"evacuation" poems
Dis oras na ng gabi ngunit ikaw pa din
Ang bukod tanging laman ng aking isipan
Patawad na kung puro siya na lang lagi ang alam
Ng aking mga kwento.
Hindi ko kasi mapigilan mag buhos ng aking hinaing
Dahil alam mo hanggang ngayon kasi tandang-tanda ko pa din
Ang araw at oras kung kailan mo ako iniwan.
Anong gagawin ko sa mga salitang iniwan mo
Isa nga lang ba akong pangalan sa buhay mo?
Ano ba ang naging parte ko sa'yo?
Iba’t ibang tanong ang bumabagabag sa akin
Pero kung alam ko lang na sa ganito tayo hahantong;
Matagal ko nang pinatay ang natitirang posibilidad
Sa akin isipan na may mundo para lang sa ating dalawa.
Alam mo ba gabi gabi kong binabalikan ang
Matatamis nating alaala pero pilit ko din
Pinapaalala sa aking sarili na
‘’Itigil mo na ‘to’’
''Tama na 'to''
Gumising kana sa totoong estado ng buhay mo.
Maawa ka naman sa sarili mo.
Ikaw ang naging punot dulot nang gabi gabi kong
Pag-pupuyat hindi mo ma-itatanong pero walang araw
Na lumipas na hindi ako nagiging tambay sa'yong mga
Social media accounts.
Nagmamasid sa bawat post at update mo at tinatanong
Sa aking sarili ''Bakit nga ba ang manhid mo?''
Dahil hanggang ngayon
May kumakatok pa din sa puso ko umaasa na
Pwede pa.
Pwede pang ipiglaban.
Kahit matagal man ang abutin natin.
Ako'y handang maghintay.
Kahit mag muka na tayong gurang.
Okay lang.
Handa akong tiisin.
Pero alam mo ba nakakapagod din palang
Makipaglaro sa taong ayaw magpaawat
Handa na akong sumuko kahit noon pa naman
Alam kong malabo na maging tayo;
Malabo mapasa-akin ang puso mo.
Ayoko ng makipagsiksikan sa Evacuation Center
Pilit ka magbubuwis ng buhay mo para sa taong ‘yon
Panahon na para lisanin ang delubyo na ito
Hindi na ako dapat mag tagal baka
Pati ang aking sarili ay iwanan din ako.
Nov 4, 2015
Nov 4, 2015 at 3:55 PM UTC
Writer's block again,
and from return; my heart descends.
A knock, at the door?
What are they here for?
Hiding in the floors, the deaths
of my enemies,
a funeral of my thoughts,
and they were meant to stay away.
Yet you wished them here,
just so you can write them.
And they want you near,
so you can recite them.
Insightful, isn't it?
You need to invite them in,
and this time; they'll only stay
for the titles and poetry, no.
You're much too confident
that you can kick them out,
you need them;
and they want you.
Next evacuation;
hopefully you'll choose
yourself,
but we know you never
do-
Jul 22, 2018
Jul 22, 2018 at 11:21 PM UTC
from an idea by Sheila Sharpe
In the foul heat and damp and rot and stench
After dusting off 1 the bodies of dead pals
The living and the dead, the living dead
Old Boats 2 lit off a cigarette and growled
“They say this stuff’ll **** ya.”
1 Dustoff – noun. Dust off – verb with an adverb. A dustoff is a medical evacuation via helicopter, as in “Doc, your dustoff will be here in three.” To dust off a patient, then, is to transport a patient, not to tidy him. I have recently read detailed arguments about the terms dustoff, dust off, and medevac, but no one quibbled about such minutiae along the Cambodian border.
2 Boats – a boatswain’s mate, the brains and muscle of the Navy. Boatswain’s mates do it all and are seldom acknowledged in history or art, not even in the recent film about Dunkirk. A boatswain’s mate is often addressed as Boats, and always with deference, even by the C.O.
Jul 22, 2018
Jul 22, 2018 at 3:49 PM UTC
Kalong ng kanyang ina
ang isang labing anim na taong gulang na binatilyo.
Basang-basa.
Nangingitim ang mukha at di na humihinga.
Patay na yata.
