"firearms" poems
The shortest distance between two points of travel.
The fastest method for achieving a result.
Quickest answer for a resolution.
Marrying equals.
All terminology meaning essentially the same thing; synthesis. That is what the two-party system is meant to be doing. It is the point of checks and balances. A check is a stopgap. A balance is a measure.
No one wants to ban personal firearms. No one wants mentally-ill people to own them. No one advocates violence by school teachers to assuage future potential violence. No reasonable person wants children to grow up in a police state school system. No American believes that State and Federal government can agree on what should be done in all states.
We will not be arming teachers. Nor will we be banning guns. There will never be armed guards at public schools. States and the Federal government disagree on so many levels there will never be consensus on change when it comes to this issue. So, change the issue in a way that offers a stopgap as a measure.
The President of The United States issues a proclamation that all land directly adjacent to the front of all public schools will be bought by the federal government at today's market price. That price will be fixed provided the states do two things. Use state eminent domain laws(every state already has them) to file a claim on said properties and assess the value thereof for the federal government.
Secondly, establish police precincts on said property.
Ask yourself;
"How many children would die if the local police were directly across the street from the school at the time of the shooting?"
And,
"Would Conservatives or Liberals be against this proposal?"
Also,
We should all remember that these shooters plan their attacks and would have to plan around the police being there immediately after they begin one.
Problem solved...
...and no one touched a gun(right) to do it.
Feb 23, 2018
Feb 23, 2018 at 3:04 AM UTC
Spt 5-- domestic dispute inv alcohol + firearms Hawkins Terr. area-- Spt 7-- burglary purses stolen from 3 cars Wipple St-- night of Spt 18-19-- vandals untied shoes of large statue Center Park-- Spt 20-- mugging homeless suspect young woman cheeseburger Rt 8--
Jan 9, 2012
Jan 9, 2012 at 11:36 PM UTC
i am the melting sun beams dripping from the children's running sneaker...creeping slow into the ocean of nose hairs sparkling with iodine and rosemary...father farther to the cosmic goop of motherhood and magic mounds of twirling gases...rancid beef so evergreen as if the princess is licking loudly on the frogs back...green of colour my third eye melts her fantasy into rainbows of toxic firearms...leaking valuable oil all over her wedding dress...come into the third eye and hammer away the truths of 1000 years...to fowrad this message is to embrace all that is the third eye...magic and numbers spiral towards the center edge of my reason...pure and criticized like goblins with tiny feet...reach up into your third eye and pull yourself into it with all your power and all your might....stay with it for just one night and reach for the spare tires in the third eyes trunk...don't forget to fill it with melting bubbles of fantastic hot sweet golden ratios where infinity smell like dust bunnies and dust bunnies smell like crystal salts and volcanic ash...spew forth third eye and share the vision of ecstasy and freedom...never cover the third eye with hate and regret only wash it with happiness and fullness...let the third eye rule your heart and towers will melt into concrete and paper will fill the sky...only the can the third eye truly be the way to see your path....spiral softly third eye and forever and ever and ever and ever and ever and ever and ever and ever and ever and ever and forever see with the third eye....
Jan 17, 2010
Jan 17, 2010 at 8:01 AM UTC
i.
we spent the autumn day wandering
above the great river the woodland
of the bluffs as dusk fell, shots echoed down the
river canyon, we had completely forgotten
the deer firearms season had opened
down the old logging trail,
a glorious stag eyes wide with confusion
lurched from the wood
ii.
despite our noise, he stumbled ahead
down the road, and toward the hunters,
we could not turn him into the safety of the park
iii.
as the black night descended we
were surprised by a glow racing towards us
a man on a bicycle, brightly lit, not with just a
headlamp, but a whole string of lights,
wrapped around the tubes of his
bike frame, like a Christmas tree,
he nodded at us and rode past
iv.
as we sat around the fire back at camp,
silent, pondering the odd events
we had witnessed that day,
and the stag we had maybe sent off
to be killed by some hunter,
i wondered at the strangeness
of it all, this day, and all the days
like it, and all the days to come,
would they have been strange
without my being there to see them,
or, was the strangeness my seeing
them,
and my being, at all
stag, still, i am so sorry
Mar 16, 2012
Mar 16, 2012 at 7:07 AM UTC
You can now rise upon the backs of the dead!
