"regiment" poems
666
Ah, Teneriffe!
Retreating Mountain!
Purples of Ages—pause for you—
Sunset—reviews her Sapphire Regiment—
Day—drops you her Red Adieu!
Still—Clad in your Mail of ices—
Thigh of Granite—and thew—of Steel—
Heedless—alike—of pomp—or parting
Ah, Teneriffe!
I’m kneeling—still—
4.5k
I hate the beach
I'm eighty six and I hate the beach
Hate the sand, not a fan of the surf
Face it, I hate the beach
Last time I went there
I had just turned 18 years old
June sixth, Nineteen Hundred Forty Four
God, I hate the beach
I was in the 5th Regiment
Régiment de Maisonneuve
and I've never been to a beach since
I'm from Verdun, Quebec, Canada
Not many beaches around there
Thank the lord for that I say
We'd been training for six months
Operation Overlord it was called
We were coming in on troop carriers
It was to be a beach head landing
I'd never seen a beach before
At least not for real
Never want to see another
We arrived early June 6, 1944
I think I said that already
You must forgive me,
I'm 86 years old and I hate the beach
fourteen thousand Canadian Troops
Bursting out of armoured troop ships
Like, the young, virile, brahma bulls we were
Coming in, all I could hear was the waves
I was in front, well...close to the front
I remember, there were no birds
who ever heard of that?
A beach with no birds
At least not at this beach
I could smell the salt in the air
And I knew I could hear the surf
And my heart, I could **** well hear that
But, no birds, I couldn't hear the birds
Gunfire, nope...cannons and mortars
But birds and guns, not a sound
Weird huh?
I remember running forward
Always forward, past blocks
Wood barricades and barbed wire
And bodies, lots of bodies
I knew that I knew some of them
I just didn't have time to stop
And say goodbye,
I just ran
Emptied my weapon at least once
I only know this, because it was empty
when I hit the beach
God, I hate the beach
You know in the movies
or in those flowery books
where they talk about someone being shot
and how "there was a bloom or
they're chest flowered red where they were hit"
I never saw that, never looked back
Just ran forward, saw the "bloom" in their backs
Don't like red, or flowers or the beach
I don't remember much after that
Could still hear my heart
That's a good thing, I guess
I got tore up good with the wire
but I never got shot
Never, "bloomed" for anyone
A few of my buddies were lost
I toast them every year
Never at the beach though
I hate the beach
Wife and kids used to go
I never did, never will
I remember the 50th anniversary though
Wife and kids went back
Not me,
Went into Montreal to see a ball game
Montreal Expos 10, Houston Astros 5
I remember Will Cordero hitting a homer
It was the sixth inning, I toasted the hit
I thought about that day 50 years before
And went back to watching the game
I hate the beach
My name is Gilles Roquefort
I'm eight six years old
And I can still feel the sand and taste the salt
On a bad day.
Oct 31, 2012
Oct 31, 2012 at 7:06 PM UTC
Somewhere in this town there is man with his feet bare.
He has spent the last hour staring at his toothbrush and trying to remember how to leave this room.
His fists hold fingers that are twisted into paleness:
Like jaws too small for adult teeth.
The bathtub gapes up at him, yawning in his peripheral vision,
He remembers that two feet are just as good as six when it comes to sinking.
He never did learn how to swim, but
Like a fish out of water knows
The sea can make short work of accidental sailors
And the gurgle of a tap can sound like the tide coming in.
The bathroom mirror is not kind to him:
His imperfections make apologies he simply won’t accept.
Ribs forming corrugations on his t-shirt, as though his bones are trying to escape from the confines of his skin.
The porcelain lip of the sink continues to pout, its expression a perfect ‘O’.
The plughole is wearing lipstick today; blood red,
As it has been every day of this week.
Thoughts are like spiders webs, he thinks, constructed by moonlight then torn down in the morning
Occasionally he’ll still catch the dew.
In the sterile light of an eco friendly bulb, he holds the mirror back with both hands, one hinge broken.
He wears his heart on his sleeve, cufflinks cutting off his circulation.
In the shadow of the cabinet, are kept row after row of soldiers he uses to fight off his demons
And below that another regiment to handle the effects of the others.
