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175

I have never seen “Volcanoes”—
But, when Travellers tell
How those old—phlegmatic mountains
Usually so still—

Bear within—appalling Ordnance,
Fire, and smoke, and gun,
Taking Villages for breakfast,
And appalling Men—

If the stillness is Volcanic
In the human face
When upon a pain Titanic
Features keep their place—

If at length the smouldering anguish
Will not overcome—
And the palpitating Vineyard
In the dust, be thrown?

If some loving Antiquary,
On Resumption Morn,
Will not cry with joy “Pompeii”!
To the Hills return!
nick armbrister Jan 2022
An Awful Harvest

I went a hike up to Wawa in Montalban and up the mountain roads. Here I was to go past the peaks of Mt Parawagan, Susong Dalaga and Mt Lagyo plus others. The road had been improved by engineers with trucks and plant equipment. I wanted to hike a big circle right back to the beginning. This was possible a few months ago but not now due to the building of the Pamitinan Dam. It will take four years to do this and flood a complete valley near the peaks. A guard told me no entry by the construction site. I talked to a head engineer and he told me more details. The dam will be eighty metres tall or deep more than the Kaliwa Dam of sixty four metres. These are big structures. Hikers wanted to hike from Wawa to Casili by the newly improved mountain roads but the dam construction stopped this. In time a new road will be built above the dam level replacing the old road. Even if the road is built in a year the dam will still be unfinished so still no entry.



I saw a sign saying beware of UXO Unexploded Ordnance. A local man told me about this, of how the military was looking for it and would defuse any found. His details matched much of what I’ve heard before, like finding shrapnel in the soil. The sign was for the road improvement and dam construction. Sleeping shells waited to knocked awake and ****.



The digger, bulldozer and plant drivers need to be paid danger money. No joke. The area they work on is a small part of a huge World War 2 battlefield. An awful harvest litters the land with unexploded ordnance being buried in the soil having not detonated. Mortars, shells, bombs and other things; these all need locating and safely defusing by the military.



People live in the area and many have found live or exploded shells. The live shells are complete and the spent ones are in varied sized pieces. On my hike up there I was given a piece of one five five millimetre shell from a local. This was in two parts, the biggest weighed many pounds. I estimate between one in four and six fired never exploded. On the stone mountains like Mt Lagyo the shells and bombs will explode on impact if the detonators are triggered. In soil covered peaks the shells can just dig in and don’t go off. The army went up to Mt Lagyo looking for unexploded ordnance. They found nothing.



The road that has been improved and widened would’ve yielded many unexploded munitions. I’m curious how many were found and wonder how many thousands still hide unfound. Sections of the trees/grass by the road are taped off. This is for safety of any munitions and also due to the steepness of the terrain.



The local people within the valley are being moved away and compensated for thus upheaval. Their valley will be inundated by what is now a small river in coming years. Any remaining homes and unfound munitions or Japanese tunnels will be underwater.



Every time I hike the area from Wawa to Mt Mataba to Timberland to Casili I read about or am told or shown evidence from the war and battles; that old actions from 1945 has outlived the people of that time be it locals or soldiers. History is not old and boring black and white photos. An rusty Arisaka rifle with working bolt or blasted shell fragments tell more than any story or photo ever could. Only fate and God knows the unnamed soldiers names now.



When the dam is built I wonder how many unfound unexploded ordnance and dead Japanese soldiers will be now forever unfound? I suspect many thousand Japanese soldiers are buried on those peaks. Remember, these hills are the first high ground above Manila. This was the start of the high ground battles that went on for hundreds of miles at several huge mountain ranges. It was Tier 1 fighting equal to anywhere involving hundreds of thousands of opposing troops, of which tens of thousands were killed.



Now the 1945 legacy is coming back to bite us. Not just buried shells on a dam construction site but the risk of them still exploding when not even found. This is due to corroding fuses. Buried bombs in Europe have self detonated several times. I’ve been told of two large unexploded warplane dropped bombs, one near Timberland and the other near Mt Parawagan. Both need to be found again and professionally defused. History is never boring; the lethal harvest is a testimony to their dastardly deeds.


Mike Essig Jan 2017
"Nothing in life is so exhilarating as to be shot at without result."*

The bullet that missed
on a sweltering 1972 day
remains the bullet
you fear the most,
the bullet still at large,
circling your life,
seeking a second chance
to lodge in your heart
that like all hearts
cannot stay lucky
forever.
13 Jul 2014
Ordnance of the wealthy, corrupt
Sculpting the public image.
Garnishing with admiration, cloaking gall.
Mass ****** and grand larceny
Have to, in some way, come clean in the books.

Money is fabricated out of thin air.
Know that you don’t know anything.
When debt is created, pockets are lined
This is the white way in a dark world.
When the receipts are missing, the cash is stashed.
Black must then become white for the sake of tax.

All of this ultimately boils down to charity.
Deplorable or reliable, evil or honest
Easiest way to wash the attic and eyes of the tax officers.
Feigning effigies and respect in the face of media
As they donate to those they’ve stolen from with a hearty smile.
Neither will recognize, but be eternally grateful the other exists.
Just another excuse to wake up in the morning and not feel awful.
Posted on December 10, 2013
Francie Lynch Apr 2016
The factory gates are locked,
And there's no work today.
The line-up's getting longer,
And the soup kitchen's closed.
The cardboard box was recyclable
As a home above a vent;
My children have no clothes,
I hear my school's been closed.
Then I hear you call her ****
Because she won't sleep with you.
The lake's been closed, no swimming,
And the park soil is contaminated;
I think we're underestimated.
Clear the area
Before Gilligan removes the head,
Or Hawkeye looses his arms.
This is not a false alarm.
Gabriel burnS Aug 2017
the dress is lying still
on her hips
but not at rest
a tight caress
that stalks in wait
proxy to the prey
black widow web?
wes parham Apr 2014
Twice lost, one soul appeared, unbidden,
Ambushed, in plain sight.
Results?     All hidden.
As I walked, I thought of this,
Imagined as I sought,
A sign of full surrender,
In the battles that we fought.
I threw what always seemed, to you,
The ordnance of the soul,
Words on leaves and tissue tigers,
Weak and boring, far from whole.
My engine had an inner working, impossible to see.
My feet still carry me to you,
And you just stare at me.
It was bad enough to have her occupy every minute of my brain's time.  She ignored me like an Olympic class apathetic, but my feet, those damnable devices of divination, could find her like a dowser's wand.  I began to see this as open hostilities on the part of my angels and muses, to torture my animal so.  Fighting to be heard, fighting to be seen, forced to always find and helpless to engage the enemy at such unexpected close quarters.
Mark Toney Jul 2020

