"crusader" poems
I have been training,
My whole entire life,
to get ready for the fight,
holding steady in my hand, a knife.
_____
I just want to be a hero
a masked crusader in the night,
saving the planet, one person at a time,
but for now, I'll just write
Apr 10, 2014
Apr 10, 2014 at 1:23 PM UTC
Two thousand years
Regressing past the cross
Lead bites bitter as bronze
Gaza rages
The brimstone and fire you promised
You delivered
Apostle bound crusader
Jewish Lucifer
Dec 15, 2014
Dec 15, 2014 at 1:11 PM UTC
The Commissioner has summoned Batman and Robin
The Bat signal had just came on
It was a night being long
Batman and Robin came in a flash on the scene
The villains will all eventually come clean
It seemed there was a big plot becoming an act
But when it comes to crime, it gets a big smack
The villains trying to get Batman and Robin dissolved
They wanted the crusader’s out of the way, and not involved
High above the Thrift building overlooking Gotham City
To the citizens below it will be a pity
Sleeping gas has been spreading to knock the city out
However Batman and Robin are trapped in a trunk being no where about
Every citizen has fallen asleep
Are the Gotham City citizens in a song of my soul to keep?
Will Batman and Robin escape being ocean deep?
The Bat channel continues on far as long
Batman was holding his breath, and suddenly broke from his bonds and cut Robin loss as well
They immediately headed for the Thrift building
When Batman and Robin arrived, all the villains were shocked in surprise
The question came up with how did you escape?
I’m Batman, and what saved me was my cape
Robin replied, “Let’s put these villains to their own sleep in jail deep”
POW from Batman to the RIDDLER
BANG from Robin to the JOKER
YONK to the other villains
Batman and Robin stated to the villains, “Crime truly doesn’t pay and you now received our relay”
Good Bat night and Batman and Robin turned crime into a justice sight.
Mar 20, 2014
Mar 20, 2014 at 3:45 AM UTC
***What if I say, I am not like the others?
Are you afraid of seeing my bloodshot eyes?
It ain’t a delusion of your vision
It ain’t a theory of your hostile mind
Its just an authority to reveal high
As you ****** up in the midnight.
What if I declare, I like to be a pothead?
It ain’t a crime of your filthy society
It ain’t a ****** of your hypersexual beauty
Its just a power to absorb black hole
As you get dissolved in the infinity.
What if we believe, we are united peace?
Our intoxication could never be slayer as your humanity diminishes
Our immune could never be a flame as your democracy fire burns
Our dealing could never be an acrid as your judgments villainous
Our indignation could never be a pretender as your sensibility veiled
Our lonesome shadow could never be a congress of love as your realization mortifies
And our congregation of morality must have been psychedelic painkiller.
What if we deny, we are insignificant existence?
So, who are you crippling our bloodshot eyes, A Social featherbrain?
Who are you to stop having "dopetherone" in the town, A godly crusader?
Who are you to proclaim the rule against your mind, A phrenetic lawyer?
What if we deny, we are insignificant existence?
What if we believe, we are united peace?
We will keep walking with our head held high.***
April' 2015
Mar 25, 2017
Mar 25, 2017 at 2:07 PM UTC
Always thinking
what am I thinking?
lets start writing
should be sleeping
why am I thinking?
I need to sleep now
bored of sheep, lets try cows
maybe I should count the spots
or connect the dots
of my thoughts....
Dalmatians are the cow canine
ten, eleven, twelve
deeper I delve
sleeper I'm not
wide awake, no
half baked dough
money makes the world go round
funny how it doesn't make a sound
yet people are so loud
it's not needed
nod your head when greeted
nod your head when agreeing
or leaving, deceiving, grieving
maybe thats bowing
bow your head when grieving
Robin Hood had merry men
and they were thieving
still need to be sleeping
dreaming........
If only I could dream of you
as we sail the ocean blue
you would get sea sick
and I would drown quick
this is how my dreams end
much like our relationship
conscious thoughts
maligned with nonsense fraughts
I fraught of you today
tonight, this night
every night
you my light
my darkness
my rainbow
tied around your neck
so delicate
a pretty little thing
no tongue ring yet
butterflies
toast lands sunny side
glass half empty
I'm half fool
a joker in the pack
Batman that's a fact
I only come out at night
your caped crusader
I tried to save her
but the current dragged her under
she now resides in the depths of my mind
a shipwreck
my Mary Rose
how I loved your eyes and nose
and everything attached
did I remember to put the door on the latch?
turn off the oven
come give me loving
and affection
Marvin Gaye, Joan Armatrading
sing to me so I can sleep
sheep, cow, dalmatian, sheep..........