He says, “All I am now is a synonym; and alternative to what I used to be.”
As alive is in likeness to living.
As the sun is, to the infertile glow of his grandfathers TV.
Oct 26, 2013
Oct 26, 2013 at 1:40 PM UTC
The death of the Newfoundland Regiment
They attacked after the Hawthorne mine was blown
But it never saved them
Newfoundland boys then crossed the line
And death was there to claim them
Most never made it to the starting trench
Now choked with dead and dying
For just four hundred yards away
German machine guns were barking
There is a place called Dead Tree
Where we were not to tread
For it now marks the place
Of so many Newfoundland dead
Beaumont Hamel now the resting place
Of boys so far from home
Beaumont Hamel now the place
Where heroic Newfoundland ghosts
Will ever roam
Oct 3, 2015
Oct 3, 2015 at 9:54 AM UTC
A Statement Solo and a Response Choral in Existential Whine Mode
Solo: Before we end for today – do begin thinking about a topic for your research paper due in December.
Chorus: I don’t understand…but you said...are you talking about the persuasive essay…what does “expository” mean…oh, this is not expository…but we’ve never written a persuasive paper…is this the persuasive research paper you’re talking about…what is the difference between “expository” and “persuasive”…but what are we going to write about…I mean like why don’t you give us a topic…I don’t understand…when is this due…but that’s the pro and con, right…it’s not…but you said…what does “bibliography” mean…so when is this due…but how many pages…so you just want the bibliography and the first page…I don’t know what you mean by a thesis that can be argued either way…I don’t understand why you don’t give us a topic…I’m confused…what do you want us to write about…but when is this due… I don’t understand…but you said...are you talking about the persuasive essay…what does “expository” mean…but we’ve never written a persuasive paper…is this the persuasive research paper you’re talking about…but what are we going to write about…I mean like why don’t you give us a topic…I don’t understand when is this due…but that’s the pro and con, right…it’s not…but you said…we’ve never written a research paper before…what does “bibliography” mean…so when is this due…but how many pages…so you just want the bibliography and the first page…I don’t know what you mean by a thesis that can be argued either way…I don’t understand why you don’t give us a topic…I’m confused…what do you want us to write about…but when is this due… I don’t understand…we’ve never written papers like this before…but you said...are you talking about the persuasive essay…what does “expository” mean…but we’ve never written a persuasive paper…is this the persuasive research paper you’re talking about…but what are we going to write about…I mean like why don’t you give us a topic…I don’t understand when is this due…but that’s the pro and con, right…it’s not…but you said…what does “bibliography” mean…so when is this due…but how many pages…so you just want the bibliography and the first page…I don’t know what you mean by a thesis that can be supported with authoritative sources and logic…I don’t understand why you don’t give us a topic…I’m confused…what do you want us to write about…but when is this due…!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!????????????
Oct 26, 2017
Oct 26, 2017 at 4:07 PM UTC
Today is going to be the day
I turn my life around
As I pull my truck over
To load up what I just found
I see it as my destiny
Someone tossed out their set of weights
With me at the moment in the mood
To join the fitness craze
So I open up, run around my truck
As my regiment begins
Wish I could find some neighbor kid
To give this old man a hand
And why they make these weights so heavy,
I'll never understand
I drive straight home excited
Back my truck down the drive
I'll haul the stuff in later
As soon as my arms come back to life
3 hours later...
Carrying what's soon to be the new me
From the truck into the house
To late to clinch the **** cheeks
As my entire spine just fell out
3 months later...
Still in intensive care
And mounting chiropractic bills
I'm thinking of just going the new American way
And get my muscles from taking pills
Nov 20, 2013
Nov 20, 2013 at 12:01 PM UTC
Say, muse divine, can hostile scenes delight
The warrior’s ***** in the fields of fight?
Lo! here the christian and the hero join
With mutual grace to form the man divine.
In H—D see with pleasure and surprise,
Where valour kindles, and where virtue lies:
Go, hero brave, still grace the post of fame,
And add new glories to thine honour’d name,
Still to the field, and still to virtue true:
Britannia glories in no son like you.