         Where will you be
       twenty twenty
          I've got news for
       you aplenty


Leave me alone let
  me pilot my drone
                             let me fire my missiles
                                            in a no fly zone
        I don't need your permission
      to release ammunition
    You might as well leave if
   you're looking for contrition

Rifle Rifle—wait for it wait for it
   Trifle Trifle—everything's legit
      Eyeful Eyeful—never can forget
  Look out!  I strike without warning
Splash!  Try again tomorrow morning

         Liar Liar
       tongues on fire
         can't put out the
       forest fire


Leave me alone let
  me pilot my drone
                             let me drop my ordnance
                                            in a no fly zone
        I don't need your permission
      to release ammunition
    Get in my crosshairs
  You'll be headed to perdition

Rifle Rifle—wait for it wait for it
   Trifle Trifle—everything's legit
      Eyeful Eyeful—never can forget
  Look out!  I strike without warning
Splash!  Try again tomorrow morning

Leave me alone let
  me pilot my drone
                             let me fire my missiles
                                           in a no fly zone
       Here's the facts hard cold
     if I may be so bold
   if you really want to win
you'll have to wait till I get old

         One step forwards
       two steps backwards
         Once released you
       can't take back words






© 2020 Mark Toney.  All rights reserved.
7/11/2020 - Poetry form: Rhyme - © 2020 Mark Toney.  All rights reserved.
1188

’Twas fighting for his Life he was—
That sort accomplish well—
The Ordnance of Vitality
Is frugal of its Ball.

It aims once—kills once—conquers once—
There is no second War
In that Campaign inscrutable
Of the Interior.
Anton Kooistra Mar 2016
*******
keyboard
hamburger
blue
coffeehouse
smile

the
joy
citizenship
face
she's

Slapped
brightly

a
cold
lot
on
sweat
singing
Dance
merry
stuff
a
canned
about

mayor
of
Cool
macdonald
croudsource

major
was

work
loud
birthday
red
call
measure
workingclass
monogamy
silence
a
his
carnivores

down
street
manly

ordnance
every

happy
steaming
beginning
rattle
place
ukraine
sniff
serial
place
We
testing
laugh
bro
my
worker
of
crap
juice
water
canon
man
shuffling

the
bread
Shaking
fried
peanut
Johnny's
cleaninglady
based
upbringing
hums
flanberg
flames

the
brainface
got
of
before

awkward
flight
foresaw
on
black
She
travels
meaningful

fell
hamster
fighter
lack
correlate
was
day
colony

what
man
She
train
fortify

Guitar
piano

orange
intermezzo
butter
squints
cackling
happy
mate

hot

breadsource
browsers
Randomized from environmental conversation, songs and cold writing.
Ben Brinkburn May 2014
Dalmatia and Other Localities before the War
When we ate grilled fish on the floating restaurant
lording it on the Dalmatian coast

...mistaken for Party children- daddy must be an
official for them to have a motor bike like that...

how cool

when we stood on the quayside at Budva then later
stranded on that hotel island watching the causeway
slowly disappear beneath an unhurried sea

when detouring to Kotor to see the earthquake damage
imagining the earth move a dust shrouded town
staring through chained gates as if at a movie set

when I drove the Honda too fast skidding around
potholes and you giggled later drinking rocket fuel
local liqueurs in a bar with currency for wall paper

then when we strolled the leaning streets of
Mostar where soon there would be tanks
Then what of our own smouldering conflict

our own trajectory of spite filled ordnance
could you sense that it was coming?
a nurtured, carefully concealed attack

time worn sophistry
what of that when gun smoke
smarts your eyes.
From the forthcoming collection 'Mythopoetic'
Jonny Angel May 2015
It's crazy how sometimes
we'd lay there forever
gathering intel.
The bad guys
would move around
as if they owned the place,
scurrying to and fro,
moving ordnance,
an RPG or two,
lots of AK's.
Most of the time
when we saw them like that,
we'd bag them in an airstrike.
Game over.
Camo works.
Connor Reid Sep 2014
Tacked onto cosmos,
Soft light,
Eradicating an opposite,
Dreaming life into fruition,
Kibble,
Bring lips
Down, among trenches & arcane
Never rest
Context, infinitesimal in journey,
Nexus at best

A hammer through your letterbox,
Covered in spit,
Listened to through callous hands
Knocking on the complex,
Chamber of advents
And unleashing the deepest, unknown secret
Flattened, stretched Ambrosia,
Content enabled metropolis,
Slowing the progress of atrocity
Into dawning backward birth

Orders in place,
Genus
Chronicled in ordnance,
By gated communities,
Escalating the calamity by force

Embargo transcend,
Glitter on abound, endless
Pardon the boredom
Lapped, lipped, tapped, trusted

Trying to find balance
In amongst leaves,
Leaving Earth
In a ship fueled by discontent
Joseph Sinclair Jul 2015
[See notes below]

That model of a ****** rifle
is one with which we need not trifle
the acronym is far from hard to see
representing, as it does, accuracy.

Indeed, extreme tasked ordnance
from Latin countries such as France
appreciate a form such as exacto:
regarding it as simply ipso facto.
EXACTO, an acronym of EXtreme ACcuracy Tasked Ordnance, is a ****** rifle with self-guiding characteristics.  The EXACTO program completed a round of live-fire tests in February 2015. In the tests, an experienced shooter used the guided rounds to track and hit a moving target several times. Video showed the bullets maneuvering in-flight to achieve hits. Additionally, an inexperienced shooter used the system and was still able to hit the moving target.  (Paraphrased from Wikipedia)
Gabriel burnS Jan 2017
War by proxy,
the future of conflict
super powers clashing
on foreign soil
in battles fought by locals
divided into camps
pitted against their own
for differing convictions
not for the lack of reasons;
fuel to the fire added
by their recruiters
propaganda,
subterfuge,
subversion;
no need to worry about ordnance
and military hardware,
ammo and suplies
they will be provided
duly
by the sponsors;
the agenda is
to drown a patch of land in blood,
with an island built from bones
lonely in the middle,
just big enough for a g-man
to set foot upon,
tie the laces of his boot;
an then move on.
But what of all the residue?
Nothing goes to waste
all will be reused
blood to fuel
bones to amunition
surviving souls to generations of hate slaves