The eyes of the suffering are goggles
Red and shining through the fog
Their backs are broken by wooden poles
Their chests are ripped by bullet holes
The eyes of the suffering are needles
Green and glowing in the water
Their back-bones are laced with poison
Their lives were met with a choice end
The eye of the suffering is a flashlight
White and beaming in the libraries
Their chests protruding MP5’s
They drag their blood for all their lives
The eyes of the suffering are missing
The brain is all that remains
Their backs carry all kinds of firearms
Their legs are 8, littered with scars
The eyes of the suffering are dog’s
The face is that of a corpse
Their stomachs are full from the slaves
Their home is upon the graves
The eyes of the suffering are burning
Their bodies are attached by the hip
They throw their fire through the halls
They stand six feet four inches tall
The head of the suffering is severed
From all the torture it’s endeavored
It’s arms are blades of rusted steel
They’ve no more love to feel
The eyes of the suffering are starving
Their teeth are seven inch nails
Their jaws are gnashing and skin peels
Their arms are stretched for a meal
The King of The Suffering is The Worm.
His Hate fuels The Suffering on His terms.
He runs through The City of Dead Dreams.
He towers above the tallest buildings.
Aug 10, 2010
Aug 10, 2010 at 11:40 AM UTC
Fighter jets in formation
Above Ekeberg Hill
Remind me of years
Spent on airbases
During my time in the
Royal Norwegian Air Force.
I was stationed at NATO's
Northernmost base during 9/11.
Minutes after plane #2,
I was upgraded to
NATO Top Secret
Clearance.
Given live ammo for my P80.
Witnessing the colonel's
Marlboro Light shake in his
Usually steady hand as I
Approached; MSO briefcase
Handcuffed to my wrist.
There were papers inside
I was expected to
Die for.
I was 22.
Not even the police carry
Firearms in this country.
Not even the police are expected
To give up ghost over information.
For a nation of such ******
History, we maintain a mellow
Attitude.
We choose peace over "piece".
Gun-sense over violent nonsense.
Naïve? Maybe.
There are nearly no shootings here.
We've had one lethal act of
Terrorism since WWII.
We can live with that.
Literally.
May 8, 2014
May 8, 2014 at 10:39 AM UTC
Rebellion smells like apples, cinnamon
and *****
On a gravel road swallowed whole by
a surrounding forest of lush greens
we stood in opposition, revolution
firearms nestled in our hands.
We rebelled against alcoholism.
Drunk, amber soldiers stumbled across
the uneven surface of the log they vacated.
Our bullets shattered them one by one.
The rifle’s kick back slammed against me.
The cracking echo of each gunshot
filled the hollow chiseled in my chest
and tenderized my brain.
Shards of hard cider and hard liquor
spattered the dirt; the bright red
of the Angry Orchards’ labeling
bleeding war into the earth and grit.
We searched for survivors.
The air was perfumed with Cinnamon Apple
and *****
The soft spice of autumn and harvest
wafted gently up my nose
followed by the sharp scent of
disinfectant, hospitals, stainless steel.
It was the smell of ***** my default.
Nudging a dusty bottle neck with my toe
I couldn’t help but think back to
the angry, open-mouthed kisses
I once shared with my bottles
early in the morning until late at night.
A furious thirst surged through me.
I still wanted a drink.
Aug 23, 2014
Aug 23, 2014 at 12:18 PM UTC
To the people of the world,
you bags of stainless steel,
brooding slabs of flesh,
dented and fresh
I do not mean this
in the negative of my feel,
But I quit
I quit!
I quit!
I quit!
And I don’t feel bad about it
For I’ve already let
the barbwire of the ****
wrap around my neck
and it made me sick,
it made me sick
Until I finally
vomited
And oh my stupid god
what a relief
to be a socket!
where electricity just does not exist
I plant myself to this wall
as I watch the bodies rack up
with the most beautiful of light
knowing that mine
has rocked down
to pitch-black
Those battles I had left to fight
are wars I'm no longer interested in
Because to spend another second
digging through this military kit
of firearms I point behind your back
of gas attacks I spit to make you gag
of hot bombs I drop to cop a laugh
is the longest death of my life
I find my health stepping down to this fight
Claim all the lives you want
but today I claim mine
bang
Apr 13, 2017
Apr 13, 2017 at 11:39 AM UTC
Rebels rise to take to the streets
With sickening thoughts of powerful cheats.
"We can show resistance to their cowardly words"
But, God forbid we offend as we curse.
Defy, refuse and disobey orders
Maybe one day we'll find ourselves in warmer waters.
Whilst the suppressed may just nauseate,
The depressed don't even have the will to debate.
The revolt may not be the action we take,
But the feelings we get from liars and fakes.
These statements suggesting the minority can overthrow
Well, they're big,but they're certainly not for show.
My stomach churns for the people on farms
Claiming that we should take up arms.
