"sergeants" poems
Drummed their boots on the camion floor,
Hob-nailed boots on the camion floor.
Sergeants stiff,
Corporals sore.
Lieutenant thought of a Mestre ***** —
Warm and soft and sleepy *****
Cozy, warm and lovely *****
****** cold, bitter, rotten ride,
Winding road up the Grappa side.
Arditi on benches stiff and cold,
Pride of their country stiff and cold,
Bristly faces, ***** hides —
Infantry marches, Arditi rides.
Grey, cold, bitter, sullen ride —
To splintered pines on the Grappa side
At Asalone, where the truck-load died.
4.2k
Three friends in a row
On a windswept hill there
Had they but eyes to see
It’s a spectacle rare.
Three friends in a row
on a former plantation.
Three soldiers confined here
just for the duration.
It was Robert Lee’s land
Before terrible war
Made it a plantation
Like none was before.
There are soldiers and sergeants,
Many heroes, few saints.
Some are here since Antietam
since the war between States.
Marse Robert’s plantation
takes the proud and the few.
No serfs and no slaves,
only freeborn and true.
Dec 15, 2011
Dec 15, 2011 at 8:15 PM UTC
The sad thing is
I could have justified my instruction
with the simplest of reasons.
I would not have asked
a harmful or a wicked task of him
and I could have explained that
with perfect clarity.
But in the instant that he asked 'Why?'
my patience failed
and I said, 'Because I told you to.'
The implied threat was sufficient
and the task was done, satisfactorily.
If I had only known
that I would become one in a long line
planting furrow after furrow of bitter seeds
in this young man's head,
each of which would grow
into the toxic blossom of blind obedience
I would have checked myself that day.
But I did not.
And any inquest worth its salt
would line me up beside him,
beside parents, teachers, priests,
drill sergeants, generals, presidents
A line of dominoes
aimed remorselessly
at a smiling young woman with a placard
in a park, in Istanbul.
Jun 6, 2013
Jun 6, 2013 at 8:25 AM UTC
Symphonic
My fist was first five fingers
Flowing Favonian into the palm of my radiant mother
As cheeky as a sprite, soon I revelled in the
Crisp light of the fridge and all its chilled visitors,
A skin-deep draft last week, a raging harmattan yesterday,
Barren among the fruitless lands of Mesopotamia.
Crawling, my sergeants and I led the way through our childhood fantasies.
Ali Baba's fortress, the ruins of Babylon, and up to the lately perturbed Euphrates.
I dropped my automatic rifle,
hurriedly snatched it up in the unforgiving desolate,
just in time to
narrowly dodge the absent onslaught of enemy gunfire
Only to witness a serpentine strike and an explosive splash
Of metal violating my infantile hand, a hand that was trusted and was caressed
Now merely a bludgeon to satisfy the steel-clawed slash of the shrapnel
A buffer to the skin of my wide-eyed physiognomy.
Waking up in the loose sheets of a completely unremarkable beige bed,
With the deoxygenated breath of the novice surgeon liquidizing in my veins,
It was almost too much to handle (if you'll pardon my pun).
These days it is
The good hand with which I
Uncork, pour, and serve.
It's with the utilizable limb with which I
Ignite, shift, and steer.
It's with my brain that I
seethe
And it's with my stump
That I knock.
Sep 24, 2014
Sep 24, 2014 at 12:16 AM UTC
Here's the story told to me about our glorious infantry.
Louts,rapscallions,friends battalions
arm in arm and full of glee
marching off to join the infantry.
In the rear lines drinking fine wines,hock,moselle,some burgundy
and some drinking ginseng flavoured tea from some far flung idea of Empire
while only half a mile along the road the whole world was on fire,
were the fat arsed generals with their horses, waiting on their second courses,
crepes and franzipans and to a man they didn't care that the war was waiting there,
'let the ******** wait',they'd say,
after all that was the gentlemanly way.
The bullets striped us left to right and falling into our own falling ***** we'd call for mum and dad
aye lads
aye lads
war is bad
but for the buggers at the rear who never so much as once came near the sound of a gun,
war was fun a chance to socialise,
society is full of lies and leaders they were not.
