"commandant" poems
Words can be unsaid with contradictions
Actions dismantled by apathy
Torture is a weapon of the timid
****** is a thought that breathes
I held a man’s life in my hand
I looked him in the eyes
I spat on his face and I said
“Stop your god ****** lies”
Pity can’t describe the tone
And black is too bright
A colorless voice filled the room
Smoke circles the dry air
“Thing’s have been done for a reason, commandant,”
Orders and protocol of course,
“People have died by your words, commandant,”
His voice was tired and terse
“Battlefields are full of life, General.
Trees and shrubs and grass.
Once we drive into the city
Asphalt fills the path.
It’s concrete and it’s steel.
It’s muddy bricks and dirt.
Beneath the street lie fault lines
Of lust and greed and hurt.
We can’t abandon principle.
We can’t behave as sheep.
We must **** out all the wolves
And help protect the herd.
We must feed their minds with despair
And wet their mouths with vengeance.”
I received the order.
Pulled the string taut.
No more breathing.
No sound came out.
We left the bag on his head
And dug a shallow grave
We threw his body in the hole
Dropping dirt on top
“Here lies a victim of design,
A person with a name.
He had no reason for which to die.
We killed him just the same.”
They wiped sweat off of their brows
And turned to walk away
The sun shone down upon them all
But I turned the other way
I looked down at the grave below
Then above as if to pray
I cupped my face with my hands
It was a shade darker than grey
Mar 26, 2010
Mar 26, 2010 at 10:34 PM UTC
for Robert-François Damiens the Regicide
1.
"I" once ate pizza. It tasted of smudged sarcasm. "I" scarred my innards with its blazing oils. Now "I" remember it every time "I" nibble a tasty morsel, the pangs of a deadened sacrosanctity robbing my heart of its pulse.
2.
Pepperoni is vital for the one greased with illusion.
Cheese is necessary for the one who knows the word "soul" to be viable.
Tomato sauce is warrant for ritualistic exaltation.
Unleavened bread is the commandant of the fed world.
May 12, 2015
May 12, 2015 at 12:17 PM UTC
I'm growing quite tired of girls who aren't you.
It's bitter and cold; however, it's true.
Creating escapes is what I must do;
Escapes to the places where thoughts aren't like glue.
A cigarette burns at the tip of my lips
As I sit here and write this while coming to grips
With the fact that I'll never be blessed by your lips
And I burn like my cigarette, stuck in my lips.
The ashes they fall on my shirt nonchalant
As I hope and I pray for a mental détente,
But commanding my mind is an ill commandant
Who is ever-salacious; forever in want.
Feb 14, 2013
Feb 14, 2013 at 3:08 AM UTC
fumbled getting the key in the
lock. took ‘bout five minutes
before i heard the tumblers click –
nesting in the notch’d metal.
with gentle press, i swung the
door open. light hit me, blind’d,
as my perception bled in constant
to the left. nothing seem’d to have
it’s own place, or space.
i would turn my head from the left,
and the world would be right’d.
stop’d movement,
world bled left, and
i went for the couch.
“Where have you been?”
the maternal commandant.
“Where. Have. You. Been?”
out.
my left-most body
felt stretch’d, felt warp’d.
out. i’ve been out.
“What’s wrong with you?”
a seconds pause.
“Are you fuck’d up?”
she’s got me.
“You are fuck’d up,
aren’t you?”
how obvious.
dialogue never left mind
through mouth. knowing better is
ninety-percent of the solution.
of the problem.
“Who are you?”
her voice rising.
“Where is my son?”
her voice peaking.
“What have you done with Cole?”
he’s taking a break from this,
this… this reality.
he need’d some time.
she huff’d indignant, and turn’d
to return to a yellow-lit kitchen
where she hosts a friend.
both ****** both drunk,
both lost to me through slurs.
But I am your son;
bleeding left, pupils constrict’d.
But I am your son;
bleeding left, sour-smelling breath.
I am your son.
bleeding left, falling right, falling into
the darkness of a thousand-year sleep.
Jan 20, 2013
Jan 20, 2013 at 8:23 AM UTC
how many
lived to see another day
because the camp commandant
was at a party for the dead
Jan 29, 2015
Jan 29, 2015 at 8:15 PM UTC
Ô fontaine Bellerie,
Belle fontaine chérie
De nos Nymphes, quand ton eau
Les cache au creux de ta source
Fuyantes le Satyreau,
Qui les pourchasse à la course
Jusqu'au bord de ton ruisseau.
Tu es la Nymphe éternelle
De ma terre paternelle :
Pour ce, en ce pré verdelet
Vois ton Poète qui t'orne
D'un petit chevreau de lait,
A qui l'une et l'autre corne
Sortent du front nouvelet.
L'Été, je dors ou repose
Sur ton herbe, où je compose,
Caché sous tes saules verts,
Je ne sais quoi, qui ta gloire
Enverra par l'Univers,
Commandant à la Mémoire
Que tu vives par mes vers.
L'ardeur de la Canicule
Ton vert rivage ne brûle,
Tellement qu'en toutes parts
Ton ombre est épaisse et drue
Aux pasteurs venants des parcs,
Aux bœufs las de la charrue,
Et au ******* épars.