Waiting for the day the firearms cease
Though we may never face just one true peace.
Oct 3, 2016
Oct 3, 2016 at 2:47 PM UTC
roses are red, though they're dead
violets are blue, although dead too
stop reading this kind of stuff &
rather start doing something useful instead
or you've got nothing
worthier to do❓
roses aren't exclusively red
as well as violets aren't unalternatively blue
for your information
[who would have thought...]
but let people make some
more cookie-cutter rhymes while not taking
it into consideration
if I have to choose roses
I would prefer onyx ones
plus, I think they would've looked dope as
being engraved on some firearms
as for violets, they aren't much of my type
but maybe to someone else, they set some kind of vibe
Aug 26, 2019
Aug 26, 2019 at 5:44 PM UTC
The blinding white shine
of the snow is divine
as I rush through the woods
to meet you by the dogwood
my heart is thundering
my thoughts are stuttering
our time is running out fast
we can't always escape our past
but faster and faster my feet run
as my hands fail to block the sun
in this sea of white, there's a splash of red
"Meet me by the dogwood," you had said
my speed picks up at the sign
as I try to escape my bloodline
then a blow of a horn, I hear them coming
they're here for me, they're going hunting
the biting cold stings my face
I try to keep a steady pace
as I try to reach the red dogwood
the place I spent my childhood
the sound of hooves reach my ears
the sound of shouts bring me to tears
I hear the barks of dogs and hounds
as I run across the snowy grounds
at last, I see you up ahead
surrounded by a sea of red
I jump across over a fallen log
I see that you have heard the dogs
you grab my hands as I arrive
a quick hard kiss cause I'm alive
but as we start to run away
the guards surround us, there to slay
I hold you close, tightly in my arms
as they load up their firearms
with a loud bang, they shot us dead
and the dogwood sees more bloodshed.
Jul 7, 2020
Jul 7, 2020 at 9:54 AM UTC
Don't cross the street until the light is green.
Hold hands at the crosswalks & parking lot.
Keep poison out of reach of children.
Don't cuss or swear.
Don't smoke or drink.
Don't speed above the speed limit.
Don't lend out cash.
Don't get conned.
Don't drink alcohol & drive.
Don't do drugs.
Don't sell *** for money.
Don't take bribes.
Don't get blackmailed.
Don't play with fire.
Don't use explosives or firearms.
Don't vandalize.
Don't be a ****** stripper, **** drug dealer, bank robber, killer, ****** carjacker, kidnapper, or shoplifter.
Wear your seat belt.
Check your motor oil & fluids.
Drive on a full tank of gas.
Clean your windshield.
Flush the toilet.
Brush your teeth & hair.
Never use electrical things near water.
Never lie.
Never hire an attorney for anything.
Never sign a stripper contract.
Don't dance naked for money.
Use mouthwash.
Feb 15, 2015
Feb 15, 2015 at 1:02 AM UTC
Imagine
what the world would be like
if those fighting to ban two men wedding
were committed to ending global hunger.
What would it be like if
the time we spent bantering about what
firearms we can and can't own
was spent ending child abuse?
If the energy spent denying the truth
about our deteriorating planet
was used to fuel green technology,
wouldn't the world be different?
I guess we can only
Imagine.
Jun 29, 2013
Jun 29, 2013 at 10:00 PM UTC
By ARcassin Burnham
White dresses,
red flowers,
almost ready for a bout an hour,
the love shares with me,
i wont devour,
dont want this day to become sour,
snobs started coming a lot faster,
talk about sour,
wedding full of crystals,
don't make no sence,
firearms and pistols,
man life is a *****
leaving a cut for the stitch,
dead from the pump,
leaving a dieing wish.
Aug 18, 2014
Aug 18, 2014 at 10:42 PM UTC
I have had it all wrong,
I wonder if my grandfather
thought that, when on a steamer
he arrived a dreamer
of moving west from Montreal
single trying to find a life, better,
opened and tasted peanut butter,
and never did ever eat that again,
I have had it wrong, all of it
He kept dreaming and trying,
took the train to the northern Alberta,
saw his dreams take shape as he built
homes for other dreamers,
he met his wife, but that is a poem for another story,
he was a pacifist, he did not support, killing another,
but he sure had a temper,
for a peaceful man, he decided to retire, and that
let him get old, I admired him for what he stood for and sit at
a desk he built with my dad.
I still have had it all wrong.
The desk is nothing special
other than the hands and
knowledge that built it
and something a father and a son
did together, one of the last things
of each other, that
would be remembered, they worked well with their hands.
Both men were dreamers.
