"corporal" poems
May I present a challenge?
Imagine if you will
You have created a flying explosive device
And it needs a name that will thrill.
A name, a good name, which name?
Well, none of those below.
Some twisted suits have already used them.
**** EVEN Tacit Rainbow.
What really goes through their minds?
As they sit and discuss the name
Of their creation that's destined to ****
Butcher, destroy and maim.
Just try if you can
To read the whole of this edited list
Imagine how many have exploded of each
With out angrily clenching your fist
Little John
Honest John
Hellfire
Matador
HARM
Terrier
Nike-Ajax
Corporal
Sea Sparrow
Redstone
Bullpup
Mace
Nike-Hercules
Regulus II
Atlas
Thor
Lacrosse
Jupiter
Quail
Hawk
Tartar
Falcon
Polaris
Hound Dog
Pershing
Entac
Firebee
Shelduck
Jayhawk
Cardinal
Firefly
Petrel
Redhead/Roadrunner
Redeye
Mauler
Skybolt
Nike Zeus/Spartan
Condor
Phoenix
Typhon MR
Falconer
Overseer
Taurus
Kingfisher
Cardinal
Walleye
Hornet
Maverick
Big Q
Minuteman
Blue Eye
Viper
Firebolt
Bulldog
Harpoon
Focus
Perseus
Firefly
Stinger
Compass Dwell
B-Gull
Agile
Seekbat
Delta Dagger
Thunderbolt[7]
Patriot
Aquila
Teleplane
Streaker
Tomahawk
Firebrand
Roland
Peacekeeper
Penguin
Pave Tiger/Seek Spinner
Sidearm
Skipper
Wasp
Sea Lance
Ripper[7]
Trident II
Midgetman
Tacit Rainbow
Pave Cricket
Have Nap
Peregrine
Exdrone
Javelin
Pointer
Hunter
Coyote
Skeeter
Outlaw
Wow, you're still reading
And you've managed not to throw up.
Just wondering how many innocent victims
Of a tax funded device called Bullpup.
May 28, 2014
May 28, 2014 at 7:00 PM UTC
In the divet between mountains
Resides a wooden cabin – ostensibly an amalgamation of the scape
Adroitly - I - quondam female warrior flit
Down massive (ancient) hand-laid, hand-cut carved stone steps
Bounding from contingent step onto the dense pad of turned soil
Tacit compliance between gravity and soil holds footprints bound
A compressed deflating crescendo as pace ignites with bounds
Cadences of protuberant wildflowers and grasses erupt from swollen terra
A winsome chromatic menagerie, dispersed in ecstatic fistfuls
A venerably ancient ritual
My nascent clandestine vocation
Personally meted out - a beatification for my provisional sanctuary
Along glacier-fed stream
Lissome fingers shadow inert stalks –plucking dormant beginnings from their desiccated ligaments
I am austere and unadorned save for a festoon of pyrite flecks trailing my semblance
Residual gilding from my ante-meridian swim taken after requisite gathering of wild blackberries, goose berries, and rhubarb along oft-tamped path
The sun, nestling into its requisite apex endorsed my completion
I reclined into the hassock of soil, feeling the elements settle about with an embossment of my form
Imposing verdure arched subtly as compressed soil beckoned hyperbolic flux
As I lay within the basilica of opulent living columns replete with comestible bounty
Lingering dew honed inflections of sacrosanct petrichor in unison with piquant clover
Wild purple clover buds saccharinely tinted and inundated nestled nerves in mine cribriform plate
Birds pitched and galloped through the frond tips and beyond in the lapis expanse
Frequently snatching damselfly’s and assemblages of midges from their ephemeral drift
Auspicious rays transcended stippled diaphanous gravid clouds
Light inundated ether entered humbly into the cathedral oculus
Pyrite speckled terrain beneath, and my bare gilded form above
Cast a refracted aura about my sanctuary
Precipitously the elusive vaporous embankment distended further
Ashen atmospheric correspondence inaugurated liquescent sustenance to my mountain abode
And I -
Lingered beneath the descending gobbets, curls furled in a puddle
Fresh topsoil cupping my corporal topographic contours
Pressing blackberries into my mouth between smiles
Jan 26, 2014
Jan 26, 2014 at 9:13 PM UTC
Studies have shown that corporal punishment
at a young age
only results in learning disabilities,
God smacking the grey matter out your brain...