If you're elsewhere building an oasis
somewhere peaceful, someplace quiet,
watch your back and keep an eye
on the silent sky
there are birds of steel and wires
with their artificial brains
roaming, cruising, watching,
their senses and their talons
lent to their
puppeteers, mere employees
looking for a chance,
at that multikill promotion
fingers itching at the joystick...
but outside and back at home,
a prison cell of boredom
waits to chew them in slow motion
to the bombed and the bombing,
to the greedy and the mourning,
we don't call this life
hell is real
we're both prey and hunter
madness is contagious and haunting
Paleblueyes Jun 2014
Your anger cuts me deeper each time you explode and I meet your ordnance with my Nothing.  Maybe I'm the shell that contains your spark. Falling silently to the ground each time your weapon fires. A small shining reminder of the violence of space and sounds.
i barely get ma palm pilot sized
   dear derriere i.e. gluteus maximus in the air
just a cat whisker across the DeMilitarized Zone
  (DMZ in military parlance),

   when the Earth shuddered from blare
ring fusillade expressed detonation
   issued by Kim Jung Un,
   whose craven dark excitement clear

motive predicated
   to lob Holiday nuclear missiles,
   and South Koreans (no matter
   mostly innocent victims), whelp hay dear

for siding, identifying, fraternizing, colluding,
   et cetera with the enemy (in general,
   the NATO bound countries) 'ere
really quiet, as preparation (H) gets made

   to bring out the big guns
   (actually shaped like a fleshy
   posterior man bun) in truth one
   dead reckoning sphincter muscle

   that doth flair
impossible to espy, cuz sieve
   all the flak whistling induce sing a glare,
but...the Hermit Kingdom got another

   bad a$$ bombardier deathly, stealthily quiet,
   hence released **** Jed
  eye ordnance impossible to hear
yet this silent deadly *** sass sin hated

   hard as a ribbed rock stainless steel
   guaranteed to wreak havoc, with loathing
   and other emotions hints sin sere
which top secret (never bottomed out

   during test practice trials,
   whereat Johnny spot on)
   proved to vaporize underwear
and caused a "big stink"
   that lasted about one year.

what information divulged
   ye moost promise never to share
else...any turn coats
   can not muster posterior haste,

   yet will need to seek out specialty
   of proctologist who doth rear
lee **** seed unfortunate victim
   blind sided immune to any prayer

so...upon confiding this tidbit,
   I strongly advise tubby not near
as you might already correctly guess,
   when while mooning Pyongyang

well taut smart cheeks,
   with blasting buttocks akin to
   young Frankenstein blazing saddles
as sole oozing gaseous
   flatulence majority

   of North Koreans will not here
amidst din and clangor "bad medicine"
   propelled ****** bowel
   movement game changer

   will hit designated target precisely clear
t'will invite "freedom fighters"
   tubby regaling with a jubilant aire
total mortal Kombat levels threat of "Fat Boy",

whose po' country mutilated,
   reduced, wasted to ashes after
   every nuclear and
   traditional military contrivance,
  an IC a BM (mine) did destroy.
md-writer Apr 2019
Perfidy,
traitorous brother of mine
unseen like splinters
and deeper than mines
unloved, unlovely
a speaker of wind
blow on the coals and
destroy every
friend

crashing far below upon
a shore of molten ore,
that symphony of silence
stares and swiftly
takes the gore

laughing gods of
cruel men,
take and leave no rest
for them
to slave for in the night.

Heart's beat fast
like horses
running from a flood,
to lift all other dangers
far above one burning sun.

Agony lives in those souls
with dry and crusted tears,
layered by the thousands
for the simple
earthen spore.

Life or death, it's spreading
and there's nothing left to do,
unseeing eyes have turned away
and listening ears are
through.

Spitting gods of fire,
sparks,
the infinity of war,
simmers slightly, spatters,
roars,
while scented candles bore.

Deeply into nostrils flared
the sacrifice abhorred
by man and all the kindnesses
of aelven daughters
******
to please a god.

This doubting rustic
truth obscures
no dragon fuels his love
for dreams;
but listing warily
that ship's a parchment breaker,
gone
a far, long way from home

Desire, sweet god,
defining every ordnance,
every lyre's sweet undoing
with sicknesses
of the heavy-laden soul:
deep delight in all
forbidden things
well up, and godly grief cannot
unstopper such a harsh
and human
drugging of the mind.

God! Above! You sit,
we sink; you smile,
we wilt, into the cracking
hopelessness of helpless other men.
Devour us all, you light of glory!
Let the fire of your spirit
shine.

Disgruntled murmurs,
death's gaze green
- the envy of his duty
slipped away by soft
divinity.

All wrong, the world creaks
around the miracle imposed
like so many crystal shards
pressed in and yet
not bleeding.

One of us, you say,
He's come and living,
a miracle of flesh and bones
and spirit-filled
desire

No, you lie.
I won't believe such nonsense,
for the aloes are away,
no sweet syrup salve exists
to balm my broken sores.
You lie.

Devils laugh in whispered
shadows,
lurking just behind the mind,
undoing tiny winglets
from the bodies
of God's flies.

Unimagined terror, and the
worst of your bad dreams,
fall like heartless bits of honey
on the putrid flesh of
these...

...these broken children
sitting huddled up,
bitten off on every side
like the cookie crumbles - gently -
when you **** the sweet
insides.

Happy little dancing feet
will never come again,
not now or ever near to me
I'm dragon-born and
thin.

It's my own curse come back,
my sensible defeat,
the folly of a tongue unchained
with hideous things to speak.

Tearing ribbons off my hand,
I reach up for twinkling sky,
for one last breath of sweet
dear light
before the grant to die.

Unknown above, the stars blink out
the universe is winking;
and false-patterned light comes
closer to the wreckage of my
soul.

The eyes of angels glowing,
the scent of suns unseen,
of walking in the forests of the
long-forsaken sheen.
Planets breath their last - expire -
and stars are broken clean,
but still they slip like shadows
towards this darkened piece of
green.

It's all the last things
that long followed,
all the final thoughts unseen,
as the miracle of flesh and bones
is lifted up and freed.

Lift your eyes up to the heavens,
let my goodness filter clean,
open all the cracking corners
of your god-forsaken being
till the end.

Laughter sounds a bell-toll,
listen for the second strike,
yet the hammer never falls
for I have travelled
into night.