But death's got their number on his shell,they'll soon be joining us in hell,
so ****** them and sod the lot
were in a spot,we'll not get home,splintered bone and mangled limb and corporal thinks it's still a sin to swear
well ****** him as well,we no longer care.
As we share a final smoke,Johnny tells his favourite joke about three generals and some place called,but I forget the punch line as the time has come for one more bullet,one more gun and silence.
In Croydon,Roydon and North of Watford Gap,families are spoon fed some wholesome krap from drip fed Sergeants,battle,shield and argent,honour King and all the other little things that the senselessness of death brings home.
Let them keep their fields filled full with glory,we know the ***** **** filled story,
war is bad
war is bad
I'm glad that I cant fight no more.
Jul 25, 2013
Jul 25, 2013 at 9:32 AM UTC
tired autonomies, days keep on flailin', seizin'; darlin', I'd
be bolder if only I'd tried. makin' plans to abandon 'em,
the dark reach and tenements of those towers of regret for
all of my inactivity or self-targeted hostility, and those dreams
meant everything to me until awakening into morning hours
or afternoon, more likely, with the dull grip of uncertainty
shudderin' all the windowpanes back and forth lightly, oh
so **** delicately, and I think about you as soon as I've
drawn up ambition to make any kind of move, the pieces of
the vast puzzle I've called your mind for the better part of
the calendar dates I've drawn up into fifteen gauge shells of
the ghosts of my past, those that follow my footprints in evenings,
the pools of aluminium meltings and lemon extractions
to constrict the summer hours, convictions that bleach out
all other chances of hope.
so relinquish your grip on my red and unfolding heart I've
been beating the syllables of your name with, and abusing
the page width of headspace, serving only to alienate the
froth on the shoreline of daring chances: I'd have given
my all at the sight of romance, but I sit here with no
glimpse of intention from you; the crestfalls I subject myself
to, not for the sake of lack of want, but full lack of what
I'd do if I called and asked where you wanted to go at
three a.m. or five p.m., or any other canonical time of
the day; I'd spend any of 'em with you, and I'd
ask, but I'm somewhat sure you're not that into whatever I
could mean, or whatever my words do seem to transcribe themselves
upon contact with your mind, so keep on existing and I
will do the same.
[or, anyway, at least I'll try]
Apr 15, 2013
Apr 15, 2013 at 5:27 AM UTC
Auntie said
don’t go
too far away
with the mutt
I need to know
where you are
and so you
and the mutt
went down
the metal stairway
and off
into the barrack grounds
at Aldershot
keeping close
to the places
that your aunt
could see you from
and you could hear
soldiers marching
on the parade ground
and the sergeants
bellowing their orders
to the marching troops
and you sensed
the cold air
and frost
on the ground
as you walked
and the mutt sniffed
the earth
and you said
come on mutt
let’s go for a run
and off you went
and the mutt followed
and overtook you
its tail wagging
its eyes large
and brown
like pools of chocolate
and lucid like mud
and you raced him
as far as you could
then you had to stop
for breath
and the mutt
stopped too
and looked back at you
its tongue hanging
from the corner
of its mouth
and you looked over
to where your aunt lived
and realised
she wouldn’t
be able to see you
from where you were
and the dog didn’t care
and the air
was chilling
your lungs
and your tongue hung
in the corner
of your little boy mouth
and the soldiers marched
and marched
and you stood watching
bent over
with your hands
on your knees
and big black birds
called out from the trees.
