"garrison" poems
The teacher stands before her detained class
And from behind her authoritative podium
She equates abortion to the holocaust
A dangerous comparison in an educational garrison
But the other children nodded their heads in agreement
A benefit of having the ear of youth
Is being able to infect it with your own toxic ideology
What bacteria did this ear infection consist of?
Conservatism? Religiosity? Chastity?
The answer was depressingly simple
I was the only one there unaware of Fox News
I was a casualty of the confusion
The confusion engendered
By venom thoughts placing politic-colored glasses
on the entrenched masses
Entertainment
Used to convey anger and hate
Emotions worth conveying
But not living in
The intents and desires of their vulnerable receivers
become an incongruous disaster
What could I have done?
Minds as still as the pharaohs heart
We live in a society where we're all infantilized by one myth
Good and evil
Looking back on what I did do
I didn't do much
But I did do something
I didn't nod my head like a ******** sycophant
May 23, 2017
May 23, 2017 at 12:34 PM UTC
*I explain my metaphors with metaphors
I don't know how else to express
My thoughts that sit in clutter drawers
And leave my mind a mess
If you don't understand my comparison
I'll just say it in a different way
My thoughts still shielded by a garrison
Suppressing things I need to say*
Feb 2, 2016
Feb 2, 2016 at 2:43 AM UTC
Against the thick black curtain on horizon
of still, gigantic cumulus cloud formation
three flitting army helicopters deftly display
a shadow play on jolly life of dragonflies,
I am compelled to think, as I drive past this
along the road skirting Bangalore garrison
Feb 25, 2016
Feb 25, 2016 at 10:59 AM UTC
You worth more than a thousand golden crowns
and continent wide silks
and all the brighter, wilting stars in the dark
and had you pulled the universe to you,
it will surely crawl under your thigh
as a machination made only for you.
And you worth more than the ten thousand horses that I had slain
and I pulled them onto your sheets
as whispery faeries gnawed onto its skin
onto its slippery vein
gory, but lovely all the same.
Alas, you worth more than another ten thousand of them running
hooves clattered across the impenetrable glass of auroral dome
and I saw you rode on another ten thousand that had not deserve you-
as you deserved gold and stars
and all the greater fury of this land,
not treachery and I.
Gold was the color of your ruse
and your words deify scorching stars into bloom
and you reek of rust — the finest yellow there was.
Mar 18, 2018
Mar 18, 2018 at 10:34 PM UTC
The seed-at-zero shall not storm
That town of ghosts, the trodden womb,
With her rampart to his tapping,
No god-in-hero tumble down
Like a tower on the town
Dumbly and divinely stumbling
Over the manwaging line.
The seed-at-zero shall not storm
That town of ghosts, the manwaged tomb
With her rampart to his tapping,
No god-in-hero tumble down
Like a tower on the town
Dumbly and divinely leaping
Over the warbearing line.
Through the rampart of the sky
Shall the star-flanked seed be riddled,
Manna for the rumbling ground,
Quickening for the riddled sea;
Settled on a ****** stronghold
He shall grapple with the guard
And the keeper of the key.
May a humble village labour
And a continent deny?
A hemisphere may scold him
And a green inch be his bearer;
Let the hero seed find harbour,
Seaports by a drunken shore
Have their thirsty sailors hide him.
May be a humble planet labour
And a continent deny?
A village green may scold him
And a high sphere be his bearer;
Let the hero seed find harbour,
Seaports by a thirsty shore
Have their drunken sailors hide him.
Man-in-seed, in seed-at-zero,
From the foreign fields of space,
Shall not thunder on the town
With a star-flanked garrison,
Nor the cannons of his kingdom
Shall the hero-in-tomorrow
Range on the sky-scraping place.
Man-in-seed, in seed-at-zero,
From the star-flanked fields of space,
Thunders on the foreign town
With a sand-bagged garrison,
Nor the cannons of his kingdom
Shall the hero-in-to-morrow
Range from the grave-groping place.