So the cycle of self, ego, perpetuating abuse, goes.
It is a series of footsteps, streams that become rivers;
and we are composed of these chaotic streams: energy
Dreams.
And my brother is a perfect window into "America"
He has a five year old boy, a Girlfriend with a boy and a girl;
They both believe in tough love and hitting;
On Sunday, as they were entering my mothers house,
his son hit him with a snow ball near the crotch, so he hit him
in the stomach, and I saw the boy lose his breath.
"You're a terrible father."
I picked him up as he started crying.
My brother said he was bad all day before that.
What am I to believe?
That you are raising, caring for, and loving unconditionally,
or you are ******* up as a parent by hitting your child?
What am I to believe? That glimmer of light is a deamon
or that the deamon is you, my brother.
When you slap your child, or any animal, you reduce it
its brain, its body, and its mind. That's why alphas ****
they just want to reduce the other males around them.
Its an evolutionary trait that carries through to today.
And so do fools, my nephews mother wants to medicate him...
when science meets spirituality, mind spirit
we replace the box with a tree, a galaxy.
We replace the pill with therapy, and community;
petrol with the sun, burning a hole
in the unity of our dreams and the whole of our destiny.
Mar 24, 2015
Mar 24, 2015 at 1:37 PM UTC
Masticated Ectoplasm to Lance Corporal Tom
Masticated Ectoplasm to Lance Corporal Tom
Bumming your fat knobs and insert your helmet naked and unashamed
Masticated Ectoplasm to Lance Corporal Tom
Kicking off kick-off, cyborgs brought face to face
Tartan sunstroke and may Mumbo Jumbo's **** all lie among you
Nine, eleven, seven, thirteen, six, quinquereme, ******** ********* Tweedledum and Tweedledee, unsocial person, erectoffensive!
This is Masticated Ectoplasm to Lance Corporal Tom
You've really ****** the naval officer
And the hatchet faces want to know whose blouses you abuse
Now it's time to evacuate the ******* if you have a free hand
This is Lance Corporal Tom to Masticated Ectoplasm
I'm fancy dress dancing through the cat—flap
And I'm groping inside a swollen grotesque sailor
And the plums look gigantically unusual nowadays
Ergo from Land's End to John o' Groats am I piddling in a crumpet slammer
Telescopic hindward the lump
Uranus Arsenic is scatological
And there's sweet **** all I can have ****** *********** with
With the proviso that I'm Ichabod celibate centipede sextillion heads
I'm fondling vigorously paparazzo
And I think my sputnik knows which direction to ****
Tell my ballbreaker I ****** her vigorously for England, she bonks
Masticated Ectoplasm to Lance Corporal Tom
Your menstrual cycle's kaput, there's oojakapivvygizmo spleen
Can you smell me, Lance Corporal Tom?
Can you get to the bottom of me, Lance Corporal Tom?
Can you delve into me, Lance Corporal Tom?
Can you...
From Land's End to John o' Groats am I vibrating ring my crumpet criminal lunatic asylum
Telescopic hindward the groupie
Uranus Arsenic is scatological
And there's sweet **** all I can have ****** *********** with
Mar 27, 2010
Mar 27, 2010 at 4:22 PM UTC
Men of the Twenty-first
Up by the Chalk Pit Wood,
Weak with our wounds and our thirst,
Wanting our sleep and our food,
After a day and a night --
God, shall we ever forget!