Nakuryente siya
habang ini-aakyat ang black and white
na telebisyong kasasangla lang
ng isang magsasakang magpapa-check-up sa PGH-
sa ikalawang palapag ng kanilang 5 square meter na tahanan.
May bagyo noon. Super.
At umapaw ang ilog.
Ang sabi sa radyo nakataas na ang signal no.3 sa buong Central Luzon.
Nag-iisip pa rin siya (ang ina) habang binabagtas
ng sinasakyan nilang rubber boat na kulay dilaw
ang daan papuntang evacuation center.
Hindi na niya nagawang magsuklay at mag-suot ng bra.
Kalong niya ang kanyang binatilyong
pangarap mag-aral sa Maynila-
na kanya ngayong ipinagluluksa.
Sa Maynila,
sa isang pamantasang kulay langit ang pasukan at labasan,
nagdiriwang ang mga paang patungo sa Robinsons.
Alas dose.
Cut ang klase.
#WalangPasok.
Aug 2, 2015
Aug 2, 2015 at 12:50 PM UTC
Please forgive my hesitation
at instigation of flirtation.
Did I ensure my elimination?
My romantic assassination?
I'll gladly partake in any placation,
for any chance of indoctrination
to the centralization of your concentration.
An operation of admiration.
A correlation of inflammation.
Your gravitation brings animation,
exclamation and elongation.
My specialization is duration.
Not to hint at a connotation,
but I feel a certain **********
by an obligation to a certain destination
where your presentation gives me restoration.
Petrification?
Total mind evacuation?
Would clarification bring fascination?
Stimulation!
Salivation!
Gratification!
Insinuation of fornication?
A simple salutation to syncopation.
Would a single bright carnation
be enough of a motivation,
for a two way relocation?
Would poetic recitation
be sufficient lubrication
for collaboration?
A consolidation?
Or an exacerbation of isolation?
Please hold no reservation,
I've only got one aspiration.
To achieve a higher elevation;
by means of inhalation,
or a certain recreation
involving a bit of perspiration
along with physical communication.
Does this seem such a bad situation?
Or are you ready for pure elation?
Feb 18, 2010
Feb 18, 2010 at 12:56 PM UTC
Pompeii stood proud near Naples.
Close to Herculaneum.
When in August of AD 79.
Volcano magnificent erupted.
Without nonchalance.
A buried city born.
Complete with frescoes of erotica.
Were subject to ancient censorship.
City modern with flowing water.
Trendy port.
Gymnasium.
Modernist by all accounts.
Population 20 000.
Mostly perished in brimstone's evacuation.
From the deepest depths of hell.
Suffocated nearly all.
Asphyxiated on vile fumes.
Eruption cataclysmic.
City buried far underground.
By written description.
'Tis believed that hell on earth unleashed.
The day following magical celebrations.
Worshiping Vulcanalia the Roman God of Fire.
Ironic tragedy procured.
Few survived the tragedy.
Those that did ran free
Anarchy, starvation.
Mainly petty larceny.
Landscape near destroyed.
Pliny the Younger wrote in a letter.
Vivid description of images seen as Pliny the Elder tried to rescue a few.
Felt perhaps had a duty to do.
Was admiral proud of the Roman fleet.
His life taken in forfeit as citizens from the ash world perished.
Pax Romana followed tragedy.
Dealt such a wicked card.
Embalmed in ash citizens lay.
Locked forever on the spot as they ran away!
By ladylivvi1
© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)
Sep 22, 2013
Sep 22, 2013 at 6:35 AM UTC
Evacuation Alert: Tranquille Valley.
Get out. Bring everything you love.
Ash is falling from the sky,
and the smoke is too much to bare.
The fire's rampage has charred
More than 200,000 hectares,
in 133 days.
It's not safe.
Evacuate immediately.
Evacuate me.
Get out. You are everything I love.
Incinerating everything in your path,
You tranquillize the atmosphere
with your absence.
You smoked me to the filter
You left me to burn.
63 days, and 21 letters.
You're not my safety anymore.
Evacuate immediately.
