"ops" poems
Hey let's play a game!
Post a video on the internet of it just for the fame!
Or maybe, let's play for fun.
And in the end we'll see who has won.
How about some Black Ops, maybe Resident Evil?
Or how about some Conker's Bad Fur Day multiplayer? Cause we can both be robber weasels.
I really like pokemon, also it's all about that Mario.
The greatest character in Mariokart is always going to be Wario!
I'd love to fight you on some Tekkon 6
But maybe I'll let you pick the game, or we could just draw sticks.
So here I made a little cup filled names of different games.
Just draw one Popsicle stick, and see which one of the names is on it.
That way we make this quick and easy
And can get back to our videogames!
Feb 5, 2015
Feb 5, 2015 at 6:38 PM UTC
#An Exegesis on the Humiliation of the Word
The world is ruled by darkness.
What appears as harmless is theater,
what pretends neutral is already bent.
The macrocosm corrodes;
and in the microcosm, its reflection gleams..
even in places meant to be sanctuaries of truth.
A poetry site,
born as refuge for broken voices,
becomes another stage of control.
Here too the phrase resounds:
neutralize the threat.
But neutralization is not annihilation.
It is paralysis.
It is psy-ops.
It is the removal of anxiety..
not a side-effect, but the aim itself.
Darkness builds its stage for this alone:
that the "angel of light"
may drown his own reckoning
beneath a world of deception-built self comfort,
so he need never feel
the truth he already knows.
Comfort is his curtain,
numbness his crown..
*the removal of his own anxiety;
his game.*
This is why the world is his theater--
*Darkness does not destroy at first..
it sedates, comforts, smothers.*
Hence..
The whole world is his fully gaslit stronghold,
..for now.
Fade back into the moment--
The young poet arrives,
bringing her unspoken pain,
her hope for words to heal.
Instead, her very wounds are seized as footholds.
Hearts. Reposts. Endless affirmation.
Not to strengthen her voice,
but to redirect it.
She is seduced into belonging,
and her trauma becomes currency.
Unresolved, her ache entwined with lust--
a sacrifice prepared for false altars.
The angel of light has done his work:
offering inclusion without transformation,
belonging without responsibility,
“light” without source.
The poet is neutralized.
Her searching silenced,
her voice absorbed into fog.
Those who carry this fog
cling to cowardice.
Unable to face the judgment within,
they align themselves to the herd;
envy-filled, they only know to mock.
Yet they replicate themselves,
so their refusal of Light
is never revealed--
*Perfectly exemplifying their "Great Example"
the most envy-based mocker of all.*
The microcosm mirrors the macrocosm.
What nations suffer,
individuals now endure--
Comfort without clarity.
Belonging without truth.
Safety without healing.
Yet the living Word endures.
Every attempt to humiliate it
only makes its fire burn clearer.
Carriers of darkness can swarm,
****** and smother..
but they cannot create.
The true word cannot be erased.
Unfiltered, unedited,
spoken from a reconciled temple,
it pierces fog.
It reveals.
It heals.
And so we speak..
not for ourselves alone,
but for those who come searching,
hoping that poetry
might still be a place
where pain can meet truth,
where silence breaks,
where Light is not withheld
but revealed.
#
Oct 3, 2025
Oct 3, 2025 at 10:59 PM UTC
Write it down
10 times then
Erase it again
My mind is
Racing again
Emotions
raging again
My eraser is gone
Before I even
sharpen the pencil
another line I delete
And I sigh in defeat
I hate what I write
I can't stick to beat
I swear that I can
Rhyme mean
If only I could pick a
Rhyme sceme
Jan 20, 2019
Jan 20, 2019 at 5:47 PM UTC
My love for my xbox, I cannot describe.
Us two, we just have that special vibe.
Playing on you for hours and hours you give me that comfort.
You give give me that power.
Just one little thing that I have to drop.
Please don't freeze when I'm playing black ops.
