"rations" poems
Trip over the high density of our constant lies
We're all out to break and hurt the non-elite
Words and phrases they never meant a thing but to lure you in
This facade of love that we send soldiers like cattle
Down an assembly line to build and protect
A fake America, burning towers tumbling down
Bellowing the sweet sorrows of victims
Whose screams we replay the audio over and over
To divert you from seeing the real culprit
We are sick minded human beings with the thirst for enemies
We'll kiss everyone we meet on the cheek
And continue to fake what we tell you we'll be
We prefer a stabbing to the back
Never a full frontal attack
And we have puppets
We'll always find someone to replace the current like the forty four before
The people's memories will fade and burn like corpses caused by the Enola Gay
We''ll drop a bomb to wipe out everything mankind has worked for
Because in the end we do not need peasants
We have everything and everyone else has absolutely nothing
And 99% will lay to waste and ruin in the ruins we leave to burn
We'll pity so we can mislead to false hope
Send small portions of rations to schedule feeding underlings
Flouride in the drinking water to better control
Corruption in the oval office classified, uncovered, never shared
Always kept underwraps, never revealed just a hoax.
Lips to ears do the whispers carry.
A promise for a better tomorrow but a date will never be set for peace
So we keep telling you that it only gets better
And we'll think apologies fix everything
Truth is we meant nothing in the first place
Because we'll keep remaking mistakes that we apologize for
Misery is our job
Eating and breathing and surviving on the pain of lower humans
Like clothed animals rampaging through a corrupt society
So we'll let the people let their guard down for a quick second and us, vultures
Will devour them quick in that moment
To find you are empty inside,
We've starved you of what you've needed
Because all along, and everything we've ever done
we never realized once you've all revolted
this 1% would surely fall to pieces.
Oct 4, 2011
Oct 4, 2011 at 12:59 AM UTC
we **** in towers
he missed the bus by hours
clean out the garbage pail with high pressure hoses
I want to stick my nose in it and pledge allegiance to its cleanliness
he feels the lows
the lower it goes
god only knows
this world is just for show
the real experience is in the back
we're keeping up appearances and paying taxes
"please be quiet and refrain from smoking
this is the first and last time I'll inform you that I'm only joking"
snip the locks
pour the contents
subdivide the rations according to your favorite fetish
better keep this to ourselves...
Mar 19, 2013
Mar 19, 2013 at 3:39 AM UTC
There were wounds covering the small of my back
Where you stabbed me time and time again
I handed you trust
Watched you dice it like onions
The fumes exhausting my tear ducts
Doing everything I can from letting them flow
The knife is on the ground
Rusted and tired
Those wounds have scared over
I know now what I didn't know then
That trust is not to be catered
It is to be earned
You've exhausted your rations
It'll be difficult to watch you hunger for the taste of my trust,
but I am stronger now than I was yesterday
That, I can thank you for
Jan 29, 2013
Jan 29, 2013 at 10:31 PM UTC
They huddle in the cold damp darkness
grateful for the sheltering sandstone
shuddering at each echoing blast
a remorseless dull ache
like their meagre rations
eyelids shutting wrinkling between attacks
seeking peace and inner sleepless solace.
'Them docks is taking a pasting.'
'Me Dad works there.'
Another attack, tunnels rumble
evoking century old echoes
of rusty trundling drum-line wagons
bearing sandstone blocks to build the docks
now being blitzed blighting the night sky.
The morning brings a dusty disquiet.
Merseyside emerges curses soldiers on.
Nov 1, 2015
Nov 1, 2015 at 10:42 AM UTC
Children ..
Why are the great armies of the world not rushing to the children of Syria tonight ?
Why has the world turned their backs on their plight ?
Let's try carpet bombing the cities with loaves of bread and powdered milk with all our might !
Drop canned rations from our bombers !
Feed children regardless of political persuasion !
Take the children under our wing , free their precious minds from this misery !
Lay the ********* rifles down and let the children eat every night !
Why do the armies turn their backs on them tonight ?