Oct 29, 2012
Oct 29, 2012 at 3:30 PM UTC
it is all unknown
the sword and the stone
the alchemist and the butcher
surrounding each other in daylight’s mist
the embrace of moisture
the soft hue of summer
the solstice luster
starstruck teenagers with feelings undiscovered
embrace the aperture of the morning’s disarmament
i am spent and satiated by your touch
all forms of punishment are no longer enough
come and break my heart a thousand times
i am reminded of a simple line of poetry
the way the spring becomes its own harmony
dervishes twirl on the dusty sand
the cracked desert in your hand
i am nothing but thine own command
so send me where you think i belong
all our passages are free of charge
the safety of noah’s ark
the next boat that hits the mark
will surely be knighted by the oligarch
somebody else took over my mind
and now i can’t find the essence of the time
you are immaculate in your dissension
i am hesitant and full of suspicion
dimly lit streets filled with the smell of sulphur
the fumes make you gasp
and clench your throat in defensive tension
give me a minute and i’ll release this declension
ascension is inevitable
select the inexplicable feelings
and sever your attachment to that which lingers
in hurried anticipation
our actions are mere limitations
strong as stars our abstract applications
the serpent hour approaches
without a warning
i am turning inside out
please retract your fangs so i can kiss you
let me hold your head and whisper kindness
lovers need each other’s minds
to hear the sounds of breaking hearts
long for the burning bush to crash through your wall
long ago the night fall came and went
scents of longing in the shadows hidden
rid me of these western rhythms
serve your sentence in the police academy
articulate the addicts in their gatherings
of community based infrastructures
stark against the walls of cinnamon
so many classes that are uncommonly disparaging
the drill sergeants are still just as dangerous
Jan 3, 2017
Jan 3, 2017 at 2:10 PM UTC
The sirens and the sergeants dont seem to mean a thing,
Take my hand, show me the way, we are the children that fell from grace,
we are the children that can't be saved.
One more nail in the coffin, one more foot in the grave,
One more time I'm on my knees as I try to walk away from your grave.
But this has got the best of me, and I can't seem to sleep,
I've come to realise that it's not because you're not with me, it's because your ghost never leaves.
Everything I've loved became everything I lost
Oct 5, 2016
Oct 5, 2016 at 3:15 AM UTC
Now high and dry, well away from
***** being kicked, orders being fired by
Sergeants in habits and the melancholy of misled minds,
I sit alone on the desk which floats supreme over life's listless limits.
A momentary meander allows for ripe reflection,
Its sharp spasm hampering heavy hands.
Abandoning the tangle of thoughts,
A loose leaf was plucked from the ream,
The quill now dipped in the bobbing black bottle.
Smudges and streaks stroke the initial lines,
Blotted out in choked coughs.
A quickening of the rapid's pace cleared the throat,
Allowing the quill to quell the heart's hinderance.
Stanzas threaded unabatedly over man's baseness on the blanched leaf.
The nightmare nine-metre vomiting verge approached fast.
I clinched the closing couplet
Afore etching the endangered ink on the etherised skin of my hand.
Holding on fiercely now to the desk which destroyed my drudgery,
Ready now to have my lungs filled to the brim with society’s sap.
Prior to the old soul taking its final breath,
Two bleeding and blessed eyes cast down to the bottom of the aquatic monster
Witnessed the immortality of black ink intact
Lifting up its lover leaf
Into the high heavens above,
Where man and rust cannot corrupt.
Sep 16, 2016
Sep 16, 2016 at 6:28 AM UTC
Standing in the dewy grass
I hope and pray that they will pass
But they may not
'stead come to stay
I know not
If I die this day
The Redcoats come a thousand strong
their battle line is wide and long
What's ordained
I can not say
I know not
If I die this day
We stand apart but look across
to the other line and toss
a look of nervousness
then pray
I know not
If I die this day
Commanders yell, Commanders bark
their orders all along the park
but then a shot rings out and in
the confusion, it begins
Standing 'cross an open field
neither of our lines will yield
one line of blue
the other gray
I know not
if I die this day
Often seems we've fought in vain
and 'long the march have caused much pain
I've left good comrades
along the way
I know not
If I die this day
My brother serves 'neath Mile's Flag
I serve beneath a diff'rent rag
and if I **** him
what's to say
I know not
If we'll die this day
Commanders bark, Commanders yell
and call us to the gates of hell
then all at once morn's silence splits
as men are shredded, torn to bits
My craft rocks gently through the sea
and towards the beach on which I'll be
to face a wall
and see Death play
I do think
I may die this day
"Keep your heads down" Sergeants call
as on us squalls of lead rain fall
some will succumb
and fall away
I do think
I may die this day
As we close on norman sand
to bear the brunt of Swastic hand
around me tough men
kneel and pray
I think that
I may die this day
Commanders shout, Commanders scream
and seconds turn to awful dream
then a bump and ramp unfolds
for many luck no longer holds
Desert sand fills hair and ears
It seems I've been at this for years
It's over now fore
Death holds sway
I know that
I will die this day
The day was normal as it could
we took precautions as we should
but life's one
IED away
I know that
I will die this day
Soon I'll be with others who
have given up their own lives too
for keeping our
home country's way
I know that
I will die this day
And through these fading eyes of mine
I see generations who've crossed that line
and as colors
fade to gray
I know that
I will die this day
All I feel are grains of sand
that arid winds wash 'cross my hands
what happens next
who's to say
I know now that
I die this day.
