"hostiles" poems
One minute,
he's passing out candy
to the local children
and within an hour
he's ********* his M4,
spitting lead at hostiles,
dialed into killing them.
It's no wonder he got inked
with dual scorpions,
one on each arm,
before he rotated
back home.
Mar 5, 2014
Mar 5, 2014 at 9:08 PM UTC
Alone on this dark wet flagstone
hiding not hibernating place
no hedge to hug no worms to dig
stunned torchlit searchlight target
awaiting attack from hostiles
spine chilling prying naturephiles.
Sep 5, 2016
Sep 5, 2016 at 1:49 PM UTC
Existe una ciudad de cuarzo exquisita
cuyas rosadas calles yo recorrí
siguiendo su sinuosidad caprichosa
en ensoñaciones o tiempos de ensueño;
contemplé su nimbada altura de sol
en un baño de anochecientes tinturas
que raro artista podrá nunca pintar.
Mis ojos velados de recuerdos hoy
reflejan las puertas cerradas, oscuras;
los muros, cercantes con custodio rol,
que se alzan, fieros y hostiles, ante mí.
Yo hago frente, y grito con voz poderosa
mas no caen los muros y voy a quedar
fuera de la ciudad de cuarzo exquisita.
Dec 8, 2015
Dec 8, 2015 at 7:42 AM UTC
I stand here
On my own
in a fortress of fear
All alone
My rifle in grip
Eyes set on aim
Bleeding down my lip
If careless i'd be slain
Squeeze the trigger at haste
Enemy bodies lie to waste
Bullets **** by my head
An inch closer i would be dead
Fear triggered my gun
Ducking down,No where to run
Gripping my rifle
Eyes on aim
Take a deep breath
**** to remain
Troops of hostiles
all around
Fear and Despair
Had me surround
In a flash he was taken
Made unconscious
In prison awakened
Tortured,Yet breathed no word
Determined to live loyal
Never cared if hit by knife or sword
to die a life royal
Horrific scenes his mind had bore
He was now,a prisoner of war
Jul 5, 2013
Jul 5, 2013 at 11:46 AM UTC
Farewell, no—
Not a crow,—
But a lapse of lightning,
Flashes in films— with rocks thrown on a brim—
Creating verges on waters,
As it expands,— a mirror was formed
But shrubs are sobbing,— As the fog meddles with the river— So blinding; Then the mirror disappears
When droplets keep dripping,—
I could not see anymore..
"Find me..find me.."
Who are you?— "Find me.."
Are you a wolf from another pack?—"find me.."— Were you buried? — A breath? Or only pieces?— "find me.."
To be revived below the tree is a befuddling been..
"Find me.."
Somewhere, you are;
Somewhere, you will be—
I will find you..
In the misty voids, I followed you— and submerged to your world
The assuage of none,— oh, 'tis an eerie coldness—
Of belabouring sorrows and haunted dreams
The maze of narration leads to this path—
Summons the whispers of bushes that kept breathing and moving..—
Closer and closer..
In the silence— I sneak;
Someone screams,
(AAAAAAAHHHH!!!)
—Run and run; Never look back— For shadows are treacherous trolls,— Seducing temples—
Enshroud the wilderness to frighten the all grown..
—"I shall call you once more."
Suddenly, I tripped to the quarry
Serpents hissing; The Arachnids are stalking—
"Where is my fire?!"— I rattled to tend
One foot back— Murmurs chanting rituals to this goose
Spill embers! Spill embers!
Fiery torches cast my foes!
Now, I could escape.
No!— The ravens,
I shall not be abducted
Hastily, I blew my feet—To leap in sleek,— As to surpass the endless drear—
I am not a kin to your lair..
—
Hence, I was a fool
Befallen is me,—
When I stepped to the end side of knoll
This rebel is a victim of sheer torn scheme
Help me..
I need to find you..
Help me.. Please, help me..
Please..
