"saunders" poems
I want to sleep
on the round softness
of Nina Saunders' disproportional ball
Upside down
Climbing the wall
but my dreams
are twisted
disturbed
by the dagger penetrating puberty
and the cool still life
silently killing - youth
on the surrounding walls
May 15, 2013
May 15, 2013 at 3:04 PM UTC
~
fallen…
heroes all,
saviors-in-training,
on mission repeat;
the service-giving,
life-giving,
members of
a fighting team.
existing solely that
you and i
can spend our time
consumed
with the art
of loving well;
their actions
no less impassioned
than our own,
no less worthy,
no less loving and
no less selfless.
whatever we think
of war,
we must think
of the individuals
who move toward the fray
rather than away;
those to whom
we owe our very
everyday existence
be it extraordinary
or mundane;
to their daily efforts.,
to their repeated training,
to their daily sacrifice,
we offer
a prayer-filled salute!
and to these
who paid dearly,
to wives,
sons & daughters,
mothers and fathers,
nation with a
grateful heart,
a debt we cannot repay,
we humbly offer
our heart-filled
and loving tribute.
may you ever
rest in peace.
~
*post script.
serving you and me from Camp Lejeune, North Carolina,
these fallen Marine heroes are:
Capt. Stanford Henry Shaw III of Basking Ridge, New Jersey;
Master Sgt. Thomas Saunders of Camp Lejeune;
Staff Sgt. Liam Flynn of Queens, New York;
Staff Sgt. Trevor P. Blaylock of Lake Orion, Michigan;
Staff Sgt. Kerry Michael Kemp of Port Washington, Wisconsin;
Staff Sgt. Andrew Seif of Holland, Michigan; and
Staff Sgt. Marcus Bawol from Warren, Michigan
http://www.marinecorpstimes.com/story/military/2015/03/13/names-of-7-marines-killed-in-helicopter-crash-released/70277156/
(the four fallen Guard members remain unnamed at this time)
next month my son is deployed
to points classified to us his parents.
i can only think about his sacrifice
in terms of time, money, exposure to danger …
and his safe return!*
Mar 13, 2015
Mar 13, 2015 at 5:27 PM UTC
*We lose so much talent to addiction
Some of you may not care, but I do
This is my tribute to them*
**Alan Wilson
Canned Heat
Jimi Hendrix
The Jimi Hendrix Experience
Janis Joplin
Jim Morrison
The Doors
Brian Cole
The Association
Billy Murcia
New York Dolls
Danny Whitten
Crazy Horse
Gram Parsons
The Stooges
Gary Thain
Uriah Heep
Elvis Presley
Gregory Herbert
Blood, Sweat & Tears
Keith Moon
The Who
Sid Vicious
*** Pistols
Lowell George
Little Feat
Jimmy McCulloch
Wings
John Bonham
Led Zeppelin
Darby Crash
Germs
James Honeyman-Scott
Pretenders
Pete Farndon
Pretenders
Paul Gardiner
Tubeway Army
Gary Holton
Heavy Metal Kids
Phil Lynott
Thin Lizzy
Andrew Wood
Mother Love Bone
Brent Mydland
Grateful Dead
Steve Clark
Def Leppard
Johnny Thunders
New York Dolls
David Ruffin
The Temptations
Kristen Pfaff
Hole
Shannon Hoon
Blind Melon
Bradley Nowell
Sublime
John Kahn
Jerry Garcia Band
Jonathan Melvoin
The Smashing Pumpkins
Billy Mackenzie
Associates
West Arkeen
The Outpatience
Nick Traina
Link 80
John Baker Saunders
Mad Season
Bobby Sheehan
Blues Traveler
Wes Berggren
Tripping Daisy
Allen Woody
The Allman Brothers Band
Carl Crack
Atari Teenage Riot
Layne Staley
Alice in Chains/Mad Seasons
Kurt Cobain
Nirvana
Dee Dee
Ramones
Robbin Crosby
Ratt
John Entwistle
The Who
Howie Epstein
Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers
Jeremy Michael Ward
De Facto
Tim Hemensley
GOD
Dave Schulthise
The Dead Milkmen
Rick James
Kevin DuBrow
Quiet Riot
Ike Turner
Gidget Gein
Marilyn Manson
Jay Bennett
Wilco
Michael Jackson
The Rev
Avenged Sevenfold
Paul Gray
Slipknot
Mike Starr
Alice in Chains
Amy Winehouse**
*We are not bad people, we just have bad ways
Yet, not many understand*
Dec 1, 2014
Dec 1, 2014 at 4:49 PM UTC
I never hear them when they speak
only hours later
in the painfully lit basement of my home
with earphones and patience
do their words reach me
such was the case last October
I was driving through Wilderness, Virginia
for the first time and happened to pass
Saunders Field and caught sight of the plaque
that stood at the bottom of the hill
and a trail that led into the woods
where the fierce skirmishes took place
it was a bit chilly and windy
and the road nearby was busy with passing cars
not an ideal place for an EVP session
but I felt compelled to try
and walked the edge of the woods
then a short portion of the trail
I asked many questions directly to anyone
who may be listening
'How many souls perished here?'
