"combatants" poems
Three weeks gone and the combatants gone
returning over the nightmare ground
we found the place again, and found
the soldier sprawling in the sun.
The frowning barrel of his gun
overshadowing. As we came on
that day, he hit my tank with one
like the entry of a demon.
Look. Here in the gunpit spoil
the dishonoured picture of his girl
who has put: Steffi. Vergissmeinnicht.
in a copybook gothic script.
We see him almost with content,
abased, and seeming to have paid
and mocked at by his own equipment
that's hard and good when he's decayed.
But she would weep to see today
how on his skin the swart flies move;
the dust upon the paper eye
and the burst stomach like a cave.
For here the lover and killer are mingled
who had one body and one heart.
And death who had the soldier singled
has done the lover mortal hurt.
7.6k
Through grain fields with bayonets fixed,
from Belleau Woods the Germans came.
The sixth Marines in shallow pits
unleashed a deadly metal rain.
The French collapsed upon the left
Their flank exposed by craven fear
The Marines held fast when urged to flee:
"Retreat?, Monsieur? We just got here."
By June the sixth, it fell to them
to take a Hill to save the French.
A German company with machine guns
waited for them, well entrenched.
Their tactics from another war,
Audacious yes, but not too clever
"Come on, you ******** Dan Daly roared,
"Do you really want to live forever?"
With casualties high, so many dead
The Marine Corps held the hill by night.
Counter attacks were fended off
some times with fists and K bar knife.
Now the cannon of both sides
rained steel where the combatants stood:
A once beautiful preserve of princes
was turned into a shattered wood.
Through mustard gas and cannon fire
The Marines advanced into the Wood.
Silenced machine guns and cut bared wire
till the enemy fled, this time for good.
Before the flag at Iwo flew,
Before the Canal's jungle squalor
Marines were nicknamed "Devil Dogs"
by the Germans who admired valor.
Jan 14, 2012
Jan 14, 2012 at 3:37 PM UTC
The battle ensued
Between combatants heart and mind
As loneliness whispered softly
Of tenderness
In cooing song and rhyme
The brain issued a stern warning
Of heartache and the ache of sorrow
The turmoil of the soul
And the price
The wrath of storms coming
Love ignored words of caution
With little thought of consequence
Forging fearlessly and foolishly ahead
Igniting a small spark
Accompanied smoke trails in the night
Long ago thought dead
Glowing orange blue flickering embers
Soon a smoldering burning fire
Did awaken from memories long sleep
The emotion
Desire
This poem is copyrighted and stored in author base. All material subject to Copyright Infringement laws
Section 512(c)(3) of the U.S. Copyright
Act, 17 U.S.C. S512(c)(3), Tammy M. Darby Dec. 26, 2014
Jan 27, 2014
Jan 27, 2014 at 10:31 PM UTC
an old familiar,
an adversary of the first degree,
when we wrestle,
me and this god
disguised as an angel disguised as man,
the door to where we tangle,
clicks shut with a perceptible oval sounding,
a trumpet announcing commencement of the festivities,
that we are
Occupado
no stray observers permitted in,
the room entrances locked,
someone's two hands upon each temple,
(cannot be mine, for)
inside we combat literally,
"mano-a-mano"
hand to hand,
word to word,
gradually, continuously,
up close and personally,
one on
One
over the course of a lifetime,
each battle named,
famously borrowed and thus recorded,
Agincourt, Waterloo, Gettysburg, Leningrad, Ðiên Biên Phú,
for the record keeping purposes of our unforgiving ******
historian
the rules of engagement somewhat flexible,
biting, choking, eye gouging,
kicking when down, not just legal,
encouraged, no holds barred,
when we wrestle,
the dirtier the
better
take turns declaring a victor,
for that matters little, truly,
just a record keeping notation,
the battle and its aftermath,
the waves of pain inflicted,
the casualty count engorged,
is the greatest glory,
dans une manière de
