"ruck" poems
In ruck and quibble of courtfolk
This giant hulked, I tell you, on her scene
With hands like derricks,
Looks fierce and black as rooks;
Why, all the windows broke when he stalked in.
Her dainty acres he ramped through
And used her gentle doves with manners rude;
I do not know
What fury urged him slay
Her antelope who meant him naught but good.
She spoke most chiding in his ear
Till he some pity took upon her crying;
Of rich attire
He made her shoulders bare
And solaced her, but quit her at cock's crowing.
A hundred heralds she sent out
To summon in her slight all doughty men
Whose force might fit
Shape of her sleep, her thought-
None of that greenhorn lot matched her bright crown.
So she is come to this rare pass
Whereby she treks in blood through sun and squall
And sings you thus :
'How sad, alas, it is
To see my people shrunk so small, so small.'
7k
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Apr 8, 2016
Apr 8, 2016 at 4:16 PM UTC
Five for fighting
hands to the face
personal foul
player disgrace
Illegal contact
leap in the fray
willful head shot
leg astray
Encroachment defense
mouth guard out
roughing the passer
back field bout
Grounding the pigskin
mis-aligned
horse collar tackle
clip from behind
Knee on knee
offside end
unnecessary roughness
too many men
Gross misconduct
poke in the eye
hooking the shooter
sticks up high
Match ejection
over the top
face off folly
penalty shot
Unsportsmanlike conduct
chopping the block
slew foot infraction
hammer lock
Stick to the head
kick in the crotch
**** end jab
adhering the watch
Slashing the d-man
spearing the wing
running the keeper
back checking
Intentional grounding
stoppage in play
punching and hacking
delay of the game
Striking the ref
aggressor in fight
obstructing the line out
ear in a bite
Loss of downs
hands in the ruck
pinching and boarding
illegal upchuck
Rules of the battle
by the bye
pushing the limits
with a wink of an eye
May 10, 2017
May 10, 2017 at 9:24 PM UTC
We'd found an old Boche dug-out, and he knew,
And gave us hell, for shell on frantic shell
Hammered on top, but never quite burst through.
Rain, guttering down in waterfalls of slime,
Kept slush waist-high and rising hour by hour,
And choked the steps too thick with clay to climb.
What murk of air remained stank old, and sour
With fumes of whizz-bangs, and the smell of men
Who'd lived there years, and left their curse in the den,
If not their corpses...
There we herded from the blast
Of whizz-bangs, but one found our door at last,
Buffeting eyes and breath, snuffing the candles,
And thud! flump! thud! down the steep steps came thumping
And sploshing in the flood, deluging muck -
The sentry's body; then his rifle, handles
Of old Boche bombs, and mud in ruck on ruck.
We dredged him up, for killed, until he whined
'O sir, my eyes - I'm blind, - I'm blind, I'm blind!'
Coaxing, I held a flame against his lids
And said if he could see the least blurred light
He was not blind; in time he'd get all right.
'I can't' he sobbed. Eyeballs, huge-bulged like squids',
Watch my dreams still; but I forgot him there
In posting Next for duty, and sending a scout
To beg a stretcher somewhere, and flound'ring about
To other posts under the shrieking air.
* * *
Those other wretches, how they bled and spewed,
And one who would have drowned himself for good, -
I try not to remember these things now.
Let dread hark back for one word only: how
Half-listening to that sentry's moans and jumps,
And the wild chattering of his broken teeth,
Renewed most horribly whenever crumps
Pummelled the roof and slogged the air beneath, -
Through the dense din, I say, we heard him shout
'I see your lights!' But ours had long died out.
2.5k
At twilight,
in my deep slumber,
I roused to the rumble of thunder;
with dense showers soaking me tender,
Streaks of light sparkling like cinder,
roaring with dander, down came
*T
H
E*
***B
O
L
T***
that S RUCK my fence.
Mar 18, 2015
Mar 18, 2015 at 4:02 AM UTC
I'm a real woman.
I'm a mother to a beautiful little girl
I'm not a 21 yr old who will put on a mini skirt
and for u I'll twirl.
I'm a teacher.
I'm an educator.
Not like ur next girl
Cuz trust me
You will end up hatin her.
I'm a cook, a giver and a provider
Not like ur Next ex
who will be in the clubs dancin to Flo Rida.
I like to eat , hence my curves.
Cuz I'm real.