Beaten and broke in the fight,
But sticking it -- sticking it yet.
Trying to hold the line,
Fainting and spent and done,
Always the thud and the whine,
Always the yell of the ***
Northumerland, Lancaster, York,
Durham and Somerset,
Fighting alone, worn to the bone,
But sticking it -- sticking it yet.
Never a message of hope!
Never a word of cheer!
Fronting Hill 70's shell-swept slope,
With the dull dead plain in our rear.
Always the whine of the shell,
Always the roar of its burst,
Always the tortures of hell,
As waiting and wincing we cursed
Our luck and the guns and the Boche,
When our Corporal shouted, "Stand to!"
And I heard some one cry, "Clear the front for the Guards!"
And the Guards came through.
Our throats they were parched and hot,
But Lord, if you'd heard the cheers!
Irish and Welsh and Scot,
Coldstream and Grenadiers.
Two brigades, if you please,
Dressing as straight as a hem,
We -- we were down on our knees,
Praying for us and for them!
Lord, I could speak for a week,
But how could you understand!
How should your cheeks be wet,
Such feelin's don't come to you.
But when can me or my mates forget,
When the Guards came through?
"Five yards left extend!"
It passed from rank to rank.
Line after line with never a bend,
And a touch of the London swank.
A trifle of swank and dash,
Cool as a home parade,
Twinkle and glitter and flash,
Flinching never a shade,
With the shrapnel right in their face
Doing their Hyde Park stunt,
Keeping their swing at an easy pace,
Arms at the trail, eyes front!
Man, it was great to see!
Man, it was fine to do!
It's a cot and a hospital ward for me,
But I'll tell'em in Blighty, whereever I be,
How the Guards came through.
3.1k
1359
The long sigh of the Frog
Upon a Summer’s Day
Enacts intoxication
Upon the Revery—
But his receding Swell
Substantiates a Peace
That makes the Ear inordinate
For corporal release—
3k
I have some universal advice to give
To help with all you do
It's a simple little thing you see
It's as easy as one two
A girl asked me out dancing
This is something that I dread
Then I remembered my old grandad
He was talking in my head
He said...
Always lead with the left my boy
The left's the proper one
They're expecting you to use the right
But, it's the left that gets things done
I got drafted in the army
And at marching I was sad
I always got my feet mixed up
Then I thought of my grandad
Marching was a treat from then
With my grandad in my head
I'll break it down in squads for you
Here's exactly what he said...
He said...
Always lead with the left my boy
The left's the proper one
They're expecting you to use the right
But, it's the left that gets things done
I joined the army boxing team
I was skinny, quite absurd
There was no way I could ever win
Then I heard my grandads words
I took two rounds to win my bout
My master corporal was surprised
I had listened to my grandads words
And only got me one black eye
He said...
Always lead with the left my boy
The left's the proper one
They're expecting you to use the right
But, it's the left that gets things done
I met a girl while home on leave
I took her home to bed
And in the back I thought I heard
something grandad once had said
He said...
Always start with the left my boy
The left's the proper one
They're expecting you to use the right
But, it's the left that gets it done.
..
