"mres" poems - Hello Poetry

He had no idea if he would... If he could actually do it... When the time came, When his sergeant gave the nod, Let slip the dogs of war, Unleash the copper bees, Send missiles hurtling up or down At targets moving now... On men who may be wondering If they could fire the same, When the time came.... "Steady, men!" "On my command." He lay there, On a roof, In a ditch, On an open field, Crouched inside a turret, Bellied down in a plexiglass ball, Hurtled above a world mostly covered in cloud, Standing far below the earth in silo'd steel, Seeing still, through satellite eyes.... Peered into the mil dot scope, Ignored the cross To see through the center, Found the circled aperture, Punched coordinates into a seeing machine, Saw green circles on the screen... Aligned the circles.... Tried to breathe. So that was how it was For farm boys, Mowers of hay, Grocers' sons, smashers of ants, Carpenters, hammerers of nails, And bakers' boys, cutters of bread, Just in from shooting marbles and BB guns, Transported into war, Fed soldiers' ration: meat and bread and beans, Five cigarettes apiece in boxed MREs, Sent off to **** and to be killed With mothers' tears still fresh upon their cheeks, With lovers' ache still glowing embered heat. Training fresh, Waiting command To fire only when the order came... To remain firing til the order came... To hold the breath and squeeze... To hold the sight just so... To squeeze... And to reload Keeping head low, Eyes on target... To ignore all but the sergeant's yell, To think of squeezing on new targets, To wait awhile to process coming hell.... And when the time came, He squeezed, Felt the sudden life, Heard little but the sound of Clean ejection ... Saw his bullet, Saw his missile, Saw his target meet, And in the meeting, Red, And in the meeting , Fire and smoke, And in the meeting Knew that he could do What soldiers do. This boy Now cutting hay, Now stomping ants, Hammering nails, Cutting loaves of cooling bread... Caught in the maelstrom of war With no moment left but now, No possible tomorrow... Only targets, Only targeted In ferocious winds Of battle.

0

Sep 21, 2014

Sep 21, 2014 at 6:52 AM UTC

don-bouchard

Reaping

He had no idea if he would... If he could actually do it... When the time came, When his sergeant gave the nod, Let slip the dogs of war, Unleash the copper bees, Send missiles hurtling up or down At targets moving now... On men who may be wondering If they could fire the same, When the time came.... "Steady, men!" "On my command." He lay there, On a roof, In a ditch, On an open field, Crouched inside a turret, Bellied down in a plexiglass ball, Hurtled above a world mostly covered in cloud, Standing far below the earth in silo'd steel, Seeing still, through satellite eyes.... Peered into the mil dot scope, Ignored the cross To see through the center, Found the circled aperture, Punched coordinates into a seeing machine, Saw green circles on the screen... Aligned the circles.... Tried to breathe. So that was how it was For farm boys, Mowers of hay, Grocers' sons, smashers of ants, Carpenters, hammerers of nails, And bakers' boys, cutters of bread, Just in from shooting marbles and BB guns, Transported into war, Fed soldiers' ration: meat and bread and beans, Five cigarettes apiece in boxed MREs, Sent off to **** and to be killed With mothers' tears still fresh upon their cheeks, With lovers' ache still glowing embered heat. Training fresh, Waiting command To fire only when the order came... To remain firing til the order came... To hold the breath and squeeze... To hold the sight just so... To squeeze... And to reload Keeping head low, Eyes on target... To ignore all but the sergeant's yell, To think of squeezing on new targets, To wait awhile to process coming hell.... And when the time came, He squeezed, Felt the sudden life, Heard little but the sound of Clean ejection ... Saw his bullet, Saw his missile, Saw his target meet, And in the meeting, Red, And in the meeting , Fire and smoke, And in the meeting Knew that he could do What soldiers do. This boy Now cutting hay, Now stomping ants, Hammering nails, Cutting loaves of cooling bread... Caught in the maelstrom of war With no moment left but now, No possible tomorrow... Only targets, Only targeted In ferocious winds Of battle.

83

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0

Jun 23, 2015

Jun 23, 2015 at 3:32 PM UTC

It was a blind pick type of match, premade You're a full kit, a pro, a stunner But my focus, my chase, my dive, my pathing For you, my target, to you, my destination, were on lockdown With a flash spell you summoned I was instantly cast Unsuspecting, you took me off guard Hooked, gank, gap closer, leash, pull I was a full tank building up my defenses MRes, taking care to keep myself safe from the **** But I'm Rdy, a Sleeper OP I'll Hold I'll cover your lane Defend your tower Protect your base A Rambo attempt; diving in alone A Proxy strategy; high risk high reward A Skillshot; an aim that can potentially miss Say you'll commit, That you won't retreat Say that you'll fight Until the battle is complete To my Champion, my Main, My FotM FF; I surrender my heart No DC, No MIA, No QQ WP my love GJ GL my love HF