My dad had his dreams, he mostly kept to himself,
but you just knew that they were to do with
things outside of the house.
Oh don't misunderstand, he loved working with wood,
he knew firearms, he recieved a Medal for Military Merit,
for dedication above and beyond what a militiaman was
to do, he wasn't a pacifist, in many ways he was different
from his dad and so many more he was exactly the same.
Shame, I have had it all wrong.
I was not an A student, but Gee, I tried hard,
my potential was palpable we just needed to resuscitate it from time to time,
I joined the CAF, married and had three who have amazed me,
with their strong beliefs, so different from one another, see?
I have worked twenty jobs and not one among them defined as a career...
oh and yes, I have spent time in an unemployment line.
I am not a carpenter, like the other two could, my grandfather as a career
my dad took it on as a hobby, I am a pacifist, yes, but don't push to hard,
I might write you into a poem...
I have written so many serious and sombre pieces,
There is already so much sadness in the world,
If planet Earth could cry a tear, standby with the tissue,
I deal with my stuff in words, I try not to hang onto them,
Rather free them like birds, Ravens and Crows with Hummingbirds and Eagles,
My soul is sore and
Animus would rather soar,
so I pour the toxins from my mind, my skin, from my day
you already know I am not perfect I sin, from my way of life,
so I pour the garbage I live and beauty as I see
it is around me for you all to read, shame on me
I have had it all wrong.
I don't have to get it right, I must write.
©DWE122013
Dec 11, 2013
Dec 11, 2013 at 11:01 PM UTC
The fight for territories, freedom, and respect is on.
Sleepless soldiers firing firearms at dawn.
Landmines and hand grenades, smoke screens and flashbangs,
Messing up you're vision and will blow you away.
Snipers on every high cliff and hill,
Dressed to match their surroundings, their attire to ****
While Ghost Reacon operatives move in silence.
The Navy tries to focus on more tactical violence.
On the battleground there isn't cops and sirens,
Just the thunderous echoes of guns firing.
To change the climate torpedos rain from the sky,
In this weather condition barely anyone can survive.
But after years of fighting they're ready for the finale,
Take over the last enemy base in the valley.
You have won, you raise your flag and rop your guns,
But little do you know the battle has just begun.
Mar 11, 2010
Mar 11, 2010 at 2:56 PM UTC
Then they will come to the fruit trees and this work will be a combination of demons and scientists. He is a car, he is a music player, at the volleyball level in the light of the fire of Pope-John and the ability to know the air off the work. First of all, my eyes' personal stress. The best man: The World Peace Center, which left the world, can be seen in the eyes of women; Women have the ability to eliminate bonus bonuses such as wind roads, true lights and colors of different colors. This service is chocolate chocolate chocolate, first, my eyes. If you want fruit, the scientists and animals can not answer the office. Due to the heat of the car the Pope was transferred to play volleyball for couples. At first the question of my eyes, my body, "perfect" and the World's World will be held in front of women. Finally, women are able to find their favorite colors, the exact light, the colors and the shadows. "You do not have to go to the Stadium Sema, Debate Drugs, ads Knows The Greatest History of the World." Licensee License. In addition, the fruit trees are called scientists and the Pope wants to work to reduce moods, as it consumes volleyball and firearms. At first, my eyes, personalities, social societies, and global peace talks, my eyes and the women on the ground, smashed the skin of the women's colored skin's brightness, their skin colored they want to exhaust. This describes a homework job. It's fire, rhino and experience that led to the 'Pl' joke of Joan of Arc to volleyball's Funeral service. Every time and every other time. The best people in the world look at the ground in the room and then look at the women. Women have beautiful colors and can remove spirits, real colors and candles. Here's the chocolate for me.
Then they will come to the fruit trees and this work will be a combination of demons and scientists. He is a car, he is a music player at the volleyball level, in the light of the fire, Pope-John and the ability to know the air of the work. First of all, my eyes' personal, stress' The best man: The World Peace Center, which left the world, can be seen in the eyes of women; Women have the ability to eliminate bonus bonuses such as wind roads, true lights, colors of different colors. This service is chocolate chocolate, first of all, my eyes ...
Nov 6, 2018
Nov 6, 2018 at 8:34 PM UTC
Where I come from only a ferry stands between me and paradise.
And paradise is separated by oceans of water too fast to swim across.
Water too deep to thread and the air, fresher and I am accustomed to.
There are more corbeaus than humming birds where I come from.
The stench of decay rises from houses made from bones.
Ashes mix to paint clouds and,
Mourning ushers mornings making melancholy known to sunlight .
