"skirmishes" poems
After comparing lives with you for years
I see how I’ve been losing: all the while
I’ve met a different gauge of girl from yours.
Grant that, and all the rest makes sense as well:
My mortification at your pushovers,
Your mystification at my fecklessness—
Everything proves we play in separate leagues.
Before, I couldn’t credit your intrigues
Because I thought all girls the same, but yes,
You bag real birds, though they’re from alien covers.
Now I believe your staggering skirmishes
In train, tutorial and telephone booth,
The wife whose husband watched away matches
While she behaved so badly in a bath,
And all the rest who beckon from that world
Described on Sundays only, where to want
Is straightway to be wanted, seek to find,
And no one gets upset or seems to mind
At what you say to them, or what you don’t:
A world where all the nonsense is annulled,
And beauty is accepted slang for yes.
But equally, haven’t you noticed mine?
They have their world, not much compared with yours,
But where they work, and age, and put off men
By being unattractive, or too shy,
Or having morals—anyhow, none give in:
Some of them go quite rigid with disgust
At anything but marriage: that’s all lust
And so not worth considering; they begin
Fetching your hat, so that you have to lie
Till everything’s confused: you mine away
For months, both of you, till the collapse comes
Into remorse, tears, and wondering why
You ever start such boring barren games
—But there, don’t mind my saeva indignatio:
I’m happier now I’ve got things clear, although
It’s strange we never meet each other’s sort:
There should be equal chances, I’d’ve thought.
Must finish now. One day perhaps I’ll know
What makes you be so lucky in your ratio
—One of those ‘more things’, could it be? Horatio.
3k
Colours, bright and blazing
Colours, dark and drab
Colours all around us
Colours we can grab
Wear your colours proudly
In almost all you do
But, be careful with your colours
Others have colours too
Black and White
Red and Blue
Orange, Green as well
Blue and Grey
Dark or Light
Colours show and tell
Your colours tell us lots of things
Like which team you support
But, wear your colours carefully
Or you'll end up in court
Colours can cause skirmishes
Colours can cause wars
Colours can cause arguements
Colours break down doors
Wear your colours proudly
No matter what they be
But, A White Hood worn in Harlem
And you'll be hanging from a tree
Colours are religion
Colours are your soul
Colours show your preference
Colours make you whole
I don't know what your colour is
In fact I just don't care
I only know your colours
Let others know you're there
Black and White
Red and Blue
Orange, Green as well
Blue and Grey
Dark or Light
Colours show and tell
Colours push the envelope
Colours blur the lines
Colours make a challenge
Colours show whats mine
Colours make us happy
Colours take away
Colours help us know ourselves
Colours make our day
Wear your colours proudly
Be it red, or black or pink
Yellow, Green or Orange
No matter what folks think
But, wear your colours safely
Wear them and be proud that you are seen
But, be careful what they say because
Remember just what colours mean
This is not written as a warning
I just want you to be proud
Of what colours signify you
Wear them out and wear them loud
Black and White
Red and Blue
Orange, Green as well
Blue and Grey
Dark or Light
Colours show and tell
Feb 7, 2013
Feb 7, 2013 at 6:48 PM UTC
Hot gold runs a winding stream on the inside of a green bowl.
Yellow trickles in a fan figure, scatters a line of skirmishes, spreads a chorus
of dancing girls, performs blazing ochre evolutions, gathers the whole show into
one stream, forgets the past and rolls on.
The sea-mist green of the bowl's bottom is a dark throat of sky crossed by
quarreling forks of umber and ochre and yellow changing faces.
2.5k
Will you stand with me at the water's edge?
As my beats quicken and intensify
Likened to the pounding of war drums
Fuelling the skirmishes within
As my lungs remain obstinate and insatiable
Voraciously consuming every breath till they overlap...
As if the abundant air wasn't enough
As my mind races out in a million different directions
Crestfallen thoughts layered upon angry ideals
Violated principles versus tattered resolutions
Will you stand with me at the water's edge?
And watch me as I choose between
extinguishing the raging fire
that burns in my heart and mind
Or drown.
Feb 4, 2017
Feb 4, 2017 at 2:17 AM UTC
she takes a pull of
her Parliament,
face painted in
in fleeting ochre;
an ancient star dying
far from me.
"*i was alive once and i swore
i glimpsed the storm in
the laughter*"
we write each other's names
on our palms and lovingly watch
the ink fade as we drink from
them.
that was the plan.
plans end the same as the rest of it;
vestigial and resentful in their silence.
you said your grin was
that of a misfit.
i said your grin lent
dimensions the intent
to rip open.
i meant it,
but i said it just to see it.