Aug 14, 2017
Aug 14, 2017 at 2:51 PM UTC
an ****** calligraphy
of hallucinated images
gesture to the posturings
of omitted consciousness
the preoccupations
that puncture the ‘rational’ thought
of a false corporeality
and rely on an artificiality
to produce a reality
writes of the pagan haunts
of silver ****** ghosts
of fantastic rumors
of acquired futuristic loathing
where cognitive disturbances are
the reconnaissance of a fragmented mind
seeking an evacuation to the past
screams at the monuments of
immediate dismissal of everything
not of their transmission
Mar 4, 2013
Mar 4, 2013 at 5:58 PM UTC
A diagnosis of masturbatory insanity
is the inevitable conclusion
that I, as a fellow onanist,
debaucher of sheep,
and baby goat buggerer
have bestowed upon your befuddled mind.
Your insistence in frequenting
the Heinous Sin of Self-Pollution
and self evacuation of one's seed
with mutual onanistic pursuits of sodamistic bed fellows
and other anti Christian pursuits,
have finally brought a visitation of madness
to the perverted soggy mess
masquerading as your brain;
If one may make an
advantageous suggestion
to your befuddled self,
it would be to seek out a restorative nervous elixir
or wrist strengthening electuary,
the former of which would aid in the
"compos mentis" of your good self;
and the latter is extremely efficacious in the
soothing of onanist wrist
and vinegar stroke eye.
but alas; neither is of use against the
" ejaculatio praecox " of foetid poetry..
your Servant, Obadiah Grey.
Secretary for spermatorrhea conservation
Jan 27, 2012
Jan 27, 2012 at 12:28 PM UTC
A bird once flew into our classroom,
My pumpkin teacher none the wiser.
In my mind I willed the bird to come closer,
Probably to distract the teacher.
Maybe class would be over, evacuation so no one got bird flu.
The principal might have caught the bird,
And if the bird pooped the janitor would be called.
No one could do math with that happening.
Or maybe I wanted the bird to lift me up and take me with him.
Out of this room my body was chained to.
Take my body to my mind, amongst the birds.
Jun 10, 2015
Jun 10, 2015 at 9:30 PM UTC
Hudson, Hicks, Vasquez,
Android crew on board. Ripley -
Didn't like cornbread.
Last survivor, Newt.
Evacuation cancelled.
You're just a grunt.
'Yeah, Bishop should go'
Sulaco dropship inbound,
Huggers roam freely.
One final rescue,
Push through the ******* airlock.
Escape. Fade to black.
Apr 27, 2014
Apr 27, 2014 at 8:33 AM UTC
Intelligence has evadade you
As you allow what you think you want to slowly degrade your views,
Nothing that fades away can ever be true,
For even the old used to be new.
What do you look for in love: nice assets and a face you can trust,
Becuse anything sparkles when it's covered in rust.
Sentiment and intellect were devoured by lust,
And the only way to the top is made up of dust.
Social scenes and social queens
Require more costume than Halloween.
Who wants to be stuck at seventeen?
If you're not surrounded by faces, who will hear you scream?
You engrave your expectations on the palm of your hands,
Open them up to God, and plead for romance.
For prayers only function as a form of demands
That look no further than tomorrow nights plans.
Who you know and how you're perceived,
Cascades and tumbles down over your beliefs.
Temptation wasn't as easy for Adam and Eve;
Their apple held more than your money trees.
Now there's nothing left but a rotten core,
And casual small talk spilled out upon the floor,
Seeping in and out of the wooden pores,
Across scattered feet, too numb to implore.
Afraid of the concept of being alone,
You only accept what is already known,
Living for the weekend so your efforts are atoned,
Like David and Goliath, you have to stone or get ******
Bloodshot eyes and vacant stares, too deliberate not to go anywhere,
Because sentiment means nothing to a generation who doesn't care
About anything that holds less weight than the air,
Unless it's about what you should wear.
So bottle up your empty dreams and aspirations,
Throw them to sea: an intellectual evacuation,
You'll see more like them under medication,
Because fitting in requires social sedation.
May 4, 2013
May 4, 2013 at 1:09 PM UTC
So many nights I stayed up late with him
smothered by smoke and darkness,
talking about freedom, listing all the reasons
I couldn't wait to leave this place
but it was never the small town I minded so much
as the ever present loneliness.
I remember my art teacher
pointing out that all my ****** artwork
held symbols of evasion
-an open window with views of mountains
shadows fleeing from a slit photograph
an elevator open to reveal an aquarium
Always things opening
to reveal something better
My thoughts are not chiseled in stone
my eyes are not cold marble,
they do not remain still enough
to know permanence—
They only speak escapism
My dreams and fears
are not geometric and carefully calculated.