Confusion cramps its
elbows in the corner of my
mind
and the god of heaven's thunder
laughs beside him. He is mine.

Cherry-red,
his wounds are flowing freely,
the ****** balm sweeps over me.
I gasp - the burning agony
of every sting revealed.
Blood for blood and
stripes untold,
every fraction that they hold,
weeps into the ravening
of unforgotten, unforgetting

grace.
April 5
Norbert Tasev Mar 2020
Then there were the scarred scarecrows, the wolves with their cheekbones - like a bunch of cubs, I'll tell you now! Thirst for revenge on indigestible ants, tortures for animals. There were defamation, unremitting, stinging rib-like fractures in the moral mud, and screams of mercy begging from far away in a scented school toilet!

And then there were satisfied sleeping tales that, "Well, everything will be fine!" And "Don't be afraid!" - and, with grudging fist-right and killer-eyes, we all became emigrants within our own morals: we adhered to our principles! There was little satisfaction, holy vow against the siserehada of bone-breaking slaps: We'll show you! And a lot of ugly beats have fallen on us like a bombshell! - Thick wires between our nerve strings burst with urges, in a harrowing, violent pace: "If you stay inside school, you're sure to end! Die! "
- And there was no mistaken sentiment that he was conceived in hell every day in the midst of deliberate ordnance and mockery; and the adult incomprehension has proliferated like the wacky **** in the other hemispheres! How did it become then?

Without the secret, well-meaning human-faced angels, I would smell it myself today and wouldn't give it a gift! I won non-violent, eternally infectious wounds during duels: the tears of my face were contaminated by so many nasty spit! And every single day, if given that I could survive, I could run in laziness, and with asymmetric obsession, as a beachless pursuer:

An uninhabited wound that craves understanding and shelter! Yet how unfulfilled is the tide of prayer for the deaf, the last rock of cooperative humanism ?!
Thy birth on January 13th – cervical contractions would not abate
the pesky master (papa), strove to synchronize his seminal bait
thence, forty-two weeks after ma parents did pro create
Imminent lviii plus years ago to date
this present baby boomer doth indubitably and inherently equate
Nineteen hundred and fifty nine
   bequeathed birthed mine kempf ill fate
neurological manifestation sans obsessive compulsive did grate
behavioral motif and analogous to frontispiece per the story I hate
of my life and hard times, when all of a sudden out the blue irate

the onset of emotional nadir,
   where ballistic ordnance bombed away
fancy free, innocent, naïve boyhood
   decrying, detonating, and describing me own Pigs Bay
Allied, linkedin, and synced Luftwaffe
   and Panzer division invasion that clay
like materiel within southern cerebral hemi
   sphere inroads usurped no delay
riding roughshod via synapse straits sporting
   scoring sorties using every
axe n newer on dread did Swiss hide dill naught
   to decimate with Sherman determination tuff flay
leaving not one iota (oft times) referenced as gray
matter unaffected quite aware
   of rebellious confederated voices yelling “HOORAY”

Sabotaging orbitofrontal communication incorporating connection between anterior cingulate gyrus cortex heightening activity bridging (via atom sized pontoon bridges) greater activity upon basal ganglia, which synoptic description does nothing to alter the predisposition to ingress of uncontrollable imbecilic, inexplicable, and illogical fixation particularly during onset of puberty, when an emotional kamikaze nose dive at the nadir of near lifelessness, the shadow of me former self nowhere tubby found on account of deadly symbiotic relationship asper the invisible nemesis – i.e. electrical impulses faux nattering nabobs of mien nativity whereat unseen thriving sensational riffraff quenched powerhouse ousting nestled milkmaids, or rather pressing said resources sans vitality into dangerous, frivolous, and horrendous self destructive antics, where ballistic charges drugged eminent domain former nerve cell size occupants, thoroughly re-engineering sense and sensibility with pride fullness and prejudice on par with dousing one with an ****** that completely upends functioning healthily, judging lovingly, and managing productively versus expending precious time and energy self absorbed into manic, neurotic, and/or psychotic actions, manners, thoughts, et cetera, which irrationality got embedded within the neurological interstices, which even as of this moment hound me akin to wild beasts circling ever closer to launch mortal kombat against their very housing.
Donall Dempsey Oct 2015
THE LIGHT OF OTHER DAYS AROUND US

The music
maps us

traces the contours
of our emotions

( an ordnance survey of
the mind )

the changing landscape of
who we are

who we thought
we would be

from our shallows
to our continental shelves

blue deepening into blue

music mapping that
which we could never see

( the "I"
becoming
"me" )

the exact co-ordinates
between the dream and

the reality:

mountain becoming scree
headland becoming cove

what's gone
what's not gone

so much
eroded love

how hope meanders
through time

an 0x-bow lake
of thought

cut off
from the who

we should
be

the final hand
of the delta's spread fan

the entering
into the sea

what's what
what's not

music maps us
the invisible cartography

being this
all too human man

singing himself
to his self

music maps
us in a song

"...oft in the stilly night. . ."
Singing and poems would emerge from everyday situations rather than "Now we are singing!"  or "Here is a poem.!" but in the picking of spuds...the making a swing...constructing a shed or a bicycle...they would leak out and stain the world with their beauty.  We are about to enter the world of black and white and just before the camera frrrreezing us forever in the pose....I am holding his hand...both of us dressed in best suits on our way to mass and he is humming OFT IN THE STILLY NIGHT tenderly under his breath....the thrum of his hum travelling down his body joining his hand to mine and the song finds its home in that hand clasp...this is my dad...my father who art my heaven...Danny be thy name...I hold on to him as if he were a prayer flung against the darkness of the darkest night that will ever be. His hand forever in my hand....the humming of the melody transferring its love from him to me.

Oft, in the Stilly Night
BY THOMAS MOORE  

Oft, in the stilly night,
Ere slumber’s chain has bound me,
Fond memory brings the light
Of other days around me;
The smiles, the tears,
Of boyhood’s years,
The words of love then spoken;
The eyes that shone,
Now dimm’d and gone,
The cheerful hearts now broken!
Thus, in the stilly night,
Ere slumber’s chain hath bound me,
Sad memory brings the light
Of other days around me.

