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"sas" poems
Tuesday night and it’s Baked Beans AGAIN! Does she ever stop talking. I used to fool myself that her snore was musical like a sweet sounding flute, Now it’s just a snore. Too loud, all too familiar. What would happen I wonder if I took that tin of Baked Beans on the table And battered her to death with it. They found the ****** weapon in the cupboard on the top shelf, Next to a quivering can of rice pudding. It didn’t look overly angry or guilty, it looked (for what it’s worth) Like any other tin of beans. However it had blood and hair around the rim. “BAKED BEANS **** the front page of The Sun would say, Amnesty on all tinned goods called for, as the masses Started taking ‘tin(g)s” into their own hands. All over the country, partners dying at the hands of Heinz, Or possibly cans of spam or pear slices. The Army may catch on, a major new part of SAS training, Close quarter baked bean tactics. The wail of sirens as Police arrive at an incident “Put down the weapon or we shall be forced to fire… tinned pineapple”. A can of alphabetti spaghetti could spell death. “Let’s not have Baked Beans tonight my love… Chinese?”
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Oct 17, 2012
Oct 17, 2012 at 5:09 AM UTC
BAKED BEANS ****
Sixth Mass Extinction Earth's sixth mass extinction event under way, scientists warn -The Guardian The headmaster has shaved his head egg-smooth Shifted his hair to the point of his chin And his sunshades to the top of his scalp His petrol-station SAS sunshades He often boasts he doesn’t even own a tie And hasn’t read a book since Upper-Sixth Something transgender post-colonial About Guevara (who is on his tee) Not a form master, but a master of forms A way-cool disciple of Ofsted norms Variant for the American Market Sixth Mass Extinction Earth's sixth mass extinction event under way, scientists warn -The Guardian Like, you know, the principal shaves his head Like, absolutely, *** Got him a goatee, like, actually Cheap gas-station Official USA Navy Seals™® shades, mannnnnnnnnnnnnnn Not cool, *** actually I had to help him with the big words in Goodnight, Moon Absolutely, like Yosemite Sam™® on his faunky ol’ tee His office has, like, stuffed fish and, like, football pictures, like, and his Dallas Cowboys™® baseball cap, like, actually
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Jul 11, 2017
Jul 11, 2017 at 3:31 PM UTC
Sixth Mass Extinction
In Silence The English ex SAS Special Forces member went to the Ukraine to fight. He travelled light and took just a small back pack and a head full of skills. A gun was a gun and a bayonet a bayonet. He was trained to use most things as weapon especially military articles. He decided to go to the Ukraine after the Russians invaded proper in early 2022. The Ukrainian Army took him to a holding facility where they vetted him. This took three days. Included was basic close combat skills and weapons use. He excelled and was given a job, being sent to a forward artillery position with a dozen other foreign troops to protect it. The SAS man was in charge and most men and the single girl spoke English. All understood military commands and signals. All were veterans from either conscript or professional armies. Each was here for their own reasons and all disliked either what Russia had done or Russians themselves. The English SAS member had killed several Muslim terrorists from Daesh and al Qaeda in Iraq and Afghanistan. Now he looked forward to fighting and killing some Russians, officers if possible. After being in the Ukraine six days he was on the front line leading his first patrol. This was better than being a bouncer in a Manchester night club! The SAS guy ordered his men to only use bayonets as they silently crept to a Russian fox hole a mile away. He wanted blood and the rush of combat, of killing. There was the trench and a single sentry, asleep. He would knife him himself. Then his squad would ****** the rest and take back any weapons, maps or documents. He spoke four languages including Russian. Any Intel was good for his bosses though. Here we go! There’s the sleeping sentry. Gently now, he must die in silence…
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Mar 20, 2022
Mar 20, 2022 at 5:33 PM UTC
In Silence
In Silence The English ex SAS Special Forces member went to the Ukraine to fight. He travelled light and took just a small back pack and a head full of skills. A gun was a gun and a bayonet a bayonet. He was trained to use most things as weapon especially military articles. He decided to go to the Ukraine after the Russians invaded proper in early 2022. The Ukrainian Army took him to a holding facility where they vetted him. This took three days. Included was basic close combat skills and weapons use. He excelled and was given a job, being sent to a forward artillery position with a dozen other foreign troops to protect it. The SAS man was in charge and most men and the single girl spoke English. All understood military commands and signals. All were veterans from either conscript or professional armies. Each