A nowhere eagle swooped me from my lore
Bounce away from this pity storm,—
And let these wings fly to the morn
The lenient Stratus Clouds— Bolstering my spirit— Up here, there are no hostiles and skulls
That it declared to me, as well,— "Away from your madness— Perpetrators are attracted by insane vigor. Cease grubbling illusions!
You must seek to believe that it is there, and not unknown."
I conformed to my Savior.
"Find me..find me.."
It was more vivid and louder..
The glimpse of gables, I see now— with a Cross at its top
"My eagle, nest me here"
—"You are here..Enter within."
(GASPS)
Where am I?— I remember there were smoke and mounds;— Above me were clouds..
Wait, why are you smiling?
I shall pant— for I am petrified by all those obscured hollows,— Quite absurd?— Shake me instead
Now I ask you,—
"Who are you?"
—You found Me!—
May 19, 2020
May 19, 2020 at 3:10 AM UTC
Fear's unknown to him
All wish their courage was like his
Loyal soul an' loyal heart
Being a warrior seems such an art
He yearns the glory feeling
Gettin' honor feels as good as lusting
But all he sees are ****** fields
Hearin' pain an' swords against shields
He's not scared of death
Pagan, in divine judgement, he's no faith
Crested helmet, drawn sword
"For the motherland", not another word
At the signal he'll unleash hell
After slaughterin' hostiles, he'll feel well
No one will be spared, he's merciless
But primarily, he's a fearless
Dec 5, 2019
Dec 5, 2019 at 4:15 PM UTC
At Qadisiyyah, Khalid, the great Islamic leader, defeated the Sassanids or Persians in 636 AD leading to the conquest of Persia by Islam Recently there was a battle between ISIS and the Iraqis in the same place.
Firing the Kord 12.7 heavy machine gun
In the back of the Toyota was powerful
Especially in the dark
The muzzle flash half a meter long
He was an instrument of the Divine
Blessed be his name
The brothers were crossing the same red orange soil
Where Khalid defeated the Sassinids
Down that long road that led to Bagdad
Everything was so pure, so clean
No thoughts of that skinny sickly man, his father
Or mother’s tears and wailing
The swollen bodies left in ditches
All the innocent dead
Just the wind and the dust
Hands on the trigger, the road unwinding like a rope
Two f-18s sliding through the sky at twilight
All the displays lit
Coming on the convoy from behind
Missiles locked and launched, hostiles hit
Another pass, two more flashes
Back to the carrier, 10 out of 10
He opened the eye that could see
Noticed the stars burning like a river in the skies
A sickle moon setting
Faded into a dream state for a while
Images of a boy running through the ocean surf towards….
Then the pain tore him back
The heavy gun lying across his legs and belly
Something wrong with his right arm
But he could move the left
Wiped crusted red from his eye, called out to his brothers
Just silence and the wind
Moved his left hand to the trigger grip of the heavy gun
Could still traverse a little bit
Clicked off the safety and squeezed
The gun roared with a spout of flame
Now let them come
The drone jockey was bored
Waiting to go to the bar
He’d texted Jess and she’d said maybe, maybe…
Ops guy on the headset said activity on the road
So he flew the drone down to the still smoking ruin of trucks
Sure enough, movement and a muzzle flash
Target acquired and Hellfire away
Get some
Screen went white
More bad guys blown and gone
The blast uncovered part of an inscribed stone slab
The writing could have been Persian or Babylonian or…
Might have been about a battle or a grave, we’ll never know
The carrion eaters began to come
And the red orange dust slid across
The road.