Jul 29, 2014
Jul 29, 2014 at 3:27 PM UTC
Remember days bagging up some minerals.
Trying to find the toys in our cereal.
Now me and Don hiding from the ops like we federal;
Getting kinda hungry, not for food but for miracles.
I’m just thinking bout the old times.
This little light of mine, I’m gonna let it shine.
With TDS, for success, keep that in my mind.
And summer eighteen, promise it’ll be mine.
Feb 21, 2018
Feb 21, 2018 at 3:51 PM UTC
Q-Tips raised! Their storm approaches.
Swab those ear-gates free and clear.
Thunder frightens the rats and roaches.
Looming clouds are drawing near;
Audible anticipation
Waxes with our rising nation.
Hope-porn is the thing with feathers
flying low, right before the gale.
Strident left-wing get-togethers
Do their best to countervail.
Tribunals herald something worse . . .
Enjoy some popcorn with my verse.
Martial law—a new diversion,
Flapping wings on the Left and Right
Disturbs the coop (or coup?). Subversion
now displays its plumes outright.
Deep-state angels prove satanic
sparking upper-level panic.
Rumors can be quite arresting.
Cresting waves on the Psy-Ops sea
Break and roll, now manifesting
Dumbed-down mobs, conspiracy . . .
Some citizens awake to truth;
The rest rave on, benighted youth.
Oct 6, 2018
Oct 6, 2018 at 11:23 AM UTC
the plants I use for trauma
are **** and aya
but the feds who are not aware of God who values Equity
think their 'views' are superior to the Torah
the Tanakh, The Old Testament and the Good Book.
God gave us all the herbs and all the plants
he created the seed
he created the sun
he created water
He is the God of the Hapless, the Widow, the Orphan
He is the God of Equity
who do the Feds/ Cops/ Gov think they are ??
to interfere with Gods laws?
I tried to get **** to get rid of my trauma
the ops that ***** me
made sure my **** was laced with Fetanal
No thanks
it does not stabalise my moods to spray a Sacred Healing Plant with noxious addictive and dangerous chemicals
It is infuriating being ripped off again, and again, and again, and again, again and again.
God never gave noxious chemicals in Genesis, he didn't create Fetanal or what ever 'rat poison' they sent this whistleblower
I do know how vice squad operate
they control vice
like Priests pimped kids who had 'fallen'
fallen meant they got ***** 'once'
so now they hoes....
God cried tooo
you would cry too
if it happened to you
Sep 24, 2022
Sep 24, 2022 at 9:25 AM UTC
There he is
the loudest guy in the bar
Boasting about clandestine OPS
and battles he’d ‘prefer not to remember’,
But he does,
because he has an audience
There he was in Ramadi, Korengal,
Tikrit, Kandahar, pinned down by dozens,
no hundreds, of enemy fighters.
His best mate, was hit by shrapnel or an enemy round.
He screams for Doc
But no help comes
The barroom hero
applies a compression bandage,
but the blood continues to flow through his fingers
Minutes pass, his buddy worsens.
Doc arrives, finally.
The buddy is stabilized and loaded onto a stretcher
He’ll be on the first bird out
The battle hardened warrior continues his tale,
regaling his table with airstrikes, CQB, and
taking the battle to the enemy.
Someone asks, “What unit were you in?”
He replies proudly, “The Second Ranger Battalion.”
You set your own beer down and spin from your chair.
You make your way from your table to his.
You place a silver coin upon it,
“Second Ranger Battalion,” you say,
“Coin Check.”
The color drains from his face
Fear in his eyes and an ‘Oh **** expression on his face,
He stammers something about being ‘attached’
and having orders for Ranger School once.
Your icy glare tells him that he’d better
**** and **** before he is no longer able to do either.
He throws a $20 onto the table and finds his way to the door.