Not like her
stick figure and eats once a day
yet still looks like a wet seal.
Cuz I'm a real woman
I'll get old..and believe me, it will be gracefully.
I'll be sure to choose wisely next time
maybe less hastily.
Yes, I'm a real woman
I will get old over the next 10 yrs.
But the man who I'm with
will be thanking god for me in his prayers.
Im low maintence and not materialistic
I know how to love unconditionally
I'm realistic!
Because that's what real woman do.
Think of that in the future
When ur young girls trying on her new shoes.
Id rather cook you dinner and wait at home for you.
I'll light a candle with D Ruck playing in the background too.
Yes, your laundry will be done
and lunch packed for the next day.
Think of that
while youre in the back of my mind
Where you'll stay
Yes, for I'm a real woman
One who will get old
May get fat
May get wrinkles
Maybe even some gray hair.
But He who loves me
Will love me unconditionally
Body & soul
For who I am, My looks?
He will not care.
You love with your heart
not with your eyes...
When you are old enough-
You too may be wise!
Jan 22, 2013
Jan 22, 2013 at 11:55 AM UTC
Hist? . . .
Through the corridor's echoes,
Louder and nearer
Comes a great shuffling of feet.
Quick, every one of you,
Strighten your quilts, and be decent!
Here's the Professor.
In he comes first
With the bright look we know,
From the broad, white brows the kind eyes
Soothing yet nerving you. Here at his elbow,
White-capped, white-aproned, the Nurse,
Towel on arm and her inkstand
Fretful with quills.
Here in the ruck, anyhow,
Surging along,
Louts, duffers, exquisites, students, and prigs--
Whiskers and foreheads, scarf-pins and spectacles--
Hustles the Class! And they ring themselves
Round the first bed, where the Chief
(His dressers and clerks at attention),
Bends in inspection already.
So shows the ring
Seen from behind round a conjurer
Doing his pitch in the street.
High shoulders, low shoulders, broad shoulders, narrow ones,
Round, square, and angular, serry and shove;
While from within a voice,
Gravely and weightily fluent,
Sounds; and then ceases; and suddenly
(Look at the stress of the shoulders!)
Out of a quiver of silence,
Over the hiss of the spray,
Comes a low cry, and the sound
Of breath quick intaken through teeth
Clenched in resolve. And the Master
Breaks from the crowd, and goes,
Wiping his hands,
To the next bed, with his pupils
Flocking and whispering behind him.
Now one can see.
Case Number One
Sits (rather pale) with his bedclothes
Stripped up, and showing his foot
(Alas for God's Image!)
Swaddled in wet, white lint
Brilliantly hideous with red.
1.4k
They went to the spar hotel and got it on. One time was enough to revive the old socialist. He was fully revived. This was similar but different than before. They bonked away one session and did other things.
This was better than being in the reading room studying revolutionary doctrines. The human body needed nourishing as did the mind. Blue was illuminated and revived in all ways. Like a rescued nation freed of a capitalist government replaced by a loyal communist one.
Total revival of all things. If only it was always like this rather than the continued battle capitalist and communist in the way of the world. A good buck **** ruck **** was the key.
He needs no ****** it's all natural service guaranteed. He's locked and loaded. His bright green target cross is locked on his target, focused to infinity. See how she dances soon to dance with him. What will they create?
Nov 25, 2022
Nov 25, 2022 at 6:10 PM UTC
Leopard Chick
The 45 year old woman was just that
She wore a leopard print outfit
Matching shorts and top
Figure hugging every curve
Every single part was visible
Two vigorous 25 year old guys
Appeared to like her outfit
And liked her in the right way
They were both naked
With clocks in hand
Ready to ruck her ragged
The 45 year old was about to get it
By two randy stud fit youths
She started to buck one off
And was rode by the other
It promised to be quite a night
Leopard outfit now discarded
Now she was a cougar...