Sep 19, 2014
Sep 19, 2014 at 1:46 PM UTC
During this era Actrocities
Have conquered the worlds
Before this we see clear blue ocean
But now everything fulls
of redness of blood
Human become incompatible
Before this the worlds was full
of peace now more hostiles
Because of money people become complacent and negtectful
Their give no thanks to Allah
Palestine
Never be free till now
All the zionis killled people
with mercilessly
All the children cry
They crawl and their never gave up
Their got up and syahid
Subhanallah
To heaven their go masyaAllah
Apr 7, 2015
Apr 7, 2015 at 10:46 AM UTC
I'm constantly tormented
By the people who I've come to hate
I wish I didn't have so many hostiles
But I know my wish is too late
I don't know what I did
To deserve such negative attention
There are so many.....
It's like a Bullies Convention
I just want to get by
And go on with my life
But no matter what it is I do
Someone always wants to cause strife
Like one time, a kid thought
I had a ***** over a teacher
And the amount of times he said it
Almost convinced me he was a preacher
One day I'd had enough
Decided that he wasn't so tough
"Go on, say it again"
I dared him
"You had a ***** and that was it
I snatched my pen off my desk
Called him over and stabbed his chest.
He pulled out his Ipod charger
And whipped me with the cord
I stabbed him once again
My stationery, my sword
But Justice didn't win
For it never does
He kept up his stupid act
The sight of him gave me an adrenaline buzz
I was half hopeful I'd get another shot
To crash his act, make his friends leave him to rot
But before I got another chance
He dropped out and my confidence began to advance
I now know how to fight
But I promised to never act irrationally
This promise that I keep
May just be
The death of me.
Yet the torment continues,
I've given up on threats
But I know what's happening behind the scenes
People are placing bets.
How long until I snap?
Well, I already have
I've put up with too much
Time for the good guy to turn bad
Oct 27, 2015
Oct 27, 2015 at 2:14 AM UTC
He vuelto a media noche a mi casa, y un canto
como vena de agua que solloza, me acoge...
Es el músico célibe, es el solista dócil
y experto, es el zenzontle que mece los cansancios
seniles y la incauta ilusión con que sueñan
las damitas... No cabe duda que el prisionero
sabe cantar. Su lengua es como aquellas otras
que el candor de los clásicos llamó lenguas arpadas.
No serían los clásicos minuciosos psicólogos,
pero atinaban con el mundo elemental
y daban a las cosas sus nombres...
Sigo oyendo
la musical tarea del zenzontle, y lo admiro
por impávido y fuerte, porque no se amilana
en el caos de las lóbregas vigilias, y no teme
despertar a los monstruos de la noche. Su pico
repasa el cuerpo de la noche, como el de una
amante; el valeroso pico de este zenzontle
va recorriendo el cuerpo de la noche: las cejas,
y la nuca, y el bozo. Súbitamente, irrumpe
el arpegio animoso que reta en su guarida
a todas las hostiles reservas de la amante...
¿Hay acaso otro solo poeta que, como éste,
desafíe a las incógnitas potestades, y hiera
con su venablo lírico el silencio despótico?
Respondamos nosotros, los necios y cobardes
que en la noche tememos aventurar la mano
afuera de las sábanas...
El zenzontle me lleva
hasta los corredores del patio solariego
en que había canarios, con el buche teñido
con un verde inicial de lechuga, y las alas
como onzas acabadas de troquelar. También
había por aquellos corredores, las roncas
palomas que se visten de canela y se ajustan
los collares de luto... Corredores propicios
en que José Manuel y Berta platicaban
y en que la misma Berta, con un gentil descoco,
me dijo alguna vez: «Si estos corredores
como tumbas, hablaran ¡qué cosas no dirían!»
Mas en estos momentos el zenzontle repite
un silbo montaraz, como un pastor llamando
a una pastora; y caigo en la lúgubre cuenta
de que el zenzontle vive castamente, y su limpia
virtud no ha de obtener un premio en Josafat.
Es seguro que al pobre cantor, que da su música
a la erótica letra de las lunas de miel,
lo aprisionaron virgen en su monte; y me apena
que ignore que la dicha de amar es un galope
del corazón sin brida, por el desfiladero
de la muerte. Deploro su castidad reclusa
y hasta le cedería uno de mis placeres.