When I remember all
The friends, so link’d together,
I’ve seen around me fall,
Like leaves in wintry weather;
I feel like one
Who treads alone
Some banquet-hall deserted,
Whose lights are fled,
Whose garlands dead,
And all but he departed!
Thus, in the stilly night,
Ere slumber’s chain has bound me,
Sad memory brings the light
Of other days around me.
Thy birth on January 13th –
   cervical contractions
   would not abate
the pesky master (papa), strove

   to synchronize seminal bait
thence, forty-two weeks
   after ma parents did pro create
imminent lviii plus years ago to date,

this present baby boomer doth
   indubitably and inherently equate
nineteen hundred and fifty nine
   bequeathed birthed mine kempf ill fate

neurological manifestation,
   sans obsessive compulsive did grate
behavioral motif and analogous
   to frontispiece per story I hate
of my life and hard times,
   when all of a sudden out blue irate,

the onset of emotional nadir,
   where ballistic ordnance bombed away
fancy free, innocent, naïve boyhood
   decrying, detonating,
   and describing me own Pigs Bay

Allied, linkedin, and synced Luftwaffe
   and Panzer division invasion that clay
like materiel within southern cerebral hemi
   sphere inroads usurped no delay

riding roughshod via synapse straits sporting
   scoring sorties using every
axe n newer on dread did
   Swiss hide dill naught

   to decimate with spirited ghost
   of William Tecumseh Sherman
   determination tuff flay
leaving not one iota (oft times)
   referenced as gray
matter unaffected quite aware
   of rebellious confederated voices
   yelling “HOORAY”

Sabotaging orbitofrontal communication
incorporating connection between anterior
cingulate gyrus cortex heightening activity
bridging (via atom sized pontoon bridges)

greater activity upon basal ganglia, which
synoptic description does nothing to alter
the predisposition to ingress of un control
able imbecilic, inexplicable, and illogical
fixation particularly during onset of puberty,

when an emotional kamikaze nose dive
at nadir of near lifelessness, the shadow
of me former self nowhere tubby found
on account of deadly symbiotic relationship

asper the invisible nemesis – i.e. electrical
impulses faux nattering nabobs of mien nativity
whereat unseen thriving sensational riffraff
quenched powerhouse ousting nestled milk
maids, or rather pressing said resources,

sans vitality into dangerous, frivolous,
and horrendous self destructive antics,
where ballistic charges drugged eminent
domain former nerve cell size occupants,
thoroughly re-engineering sense and sensibility

with pride fullness and prejudice on par
with dousing one with ****** completely
upends functioning healthily, judging lovingly,
and managing productively versus expending
precious time and energy self absorbed

into manic, neurotic, and/or psychotic actions,
manners, thoughts, et cetera, which irrationality
got embedded within the neurological interstices,  
even as of this moment hound me
akin to wild beasts circling ever closer
to launch mortal kombat against their very housing.
Slur pee Sep 2017
The unequivocal sorcerer of slaughter,
I touched the altar and altered my saucer.
Also, I'm flying off the couch like a mortar;
Hoarding powder for that elusive boarder.
I'm bombarding the forest with sawdust,
Open up the squealer and I'll absorb ya.
Kirby the paupers, never mind impostors
From monsters to varmints via carnage;
I'm taking hostages from a cockpit locked in orbit
While you're too busy getting lost on shortcuts
Through the forest, like some forgotten tortoise.
I dream of beanstalks taller than the tallest,
All chopped up as fodder for my fortress;
I'll Trojan horse your forces as a florist
Then harvest your gardens with ordnance.
Ready the warships with torches-
It's turnips versus turrets,
And my furnace is fuming for your service;
No need to be nervous, I'm steady like a surgeon
And concern's always been for the toucans.
My archers carry shotguns for the turbulence,
Your thoughts hang like moss against a blank canvass
While mine climbs like vines towards madness;
I'll finish this with a sickle
And end up myth of the labyrinth.

-SLuR
nick armbrister Feb 2018
Hot Day
It was a hot day in the Nevada desert.
Slowly in the distance, a dot trailing smoke came closer.
Minutes passed.
Above a faint jet engine sounded, no more than a whisper.
The sun was at its highest, burning mercilessly down.

An omen of coming events?

The dot was now a vehicle, an old yellow school bus.
Bars covered the windows.
Hands poked out of the gaps, as if asking for solace.
Rumbling along at twenty miles per hour, the bus eventually stopped.
Level ground arced out miles around it, leaving the vehicle naked.
Rusty hinges creaked and the front and rear doors slowly opened.
Nothing happened for a few seconds.
Then three dozen hardened criminals sensed freedom and left in a riot of arms and legs.
Some ran almost falling, others staggered unable to grasp that they were ‘free.’

Up above the jet engine was louder now, diving down upon its target.
With sudden ferocity the F-20 Tigershark opened fire with twin 20MM cannons.

TAT - ATAT - TATA - TAT! roared the guns.

Shells kicked up sand, bounced off rocks and exploded across the bus.
In a hiss one tyre burst, the bus leaned drunkenly over.
A small fire started inside.
Several men were sprawled on the ground, red blood soaking in.
Other prisoners now knew what was happening:

liquidation.

They ran for their lives as the jet curved round to re-attack.
It dropped a cluster bomb at a group of fifteen prisoners.

POP - POP - POP - POP! went the small bomblets when the case opened.

Most were killed outright, sliced and diced by anti personnel bombs.
One or two had arms and legs blown off, they moaned for their mothers.

A small hill gave cover for four men.
Rolling down range, the fighter came in.
The pilot selected rockets.

WHOOSH - WHOOSH - WHOOSH  WHOOSH! screamed the 80MM explosive rockets.

Like the cluster bomb, they were area weapons and the complete hill was blanketed.
Nothing survived the wicked explosions except drifting smoke.

Another gun run hit three men running over the open desert, cutting them down.
Two more men stood their ground and told the F-20 pilot to *******.
The pilot saw their raised fingers.
His remaining cluster bomb soon sorted them out.
Now it was time for his ‘dumb’ bombs.
Three tumbled free, aimed by computer, and hit the yellow bus.

BOOM - BOOM - BOOM! spoke the 750lb bombs.

A cacophony of sound and violence tore the smouldering machine apart.
Six men who had doubled back and hid inside or under it were blown to Hell.
With only a few cannon shells left of air to ground ordnance, the pilot spotted a lone figure.
A dive, a burst, a **** and it was over. Too easy!

Climbing back to altitude, the Tighershark went in search of his only airborne target -
a Boeing 747 full of 500 murderers.
Like the old school bus, it was remotely controlled with no crew.
Two Sidewinder missiles would take care of this beast and his underwing drop tanks were still half full.
Happily the merc pilot grinned. This line of work was fun and paid well.