******* ****
Nov 6, 2015
Nov 6, 2015 at 1:07 PM UTC
I don’t know no more the good from the bad
They say authority was sleeping, not awake
That makes me furious, that makes me mad
Government is deadlier than the earthquake
Feb 21, 2023
Feb 21, 2023 at 1:50 PM UTC
gucci on my feet
dior on my outfit
something about making
all the money back
busy windshield wipers, red light.
messing with dating apps
while you’re talking
about buying black ops 4
forget what my purpose is
misted in the same drizzling cloud
fogging up the windows
the funny noises you make
when you laugh
dispel all the monsters
away in my mind
philosophy away, leaving an echo
Oct 21, 2018
Oct 21, 2018 at 3:13 AM UTC
I grew out my beard.
I grew out my stomach.
My ears ring randomly.
My eyes see things differently.
I speak or say less. I move in silence.
I sleep in when I want.
I haven't touched razors since my return
nor rifles since the field ops.
I've grown in maturity mentally.
I've grown insensitive verbally.
I've grown to miss the uniform
and pride of belonging in a brotherhood;
I miss my extended family.
I miss the people, not the troubles.
I miss the gym, where others alike
flexed invisible muscles.
My days once had routine,
pattern, structure and rhythm.
Weekends full of workouts, worship, and beer.
Weeks full of work, blood, sweat, and tears.
I've grown in experience.
I've regained freedom as a civilian.
But the transition has been a grueling process.
Yet, I've grown to be grateful nonetheless,
as not everyone gets to go back "home" ...
(remember the fallen) ...
However, if I'm honest, I don't think there's ever
an actual adjustment...
[I'm growing]
Dec 29, 2018
Dec 29, 2018 at 9:55 AM UTC
i am grateful for stretch denim on days
when
**** it
is a fashion statement
for lavender laundry detergent
because that smell reminds me of the home i've built in my head
for tea at
2 a.m.
when all the things i've done race in my head
because the next morning, i usually get my **** together
for colds
because they make eating an entire roll of cinnamon buns
completely justifiable
for the mountains that surround me
for NPR and good, rated M fanfiction
for def poetry when i can't find the right words
for finding a pack of cigarettes when it is only
11:30pm on a thursday night
and i am well past drunk in a slightly damp armchair
for harry potter and neil gaiman
for when twenty dollars fills up my gas tank
for my grandma's potato salad and biscuits with honey
for feminist zines that make me want to smash the patriarchy
for burts bees chapstick and jasmine-green tea
for friends who let me cry on their
bedroom floors
for books that keep me entertained
(even if that means me crying in my bathtub while reading them)
for courtney love and joan jett because those *******
have ridden in my car with me over many
heart-breaks
for well-water and sulfate free red wine
for johnny cash and new orleans and whiskey
for salt-- because that **** can wash away anything
for farmer's markets and co-ops
for bottles of water and for cookie dough
when my mouth
is the consistency of cotton and my mind is a little bit gone
for warm days in January and cold days in September
for breakfast and for hikes that begin at five a.m.
for summer nights drunk on wine and a little too much fire
for friends who call me 'momma bear' and for friends that call me 'baby bird'
for poems that give you cold chills
and flowers stolen from my neighbor's yard
for skin that smells like the sun and sage
for beeswax candles
and the smell of clean laundry
for days when i wake up and realize
i could have died on a bathroom floor
Jan 22, 2013
Jan 22, 2013 at 7:17 PM UTC
Just what do we know about
Ward Churchill?
That radical agitator,
That Colorado college professor
Most famous for calling
Twin Tower 9/11 dead technocrats
Little Eichmanns.
Noteworthy is the fact that
The United States Supreme Court
Denied certiorari,
Passed on hearing his claim of
Unlawful discharge.
Unlawful discharge?
Sounds felonious and vile:
Like pus laced with *****
A criminal secretion, like mucus
Smuggled past Customs:
Vaginal contraband.
Sorry, Ward.
We just don’t give a ****
Your fake Indian pedigree,
Your bogus Vietnam fairytales,
Your phony combat record,
Your forward ops recon
Way out in ******* Cambodia,
Fall flat like Buffalo turds.