was here for their own reasons and all disliked either what Russia had done or Russians themselves. The English SAS member had killed several Muslim terrorists from Daesh and al Qaeda in Iraq and Afghanistan. Now he looked forward to fighting and killing some Russians, officers if possible. After being in the Ukraine six days he was on the front line leading his first patrol. This was better than being a bouncer in a Manchester night club! The SAS guy ordered his men to only use bayonets as they silently crept to a Russian fox hole a mile away. He wanted blood and the rush of combat, of killing. There was the trench and a single sentry, asleep. He would knife him himself. Then his squad would ****** the rest and take back any weapons, maps or documents. He spoke four languages including Russian. Any Intel was good for his bosses though. Here we go! There’s the sleeping sentry. Gently now, he must die in silence…
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6
i. Sto mystikó kípo sas, Where thy purple rose shalt be; Where thy flower bed wilt hath many roses, where thy breathe Shalt Never cease. ii. Sto mystikó kípo sas, Where hue's and tints hath life; Thy husband wilt be with thee, Guiding thee into God's light. iii. Sto mystikó kípo sas, Where petals never fall, Where the angels sing, their voices ring, bouncing to and fro the pearly gates; painting melodies in the spirit form, colliding back to temple walls. iv. Sto mystikó kípo sas, With a palace for a queen; The queen is thou, window's thou canst look out; where glass is clear, as there's no fear, inside thy garden Of majestic scenes. v. Sto mystikó kípo sas, Tha sas xanadó; That's to say, I'll seest thee again soon one day, in thy secret garden, Where thy love wilt always grow. ©Brandon nagley ©Lonesome poet's poetry ©Rita Mae nagley dedicated( golden grams) rip grams, I'll meet you at your new heavenly mansion in your secret garden.
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Dec 2, 2016
Dec 2, 2016 at 9:03 AM UTC
Sto mystikó kípo sas ( In your secret garden) Greek tongue-this is dedicated to my grandma( Rita Mae nagley) rip golden grams..
lɑːˈ(d)ʒɛs/ noun magnanimity, *generosity, liberality, munificence, bountifulness, beneficence, altruism, charity, kindness, lavishness, unselfishness* pretium est princeps unde redderent, quia munera(1) τραγική, η τιμή Σας έκανε να πληρώσετε για αυτό tragikí̱ , i̱ timí̱ Sas ékane na pli̱ró̱sete gia af̱tó(2) nu ligga död botten av gropen(3) nocht, ach le haghaidh an salachar Chaith mé a chuirtear air(4) Take your largesse and squeeze it where the sun never sees(5) We all laid down just as well The master cut the puppet strings and we all                         just                                         fell....
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Dec 5, 2013
Dec 5, 2013 at 5:51 AM UTC
Master of Largesse
Raindrops, accompanied by morning coffee’s aroma Ice cubes and cola, that galaxy on the surface of the fizzing soda The smell of old books, while reading as you sat on a sofa Simple joys, euphoria, now free your mind from the entire enigma Rasasvada, the taste of bliss in the absence of all thought Maybe the mental state in which your mind experiences drought People watching, people praying, people playing, people like droids Over the course of history, we’ve discovered hundreds of thousands of asteroids The first one is Ceres; now ask yourself, “Do I exist”? Are you suffocated by the alienating effect of urban life; which you still can’t resist? Inside the neon-soaked metropolis, transgression, and the ignorance of youth Truth realizes itself; and that is the truth Dusk falls, starry night, the slumbering dark will rise What made you think that you are wise and that you’d never compromise? It is only while the city sleeps that you can understand its heaviness Of what? The weight of your consciousness It was once said that the smallest thing that you’d see is human kindness And if not, what else will explain mankind and his varied emptiness Death defies and completely violates the laws of the universe The prophets did not write their words on papers, in a verse They are engraved inside the minds of street hooligans and space vagabonds Wars don’t end wars, trivial things, and worshiping new gods with brands Humanity, please keep your sanity. Regress towards simplicity and put away your vanity People watching, people praying, people playing, people who forgot what it means to ‘be’ The ebb and flow of life are as strange as the creases on your sweater You, a slave of order, creature of magnificent wonder A being who seeks purpose and solace, in your thoughts you dwell So long, tonight I hope you sleep well
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Oct 18, 2017
Oct 18, 2017 at 3:24 PM UTC
Ra·sas·va·da
