"commando" poems
Ako’y isa lamang pinuno,
Gumabay sa isang hukbo.
Oras ay itinataya upang magturo,
Upang bigyan ng kaalaman ang mga pribado.
May mga taong gusto akong tularan,
Mga nasa ikatlong taon ng paaralan.
Tungkulin ko sila’y turuan,
Upang sila’y magkaroon ng kaalaman.
Mga COCC kung sila’y tawagin,
Lahat sila’y may sinusunod na tungkulin.
Mga katulad ko’y dapat sundin,
Upang makamit nila ang kanilang hangarin.
Meron akong isang CO na nakilala,
Pansin ko’y kanyang nakuha.
Hindi ko maipaliwanag ang kanyang ganda,
Lagi nalang sa kanya ang aking mga mata.
Ang ibigin siya’y isang bagay na bawal,
pagkat posisyon ko’y pwedeng matangal.
Ito’y aking gagawan ng paraan.
Kahit ito pa ang batas ng paaralan.
Tinataguan ko ang aking Commando,
Upang makipagkita sa giliw kong CO,
Tinutulungan din ako ng kaibigan kong pribado,
Na umiibig naman sa isang pinuno.
Bakit ganito nalang ang pag-ibig,
Palagi nalang may humahadlang sa paligid.
Hindi ba nila alam kung gaano kasakit,
Ano ba ang kanilang naiisip.
Ang pamumuno ko ay pansamantala lamang,
Ngunit pag-ibig ko sana’y walang hanggan.
Huwag sanang masira ang ating samahan,
O Aking Joana, hindi kita titigilan.
Dec 3, 2010
Dec 3, 2010 at 7:26 AM UTC
Of all the ****** that i like,
The best would be of lace and white,
But then again, there's so so much,
There's even knickers with no crotch!?,
Those little bras for beginner *****
Or leather gear, for naughty moods,
And not forgetting Bridget Jones,
Come on girls, we've all got those ones.
Those yummy corsets **** us in,
We'll shake our hips and bear a grin,
To tantalise and tease men so,
Our ***** with tassels on, so guys can, ahem, grow.
Those fishnet stockings cost a bomb,
But ladies, that's why we put them on,
We feel so **** and so do they,
So that's why we get them to pay.
Silk and satin, black or red,
Or going commando instead,
What then girls, do we love these things for,
Because they'll only be scattered on our bedroom floor?...
Apr 9, 2010
Apr 9, 2010 at 6:51 AM UTC
This is our blitz, puppydog, I said,
dragging him away from the whizzbangs
echoing green and purple off shopfronts.
My Chuchundra scuttled ground-bellied
from fallen ******* bags spilling guts
like casualties of war
and hoodlums tremendous in commando gear
who set off peonies and chrysanthemums
before charging triumphant down alleyways.
We go home. I’m happy to leave these heroes
the soda from the Catherine wheels,
and the drizzle, for which London has yet to apologise.
Oct 22, 2011
Oct 22, 2011 at 6:51 AM UTC
guilt me like a cancer
manipulate me like a taurus
if i was the first verse, you’d skip to the chorus
i tape glue and sew but you’re the one who tore us
ripped me into pieces and i made myself
something new
i recognized myself
you’re lost not knowing what to do
play dumb like a pisces and lash out like a scorpio
if you’d give me up for anything
it would be half an oreo
maybe four quarters or a dollar
but you could never change
had a heart for everyone but i was never in your range
impulsive like an aires confusing like a gemini
you my day 1 and i love you turns into there cant be a you and i
you “never wanna make me cry” but can never keep your **** dry
eyes red like im high
you “never want to say goodbye” but the second things dont go your way you fly
but you could never be the bad guy?
act out like a capricorn stubborn like a leo
how you beat yourself up but wanna be everyones hero?
your double life is really a triple
i should call you trio
if ‘paid in full’ was my life you would be rico
how my own girl crossed me?
then made it my fault that she lost me?
then told everyone she tossed me?
don’t care like aquarius outted me like a libra
you beat around the bush when i made it black and white like a zebra
how i told you tell me the truth and you made up a story
you cant lie on someone who loves you
and bask in glory
i paved the way for you and you act lost like dory
and i still found you
careless like sagittarius critic like a virgo
how you tell me to “never leave” but you go?