"...reasons. things can have many..."
stealing smoke from a Parliament,
that old foolish ochre
skirmishes with night,
i remember that i'll remember the hospice stint intimacy fondly
when i splinter infinitely through dimensional rifts in that moment
you howled at the moon with the
earth dangling from your neck.
"*the wild hunt was a horrible
film, but it was our horrible film*"
you didn't even notice me
dissolving into the monolith
and i admire the honesty of that.
we can speculate about what the
next life's masks conceal when
we get there.
Dec 8, 2018
Dec 8, 2018 at 2:01 AM 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
Blood stains have dried,
Battlefield gone silent.
A war has waged,
The peaceful turned violent.
Weapons used and abused,
They litter the ground,
The bodies removed,
Leaving only empty sounds.
A winner. A winner?
Who can win such games?
The blood pain poured out,
Tribute to misguided aims.
The winner lies in who lives,
Who manages to survive.
He that learns to love the war,
Lies on the winning side.
This war was not ordinary,
No quibbling little parts.
This was war of the worst,
That of two bitter hearts.
The battlefield, now in ruin,
Was not always so.
Once it was a field of beauty,
Where life and love did grow.
Slowly, slowly, over time,
The field began to die.
The caring became careless,
Battle beginning with a lie.
Skirmishes and little tussles,
First seemed so ordinary.
But each ended without resolve,
Leaving both sides wary.
Then finally a skirmish broke,
Into what both had feared.
It seemed then the war begun,
The ending quickly neared.
Full fledged attacks, raining down,
Left wounds open and bleeding.
Pain and hatred flowed together,
To watch the love receding.
Tirelessly both sides battled,
Seeming doomed to contend.
Until the day the black notes played,
And one side saw an end.
He saw that she now loved the pain,
Got high on each ****** drop.
He knew that to continue was loss,
That it all must come to stop.
He won the war by losing,
By losing the last of his heart.
He crawled away, clutching scars,
Knowing he must depart.
A winner, winner? Yes indeed,
It is he who can survive.
She lost herself to the blood lust,
And he scarcely saved his life.
I was he who crawled away,
I lost my heart by choosing.
Though scars still remain,
I won the war by losing.
Nov 27, 2013
Nov 27, 2013 at 2:30 PM UTC
About an hour later she slipped
Yuri Andropov into the conversation:
“I have to drop off a blouse at the dry cleaners.”
Suddenly it was May Day &
I’m back in Red Square,
Dwarfed beneath larger than life
Lenin, Engels & Marx mug shots.
Inter-continental ballistic lorry loads
Roll past the reviewing stand, while
Geezer Reds in Ushanka fur hats,
****** on Stoli, reeking of borscht,
Chain-smoke cheap Soviet Belomors.
I share these thoughts, handing
Mrs. Khrushchev the car keys.
Having cowered herself in terror,
Having ducked & covered many
Burial promises & shoe-pound threats,
She gives me a tired babushka smirk.
We are conjugal Cold Warriors,
Both weary now, creeping up on 70,
Skirmishes & brinksmanship behind us.
Tolerant of each other at last;
Lukewarm détente between us.
May 14, 2016
May 14, 2016 at 3:00 PM UTC
World War III was a pity
nuclear destruction
***** and Gomorrah
Babylon the last city
World war; IV, V,VI
skirmishes nitty-gritty
Reduced to rubble,
Land no longer pretty
Boulders and granite
Fire and ash trash
An Unrecognizable planet
Walk on mounds of broken glass
Each day, a little less men strive
Those who managed to survive
Irreversible travesty’s against God
Chanted by men to Stay alive.
Souls Reduced to Unspeakable things
To eat a human being is not as easy as it seems
Humanity in its primitive form Cannibalism
The bell tolls for thee” Dinner bell sings
What length would you go for your kids?