Raindrops, accompanied by morning coffee’s aroma Ice cubes and cola, that galaxy on the surface of the fizzing soda The smell of old books, while reading as you sat on a sofa Simple joys, euphoria, now free your mind from the entire enigma Rasasvada, the taste of bliss in the absence of all thought Maybe the mental state in which your mind experiences drought People watching, people praying, people playing, people like droids Over the course of history, we’ve discovered hundreds of thousands of asteroids The first one is Ceres; now ask yourself, “Do I exist”? Are you suffocated by the alienating effect of urban life; which you still can’t resist? Inside the neon-soaked metropolis, transgression, and the ignorance of youth Truth realizes itself; and that is the truth Dusk falls, starry night, the slumbering dark will rise What made you think that you are wise and that you’d never compromise? It is only while the city sleeps that you can understand its heaviness Of what? The weight of your consciousness It was once said that the smallest thing that you’d see is human kindness And if not, what else will explain mankind and his varied emptiness Death defies and completely violates the laws of the universe The prophets did not write their words on papers, in a verse They are engraved inside the minds of street hooligans and space vagabonds Wars don’t end wars, trivial things, and worshiping new gods with brands Humanity, please keep your sanity. Regress towards simplicity and put away your vanity People watching, people praying, people playing, people who forgot what it means to ‘be’ The ebb and flow of life are as strange as the creases on your sweater You, a slave of order, creature of magnificent wonder A being who seeks purpose and solace, in your thoughts you dwell So long, tonight I hope you sleep well
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34
Such dreams you inspire in hours past the witching hour All visions of you in tender repose Seductress is an assumption by ribbons that flow from your pen Sassy be sassy again and again. Yesterday's lass is not today's sas. Sensual seeker Expressing sincere exchange of the word. Dancing to a different drum as of our ilk do Casting spells and weaving dreams. I can push my mind through Entering sassydom Does this portrait of sassy do justice to you ?
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Jun 8, 2013
Jun 8, 2013 at 10:28 AM UTC
Sassyseduced
Our days together are numbered but you'll stay in my heart for all of eternity. Four years passed in the blink of an eye growing learning and succeeding together A bond that can't be broken A friendship remaining unbroken. Four years passed in the blink of an eye loving caring and helping eachother. Our days together are numbered but you'll stay in my heart for all of eternity. ~sas
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Jun 24, 2015
Jun 24, 2015 at 3:26 PM UTC
stay
"Mystery Cult of Two" by Medusa  (in translation) <this is Modern Greek, transliterated so that I can study, but it is my own original poem> oi archaíoi pólemoi ypoféroun apó ti moíra mas *** den eípa kalá, *** den eípa alítheia O, i agápi mou, poú échei páei i alítheia? ópos ti mními kai ti dikaiosýni pou chánetai sta óneira den oneirevómoun pléon apó ména gnostó vathiá se sas móno eseís, epithymóntas kai oi dýo mazí mas gia álli mia forá oi archaíoi pólemoi ypoféroun mia moíra san erastés to parelthón den tha gínei *** na eínai arketá gností mia mystiriódi latreía tou chrónou makriá, mia latreía mystiríou dýo, móno dýo agápi: mia latreía mystiríou tou eaftoú mou
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Nov 29, 2018
Nov 29, 2018 at 8:18 PM UTC
Μυστηριώδης λατρεία της Δύο
i had a great big bogey stuck inside my nose i tried to get it out used my hand and toes but it didnt move it didnt want to know my nose it was his home and didnt want to go i got myself a tissue and gave a great big sneeze then got my hand and give a great big squeeze nothing seem to work im stuck with it i guess the only way to do it is get the sas
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Feb 11, 2014
Feb 11, 2014 at 1:08 PM UTC
bogey budging
Ciao Rome, you were a splendid dream. Au revoir Paris, you were like an autumn kiss. Adios Barcelona, your crevices were filled with the scent of cayenne pepper. La revedere Bucharest, may your skies be filled with summer love. Antio sas Athens, your temples are magnificent.
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Dec 18, 2019
Dec 18, 2019 at 7:52 PM UTC
Goodbyes
A rush of relief as the cold edge runs across her skin. She looks down to see that the blade has drawn a thin line of blood from her wrist. The relief lasts only a second. She sighs, deeply. Then begins to cry. The relief is gone... She slices into her skin once more- longing to feel the relief for a second more. The relief comes and goes as fast as it did once before. She needs to find relief The next time she used that blade, she made sure it was the last. She found her peace in eternal relief. ~sas
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Jun 25, 2015
Jun 25, 2015 at 12:49 AM UTC
Relief
there is an old man who has a tin can for a head put there by a soldier of the sas variety for the old guy lost his head to an enemy bullet the sas man helped out with a spare bully beef tin for he'd just had dinner and gave the man a new head it said best bully beef on his forehead!