Jan 18, 2016
Jan 18, 2016 at 8:37 PM UTC
survivalists in bunkers
w/ rations & guns stay
underground while up
above poets exploring
a strange, new land on
a bet, finding nothing;
searching for tampons
to barter for *** while
women's periods last
Aug 4, 2018
Aug 4, 2018 at 11:20 AM UTC
My name is Don Quixote Del La Mancha.
I am a knight in coat of arms
Give me my lance, give me my sword and give me my steed
Where be thy king in all of this
I wear the Royal Spanish Crown and Gold Seal of San Fernando Lavante
I solemnly swear that ***** and bounty shall rest with the king
Even the Catholic Church Christen thee for swift victory
I have signed and sealed orders to save the Princess Donselia Del Deboso
Then, I shall rescue her from the evil clutches of the windmill dragon
My chief architect, Poncho Sanchez is my right arm and canteen
He is responsible for fresh food rations, cold drink and support logistics
Sustenance sustains an army and sustenance sustains great men
A gallant foot soldier is he, and Poncho trails me like a Swiss Guard,
With his burro donkey friend, named El Donkey Camino De Blanco
As we approach the last horizon of the day, the code of chivalry shall not die
Jun 24, 2013
Jun 24, 2013 at 2:48 AM UTC
Somewhere in the forest
There is a paradise
Hidden in a circus tent
Blocked by a bramble thicket
There are ways we want to live
And ways we must live
But a spectrum is discovered
When the way we must live
Diminishes the way we want to live
And the way we want to live
Dictates the way we must live
We eat and then ****
Life tastes adequate when we're dining
So we keep feeding
Our appetite becomes insatiable
We devour what opportunity grants us
Ignoring the rumbling in our stomachs
Until we must face the unpleasantness of our waste
Even when we're wise enough to know the effects of eating
We continue eating
Learning minor methods of mitigating damage to digestion
It becomes hard to swallow
That this is all it takes to be human
As humanity's power becomes planetary
Meals turn to feasts
And **** piles up
As the rancid fumes plague us with mental monsters
We yearn for a simpler time
When rations were the size of a sunflower seed
And excrement exited as ethereal gas
An age that never existed
The way I wanted to live became the way I had to live
But now that I'm living the way I have to
I can't tell the difference between what I want and what I need
I guess that could be a good thing
Because the space between what I want and what I got
Is where fulfillment is found
Jun 23, 2017
Jun 23, 2017 at 5:10 AM UTC
For Mike Marconett
of happy memory
Bright star, beyond a Sterno stove’s brief glow,
We’ll live forever as we live this night:
Coffee and cigarettes and comradeship,
Our backs against the sun-warmed Sierras
As the cold falls from infinite darkness
To keep the snow in place another night,
To smile in ancient silence back at you,
To make a glowing, slumberous twilight until dawn.
Those C-rations were good after a day
Of scrambling among pre-historic rocks
Made musical by the dinosaur creek,
Water as cold as the dark end of time.
San Diego glows in the south-southwest,
Silently, inefficiently, light lost.
But you, dear, happy star, will still shine down
On dreaming youths, tonight and other nights,
Counting for us, for them, each millennium.
Jan 11, 2019
Jan 11, 2019 at 4:06 PM UTC
The Siren song
Sung by the Sea
Sounded so much
Sweeter
Before the boy
Was born.
Truth be told,
I was born that day as well.
We shared our first breaths.
Delicate and enduring atmosphere.
Sweetest, most overlooked element:
OXYGEN
Awoken our lungs
And spread life out
Through our
Fingers,
Toes,
Tears.
(His were louder,
Mine were longer)
We shared more than
rarefied air that day;
Excitement.
Confusion.
Love.
Fear.
Before I knew it
My Scorched sailor’s skin
Sought sanctuary
In
Landlocked love.
You see
The inconvenient, unfortunate, and unavoidable
Fact of humans is,
They like to eat.
And warmth is also nice.
Diapers.