how you use the water you drained me of to grow
you’re not who your instagram shows
i see through you, commando
you cant flex on me if you know what i know
May 5, 2019
May 5, 2019 at 12:51 AM UTC
i met her at the crow bar -
a mescalero from amarillo
- her name was lily
and she was in from the field
wearing tiger stripe camos
cut short like i like 'em
and she liked to hike them
- all commando
she had a tattered boony hat -
a kevlar vest and a tat
that said - the wild, wild west -
her shoulder holsters
were packed with two .40s
- lordy, lordy -
she said they bolstered her
fire power
we were commando stylin'
...on the blue mesa.
12/5/14
:)
Dec 5, 2014
Dec 5, 2014 at 10:18 PM UTC
It all started with mixing Tequila and Sambuca last Friday night.
Then I noticed him, busting some classic moves on the dance floor.
Soon we are dancing, grinding, kissing, laughing, dancing, kissing,
he's even drinking out of my half finished cup of water, he's smiling.
"I'm a Royal Marine, not an Army boy!" he corrects. "A Commando."
We both even have the same phone! Coincidence? I don't think so.
Beads of sweat dripping from his hair onto his flawless face and neck,
yet, he smells oh so divine, "it's Gucci Guilty Intense", he explains.
I blurt out, "Hope this won't be a waste of your time, 'cause I'm not
going to sleep with you tonight!" He says, "All right", and smiles.
Mixed signals, cold bed phobia, pure drunkenness combined,
I offer him, "It's late. You can spend the night at mine, I don't mind."
"Just Scott, you won't remember the rest, it's long and complicated",
later he adds, "Good luck trying to find me without my name!"
"I'm Twenty One." "That's so young", I exclaim and he frowns.
He's cocky yet witty, and also very pretty, so I let my dignity drown.
Taking him in my mouth until he explodes like a loaded gun,
my duty to the nation's hunkiest hero was well and truly done.
"I joined two days after my eighteenth birthday", said he with pride.
"My vacation's over. I'm leaving on Sunday to Poole". I sighed.
I spent the entire night insomniac, with my head throbbing to the beat
of his obliviously, peacefuly sleeping exhaling and inhaling speed.
Close enough to feel the heat of his body, yet a million miles away,
him dreaming and I reminiscing, both awaiting the dawn of a new day.
Skipping the "thank you", "goodbye", hug or phone number, he says,
"See you around maybe", holding a rather deceitfully seductive gaze.
"Scott, we're never going to see each other again", I answer bluntly.
Mirroring my sad smile in reply, minus the sadness, he left promptly.
Nov 24, 2012
Nov 24, 2012 at 3:05 PM UTC
Jeweled.. map... talk
Wipe her... teardrops...
He summoned her
Braveheart
"The Hipster" starry eye
Commando Chief
Trampled the hot item
help!!
* * * *
Rubies in the Paradox
Pep-talk thief Fox
* * * * *
Red Rhapsody
Hey, Buster, on the
Tip of the "Ice Queen"
"King Speech"
Her lips
Practice what your eyes
Preach whats inside his lips
Lip marooned force
Afterfight doomed
"Divorce"
He tapped took a bite
So vamp lit her lip
Apple stumbles
Mr. Cobbler
Lips got caught to be
crumbled
Clicks movie flicks
* * * *
Physiological College of chicks
On her Demon laptop lovesick
Sisters of the Sentinel
Fingers clicking like quicksand
Ancient lips touch the shadow
Of his smile
Does anyone have a
soft spot for Angels
The psychotic broken wing on the verge
The lip pledge Demon
Give him a shot lip
bullet glass
"Red Electricity" he smiled
Certain lip she deserved
The floppy disk
Sweet breath
His baking whisker's
Those baby boomers
Top of the lip rumors
the right kiss
"Emmy" Jet set trips
Their chattering lips
Niagara falls duty calls
"Lip Shoutbox"
Her lips touched on
A nerve
schemingly
He blew up like the
Cherry bomb we will
succumb dreamily
Could blow his
lips down
How she wore the
red velvet bustier
A+ lip magnet
He's the connoisseur
La Luna melancholy
"The World Is Dying"
No apology
The symphony in line
With the lip up
His chin down is lying
But when your smiling
A poem knows what your
lips are saying
Are you in way too deep
Lips like cold cuts the
paparazzi mob sheep
The movie cut Deli line
Race her the Italian
Mazzaratti be mine
Demon jungle no plain
Jane's lips
Hurry up your highness
lost his taste for goodness
Do angels die her lips went___?