3.4k
Oh, what I would give to be nine and benign
Because as I grow older the flow of concepts grows heavier
And swirls around me rapidly
Creating a whirlpool
I can feel the world pull
In the gravity of ideas
Given weight by words
That brings down birds
We look up only to see Jupiter
And we live on the Earth's back
Weighed down like mules by it's presence
Carrying conflicting considerations
Ideas inflicting incineration
The rain precipitating from the clouds in our minds
Develops a lofty humidity within humanity
And the leaves on the trees point downward
Erecting walls
To trap us in our gravity garrison
Plotting ways to crush each other
Time becomes the most effective method
As we wait to weigh down wanderers
With a point of view
In our gravitational pull
To make them our mule
Carrying our concepts
To strengthen our impact on the maelstrom
As our brain gets bolder
The water gets colder
But this ocean keeps spinning
Keeping the frigid water from freezing
And the gravity of what we think
Is the gravity that makes us sink
From concept cradle to gravity grave
Tranquil transcendence is what we crave
Sep 26, 2017
Sep 26, 2017 at 8:12 AM UTC
My water’s luminosity…
whisky and sage.
We breed to feed other fishies,
but I’m on stage.
Performing for some human’s selfish garrison.
This disregard is quite humane in comparison.
The cat, your companion,
He claws at me constantly.
I epitomize a pet.
I am merely your captive;
Only aesthetically attractive.
I long to be the social hippie of the sea,
but this isolation is drowning me.
One day you’ll find me ambivalently
sinking at the top of my bowl,
and you will flush me down yours like the rest of your useless ****
Nov 21, 2012
Nov 21, 2012 at 12:37 AM UTC
It had rained all night
And drenched the land outright
Leaving puddles and pools,
Here, there and everywhere.
But the morning saw
The sun blazing ever more bright
I watched the water
Flowing silently away
With no ostentation
Along channels, furrows and waterways
Cavities, crevices and culverts
And through ditches and drains
What little remained,
Seeped down unnoticed
Through innumerable pores unseen.
As prisoners from narrow cells
Suddenly released into boundless space
Or troops from a garrison
On a spurt of fresh attack
The children shut indoors
Came out in gangs
To romp, jump and play.
Unmindful of anything,
They soon lost in a wave of giggles.
But how sudden was the change!
The sky over cast with dark clouds
Fired out like a water cannon.
Once more the rain,
Cascaded down with greater vengeance
Each drop weighing gallons
And the silver needles pricking deep
Making the children flee
In directions all round
Like autumn leaves
Scattered by the wind!
The rain continued to pour
Inundating the low lying lands
Oh! Mother Nature
How erratic are your moods
How unpredictable
How like a child throwing tantrums
And how quickly appeased!
Jul 18, 2016
Jul 18, 2016 at 5:36 AM UTC
Specious speculative salacious spectral season
Transmogrify trapezium traverse torsion treason
Erotica errantry erectile endogenic emblazon
Ghastly gnashy grotesque gristly garrison
Larcenous lecherous lascivious latent lesson
Entelechy ethology exsistentialize extant epsilons
Spurious spry squabble subtle specialization
Transient transitive tour de force teleportation
Encephala enunciate endeavor executant emulation
Garish gaudy gambit glitch granulation
Lurid livid liaison limpid laceration
Extravaganza expletives expeditious equilibration emendation
Sly stodgy surreptitious spatiotemporal solicitor
Taciturn tactile transcendent tertiary torpor
Euphoria eminent equivocal exserted emancipator
Garrulous gustatory gung ** gestational gesticulator
Lyricism lilt liberation lambaste levitator
Escutcheon exergonic epaulet exodus extrapolator
Starkness staunch spectacle stolid stultification
Telepathy tantamount tractive tellurian transmutation
Exonerate euthenics exegesis entourage eradication
Groaty gnarly gruesome gristly gastrulation
Licentious lewd lacunar laconic limitation
Extemporaneous exigency embark embargo extradition
Slinky slick sultry stoical snout
Transubstantiate torturous temerarious tumultuous tout
Eucharist extortion enmity epithet eke out
Gross grit groin grove grout
Lentic leister lotic lothario levity lout
Execrating eventuation evocative evitable excerpt bout
Jan 19, 2016
Jan 19, 2016 at 3:59 PM UTC
Come to think of it, Garrison Keillor reads poetry like he'd feign be Bukowski or something.