2.2k
"I am sorry. I don't want to be an emperor, that's not my business. I don't want to rule or conquer anyone. I should like to help everyone if possible. Jew, gentile, black man, white. We all want to help one another. Human beings are like that. We want to live by each other's happiness; not each other's misery. We don't want to hate and despise one another. In this world there's room for everyone and a good Earth is rich and can provide for everyone. The way of life can be free and beautiful, but we have lost the way. Greed has poisoned men's souls, has barricaded the world with hate; has goose-stepped us into misery and bloodshed. We have developed speed, but we have shut our selfs in; machinery that gives abundance has left us in want. Our knowledge has made us cynical, our cleverness hard and unkind. We think to much and feel to little. More than machinery we need humanity. More than cleverness we need kindness and gentleness. Without these qualities, life will be violent and all will be lost. The airplane and radio have brought us closer together. The very nature of these inventions sires out the goodness in men, cries out for universal brotherhood for the unity of us all. Even now my voice is reaching millions throughout the world, millions of despairing men, women and little children, victims of a system that makes men torture and imprison innocent people. To those who can hear me I say "Do not despair". The misery that is now upon us is but the passing of greed, the bitterness of men who fear the way of human progress: the hate of men will pass and dictators die and the power they took from the people, will return to the people and so long as men die liberty will never perish. Soldiers! Don't give yourselves to brutes, men who despise you, enslave you - who regiment your lives, tell you what to do what to think and what to feel, who drill you, diet you, treat you like cattle, use you as cannon fodder. Don't give yourselves to these unnatural men, machine men, with machine minds and machine hearts. You are not machines, you are not cattle. You are men. You have the love of humanity in your hearts. You don't hate only the unloved hate. The unloved and the unnatural. Soldiers - don't fight for slavery, fight for liberty. In the seventeenth chapter of Saint Luke it is written: "the kingdom of God is within man". Not one man, nor a group of men - but in all men - in you. You the people have the power, the power to create machines, the power to create happiness. You the people have the power to make this life free and beautiful, to make this life a wonderful adventure. Then in the name of democracy let us use that power - let us all unite. Let us fight for a new world, a decent world that will give men a chance to work,that will give you the future and old age and security. By the promise of these things, brutes have risen to power, but they lie. They don't fulfill that promise, they never will. Dictators free themselves but they enslave the people. Now let us fight to fulfill that promise. Let us fight to free the world, to do away with national barriers, to do away with greed, with hate and intolerance. Let us fight for a world of reason, a world were science and progress will lead to all men's happiness. Soldiers - in the name of democracy, let us all unite!"
~Charlie Chaplin
Oct 20, 2013
Oct 20, 2013 at 8:24 PM UTC
I love to walk the garden long.
When all the winter storms are gone.
Yes, snowdrops are the first to show.
Majestic heads come with the thaw.
Blankets of crocus are quite a sight.
Pushing upwards towards the light.
Colorful daffodils like soldiers stand.
The finest regiment in the land.
In June the roses in fancy dress.
Reveal their splendor for the sun to caress.
Dewdrops form as summer fades.
As sharp east winds sweep up the glade.
The flowers then close their weary eyes.
And sleep once more till spring arrives.
Keith Wilson. Windermere. UK. 2016.
May 1, 2016
May 1, 2016 at 9:34 AM UTC
In a place created
By the hands of the minoritized regiment
"Immigrant"
has somehow become a bad word
an insult
a curse
Immigrant, arrogant, delicate
Dedicated to the saving of our lives
The protection of our wives
and children, the fear in their eyes
It's evident your estimate's incorrect
A guestimate on its hind legs
You scared?
Hesitant, eloquent, sentiment
The settlement you created and forced us in
Reminiscent of that place where we've been
Pushing against discrimination because of the color of our skin
And you teach your kin
Such words of sin
Look down your noses at us, you and your tie pin
Tryna get signed in
Bring mine in
Eyes cryin.
Blue skies and
Bold lyin.
You didn't give us time
You didn't let us find
your way, tryna get in line
Tryna stay, I'm
just tryna
just tryna
From Mexico, China
to Puerto Rico, Brazil,
Drinkin my Jamaican ***
From Hindustan, Kazakhstan
to Bolivia, Thailand, rock the wrong drum.
Liberia, Ethiopia to London.