'Are you one of those souls?'
'Did you suffer?'
'Why do you stay or visit this place?'
as usual, I heard no voices during the 18 minutes
of questioning
however, the presence was undeniable
I was not alone here
this I knew
on the way back down the hill to leave
I reached out one final time;
'I have about 20 seconds left, so if you'd like
to say something, please say it now'
again I heard nothing, turned the recorder off
and departed
it was several days before I could return home
and review my recording
but my curiosity as always
grew stronger the longer I had to wait
I was disappointed as I began to listen
nothing heard as each minute passed
only the whisper of wind and cars
until I came to my final question in those last moments...
'I have about 20 seconds left, so if you'd like
to say something, please say it now.'
'Leave me under the ground........human'
Jan 1, 2017
Jan 1, 2017 at 1:12 PM UTC
January 30th, 2013,
Martin Edward Saunders,
My best friend, my brother,
Hung himself at the age of 16...
The world seems like a dimmer place,
My heart seems a little more hollow then usual...
I keep hoping for a message over Facebook,
Or maybe a text on my phone from you...
None of us want to believe you'r gone,
Some of us literally can't imagine you gone,
I miss you buddy, and I love you...
I raise my glass to you.
Good bye...
Feb 1, 2013
Feb 1, 2013 at 10:56 AM UTC
shadows buckle
from the weight of the rising Sun
and the chirping birds and grasshoppers
provide no deference to the bodies
that are strewn across Saunders Field
dew glistens and blood oozes
from the wounds
as the souls look helplessly about
not knowing which direction to walk
the heat grows rapidly towards noon
and soon no-one would come
this day or the next
ashes to ashes
dust to dust
the Moon be my witness
as here I sleep
Jan 13, 2017
Jan 13, 2017 at 2:03 AM UTC
Hi my name is Iona Jessica Saunders and I write Blogs for a Hobby and Study at Amersham & Wycombe college I study Art & Design Level 2 With loads of other students who are Amazing People who look forward to seeing everyday.My course is Great I'm loving it so far so good , It's differcult but I'm enjoying it so far. The projects haven't been easy but i'm enjoying them.I also do my own photography I take photos of nature like flowers , sky or leaves sometimes people. I write poems occasionally when I feel like writing something funny or dark that rhymes.I'm 18 so I can drink occasionally at parties or on the weekend.I'm a vegetarian So I don't eat meat because I don't find it appetising , I've been feeling ILL for about 2 months now But I'll get through it.I also have paranoia which means i worry about everything like : Do i look okay or am i wearing the right things or am i acting normal enough.I worry about alot of stuff But I take the time out to relax and unwind.I think Life will get better no matter how much ******* you go through , no matter how many people you lose Life will always get better , if not you just have to keep trying.
Nov 6, 2013
Nov 6, 2013 at 12:58 PM UTC
Miles Joseph Saunders
A friend, an idol, a brother
This guy was like no other
I swear this guy wasn’t human
A stranger? He knew none
Everyone he met he loved
Even in basketball he shoved
His way to the front and on top
Persistent, he never did stop
He would love you and hug you
Even if he didn’t know you
He welcomed everyone in with a warm heart
When I heard the news it tore my heart apart
17 years young and gone with one bullet
He always told me live life to the fullest
You never know when it’s time to go
Feels like yesterday even tho it was ages ago
I just wish i could die to come and see you
Nowadays everyone is fake it’s sickening
And now I’m thinking back to the beginning
The first day we met and hung out
I knew we would be good friends no doubt
I loved every day we spent at Goshen
Now im lyin down in an ocean
Of my own tears filled with sadness
But I think of you and smile of happiness
I sit here and think about the good times
Like the night we stayed up before Florida
When everyone tried their best to ignore ya
When we played 2k and pulled some pranks
When we joked about robbing banks
Thinking of you now just brings pain
Tears fall all day long like the rain
But I know I should be happy
Because being sad is ******
And I know you wouldn’t want that
**** it up like you did in combat
Never let anyone see me cry
Miles, you better fly high
Without you it’s so hard
I ******* miss you ******
Every move you made was for the good
I could tell just by the way you stood
You would never back down
You were the toughest guy in town
I’m sitting here thinking you’re still here
The thought of you gone isn’t clear
Like how is someone so great
Gone the very next day
Got me in dismay
Pray to you my life to take
Wish the news was fake
Scratching my heart with a rake
Visiting your grave ******* hurts
Heart feeling like I need a nurse
A lambo you should’ve pulled off in
Couldn’t even bring myself to your coffin
I didn’t want that to be my last memory
Didn’t want that to be the end of our history
Last time I saw you, you were thriving
With positive energy, **** was exhausting
I’m so glad we were friends, you and me
But now I’m the one saying, Rest In Peace.