May 4, 2015
May 4, 2015 at 4:56 PM UTC
Darling,
in the event of a zombie apocalypse,
I’m gonna marry you.
I know, that romantic testimonial
isn’t quite the matrimonial proposition
you were expecting,
but I’m projecting a lovely future for us!
You see, when the dead break free,
I’ll come save you.
I’ll be your knight in shining Kevlar,
your cranium-crushing crusader,
and safe in our barricaded bungalow,
we’ll match moans for groans
with the shambling horde outside.
We’ll make love ’til death do we part,
or at least til we start
to run out of supplies,
and if we get in a pinch,
I’ve got a surprise:
see, I’ll paralyze them with poetry,
’cause if there’s anything
a zombie understands, it’s desire.
Meanwhile,
you lay down suppressive fire
and we’ll take out as many as we can.
If in the end we are overrun,
I’ll let them take me
so you can get away.
They can have my brain–
it’s my heart that beats for you.
Oct 20, 2014
Oct 20, 2014 at 8:59 PM UTC
A perfect man for me was never moulded by a box,
A box that screamed multitude of labels
To satiate the chaotic minds of society,
A belonging judged by feudality, no rhyme or reason required or questioned.
A perfect man for me was never measured by material things,
He gives abundantly by just being around,
An illuminating source of comfort on the other end listening,
Empathising and leaving a trail of laughter that makes me fall even deeper.
A perfect man for me was never masked crusader (okay, maybe Batman sometimes),
He is maskless for the world to bask in his genuity,
No bounds or limitations set on his acts of kindness and love,
Selfless and generous with his time, blind to any creed or pedigree.
A perfect man for me was never one to run away from problems,
Valiantly facing the raging bulls head on,
Inner strength personified by his poise and determination,
"I will get through this unscathed and no one will stop me".
A perfect man for me was never an owner of a cold crackled heart,
Headstrong, gallantly keeps the family together in a bind of unconditional love,
Lovingly adores his sunshine, making sure she knows she is loved with the same fervour,
Day in and day out, void of complains and pettiness, as the world turns.
A perfect man for me was never perfect,
Owning up to his flaws and shortcomings and being aware of mine,
A cycle that is never vicious but one that is laced with acceptance and non-judgments,
He inspires the best version of myself as he aspires to better himself.
A perfect man for me spells Y-O-U,
And the way that you are is exactly how I love Y-O-U.
Shalini Nayar
24.11.14
(C) 2014
Nov 24, 2014
Nov 24, 2014 at 9:51 AM UTC
The Terrorist
Do you know
What terror is?
Terror rising
Like the threat level
News televising
Different views
Like
Christian or Hindu
Muslim or Jew
How many Satanist
Crashed planes in
Places containing
Millions?
Murders of a martyr
Muttering under his breath
Not before a jump
From a building
But before
Walking through its doors
Trench coat
Drenched in sweat
No words spoken
But the name
Of a God
à la God
Allah!
Alas
A last breath
And a final moment
Gives a button
A fast press
Blast!
Explosions
Cold as the
Look he gave
Before he left
On his quest
Like a crusader
Crusading a nonbeliever
Then crucify
If you try
To stay true to self
Well, take me
As I am
And know
I never claim to know
I worship nothing
That creates war,
Whether real
Or not.
Oct 4, 2011
Oct 4, 2011 at 4:02 PM UTC
her subtleties and jewels
are billboarded for the drawing of crowds
but the faces sketched by the grease lights are not
the kind that such an exquisite artwork of womanhood
like her should bring out on such a soft spring night
so they fold her up and pack her away
careful not to crease her fine linen soul
and place her neatly away in her cedar chest
knowing i will sneak her out later for wine and ballroom dancing
bring her back to the circus of the obscene
just as dawn creeps into the cool crisp sky
a single tear in her eye for her lost teenage years
when she only wanted to rebel a bit
but spent the time posed neatly like a porcelain doll
she was a lifesize lovesick reproduction in technicolour of herself
all thouse years ago
better to have gone away
better to have been a roadside companion
of the weary walkers
than grown old as one of the window decorations of the world
shes there now in the sun faded backdrop to the shopping season
but ill rescue her someday
well live in somerset and sell glass trinkets
her introspection is the short film version
but her poems are the epic novels
of such sweet romance
it sways the most hardened to the tender embrace
to the love of soul to soul kisses
she weaves such a tender tale
but her nights are spent alone
watching a winter moon
cross the summer sky
her hand aching for the hand that once held it
aching for the love that abandon her to this fate
i hope someday to fill that void in her world
wedged between the cardboard cowboy's forever smile
and the caped crusader sleeping off his drinking binge
Dec 23, 2013
Dec 23, 2013 at 1:08 PM UTC
Today
received a mail
from asylum ,
send a check list
about
Who is allowed to
Visit the place!