(sonnets #MMMMMCCCXXXII and MMMMMCCCXXXIII)
I
Bukowski. If I'd known--and there must trail
Off seeking an excuse to bother hence
With aught. Nor should I have writ these his sense
Of our supposed age could acknowledge bail
For, since his voice kills any spirit's frail
Hope of existance, while he coughs from thence
To fiercely say the madness dictates whence
As chopped, clipped phrases whereby he'd prevail.
And Shelley, who saw further than now's poor
Horizon, said art veils her glass whilst through
The centries curs as ole Bukowski tour--
To vanish, sans a note. Yet here all who
Aspire think vile is tops, our work as twere
In vain and refuse. Cuz such never knew.
II
Lo, ****** Surrey, Wyatt, and aught hence
Who bowed themselves to Petrarch's mincing scale,
Yes, "polished our erst homely," ruder tale
Of lines and poetry, whose manners thence
Became refined thus as we yielded, whence
Far more rebelled than dared submit, t'assail
What set us 'part from beasts as if in frail
Excuse to cavil suited their intents.
He said the "mountaintop" was mine as twere
T'enjoy, but if I wanted friends maunt do,
As they all wallowed in the mud, each boor
Disgusted save by filthy scents. Sans clue
Of our high calling meant to raise th'obscure
Light for our fellow man, ye can't, who knew.
24Dec15c,d
Aug 17, 2016
Aug 17, 2016 at 9:18 PM UTC
Srinu, you demented little kid
To have you in my life i don't know what good things i did!
You can really take a bad song and make it better
We all know how crazy you are about Helter Skelter
You'd make a better actor than the guy who played Bane
I'm telling you, for the music industry, you're the next Kurt Cobain!
Man I'd love to see you perform 'House of the Holy'
I'm pretty sure you'll never leave the guitar, not even for the Cannoli
When you get hyper you remind us all of the Incredible Hulk
You're the happiest kid I've ever seen; you never sulk!
Your moods are unexpected and its types are various
Your crave for those "SUBSTANCES" is hilarious!
I know that Nirvana has made your Chemistry easier
You can now point out Lithium on the Periodic Table at your leisure
That face you make when you play the guitar is that of a Negative Creep
And when you blush you remind me of Meryl Streep
You lucky dog, you share your birthday will George Harrison!
If you were born during World War II, you'd provide awesome entertainment by playing guitar at the garrison
Over the Hills and Far Away is where you'll have your tryst
A Whole Lotta Love is definitely part of your Wishlist
You're way more electrifying than Angus Young
You set the stage on fire with your guitar skills and singing at the top of your lungs
Linkin Park is your childhood and In The End, it does matter
The Caste of Glass that you're building will never shatter
Your love for Jimi Hendrix is stronger than a dose of Purple Haze
Cuz your love for that musician is true and not just a phase
Santana invented the Spiritual ****** which makes us forget all our fears
Eric Clapton breaks me down into a River of Tears
There's something similar between you and Red Hot Chili Peppers
You're both unique - and i can't find anything else to rhyme so here's the closest - Def Leppard
Continue on your musical journey and people will be dying to give you a chance
One day, the music you create, will put us all in a Psychedelic Trance
I know that when you go
You'll either take the Stairway to Heaven or Highway to Hell
I heaven, you'll be Knockin' on their Door,
If Hell, you'll be ringin' Hell's Bells...