Sep 10, 2012
Sep 10, 2012 at 4:54 PM UTC
she wants head
male bonding
siamese twins
tango 69
me
i travel by images
corporal landscapes
the mouth is the tunnel
quick, now
the tongue the train
windows on the world
unmistaken
still
same refrain
we will meet
we will meet
somewhere again
end of the line
with
the power of torso
speed of the memento
lost and then
found
and
always
the blood engine
pounding
puffing
steaming its blush
on the cheek of night
2.3k
The big day was a week away
The streets were being swept
Folding stands erected
Where homeless, last week slept
To make a good impression
The Mayor told one and all
To step up and take note
To answer his loud call
We must show the whole country
We are the best at what we do
We have to show the country
The best side of me and you
This meant weeks before this
The police were out in force
Removing the imperfections
Both on foot and out on horse
A cleansing of the city
Make it nice for all to see
It brings up bitter memories
At least it does to me
It happened back in Europe
A little corporal took command
He did his little cleansing
With his little **** band
The town had hung up bunting
Like the banners in Berlin
being homeless is a problem
It's not where a cleansing should begin
The mayor had plans for plenty
Marching bands and lots of press
He'd only answer pre-set questions
In case it all became a mess
He had to have it perfect
It was his first parade you know,
the streets were freshly steam cleaned
There was nothing he didn't want to show
The displaced folks all huddled
Down in the park, a mile back
Veterans and soldiers
Whites, Hispanics, and some black
Their town was in transition
They were the cities hidden sore
They would never be accepted
Never let inside a door
The Mayor stood on the dais
Waved and smiled as folks went by
It was a town of smoke and mirrors
He showed the world a great big lie
Like the small Austrian corporal
who refused to change and would not bend
The Mayor lied to his country
It was the beginning of his end
May 11, 2015
May 11, 2015 at 11:41 PM UTC
The snow was blowing among the trees. In large wet flakes it tumbled down.
My captain turned, as if to speak, but from his lips there came no sound.
A red rose bloomed there on his chest -staining dark the Wehrmacht grey.
I looked in horror as he pitched face forward to the ground.
****** I yelled and ducked for cover. The copse of trees echoed the sound.
Somewhere out there he awaits; the Devil’s son, the cunning foe.
He’s stalked our party for three days yet leaves no footprints in the snow.
I served in France in Forty –one; before these Russians were our foes.
I shiver but it’s not from fear; it’s just that we lack winter clothes.
I motion briskly with my right hand, I think the shooter must be there
my corporal nods and starts to move; perhaps he can outflank this man.
My soul is black for I’ve done some things;
for which I once would have been ashamed.
I saw the Jewess try to shield her babe
as I placed them in a common grave.
This man out there, a warrior; he risks his life upon command.
He is clever, this one, he waits his chance.
Either its him or me that’s dammed.
The drifting snowflakes hide his breath.
But He’s still out there this I know.
My Captain lies still upon the earth
and is slowly covered by the snow.
We are soldiers who risk our lives.
We sacrifice for the Fatherland.
We dream of a woman and a warm bed
Never of Death’s cold clammy hand
My men cry out, the fox is flushed
The ****** has at last been found.
It’s true what they say of the bullet that kills you;
I never even heard the sound.
May 5, 2016
May 5, 2016 at 10:17 PM UTC
The Master Corporal said to me
"I'm gonna do a show"
"Don't worry what I say to you"
"I just thought you should know"
Injured, badly two weeks gone
I was set to be held back
My knee was torn apart and
that, was not something I could hack
The day I was demoted
My Master Corporal came to me
He said "Turner, I hate to do this"
"But, it's for the best...you'll see"
I waited for inspection
With the others all on line
They were standing at attention
Me on crutches the whole time
"Turner, is there anything"
"That I should hate to find"
"Is there stuff inside your locker"
"of a non-military kind"
I stood there at attention
Waiting for the end to come
As he looked all through my kitting
Found dust upon my gun
He opened up the locker
And a moth came flying out
It flew past the Master Corporal
And then it danced upon his snout
The yell...was heard in England
"A pet...you've got a pet"
"Who said that you could have one?"
"It's not allowed...A PET"
The moth found the first window
flew back towards him once again
Left some moth dust on his beret
And he flew away right then
The Master Corporal's outrage
At being "mothed" by my new pet
Was one I don't think many
In our platoon would soon forget
He started throwing clothing
Chucking boots around the room
I knew it was all acting
But, those boots can really zoom
When finished he stood waiting
For a response, I stood and stared
I could not break out a smile
I had to show I didn't care
He moved on through the others
Looking for more moths on the way
But, that first one and it's face dance
Well, it surely made my day
He drove me to my barracks
Up to my new platoon
"I hope you liked my show today"
" I know I'll see you soon"
"Just do what you are ordered"
"And one thing don't forget"
"When you next have an inspection"
"Don't have an insect for a pet!!"