These are
Doer for betterment of everyone,
Crusader of humanity
Harbinger of nature
Achiever of truth
Onlooker and caretaker
of concord.......
I couldn't able to positioned myself with any one
So, decide to stay on this planet only!
Jun 4, 2014
Jun 4, 2014 at 6:56 PM UTC
I walked beside the cowman across grass
Sodden by the morning dew. "What do you
Want to do when you leave school?" He asked me.
"Want to be a cowman like you," I said.
He stared at me sideways on."No, my lad,
You want to get yourself a proper job."
He said no more and disappeared inside
His farm cottage tied to the farm estate.
I walked on puzzled by his blunt reply.
I was, as he knew, a London boy, fresh
From the smoke and crowded streets, not used to
The way of the countryside and manners.
In my bedroom, in a glass case, I kept
Bird's eggs, chalk fossils, and a rabbit's skull
Salvaged from the woodland floor on the Downs.
Hanging from the ceiling by bits of string
A model Spitfire moved in the wind.
And taped to the walls were pictures of tanks
Or racing cars with all the parts numbered,
And a chalk model of a Crusader
With sword and shield with red cross of St George.
From my window I could see the whole farm
Where I'd been to fetch the milk before school.
Maybe I'd not work on the farm at all.
Aug 20, 2018
Aug 20, 2018 at 12:48 PM UTC
There I would cry
As if it isn't enough
To see her cry upon her knees
You are a crusader
A wild beast
With your crown of thorns
Will your hate cease?
Like abandoned homes
You stand alone
A heart of no peace
Your 3 feet from your grave
With your mind speaking louder than your heart
Who will be there to mourn when you part
May 17, 2014
May 17, 2014 at 9:41 AM UTC
I. The Minor Poet
His little trills and chirpings were his best.
No music like the nightingale's was born
Within his throat; but he, too, laid his breast
Upon a thorn.
II. The Pretty Lady
She hated bleak and wintry things alone.
All that was warm and quick, she loved too well-
A light, a flame, a heart against her own;
It is forever bitter cold, in Hell.
III. The Very Rich Man
He'd have the best, and that was none too good;
No barrier could hold, before his terms.
He lies below, correct in cypress wood,
And entertains the most exclusive worms.
IV. The Fisherwoman
The man she had was kind and clean
And well enough for every day,
But, oh, dear friends, you should have seen
The one that got away!
V. The Crusader
Arrived in Heaven, when his sands were run,
He seized a quill, and sat him down to tell
The local press that something should be done
About that noisy nuisance, Gabriel.
Vl. The Actress
Her name, cut clear upon this marble cross,
Shines, as it shone when she was still on earth;
While tenderly the mild, agreeable moss
Obscures the figures of her date of birth.
2.2k
The Son of Rome, strong and clear in mind,
Once proud and mighty, a holder of power,
Has fallen to the depths of humankind,
Not asking of his downfall and best hour.
From day to day, his seed did change and grow
In others shapes, not meant for nature's rules,
Its soil has turned fruitless, it is barren now,
Turning from geniuses into fools.
Where is the crusader with waving sword,
Coming to rescue all his oppressed brothers?
The viking with its axe, without a lord,
Invoking fear within the heart of others?
Although since birth a foe of my ideal,
Disappointment and mourning's what I feel.
Aug 10, 2022
Aug 10, 2022 at 8:18 AM UTC
A man with a hood
With promising words
Carried a small sword
Just in case he needed to
But he chose to use the weapon of unity instead
He had the choice, and he chose the right
Decades of dealing with corrupted taint
He brought the buckets of paints
And started slowly coloring
He was imprisoned for his beliefs
But that didn't stop him from being the man he wanted to be
Unlike the rest, his flavored words hold truth
When the world wanted black and white, he mixed the paintbrushes
And did not go down without a fight
He took over every podium
And showed his mixed colors of unity.