parler
though sent away the children,
our earthly goods,
designating them purportedly,
non-combatants observers,
yet 'no rules' meant
they could be accidentally drawn in,
non-combatant status does not prevent them
from being freely captured or
killed
the conflict ongoing,
no one ever calls for a truce,
for both unequal adversaries know,
no quarter will ere be given,
and though the tide shifts,
each individual battle produces as always,
a winner and a
loser
noisy affairs,
long after the battle,
the slain yet scream,
perhaps I am confused,
perhaps it is the day's survivors,
announcing that sadly,
they are still
alive
it must be the latter,
for here I am writing and recording,
and though alone,
I hear an ever growing louder,
gouging sine wave scream piercing,
daring my soul to leave my wracked
body
for though mortal wounded,
I am therefore
both dead and alive,
but which more so,
none can surely
say
this conflict remains
unconcluded
the pain in my hip, now
everywhere,
my Jacob, now, Israel,
marker
so visible even if itself,
unseen
3:59am
May 17, 2014
May 17, 2014 at 4:03 AM UTC
Tribute to the fallen
Guardians of the union
Accolade to the warriors
Combatants sworn
Standing straight
Before their Lord
Eulogy to the brave
Salvo of respect
Applause to the Eagles
Conscripts of the sky
Medal of the departed
Proud on their shoulders
Offering to our cadaverous
Salute to our gone brethren
Gone, not forgotten
We think them dead
We perceive them not
Living are they,
in their love of the Lord
Dec 15, 2015
Dec 15, 2015 at 7:11 AM UTC
Dangerous dragon eyes
burn the stars
and scorch the skies
as the warrior lets
her silver blades fly,
Bronze skin
battle maiden,
******* in chainmail,
spear and shield
on her back
as she tracks
the beasts
who attacked
random villages.
Like a Valkyrie
she walked past me
with death on her breath.
All power and confidence,
she passes on to face this
monster in the darkness.
She moved like
a ballet dancer
rushing in
and striking him
in the place where
his scale skin was thin.
then rolled back
before the dragon’s attack.
Fire and fury
bare skin scorching
forcing her
to retreat
but only for
a solitary
second.
Claws cutting,
tail swinging,
scales scraping,
scratches stinging.
The ground
running
with the blood of
both combatants.
One arm
a ragged mess
of jagged flesh.
One dragon eye
destroyed while
sulphur and smoke
choked the breath
from her parched throat.
Long neck charging
as she parried
in a twirling fashion
letting the dragon’s head pass.
It moved quick
but she was faster
and matched that ********
primal fury.
Short silver
sharp dagger
nested itself
slightly above the neck
as the force of the animals
violent
movement
cut itself
making a long sick ****
as it lunged past fast
and finally fell
in defeat.
Jan 31, 2019
Jan 31, 2019 at 10:39 AM UTC
I . Taytu Betul as a leader
Ethiopia is famed for being
A peaceful,hospitable
And warrior nation
How come then it failed
To come to your attention,
As bees whose hive is threatened,
Citizens are ever alert to
To foil provoked aggression!
The 1889 treacherous
Wuchale treaty
I will tear apart
A messenger,with a tail
Between your legs,
Before you depart.
The Italian version
That tries to put Ethiopia,
A sovereign state, a pawn
Under Italy's protectorate
Is completely opposed to
What Ethiopia's
Versions indicate.
Till we meet
Your colonizing troops
At a showdown,
As a punitive measure to
A cheater or a clown
I will be tempted to smack
Your face
To ram home,valorous,
For fear we have no place.
II Taytu Betul a strategist
To deny the invading
Italian troops, advancing
from Eriteria,
Advantages of logistic
We could do
The following trick
Indeed, we could shift
The battlefield
From Adigrat to Adwa
Also we could cut them
From a key water point
Till for truce they plead.
To this end,
A battalion
I will personally lead.
What is more,
I will inspire
Women,combatants,too
To fire!
Parallel to that
Our injured soldiers
To nurse back
Wounded in the attack
Also dry foods
To prepare and pack.