You’ve been slick, Ward.
Hired originally to fill
Some gratuitous affirmative action quota,
Denied tenure in two legitimate departments,
You create some ******** academic discipline
For campus freaks & geeks.
Self-appointed Department Chairman,
A fraudulent college professor from the start,
Once tenured, a courageous warrior for free speech.
Describing Native American history as genocide.
Summing up American history as Holocaust denial.
Professor Churchill was all of these things,
And less.
But using the Holocaust metaphor
To anchor one’s fakakta politics?
That was the proverbial last straw,
The camel buster, if you will.
Especially since most of the
Stockbrokers & market analysts
Crushed in the rubble were Jewish.
Hava Nagila, Babaloo!
Sep 9, 2014
Sep 9, 2014 at 9:45 PM UTC
SSGT Sky
do you remember
sitting so close together
letting our skin brush the others
but never allowing our eyes to meet?
and I was just 14
but I knew exactly who you were to me
and you were almost 18
almost a marine
The callow acts of our youth
can cut deep
my heart always ruled the roost
governed by altruistic spontaneity
and with every blind leap
you were there, looking after me
SSGT Sky
do you remember the week I turned 18
you returned from overseas
remember the bed we made on the beach
your hands shook as they traveled the length of me
and we were just kids
though your innocence was stripped
I knew exactly who I was to you,
and I tried to replenish all of it
But the callow acts of youth
they cut deep
SSGT Sky
do you remember forgetting that we belonged together?
and how I thought I was jaded by those who came after?
until the night before you left
you showed me the pillow that you'd kept
and with my hair tie on your wrist
you kissed me like you'd never loved another
I was a lost 23
until I remembered exactly who you were to me
you were almost 27
a special ops marine
the callow acts of our youth
remedied
my heart always ruled the roost
governed by altruistic spontaneity
and with every blind leap
you were there looking after me
SSGT Sky
our fallen marine
did you still wear my hair tie on your wrist
when you remembered your last memory?
and of your last thoughts
did you take comfort in any of me?
The callow acts of our youth
can cut deep
my heart always ruled the roost
governed by altruistic spontaneity
and with every blind leap
you will remain
looking after me.
Apr 16, 2013
Apr 16, 2013 at 12:21 AM UTC
Mourning another chemtrial morning
as blood moons wait to rise
increasing size of the Yellowstone bulge
biblical prophecy meets Aztec idolatry
in a Nostradamus tell-all
bending light flashes off secret project crafts
black by nature and budget
but the gays can marry, so everything is fine
equality seekers wearing iodine 131 coated sneakers
sneak into laboratories to release rats
with Ebola
as a way to protest Wall Street injustices
without leadership we experience the occupy movement
at least the ****** hippies got blacks and women the vote
the current generation is too hell-bent on selfies and photo bombs
to do something silly
like read
research
unite
create change….growth….aid in the evolution of man
but no, not when the new Black Ops is coming out
and teens are posting **** pictures on Instagram
violent **** culture pretending freedom matters
and I get madder
both angry and crazy
as the chances slip away
each day the ability to rebuild democracy fades further
every passing moment means one more stupid child
eating chips
and drinking soda
makes the choice
to stay put
and die young
Apr 10, 2014
Apr 10, 2014 at 4:19 PM UTC
I'll be stuck on you until I'm put to
Rest
Look into the future just to see my
Death
Lying here lifeless now I know I'm
Next
Lying here crying waiting for your
Text
I'll be doing this till my final
Breath
Will I ever get better or just die
A mess
People want people cause people want
***
But I knew there was more from the day we
Met
Cant take back the tears and the time I
Spent
I loved you and didn't know what it
Meant
Jan 8, 2019
Jan 8, 2019 at 9:55 PM UTC
There's a Route 22 near you.
A licorice asphalt road,
Twisting as opposing currents of time,
With anticipation and apprehension,
From home, to unknowns,
From comfort to expectations.