Feb 28, 2015
Feb 28, 2015 at 1:54 PM UTC
The guns have fallen silent
Nothing but peace all around
Then the men came marching in
They know they're on familiar ground
Left right left heads held high
Marching onward filled with pride
Commands not sought none were given
Tears in their eyes hard to hide
Officers marched beside their men
Corporals and sergeants marched as well
They marched away from where they died
Marched away from a living hell
Now they will march for ever more
For soldiers they will always be
And on Remembrance Day they'll say
Those people there are remembering me.
Sep 18, 2011
Sep 18, 2011 at 12:37 AM UTC
*The crying sky with heavy afternoon crystal
drops of heartache tickling
sweetgrass mingled with newfound sunshine
With piedmont wine forming perfect pools ,
ushering streams to awaiting seas
A place to bathe for romantics like me
A home for springtide antics ,
for polka dot bullfrogs , singing daisies ,
red grass blankets and apple tree sergeants
Windemere spiderlings , crooning wood larks ,
hereford dancers crossing purple clover parks* ..
Apr 20, 2017
Apr 20, 2017 at 6:59 PM UTC
voice is breath dressed in sound
with rusted waves of heaviness
denser than a fiction
an indefinite amount of suspense
my fingers bled and i am led back to you
home is in my head
i always knew that you were truthful
you are numinous, that is duly noted
i was promoted for fortitude and temperance
i am deliverance sending tolerance back to you
droopy eyes remind the skies of fire
give me sunlight and i’ll show you desire
for love is a burning flame
and dreams are escapades
i see the name written in your flesh
bless this existence with governing harmony
those drill sergeants aren’t bothering you
so part the waters from east to west
lest we fester forever in the morning’s seances
you dance like blossoms upon hundreds of leaves
red eyes cast fingerprints upon these trees
i see you dancing amongst the flowers
i hear you chanting every single hour
invoking plumbs and apricots
the shiny parts that we disassociate
we hesitate to ready our shadows
then we go and wear them to bed
but first we must brush our teeth
while deep asleep i feel your feet rubbing mine
and lions in the dawn dream our longing into song
Nov 8, 2018
Nov 8, 2018 at 12:32 PM UTC
Scrambled Eggs in Rainwater
Field Medical Service School
Shivering in the rain, up in the hills
Of Sunny Southern California
Kerosene cookers and their gust-blown smoke
Squid-wet Corpsmen in flying wet slickers
Mess kits held out to sullen, cursing cooks
Slam-slopping glops of sausages and eggs
Cold coffee in aluminum canteen cups
No cover, no shelter for floating food
Or for sergeants bellowing in the dark –
And we laughed through it all, for we were young
Nov 6, 2016
Nov 6, 2016 at 9:29 AM UTC
Bring forth the unknown .. The sweltering night , the call of the artillery round .. The tragedy of mans frailty , calculated in misery and pooling blood , the cry from the field of battle , the drowned upon the merciless shore .. Inveigh the opposing force , the ground beneath their cannon ,
the opening glint of Sun o'er the beachhead by morning tide .. To the sacrificial American warriors of antiquity , may the ghost of Sergeants and Field Lieutenant survey and secure our safe passage by the morrow ...
Mar 24, 2016
Mar 24, 2016 at 8:03 PM UTC
The whistle blows to sound the charge
and over the top they bustle and barge,
covered from head to toe in mud
and soon tainted with flesh and blood.
Up the ladder with slippery rungs,
a scream of rage from terror filled lungs,
adrenalin coursing through every vein
with the fear of not coming back again.
Knee-deep mud ******* boots from feet,
tangled in barbed wire, feel a blast of heat
as a shell explodes just off to the right,
leaving in its wake such a dreadful sight.
Bullets whining and whizzing by
calling the names of those who must die,
screams for help from men in distress,
their lives torn apart in the horrible mess.