And it got rid of ****.
Posing As Dystopian Rant

This prognosticator doth predict
potential based at current rate
sinister debacle that will
instantaneously annihilate,
which alarming (ohm my dog) turbulent
endemic chaotic spate

within human race poised to strike
doom and generate
shock tummy once amp pull goldenlocks,
now revealing a shiny baldpate
erratic behavior attendant prescient
intimations presage apocalyptic fate

while current commander in chief
didst unwittingly generate,
and sow the seeds of anarchy sparking
global conflagration that will create
instantaneous prime evil
total mortal kombat, cuz "FAKE" mandate

issued, when Trump went ballistic
loose sing rockets red glare,
when pressing hot button to demonstrate
thermonuclear supremacy,
sans 3D printable bomb
(albeit a moot point),

would render superfluous need way to late
to draft intestate
last (or perchance first, second,
third...) will and testament, tete a tete
perhaps minuscule (nee
infinitesimal) ordnance out of date

turns out a Department of Defense dud
eh, no surprise as aye narrate
finding Don tremendously irate
(blaming "crooked Hillary," democrats,
spongebobsquarepants,...yours truly...)
the list goes on, thus no need to iterate,

thus a sudden religious fervor gripped
the wide webbed world
attributing why weapons did not actuate,
which found pontiff in high demand

in an attempt to accommodate
frenzied zeal attributing aborted blitzkrieg
to divine intervention with bajillion
talking heads airing where to dedicate
material trappings to indigent, great
full not dead, plus those petty

criminals rightly or wrongly,
the strong arm of
lanced law did incarcerate
bowed down on daily and nightly basis
exploding huzzahs every
human did *******

"not prematurely," where
all walks of life integrate,
a spontaneous international
utopian revelation awoke
with linkedin diversity to promulgate
protecting the planet took precedence
yea right Matthew Scott - dear mate
only in the context of this poem I did create.
UA Slam Aug 2020
Creature mother referred to as benevolent to salvage his miscarried stride, brother said his wingëd arms were ordnance and that was the workings of a good man (rather a tool I suggested), father thought his wide ego was equitable, a trait lacking in most boys, and I thought they felt like the hands of someone who grappled with your body in pool water, the exception to “pool boy” was that you had every right to elbow them hard in the windpipe, you close-lined his smirk with the same forearm that you used to cradle your niece, your arm was stuck to your hip bone -- by now you’d supposed it hard as cement and requiring the effects of a jackhammer, all night you underwent the pain and once the adults getted and got together the world came to a closing -- you got a slap to the spine indicating “job well done”. But. For this irritatingly foolish“pool boy” you faked flustered when he botched his cries with a surprised expression and you never got in trouble -- it was an accident, and their mothers needed them to learn anyways; for their interest in curves was now only game for the land sharks and you ruled the riptides. You made it clear that if you couldn't take a bruised lip then you should learn to drown in other places, and his webbed chest soaked up the minty fresh breath that your throat excreted when you dealt to the devil a hard “no”, and got back humor, and you both with your red skin, each burning the other amidst many. short. touches. Decided you had no choice but to laugh.
Dud Bomb!
The worker was moved from the explosive mixing shop
Into the bomb assembly shop to see if he could manage
Explosive mixing was a fine art like producing wine
He used the wrong ingredients twice and was out
Given a last chance in the assembly shop
The most important job in the entire bomb factory
Ordnance production was hard difficult work
Not every worker could manage under pressure
Yet keep the error free high skill level alive
The batch of explosive he made still worked
It went bang but at only 50% of its potential
When a bomb exploded it needed full yield
Faulty weapons could cost the Allies the war
If the worker had no issues assembling bombs
Things were back on track for war production
If he proved incompetent he was drafted
Into the infantry where the action would be hot!
In light of tension twixt
brinkmanship rumbling one
East Asian Tiger
country otherwise known as
"the land of morning calm,"
yours truly t'will invite
"freedom foo fighters"
tubby regaling with a jubilant aire
total mortal Kombat
levels threat of human warhead
bomb dubbed "Fat Boy.”

I barely get ma palm pilot sized
dear derriere i.e.
gluteus maximus in the air
just a cat whisker
across the DeMilitarized Zone
(DMZ in military parlance),
when the Earth shuddered from blare
ring fusillade expressed detonation
issued by Kim Jong Un,
whose craven dark excitement clear;
no match for one man
bow welled bombardier

propelled ****** bowel
movement game changer
will hit designated target precisely clear
and North Koreans (no matter
mostly innocent victims),
howling and whelping doggone dear
for quasi legerdemain
identifying, fraternizing, colluding,
et cetera with the enemy (in general,
the NATO bound countries) 'ere
really quiet, as preparation (H) gets made
to bring out the big guns

(actually shaped like a fleshy
posterior man knuckled ***) in truth one
dead reckoning sphincter muscle
that doth flex with fantastic flair
impossible mission to espy, cuz sieve
all the flak whistling
induce sing a glare,
but...the Hermit Kingdom got another
bad a$$ bombardier to fear
deathly, stealthily quiet,
hence released **** Jed

motive predicated to lob
early Holiday nuclear missiles,
me cheeks with
blasting buttocks akin to
young Frankenstein blazing saddles
as sole portal oozing gaseous
noxious flatulence - majority
of North Koreans will not hear
amidst din and clangor "bad medicine"
smiting nemesis courtesy blaze of glory
eye ordnance impossible to hear,

I strongly advise tubby not near
as you might already correctly guess,
when while mooning Pyongyang
well taut smart cheeks,
blindsided immune to any prayer
so...upon confiding this tidbit,
yet will need to seek out specialty
of proctologist who doth rear
lee **** seed unfortunate victim,
yet this silent deadly *** sass sin hated
hard as a ribbed rock stainless steel

guaranteed to wreak havoc, with loathing
what information divulged
ye moost promise never to share
else...any (red) turn coats
can not muster posterior haste,
and other emotions hints sin sere
which top secret (never bottomed out
during test practice trials,
whereat Johnny spot on)
proved to vaporize underwear
and caused a "big stink"

that lasted about one year,
whose po' country mutilated,
reduced, wasted to ashes after
every nuclear and
traditional military contrivance,
an IC and BM (mine) did destroy.
Serious intent to read
latest issue of TIME magazine
found attention pleasantly distracted,
when I became keenly aware
of flora and fauna bursting,

blooming, buzzing, and twittering
oblivious to yours truly sitting stock still
in folding lawn chair
marveling at each budding
natural born architect and engineer