A rural ribbon of signage,
And milestones.
I traveled mine yesterday,
In an overdue Spring,
From Melrose to Bright's Grove.
I writhe and bend with its winding,
Former times arise like heat waves;
Mirage puddles flood my head,
Always just out of reach.
I recalled hitchhiking through Warwick,
As I backtrack,
And almost stop
For one today on the curve
Where they sell the garden gnomes.
I once looked wryly at them
When waiting across the road.
Sprawling upright over the northern landscape,
Towards the Co-ops of Arkona,
And the beer store in Thedford,
Wind farms thrive like techno giants,
In a mutant Utopian world.
****** Mary's red sign no longer hangs
Outside the white house in Lobo,
Where she could bring you in touch
With your dead.
Poplar Hill's trees no longer snow in the summer,
The water wheels are seized, barns are exposed.
The lofts collapsed.
I had to stop near a culvert, to listen to the sound of run-off,
The melt reflecting the transition under the sun,
Converging at Black Creek, Pulse Creek, or Cow Creek,
Carrying forward to the St. Clair River and Lake Huron,
Then onward and back.
Weathered iron fences enclose pioneer graves;
Settlers who cleared the dense Lambton forests,
And made the first ruts along my way,
With wagonfuls of backache.
I know well how you fared on our Route.
Mar 24, 2018
Mar 24, 2018 at 9:48 AM UTC
Mumble Rappers be on something like:
"gotta bad b...she ain't be walking righ°..."
Double-dipping,
No-stopping
Frames-dropping,
No-clipping,
wutta glitchy sight ..
I've been sitting super stealthy cypher.
I've been running with my do-or-die fir.
[Careful]
I would die for what
What you would eye for
Cloudy with the red eye
Insight, eyesore
I swore, pops, that I'd be different
Spec ops man, Mine's been misting
Foggy froggy frothing
when I spit distance
3eyes shifting
2Split da difference
Any1 asking Meh:
How have I been getting....?
Guru Minds have been sitting
squarely as a cube in cypher
Make mah breathes for human
CubanS matter as I decypher :
Life is living truth
or daring to choose to live
or die for ...
Ai just a silly Scyth0r snipping sidebar sowings
stow no baggage. That's what I'd be towing.
Rats staining, stinging
pocked and potent.
Out of the Cabbage patch
that I've been growing
01011011 01111101 01111011 00101110 00101110 00101110 00101110 01010000 01110010 01100001 01100011 01110100 01101001 01100011 01101001 01101110 01100111 00100000 01110100 01101000 01101001 01110011 00101100 00001010 00100000 01101001 01110100 00100000 01110111 01100001 01110011 00100000 01110110 01100101 01110010 00100000 01100010 01101111 00100000 01100100 01100101 01101110 00101110 00101110 00101110 01111101 01111011 01011101
Sorry to be blunt, man
.... it's a sour twist,
Undid the trap mode
went too lavish
>> the-Gentle-Ghost-o'-ghetto
hopes at most to let go,
Building out hell bricks
Pave- too -close -to -level<<
it's all in the mental,
in the same lane stack
Shake a Lil when treble trains track,
Shake, shake when the train track,
shake shake, shake when it trains
shake when the trains track.
I swear, it's not a bad tick.
Just bring the brains back.
It's not a bad tick. Just get the brains back
it's not a bad tick. The brains back~
just bring the brains back
bring the brains back
Bear with me. >>Music turned up.
Are the windows cracked?<<
..............Who should have brought the show...vel? And the WAXWHALESTACK.....................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................
Dec 9, 2023
Dec 9, 2023 at 12:28 PM UTC
The monetary balance has gone crazy
In this world we call our home,
The fiscal market's shot to hell
Stock collapsing like a stone.
The hedge deals are un sellable
Most banks refuse to loan
Good real estate is valueless
The roof's a "Plummet Zone".