We all came or were tryna come.
You deported us, afforded, and so we sat
ignored, deplored.
Unsure of any light
so we fight for what's downright
ours and tonight, We bring our standards to new heights
It'll be tight, and we'll bite.
And we'll stand on our toes
So everybody knows
We stood for our rights.
Apr 3, 2019
Apr 3, 2019 at 12:12 PM UTC
"I am sorry. I don't want to be an emperor, that's not my business. I don't want to rule or conquer anyone. I should like to help everyone if possible. Jew, gentile, black man, white. We all want to help one another. Human beings are like that. We want to live by each other's happiness; not each other's misery. We don't want to hate and despise one another. In this world there's room for everyone and a good Earth is rich and can provide for everyone. The way of life can be free and beautiful, but we have lost the way. Greed has poisoned men's souls, has barricaded the world with hate; has goose-stepped us into misery and bloodshed. We have developed speed, but we have shut our selfs in; machinery that gives abundance has left us in want. Our knowledge has made us cynical, our cleverness hard and unkind. We think to much and feel to little. More than machinery we need humanity. More than cleverness we need kindness and gentleness. Without these qualities, life will be violent and all will be lost. The airplane and radio have brought us closer together. The very nature of these inventions sires out the goodness in men, cries out for universal brotherhood for the unity of us all. Even now my voice is reaching millions throughout the world, millions of despairing men, women and little children, victims of a system that makes men torture and imprison innocent people. To those who can hear me I say "Do not despair". The misery that is now upon us is but the passing of greed, the bitterness of men who fear the way of human progress: the hate of men will pass and dictators die and the power they took from the people, will return to the people and so long as men die liberty will never perish. Soldiers! Don't give yourselves to brutes, men who despise you, enslave you - who regiment your lives, tell you what to do what to think and what to feel, who drill you, diet you, treat you like cattle, use you as cannon fodder. Don't give yourselves to these unnatural men, machine men, with machine minds and machine hearts. You are not machines, you are not cattle. You are men. You have the love of humanity in your hearts. You don't hate only the unloved hate. The unloved and the unnatural. Soldiers - don't fight for slavery, fight for liberty. In the seventeenth chapter of Saint Luke it is written: "the kingdom of God is within man". Not one man, nor a group of men - but in all men - in you. You the people have the power, the power to create machines, the power to create happiness. You the people have the power to make this life free and beautiful, to make this life a wonderful adventure. Then in the name of democracy let us use that power - let us all unite. Let us fight for a new world, a decent world that will give men a chance to work,that will give you the future and old age and security. By the promise of these things, brutes have risen to power, but they lie. They don't fulfill that promise, they never will. Dictators free themselves but they enslave the people. Now let us fight to fulfill that promise. Let us fight to free the world, to do away with national barriers, to do away with greed, with hate and intolerance. Let us fight for a world of reason, a world were science and progress will lead to all men's happiness. Soldiers - in the name of democracy, let us all unite!" ~Charlie Chaplin
Feb 11, 2013
Feb 11, 2013 at 11:04 PM UTC
I feel inadequate
in the department of manliness
in the sector of occupation
in the division of romance
in the office of sanity
I feel abundant
in the regiment of weakness
in the foundation of lazy
in the organization of loneliness
in the ministry of madness
Apr 28, 2013
Apr 28, 2013 at 9:11 PM UTC
We never meant for this to happen
For it to go so far
Malicious and heart wrenching
Are our corrupted memories
Your face pops in and out
I try unceasingly
To rid of it
Push every thought of you out of my mind
But no matter what I do
To busy myself
Distract myself
You come back
Your gorgeous eyes memorized
Every speck of gold
Every eyelash
Every in take of breath
Captivated in stolen moments of nonsense
You stir these feelings inside me….
Breaking me open
This bridge on opposite ends
Meant to be cut, severed
Never to be crossed
Never to be mended
You have her; I have him
Enough
Because every time we meet
You ignite, against every fiber of my being, a fire inside me
Burning deep
Waiting to be put out
Turned to ice, turned to hate
But you stand so close sometimes
A bittersweet longing
In those non-existent touches
Out of your grasp
Dangerously poisoning
Are our little games
We try to ignore those locked gazes
Those outreached hands
Those distorted thoughts
That we become lost in
Because you take it so freely
All of it, every last bit
In one bite
In one moment in time
Taking what was always yours to begin with
Coping with the loss of my being
The blood loss
The mind aching regiment of your face
Of your eyes
Of that smile that makes my day
Diabolical are we
Caught in our own web
Randomly weaved
When will it end?