Jan 13, 2020
Jan 13, 2020 at 6:47 AM UTC
I was barbecuing for my local footy club
And I felt like kidnapping the Auskick kids
I felt like taking them and cooking them on the barbecue
Barbecue barbecue
Cooking kids on the barbecue
I didn’t want to act on it because
I will go to jail if I did that
And I will get the sack from bring the barbecue man
I was trying to be a young person
Who loved to work for the footy
And every time a kid walked past
I felt like taking them into my young person trap
But I didn’t because I knew it was wrong
Some of the kids teased me because they thought I was a ****** or something
And my hormones wanted to take him so bad
But I didn’t act on it
I feel like a big kid in my house
And when I mean big, I don’t mean fat
Just big and full of muscles
I know it is wrong but I felt the past catching up with me especially when two boys played near me
Because I talked to the ladies of the football club and the boys were playing and laughing at me
Well that is what I felt anyway
And every year I went to barbecue for the footy club those boys changed from being teasing boys to playing for the club and one of them played for the city as a ruck rover
I visioned the moo cows on the front
And the ships on the back
I think I wanted to get these thoughts to go away
Because even though the kids teased me because I was getting on with their mothers kids are innocent
Please Matthew Isaac and Alex and many more
My hormones were driving me crazy
Mar 22, 2020
Mar 22, 2020 at 6:18 AM UTC
I dreamt things that could never be possible, I am blameworthy
But as time passed the line I drew became blurry
I thought I could carry the weight of your world on my shoulders
But who knew the time would make us colder
There I lay beneath the swaying limb, with birds singing on every tree
Sun shimmering above me, you and the kids is what I could see
How happy I am, I thought to myself
As the watch clicked twelve
Only if this dream would never end
But this time I couldn’t fend
Laughter of my family chiming, a distant sound
As I lay on the soft ground
I dreamt of two little angels, the ones I would coddle
A boy with your hazel brown eyes, a girl with my soft curls
As my dream slowly unfurls
Chasing the ball, feeding the ducks
We played, as the little ones squeezed through the ruck
Laughter, giggles was all I heard
As my dream slowly blurred
Woke up, I lay defunct
So many thoughts that I couldn’t shut
I pick myself up, grabbing a tea
I look at the endless sea.
All that I wanted was just you and me
Mar 20, 2015
Mar 20, 2015 at 7:56 AM UTC
walking up the east coast
I studied history for a time
and in Charleston one evening
I wrote a poem .
played "original" songs in Charlotte
drank and danced with new friends every night
but after the 4th I packed it up and again
heard the call of the road .
making my way straight north
following the highway signs
I stopped just up the river in West Virginia
to rest traveled and weary bones .
laid out beside the Ohio
soaking up the sunshine
with my guitar, ruck sack and a dollar for the hat
totaling everything I own .
Jul 14, 2015
Jul 14, 2015 at 10:12 AM UTC
Sand Slips,
Time Twists,
Fists Hit,
Tears Drip,
Quitters Sit,
A Leader Trips,
A Curse Whips,
And Hearts Split,
Please Don't Quit,
Though Time Ticks,
It's All A Trick,
A Wall Of Bricks,
Breaks To Bits,
Bite A Lip,
Feel A Grip,
Reminisce,
Of Broken Bliss,
I'm Amiss,
In An Abyss,
I Am Stuck,
And Out Of Luck,
Stuck With The Ruck,
Oh Well,
But If I Fell,
Who Will Tell,
Ring The Bell,
I'm Not For Hell,
Everything's Just Swell
Nov 22, 2012
Nov 22, 2012 at 10:38 PM UTC
It's the morning after that Crucial date
My 1st thought is U!
Eye am falling in Love all over again
Contemplation is such a Beautiful Word.
U still are the Most Beautiful One in the World.
Eye' m wondering what u are working on?
Eye wanna hear U, woo me again & Turn me on!
Eye know it will still Work Like Magic!
Confident to the Upmost, Arrow-gant to the Lowest!
Knock & the Holy gate to the Infinite Space will open, talk that talk like U used 2!
Eye hear the murmur of the Gold Angels.
This is A.U.TO.matic Writing, This is U, 4 U are A.U.TO magnetic 2 !
Eye' m just letting the Purple Ink Flow, willing 2 do the Work, Listening 2 U from afar.
U are still so close, Eye can feel Your Vibrant Aura.
Captain, Please, Oh Please! Don't Push nor Rush Me!
4 Eye' m really trying 2 do my best.
Gran-Di-Lo-Quent and Firm, Eye cannot wait until the next Velvet Rope Burns!
Is it U catapulting me back into Ur inner womb?
Eye' m not Come-Fort-Able here, Take me back 2 Ur White Mansion.
Because despite of all the things that have already been Said & Done, Eye' m still capable of Flying on my own.
Are U there Yet, is it Dawn?
Where is all this Ruck-Us coming from? Where is the After-World?