Angel confession another
revelation
One lie please "I am the Angel"
we never live to die
Feb 7, 2019
Feb 7, 2019 at 8:05 AM UTC
If wars were subject to a copyright -
Then candidates would have to pay a fee
Each time they appeal to the glorious past
When standing for the election, the proceeds
To fall like ****** weregeld on the dead
Who can never cash the checks anyway
If wars were subject to a copyright -
Then Hollywood movies should pay their dues
Whenever a bold, scripted commando,
Body-waxed muscles glistening with makeup,
Advances up Hamburger-Helper Hill
With a patriotic song on his lipstick
If wars were subject to a copyright –
The generals’ memoirs, the admirals’, too,
Would pay to lighten the blighted young lives
Of soul-fragmented lads whose pain and blood
Won the air-conditioned another star
And unctuous applause at the officers’ club
If wars were subject to a copyright -
The President would have to pay his bill
Each time he bangs the lectern for a war,
That glorious dux bellorum dux-ing
From the rear, while a squadron of pigs fly
Above, powered by pixie-dust and smoke
Dec 7, 2018
Dec 7, 2018 at 1:17 PM UTC
Six or seven women ranging from thirty to sixty
stand chit-chatting in a somewhat-circle outside the State House.
Slowly, they dry their skin and dye their hair in the smoky sunlight
of the morning break; taking their time off with each long pull and curl.
A light skinned black woman dressed in navy sweater and
pinned with power star speaks to the group.
Deep inside her lungs a road is being paved.
You can hear the tremble of the rollers flattening molten pavement,
the rumble of the endless packs of 100s of dump trucks
the wisp and rasp of steam, the cough and hack of working men who’ve spent too
much time paving roads.
I have never heard anyone say a word in the way that woman said that word
this morning. What was her tone? Condemning?
In her blue commando, she pointed right at me (without ever seeing me)
and said, “Us and our cigarettes...”
Feb 19, 2013
Feb 19, 2013 at 4:36 PM UTC
The paint is chipping, the Christmas tree shutters hanging
Green on gray, brick stoop and twin column mouth
Opens to creaking stairs that made sneaking out commando work
My room made your favorite shade is gone, death to ugly orange
I used to think of it as my laboratory, safe haven for exploration
And abstract cultivation, I bled my innocence into the floorboards
There are still fist-sized holes along the stud that I detected
Remnants of the games I played and the four that I connected
The basement is still damp and dreary, the wooden cage for laundry suspended
At the bottom of a chute that you told me was the tomb of a curious girl
My weight bench, secondhand and mixed pounds with kilograms
Living in sin, vowed never to be defenseless training endless
The attic lends its hospitable hand to trapped bird and cobweb gems
Quarter-circle window kept by chain hungrily swallows smoke
Shelves packed so tight with yellowing knowledge and petrified wood
That if spiteful spark made love to
Musty air and
********** embers, I would never make it out
Déjà vu as backyard grass soothes badtripbitch with tingling tips
Of leathery flesh, ready to be buried and wormed in its bedbox
Overwhelmed like militia in failing keep against advancing hordes
Until nature’s handsome sprouts remind me life is beautiful, always
The trumpet vine grows hideous and spiny, roots reaching deep
Settles in its site and survives all assaults man-made
For a blink during the year its vermillion nectar tubes take flower
The hummingbirds find love outside my window in their bloom
May 13, 2011
May 13, 2011 at 10:16 PM UTC
Have you ever seen someone go commando,
or O' natural underneath the clothing they wear?
When they bend over or squat down,
you see the crack of there *** all covered with hair.
And whether they buy there jeans with zippers,
or purchase them with a button fly.
If they ever forget to close the front,
it will give everyone a cry.
Now if you like to people watch,
the way I sometimes do.
Then this can be quite funny,
if it doesn't happen to you.
It can also be hysterical,
wherever you may go.
And when I saw it happen,
I laughed so hard that tears began to flow.