This heartache
Tell me
I entreat
Tell me, please
When will it end?
This thing
Say when
Say now
My knees are about to give out
When will it end?
These memories
These stolen moments
These horrible mistakes
Tell me, please
I beg you
Because I’m about to give up
I need you ….........to tell me
Please
Put me out of my misery
Tell me how long I have to wait
Tell me it needs to end right now
So late
Tell me, love, tell me
When will it end?
Say it
Please, say it
Say now
Say it ends now
Jul 1, 2013
Jul 1, 2013 at 4:49 PM UTC
We left behind the growing oaks, the contorted willow
with its weeping friend, and the chestnut which
protects us from the western wind.
The christmas tree, garden plonked some thirty years ago,
soon to chop and chimney, and its holly neighbour,
freed at last from greedy strangling ivy.
The white-barked birch, the leaning cluster pine, the maturing
walnut and arching alders, the trio of young scots pines,
rescued from loop moth caterpillars just in time.
The regiment of leylandii along the northern border all in a line
the laurel hedge, the little holm oak, the redwood brought
home in luggage as a burl now spearing to the sky.
The shy biloba, new, unsure, not yet deciding if it dare.
The host of yellow plums, which bid to sucker
everywhere.
The rowan in a *** bark nibbled by a bunnie, still waiting
for a plot.
The scruffy greengage, planted for its scrumptious fare,
the bramley sapling and the conference pear plucked
from the bargain bin last year.
We left them all behind, just for a night, with
a special mission on our minds. We
traveled south then west to a band
of dedicated people in a special
place we had to find.
He was there.
He's with us now, and quite relaxed.
We're on our way to take him back,
to live with us as a life-long friend,
and make our lives
complete again.
Jan 6, 2013
Jan 6, 2013 at 2:04 PM UTC
Lazy day Sunday
after crazy night Saturday
****** up on Friday
out late Thursday
cocktails on Wednesday
orange kush on Tuesday
Monday no time for fun day
back to the regiment
and serious business at hand
on my feet I stand
time to get back to work
but first
gotta relax with the day
catch the sun rays
on this lazy day Sunday
Jun 24, 2013
Jun 24, 2013 at 12:11 AM UTC
" I was not looking for a cage
In which to mope in my old age." --- W H Auden
Turning sixty-five is not without its pleasures,
though the parameters of youth are rendered void.
You discover illusions are become a virtual reality,
a chimera you never outlived whose core is unmalleable.
So, one finds solace in their granddaughter,
who is unshackled by your paradoxes,
who presupposes only links to the obtainable.
And yet, she loves her "silly grandpa".
Old age is unexpected and doubt arises in the doctrine of wisdom,
a daily glass of prune juice becoming regiment.
Yet, granddaughters can connect the dots,
and, just maybe, afford us that second chance.
Mar 13, 2014
Mar 13, 2014 at 8:49 AM UTC
It all begins with pounding fists
against my door, and men with guns
and yellow tape, and me afraid,
I’m on the floor and crawling toward
the front room drapes to peak outside,
oh what in the world have I done?
A bit relieved, I find out why
a regiment is in my yard,
they say the man that lived next door
has turned up dead behind his shed,
they said he died an awful way,
with eyes ****** out by who knows
what, or why, but either way a
nasty death; poor guy.
The landscape man called 911,
but what he saw he wouldn’t say,
was so surprised to find him dead,
he swallowed his tongue, his face all red,
and there they lie both side by side
the one alive, the other dead.
The EMTs revived the one,
the older guy had long since died,
the guy who lived, they took away
to where? don’t know, they didn’t say,-
but rumor is a padded cell
where all he does both day and night
is moan and drool, he just ain’t right
from what he saw that spooked him.