Brother to sister, white to black
He took of his hood and said hatred was what he lacked.
Oct 24, 2015
Oct 24, 2015 at 5:42 PM UTC
Do you know
What terror is?
Terror rising
Like the threat level
News televising
Different views
Like
Christian or Hindu
Muslim.
How many Satanist
Crashed planes in
Places containing
Millions?
Murders of a martyr
Muttering under his breath
Not before a jump
From a building
But before
Walking through its doors
Trench coat
Drenched in sweat
No words spoken
But the name
Of a God
à la God
Alas
A last breath
And a final moment
Gives a button
A fast press
Blast!
Explosions
Cold as the
Look he gave
Before he left
On his quest
Like a crusader
Crusading a nonbeliever
Then crucify
If you try
To stay true to self
Well, take me
As I am
And know
I will never claim to know
I worship nothing
That creates war,
Whether real
Or not.
Sep 30, 2010
Sep 30, 2010 at 12:51 PM UTC
One man army staring into the abyss
Thin skinned crusader trying to shift the culture
But when you fall, you fall alone
And rock bottom is a lonely place
Every night another war to be fought
Allies perished, friends are gone
So this is growing up my darling
I'm not sure how long I can go on
Feb 10, 2014
Feb 10, 2014 at 5:37 PM UTC
I have travelled, many a weary step, so long, and for so long with baited breath,
ANXIOUS
ready to be relieved of the responsibilities of life
craving freedom from calamity and strife
frantic and frenzied
as though at some point i might find the answer
to an oft ignored question
i look up at the stars, as they look down at me
and bask in the glory of the past and present's symmetry
because there are so many of us...
all bound to humanity
now passed through the flame of mortality
the "others"
the ones who have asked themselves why they're here
the intellectuals warriors who have no need for fear
when they look into the veil of death
and sense the first vibrations on the pulse of life
when i used to dip my pen into the ink,
metaphorically, because my computer helps me to think
i used to doubt engaging in the process of creation
it used to enrage
my self serving denomination
the sensation of never quite being able to express yourself as fluidly as option b
or the devilry that comes from hiding yourself within the layers of flesh referred to as anatomy
i use to cower by act three,
run from the stage before the audience saw through me,
never receiving my final bow
but now i realize,
that at the core of my existence
imbedded in my instincts
is the ability of my creator....
and I'm a fan
so now when i dip my pen to the paper
I'm a masked crusader
cool, liek darth vader
and i aint never going back
to that tired dusty beaten track
refered to, in passing, as memory lane
Sep 2, 2014
Sep 2, 2014 at 2:03 PM UTC
Lonesome crusader and ancient gladiator,
He is taking love from the hater while being loyal to his traitor.
Constantly his own narrator, singing those old songs, on his path, as he walks along,
Looking for some forgotten town, with no one around who would try to bring him down.
Were he could not be found
Find his peace in the sounds, as his flesh fades back to dust back beneath the ground.
Jun 12, 2011
Jun 12, 2011 at 10:28 PM UTC
Therein lies the fur, filled with running wind,
Milkweed in the scruff, the scent of wild-wood,
Some mystery-hearted forest where pulse begins.
Therein lies the Centaur, satyr, and god-disguised swan,
Ageless wonders prowled upon by an age-old Parthenon.
You broke your wolf’s tooth through those haunches of lore.
Therein lies the fur, filled with barking dust and dandelion war,
With a spine that stretched back to the she-wolf and city-birth,
The peeled nerve of a howl once tremored your Aurelian lips.
Therein lies the serf, hunter, fairer hand, and lord,
From wattles and daub, the wandering-sands of Saracen, or Crusader’s moor.
You kept the path beside to remind that instinct shines as the holiest earth.
Therein lies the fur, the warm, ungovernable peasant of sleep,
Ever prophetic in your skies by eyeshut-trace of the hunting moon,
Twitching at the day’s thousand faces, all asleep in themselves.
Therein lies the soldier, nurse, chaplain, and fell-prayer,
Mange-like war is the whimpering season with its flea-bitten welts of stars.
You struck blind but true at the throat of gas-hissing war.