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Jan 12, 2018
Jan 12, 2018 at 6:55 PM UTC
tin head
There on the wrinkled landscape Of  topographical coloration I blast two staccato echoes A subtle shrill arpeggio at fade out So subtle a difference that I can't say I hear it Though I am the director Of that whistles orchestration Far across the valley bottom camouflaged by pattern They will appear somewhere among that sea of white The receivers pop up in mirrored action Tiny pinpoints of color among the sea of white I don't need to be able to see them to know The exchange of glances anticipation of coming attraction This is what they live for.... that call to attention As they await like teenagers or #45 for another tweet Glancing now at each other and aware Of that growing sense of  anxiety among their charges My hesitation stemmed from viewing all the Majesty But I am aware from way up here of the tension below And with the valleys steeped in ever darkening shadow The two miles trek to the awaiting gate and the holding pen I blow a quick quip to start Sas  and Rocket to bring em in Then as if of 1 mind they lead em home ...leading from behind An  addiction to action where by  almost supernatural Is their ability to move by nip and slip around the throng Attentive to any wayfarers lost in transit Encouraging less enthusiastic or lost youngster to move along Sending the adolescents screaming in terrorized panic As they are  absorbed into the mass of slow moving wool And only after the last one of them passes thru ...do The pair allow themselves ...with the closing of the gate That romp of triumphant joyfull play as they await their reward They will receive for their day of working like a dog That bowl of food that awaits them is secondary to the real prize To that smile and well done pat on the head or belly scratch From their beloved master for that is really what they live for!!!
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May 23, 2017
May 23, 2017 at 1:25 AM UTC
Across the valley
There on the wrinkled landscape Of  topographical coloration I blast two staccato echoes A subtle shrill arpeggio at fade out So subtle a difference that I can't say I hear it Though I am the director Of that whistles orchestration Far across the valley bottom camouflaged by pattern They will appear somewhere among that sea of white The receivers pop up in mirrored action Tiny pinpoints of color among the sea of white I don't need to be able to see them to know The exchange of glances anticipation of coming attraction This is what they live for.... that call to attention As they await like teenagers or #45 for another tweet Glancing now at each other and aware Of that growing sense of  anxiety among their charges My hesitation stemmed from viewing all the Majesty But I am aware from way up here of the tension below And with the valleys steeped in ever darkening shadow The two miles trek to the awaiting gate and the holding pen I blow a quick quip to start Sas  and Rocket to bring em in Then as if of 1 mind they lead em home ...leading from behind An  addiction to action where by  almost supernatural Is their ability to move by nip and slip around the throng Attentive to any wayfarers lost in transit Encouraging less enthusiastic or lost youngster to move along Sending the adolescents screaming in terrorized panic As they are  absorbed into the mass of slow moving wool And only after the last one of them passes thru ...do The pair allow themselves ...with the closing of the gate That romp of triumphant joyfull play as they await their reward They will receive for their day of working like a dog That bowl of food that awaits them is secondary to the real prize To that smile and well done pat on the head or belly scratch From their beloved master for that is really what they live for!!!
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36
What to do with our enemy? There's nine hundred and ninety terrs there. With sore limbs and no toys. In time, word will get out. Compromising us in future. Over the edge! You four, take three men each. You know the drill. The SF guys nodded and trotted off. It wasn't said but done. Were they being recorded? Hopefully. Would save the SAS a job. Showing the world what happened to terrs. Off the cliff one at a time. Like jumping out of a plane. Or into a swimming pool. But with a four mile terminal velocity drop. Two ex-terrorists are kept. Prisoners. Our mission continues. We'll get back safe. No one is lost yet. Nothing will stop us. For we keep your world safe.