Ô ! tu seras sans cesse
Des fontaines la princesse,
Moi célébrant le conduit
Du rocher percé, qui darde,
Avec un enroué bruit,
L'eau de ta source jazarde
Qui trépidante se suit.
412
HR drones and civil serve ants
only following orders
from the camp commandant
letter of the law
spelt with a capital punishment
do as youre told
is the mantra of the sycophant
Jul 27, 2015
Jul 27, 2015 at 12:38 AM UTC
The Netherbeasts all lined up on Planet Earth and Message roared, Now fall!
I am not a Project who will have mercy, I will take this Scepter and **** you all!
The Netherbeasts stood there all with smirks, they thought Message was bluffing.
But soon they were vaporized, because Message fired her scepter and turned them into nothing.
Message! The Alliance Project called out as he suppressed a smile
Play nice with the Netherbeasts, they just lost a war so let them live a while.
Message then turned and walked and Lady of the Night said, It is good to have peace.
Message nodded and replied, Some of us aren’t alive to see it, others died because they wouldn’t fall on their knees!
Lady of the Night laughed and said, Stop being dramatic, as they went to the Arurian Tower.
To meet on how to organize the Federation with the rest of the Dragon Power.
The Dragon Power said, We will be the advisory council to the Projects, and the Federation.
Also to the Dahomeyian Rulership, congratulations to Message on her elevation.
Message bowed her head and said, I am a ruler without a people, a queen without subjects.
So the Dahomeyian Rulership is awesome but it has no more substance.
The Alliance Project spoke up and said, People had been tried to find another home planet.
The people of Schmita were displaced, so you can be their ruler on Schmita and manage it.
We can even rename it Dahomeyia, if you are willing to take on that task.
Message jumped up and down saying, This is what I dreamed of, I am free at last.
She then asked, One more thing, before I leave and rule this kingdom to be.
The Alliance Project, will you come and govern this people with me.
Everyone smiled as The Alliance Project said, I thought I was supposed to propose.
Very well, I accept, because every new planet need a Project for it to grow.
The Covenantial Project said, You will be the Defender for this new Dahomeyia planet.
So no Drozen, no Vibrate can come around to destroy, because of your might.
Arthur, you will be the Templarist Project for Earth with you Excalibur.
There is no warrior in earth or in the stars above with your sword skill and caliber.
Message, as Dahomeyian Ruler you will be the head of the Federation.
And I will be the Commandant Project who overseas the entire organization.
All of them nodded and Message had tears in her eyes because of the joyous news.
After all of this time, she finally have her own new planet to view.
Message and The Alliance Project went home, each one of them proud.
Because they had to prepare for the Coronation, when Message would be crowned.
May 11, 2018
May 11, 2018 at 10:48 AM UTC
fumbled getting the key in the
lock. took ‘bout five minutes
before i heard the tumblers click –
nesting in the notch’d metal.
with gentle press, I swung the
door open. light hit me, blind’d,
as my perception bled in constant
to the left. nothing seem’d to have
it’s own place, or space.
i would turn my head from the left,
and the world would be right’d.
stop’d movement,
world bled left, and
i went for the couch.
“Where have you been?”
the maternal commandant.
“Where. Have You. Been?”
out.
my left-most body
felt stretch’d, felt warp’d.
out. i’ve been out.
“What’s wrong with you?”
a seconds pause.
“Are you fuck’d up?”
she’s got me.
“You are fuck’d up,
aren’t you?”
how obvious.
dialogue never left mind
through mouth. knowing better is
ninety-percent of the solution.
of the problem.
“Who are you?”
her voice rising.
“Where is my son?”
her voice peaking.
“What you done with Cole?”
he’s taking a break from this,
this… this reality.
he need’d some time.
she huff’d indignant, and turn’d
to return to a yellow-lit kitchen
where she hots a friend.
both ****** both drunk,
both lost to me through slurs.
But I am your son;
bleeding left, pupils constrict’d.
But I am your son;
bleeding left, sour-smelling breath.
I am your son.
bleeding left, falling right, falling into
the darkness of a thousand-year sleep.
Dec 1, 2015
Dec 1, 2015 at 11:50 AM UTC
Prism paradise.
Administer the scimitar serum.
Stray, gleam, candied eyes.
Stay, morbid stars,
Sermon on the shoe horn
The 10, Ja commandant
Glacial looking glass,
I love what you’ve done with the place.
Jul 10, 2020
Jul 10, 2020 at 7:21 PM UTC
There's a battle that most folk will fight
When old age slips onto the pavement
It's weapon of choice you will find
Is that of sleep deprivation
You lie awake in the middle of night
Tossing and turning on the edge of your dreams
Insomnia its battle cry
As your white flag is torn apart at the seams
With your mind like a kite in the night breeze
Flying this way and that with your lack of sleep
Too far behind the enemy lines
To even find the help that you need
While you'd love to sneak back over the border
Into the comfort of a soft feather bed
One good nights sleep is what the Commandant's ordered
So as to rest your weary head
Still the battle rages on nightly
The enemy both sneaky and sly
In whose grip you will stay as you lay awake
With insomnia as its battle cry
Nov 22, 2017
Nov 22, 2017 at 11:07 AM UTC