Looking in their hungry eyes first dibs
Carnal nature, tender young flesh
Hunger, starvation, soulless don’t confess
living off the flesh of
The belly of the beast
“Stab it with your stealing knife
But you just can’t **** the beast”
Mouth waters, a banquet feast
Life on the outside filled with decay
Losers never win they just fade away
False promised prayers nothing to say
One more gory battle fire the last mortar
War Ends with One World Order
Martial law rioters reject Curfew in affect
Government laws suspect,
Man fights to the end to defend
Freedom life liberty protect
BLT Webster’s word of the day challenge
March 13, 2025 CURFEW
Curfew refers to a law or order that requires people to be indoors after a certain time at night, as well as to the period of time when such an order or law is in effect it can also be used to refer to a time set by a parent or caregiver at which a child has to be back home after going out
The Phrase
“Never send to know for whom
The bell tolls; it for Thee”
Originated from John Donnie’s meditation 17
and means we are all connected, and the death of any person, even a stranger, is a loss to all of humanity, as we are all part of the same human experience
Ernest Hemingway use the phrase as the title of his novel “For whom the bell tolls”
The phrase can be used as a metaphor to emphasize the interconnectedness of
Humanity and the importance of caring about the events and people even those far away
Inspired song
Hotel California by the Eagles
Mar 13, 2025
Mar 13, 2025 at 8:40 PM UTC
The Miss, Misters and Mrs.,
And the St. Joseph's Sisters,
Made me a Bluejay,
Jay- jaying and soaring
Over Wrens and Robins
Below in five rows.
Teeth marks on Ticondarogas,
Initialed pink rubbers,
Toothpicks and fingers
Solved all those problems.
Sister Lucille showed me Sarnia
On the Neilson Wall Map,
With the Malted Milk,
Crispy Crunch bars staring back.
They looked too delicious,
Her reprimand was contritious,
I'm doing time during recess,
Ninety minutes til lunch.
We stood in a crooked line,
Like a snake, to get marked,
With her drawer a crack open
We'd get a peek at her strap.
Black or red, correctively cold;
Sister Roseangela, we'd heard,
Cried, Quid Pro Quo.
We had football baseball,
And hockey dreams,
Volleyball, basketball,
And funeral teams;
Field Days, Holy Days,
Days needed at home;
Teachers were coaches,
With little time to complain;
But the kids back then
Just weren't the same.
There were skirmishes, fouls,
Strike outs and time outs;
We were sliced white bread,
No rye or whole grain.
We'd march double file
Once a week to the Church,
To genuflect and reflect
At the Stations and Cross.
To confess, get redress,
Display penitent remorse,
Though keeping a secret
From the Confessional box,
A comfort and curse.
Their objective succeeded,
The lessons went deep;
Using the three Rs,
The ABCs, 1, 2, 3s,
To impart and ingraine
How to carry one's cross.
I remember by name
The Miss, Misters and Mrs.
And St. Joseph's Sisters
Who gave their all,
Each day, and always.
They've gone or retired,
But recalled in tranquility
For the life-lessons I admire.
Apr 29, 2017
Apr 29, 2017 at 12:06 PM UTC
No love is given on the surface that doesn't come from within
From out and within
Let souls pierce you
Deep deep and deep
Sleep and set sail on that which spins and doesn't sink
Jump from tree to tree and let words be your leaf
Speak speak and speak
Speak when spoken to or speak to be heard
Her the slight jesters that make you think
Think think and think
The mind is a thing
A weapon a computer
A chip in a computer where hummingbirds and motherboards meet
Meet meet and meet
We seek interaction
Whether daily skirmishes with thy neighborhood or a nuisance on a foot so fleet
Fleet fleet and fleet
Run away from violent objections
Run towards the power to be the strongest version of you
Or what you could be
Be be and be
Be yourself when you speak greet meet and fleet
Act out your soul deep
Jan 11, 2015
Jan 11, 2015 at 1:21 PM UTC
I run for years, I run from fires
And frowns and harsh words and barking dogs
I run to love and away from disenchantment
I rush to judgment and retreat from skirmishes
I run headlong into many arms and bounce from chest to chest.
I fall spinning over cliffs and across boundaries
I swim fervently up tributaries and tumble over falls
The longer I go, the farther and faster I run
Almost as if the distance in itself were an achievement
Still at the end to be moveless, and not one remembers me.
Oct. 15 2010
Oct 15, 2010
Oct 15, 2010 at 9:56 AM UTC
The Captains and the Kings depart
Conflict’s flag descends the mast,
Skirmishes of battle stilled
Recriminations put to past.
A pageantry is in the air
Banners snap to stiff sea breeze,
White dust stirs as multitudes
Retreat in legions to the seas.
War retreats to motes of peace
Lost and honoured are deceased,
Weary troops are homeward bound
With mortal sins repealed by priest.
A stillness on the fields of mud
Skyward points artillery’s snout,
Cordite’s stink conceals the blood
Of legends made in battle’s route.
A stillness in the ringing ears
As corporals wend their weary way
To embarkation’s khaki fleet
Which wallows short in ocean sway.
A weariness of bone and limb
Bloodshot eyes glaze over now
Trudging to Creation’s Hymn
Juxtaposed by war... somehow?