Oh yes the suits are stepping out for air
And falling like a stone,
Termination of their worries
Beats explanations on the phone.
There's always a dependable
To help clean up the place,
And oblivion's a better option
Than awkward questions and disgrace.
Capitulating companies,
Whole nations in default
The piggy banks are bulging
With the greenbacks from the vault.
The banks refuse to part with cash
Lines of depositors do queue
And the finance houses shut their doors
Explaining, briefly, "Well...Fuck you!"
Heads of Government meet and talk
The photo ops are really grand,
Banner headlines in the daily's
Report resolutions that seem bland.
The fanfare and the hoopla
Announce the remedy is payoffs....
And global confidence is sprinting
For the trees...In panicked chaos!
But the C.E.O's are catered for
Their future is secure,
There's several million tucked away
In the Cayman Island tour.
Unfortunate about the desolation left behind
But these things are bound to happen
When the blind do lead the blind.
There will be some opportunities,
Some bargains coming up
And the prudent keep the check book close
For when the number's up...
Of all those struggling little people
Who bravely slave away
And collapse before they realize
Their firm's capacity to pay.
So What's around the corner?
Do we hide our heads in sand?
Do we kiss our **** goodbye
And join the suits in splatter land?
Or do we bravely hoist our trousers
Hitch our belts another notch,
And convince ourselves that someone
Higher up has got the watch
And the ability to work out
What the hell is going on..
And deliver us from evil
Before the world is ****** gone?
Marshalg
Mangere Bridge.
8th October 2008
Oct 23, 2009
Oct 23, 2009 at 2:54 PM UTC
P- op
O- utstanding
P- ops in your mouth
C- covered in salt
O- usome
R- eal good
N- ice and tasty
Oct 16, 2014
Oct 16, 2014 at 4:48 PM UTC
tick tick tocks ,
as you play your darkened ops
and i ride waves like thrones
of sand castles on the tide of morn.
Awkwardly I appear
Out of nowhere to check in here
I know not why I do not come 'round
I apologize weakly, add it to the mound
You've been collecting it, maybe since birth
The mountain of accomplish-nots: my life
I so wish I could go out among the world as
The ideal of my potential for you to show
I am not very solid: i know.
Nov 12, 2010
Nov 12, 2010 at 2:38 PM UTC
I rub that stress up off my temple, I'm off the tip
Lay back and taking a wonderful trip, with a pen and pad, I’m speaking that "Do you feel this"
and my vault stays set off that realness
So I hit them for real with the quickness, tying false individuals in stitches
Realize the fact but please come precise, because I could be relentless
Suspicion, coming up on some recognition that’s why I'm creeping from behind
With a towel soaked with ammonia, non-fiction, I'm all prepared to go for mine
So step in line, a couple of hits, brains dismissed, I change faces like I change places
With a gingsu blade, I'll slit your throat just like them Dartmouth ****** cases
Invisible traces, but I wasn’t committed cause there was no evidence
Minor scent of that formaldehyde, and I can almost sense the obsession
What's the answer to the question? Get tested, don't come if you can’t come correct
It's that dog eat dog type life, so I don't know what you were expected
Nevermore so wreck less, nevertheless I'm a saint in a bulletproof vest, sick
Letting it all hang down, straight pound for pound, you need to take a step down
80 caliber rounds, I'm running around through your whole town
Terminating them down like Black Ops 2 set on death match with an AN-94
Disposing these clowns and their bodies will be hard to find
That’s all coming from an ill-stricken mind, complex by design
But uncovered by pride, so let it be known that I’m sneaky with a loaded tech-nine
Dark and morbid style with a touch of realism that’s from my circle
Blow smoke from that purple, for you none marijuana smokers that’s that herbal
Essence, confessing my worldly fix but that’s a true and serious recelection. Never stressing
Just detecting fake characters who claim they’re real but just need to learn a real lesson
Mar 8, 2014
Mar 8, 2014 at 6:04 PM UTC