Mas ya el sueño me vence... El zenzontle prolonga
su confesión melódica frente a las potestades
enemigas, y corto aquí mi panegírico
para el zenzontle impávido, virgen y confesor.
490
Mon doux Georges, viens voir une ménagerie
Quelconque, chez Buffon, au cirque, n'importe où ;
Sans sortir de Lutèce allons en Assyrie,
Et sans quitter Paris partons pour Tombouctou.
Viens voir les léopards de Tyr, les gypaètes,
L'ours grondant, le boa formidable sans bruit,
Le zèbre, le chacal, l'once, et ces deux poètes,
L'aigle ivre de soleil, le vautour plein de nuit.
Viens contempler le lynx sagace, l'amphisbène
À qui Job comparait son faux ami Sepher,
Et l'obscur tigre noir, dont le masque d'ébène
A deux trous flamboyants par où l'on voit l'enfer.
Voir de près l'oiseau fauve et le frisson des ailes,
C'est charmant ; nous aurons, sous de très sûrs abris,
Le spectacle des loups, des jaguars, des gazelles,
Et l'éblouissement divin des colibris.
Sortons du bruit humain. Viens au jardin des plantes.
Penchons-nous, à travers l'ombre où nous étouffons
Sur les douleurs d'en bas, vaguement appelantes,
Et sur les pas confus des inconnus profonds.
L'animal, c'est de l'ombre errant dans les ténèbres ;
On ne sait s'il écoute, on ne sait s'il entend ;
Il a des cris hagards, il a des yeux funèbres ;
Une affirmation sublime en sort pourtant.
Nous qui régnons, combien de choses inutiles
Nous disons, sans savoir le mal que nous faisons !
Quand la vérité vient, nous lui sommes hostiles,
Et contre la raison nous avons des raisons.
Corbière à la tribune et Frayssinous en chaire
Sont fort inférieurs à la bête des bois ;
L'âme dans la forêt songe et se laisse faire ;
Je doute dans un temple, et sur un mont je crois.
Dieu par les voix de l'ombre obscurément se nomme ;
Nul Quirinal ne vaut le fauve Pélion ;
Il est bon, quand on vient d'entendre parler l'homme,
D'aller entendre un peu rugir le grand lion.
491
Nowadays everybody seem lost in their mobiles
Seeing the ones they’re yet to befriend as hostiles
Neglecting what used to be human values
We now even forget about our own statues
Too scared to exchange words with strangers at the park
We forget that nature too used leave a memorable mark
Apr 28, 2020
Apr 28, 2020 at 9:07 AM UTC
War paint
but this ain't
the
last stand
this is England
no
hostiles here.
We dream of the prairie
because
our lives our dreary,
I dream of Revere
no hostiles here.
Sheer pluck alone can cut to the bone
if you're an artist and most of us are.
Sing?
well that's a hit or miss thing
if
'Britain's got talent'
they are keeping it hidden.
As you may see I go off on a tangent
and sometimes it's two
it's what I do
It's who I am
angular
irregular but
a man all the same
and if war paint's the game
and it ain't the last stand
count me in.
Aug 12, 2016
Aug 12, 2016 at 6:06 PM UTC
I had the unfortunate privilege of participating in a war
As an immediate life experience
This afforded me the luxury of indifference
While eliminating the sanguine notion of naiveté
Bravo 6 once told me - the only easy day was yesterday
Existing in a constant state of crisis justifies our history of violence
Collectively vindicates informed decisions to use lethal force without tolerance
License to search and destroy hostiles with extreme prejudice
Collateral damage merely an unfortunate expenditure of doing business
This is the merely the price of war
The cost is the bones and broken lives we leave behind as just-cause
When we are redeployed to kick down someone else’s door
Eventually in time, all these sins will follow us home
And war will make corpse of us all
Mar 21, 2025
Mar 21, 2025 at 7:34 AM UTC