I remember fondly that last visit
He knew it hurt for me to leave
But, every word in here is truthful
You can choose to not or to believe.
Aug 4, 2013
Aug 4, 2013 at 9:22 PM UTC
I am victim only to constant distractions,
restrictions, prescriptions, vicarious factors,
as various factions of elitism prescribe defeat
to the common man; the hard working talented
beaten upon by the self driven commerce land.
Businessmen, crooks, warlords and bankers;
victory purports itself the higher moral ground.
******* the world, lie on the crimson sand.
The brevity of riches in led laden ditches,
trenches v armistice; one man’s control over
cadets and lieutenants. Equality it seems
is general ignorance, propose roll reversal
and receive corporal punishment. Capital
interests will be met with bursaries, bail
out the banks and return to your knees,
put out your hands and beg for your feed.
If the top three percent own more wealth
than the lower half put together while
politicians claim to be fair-weather,
conclude that sincerities amiss, that
your representatives are on the pay roll
of profit driven lobbyists. Career crazed fat-cats
couldn’t care less if you're in tattered garments
or there’s a hole in your dress, their polished
boots carry them from vault to vault
while we fill another with oil-baron asphalt.
As social repression pushes populations
science progresses, enabling armed forces
to kettle us, cut us off and circle on horses.
Power-shifts across the globe become jaded
by investment with private militias and fascist
supremacists seizing resources from war
torn villages to fund their crude sourced
morality, migrants and refugee families
are vilified by ignorance forged in cynicism
caused by the inequality of education.
Here lie the symptoms of infinite regression,
hold mirror to gene-pool as it replicates
the same flawed equation, as populations
expire and conspire so does the problem.
Bombing a country without repercussions,
is as likely as a breaking the waters surface
without sending ripples to the adjacent atoms.
These are the dark ages of social stagnation.
Oct 22, 2014
Oct 22, 2014 at 11:00 AM UTC
I venture outward
Past those devoured
Through endless hours
This adventure tower
Holds uncensored power
In higher spires
And liars' desires
Ending when I perspire
In a fire retire
I must live
When lust gives
A chance at love
I glance above
A dusty cloud
Through a crusty crowd
To see love must be found
In transcendence
And dependence
So I must trust
And ignore rust
To import thrusts
Of night's passion
Despite fashion
Time vortex
More or less
As time runs out
I must decide what it's about
Others help with that decision
They help by making incisions
And letting time bleed
My emotions they read
For their corporal greed
I tried to plant a seed
But their environment is frigid
Despite my attempts to bridge it
I become detached
From my potential catch
By days and years
And waves of tears
That stave off peers
Until I'm an old man
Feet buried in cold sand
I'll say that I tried
Once I'm used to the lies
Dec 16, 2017
Dec 16, 2017 at 6:47 AM UTC
Deep fried asphalt crawls beneath my wheels as I pedal on, pursued by buzzing flies
and salty drops of sunscreen sweat sting my squinting eyes.
Caffeine coursing through my corporal chassis fuels my weary legs
and mutes the screaming mind that wants the same respite for which my human vessel begs.
Be the road before me treacherous, the hills before me steep,
God heals my aching body every night with fitful sleep.