And Kathy next door just got this great icebox and she says she doesn't know how she lived
without it and that in the long run it will actually save her money, what with buying in bulk and not
going to the store so often and leftovers.
So there’s that too.
So I work
Willingly, willfully
With wetness
On Back,
But not behind ears.
And my captain is a good captain,
A true captain.
Our pay is always waiting when and where promised.
Pennies are not pinched when providing rations.
He gave me this job out of the goodness of neighborhood.
But he has no child.
No wife.
Little reason to head to port,
And less to linger long.
I see my boy’s chestnut eyes in my dreams
And they act like the cruelest potion,
Which, when sipped
Leaves the drinker with only more thirst.
But there are dollars here,
And, what other skills do I have?
And, bellies are full.
I try not to complain.
Tonight,
I want the fireplace,
Roaring.
Our boy smiling, laughing
His cheeks having played chameleon
With the scarlet of our flag.
His mother;
Her eyes,
Outshining her hair,
Outshining the sun,
Scroll between our boy and the page,
As she reads his favorite book of tales.
He doesn't understand a word,
But I do.
We share an unnumbered smile.
He likes the pictures.
My mouth has tasted of salt for
64
Long
Days.
The ocean gives,
And the ocean takes away.
Jan 13, 2014
Jan 13, 2014 at 4:23 PM UTC
Nepal
The fourth poorest country
The Gurkah Welfare Trust
Installs fountains in the mountains
To help the poor Nepalese people
The water near the village is contaminated
So they had to walk 8 miles to fetch clean water
Thanks to the Gurkah welfare trust
There are fountains that provide clean water
"It is better to die than to be a coward"
That is the motto of the Gurkah fighter
After one year in the British Army
The Gurkahs put on a stone of muscle in weight
Why do the Gurkahs agree to die for the British crown?
It's simple The Gurkah says,
"We've eaten your rations, we've eaten your salt.
The obligation is binding."
Mar 1, 2015
Mar 1, 2015 at 6:00 PM UTC
As molecules of cellophane and plastic plate mix with cheesy mire of microwaveable dinner, I make excuse in my mind and apologize to my already over-compromised liver. It's simpler this way, or at least excusable for this moment. 56 dead in Garland, Texas, I think I can be thankful a tornado has not turned my world upside down, whilst biting down on tv dinner rations. Still I think, can 2015 end any faster? These last few days counting down and the microwave's digital display bleeping, sludge discriminating who shall be taken. It's all so guarded and circumspect. Please, if there be an element of good, may the new year know it.
Dec 29, 2015
Dec 29, 2015 at 8:43 PM UTC
i want to grow up next door from you
i want to be seven years old with you
i want to put band-aids on your
skinned knees
i want to meet you in a book store
i want to talk about poetry and art and trotsky
i want to buy you a book like i'm
buying you a drink at the bar
i want to sit next to you on the train
i want to make small talk about the weather
i want to lend you my coat and forget
to ask for it back
i want to be a field nurse
if you're a wounded soldier
i want to change your gauze
and sneak you extra meal rations
i want to be a bystander
talking you off the ledge
i want to lead you gently back into the world
i want to be careful with your heart
i want to love you softly and abiding
Sep 22, 2015
Sep 22, 2015 at 9:49 PM UTC
You'll eat meat
And love a bacon sarnie
When you're ******
You'll smash a biryani
But when it comes to
Chopped pork, rinds and ham
No one wants to eat spam
In the Great War
We survived on rations
And beat zee Germans
With ******* passion
The lads didn't complain
About what they had to eat
Whether it was a le carte
Or mashed-up meat
But these days
That's not your jam
And no one wants to eat spam
It's great in a fry up
And ******* lovely in a butty
Get the kettle on
And get comfy
And enjoy
A cup of ******* tea
And eat your spam
Perfect with ketchup or HP
And don't complain
That it ain't real meat
Just get it in your gob
And enjoy this tasty treat
But most of you
Are to blame