Can't U just scream my name.
Publishing won't work & Critic won't Rise.
Until then my Love, see U in the Aftermath.
All Rights Reserved/ Copyright Julie- July Billong (Bezons- France)
Oct 22, 2018
Oct 22, 2018 at 8:53 AM UTC
A politician seeking election
Sought support from his Asian section.
Said a supporter
As he left their quarter:
"Rots of ruck, sir, in your ********
Jan 19, 2017
Jan 19, 2017 at 3:08 PM UTC
picking flowers off your nonchalance
i can't stand it
i can't stand here
it's very clear
that you don't want me here
but what it does
its like giving you a shove
stop comparing
stop caring
like a drug
it makes you almost like a rug
except i'm dragging you out of the ruck
into the trash
out in a bag
but what else could you have done?
Dec 20, 2024
Dec 20, 2024 at 2:23 AM UTC
pouring all your heart out
in the street
feelings better expressed
strum and beat
he doesn't play for change just sanity
and right now, oh-oh-oh-oh, boy it's weak
he's hittin' the road
goin' out hard
gonna take it and run dahdahdah
he's got the bracelet she made him
he's cool with that
packing to go soon anyways
just his ruck sack
No more texts sent
No more nights of lonely
No more checks to spend
on a "one and only"
I'd catch every tear for you
try and hide them away not to be found
I make every excuse that I can
but still find myself crying
Apr 16, 2013
Apr 16, 2013 at 11:06 PM UTC
I woke up at 3 AM in the bathtub filled to the brim with ice cold water. My clothes were sticking to my body like a second layer of skin and my lips were stained red. This is not the first time I have woken up in a place I don’t remember falling asleep. My life has been a series of slow motion pictures lately, I close my eyes for five minutes and before I know it three weeks have gone by. I’m losing myself and it scares me.
“Andrew, sometimes you have to break your own heart to set yourself free,” she whispered in my ear before slinging her ruck **** over her bony shoulders, leaving me at the airport surrounded by thousands of people but only wanting one. I knew this would happen, and I am not saying that because I wanted to be right. From the moment I saw her I knew that we had no future. For the past few months I have been struggling to write, just as I had been struggling to write for years before I met her, Emily was my inspiration. However as I sit here at my computer I am empowered by the fact that I can write, with or without her, I can write about her, about us.
Emily left home when she was 16 years old, for reasons I will never know. From then she was a wanderer, forever on the road. She had no compass inside her, she just kept walking... I used to sit and write in coffee shops, smoking copious amounts of cigarettes while seeking inspiration from the people who passed by. I was so ordinary, almost faking pain, I will never understand why so many people do that. We are all in love with the idea of being messed up.
“What are you doing?” she said as she put yet another cup of black coffee on the ink stained table, “I am an artist” I said without looking up. “No, you’re a cliché.” She said laughing.
Emily was the most honest person I had ever met. We spent that night together, she took me to the beach and walked across the edge of where the ocean met the sand like an acrobat balancing on her tippy toes. The only way I can describe her is daylight, whether that is a compliment or not I let her decide. Emily was true, her reality was no different from my reality only she didn’t hide from her pain – her true pain, not the fantasy of being messed up. However real she was, I couldn’t help but believe that I made her up. She was a drifter, and I was in love with her.
Mar 11, 2014
Mar 11, 2014 at 12:26 PM UTC
One round
In the chamber,
Thirty in the magazine,
One moment makes a lifetime,
Two seconds taken to breath.
Three brothers at my back,
Four wolves in the hunt.
Five miles to ruck before rest,
Six hours to sleep tonight.
Seven days left for another week,
Eight civillians lost as collateral.
Nine houses cleared without incident,
The Tenth is where they're waiting.
Eleven minutes for the firefight,
Twelve rounds taken to the legs.
Thirteen minutes until Medevac arrives,
Fourteen month recovery.
Fifteen minutes left before lights out.
Mag is half full.
Sixteen hours to rest and clean weapons,
Seventeen men play cards in the barracks
Eighteen minutes left during fire guard,
Nineteen year old soldiers miss their family.
Twenty minute call home to loved ones.
Twentyone shots over a white headstone.
Twentytwo streets left to clear before dusk,
Twentythree families bustle in the bazaar.
Twentyfour hours in each day in hell.
Twentyfive men craving cigarettes.
Twentysix reports of gunfire this morning.
Twentyseven combatants killed.