Distant machine-gun fire from a bunker,
shells and grenades exploding like thunder.
Looking for shelter to weather the storm
and praying he won't come to any harm,
a private, no more than twenty years old,
who joined the forces, feeling gallant and bold,
now shaking with shock and confused disbelief,
just stumbling and mumbling in mortified grief.
His heart skips a beat; his eyes open wide,
a smoky shell crater; a place to hide.
He dives down, into the shattered remains
of fathers and sons without any names.
The bile is rising along with his fear
as he senses his breaking point is quite near,
alone in a world of death and destruction,
ducking down and beseeching redemption.
A boom to the left, the ground heaves and shakes
and that final shell is the shock that breaks,
as a scream wells up from deep down inside
that is far too hysterical; too terrified to hide.
Breaking right through the walls within
and carried aloft on cacophonous din,
eyes squeezed shut to block out the sight
as he enters a world of eternal night.
The whistle blows to signal retreat
and men bathed in death are now on their feet,
running and slipping on the lives of their friends,
aware that each heartbeat could yield a dead end.
From the crater he watches with a vacant stare,
he's no longer afraid for he's no longer there.
Snuggling deep into his mother's embrace
as he gazes up into her sweet smiling face.
Curling up into a fetal ball,
he doesn't register the Sergeants call.
He's lifted and carried to be safe from harm,
saved by his friends; his brothers in arms.
*
Written by Darren Scanlon, 6th June 2014.
Revised 23rd July 2015.
©2015 Darren Scanlon. All rights reserved.
Jul 24, 2015
Jul 24, 2015 at 10:00 AM UTC
Quiet evening on the porch . Explosions in the distance , the soldiers are getting small , incoming ! Attention subjugated from intense light to the west ! It's storming in Alabama tonight ! I'm sure it is ! The insects , mesmerized by porch light , are growing in numbers , catapulted East by violent winds , the prequel to our own battle with Thor and his army ! An entire Division , preceded by artillery , wave after wave ! Refugees have flooded the screen in rear combat operations tonight , confused , terrified faces are flashing before my very eyes ! Sergeants are screaming commands on both sides of the road as the skirmish recedes ! Rain ... Puddles .. At six a.m. as the fog begins to lift , siren of whippoorwills , ambulances rush forward to gather the dead , the toy soldiers have bled all they can ..Their really just plastic anyway ! Play things , hallucinations , flashbacks , whatever word conjures , terminates repetitive mind games , conflict witnessed many years ago , committed to endless replay , delivered by a Summer storm from Alabama last night !
Oct 16, 2015
Oct 16, 2015 at 10:34 AM UTC
We stood,
Auntie's dog Dancer and me,
on the black metal balcony
looking at the soldiers
marching on the parade ground
over the way;
sergeants bellowing
at marching feet
and turned heads.
Dancer wined.
I stared.
Elsie walked past
on edge of the parade ground
looking at the soldiers;
her small face unsmiling,
her eyes peering.
Slowly she climbed
the black metal stairs
up to the balcony.
Dancer turned and growled;
I stood watching her climb.
She was Auntie's friend Milly's
5 year old daughter,
a bit older than I was.
She stood on the top step
and stared at us both:
will he bite?
She said.
No he won't bite,
he just growls,
I said.
She walked towards us gingerly,
her eyes glaring at Dancer,
who looked away
and watched
the soldiers again
through the bars of the balcony.
She stood next to me:
Mum said I can play with you
if I want to,
Elsie said,
but not to get into mischief,
her voice was moany.
I never get into mischief,
I said.
Elsie stared at me.
Mum said you climbed
under one of those gates
back there with your dog,
and was climbing a window
looking at soldiers
in a classroom,
Elsie said
matter of factly.
Who told you?
I said.
Mum
said she heard it
from a sergeant, but never
told your auntie
in case you got into trouble,
Elsie said,
her eyes studying me.
O, yes I remember that,
I said;
what shall we play?
She looked at the balcony,
then the dog, then at me.
Why didn't you tell your auntie?
She said.
Don't like worrying people,
I said.
She looked down
at the parade ground:
the soldiers were falling out
and walking off.
What do you want to play?
I said.