III Taytu Betul as a wife
Though independent,
With lots of love to
Emperor Menelik II,
My king and beloved husband
I will lend a cooperative hand.
IV. A beacon of independence & standard bearer
True to my name Taytu
— A sunshine—
I will flicker
A ray of light
The oppressed for
Freedom to fight!
Women
For a military prowess,
Leadership and intelligence
Have acumen! ////
Feb 25, 2017
Feb 25, 2017 at 4:09 AM UTC
winter lips
press into her memory
bones aching with the fever of remembrance
quiet words raise half lipped appeasement
mostly scarring scars scar her mind but occasionally words stir up like rosebuds of alphabet soup
spelling out novels of repeated notes
picture picture picture
click click click
half lipped winds
greased strands flap loose flap in the loose whipped winds
white comforter white blanket white snow white southern comfort white south
corporate and government city lights counting monies
greased oil slicked back hair scalps scalped dentists appropriating native american hunting tools
scalped girl appropriating brown skin
winter lips kiss kiss kiss
from root to tip toe down the hallway to scar thighs
thigh highs soft like southern comfort white south and the blood is red
but red blood cells are combatants of white blood cells like
winter lips are combatants of
her thoughts
Dec 28, 2014
Dec 28, 2014 at 8:26 PM UTC
A folktale
There is a small country sharing part of its border
to a giant country, both have been friends for
over 300 years during world war two they came
helped the small country to get rid of the enemy.
Then propaganda articles appeared in many papers
how bad the government in the big country was,
(Let us make it easy the small country we can call
Norway and big the country Russia) the Norwegian
took no notice, they visited Russia often to buy
***** cigarettes and other items that are expensive
in their little country; and some travelled to Moskva
which has a rich cultural heritage.
Then the Americans/NATO held a proxy war and
the American soldiers and tanks got in the way
of tour buses, needless to say, the soldiers were
confused that the people from the tiny country
we’re not afraid of the big bear this because of the
US combatants were victims of lying propaganda.
Well, the military nonsense ended their proxy war
the Norwegian continued to travel to Russia to do
their shopping and as always they were welcomed
and no one mentioned the silly manoeuvres by
the misguided military personnel were playing in the snow.
Oct 26, 2018
Oct 26, 2018 at 4:09 AM UTC
One more creation was abandoned
Neglected by incapable lads
Flocks to clueless herdsmen
Sheep with feckless purpose
Drooling to episodes of their disgusting chivalry
Their gold and silver were made of flesh
Trophies of broken women and promises
- Foolish sons and uncles
Daughters and aunties are creators
They watch the night like fearless combatants
Between the wretch of men and the future
These women stood like guardians
Ready to take every blow, every curse, all the crap
Just because one more creation will survive
- Believing lasses
Feb 21, 2015
Feb 21, 2015 at 2:21 PM UTC
It all started with a big mistake;
I’m here to tell it was all a big fake.
Fred hit Kelly in his great big mouth;
He said he caught Kelly at his girl’s house.
Rosie was jealous of Fred’s main squeeze;
Said she always does what she pleases.
So, she cooked up the story about her.
And Kelly never knew a thing either.
But that didn’t stop the fur from flying.
I tell you the truth, if I’m lying I’m dying.
The mood changed in the old hangout.
Everyone stuck around, nobody cut out.
Everyone was gathered for birthday cheer.
You know, some pool and some beer.
Nobody knew about Rosie’s big lie
Or what kind of crap would soon fly.
They just laughed and cracked jokes;
Enjoyed some legal and illegal smokes.
And when the mood was sufficiently jolly
Rosie quietly took Kelly out into the ally.
Said she saw Kelly go into the house
Fred started fuming, calling Kelly a louse.
He went back in and he smacked old Kelly
And followed it up with a shot to the belly.
While Kelly was reacting, Fred purely raged.
He wasn’t quite done, was not even assuaged.
But Kelly’s girl Lydia heard what Fred said
And smacked Rosie up side of her head.
She started screaming that Rosie was a liar,
And then there were two more irons in the fire.
It was two women and two men slugging.