Jul 27, 2013
Jul 27, 2013 at 2:24 PM UTC
I shed tears
You shed humanity
I dread and fear
Your unstable insanity
You loosen your compassion
Like it's your belt
For it's in your fashion
To inflict welts
On the ground I knelt
Doubled over in pain
From a punishing rain
My eyes welled up and my vision got blurry
I was unable to break your encryption of fury
My mind was in constant examination
Of your gift of violent contamination
Lines were crossed on my back
Living life on your torture rack
You become my God
You never spare the rod
My brother may be able
But I'm on *******
I turned the tables
By torching my brain
On the ****** train
I invented a game
Out of ruining your creation
My veins experienced deflation
Until I saw the error of my ways
Adopting your negative craze
You wanted me to get used to pain
But I'd rather get used to change
The effects of corporal punishment are felt
When society hits us with a conveyor belt
Convincing us if something worked it must continue to
Our childhood experience this is imprinted through
We figure our children must be belted
After our minds have been smelted
Forged in fire
Our hearts retired
As we grew colder
The beaten grew older
And reproduced
And re-introduced
A punishing perception of the world
They beat the clam that holds the pearl
Oct 2, 2017
Oct 2, 2017 at 6:06 AM UTC
(A class for correctional officers
at the local community college)
Thirty-six-thousand a year to begin
No education or experience required
The recruiting posters are pretty, though:
Handsome young people uniformed in grey
But the poor sergeant can’t control his class
His students have their cell ‘phones and their ‘tudes -
“Tell Momma to pick me up like I said!” –
Slouched in their seats or wandering the halls
While dozing over her own telescreen
A fat corporal yawns by the soda machine
Sep 28, 2018
Sep 28, 2018 at 3:09 PM UTC
You've been mine for a thousand years,
Through a mountain of problems, and a river of tears.
Living with me isn't done with ease,
But I'll never stop thinking of ways to please,
You're corporal self, this is sheer delight,
Folly and frolic until late at night.
The emotional needs I can handle my sweet,
Versed in Maslow and Erickson I'm ready to greet,
And make you feel safe both night and day,
Feelings never faltering, hear my words say,
My love I'm committed to your every desire,
It's not just my ***** but my soul that's on fire.
Each time that I gander into your soft eyes,
God calls your name, I peer up at the skies.
The rainbow of colors seen after a rain,
Include the color of your eyes, they drive me insane!!
The warmth of the sun shining sultry on my face,
Similar to the nights snuggling on our five by seven space.
The gentle movement as the clouds roll by,
Is reminiscent of massage, that at night closed your eye.
Even the falling raindrops landing tender on the land,
Compares to tears of missing you, wiped away with my hand.
I'll give you my all, refusing to fall,
you can't deny what you feel,
My pretty child, you drive me wild,
your emotions I don't need to steal!!
Please visit poemsbypaul.com
Sep 20, 2013
Sep 20, 2013 at 12:21 PM UTC
Himself it was who wrote
His rank, and quartered his own coat.
There is no king nor sovereign state
That can fix a hero's rate;
Each to all is venerable,
Cap-a-pie invulnerable,
Until he write, where all eyes rest,
Slave or master on his breast.
I saw men go up and down
In the country and the town,
With this prayer upon their neck,
"Judgment and a judge we seek."
Not to monarchs they repair,
Nor to learned jurist's chair,
But they hurry to their peers,
To their kinsfolk and their dears,
Louder than with speech they pray,
What am I? companion; say.
And the friend not hesitates
To assign just place and mates,
Answers not in word or letter,
Yet is understood the better;—
Is to his friend a looking-glass,
Reflects his figure that doth pass.
Every wayfarer he meets
What himself declared, repeats;
What himself confessed, records;
Sentences him in his words,
The form is his own corporal form,
And his thought the penal worm.
Yet shine for ever ****** minds,
Loved by stars and purest winds,
Which, o'er passion throned sedate,
Have not hazarded their state,
Disconcert the searching spy,
Rendering to a curious eye
The durance of a granite ledge
To those who gaze from the sea's edge.
It is there for benefit,
It is there for purging light,
There for purifying storms,
And its depths reflect all forms;
It cannot parley with the mean,
Pure by impure is not seen.
For there's no sequestered grot,
Lone mountain tam, or isle forgot,
But justice journeying in the sphere
Daily stoops to harbor there.