each respective constituent
living organism engrossed
delicate as deft potters crafting chinaware
observing good and
plenti hive nesting reverential species
trumpeting suave and donning debonair

without any pretentious fanfare
merely obedient to genetic coded wear,
exclusive domain glorified, ordained,
and sanctified by divine imprimatur
contemplating if despair

experienced by coterie of biosphere
not including **** sapiens,
and/or aghast that their extinction
dooms them to disappear,
which undeserved fate unfair

for innocent animals and plants
critically contributing as
unique vital gadgeteer
linkedin to significant role
evolution indiscriminately licensed

met with preserved concord, versus mutineer
extant among bipedal hominids
each and every simian forebear
generally recent primate ancestors,
whose short lifespans predated medicare,

but more particularly modern man/woman,
who flagrantly extracted precious
minerals, plundered mountains,
usurped possibly, sans sadling muleteer

and/or forced chaingang extruded
raw materials to concoct wear
able, munitions, disposable,
and most importantly

deadly ordnance for ****** warfare,
never quenching thirst for mortal Kombat,
nor scooping up riches galore,
no matter wealthy status equals bajillionaire!
Donall Dempsey Oct 2023
THE LIGHT OF OTHER DAYS AROUND US

The music
maps us

traces the contours
of our emotions

( an ordnance survey of
the mind )

the changing landscape of
who we are

who we thought
we would be

from our shallows
to our continental shelves

blue deepening into blue

music mapping that
which we could never see

( the "I"
becoming
"me" )

the exact co-ordinates
between the dream and

the reality:

mountain becoming scree
headland becoming cove

what's gone
what's not gone

so much
eroded love

how hope meanders
through time

an 0x-bow lake
of thought

cut off
from the who

we should
be

the final hand
of the delta's spread fan

the entering
into the sea

what's what
what's not

music maps us
the invisible cartography

being this
all too human man

singing himself
to his self

music maps
us in a song

"...oft in the stilly night. . ."
KG Mar 26
no need to go to school
but my hands work independently from my hands
science can
bring azn explanation but I
can't
so I'm sitting here ha;f in the dark but can't svoid thid dickness called sdavark but i'm to used to half of ordnance givwn to living quarks
I'm dying
irksomely chafe and dig
(analogous to a bit size backhoe -
contracted courtesy local builders
Gambone Brothers) inside lip
on left side front of mouth
not surprisingly creating
quasi irritated sore welt
(as if I got smacked in the face

from out of the blue)
achingly painful dilemma
particularly whenever I bite and chew food,
which compromised mastication
seriously prompted eating soft
(goo goo gaga baby) with no pablum,
or yours truly switching
to a liquified diet of worms.

Aforementioned minor
physical oral ailment
reminiscent when yours truly
donned, sported, and touted braces
(on two separate occasions)
to double necessary rites of passage
since yours truly
glutton for punishment
while segueing from adolescence
into young adulthood

gifted with moderate sized overbite,
yet not full fledged
buck teeth the first go around,
where metal brackets
and/or little pins pierced, jabbed,
gouged, et cetera
into tender gummy flesh
generally unpleasant nasty encounter
super tramping as
cheaply tricked out human pin cushion
****** well right.

Methinks of the hours of veritable torture
spent seated in orthodontic chair,
where initial appointment
found me situated with maw opened
for stretches of time
that would be dwarfed
by subsequent pluperfect future hours
getting a numb bony ***
while veritably held hostage
courtesy the vise grips of dental technician.

I can never forget
experiencing preliminary step
into requisite initiation
getting an eventual smile
worth a million bucks
firstly to create gap (wide enough
to drive a mack truck thru),
which spacers essentially
little rubber squares
(at most an inch long)
to allow, enable
and provided leverage buyout
paid for by a pretty penny
prior to getting metal bands
bonded and insured to pearly whites.

Adjustment to being fitted
for dentures didst overly bite
recounted, recircled, and recapitulated
analogous when jaws underwent restructuring
where aforesaid maxillofacial territory
felt subjected to miniature
jackhammer and dynamite
forthwith adumbrated as memory takes flight
re-envisioning maximum headroom
affecting yours truly experiencing whiplash

as countless hands practically reached
into me ******* plunging
dentistry implements and gloved fingers
into buccal cavity
from soaring wuthering height
nearly choking yours truly
expediting at expense of mine cavum oris
carrying out veritable
fishing and hunting expedition
courtesy overhead jacklight

figuratively yanking tooth
and nail mustering might
allowing, enabling and providing opportunity
for tomorrow's dental practitioners
essentially dental students namely neophyte
took stab at a subjected human Guinea Pig -
as relegated to scientific experimentation
I tried to be agreeable and polite
at the mercy of said novitiate quite right,
now crafting epistle as a toothless troglodyte.