The Fist City Express started chugging.
Mirrors were broken by costly pool sticks
The bartender finally got tired of the tricks
And got out his baseball bat and stepped in.
Rosie ******* up and hit him on the chin.
By now, a customer called nine one one,
And the end of the brouhaha had begun.
All four of the combatants were busted.
And the cops finally decided they trusted
The regular customers who all insisted
That the bartender not be arrested.
It might be good to say it was a big shame
But fights in bars are the name of the game.
Especially when women fight, it’s a show
And bystanders in bars always let them go
And then cheer and some even take bets.
This is how selling alcohol to fools often gets.
Jun 17, 2015
Jun 17, 2015 at 11:28 PM UTC
Come in all you children and dance upon the sea. The coastline tides are dancing and gallivanting on the breeze. The elephant seals are floating in their carcasses, warm blood lakes thicken on the foam, dancing in the ripples the shivers of Leopard sharks party's throw. ***** slugs and combatants, early hours send cries through crustaceans of the spine, and glitter muscles entwined with porpoise to drink their brunches with new recipes of the brine. Fairy starling, aching heartache, shapes each coil of the coast, and tears apart the stardust of starfish sliding up the coast. Drinking from the salt licks that falling waters move, inside the bay the bluefins escape the hunters in their shoals. The itsy bitsy great white, crept into the beaches cove, but orca and dolphin chased him back into the deepest azures where the fur seals pup and milk.
Apr 8, 2016
Apr 8, 2016 at 1:34 PM UTC
Standing there she wrings her hands
The light falls on her thinning hair,
Shadow hides the worried eyes
Which fixate in a distant stare.
Years ago the husband left,
Left despite the child inside,
Despite the growing pile of debt,
He left it all to run and hide.
The boy is born one winter morn
Born with golden curls of mane,
He grows despite the hardship felt,
He grows to suit his noble name.
Boaz is his given name
The Hebrew word for strength and strong,
His mother’s strength of character
Is echoed in his blue eyed song.
Lean and long and strong in frame
A ready smile upon his face,
Beneath his long blond curling locks
Expressing his good humoured grace.
Thinly proud she meets each day,
She bears the hardship, every storm,
Thinly proud she loves the boy
Who runs in rows of growing corn.
Standing there she wrings her hands
A worried mother’s reddened face,
For battle’s flag has called her boy
Who volunteers with pride and grace.
With brimming eyes she thinks of him
Holding close his teddy bear,
Thinking of the laughing moments
Happy times they used to share.
Short letters from the front arrive
A message filled with love and joy
To reassure a mother’s fears,
In promise for her darling boy.
A silence from the distant front
The drums and guns have sung their song,
Chilling tales of valour but,
Combatants now do homeward throng.
Standing there she wrings her hands
With streaming tears as hopes depart,
A deathly silent distant field
Where lies the promise in her heart.
Marshalg
For all the mothers who wait.
20 June 2013
Jun 20, 2013
Jun 20, 2013 at 2:59 AM UTC
Amid the restlessness of a blood enthused crowd
Stood two gladiatorial practitioners both battle proud
From the inner arena a barking summons rang out
Calling the combatants to engage in battle's bout
The blood lust crowd wanted sport without delay
No quarter was ceded in the gladiator's display
Slashing lashing swords flayed high then to the midriff
Shields clanged and clinked in alternate shift
The foot-work of battle was magnificent of flair
Both took the onslaught with a disdainful air
Around the arena walls went a deafening cloud
The performance of the gladiators intoxicated the crowd
While in the bowels of the arena lions and tigers roared
Battle fervour rose to the gladiators they who are adored
Striking like a lightning bolt the victor's sword kills
His opponents chest dies in blood's gushing spill
Enthused by the spectacle of blood the crowd cried for more
Other combatants offered themselves to the gladiatorial floor
Battle Gods gathered at the celestial fray
Sang songs of battle to the arena's clay
Nov 22, 2016
Nov 22, 2016 at 6:12 PM UTC
A hollow point bullet , fired , rifled through barrel , targeting steel resolve , fragmenting , striking ten combatants with one fatal shot ! A wood canoe with confident oarsman , fighting thirty foot ocean swells , hurricane winds and storm surge ! Swan dive over Horseshoe Falls , disappearing within the rocks , returned to the surface laughing , emboldened and unharmed ! Pressure cooker explosives , detonated beside large crowds with zero injuries , homicidal schizophrenic empties his magazine in a theater with no casualties ! Random killing in the name of religion with just cause , fundamental rationality ! Convincing people to try compassion , tolerance and moderation ! Forgetful , carefree , unharmed , thankful citizens impinged , ***** by the three percent , courtesy of Wall Street !