Within a week I notice things
around the house (not his, but mine)
the porch out back, the wet wood stack,
the shifting earth, the sticking doors,
disgusting insects on the floor,
the pungent stench from underneath
the house, the vents that weep a
sickly brown and soupy **** I
must confess in ignorance,
I didn’t know a house could bleed.
I try some bleach, some cleaning spray,
but just can’t scrub the **** away,
it just gets worse, and just when I
can take no more a chasm cracks
behind the stack of sticky wood,
and from the hole a flying horde
of Satan’s pawns and slugs and prawns
and beasts of sorts I swear I’ve never
seen before come shrieking out and
flock about so loud the sound is
deafening.
And now I know what mute man saw,
he saw what’s left, the face of stone
when people die at home alone,
the rigor mortis, gouged out eyes
when killed by things that men despise,
those beasts that creep and crawl and fly
about as Satan’s pawns or slugs
or prawns or whatever else might
make them cry or swallow their tongue.
I really don’t know what the big
deal is - good god
its only BUGS.
I guess I’ll call an exterminator.
Sep 18, 2010
Sep 18, 2010 at 11:28 AM UTC
Mother's eyes on the road
Looking at every face
May be next one would be him
It's been more than a month
He hasn't called, she feels adverse
War is at its peak, so the casualties
News broadcasting the audacity of soldiers
But the mother is both proud and restless
His regiment achieve its target
But still nothing about him
Still trying to recognize the faces
One day a group of soldier arrives
With a rectangular box called a coffin
He fought like a lion, no one dares to touch him
Except for a remote bullet, which hit him,
There which one beat for your mother.
She gave a smile and touched his body
Tears roll down, but she was strong enough
One thought running in her mind, his son will also become a soldier!
Jai Hind
Mar 23, 2019
Mar 23, 2019 at 1:12 AM UTC
As the warmth of the sunlight lightly kissed my cheeks,
I began to sob.
Of the realization of today's events intoxicated my mind.
I pressed two fingers against the corner of a cross -
Inscribed into the wall by a fellow Conrad.
Who had also disobeyed, who had broken the rules.
Maybe they had committed mutiny
Or cowardice, or desertion.
Perhaps they were scared,
Perhaps they'd had enough,
Perhaps they just missed home.
We can only ever guess now,
Because dawn came and the pole stood tall.
Killed by their own. Friendly fire.
Who were also suffering and traumatized.
But for the act they were about to commit
Would not take it to the extremes that I had.
Or any of the people that had abused these 4walls before me.
Which one of them would do it?
What final blow would cause the end to my life?
Because for all of us it was never really if we died.
Instead the question was when.
My name is Herbert Morris
I am 17 years old.
I fought in the British West Indies Regiment, until
The date is 20th September 1917.
And today is the day.
For I had escaped
But they found me.
Mar 4, 2013
Mar 4, 2013 at 5:13 PM UTC
Wet skies
Grey dawn
Blankets the coast.
Black rocks
Sea foam
Triggers the most
Atlantic applause,
An encore to those
Just hearty enough
To make a life on The Rock.
And to answer the call,
Between stone cracks,
Moss roots,
And squalls,
A garden was planted
Where nothing
Had grown
Before.
Before...
Before the Gardener came
The coast was a love-lettered painting,
A bouquet to the sun,
Orange, red, and yellow flattery
Through living imitation.
"Seek ye first the kingdom of God,"
Said the sign
On the gate
At the edge of St Johns.
"But I think I've finally found it,"
Said the man
Creeping silent
With his too sharp sheers
Cutting flowers
Uninvited. -
- Everyone's front lawn
A memory
Of what united
Them for two score years.
****** hands dropping pedals on his way to the shore,
"Don't worry," said the man,
"I don't want to come back,
With any luck," he said again,
"I think this should be enough."
As he placed in the arrangement
A note that read,
"Je suis
Désolé.
Bitte fragen Sie nicht
Für mehr."
100 years ago, July 1st, 1916, the entire Newfoundland and Labrador regiment was killed at Beaumont-Hamel, during the Battle of the Somme in World War I. Of 780, only 68 reported for roll-call the next day.
After 40 some years of having no military of their own, they had mustered up a unit of volunteers to support the war effort. 90% of them never made it through their first engagement.