Feb 18, 2011
Feb 18, 2011 at 6:39 AM UTC
Todo lo ves rifando uno tres
Un padre entre el desmadre
El varrio de los pobres
Nunca tuvimos dinero
El meromero ser primero
Siempre seguir adelante
Controlando el bolante
No caer para ver mi progreso
Tambien aumentar el ingreso
No soy un pinchi menso
Porque que cres no me venso
Alcontrario con la mente yo pienso
Me voy recio miro hacia enfrente
Combirtiendome en el presidente
No son simple mentiras
Puro polvo es lo que respiras
Esclavitud es todo lo que tu miras
No lo cres en la noche sal y talves
Del mes ya despues de las tres
Muchos mueren otros pierden
La vida sigue rolando altanto
En las calles caminando
Soy commando con el mando
Con patadas te mando volando
A putasos y zintadazos
Te dejo tirado pisado a un lado
Carajo no sabias yo nunca me rajo
Te rompo las berijas y los labios
Te tumbo las orejas y manos
Pa que veas te quebro los dientes
No seas culo para que no mientas
Me aseguro que todo lo sientas
Te llene la frente de sangre roja
Y los ojos morados bien cortados
Hinchados como un pinchichango
Mi despedida sera mi ultima salida
Te lleno de plumas como gallina
Un maricon dejandote en el rincon
Llorando como la grand vieja
Te llamaran dona siega la ballunca
Que no se te cruze en mente nunca
Jan 11, 2015
Jan 11, 2015 at 3:06 AM UTC
No town homes in my hometown
We throw up and we throw down
Drinks pour up, tears pour down
No outlet in this port town
Glass crumbs and shards
elephant-skinned sidewalks smeared with tomato paste
the streets remember
potato-tipped death machines
starchy falsetto bullets
the cracking
window
skull
smushy hamburger meat brain
meet bullet—meet steering wheel—meet
ster
e
o
my little brother stays in a shelter
on American and California
where babies
sit themselves
change
is a dollar short
and DST
stands for daylight shootings time
Grandfather time
please stroke your shredded wheat goatee just a little longer
postpone apocalyptic
soon the children will hop skotch on chalked body silhouettes
and jumprope with bungie cord intestines
But not him
my little commando
he will find a way out
depart from home plate
three strikes carved on a flaming chariot
soaring through the sky like barbasol jet streams
the great
escape
Apr 14, 2013
Apr 14, 2013 at 7:34 PM UTC
In Atlanta Victoria is red faced, her secret a secret no more.
A shoplifter made off with her ******* merchandise worth an eye catching score.
How one shopper could nab all those garments- it simply beggars belief!
Her “Angels” will now go “commando” Unless someone fingers the thief.
The crook was observed on surveillance with stuffed shopping bags leaving the store.
She didn’t get Victoria’s miracle bras so police think she’ll come back for more.
This sort of heist has happened before, although, thankfully, it is still rare.
The shoplifter may be a black woman, but its certain that she has a pair.
Feb 14, 2015
Feb 14, 2015 at 12:06 PM UTC
There's a thin line
between simple
fashion faux pas
and the sin of visibility
She'd rather go commando
than be found out
hark! 'tis her own sisters
who will roast her alive
Feb 13, 2020
Feb 13, 2020 at 9:55 AM UTC
Bad girl attitude; going commando; skirt and open toes. Haters look – **** them hoes. Bad ***** and I’m on the go; Love him not; I know for sure. Rather be bad by myself; that’s for sure. Don’t need a man; just his credit card; Hitachi wand, and a pack of Smores. She loves all types of fun, but loves their money more. After all, that’s what men are for. Try and use her for her body; jaws falling on the floor. Naughty little thing; crawling on the floor; touch her fur, and make her kitty cat purr. Spoiled herself with fun; always come back for more. She’s the one; ones scattered on the floor. Bad girls play around; good girls have way more fun.
Jun 9, 2014
Jun 9, 2014 at 4:50 PM UTC
She was that kind of girl,
You know the type:
Stunningly beautiful,
With a very naughty mind.
Take the Trump women, e.g.
You just know they're thinking--
At least Ivanka & Melania, anyway--
You know'll they're thinking about
Jumping up on the table,
Sitting right down, spreading their legs,
Exposing a panty-less ******
Going commando as usual.