     Never during the story of my life asper present moment, whereby this body electric then witnessed LVIII celebrations of a womb dar full in utero gestation, and subsequent exit per birth canal in one direction ejected like some **** the torpedo or other lobbing hand grenade, or discharging any other type of ballistic military ordnance and after twice undergoing beautification of ma smile; first enduring gagging on quick hardening cement as benchmark impressions, spacers, thence soon followed by wearing braces.
     Membership to this adolescent rite of passage entailed requisite name calling as the victim remained mum imposed incommunicado what with wires that jabbed, pricked, and stuck every square inch of gums teasing the tillerman tongue felt furrowed plow as soft tissue became abundantly blistered chafed, and diced raw.
     Numerous teeth extractions later (which did smarted my wisdom), the drill mongering requisition team (incorporating a rooted right bitewing conspiracy), said prisoner interrogation attained the pinnacle of pain per practiced collaboration between vaunted, sainted long in the tooth professionally smocked specialists.
     These accredited, certified, and licensed torturers frenziedly insouciantly cackled with hair rising, maniacal, spine tingling pleasure while intermittently interrogating strait jacketed anesthetized subjected patient.
     Thee prisoner of Zenda implanted with gag reflex additionally besieged to a battery of expensive costly abuse.
     Such quaint ratified regular rigmarole included suctioning lips til dry as sawdust in preparation for (not to be mist witnessing open mouthed wide world) recalcitrant subject handily restrained as he/she barely weathered unpalatable quintessentially royally smitten to the nerve.
     This electric kool acid test basically pitched the heavily sedated sorely saddled seated subject into a novel threshold of oral suffering.
     The confederated legion of amalgam hated plaque attackers banded teeth forcing a tectonic shift of pearly whites to relocate closing gaps, where uber an crowdsource rank and file groupon identity guard did lyft suspected gumption, hence a healthy dose of x-rays served up to nip in the bud involving any tongue in cheek intervention, when perfectly viable molars thinned i.e. uprooted courtesy of orthodontic gang.
     Now incremental movement could be undertaken pursuant impressing well-brushed aides de camp.
     Thus temporarily crowns vis a vis provisional proviso practitioners of the villainous periodontal disease (qua gingivitis) stitching cavity where exposed synapses earned the chair rushed survivor of fiendish, ghoulish, and insidious enamel (tartar) scraping chieftains earning kudos sans at successfully foiling dental caries, plus serving as grandee enamel polisher.
   All that excruciating agony iterated above, now finds me shaking this mangy hirsute, (albeit thinning) head in consternation, frustration and induction, whereby microbial demons exercised, foisted and galvanized necessity to suffer.
     Interestingly enough, these choppers, dentures, false dentate much more pleasing that the real bone marrow wrought teeth courtesy of many a fraternal gauntlet hugger mugger.
     Maxillofacial surgery and wisdom teeth extraction plus abiding by the codas, edicts and general indemnity keeping American Dental Association in lockstep with noblesse oblige purveyors who tout regular dental hygiene.
     This new fangled cusp cutting prosthetic revolution per anatomical equipage that allows, enables and provides the means to return to masticating brought protracted hermetically sealed dissimulation within the noggin of this more tell male, who confesses to be a non student within the hierarchy of a bricks and mortar storied (perhaps ivy coated) institution of higher learning on account of rampant mental debility hashtagged diagnosis of Schizoid Personality Disorder cobbles, hobnails, and mangles any ability to function within the formal classroom. Case in point comprises the twelve years of veritable enslavement while barely getting promoted from one grade to the next.
     Even though handed a high school diploma XL (pipelined) traipsing orbitz ago around the sun, this contemplative, furtive, and intuitive lvii chap experienced horrendous difficulty ******* mine faux pas figurative heals up until the recent present. The acquiescence to relinquish the prospect to batten down anxiety and panic strewn hatches turned the tide, and found me giving up the good fight.
     A congenital biochemical mutation (I cannot expound on the minutiae of amino acid, enzymes, polymer, et cetera) that wrought havoc viz zit head upon thyself when in the throes of adolescence, despite thine late mum purportedly experiencing NO complication with me birth as a full term healthy baby boy.
Late afternoon October 15th, 2022
a spring like day
witnessed nature in surround sound,
whereby reflection spurred
reminiscence about similar weather
a few years ago when...

Serious intent to read
latest issue of TIME magazine
found attention pleasantly distracted,
when I became keenly aware
of flora and fauna bursting,

blooming, buzzing, and twittering
oblivious to yours truly sitting stock still
in folding lawn chair
marveling at each budding
natural born architect and engineer

each respective constituent
living organism engrossed
delicate as deft potters crafting chinaware
observing good and
plenti hive nesting reverential species
trumpeting suave and donning debonair

without any pretentious fanfare
merely obedient to genetic coded wear,
exclusive domain glorified, ordained,
and sanctified by divine imprimatur
contemplating if despair

experienced by coterie of biosphere
not including **** sapiens,
and/or aghast that their extinction
dooms them to disappear,
which undeserved fate unfair

for innocent animals and plants
critically contributing as
unique vital gadgeteer
linkedin to significant role
evolution indiscriminately licensed

met with preserved concord, versus mutineer
extant among bipedal hominids
each and every simian forebear
generally recent primate ancestors,
whose short lifespans predated medicare,

but more particularly modern man/woman,
who flagrantly extracted precious
minerals, plundered mountains,
usurped possibly, sans sadling muleteer

and/or forced chaingang extruded
raw materials to concoct wear
able, munitions, disposable,
and most importantly

deadly ordnance for ****** warfare,
never quenching thirst for mortal Kombat,
nor scooping up riches galore,
no matter wealthy status equals bajillionaire!
THE LIGHT OF OTHER DAYS AROUND US

The music
maps us

traces the contours
of our emotions

( an ordnance survey of
the mind )

the changing landscape of
who we are

who we thought
we would be

from our shallows
to our continental shelves

blue deepening into blue

music mapping that
which we could never see

( the "I"
becoming
"me" )

the exact co-ordinates
between the dream and

the reality:

mountain becoming scree
headland becoming cove

what's gone
what's not gone

so much
eroded love

how hope meanders
through time

an 0x-bow lake
of thought

cut off
from the who

we should
be

the final hand
of the delta's spread fan

the entering
into the sea

what's what
what's not

music maps us
the invisible cartography

being this
all too human man

singing himself
to his self

music maps
us in a song

"...oft in the stilly night. . ."



silence enters him
fills him to the brim
the world quite quiet

https://youtu.be/KEhZDc_QLeU


Singing and poems would emerge from everyday situations rather than "Now we are singing!"  or "Here is a poem.!" but in the picking of spuds...the making a swing...constructing a shed or a bicycle...they would leak out and stain the world with their beauty.  We are about to enter the world of black and white and just before the camera frrrreezing us forever in the pose....I am holding his hand...both of us dressed in best suits on our way to mass and he is humming OFT IN THE STILLY NIGHT tenderly under his breath....the thrum of his hum travelling down his body joining his hand to mine and the song finds its home in that hand clasp...this is my dad...my father who art my heaven...Danny be thy name...I hold on to him as if he were a prayer flung against the darkness of the darkest night that will ever be. His hand forever in my hand....the humming of the melody transferring its love from him to me.

**

Oft, in the Stilly Night
BY THOMAS MOORE  

Oft, in the stilly night,
Ere slumber’s chain has bound me,
Fond memory brings the light
Of other days around me;
The smiles, the tears,
Of boyhood’s years,
The words of love then spoken;
The eyes that shone,
Now dimm’d and gone,
The cheerful hearts now broken!
Thus, in the stilly night,
Ere slumber’s chain hath bound me,
Sad memory brings the light
Of other days around me.

When I remember all
The friends, so link’d together,
I’ve seen around me fall,
Like leaves in wintry weather;
I feel like one
Who treads alone
Some banquet-hall deserted,
Whose lights are fled,
Whose garlands dead,
And all but he departed!
Thus, in the stilly night,
Ere slumber’s chain has bound me,
Sad memory brings the light
Of other days around me.

— The End —