Canada Day isn't just about celebrating.
Jun 29, 2016
Jun 29, 2016 at 12:30 AM UTC
In a cell within his mind,
In a prison made of sand,
With some boots on his feet,
And a rifle in his hand,
Stands a boy we all know, but wouldn't recognize anymore.
So freaked out, so tweaked out,
On his regiment of pills,
Reliving everyday,
How his buddies all got killed.
And god bless America is the last thing on his mind,
And he tries and he cries, but there's just no hope left to find.
Up late, filled with hate,
For his country and himself,
With a bottle in his hand,
He pulls those pills down from the shelf,
I'm finally gonna do this, he shudders then he drinks.
So he makes his last confessions,
And find's solace in thoughts,
And now the little boy who left home,
Is returning in a box.
Tell everyone I love them,
Is all that the note read,
And they cry and they cry, but,
Still their little boy is dead.
Apr 6, 2013
Apr 6, 2013 at 4:50 AM UTC
My cohort is shattered, the regiment reels,
from the lead of the merciless foe.
I'm wearing the blue, Fredericksburg,62'.
I''m a conscript from County Tyrone.
Saint Mary's Heights is a most fearful sight:
****** acres of men who won't fight again,
Our wounded are dying alone.
The devout say a prayer, others blaspheme and swear.
I just wish I was back in Tyrone.
Up on that hill wearing Butternut grey
are Irish like me from back home.
Sure they gave out a cheer when Meagher first appeared,
with our banner of green, on his Roan.
What mortal flesh can, we did in the end
Some died just in sight of the wall.
In the cold dark of night we survivors take flight;
Rappahannock, protect us I pray.
I'll never forget the screams of that night
or the butcher's bill we had to pay.
Feb 20, 2013
Feb 20, 2013 at 7:45 AM UTC
If I can touch the heart and soul
of just one questing mind;
respond unto impassioned call
of questions unrefined,
then shall my feeble efforts be
rewarded quite enough,
and force my inner doubt to flee
without fear of rebuff.
If I have brought the regiment
of inner doubt or fear,
to rage or hate or merriment
by words that I hold dear
Then I may finally reveal
what held me in distress
and I may come at last to feel
an undeserved bliss.
Aug 25, 2015
Aug 25, 2015 at 6:48 PM UTC
The coolest ****
Is found in all sorts of places
In the middle of nowhere
Don't know what pushed me to go there
At the bottom of a pile
Boy did that take me a while.
One color matches all
Wearing it from spring to fall
Dark and savvy round and round
Doesn’t even weigh a pound
The smaller the better I say
Though there more and more you have to pay
It feels like the extension of my body
With these you will never go faulty
Flat feet bring you closer down
Heel pain like biting hounds
What we have is a relationship
A strictly love hate regiment
It's not obsessive, recurring from the past
Small and simple is all I ask
Two, three colors it's too much
Add a pattern and I feel stuffed
Soft foam flat from all our travel
But we're proud of the mysteries we unravel
Top plastic makes us tangle tight
Sometimes you give my edges fight
I'd never trade you for the world
You’re my Flip Flops, You're my girl.
Dec 30, 2011
Dec 30, 2011 at 10:04 AM UTC
You took the dog for a walk
across the grass out of your
auntie’s sight and wandered
about the barracks looking
through window by standing
on steps or pulling yourself
up by fingertips on windowsills
peering through the windows
spying on the regiment for
some inward game and the
dog sat watching you wagging
its tail its pink tongue hanging
out in the hot summer weather
and once you and the dog crawled
under a gate and you pulled
yourself up by the fingertips
on a windowsill and saw through
an open window soldiers
sitting at desks before a large
blackboard being talked to by
a NCO and who spotting you
bellowed out WHO THE FUCK'S
THAT! and you jumped down
and ran the dog beating you to
the gate and under as you being
less agile got stuck as the NCO
came running up and pulled you
out and up and said Right Sonny
I suggest you get yourself back
to barracks before I tell your
parents what a bad lad you've
been and then he opened the gate
and off you ran the dog running
beside you its tongue out in a self
satisfied way and you thinking what
a bad end to a could have been fun day.
May 25, 2012
May 25, 2012 at 2:15 PM UTC