Oct 27, 2015
Oct 27, 2015 at 4:19 PM UTC
A cold and pitiless wind moves among us,
A current of current rising from epochs old.
Can we sleep serenely and without fear when
Amid stirrings of horse's hoofs he smiles?
Beneath primordial moons deviously does plot,
Time is of no value, eternity has evolved.
Without the ticking sound of the life's clock,
Snorting Arabian steed's anxious for the fight.
Poised on every shore, peering into windows,
O, so stealthy, when at last the moon has hid.
And the tide washes up, deposits combatants,
They come, by air, luxury liner, banana boat.
By the soles of their feet, souls of their God,
Like residue from a growing, fanatical storm.
What blood moves through these warriors,
Which provokes bloodlust as easily as a smile?
He is there, over there, here too, right here,
Where the children are at play with yesterday's
Values, yesterday's view, yesterday's excitement?
When the tongue and eyes of the ancient ones
Speak softly, gazing upon the long awaited prize.
The thundering of million's of hoofs let loose,
Neighing a battle cry to the dead, silent old ones.
And we, well we go about our business of sanity,
Thinking we are good, we are clean, we laugh.
Calmly we do leave the doors and the windows
Ajar for our visitors who are now neighbors,
To finish the ancient martyr's settling of scores.
©April 26, 2004 / Jerry Pat Bolton
Jan 2, 2012
Jan 2, 2012 at 9:34 AM UTC
I am Emmanuel, the strength firmly
Established upon my divinity is
The Melchisedec Crown, I am diadem
With the White Crown of The Father,
And set as King on the Throne of Grace,
I have assumed the double
Golden Dove-crest, and have
Grasps the Crook and the Flail,
I am Jesus, I have scattered
The darkness of eternal terror,
I have driven away the mighty
Whirlwind and the storm,
I have given the pleasant breeze of
The north wind unto The Spirit of God,
The Beautiful Being, as He came
Forth from the Divine Flesh
Of Him who gave Him birth,
I am Jesus, I have given cakes
With sweet hand to the Glorious Ones,
I have protected the shoulder of The
Spirit of God, I have embalmed Him,
I have made sweet His fragrance,
Even the odor of the Beautiful God,
I am Emmanuel, the Lord of Sudan,
I have made content Egypt, and
Have quieted the two Divine
Combatants in their season of storm,
© PRINCE NANA ANIN-AGYEI
Email: [email protected]
Apr 7, 2013
Apr 7, 2013 at 12:15 PM UTC
It was up in Minnesota
or was it South Dakota
It doesn't matter
we know how the story starts
It's friday, time to party
Some girl comes in dressed all tarty
With a body
That could break a thousand hearts
There's gonna be a storm tonight
A cat fight's on the way
You just hold on when it all starts up
And then you clear the way
You just know it's gonna happen
Something bad is in the air
Just grab your beer and hold it
Just watch the nails and flying hair
All the eyes were on her
You knew she was a goner
You could feel the tension
And hear the nails extract
In jeans of lace and denim
With perfect slits cut in 'em
You knew that she was hunting
that's a fact
There's gonna be a storm tonight
A cat fight's on the way
You just hold on when it all starts up
And then you clear the way
You just know it's gonna happen
Something bad is in the air
Just grab your beer and hold it
Just watch the nails and flying hair
The band played loud and raucus
As the bar's all female caucus
Watched her close
As she went toward the bar
You could tell that this girl's reason
Was to hunt the men in season
And she set to take
the first one to her car
There's gonna be a storm tonight
A cat fight's on the way
You just hold on when it all starts up
And then you clear the way
You just know it's gonna happen
Something bad is in the air
Just grab your beer and hold it
Just watch the nails and flying hair
when the crowd split like the Nile
And there standing with a smile
was the girl of the
man this girl had claimed
Well, the bottles started flying
And though the bouncers all were trying
The fight broke out
Between the two I named
There's gonna be a storm tonight
A cat fight's on the way
You just hold on when it all starts up
And then you clear the way
You just know it's gonna happen
Something bad is in the air
Just grab your beer and hold it
Just watch the nails and flying hair
The cops broke up the rumble
Amid the debris and the crumble
Our combatants were
off to jail that night
Tomorrow they would be found
Back and out of impound
At another bar
And in another fight
So, It may be Minnesota
or down in South Dakota
But, no one cares
We all know how the game is played
So, when you feel a storm brew
And you know it won't involve you
Grab your beer
And watch...your night is made.