Mar 15, 2014
Mar 15, 2014 at 10:29 AM UTC
With looping hillside vendors
and red-light beams stalking the
cigarette smoke clouds, clinging
behind business men mobs (of 4 or 5)
and fracturing wildly from green-glass
bottles of soju and the girls
(oh the girls) who guard and call
out from dark thresholds with only
a spotlight of pink neon from
*** Trans Cafe, Eat Me)
the signs from above. And the glass
walls separating the men
from the girls and the short skirts
(plaid like schoolgirls) beckoning,
silent and alone, sitting on stools
(one leg over another) paid at the bars
for two drinks (and 250,000 Won)
usually by Americans, bored and trapped,
stranded (at Yongsun Army Garrison)
they venture Incheon at dark,
with sad eyes and lust, (trading paychecks
for hand jobs) guilty and delaying,
waiting for a three year tour (of
what feels like a lifetime) in Seoul
to end.
Nov 22, 2014
Nov 22, 2014 at 1:23 AM UTC
The skies have darkened.
Solar silhouette barely gleaming through these polluted smudges passing for clouds.
The ground starts to polka dot with every acidic drop.
Brush it off, it's nothing.
It's doesn't work. It's lingering.
The downpour steadily increasing.
With each passing tedious moment.
Now you're visibly shaking.
Surface streams have collected and the dam will need relief soon.
With every lie of "Hi, i miss you." and
"I still love you." gathering it's slowly dismantling the garrison.
Where there were once light cracks there is now gushing veins through brick.
The storm hasn't let up or even shown signs of stopping.
With the dam soon to be destroyed the promise of a flood is upon us.
Here comes the water.
Feb 28, 2015
Feb 28, 2015 at 1:05 PM UTC
Acrostic poem
C
Challenges often hold within them opportunities
Changing the angle of view can make a lot of difference
Clean your eyes and clear your mind
Choose what you see amongst the myriad of images
H
Having a positive mindset
Half solves a lot of problems
Housed within you is an unimaginable amount of power
Harness it, choose not to cower
A
Attitude is everything, they say
Appreciate and be grateful that you can at least see this day
A grateful heart is positioned to receive answers
And blessings usually fall into such laps
L
Limitations are first created in the mind
Look always on the bright side of life
L
Lion (King/Queen) you are in the midst of it all
Life and everything in it works together for your good
E
Encourage yourself each and every day
Elevate God above what you're going through
Excellent He is in all His ways
Express your faith in Him and He will pave a way
N
Never succumb to the voices in your head
Never hesitate to ask for help
No single person knows it all
Night will surely pass for morning to arrive
G
Giving up is the easiest option but
Greatness doesn't lie in that route
Give no room to deceptive thoughts
Garrison your mind with positivity
E
Exude hope and faith from within you
Exercise patience, everything happens in its time
Excellent people are formed during tough times
Evolve, let these things build you up
S
Success is guaranteed at the end
Students of life, we all are
Situations teach us to be Masters
Summing it up...
Seize all the opportunities present in life's challenges
Mar 18, 2019
Mar 18, 2019 at 2:54 PM UTC
somehow the world looks down on me.
standing central inside a garrison
of skyscraper's shadows
a concrete world s
liding down it's own walls-
until-
you are here- i am here
or so i'm told.
sometime ago i was here with you.
we bought a postcard and i dated it for posterity
amongst
buildings that climbed, clock faces that chimed
breathy airy floors split into windows outside-
doorways replete with someone to greet
own world in it's centre turned pinkish by heat
as the rest unfurled around us
and all we could do is look up.
i am here, i am here
looking up.
somehow this whole world looks down on me.
poor lonely soul wondering restless and old
i am here, i am here
so i'm told.
Apr 17, 2016
Apr 17, 2016 at 9:26 AM UTC
The Proclamation had met with silence,
he must have known the fight was lost,
But, Connolly, faithful to the Cause,
Was accepting of its cost.
They took the Green, The inns of Court,
the Post on Sackville Street
De Valera stood at Bolandʼ s mill
the place where five roads meet.
Their commander, Pearse, a scholar,
Apportioned his menʼ s lives,
To garrison each strong point
Till the British would arrive.
Their tactics were pure suicide-
They could not hope to stand,
But their strategy was brilliant
Meant to rouse a sleeping land.