1.7k
quantum scale manipulations
in the vibration we call form
with the words of power cosmic
from the realm of constant storms
thulcandra leaves me wanting
I can fix it, as ive sworn
tho today my motivations
sadly lack corporal scorn
Sep 2, 2014
Sep 2, 2014 at 8:10 PM UTC
How do you live with hate so deep,
It chokes you like clogged arteries,
And all you want is to look in the mirror,
And not see yourself as a living monster,
So can someone show me how to forgive,
Yourself for the most heinous of sins?
Because right now all I can do is die slowly,
Living in a body with a soul rotting so,
Please forgive me, please don't hate me,
Please erase this feeling that I can't see,
It's so much easier to fight something corporal,
That's why I've been up myself day after day.
The pills I swallow in the hopes I won't wake up,
From this nightmare that's swallowed me whole,
I live every day just waiting for retribution,
From the person I hurt, because I can't find resolution,
In no consequences for what I did, because of my demoness,
Who ate me up and spit me out when I was barely older than six,
And she was like a vampire infecting me with a disease,
Now I'm infected just like her, except maybe with more remorse,
Please forgive me, please don't hate me,
Please erase this feeling that I can't see,
It's so much easier to fight something corporal,
That's why I've been up myself day after day.
Nov 19, 2018
Nov 19, 2018 at 2:32 AM UTC
Te he aprendido a amar
con tus imperfecciones,
pues tú has aprendido a amarme con las mías.
Has cautivado cada parte de mi ser.
Esa curvatura insaciable
que conjuga tu estatura de almirante.
Mi iris se centra en ti,
en tu mirada penetrante,
cada vez que soy parte de tu horizonte.
Te he aprendido a amar
con tus marcas de combate
y las he apreciado como si hubiesen sido talladas por el más pretigiado escultor.
Haces que de mi rostro reluzca
un símbolo de paz,
esa risa coqueta
que solo se presenta cuando tú estás.
Tus dedos forman parte
de la más perfecta obra musical,
mis oídos se percatan
de cada nota que en el aire flota.
Te he aprendido a amar
en las peores circunstancias
y orgullosa me siento por haber sido
ese necesitado sustento que siempre has merecido.
Seré tu camino al placer
por el tiempo que desees,
al igual que seré tu mejor amiga
cuando sientas que tu pecho desahogar debes.
No me importa tu cuerpo,
ni nada que la sociedad clasifique
como algo "imperfecto",
la belleza corporal se va
y quienes se quedan
son los sentimientos.
Esa gentileza y sentido del humor
fueron los que me inclinaron hacia ti,
eres mi musa,
mi inspiración.
Sobre ti puedo contar
las más grandes aventuras.
Te he aprendido a amar,
en todos los aspectos,
duele cuando dudas
sobre lo que por ti siento.
Aunque los años pasen
y nuestros seres
ya no sean encontrados,
mis sentimientos
por ti permanecerán intactos.
Apr 17, 2015
Apr 17, 2015 at 1:25 PM UTC
A caterpillar had the feeling
That change was coming
That time was stealing.
To embrace the metamorphosis
It wove a cocoon around its chest
And choose our wall to take its rest.
The young are thoughtless, often cruel
And I was no exception.
I would have destroyed it but
for Frankie’s intervention.
Frankie lived in the corner house
He was older and quite wise.
He taught me that this green cocoon
would change into a butterfly.
He bade me watch, he had me wait
to see the wonder taking shape.
We saw the Monarch first take wing
once caterpillar, now a King.
Several summers passed us by.
I still lived but Frankie died-
He was nineteen, Young and brave
A landmine put him in his grave.
He died just before Saigon’s fall
His name’s inscribed upon the Wall
Corporal Frank Evangelista Junior,
beloved by mother and mourned by sister.
He was too good, too young to die.
He would have been a butterfly.