Twentyeight days left in deployment.
Twentynine years old at honorable discharge,
30 family members waiting to welcome you home.
31 days in every month spent in the devil's sandbox.
Click
Mag is empty.
Drop mag
Draw new mag
Load into well
Hit bolt release
Continue fighting
Sep 5, 2017
Sep 5, 2017 at 4:12 AM UTC
the voice of cynicism
with imperious wisdom
informed by circumstances past
where through defeated expectation, corrupted naivety
perhaps wounded vulnerability has been
disappointed on innumerable occasions
and chanting incessantly
in a cavernous register
"there is no hope - there is no point"
and louder
"there is no hope - there is no point"
and louder still
"there is no hope - there is no point"
would have you adopt this epigram as your own
in the belief
that if you do
the prophecy of self determined hopelessness
will be affirmed and validated
its unspoken fear of course is that you will leave it there
abandoned and alone in the cavern of its own arrogant despair
so here's an idea
surprise it
take it with you
out of the pit
take it for a bicycle ride on the beach at low tide
**** it in a ruck-sack up a rocky ridge
swim with it in a lake with a sandy bottom and willow banks
invite it to the funniest Robin Williams film you can think of
above all else, let it experience your unconditional positive regard
constantly
continuously
repeatedly
offering counsel
in all the tones and voices
of unrelenting love
MChallis @ 2104
Nov 26, 2014
Nov 26, 2014 at 3:09 AM UTC
A car stops on the freeway.
A gloomy sky weeps
over this one, rotten day.
The man inside sleeps.
He dreams of honey scented
lotion on soft skin,
tobacco, rich and minted,
and a youthful spin.
Traffic, a blur around him,
unending burden,
a collision, then a hymn-
Radio sermon.
And the last thought that lingers
is, “please forgive me”.
There is blood on those fingers.
And more on his knee.
Exhaust plumes, shattering smog.
Our man pays a price.
No soul hoisted from the fog-
pointless sacrifice.
Crowds come to witness the wreck,
and to kiss their luck.
Like pigeons, they hop and peck-
squawking, heartless ruck.
Dollar Store goods strewn about,
diapers included,
the road runs red from a spout,
highway occluded.
Behind the line they’re whining,
“Will I be on time?”
Dead ahead, simply pining
for his wasted prime.
He’s killed his child, who’s survived
to view his remains,
mangled, hopeless, and deprived,
his blood in her veins.
Mar 27, 2018
Mar 27, 2018 at 5:28 PM UTC
It seems a while since Jesus died.
Not that I believe in the chap,
But if he were magically real, I'd
Think he'd be appalled at all this crap.
It seems a while since laundries reigned
And women were shamed and sent away,
But, alas, we've lost as much as gained
As men control our fate today.
It seems a while since Markievicz fought,
But still didn't suffer the fate of men.
Different powers today have sold and bought,
But it's power the same as it was then.
It seems a while since rampant abuse -
We thought they'd run out of kids to **** -
Of course, I'm joking, there's always an excuse
To **** and ruck and then not look.
This Easter let's bow our heads and pray
And think about our moral code.
Just kidding, there's ***** on Good Friday -
We'll be hung-over as we erode.
Apr 1, 2018
Apr 1, 2018 at 7:16 AM UTC
I have promised not to swear this month
and it's a right *******
for I am not PC
I will blame it on age
and not as I claim a sage
for I am so not PC
The best I can say is bucket
and not the other
for I am so not PC
I am the living dead
rotting in my bed
and I am so not PC
Ruck you
as you ruck me
for I am so not PC
By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris
By NeonSolaris
© 2011 NeonSolaris (All rights reserved)
Nov 26, 2013
Nov 26, 2013 at 5:44 AM UTC
Sometimes my thoughts flow freely
And sometimes they can get stuck
I don’t know where they wander
Sometimes I’m in a great big ruck
I try to get my mind to move
To another place or two
And yet it keeps coming back
To a place that I once knew
My mind wants me to remember
What happened long ago
I just want to keep on moving
And I cannot keep the flow
If I could just remember now
And then just let it go
Then I know that I could move on
And it wouldn’t be so slow
I want to stay here in the now
Be present at my core
Then I could live in harmony
And I could be much more
If all I am could just become
The me I want to be
Then things would come together
And I could just be me
Aug 13, 2022
Aug 13, 2022 at 6:32 AM UTC