Sure to die of a snipers bullet-
Or a British firing squad
These unabashed Republicans
Held out against long odds..
Bloodied by the Rebel guns,
The foe paid dear for ground
The general post office was in flames
as their gunboats shelled our town.
The week crawled past and Dublin burned
The post Office glowed White hot
Pearse watched his troop dwindle and fade.
Faint from shell and shock..
They surrendered to be crucified
In Imperial British fashion
And by dying saved their country.
Their deaths brought her resurrection.
The British with their firing squad
Could ready, aim and fire.
The Brotherhood by dying
Could persuade, convince, inspire
Upon the graves of these patriot men
Was the seed of a Nation sown,
their struggle at the post office
Still captured in itsʼ stone.
Dec 18, 2011
Dec 18, 2011 at 8:20 PM UTC
jimmy garrison
played
bass
in
the john coltrane
quartet
in
the
1960s
Sep 7, 2013
Sep 7, 2013 at 1:29 AM UTC
Satan, why is everyone so scared of him?
Lets knock on his door with a thousand cherubim,
And if it’s not enough come back with a garrison,
Of the highest class of angels, some six winged seraphim.
When the battle is raging on,
The demons will start to groan,
When their King is stripped from his throne,
And beat until the white meat is shown,
So we can see his flesh and bones.
Only then we will celebrate our victory,
When the enemy is history.
You see, Violence is the key,
The Devil’s death is meant to be.
It won’t mean spit to me,
The pain and all it brings,
To a being less than me.
I guess this means,
If the torture was switched to me.
Then it won’t mean spit to thee,
A being more than me.
While he’s so busy deploring me,
Instead of looking for more to see
There’s much more to me,
Than a sinning human being.
But since the God I love,
Promised me a place above
My shoulders I have to shrug,
**** the other thugs,
Give ‘em war, not love.
Oct 3, 2010
Oct 3, 2010 at 1:27 PM UTC
Garrison muddles in pharmaceuticals
dreaming health for long dead
friends
But he snorts away his hopes
following those white lines
down the coast
Tony jumps at riches
wants to support his poor parents
thinking money buys life
But he finds himself in ditches
after fun times that turn
into long nights
Ashley lost a father
younger than anyone should
wishing to bring back memories
But she drowns them away
in a sweet mixed drink
trying hard not to repeat
Will broke his hand
over the love of his life
so he pays for lunch in dimes
But he lives in a smoke
a slight smile of unknowing
despite being flat broke
And I...well I...
don't know who I am
I dabble in love, life, and sadness
But I always run out of time
so I got me a watch to keep track
but I forget to check it
because I want to rewind
Dec 30, 2012
Dec 30, 2012 at 6:05 PM UTC
My father's old Cadillac,
"Betsy", was an old champagne color,
With fabric that hung from the roof
As Betsy carried us
From our small East Texas town
To a slightly bigger town that
Actually has a Luby's
Garrison Keillor's "Prairie Home Companion"
Is coming through the dulled speakers,
As it does every Saturday evening.
I lay my head against the cool glass of
My window in the back seat and
Close my eyes and listen to Keillor's
Crooner voice softly and gently take
Me to the shores of Lake Woebegone.
I loved the stories of Lake Woebegone
Before I knew it was not a real place.
Before I even realized the name
Was itself a pun.
I still do,
But back then I would listen
And imagine moving and
Living there one day.
My father eventually
Sold Betsy to the only
Place in town that would
Take her,
A junkyard.
I'm not sure what he saw
In that old Cadillac
But whatever it was
Stuck with him.
Betsy's hood ornament sits
On his mahogany desk in his office and
Overlooks the bay.
Jan 13, 2013
Jan 13, 2013 at 11:22 PM UTC
I was going to share a poem
today written by a famous poet
with brilliant use of language
great rhyme and rhythm,
funnier than a trunk full of elephants
wiser than a milliion monkeys
and the word phizzog no where to
be found.
