe spagyric liquid that eradicates all pride
and confers wisdom, truth, beauty and longevity
upon the already immortal nature of your mind
Sep 5, 2018
Sep 5, 2018 at 5:04 PM UTC
At school
Moorcraft said
about joining
the boy scouts with him
(the only scouts
you were interested in
were those who rode
ahead of the cavalry
in western films
and who got themselves
scalped by Injuns)
but he went on
about how they taught you
to tie knots
and light fires
with two sticks
of wood
and how to sing songs
around a camp fire
and be a good kid
and do Bob a Job
for old ladies
and he went on about it
quite a bit
and so you said
ok pick me up later
and so after teatime
of bread and jam
and a mug of tea
and biscuit
you went with Moorcraft
to the church hall
where the scouts met
and this tall scouts master
in short trousers
and hairy legs
and glasses
took you off
to join the rest
and introduced you both
and some kid
showed you how
to tie these knots
and climb ropes
and how to set up
a tent and make camp
and so on
until some kid
pushed you off
the ropes
and you pushed him back
and he punched you
on the shoulder
and you hit him
on the jaw
and then you were both
on the floor
and the good kids
were saying oh and gosh
and crowding round
until the scout master came
and asked what
was going on
and that good scouts
didn’t fight
and threw you out
of the hall
leaving Moorcraft behind
tying knots
and climbing ropes
but you didn’t
give a fig at all
and Moorcraft still in there
not knowing why
and you walked home alone
under an evening sky.
Aug 16, 2013
Aug 16, 2013 at 11:31 PM UTC
O’er the hill the rampant stampede
and the sound of thundering hooves,
as the mighty men of steel and armour,
hasten their steeds with all passion and eagerness,
to have at the fray in which their fellows are in
deadlock with the enemy.
Following the noble banner as it
twists and bends under the speed
of the horsemen’s noble steeds.
as edging ever nearer to the battlefield.
Then, with a shout of ardent Patriotism,
and the silent but deadly ring of cold steel,
the beating hooves trample,
as the swift sleek movements of the sword
befell the helpless enemy troopers and drones,
sent like sheep into a slaughterhouse,
and hence few shall return unscathed,
for these generals havent the decency for
diplomacy and discussion,
only to make ****** war.
And should they have cause to panic or fear,
they shall hastily mutter such words as these,
“Send in the cavalry!”,
and with little argument, we shall go,
over the hill in a stampede of
death and glory,
like the Valkyries,
we shall ride,
and hasten the deaths of they,
my generals enemies.
I am their last resort,
I am the cavalry.
Jan 26, 2012
Jan 26, 2012 at 3:24 AM UTC
Well, gentlemen, it all came together in the end there as
you will see when you study the game film later on. You
will notice that we controlled the line of scrimmage during
the entire second half, which is what turned the whole thing
around after falling behind. The way that we mixed it up on
offense, there was no telling where we were going to attack
from. That is what we have struggled with all year long. We
have been inconsistent, to say the least. But I’m sure that you
would all agree that we are starting to jell at just the right time.
Now, after a rough start to the season, it’s on to the playoffs.
Now is when we really need to focus, or it will be “one-and-out”
time. I can guarantee you one thing and one thing only. This
club has yet to reach its full potential. If we can just bang on all
four cylinders from here on out, then we might make a pretty
****** good run at this puppy. Frankly, I’m looking forward to
the challenge; I know that our guys are. They’ve worked their
butts off all year long. Forget about the record. I’ve never been
a real big fan of statistics. There are other factors involved at this
point in the season. It’s been a pleasure, folks. It’s been a long
time coming, and I am sure that this will not be our last rodeo.
Or is it last song and dance? Well, you know. We’ve got more
bulls to ride, and this is going to be like the Calgary Stampede
now. It’s time to saddle up and to man up; that’s all. Giddy up.
Punch them doggies and call in the cavalry. We have arrived!
Jul 26, 2014
Jul 26, 2014 at 4:52 PM UTC