Nov 22, 2011
Nov 22, 2011 at 5:11 PM UTC
A Major's contribution
A personal Private's affair
The Colonel that blossomed
Into a General's sense of scandal
Catching all Lieutenants unaware
Then came a Corporal punishment
And Mastered the Sargent
With such care
Limiting the whole base
To all and much despair
May 28, 2015
May 28, 2015 at 11:04 PM UTC
Here's the story told to me about our glorious infantry.
Louts,rapscallions,friends battalions
arm in arm and full of glee
marching off to join the infantry.
In the rear lines drinking fine wines,hock,moselle,some burgundy
and some drinking ginseng flavoured tea from some far flung idea of Empire
while only half a mile along the road the whole world was on fire,
were the fat arsed generals with their horses, waiting on their second courses,
crepes and franzipans and to a man they didn't care that the war was waiting there,
'let the ******** wait',they'd say,
after all that was the gentlemanly way.
The bullets striped us left to right and falling into our own falling ***** we'd call for mum and dad
aye lads
aye lads
war is bad
but for the buggers at the rear who never so much as once came near the sound of a gun,
war was fun a chance to socialise,
society is full of lies and leaders they were not.
But death's got their number on his shell,they'll soon be joining us in hell,
so ****** them and sod the lot
were in a spot,we'll not get home,splintered bone and mangled limb and corporal thinks it's still a sin to swear
well ****** him as well,we no longer care.
As we share a final smoke,Johnny tells his favourite joke about three generals and some place called,but I forget the punch line as the time has come for one more bullet,one more gun and silence.
In Croydon,Roydon and North of Watford Gap,families are spoon fed some wholesome krap from drip fed Sergeants,battle,shield and argent,honour King and all the other little things that the senselessness of death brings home.
Let them keep their fields filled full with glory,we know the ***** **** filled story,
war is bad
war is bad
I'm glad that I cant fight no more.
Jul 25, 2013
Jul 25, 2013 at 9:32 AM UTC
My beloved, believe me when I say you are beautiful
Like how I do whenever you whisper the same to me
We are beautiful, and our love is as beautiful as the word's best definition could ever be
There is beauty in the way our eyes resemble hopeful sunrises
As we gaze into the hollows of each other's soul
In the way our softest kisses spark the most brilliant fireworks in the firmament
In the way the intertwining of our fingers
Commence a massive stampede in the still jungles of our hearts
We are beautiful, my love, we truly are
But we are beautiful stars tremendously shining that cannot be in the same constellation
Our lips are the dulcet melody of an orchestra but the composer wrote us in different music sheets
We are both pieces of a magnificient puzzle but not adjacent ones; our edges do not coincide
Beautiful is how we worship the same sun and perform parallel rituals
Though I realized that we are but ethereal planets bound to our own inescapable orbits
Our corporal entities are home to various innumerable celestial bodies
I have enough proof to say we are galaxies with feet in this incessantly expanding universe
Listen to me love, when I say you are beautiful and so am I
Heed me when I say we are beautiful but we must face the reality
We are as beautiful as we could ever be but our proximity does not yield the same result
Remember that every sunrise will set at a certain time of a wonderful day
That no fireworks display are tattooed on the sky's flesh
That no explosion of resplendent colors remain, that it is a fireworks' nature to disintegrate
And the aftermath of stampedes is just unimaginable
I may not be an astronomer but I have witnessed each of us turn to neutron stars
And two neutron stars cannot occupy the same space, especially collide
The composer's judgment cannot be questioned
For the composer knows the best music shall be produced if we are not played simultaneously
There's a reason why the planets are crafted as they are, why galaxies must stand alone
So for the last time, I will tell you, that you are beautiful my love
You are beautiful as you are, and yes, the same applies to me
Our love is beautiful, as beautiful as its best definition could ever be
But there are things we cannot change, things that we cannot control
Perhaps we can be try to be beautiful together in the next eternity
Nov 9, 2014
Nov 9, 2014 at 6:40 AM UTC