Mar 17, 2019
Mar 17, 2019 at 2:04 AM UTC
George Saunders is a better writer than I could ever be,
Such an incisive observer of the modern condition,
So witty and urbane,
A satirist with staying power.
Everybody loves a writer who’s legit funny.
It’s the Cinnamon and sugar in the oatmeal of reading.
George Saunders is smarter than me.
Dude is a bona fide scientist
Who earned a degree of geophysical engineering
From one of the STEMiest of STEM schools.
I was an English Major, and even English Major nerd god
Garrison Keillor rags on us as likely to someday ask
If you’d like fries with that.
George Saunders has lived a more adventurous life than me.
He was an engineer who worked on pipelines in Sumatra
And regales NPR types with his tales about venturing
Headlong into a monkey shit-contaminated river.
He’s thatched roofs, pulled knuckles at a slaughterhouse,
Rang up purchases at a 7-Eleven.
Saunders proposed to his wife after three weeks.
George Saunders is more distinguished than me.
His list of awards is endless.
Guggenheims, MacArthur genius grants, PEN/Malamud Awards,
A gaggle of National Magazine Awards,
The ********* Lannan Foundation.
Everyone has honored the guy.
I've got a bronze pig and some plaques.
George Saunders is more beloved than I am.
He addresses graduating classes all over the country.
Everyone man, woman and child has read “Sea Oak.”
Every man, woman and child loves “Sea Oak.”
It’s taught in every college in the country.
It’s about as perfect as a short story can get.
Realistically, I’ll never be as good a writer as George Saunders,
Yet the brilliance he pours forth into the world
Inspires me to write.
Jun 8, 2017
Jun 8, 2017 at 2:41 AM UTC
I never hear when they speak
only hours later
in the painfully lit basement of my home
with earphones and patience
do their words reach me
such was the case last October
I was driving through Wilderness, Virginia
for the first time and happened to pass
Saunders Field. I caught sight of the plaque
that stood at the bottom of the hill
and a trail that led into the woods
where the fierce skirmishes took place
it was a bit chilly and windy
and the road nearby was busy with passing cars
not an ideal place for an EVP session
but I felt compelled to try
and walked the edge of the woods
then a short portion of the trail
I asked many questions directly to anyone
who may be listening
'How many souls perished here?'
'Are you one of those souls?'
'Did you suffer?'
'Why do you stay or visit this place?'
as usual, I heard no voices during the 18 minutes
of questioning
however, the presence was undeniable
I was not alone here
this I knew
on the way back down the hill to leave
I reached out one final time
'I have about 20 seconds left, so if you'd like
to say something, please say it now'
again I heard nothing, turned the recorder off
and departed
it was several days before I could return home
and review my recording
but my curiosity as always
grew stronger the longer I had to wait
I was disappointed as I began to listen
nothing heard as each minute passed
only the whisper of wind and cars
until I came to my final statement in those last moments...
'I have about 20 seconds left, so if you'd like
to say something, please say it now.'
'Leave me under ground........'
May 19, 2018
May 19, 2018 at 9:59 AM UTC
I am
one here
under the
sun and
water grass
this higher
ground with
floods of
deals with
claws by
lake sanders
made a
red dye
that 'twas
sky that
red scare
thread bare
Sep 10, 2018
Sep 10, 2018 at 6:49 PM UTC
Mrs Saunders’ son
Died last night, sniped by
The enemy with
A far off gun. The
Government will not
Mind they have other
Sons to send, fresh, keen,
And soldierly, with
Eyes, hands and marching
Feet, been told there’s no
Defeat, medals and
Honours are theirs, no
Big worries, no cares.
Mrs Saunders will
Send no other son,
To march to war, he
Was her only one.
May 8, 2016
May 8, 2016 at 3:00 AM UTC
My eyes see you,
I see you,
But you don't see me.
Jan 22, 2015
Jan 22, 2015 at 1:31 PM UTC
Leon Russell is tickling the ivories tonight,
Playing in his liquid and impossibly smooth way,
As I pull another Lucky Strike from a half empty pack,
As I contemplate the feeling in my gut.
As if an invisible hand is tugging at my stomach,
Gentle but firm,
As I contemplate the words you just sent me,
Sending me into a spiral with effortless ease.
Making me pour over every punctuation mark like it might be the Rosetta Stone that'll decipher the text you dropped into my lap before you headed to bed.
Leon croons and I ponder,
Tap tapping ash into a growing pile upon the ashtray,
How could such a slip of a woman make me so nervous I wonder,
Like I'm rock climbing without a belay.
Keeping me on my heels,
Giving me whiplash in the worst kinda way,
Loving the way it feels,
But hating how the matter won't just stop bothing me and leave me to lay.
As Leon wraps up and exit the stage,
Good ol' Taylor saunders up and after taking a seat at the stool,
And begins to expertly play.
Realization I think begins to dawn,
And frankly scares me shitless,
To find that the text is actually a wonderful and terrifying grenade in disguise.
Feb 6, 2019
Feb 6, 2019 at 10:59 PM UTC