Jan 29, 2015
Jan 29, 2015 at 12:01 AM UTC
Kings. Queens.
Consummation. Kids.
Chiefs of clans.
Children of chiefs.
Close knit communities.
Continued cycles.
Change.
Colorless crews.
Coins. Captures. Chains.
Chained to you.
Chained to the cruise.
**** me. **** he. **** she.
Check teeth,
Choose wisely.
Chastise. Cracked whips.
Change name:
Kunta, no Toby.
Change, charge.
Christ of captives,
**** them!”
No, **** him.
Continue evil.
Change.
Break chains.
Knots, no more.
No, change chains.
Lose claims.
Coax comfort.
Contradict. Corrupt.
Cascaded crucifixions.
Charred chandeliers.
Coerce without cognition of
Coming chaos
Of civic correction.
Civilians conform society.
Combatants conquer and confer.
Continue.
Cultural contributions.
Cultural appropriation.
Cultural controversy.
No complications.
No conversations.
Did not conceive,
Cannot convey.
Concede. Not Conceit.
Continue.
Kings cower before
Crowns clarify.
Kings killed.
Queens cope. Queens cry.
Queens say,
**** compliance!
**** cordial!”
Queens coordinate, combat,
Condemn, don’t compromise,
And command cessation
To corrupt civilization.
Queens continue
Coils, kinks, curls.
Nov 13, 2017
Nov 13, 2017 at 3:29 PM UTC
“Duellem” (The Duel)
by Charles Baudelaire
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Two combatants charged!
Their fearsome swords
brightened the air with fiery sparks and blood.
Their clashing blades
clinked odd serenades
reminding us: youth’s inspired by overloud love.
But now their blades lie broken, like our hearts!
Still, our savage teeth and talon-like fingernails
can do more damage than the deadliest sword
when lovers lash about with such natural flails.
In a deep ravine haunted by lynxes and panthers,
our heroes roll around in a cozy embrace,
leaving their blood to redden the colorless branches.
This abyss is pure hell; our friends occupy the place.
Come, let us sport and spurt here, cruel Amazon;
let our hatred’s ardor never be over and done!
Keywords/Tags: Baudelaire, translation, French, duel, combatants, duelists, swords, sparks, blood, blades, hearts, teeth, blood, talons, lynxes, panthers, abyss, hell, Amazon, hatred, ardor, furor, passion, fury, anger
Mar 31, 2020
Mar 31, 2020 at 6:43 AM UTC
“Love is impossible.”
Sitting so casual, so stoic
“It requires more from any one person
than they can actually provide.”
Did you hear it then?
Water dropping from
the faucet in the kitchen.
The slow patter as it falls
circles the drain.
How was a response to be made?
What series of words?
How does one string together
an argument to destroy a lifetime?
Is it possible to reverse the gears
that turn our world?
I was reborn in fire and ice
while you wallowed in your
stale word of smoke and shadows.