Therein lies the fur, outracing the rain and the spout,
Nested with more birds and Autumn song than rain,
Your sleeping ear pooled like cool eaves of the barn.
I sing once more like a boy into your unfolded ear.
Listen always for my ancient, choral voice and your chores of play,
And race earback to the sun in the belly-grass of your free-eyed fields.
Leave your last paw mark, torn on the red clay of my hand.
You are forever wrapped in human touch, ageless and aged,
And if ever the dark in madder darkness encroaches,
Leave black eternity to my faithful eyes.
Jul 24, 2019
Jul 24, 2019 at 1:23 PM UTC
I’m in the same place as all of yous, but I’m absent minded and got misanthropic contempt, like anthropomorphic deer by the highway watching Cadillac surgery. But deep cardiac compassion, all you idiots are inside of me, lashing out with lively love. Scorns used to scar, but now I smile. **** the struggle you’re on, and put your shoes on the final platform. It’s not truth mama, it’s death. Have you tried it? Me either, we’re both among breathers. Now, tell me about your facts in expressions unconditioned by human history. Tell me about those bats on your shoulders that babble obscenities like Black Beard’s parrot, named ****** He speaks not of this century, so his ***** are now children’s songs, sung around plastic bonfires, trying to roast electrical socket covers. To no avail.
Born human mightiest
Socially slighted and far-sighted
Let’s bash through hierarchy
I said bash
you P.C. crusader
cold as a computer
slaughtering the people’s good language
in the name of removing something savage
instead of asserting a new image
A true sign of the artist
but I’m no artist
Dec 15, 2013
Dec 15, 2013 at 12:00 AM UTC
She was
fascinated by the way the beard floated across his face and disappeared without a trace into his ears and thought it was a camera trick.
The camera doesn't lie is a lie, though we still believe what we can see,no longer polaroid the humanoid is now devoid of all reality,
the photoshopper shops and crops,lops the tops and bottoms of his pics,sticks in bits that don't belong,digitised, giving verbal to the lies in view and finding few who disagree with the elements,reformed and shaped, the new caped crusader,tints,tone raider,
I saw Douglas Bader with two legs but peg a negative and hold your tongue,I like to watch the colours run on the drip dry line,processing time.
I don't like the fact that numbers attacked this art in forms of decimals it makes us vegetables
relying on the cut and crop of photoshop must stop.
I told her that it was no trick,he had the beard but the camera was sick,she listened to me in disbelief and from her briefcase took out a camera and snapped a picture of his face,
and now I'm fascinated in a way as to whether we can photoshop a rainy day and turn it into something good
I wonder if we could or not,must
take a look at
photoshop.
Jun 10, 2014
Jun 10, 2014 at 5:43 AM UTC
Illuminator
amidst passing clouds, gleaming
Silent Crusader
Jun 16, 2016
Jun 16, 2016 at 1:00 PM UTC
the world calls you a beauty
and me the beast.
you call me a pagan,
while i smirk knowing you’re the crusader.
society says you’re the intellectual and i a mere lowbrow,
what is night for you, feels like my day!
and what you deem so ugly,
my darling
i find intricately beautiful!
this is the sum total of our lives.
© 2021
Oct 16, 2021
Oct 16, 2021 at 9:59 AM UTC
Come closer, beckoning
witch finger,
curling, crunching
in shade.
Summon the night
gallery, hanging Homer and Waterhouse as distorted oil
oozing into a
disappearing act.
My feet are a detached movement
upon semi-real
floor of tar-black
tile.
Scraaaaaaaaaping———
Where is the lapel suit
of my Rod Serling dulled
by bad agents of
thrills.
Have him string me
up, a hoisted body settled into daVinci
wings of plain wood and
curvature like a waxy bird's.
The pig's blood waiting
above my head,
Serling signaled
for drama.
I see the false teeth of the planetarium
twinkle, an engulfing omnitheater's
air that I am crucified.
Serling behind the casque of gauze
to young Shatner and wandering
starships of lean men and
the end of this star system into
galactic
odyssey.
Beauty is in the eye of the beholder.
Was Mister Spock ever tossed from
Olympus and forced lame in
the heart, a shell that is far
from hollow—what only
a mother could hold.
The bow figurehead, awaiting
corrosion.
Apr 24, 2013
Apr 24, 2013 at 3:01 PM UTC