Let's face it: they're East European foxes.
Their Bond chicks shaken and stirred,
Sultry, exotic, dangerous, divine.
Ivanka speaks: "Lick it. I know you wanna."
That's the kind of girl she was.
Sep 26, 2016
Sep 26, 2016 at 10:55 PM UTC
A week ago you were here
Among us but we didn't know
with Ideas in your mind
You used to do sketching
You were the brightest student of your class
You loved to do photography
You wanted to be a SSG Commando
You had dreams too
You had aims too
You wanted to be a hero
So here you are now
The whole world knows you
As you can see from the heaven now
Dec 23, 2014
Dec 23, 2014 at 1:57 PM UTC
October 31. Halloween
A Celebration celebrated worldwide for children and adults to dress as whatever they desire and are free of judgement... of condemnation.
A night where the freaks hidden inside every 'normal' person comes out to play either;
commando,
or a zombie,
a damsel in distress or
might i add a naughty little schoolgirl..
An open invitation to ask strangers for candy,
a game to see who can collect the most......
Halloween is just a game that is just full of surprises aren't they?
Oh! Halloween is a night everyone looks forward too.....
the dead included
We like games too.
We, the ones who linger between realms awaiting trial.
waiting to be stationed into our eternal home a pick between;
a forever scorching, fire blazing hellhole or
forever be glistened by the almighty light.
On Halloween night,
we the dead are free to wonder back into the world we begged to leave
whilst upon the stars the judge laughs upon his throne at us,
knowing all to well we despise this place.
Mockery is a well known game,
played by many, deceived so many.
Even mortals shamelessly mock the dead and tease us with life
irony is they live for this very night
to dress up and be someone/something they desire the most.....
the things they so often remind thy selves are;
abnormal,
freaks,
an abomination..
For god so loved the world,
he gave his only son,
to prove that he can and could give and take life as he pleases
We 'freaks' learnt that the hard way..
Every Halloween the Gods are at play and so are the humans,
but never us.
We the ones the mortals fear
And the Gods personal entertainment.
These humans wonder off into the parade whilst we linger in the depths of the darkness
He told us as punishment we are to watch them parade about us
and celebrate the day of the dead,
He who looks down upon us cursed us.
To have a sirens call-
to lure them in,
sedating them with sweet nothings,
BUT only one rule applied to us all:
NO touching the one thing we freaks' all lacked; SOULS
That's their sick,game
to tease us by gifting us to caress the mortals ever so slightly but nothing more....
'SADISM' is what we call the game in which Hades and the Gods play;
and us being the pawns.......
Well not anymore.
Not this time
No! tonight we will purge on whatever comes our way,
Sedating them with the curse of a sirens call.......
the one that the mighty gods has gifted us with,
Tonight we feast on what the humans are celebrating; DEATH.
No more hide and seek games, with the humans
No more cat and mouse games with the Judges
its our turn to give a good scare!
Tonight we play our own game,
We call it 'PEEK-A-BOO'!
'cause tonight we'll will give them one HELL of a Spooky night,
'cause we're coming for you!!!!!