They are horribly bohemian, fluttering and
echoing the uncertainty
of a bird's f l *i g
h
t*
I am always planning evacuation routes,
building gypsy caravans in the basements of my mind
I will always be hightailing
through the hedges and fences
put up by friends and family
I have been working on my vanishing act
for the past 16 years and
none of you will see it coming.
And I do not like to show people
the ways I have been broken, so I hide the evidence
In that sense I am a perfect houdini
-a successful illusionist, a stunt performer
I've learned that many questions like handcuffs can be avoided and evaded
as I have become able to regurgitate small white lies like keys at will
There is one escape
that I have never granted myself
the release of a blade
the empty prevarication of pain
I never cut, never slit, never shed my blood
I guess I've always been smart enough to know
that a razor doesn't have the power
to stop the *tempest* in my head
I will forever remain a fugitive
and when you look at me and my eyes are glazed
it means I had snuck away to my world
I've packed up and run off
and you cannot follow me
nor bring me back
no matter how hard you try
May 28, 2013
May 28, 2013 at 9:57 PM UTC
I was in a six car collision
there was an executive decision made
to execute an evacuation of a body done with precision
by helicopter excision to division this family
and make a permanent revision to the vision held.
It's probable my daddy was being taken to a hospital
but he could have been going on a popsicle ride
to a proverbial icicle ride in the sky for that's all I knew of flying
volatile tears that never healed unstoppable fears.
May 15, 2015
May 15, 2015 at 3:58 PM UTC
Winds were picking up again
Another storm was due
Would it be just like Katrina
Or would it just be an F2?
Windows boarded, cars filled up
Mandatory evacuation
Leaving their homes to stand
Alone in a dangerous situation
Among it all a flower
Grabbing on to gods green earth
Just flexing with the winds that blow
Waiting for the new storms birth
The storm will hit, the levees break
Again FEMA is on sight
And just like every other time
They never get it right
Each time the water comes in
Another parish, another town
No one comes back home to claim
What Mother Nature just beat down
Among it all a flower
Grabbing on to gods green earth
Just flexing with the winds that blow
Waiting for the new storms birth
Another storm, another season
Another choice to make
Do we come back home again this time?
Or would that be a big mistake?
Do we take the brunt of natures force?
Stay, and not know if we will die?
Do we stay here and ride out the storm?
Do we take the chance to die?
And through it all a flower
Rides the storm out to the end
I pray that those who choose to stay
Were like the flower and could bend.
Sep 1, 2012
Sep 1, 2012 at 7:15 PM UTC
valiantly,
the Ship Fought.
many Days,
she took a pounding
her mighty Hull bracing;
against unforgiving Seas
her thick Armour;
withstanding Bombardment.
the first great Wave
knocked a Rivet loose,
a Steel Plate dented
by the first big Bomb
she didn't Shoot back
ever hoping for peaceful resolve
but the Seas and the Bombs
all took their toll!
the first 3 enemy Ships
packed their Punch
but she stood firm
armour deflecting every Bomb
but the Sea grew Dark;
the very Water
that held her aloft
now threatened her very Existence!
the Sea destroyed Rivets
The Bombs dented armour
and slowly but surely
she took on Water
for it is the small Rivets that hold a Ship together;
small rivets that Bind Metal Plates
and when the Rivets fail
the Ship is lost!
Noble Captain stood on deck
the death of His Ship
a mathematical Certainty
again and again the 3 locust ships fired
again and again the Sea pounded
the Evacuation order needs to come soon
only the Captain to remain with a final solemn Duty
for a captain goes down with his ship
when all others are safe.
the Sea will calm down
the 3 will stop firing
once the Bow of the Ship
slips beneath the Waves
the Charges set,
ready to blow,
scuttle the ship -
Down she will go
Captain salutes Her
a fine Ship she's been
as he presses his Pistol
to his temple
right finger on the trigger
the left on the bomb's fuse,
A solitary tear,
3,2,1...
Aug 1, 2014
Aug 1, 2014 at 9:13 PM UTC
Bring together.
Tear apart.