I rose triumphant to place the wake
in which giants would follow.
You sat in your murky pool
with sanguine arms and alcohol stained
words.
Strung together to defeat me.
“I don't want to be the one that wakes you up.”
Today he sleeps forever.
Tomorrow he digs through the wreckage
to discover the fluid prose
it's grace without contest
unchallenged by the
razor blades and shot glasses of the world.
The whimsical combination of combatants
required to shake the slumber from the halls
and utter the lines of magics
to share his dream with you.
“Love is impossible.”
Feb 22, 2010
Feb 22, 2010 at 5:07 PM UTC
If India and Pakistan
disagree to disagree
and the missiles begin flying
is there anyplace to flee?
Whole divisions of their armies
will be vanished, vaporized.
It is not only combatants that
will face death from the sky.
Ten million souls will met their end
within a half an hour.
Some twenty millions more
will be sickened by its power.
A cloud of ash will rise above
and block the sun from shining.
Winter will be premature
and soon the crops are dying.
A quarter of the human race
dead of famine and disease.
Please fellows, put your toys away
I beg you from my knees.
Feb 26, 2012
Feb 26, 2012 at 7:43 PM UTC
Are there real lessons to be learned,
from playing the board Game of Risk?
Is it just a fun, leisurely past time
with gameplay that can be fairly brisk?
Its premise promotes outright conflict,
albeit on a miniature scale and timetable.
With some posturing and open discussions,
attacks proceed without mortality tables.
Between uneasy alliances (based on lies)
and few verbal, unenforceable treaties,
what attitudes are honed while players
develop their world-domination strategies?
Using the armies of lifeless soldiers
to sate personal needs of global conquest,
wannabe dictators wave ideas of war-policy
with banners hiding a pseudo blood-lust.
From war campaigns with rules of engagement
that follow a predetermined, orderly sequence,
are societies secretly pushing warmongering
with unknown and unforeseen consequences?
Covert operations are not possible or deployed,
as military movements are clearly seen by all;
when acquiring territories around the World,
can a bad cause spread before an uncertain fall?
Does odds calculation for incremental success
as combatants tumble the dice of aggression,
dissuade future, role-playing battlers to not
**** others in favor of peaceful solutions?
Are we actually teaching our future generations
that war will be a permanent, acceptable ideal?
Can the human condition continue moving forward…
while the concept of peace may be sadly repealed?
Aug 14, 2014
Aug 14, 2014 at 10:35 AM UTC
Bravely you answered the call
for your fatherlands,
fought revolutionary wars for your mothers,
protected you children from the scourge
of corruption & greed,
the murderous acts of
villainous human-rats.
You became nocturnal sentinels,
counted stars, cupped cigarettes,
yearned for new creations,
kept faded photographs
in the special pockets
of you tattered knapsacks.
You learned the art of insomnia,
slept in the mud & dirt of your homelands,
spit lead into the sick hearts of the wolf pack,
whom you were always certain would **** you.
You became eternal combatants
& fought with great zest,
confessing your strength
from machine-gun nests,
laughed like mad dogs under fire,
those times when things seemed dire.
You were killed with fireballs & tracers,
gunships & tanks & planes & artillery,
died in shallow trenches
& in hardened bunkers,
in the thick jungles
& in endless deserts,
on mountaintops
& on beaches,
even in the cornfields
& on the city streets
of your own neighborhoods.
You were assassinated by pariahs,
the enemies of your people,
your blood watered your lands,
helped to nourish
your strong beliefs,
the flowers of freedom
& now you sleep soundly,
deep under the sacred-grounds
gifted to you
by the same blood
shed by your ancestors,
your forefathers & mothers,
brothers & sisters, aunt & uncles,
all the members of your family trees.
And with great love
poetry will be written
for you rebels,
recorded histories
& unknown graves
will be the stark reminders
of the size of your hearts
& your mountain of courage
will forever stand as testimony.
Feb 27, 2014
Feb 27, 2014 at 8:34 PM UTC