And like the majority
Don't think it's the same
You're into avocados
Poached eggs and all that
And can't stand the thought
Of a chopped pig in a can
When you were young
You should've listened to your nan
Now it's a ******* shame
No one wants to eat spam
Oct 10, 2017
Oct 10, 2017 at 5:01 PM UTC
You matter to me,
You art the ghost in coffee
Clouds whistle around you
Too much energy scares
Hoi Poilloi but we rule these streets
Call us out by righteous name
Love is all you have in the Swamp
I imagine it in the hot night
Running from New Orlins
Tide tryin to eat you
Water mixed with kerosene
There is suddenly no god
My three year old daughter
Left in that miserable
Water, and nobody did a thing
9/11 was a kind of blackened day
But when the Levees Break
Nobody gets out alive
Without money to roll
It’s time to yell truth of my city
Marie Laveau in all her forms
She cried with me
She held my hands and said:
Do not lament forever
Sorrow has its place & tyme
Marie Laveau comes to me now:
Saying Rise Up and Save This City
Something so still, so solemn
Guards the city of the yellow moon
I feel it
Almost reaching it
Hands touch my eyes and
I know them
I dream of Big Chief
Who flew from Heaven
Bringing the saving of the 9th ward
Nothing can save the 9th
But Marie Laveau, both a dem Ave Maria’s
No god no Saints came marching
Saving my role on freeway overpasses
Left there to be displayed, to die of thirst
Where were you, oh God?
We loved you even as we died of thirst
In a country that could pf delivered rations to Iraq
In less than six hours.
We have been sacrificed to low cause
No happiness shall come from this
True badlands, had Saints, and Faith
Nature took but once
Government took it all &
Left us standing
Or dying in attics
Screaming
Save Our Souls
Oct 2, 2018
Oct 2, 2018 at 2:28 AM UTC
I love you.
And honestly, I hate you.
And you're all that matters in my life,
And I don't care at all about you.
Because I don't need you.
I don't need you.
I need oxygen and hope,
And happiness, too,
That's true.
But you give me my happiness
In rations
Like it belongs to you.
And the air we share will run out
One day,
And it's hopeless.
But it's the best thing that's ever happened to me,
Discovering bedlam,
Bed land, with you.
So to Hell with it,
Say it, won't you?
That you love me too?
Because I do.
I do.
I do.
May 3, 2014
May 3, 2014 at 5:56 PM UTC
***you are leathered with residue
decaying the rust off your skin
with our initials crawling into
alabaster sheets that all I have really
felt while staring out at the streets
we're people fading by egotistical
lack of self confidence
even though I admit using
seducing strategies
possibly disgusted by my own
emotions
that I am placing ******
thrills on my own configuration
because it's humid and blatant
unkowling breathing ruthless sentiments
of our holy communion
I am splitting into a holy sin
drenched in blissful wartime rations
of water or passion
your cotton skin and these sheets
bold statements between white teeth
it’s all a fading mystery
you said I’m something childlike
your hands are stained cherry
and even if they were around my neck
I’d whisper your name like a vesper
simply waiting
for the day to come where it all fades
because you refuse to be a
young god
no matter how it seems to be
to me in all of my naivety***
Mar 11, 2017
Mar 11, 2017 at 7:44 PM UTC
Calling nearest janitor
response to minor spill
unidentified indefinitely
a k-11 spill
It bruised burned
extinguished extraneous existence
left minor mess
ignore and maintain
absence of mentality
Shuffle left
avoid sticky shoes
unattended children should abstain
from carmine fingerpainting
Chocolate rations rose
red rose
again this week
enjoy the rapture
thank you come again
A leaf falls
unnoticed
A **** at americana
not from it
belittled no napoleon
Big boy voices only
at the counter
naked pockets mean
no thing
nothing missing
no thing messing
me sing
last mess
cleanup, aisle twelve
Jul 11, 2012
Jul 11, 2012 at 5:26 PM UTC
Like a leaf falling unknowingly towards a blade of grass…
I impacted at dawn with the sound of a faded smash…
Invaded by reality, my brain whipped up a list of tasks..
