"saltpeter" poems
Round the wagons,
and call on the dogs!
For there is fury in that mist,
there is malice in that fog!
Arm yourselves wisely.
Shoulder steady, breath slow,
give in to eye’s end.
Shower sky with shot,
And do so
with fatal intent.
Line, volley and rising smoke
Un-surreptitious spending of saltpeter,
leaves quiet rise
to billowing choke.
Loosen formation
Send scouts up ahead
“How many the count?”
“Report:
none dead.”
“How can this be
we took distance,
aimed well, aimed true
And still count you no heads?”
“Sir,
machinations of the mind
…maybe it was instead?”
Pleated-dress-pants
barks back his threat,
"Court martial, you!"
"March,
forward,
ahead!".
Sep 28, 2025
Sep 28, 2025 at 3:12 AM UTC
Firecrackers at night
Orange flash, saltpeter smell
Pumpkin flashes smile
Oct 2, 2012
Oct 2, 2012 at 10:49 PM UTC
Blued, nickel reflecting light,
Shining on the Reaper.
Frosted steel
Open-mouthed,
Longing to swallow
A half-dozen biscuits
1 part Copper,
1 part brass,
2 parts lead,
1 part saltpeter,
1 part charcoal,
1 part sulfur,
The recipe for the dough.
Once masticated
in jaws of tungsten
It spits the metal bolus,
And gives new name to grim.
Sep 21, 2019
Sep 21, 2019 at 9:02 PM UTC
Imagine an overused sickroom,
an army hospital in a war zone:
the reek of sulfur and saltpeter overpowering sweet rotting meat,
a periodic shocking light of casual bombardment
reveals brass colored walls.
And, and, and ...
the noises—too many to catalogue
or differentiate.
A fever feels better,
opening a dream flower—
transfiguration follows death, we know this,
now. We know colors, liquid figures
so familiar somehow.
Isn't dying a familiar act?
The nurse laving ice water
on my puckered brow should excite me
(bedraggled, blood-smudged,
her hair loose, lips slightly parted
from fatigue or an indisguisible loathing for decay).
Think: in this given moment
five billion people are doing something else.
Even those also dying are dying in a different way
without ice water.
"Quel dommage," you'd say, Liesl,
making the bed of a morning. "What're the rich folks doing?"
The sun hot and blinding through the east windows
The room so white, the sheets green, your brown eyes
never averted
aromas of grass, exhaust, drying ***
where is it all?
where does it go?
what brings it here
this polluted room
this anti place
this hole where a stomach used to be
resides a memory of a stomach
recalling hunger
as a good thing to be assuaged with pleasure
Nurse, close your mouth before your soul escapes
Sep 16, 2016
Sep 16, 2016 at 12:30 PM UTC
this semblance
to taste
hers was
great with
the package
of Delilah
here as
the spirit
level drawn
nigh and
caped him
again in
lew when
feet here
loose alas
to chide
an allay
Jan 25, 2019
Jan 25, 2019 at 3:22 PM UTC
arbore libertas, with fruits of life
grows in a loam of blood and strife
watered with fear, blooms of terror
feeding a home constituted of error
all times too cold, all times too hot
perpetual victim of the coup d'etat
beneath comfy shade, the thinkers think
of some ancient tome of a world at a brink
nourished by sap flavored saltpeter
sure of the future tasting so sweeter
blind to the souls lost underfoot
things they're content to turn into soot
watch the world burn in a blaze of inaction
fueled by logs from a cutting contraption
it's under this tree we're all learnt to sit
and savor this odor, demagogical ****
one thing we'll hear of which to be sure
this smell's required, life grows in manure
it sounds like a lie, then again, what's true?
the only concern in a world full of you
there's only a home fed by a tree
fit with a swing, a rope just for me
Jul 16, 2016
Jul 16, 2016 at 12:57 PM UTC
The place where we sat
Saw our roots, grow into the grass ground
Saw our flowers, bloom under the burning sun
And i, could only see, what you wanted me to
My love was palpable, but your hands were frozen
My love was visible, but your eyes were blind
Numb to it, too much worried about yourself
You let him died, dehydrated, withered
How could i blame you, i loved you...
After the grief of mourning, came the anger
Against myself, due to my crying heart
He cried, not salted water, but saltpeter
Burning my entire chest
Leaving me empty inside, again
Each and every time, flowers still grow there
But as time passes, they fade away
This dark dead cavity covered of potassium nitrate
Makes me an angry and hollow human
Only searching for life to come back and bloom
To the roots we used to grow in another one
Oct 20, 2020
Oct 20, 2020 at 9:13 AM UTC
the first spark sparks
in the wastes of Shabsheer
his bread and water, that of niter
where he would spend nights here
worked as dawn neared
his flame soon to burn a million
harshness and saltpeter
his nickname was 'Paidarion'
his future more bitter
ⲇⲉⲁⲑ took a paid lover
and soon, mother and father
no home, no lamp for his feet
as the Egyptian sun began to blister
under the shade of one's beard
he sought an elder
"watch- for you are awake
you are seeing
you are knowing
watch- the baker as he bakes
the thieves fleeing
and the farmer sowing
"starve- we'll eat later
now we ponder
the hunger of the beggar
the next we pass one
dont let him wonder
invite him to share our supper
"know to rise above
and to go under
to pass through-
and asunder
for He weaves
our lives together
we hold each other
in the pattern of our souls
He weaves us together
that we may hold one another
from the cradle to the casket
humanity woven well
holds on to much more
like a good basket
Aug 18, 2019
Aug 18, 2019 at 6:11 AM UTC
the saltpeter sea may yet swallow these
black-sailed ships
bleak obelisk .
reduce the risk.
and
swim.
[the power of i don’t know : to the wielder, feels a burden - but serves as everything that keeps us from falling into Hate.]
Jul 8, 2023
Jul 8, 2023 at 7:34 AM UTC