Oct 18, 2016
Oct 18, 2016 at 7:44 AM UTC
Marley Brando
So many options,
can’t say too many options,
but honestly what do you do,
when even too much is not enough,
“What?”,
“Were you saying something?,
I feel like I’m in a dream,
I’m asking for affirming,
because I don’t feel a thing…”,
You stare at me with those infinite eyes,
“I feel exactly the same way.”,
then you shift your gaze,
and stare off for eternity,
as that fire inside keeps burning me,
something simmering inside is burning me,
anxious and pacing,
all out of patience,
feeling like a Patient in a Psycho-Ward society,
yes I’m fine so please don’t bother me,
I won’t sign over royalties and no I don’t need notoriety,
I’ll leave that for the words,
and all the flabby flack from the flock of ruffle feathered haters,
waiting in the wings I fly by & leave that for the Birds,
word word word,
words are what we scribe as a Writer of The Times,
words to explain when I’m gone,
words to explain when we’re gone,
when the memories have all faded,
because unless a Tyrant burns the books,
we’ll have our history scribed onto these pages,
lopsided but liberated,
feeling like a rat in a cage,
or a canary in a coalmine,
consumed with the thought to “Just get way.”,
just get away,
I’m already gone anyways,
don’t be fooled by this shell of a body,
I’ve been through Hell so now I’m in The Hills where I party,
Heaven can wait I’m on the Guest-List anyways so I won’t have to waste time at The Gate,
ready to party,
with Jim Morrison and Bob Marley,
and Brando but no Commando,
yeah I’m talking to you Sylvester sorry,
Charlie,
Chaplin for certain,
Sheen well we’ll see,
Janis, Jackson, Kurt and,
Pac and it don’t stop,
does it,
what’s in,
your wallet,
Rest In Peace,
Christopher Wallace,
smoking a chalice,
on Cloud 9 with Marley Brando,
cool as an Ice Cream Sundae,
relaxing watching the world go bananas,
B-A-N-A-N-A-S,
shout out to Gwen,
Steph,
I spin around and ask,
“What is this,
I meanI know it sounds cliche,
but does any of this really exist?”,
“Oh and where’d my mind go?”,
So many options,
won’t say too many though,
but honestly what do you do,
when even too much is not enough?,
“What?”,
“Were you saying something?,
I feel like I’m in a dream,
I’m asking for affirming,
because I don’t feel a thing…”…
∆ Aaron LA Lux ∆
author of 3 #1 Best Sellers,
& The Poetry Trilogy
∆
Mar 2, 2017
Mar 2, 2017 at 6:03 AM UTC
She has a pocket rocket
She keeps in her glove box
She drives commando
Red light stops are quite a thrill
She loves the idea of being caught
By someone in a truck
Looking down and seeing her pleasure herself
Naughty naughty fun
Oct 14, 2014
Oct 14, 2014 at 9:33 AM UTC
I play my electric guitar on my amp,
Then there's a drum sampler,
And I sing & scream okay,
But without the bassist,
I feel like I go commando.
Fellows commented long ago,
"Without the bass guitar,
Your song feels hollow."
I looked for any bassist,
Here & there but to no avail.
What I ultimately found out,
Many play the Axe,
But none a bass,
Nobody plays it, not the bass,
And my best songs sound hollow.
Nov 22, 2024
Nov 22, 2024 at 11:29 AM UTC
GIRL:
Sorry darling, I hadda put a poem out there.... Yes, indeed, I have read your other emails. I would like to respond but I have got to make a quick sandwich first and get some hangout/jammies on.
MAN::
what color ******* u wear with jammies
GIRL:
today I have on bikini ******* that are white w little blue flowers. I will go commando in my jammies ....
MAN:
hot both ways I am sure
GIRL:
what about you? what do you have on?
MAN:
a very large smile
Girl:
Nice. Very nice.
May 13, 2014
May 13, 2014 at 1:31 AM UTC
oft times as a child crayola crayons
occupied concentration
to color, with a hue and a cry
would erupt if the merest and faintest mark
trespassed violating
some shade dee rule, i'd decry
cuz even as a boy,
a peaceful nonconformist/
nonestablishmentarian streak
now finds this guy
proud to be among
the minority removed
from the madding crowd,
though blurt out a friendly "hi"
when within of the vast lines of humanity
entropy vies to get
the upper hand until ban ky
moon: secretary - (at time of this writing)
general of the United Nations
doth raise an hand gesticulating with lie
sense to subdue
the crowded housed planet fitness
even if his magic doth manage to ply
a temporary truce among
scrabbling mobs of hoodlums,
some regurgitating spoon fed
pablum patois bred from an era quois
wanton vengeful retaliation,
whence faux recapitulation
initially evidenced
from hooligans who try
to wrest control
with mortal kombat full commando
from elected officials,
who abhorring violence must vie
trump petting for state military
don protective gear
bound by parochial training
to counteract mutiny why
hill chaos runs amuck law man
dating rubric with force of arms
and crack of firearms,
which forced quiet riot doth aim
to don the mantle of government control,
whereby foot soldiers
i.e. boots on the ground -
operate asia single blame
less force to be reckoned with,
cuz the supreme arbiter of power -
who thru a coup d'etat did claim
sear of power forces opposition
to sing condescending swan song
toward ruler de jure,
which includes a price tag i.e.
at least one vestal ****** dame
Jan 9, 2018
Jan 9, 2018 at 12:49 AM UTC