Sunlight however is mostly appreciated by excavators,
Happy to exhume new corpses.
Rain falls from firearms instead of the sky and tears pour from open wounds instead of tear ducts.
And night is every horror movie given existence.
And night is every nightmare given existence.
And Paradise is somewhere behind the line where the sky kisses sea.
And sunsets are swallowed whole.
Deneka Thomas 2015
Apr 2, 2015
Apr 2, 2015 at 2:26 PM UTC
For those who view abortion different;
As the ****** of an unborn innocent,
There’s a Newtown massacre every day
with nameless victims for whom they pray.
Not wishing to gainsay the law
of privacy or woman’s right to choose.
Praying more for a change of heart,
for children not to be refused.
For there are songs that might have been
That never will be sung.
Blank Canvases, devoid of paint,
That never will be done.
In truth, a generation lost,
As one was lost before;
The first upon the fields of France,
the next on Clinic floors.
No firearms employed this time
but the carnage is the same;
Helpless bodies torn apart
Their blood poured down the drain.
I’ve seen the people up in arms
When Madmen use their right to choose,
But abortionists grow fat and rich
Please understand why I’m confused.
Nov 14, 2013
Nov 14, 2013 at 8:36 AM UTC
i'm frequently asked about
what historical
period i'd like to re-enact -
i've said my favourite
'the three musketeer period',
all that intrigue -
i've said the burning of rome
with nero on the lyre -
i might have added 19th century
london - elephant man toddle oo (halfwit u)
le, loo...
but as the days pass me by...
i'm with Kantian humour
(against Nietzsche - russian
niet toward -zsche -
unpronounceable - itchy zebra -
pronouns against nouns,
pronouns against posthumous fame
with people becoming nouns) -
me? i'd like to relive the French Revolution,
after all, isn't America keeping it's
laws on firearms, just in case?
should the government becomes too Monty Python
and the rabble decides to overthrow it
having a chance to buy guns
is welcome to change the crucifix for
the guillotine - n'es pas?
god bless america, after all the serial
killers are taken away with the tide
the populace will have a chance to overthrow
the government - and i know that the great stylist
who liked over-italicising didn't get
Kant's humour... but indeed...
that would be a revolution,
and indeed only in america... all i have is
construction industry's tools -
muck and murk - bullet to the head would do
just fine - he was after all
bred from the stock of clergy... no surprises there
to mind the opinion.
Apr 28, 2016
Apr 28, 2016 at 7:13 AM UTC
Going
once
Hey
Buster!
1-desperately
Never want
The New Jersey
Wife-bra
That drops down
Actress Fakes
Going firm up__
Hollywoods
La Femme
Frenchie
Her Roast beans
cup
2- twins bark
pup
Bra me=
I'm +Robin Birdie
Told me
((Never Ha Me))
2-Bustiers
equally
Tara twice La
Him musketeers
- duh Harrah
Sara Smile- Huh
Santa's trainer-Shy Spanish fly
blush Fly Robin Disco pry
Twirled together
Behind the
curtain
Dorothy & Toto bra click my red slippers home-
Girl scout brownies
The bra course
boom!!
Never bust room!!
Mystic
Falls Vamp-hire
[.
[.
Trump-her
Naughty
Tara La Bra-ly
Hybrid
Which one
Is the
Witch
wizardly bra?
The good
Linda witch
Jinx
Jalapeno
Never a
Prince
She's allergic
Like Tied- ankle
slipper
Cozy Curry
Bra Chicken
Terror Terry
Bra trader
Villalobos
Snackerro's
"La Bra land"
"One Chosen Bra"
Sultry\ steampunk
Bra- link
Blonde
niche
Patriotic
Red- blood- white
The King Elvis
Being Launched
Queen Priscilla
size
Tara La
"Historical" Aint nothing but a hound dog*
The girl has rocks in her head
gone stupid in bed
she couldn't lift
her underarms
Scarlett has gone-----
with her friends' lover
Never a bra
with firearms
((Never B-B Tara La))
Her
long
neck______
Vampire Diaries
Disease VD
Pour bra Scotch
"0" outcasting
Tomato Pie
Lace box
"Robin
Redbreast
take-off
wizardly
Ozfully-set
She was
born
like
that
bra
Lady
GaGa
Singer
Robin-Hood me
blood bra orders
Where's your Bra?
High Dalmatian
demand
bone-fish bra
So many Men
Gondola Tara La
Venice
Chinese
Cat-talk
Siamese bra
takeout
Catstick______
faceoff be quick
Bra \off
this is
Taras turf
May 11, 2018
May 11, 2018 at 1:58 PM 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