But I quickly yawned it off in favor of dreams from the past…
How nice is it to retire to a place of wonder and passion…
When your days are filled with pondering your squandered rations…
A place away from heartache in a land of exotic fashions…
Strange tales of horror mixed with ****** interactions..
What a world it is that our dreams create…
Even giving glimpses of a future face..
Or maybe a real story from a future place..
Of guts and glory from earth or space…
They open Pandora’s box of ideas and images..
But unlike life, the dream diminishes…
Like the feeling of love lost with sleepy grimaces..
And the attack on your foe that’s lost it’s viciousness..
The ability to be in one place then instantly in the next…
The thought of how you got there never leaves you perplexed…
It just is what it is like the characters in this text…
Images of prisoners that your subconscious collects…
Lined up next to each other, depicting events…
Comedies, dramas, love stories, and suspense…
The feeling of realism is just so intense…
The horror is horrifying and the fortunes are immense…
That’s why I love these stories my brain invents…
So now I’m off to catch tonight’s main events…
Aug 6, 2010
Aug 6, 2010 at 2:00 AM UTC
Tell me gently, beautiful Siren from the rocks
Whisper me memories
Who seeks my life end short
inform me bluntly, Beautiful siren from the sea
the soldiers marching to my gate.
Should I set the pitch to pour?
The demons march
I seek guidance in your song
Is there something I missed?
We’re sick
our morale is feeding the ant hills
Consult me Nicely, Beautiful siren from the rocks
tell me just how many friends,
I’ll lose to this war.
We found the sugar, found the wine.
lost the honey, lost time.
We’re out of rations,
low on passion.
men coddling tiny strands of hope.
Save me Now, beautiful Siren from the Grave.
My boats still floating
I could sail away.
back to my castle,
where my people lay.
I came here for vacation.
but I found your voice, decided to stay.
The people of my land pray,
that I go deaf and return to them.
but I decided to hear your voice
while my kingdom Rots and fades
While my people die and pray
I needed this getaway
my people, dying by my blade.
can’t stand them lookin’ up to me.
Their tears falling at my feet.
Them saying. “Please king, save me.”
praying “Don’t let them **** me.”
screaming. “They took my family!”
I wasn’t born to be a king.
I wasn’t born to be a king.
The siren sang her song to me.
May 4, 2016
May 4, 2016 at 9:48 PM UTC
I take from the rich
And I give
To the richer
Grow
Money trees
And then watch the world wither
I've slithered
In gardens of green
Dripping red
With a purity hood
Draping over my head
I have poisoned the fountain
Of youth
To retain
My control of this endless
Monopoly game
As my capital gains
A skyscraper a day
To the skyrocket
Stock market
Locke's do I pray
Upon all to be blessed
With lavish excess
But succession of kings
My investment ******
To breed wealthier nations
Uncommon in man
Through unhealthier rations'
Invisible Hand
Do I muppet the mouths
And harp on the heartstrings
As I tug on the chains
Of the slaves
Freedom rings
And that fat lady sings
All she wants
I will cling
To this power
With eagle-lied,
Vulturous talons
Devour
The will
And then **** the bills,
Billing blood that I spill
With impunity
Robbery,
Poverty
Property
I am the law
There is no order stopping me
No cherry topping me
No global powers’
High towers
Are topping me
No master forces endorsed
Are out-shopping me
Spending spree
On the lost souls
Now to bending knee
Fall
And enthrall in the terror
Of my urban sprawl
Making maggots of masses'
Automaton dreams
Into my gilded ages'
New pyramid schemes
You can call me a liar
Truth is
No concern
To the one who reigns fire
With oil to burn
Down upon the deniers
Until they all learn
I'll recruit body bags
To preach life to the choir
And when the screen lags
Train these dogs to play dead,
Lay their own on a wire
In so doing shred
The carnage they desire
So I can play God
And with demons conspire
A masterful plan
To command the economy
Zombie hive mind
Get in line
For lobotomy
My progeny
Multiply to consume
And consume
And consume
'Til the ******* last fume
Dissipates into space
The good fortunes of Earth
All amounting to waste
With the mother who nurtured you
***** and disgraced
The four steeds
Of Apocalypse
Nothing but paste
For I win every time
I with you
Humans race
Feb 8, 2019
Feb 8, 2019 at 9:01 AM UTC
I seem to feel the most,
yet keep it bottled up inside.