Not sure I want to play
with boys who get
into mischief,
she said,
then she walked away
and down the stairs.
I played
with the dog Dancer
instead.
Jun 28, 2016
Jun 28, 2016 at 2:58 AM UTC
After the departure of the Romans
we were our own bosses again
at war with each other
The sergeants took over
first the peripheral areas
then the middle land
Only behind the mountains
the residents still resist
longing for a king of their own
as once
his sword shone
his sword shines
immovably stuck
in the eyes of the people
dreaming of a peaceful life
a passed-on promise, for once
but unfortunately
the sword has disappeared
Feb 24, 2019
Feb 24, 2019 at 3:37 AM UTC
Auntie said to play
on the black metal balcony
while she gave the flat
a good clean through
Auntie's mutt
was sent out too
and we stood looking out
over the barrack ground
it was a warmish November day
and in the distance
I could hear soldiers marching on gravel
and sergeants bellowing at them
the mutt's ears lifted up
and he made a groaning noise
and Milly(Auntie's friend)
with her daughter Elsie
came up the black metal stairs
at the side of the flats
and along towards us
is your auntie at home Benny?
she said
I looked at her
she was wearing a grey dress
and an old brown coat
her daughter Elsie
stared at me unfriendly
yes
I said
she's spring cleaning the place
o maybe I've come
at a bad time
she said
looking at me
shall I go tell her
you're here?
I said
o if you would
she said
so I went in and told Auntie
and she came out with me
O Milly just having a clean around
you want to come in
for a cup of tea and biscuits
Auntie said
o I don't want to disturb you
while you're busy
Milly said
o I can do it later
come on in
I could do with a chat and tea
Auntie said
the daughter pouted
her small lips
and looked at me
with her small eyes
you stay out there
with Benny
her mother said
do I have to?
Elsie said glumly
yes you do
her mother said
and they went in
and shut the door
the mutt lay down
and closed its eyes
I stared at Elsie
want to play a game?
I said
no
she said
and walked away a few paces
and stared out
at the barrack grounds
I've got a ball
we can play catch with
I said
don't want to play catch
she said in a moaning voice
she gazed at me
I was 5 years old yesterday
and you're still 4 years old
so I'm oldest and so choose
what game to play
if I decide to play at all
I'm nearly 5 years old
I said
don't matter none
because I am 5
and you are not
and so I choose what game
she said glaring at me
I sighed softly
ok what game
do you want to play then?
I said eyeing her features
catch
she said
we'll play catch with the ball
so I went to a box
by the front door
(where the mutt
kept its things)
and took out a rubber ball
and showed it to her
it looks chewed
she said
it's the mutt's ball
I said
it's all I have
she frowned and said
is it wet with dog's slime?
no
I said
it's dry now
she gazed at the ball in my hand
is it clean?
sure it is
give it to me
she said
I gave her the ball
and she wiped it
on her green coat
and looked at it
then she stared at me
guess it will have to do
she said moodily
if it goes over the balcony
she said
you'll have to go get it
she added
I looked at her
white ankle socks
and black battered shoes
and hair in ribbons
ok
I said with a smile
but she didn't smile back
soldiers still marched
and sergeants bellowed
and the sky
looked black.
Dec 11, 2015
Dec 11, 2015 at 3:25 AM UTC
These dreams , that I dream are suicidal...
Misleading my world into an unnecessary and into its uncontrollable spin...
The demons that choose to live in , in the depths of my velvet milky skin ,
Steering the batter and the flour with eggs that I've cracked during the sins....
Molding a cake of two tragedies and two worlds closing in....
Hoping if I could reach you, but I rather not leave the bitterness that I'm currently living in...
Only to have my roses dying and singled out in the end....
Emotionless as a man, Caring as a woman...
Let the fall begin....
Falling down into the abysses of my regrets,
Viewing the libraries of once lost ones and the failures I've turned away from...
Dreaming but its more to that...
Sleeping for 5 hours,
But dreaming for years....
Crosses above an eyebrow,
RM, the Chief
Holding the minds & the hearts of 5
Entities , the battle Sergeants
Fight
Fighting until their knuckles dent,
Fight until their hands and feet are covered with the deepest red,
May 11, 2016
May 11, 2016 at 12:04 AM UTC