But I left the book containing
this prize winner at home
sitting on my bed open to page 77
now that I'm on the internet
at the pretlow branch library
I can't remember the poet,
the poem, just a page number
and Garrison Keillor
must have been some good poem
Apr 14, 2011
Apr 14, 2011 at 9:24 AM UTC
You lack character as a man,
unable to forgive and forget
dysfunction and anxiety,
white-knuckle memories
that root down deep,
clinging steady and strong
in the garrison of your mind.
Avoid the victim’s passion play;
we are all abused,
all exploited,
all broken gifts undelivered;
giving us humanity
in this comedy of error
and regret for words unsaid,
actions undone,
consequences unleashed.
We shall meet again,
when I have learned from my mistakes
and you retain them bitterly,
skeptical and aloof,
my beloved historian of bad judgment,
plowing your own path
through the debris of experience,
to make your own mistakes
your own.
Nov 28, 2011
Nov 28, 2011 at 6:32 PM UTC
writing for non-recognition
“It was exhilarating to get the chance to be useful, which is always an issue for a writer.”
Garrison Keillor
a hundred readings, so flattering,
the heart tickled, nicely fluttering,
then one day it is a thousand,
and the crushing soul flattening
has set a new higher,
a low base needs an achieving
in every thing
**** writing for recognition,
need a few thousand, ten will fill the bill,
now
to consider myself ok average,
which shhh,
I know I am
now have to choose each word
with great daring caring,
worthy of the great writer
whose devotees demand,
offer a simple choice, want want
pleasured ooh ah's of perfection or
face sacrifice
on the poetry altar
of the Feed Me Seymour plant of
being ignored to a
vegetative death
**** writing for recognition,
you want my I-curse,
steal my purse,
reach in, take my cigarette styx,
exhale a **** poem
**** writing for recognition,
please don't read my hand crafted,
diamond cutter designed,
succulent crap
go away, don't like me, and for god's sake
don't dare love me,
that's a killer,
then my busted ballon ego can't be taped
back together again by Humpty Dumpty's men
after this will never revisit the prior past,
that will not - shall not exist
one anonymous poet
spilling with unfazed unglued fluency
disregarding what pleases,
writing spilling that which surged
that electrify
my soul
and then never
to them return
**** writing for recognition,
no more subbing
no more sinning
no more using
just me using me
up
Sep 24, 2017
Sep 24, 2017 at 8:21 AM UTC
This is not the beginning of my story
Nor will it be the end,
Hasten or not, it must be told
In my undying grief I can no longer go on without His strength
I am Sir Thomas de Charney, of the Order of the Knights Templar
Born in the Year of Our Lord 1270, now a man, 20 years old
My Father is William de Charney, Grand Master of the Order
He is currently headquartered at Acre, I Master at Gaza
Our lineage dates back to 1119, with the nine original Knights
The Order and my Ancestors names will live on forever
Until I was 18 I was unaware of the outside world
That story is for another time
At present the Christians control most of the Holy Land
However, the Muslims, or Saracens, continued to wreak havoc
They pillaged and plundered the villages outside our fortifications
The infidels accomplished this madness using vagabonds or tribesman
This story is about my love, Dagung; ne’er was a woman as beautiful
I was Master of the City of Gaza the first time I laid eyes on her face
While our garrison remained strong, proximal towns were under attack
Rakish strikes by Muslim non-essential forces made them dangerous
This we knew was the first line of assault by the Saracens
At the moment they were just toying with our minds in ludic form
Bearing assault on our townspeople like poltroons I took umbrage
Therefore I dispatched my men accordingly to make well the trouble
On this particular engagement I decided to join my men.
___________________________________________________
To be continued
Dec 28, 2014
Dec 28, 2014 at 6:04 AM UTC
blocks of fluid motion
unlike ice.
moves and carries the package deal like FedEx 24/7,
ivy grabs the Empress in a flat embrace
waits like a dead red coat for the British to reinforce its garrison.
if happiness were sold as madness
how many of us would be architects?
Sep 8, 2013
Sep 8, 2013 at 9:29 PM UTC