Whitecaps on the ocean spray
The Captains and the Kings depart,
Repatriation’s cloak descends
To wrap war’s futile, cold, black heart.
Marshalg
Victoria Park Tunnel
9 September 2011
Sep 8, 2011
Sep 8, 2011 at 11:20 PM UTC
Oh It started quietly
Lines crossed, back and forth
Tempers frayed, voices raised
Then came the skirmishes
A few at dawn, more at night fall
Whilst the day was full of exchanges
In the days that followed it became more intense
Violent clashes and casualties
No more warnings, full on ramming
Clear and defined as if at the wheel of a ship
Collisions and screaming, then came the peace keepers
Dressed in geeen and red to try and calm the situation
But to no avail
For only when the last toy or the last mince pie was bought
Then only then on December 24th was the battle of Christmas over
An eerie truce then held until haloween.
Dec 22, 2013
Dec 22, 2013 at 9:26 AM UTC
I will love you after-wars
I will love you before-wars
I will love you during-wars
7th grade: ESL class...
I thought afterwards was “after-wars”
it wasn't until I took English 101 that I learned the proper spelling/meaning of this word
meanwhile I constructed a whole theory as to the origin/definition of such word:
such word according to the carlito's little immigrant dictionary is used to describe that time in which one is fatigued by so many battles, fights, skirmishes, attacks, abuse... and begins to see and feel all things around in a slow but certain process of apacigüe
that very moment in which one feels the cool air caressing each wound, each bitter memory.
Like a teaspoon full of honey after coughing to the point of bleeding.
The moment in which the universe seems to have mercy of/on the oppressed: when grandma's hoarse singing and laughter suddenly emanated and filled our hearts with a sense of peace after-wars:
Guadalajara en un llano
Mexico en una laguna
me he de comer esa tuna
aunque me espine la mano
during-wars: our time, in the middle of societal scrutiny. See? They don't seem to care much at sight, yet their thoughts of exclusion tend to disembowel us, hang us in public and use us as examples of what can happen when you bend or brake the rules. Yet it is not hate but love that can save us... and them. You and I, by practicing this horrendous act of resistance called “amor” are in fact saving the world, or at least diminishing the painful moments.
And one day, I promise you we will touch the stars... after-wars.
Jan 19, 2014
Jan 19, 2014 at 3:26 AM UTC
I'm in my place.
A tiny space I've claimed for myself.
Though I share this spot,
right now it's mine.
With the door latched shut,
I leave the disorderly world,
just an arm-span away.
In my makeshift asylum,
I still hear calls from the outside.
Beckoning and inviting me into
the unrelenting foray...
Pointless skirmishes,
and mistimed altercations.
When all I want is...
To be alone; be empty
and devoid of unruly thoughts in my husk.
Because in the rare silence,
I desperately seek peace.
Peace with my past.
Peace with myself.
So I don't eat myself whole.
Because my world still needs me.
Aug 21, 2017
Aug 21, 2017 at 8:03 AM UTC
Keeping watch all along the battlements of the heart and mind
solitude is hard won, and its defence sees many skirmishes .
But sooner than you would think this singular advantage is yours,
and you arrived and travel this road reaping an eternity of promises.
Mar 26, 2016
Mar 26, 2016 at 5:55 AM UTC
That iridescent image I had known for years
seen it in various guises and learnt its form by heart
know its poetry from the classics under Grecian lights
and when it appeared this time I delve to find its mind
But it was for Papa that the birth of reason grew
in a missive unspoken and a call enveloped later unfurled
a whisper rose that urged, look after for me, I will soon be gone
a king had spoken perchance to a chosen knight now obliged to obey
the ode of times and fleeting sighing sights of the light-footed
in rays of play the child of our times skips boundarys and forts
maidens sing stories and the gallant forays in skirmishes abound
a ringing promise hangs as a willow in wisp claims legacy unknown
tempest swirls and sound in fury rules in chagrin and ardour
a gamekeeper sees a ***** traipsing the trails of Tigers and lions
the tipsy gypsy hears neither the troubadour nor the rites of Templars
a mind envisaged was the shrunken bulb of shrubs and alien foliage
Be it not a dirge or condemnations of seducing Westering gales
banquets laid for differing tastes and jesters jest for mirth and frolics
a wizened once reached out in wordless touch, a promise sailed forth
In deep blue sea a mindful dolphin far from home turns and swims away......