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Mar 28, 2020
Mar 28, 2020 at 10:00 AM UTC
Photo 2
The man was a real hard man often described in lower class words By those who feared or respected or envied him He was from Scotland and fought the Chinese Communists in Cambodia In a backwater of the world that became a Cold War hotspot For next door was Vietnam and the commies there fought the other commies In a war that enveloped the area destruction on destruction War happened and soldiers were deployed by all sides Some of those troops were rather special ones To do a special job in a ***** war where the killing wasn't clean The hard man from Scotland was sent to a place far form his Highland home His bagpipes were silent and stealth was his tool Stalking ****** fighters in the Cambodian jungle And doing what needed to be done to stop them dead So we don't speaking Chinese now Just like the Dead Kennedy's song that hailed a generation Camdodian events remembered which fewer care about The Scottish soldier is dead now but his widow remembers It was her who told me the story of her SpecFor husband How he played his pipes and won awards not just in battle Him a Seargent Major Drill Instructor Full Metal Jacket style Driving his car with his arms crossed barking orders and being the boss Living in America with his American wife and drinking in bars But being taken advantage of by the rednecks In the nasty bars that wern't British pubs More dangerous than the communist controlled Cambodian jungle The life of the special forces soldier was certainly special If not hush hush we don't talk about this it never happened Except in the heads of the SAS troopers who were in Cambodia...
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May 10, 2018
May 10, 2018 at 1:48 PM UTC
Mixed Worlds Man
The man was a real hard man often described in lower class words By those who feared or respected or envied him He was from Scotland and fought the Chinese Communists in Cambodia In a backwater of the world that became a Cold War hotspot For next door was Vietnam and the commies there fought the other commies In a war that enveloped the area destruction on destruction War happened and soldiers were deployed by all sides Some of those troops were rather special ones To do a special job in a ***** war where the killing wasn't clean The hard man from Scotland was sent to a place far form his Highland home His bagpipes were silent and stealth was his tool Stalking ****** fighters in the Cambodian jungle And doing what needed to be done to stop them dead So we don't speaking Chinese now Just like the Dead Kennedy's song that hailed a generation Camdodian events remembered which fewer care about The Scottish soldier is dead now but his widow remembers It was her who told me the story of her SpecFor husband How he played his pipes and won awards not just in battle Him a Seargent Major Drill Instructor Full Metal Jacket style Driving his car with his arms crossed barking orders and being the boss Living in America with his American wife and drinking in bars But being taken advantage of by the rednecks In the nasty bars that wern't British pubs More dangerous than the communist controlled Cambodian jungle The life of the special forces soldier was certainly special If not hush hush we don't talk about this it never happened Except in the heads of the SAS troopers who were in Cambodia...
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28
I long to be kissed the way the ocean kisses the shore Passionaltely & loudly quickly, But always coming back for "just one more" When you walk me out to my car at night, Kiss me the way the ocean kisses the shore. ~sas
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Jul 21, 2015
Jul 21, 2015 at 12:54 AM UTC
Kisses
F. Panerio Sa salita At gawa Sumasayaw kalang.
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Nov 28, 2023
Nov 28, 2023 at 9:53 PM UTC
SAS?
Photos The larger than life SAS patrol saw the explosions. They danced and flickered and sang like a drum. Then silence. They know we're here. Later, the SF men came across their enemy. A thousand angry ragged heads. All lined up and armed for suicide. The SAS get captured! World's best captured by muzzahs. Lined up themselves, a speech is given. Muzzah leader goes on about Allah and all. Trooper Captain has a plan: a mad one. A roll call will be made. When Rollbottom's name is called, it's time. He'll drop his trousers and moon his **** It'll be cold as they're so high up. It begins. Rollbottom? Here Sir. He got his chance to shine. No longer a tour guide for no one but me. Make us proud, friend. Moons his **** and dances... Later. The captured muzzahs, one thousand of them, are stressed. In an American Gitmo stress position. There's no escape! Some do try in a French built Russian 'tank'. It slides on the ice. Tumbles off the edge of the mountain. It's a four mile almost vertical drop to the bottom. All eyes see the APC fall, becoming smaller. It bounces a couple of times off cliffs. Only stopping at the very bottom. No fire but distant clangs. No more escapes! Over the edge with most of their arms. Later. The SAS mission continues.
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Mar 28, 2020
Mar 28, 2020 at 9:54 AM UTC
Photos
La mentira Lamentablemente metida me tira la mente a mentirle a la gente sometida a mi potente e inteligentemente fuerte Fuente de prepotentes mentiras y puentes inocentes que giran y lentamente aspiran intimidan y te miran detenidamente llena de ira y Sas despedidas
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Sep 4, 2018
Sep 4, 2018 at 1:03 AM UTC
La mentira