I think I've learned to conceal it well,
My heart has grown a stronger hide.
A leather pouch holding words within,
that wouldn't dare reach my lips.
I won't leave my language bare,
and let the secrets drip.
I have learned to bite my tongue,
when I think feeling's enough.
I'll let the bottle in my brain,
sit; collecting dust.
It's much safer than using it often,
vulnerable; it's too loud.
Waiting until I'm alone,
drinking death as I had vowed.
At that point, I'll rip off the top,
and consume what's in my mind.
So in the day of passing faces,
it'll handle being confined.
For now you may think I'm inhumane,
why keep emotion in these glasses?
Well, all I feel has been limited,
and today I've had my ration-
Jun 19, 2018
Jun 19, 2018 at 6:48 PM UTC
He was sent to Aldershot for training
He would learn how to **** or be killed
The training was all done with broomsticks
When he thought back it made his blood chill.
His unit was sent down to Portsmouth
To board a ship and go over there
It was packed to the gunwales with weapons
And the rations left no room to spare.
He practiced with his rifle on the journey
Like others who’d not held one before
He’d no sense of the horror he’d be facing
Nor the violence he’d always abhorred.
It was such a small piece of shrapnel
Caught both eyes as a shell case shattered
He never saw his two boys as they grew into men
Missing out on so much that had mattered.
His wife who he loved always helped him
And a life with new interests grew
He learnt how to read the braille papers
It pleased him he’d still know the news.
But the trauma from the experience scarred him
And ire with politics grew by the day
So he took to his new odd braille keyboard
And wrote articles and letters to complain.
He could sense the new way that the wind blew
In the corridors of power in the House
There was money to be made in new weapons
And politicians ignore those who grouse.
Then again two decades later it started
Another war that would mean more dead men
The obscenity rose like a bile in his throat
So once again he took to his ‘pen’.
©JRW2014
Mar 26, 2014
Mar 26, 2014 at 6:37 PM UTC
But the sun doesn't shine
Upon me
As it used to,
Feel so attached to
My precious devices
And harnessing its
Divine potency
Just to see
Seems as if I'm
Disregarding its poetry
Blind to abusing its glow
To be shown
An ephemeral glimpse
Of some remnant of home
But its spark does not energize
My own creations
Just sates them with meager
Technology rations
And hooks me to wires
And cables
Like playthings
Nov 23, 2018
Nov 23, 2018 at 6:19 AM UTC
I'm wondering if the surface of our passions
is all that we've been scratchin.
We take small bites like rations
and always do it the same old fashion.
But the passion of sweaty spasms
that let us play Eve and Adam
get us by but I've fathomed
that our ******* are also our chasm.
So could that make a ****** cause fallout?
And if you were in need would you call out?
or would you hide it inside you like
the sympathy I have is all out?
I'll be honest: I never saw doubt til it hit like a bus,
but then again all that lust
usually comes with some trust
It's a must.
Somehow it's lackluster from something so wanderlust.
I dunno if confidants correlate to confidences
but the way that we've been feeling
couldn't be just coincidences.
and I'm not defenseless,
I've grown thick skin with thin pretenses.
so I wish you the very best
and I'd never wish any less,
you always got a place in my chest
but this thing is better off put to rest.
so its over, I'm going forward but behind me I won't find regret,
cause I'll still be having good times but the old ones I won't forget.
Listen here. --> https://soundcloud.com/m_c_vegh/a-parting-of-ways
Oct 28, 2013
Oct 28, 2013 at 10:04 PM UTC