"corporals" poems
Drummed their boots on the camion floor,
Hob-nailed boots on the camion floor.
Sergeants stiff,
Corporals sore.
Lieutenant thought of a Mestre ***** —
Warm and soft and sleepy *****
Cozy, warm and lovely *****
****** cold, bitter, rotten ride,
Winding road up the Grappa side.
Arditi on benches stiff and cold,
Pride of their country stiff and cold,
Bristly faces, ***** hides —
Infantry marches, Arditi rides.
Grey, cold, bitter, sullen ride —
To splintered pines on the Grappa side
At Asalone, where the truck-load died.
4.2k
the murderer is a man who
makes a living doing what
everyone jokes about but
who deep down in their so
simple minds refuse to do
the deed for fear of some
shadow conjured up as a
means to control them in
their weakest moments
the murderer lives in our
brain but lives in the hands
of very few
so few of you are killers
so few of you are people
who’ve escaped the fear
the killers are the people
who refuse to die without
a fight/the killers are the
people who refuse to keep
living without having things
their way
the murderers are killers
but the killers are creators
creators of terror, fear, and
anger, but also anguish, and
tears in volume of the ocean
the murderers
the musketeers
the marauders
the generals
the corporals
the soldiers
the butchers
the land developers
the tree planters
the kid sitting there
eating an apple
they’re all killers
all the killers are
all of them and
all of them are
all of us
Mar 9, 2011
Mar 9, 2011 at 5:49 AM UTC
The tension
The tugging
I quarrel with
Myself again.
Perturbed neurotransmitters buzz about
My subarachnoid space,
Leaving a void where
My voice of reason once was.
What was once my cortex,
Is now a coliseum.
Gladiators donned in the Armor of God
Clash with abhorrent avatars of psychedelic malevolence.
This battle ending,
In the stalest of stalemates.
Leaving myself as the only casualty,
The lone survivor.
Parts of me, now gone forever more
I mourn the corporals of my conscience
By carrying on with my day,
As I drag my feet into the horizon.
Jul 3, 2017
Jul 3, 2017 at 11:46 AM UTC
The Captains and the Kings depart
Conflict’s flag descends the mast,
Skirmishes of battle stilled
Recriminations put to past.
A pageantry is in the air
Banners snap to stiff sea breeze,
White dust stirs as multitudes
Retreat in legions to the seas.
War retreats to motes of peace
Lost and honoured are deceased,
Weary troops are homeward bound
With mortal sins repealed by priest.
A stillness on the fields of mud
Skyward points artillery’s snout,
Cordite’s stink conceals the blood
Of legends made in battle’s route.
A stillness in the ringing ears
As corporals wend their weary way
To embarkation’s khaki fleet
Which wallows short in ocean sway.
A weariness of bone and limb
Bloodshot eyes glaze over now
Trudging to Creation’s Hymn
Juxtaposed by war... somehow?
Whitecaps on the ocean spray
The Captains and the Kings depart,
Repatriation’s cloak descends
To wrap war’s futile, cold, black heart.
Marshalg
Victoria Park Tunnel
9 September 2011
Sep 8, 2011
Sep 8, 2011 at 11:20 PM UTC
The guns have fallen silent
Nothing but peace all around
Then the men came marching in
They know they're on familiar ground
Left right left heads held high
Marching onward filled with pride
Commands not sought none were given
Tears in their eyes hard to hide
Officers marched beside their men
Corporals and sergeants marched as well
They marched away from where they died
Marched away from a living hell
Now they will march for ever more
For soldiers they will always be
And on Remembrance Day they'll say
Those people there are remembering me.
Sep 18, 2011
Sep 18, 2011 at 12:37 AM UTC
'13 was a war.
several battles one after another,
each increasingly worse
than the one before it
i was laughed at by the corporals
and disgraced by the lieutenants
every loss was the same despair on repeat
somehow, i managed
to dig my dignity out of the bin
and get enough strength
to kick my enemies
in their already bruised shins
they say a new year,
a new chapter,
but for me,
it's a whole new revolution
and i'm in the lead, this time.
Dec 21, 2013
Dec 21, 2013 at 11:41 PM UTC
By Arcassin Burnham
A weakness is a weakness and mine is peaking into
submission like being sacrificial in whatever this world is,
upper body strength with more flaws than that of a girl who doesn't have
a care in the world weather or not they know that she gets around with high
hopes of a better future way ahead for her and her family,
same basic concept when i aim to be an author in a corrupted society exposing
everything because they poison everything , do you get what I'm saying?
We have all been in some kind of sin engulfing us in flames begging God
to at least loosen the chains of any agony , please set me free,
don't wanna have a sign on my head because of my skin saying roadkill,
don't get whats up with that deal.
A Fight is always a fight even when against the corporals
leaning on the people to just help for confirmation but they're
too busy with being brainwashed and battered from a force
unseen in a world so ***** but yet so clean summing up the the masses scenes,
We work for a lot and then we die for a lot, did you know Job in Hebrew Means
Prosecute?
She had a baby yesterday and doesn't worry about today because she has it
in her mind that shes not through,
with all the partying and popping pills in a nightclub that I'm pretty sure is owned
by a gang too,
Have better life choices because you don't know when the devil will be
knocking at the door for you.
May 10, 2018
May 10, 2018 at 12:14 AM UTC
This is the Field Marshall, tall and grand,
Who bellowed at Generals beneath his command,
Who shouted at Brigadiers in fine attire,
Who hollered at Colonels to make them jump higher,
Who screeched at the Majors and caused them to shake,
Who yelled at the Captains to keep them awake,
Who squawked at Lieutenants to keep them in line,
Who wailed at the Sergeants in double quick time,
Who shrieked at the Corporals and made them feel small,
Who screamed at the Privates worth nothing at all,
Who stood in the trenches and will never forget,
When they ran a man through with a fixed bayonet,
And held his hands tightly, as watching him die,
They whispered to no one, "Oh why, but oh why?"
Sep 19, 2014
Sep 19, 2014 at 12:30 AM UTC