(SIMULTANEITY)
Command or be carried,
be free or be ferried,
believe or be bleary,
wear on or be weary.
The bedpan of old age,
the deadpan of expression--
at the end
before beyond,
inward evacuation
/
outward ingestion,
a life lived to die--
but life exists, after all.
The "pan" of Pangaea,
the pan of a camera--
at the start
before tectonic cataclysm,
localized catastrophe
/
universal symphony,
indifference until perception--
but perception exists, after all.
Either
/
Or:
equal opponents at one moment
until chosen.
It could be said no dimension is parallel.
-LP
Nov 26, 2013
Nov 26, 2013 at 10:04 PM UTC
you arrive early to the unpopulated town hoping you might rehearse without interruption the part you plan to audition for. you spend most of your time in a high school locker room looking for a ball. your one skill was recently revealed at the forefront of an evacuation spearheaded by your brother after which you were able to convince both the man in the attic and the man in the basement that they were together hallucinations seen by a mirror. to the lord you don’t seem a day over yesterday.
Jan 10, 2014
Jan 10, 2014 at 8:48 PM UTC
In case of an emergency:
we will meet at the safe area,
we will trample those who are too slow,
push those who are weak,
and follow proper protocol.
Where is the safe area?
Use your imagination.
Can we use the elevators?
Only if you want to die.
This has been an informative meeting.
If you have any other questions,
don't ask me.
Nov 8, 2013
Nov 8, 2013 at 2:43 PM UTC
Christmas 1968
the whole hospital hurt.
my bed hugged a corner
and the ward ached
away from me.
endlessly away.
I remember Nurse Merz,
who saved my leg,
and Fender,
who lost his.
mine was a small world.
we had clean sheets.
no one wanted to **** us
at night.
it was Christmas.
after rounds,
the medics
brought us shots of whiskey
in dosage cups.
far away to the south,
the hills
were swallowing people up.
I almost slept
without dreaming.
(106th. Army Evacuation Hospital
Kishine Barracks
Yokohama, Japan)
Feb 2, 2010
Feb 2, 2010 at 10:29 AM UTC
Sun dust haze
an old wooden door
I reach, locked
handles, hands
pressed splintering
knock,
The newspaper reads EVACUATION NECCESARRY
Exasperation of the lilting seed of sanity;
the clocks unaligned to my watch
the fridge has been off for days
milk curdled, cheese hardened
this Panadol, IbuProfen parachute me
down, codeine
hits me hard upon the ground
the fireplace surrounds
a dragon breathing flames out of our mouths
and the room is no longer hot;
it is supernova.
Stars sound like songbirds outside, shooting,
gargled gin smells like grace,
erase
the drone of Arab spring
the scent of comradery
for a security station
computational bastion;
calculus of reason,
reputation, family, existential crisis
lets circumnavigate
to the window ,
reality split by liquid,
a rainbow in the sea,
children dancing beneath the Pohutakawa tree
“Hello?”
“Hello, were you here all along?”
“Long enough to see
those purple hues of your dressing gown, you
standing aimless across the room,
you came here today too?”
“I didn’t really choose” balloons, still tied to the ceiling
pop
“I must go”
“Stop”
ground dissolves, glass
mirrors, present, past
pop
“take my hand
lets watch the angels carry the sun away”
Oct 27, 2013
Oct 27, 2013 at 2:57 PM UTC
People do not flow as water;
There are too many stones of human behaviour.
They are instead a choppy rhythm;
A fledgling orchestra,
Constantly squawking to a halt with
Niceties and
Awkward
Distances.
Jun 22, 2010
Jun 22, 2010 at 1:20 PM UTC
A man was elected with no view on the most controversial issue.
Ignoramus within the southern states believed
This man to be a danger to their lifestyle and their
Wanted rights.
One by one, they became their own.
One fort, Sumter, became a commonplace for
Controversy. Belonging to the north, within the
Newly founded Confederate States, the fort was tossed back and forth in a game of table tennis.
A threat of war hovered above their heads, but supplies were sent.
No weapons.
No orders to attack.
Complete neutrality.
The attack came from an impatient general Beauregard,
Who ordered his men to open fire,
In a hope to force evacuation and surrender.
It worked. And all hell broke loose.
Jun 10, 2014
Jun 10, 2014 at 7:58 PM UTC