0

Nov 5, 2017

Nov 5, 2017 at 10:21 AM UTC

Alzet

Bofoogua

It was a blind pick type of match, premade You're a full kit, a pro, a stunner But my focus, my chase, my dive, my pathing For you, my target, to you, my destination, were on lockdown With a flash spell you summoned I was instantly cast Unsuspecting, you took me off guard Hooked, gank, gap closer, leash, pull I was a full tank building up my defenses MRes, taking care to keep myself safe from the **** But I'm Rdy, a Sleeper OP I'll Hold I'll cover your lane Defend your tower Protect your base A Rambo attempt; diving in alone A Proxy strategy; high risk high reward A Skillshot; an aim that can potentially miss Say you'll commit, That you won't retreat Say that you'll fight Until the battle is complete To my Champion, my Main, My FotM FF; I surrender my heart No DC, No MIA, No QQ WP my love GJ GL my love HF

29

1. Stuffed men who never made a single day Of training make brave speeches on this day Surely each one of them has his reward - A government SUV And bodyguards And a household staff And a clean, dry place to sleep And an income And medical care And a pension And a book deal And a library And maybe an eternal flame 2. And the nation’s enlisted daughters and sons Who sweat among the rocks, not on the golf course Have their reward from a grateful nation - Taking cover behind a blown-up Hummer They are the bodyguards They dig holes in the rocks and sand MREs contracted by the lowest brother-in-law bidder They stand-to all night under fire They are paid something less than the president’s special, um, assistant They will be ignored by the DVA Their eternal flame is the memory of a death-burnt friend They are dismissed as millennials and snowflakes By the Keyboard Kommandos who learned about war Just like our stuffed men in Washington By watching Patton over and over The stuffed men bray every hollow cliché, But this is what the stuffed men really say: “Thank you for your service; now shut up and go away Until we want another photo-op on Remembrance Day”

0

Jul 4, 2018

Jul 4, 2018 at 9:35 AM UTC

lawrence-hall

The Stuffed Men Who Praise Our Soldiers on Independence Day

1. Stuffed men who never made a single day Of training make brave speeches on this day Surely each one of them has his reward - A government SUV And bodyguards And a household staff And a clean, dry place to sleep And an income And medical care And a pension And a book deal And a library And maybe an eternal flame 2. And the nation’s enlisted daughters and sons Who sweat among the rocks, not on the golf course Have their reward from a grateful nation - Taking cover behind a blown-up Hummer They are the bodyguards They dig holes in the rocks and sand MREs contracted by the lowest brother-in-law bidder They stand-to all night under fire They are paid something less than the president’s special, um, assistant They will be ignored by the DVA Their eternal flame is the memory of a death-burnt friend They are dismissed as millennials and snowflakes By the Keyboard Kommandos who learned about war Just like our stuffed men in Washington By watching Patton over and over The stuffed men bray every hollow cliché, But this is what the stuffed men really say: “Thank you for your service; now shut up and go away Until we want another photo-op on Remembrance Day”

34

Which one is he? He’s the one that asks for the table by the wall where he can see all the exits. He’s the one who holds your hand slightly behind him and positions himself between you and the joggers in the park who might threaten your life. He’s the one who holds his cigarette with the ember cupped in his hand - maintaining light discipline even standing outside the mall. He’s the one that cleans his plate when you cook for him because he knows what it’s like to live on MREs and ibuprofen. He’s the one with the smile that never reaches his eyes - the pain that never leaves his soul. He’s the one that came back to you only in the physical form - who’s mind is still in the field with his brothers. Don’t ask which one he is - because if you can’t tell - you will never know. The mark is in his flesh - and in the eyes that see the ugly world the way it is, so you don’t have to.

0

Nov 7, 2020

Nov 7, 2020 at 7:46 PM UTC

Kymie1026

The Mark of Service

Which one is he? He’s the one that asks for the table by the wall where he can see all the exits. He’s the one who holds your hand slightly behind him and positions himself between you and the joggers in the park who might threaten your life. He’s the one who holds his cigarette with the ember cupped in his hand - maintaining light discipline even standing outside the mall. He’s the one that cleans his plate when you cook for him because he knows what it’s like to live on MREs and ibuprofen. He’s the one with the smile that never reaches his eyes - the pain that never leaves his soul. He’s the one that came back to you only in the physical form - who’s mind is still in the field with his brothers. Don’t ask which one he is - because if you can’t tell - you will never know. The mark is in his flesh - and in the eyes that see the ugly world the way it is, so you don’t have to.

8

Someone demands an immigration czar Which could be interesting: a crown, a throne A double-eagle flag, the border guards Singing a Troparian while on patrol On the Steppes of Central Texas 1 The Czar in progress royal comes to see His happy villagers waving MREs From behind the merry Potemkin wire The Czar, contented, turns his escort then To Petersburg, and lunch at the Little Red Hen 1 Cf Borodin's "On the Steppes of Central Asia"

0

Jun 25, 2018

Jun 25, 2018 at 1:19 PM UTC

lawrence-hall

An Immigration Czar (do we have any spare Romanovs about?)

Someone demands an immigration czar Which could be interesting: a crown, a throne A double-eagle flag, the border guards Singing a Troparian while on patrol On the Steppes of Central Texas 1 The Czar in progress royal comes to see His happy villagers waving MREs From behind the merry Potemkin wire The Czar, contented, turns his escort then To Petersburg, and lunch at the Little Red Hen 1 Cf Borodin's "On the Steppes of Central Asia"

11