Jul 16, 2019
Jul 16, 2019 at 6:33 AM UTC
none left behind except the final few
who dragging feet had given in to fear
and felt the cold now in the still dark air
there was no doubt but that each of them knew
no help would come not even what was due
since out beyond stood no one who would care
about such folk and none with heart to spare
for such as perish in cold morning dew
now liberation is the glory word
for when the yoke is taken off our backs
but that is not what happened on that night
the actual story’s complex and absurd
involving battles skirmishes and tax
with weeping loss of kindred truth and right
Dec 5, 2011
Dec 5, 2011 at 3:49 PM UTC
You've forgotten why you lost contact with your closest friend but you haven’t forgotten the days you invited him over to play video games and instead conducted two-man airsoft skirmishes in the forest behind your house
nor have you forgotten the short films you created, in which you portrayed a murderous Bosnian chef who cooked toxic meals, and he played the fourth-wall-breaking cameraman who hurled plastic bananas at your head as you ran through your unscripted spiel.
You still can't forget the weekends you’d bike to his house to point and cackle at comedy television, nor the nighttime drives during which you two would talk about where you wished to be in ten years: he in a log cabin nestled in a Finnish forest, you somewhere in France.
The younger you believed you’d grow alongside him and build those dreams.
Now you hope you’ll one day find him sweeping through the Finnish glades and he’ll ask you to walk with him.
Jun 22, 2017
Jun 22, 2017 at 5:28 PM UTC
may i ask? since when did you not like here
and since when did you cry on a new year
didn't we swear to always bury our feet
until the skirmishes of the day descends?
you saw all our pipe dreams and hopes
even under the darkest sky and the cold weather
but why have you lost them under the blinding rays?
our world was only of the sweetest scent
was only of the most beautiful sunlight
and was only of the kindest critters and souls.
they left and they were meant to
may it be in this lifetime or not
it's not anyone's fault
and no one deserves the blame.
should you not drown yourself
in the salt water, where it doesn't belong
instead face up the sky
until the storm calms
and the sun comes
and we shall repeat
until our time comes
Dec 31, 2018
Dec 31, 2018 at 1:24 PM 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
We'd thought the war was over
The major battle and
All the petty skirmishes
We'd seen the dead and wounded
The hollow eyes of our peoples
The gauntness of those who remained
What good was land won
If there were none left to play in it?
New agreements were forged
Treaties signed and hands clasped
Our homes were being built again
Each brick laid with hope
Each structure erected faithfully
Laughter sounded in the fields
None were hungry or left in the cold
It was peace, hard won, well deserved.
And yet in our midst you'd waited
Lain quietly in your sheep's wool
Quietly sharpening your weapons
And dripping your poison in the right ears
In the light of day you hid in plain sight
Biding your time and counting the days
Waiting for the greater victory
Of toppling a flourishing city.
I hope your knives are sharp
For when they're turned on you
I hope your aim is true
For we won't miss our shot
I hope your words seemed sweet
So your defeat is all the more bitter
I hope you remember this last breath
Because we have been pushed past mercy.
May 6, 2016
May 6, 2016 at 9:53 PM UTC
dirt clods, actually
there were few stones
in the creek that separated
their apartments from ours
a creek, and income gap even we,
barely double digits old, could see
as clearly as the stream
between our worlds
in our battles, I missed
on purpose, as did most
of the Manor marines--never
did a clod hit me
our general, Rex, connected often
inviting obscenities from our opponents
but never did they cross the creek
if they had, it would have been
for naught, for we had won the war
before the skirmishes began
our pool, tennis courts, and club
were the arsenals that gave us the edge
and the Stuart Manor soldiers knew this
but chunked the dirt valiantly
all the same
Mar 9, 2016
Mar 9, 2016 at 9:52 AM UTC
On a foggy dawn, as the socks were drawn,
The toes prepared for battle.
The pinky declared, with lint in his hair,
“We’ll rattle those phalanges’ cattle!”
Big Toe led the charge with mighty arch,
And Second Toe braced his shield.
They clashed in glee on the knobby sea
Of the wrinkly battlefield.
The bunions bellowed, the corns would cry,
While calluses thickened their skins,
And nails like blades in jagged shades
Clattered with fearsome grins.
Then Little Piggy, with shrill ******
Let loose a mighty squeal:
“I’ve had enough, your stench is rough-
Our truce, let’s make it real!”
So Big Toe sighed and put down his pride,
And Second Toe did too.
The toes all hugged (though they all still bugged),
As feet so often do.
And thus it went, till the socks were spent,
And shoes enclosed their truce.
No more they’d fight in the stinky night-
They’d save it for when they’re loose.
Apr 5, 2025
Apr 5, 2025 at 10:19 AM UTC