"sniper" poems
I heard the bullets scream
Smashed by the moment
Silence as the pin dropped
His head had hit the pavement
****** in the window
Blood spattered wall
Brother taken before me
Intrepid moment takes us all
Held his hand within mine
Closed his open eyes
Angered by the second
Said my final goodbyes
Bombing in the distance
Death cuts through the air
War is such a *****
and life isn't fair
Ribbons fill the trees
Markers field the green
Memories not forgotten
Brothers forever seen
Nov 11, 2014
Nov 11, 2014 at 1:44 AM UTC
He filled his week bag
with quick picks from the commissary
cover blades and skull cap
canned goods and half stated pearl
liquor bills and bleeders
for the flight of weary
Into the ****** bunks
of the western front
past sivana and nurture sage
past the pomp and ceremony
out of robes and into jumpers
and casings
and masks of gas
Light infantry and yelling men
muscled and scorned
fly boys high in 3 wing flight
mounted gunners filling the night
in hawkers and packards
and scabbard chape
Tarrant tabers and camels
dodge the vicker gun
skeleton hands grease the mill trap
carnage makers mark the rhineland
(buried in bunkers and pile bags and earth pack)
Trench helmets and metal back
under machine fire
minefields burn in muzzle and coil
deep in the shadows
and shrapnel and spear
the razor wire
and dead cold despair
Slouch hats and burning rats
kerosene lamps and droopers
the soldier stares down
the broken lines and limbs
a ****** holds steady
(shelved at a distance)
on ripped and rolled pipe and beam
It was an all in end game
a grapple for the ages;
*** in the fokker pursuit
over rolling hills and fallen comrades
into the bishop bullet
(and sporadic cheer)
which sealed the deal
in an empty field
off the brae corbie road
Jan 8, 2017
Jan 8, 2017 at 6:50 PM UTC
We marched to the words of "We Shall Overcome"
courting justice to walk at our side,
seared into memory with the heat of sun
brothers and sisters, arms linked one to one
beneath that day star's unblinking eye,
we marched to the words, "We Shall Overcome."
We swore an oath to forego the gun,
to carry only freedom's cry
beneath the impassive afternoon sun,
through bludgeon and cudgel one by one,
each truncheon summoning others to rise,
to join in the words "We Shall Overcome."
As we embraced, the marching done,
a crosshairs trained a sniper’s eye
to wrench malice from the indifferent sun
to hew a path in blood and bone,
to rend flesh
and a rasping
fatal sigh . . .
in the fading caress of the afternoon sun.
Beneath the eternal arc of the sun,
again we will muster side by side,
a sanctified chorus, whose song will be sung,
let our marching echo...
"We Shall Overcome.”
Copyright © 2018 Gary Brocks
Conceived after visiting the LORRAINE HOTEL (Memphis, Tennessee), the site of the assassination of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., Thursday, 4 April 1968.
In 1991 the NATIONAL CIVIL RIGHTS MUSEUM at the LORRAINE HOTEL was opened to the public.
"We Shall Overcome”, an anthem, title and refrain, of the American Civil Rights Movement of the mid 20th century.
Aug 26, 2018
Aug 26, 2018 at 4:18 AM UTC
the lovesick little ******
wears a bandaid on her trigger finger
and bites her split lip
while aiming.
she is trying to go higher
past the tree line
and figure out just where to aim.
she points, & shoots.
Nov 15, 2015
Nov 15, 2015 at 5:54 AM UTC
me and gaming
I sit down the hard day of work and lead is behind me now. Sit in my throne and grab my controller. I get on the war zone with my gun in my hand 20 vs 1
I put my mic on. the rules to the game 1 life 20 vs 20 error players lost. Just what i was hoping for.
"There are 20 of you, and only one of me yo... ""
"you gonna give up noob?"
"You didn't let me finish, you should've brought more players."
Then the blood bath starts as bullets and bolts fly past my head in a symphony of violence
and in the slit second when the strings break and they must replace them I emerge from my cover “one shot one **** thats all you got” not time to waste I run and gun taken 'em out with a head shot. Only got five its time to reload. next I hear a tic but no tok look to my left and what do I see glowing blue light slowly creeping towards me no i can’t be. I make a run for it straight for a cave with my heart racing next to me, cant find the others stating to get scared. wait up there guess who I see a ******* ****** waiting for me. he has yet to see me so lets take advantage of this. I take out my pistol aim for the guy and let his brains reach for the sky. but do to my carelessness I step on the only mine and it was game over. I bow my head in shame look at my screen and think.
well off to Minecraft.
were the everything is a block and I’m a king and control my destiny and by a swing of my hand I can destroy and break anything i wish but also with that swing I can create build and make master peaces. And as I’m claiming the Hill Of Sorrow where my hell lives I take a leap of faith and dive straight into the belly of the beast with my sword in hand and armor that shines with the wrath of one thousand white hot blinding suns of hateful furry. all i wish is one thing to get my **** back from last time i was here. I charge and get my left foot wet or should i see get it set on fire because of the lava river i missed.......FFFFFFFFFUUUUUUUUUUUUU.
well off to soul caliber.
Oct 17, 2013
Oct 17, 2013 at 8:25 AM UTC
"...FRESHER FIELDS THAN FLANDERS..."
Christ! Even the Son
of God can get it wrong!
Time his Second Coming
to end up in WW1.
To us he looked like one of the 'Un!
To the 'Un he was one of us.
Both sides let him
have it.
Him who had come
to die for us
and by God
He did.
Hung on the barbed wire
for days on end
we all thinking will it
never end.
Crying for His Father
getting on our ****** nerves.
Some say they saw him
at the Somme
some say at Crucifix Corner
"...forgive them for they know not..."
it went on and on
'...what they've done."
But I had by gum!
I pitied the poor ******
Crawled out under
****** fire.
Put my last ciggie
between his lips
made of nothing but
tea leaves....liquorice...treacle.
"Thanks mate.!" he gasped
with his last breath
turning into young Tommy
Smith at His Death.
A right good lad I knew
from Hudersfield.
Shell shocked
they said I was.
I wasn't.
All men are the Son
of God as it happens.
Even a dead 'Un is one.
The Son of God is forever
getting it wrong.
Christ! Will He ever
learn.
Timing His next Coming
to land up in WW11.
Other Wars
waiting in the wings
for Him
to come again.
Wish He would just
give up on us.
He's of no ****** use
whatsoever.
Death is a better
friend.
Survival as I know
is Hell.
May 1, 2018
May 1, 2018 at 6:52 AM UTC
"...FRESHER FIELDS THAN FLANDERS..."
Christ! Even the Son
of God can get it wrong!
Time his Second Coming
to end up in WW1.
To us he looked like one of the 'Un!
To the 'Un he was one of us.
Both sides let him
have it.
Him who had come
to die for us
and by God
He did.
Hung on the barbed wire
for days on end
we all thinking will it
never end.
Crying for His Father
getting on our ****** nerves.
Some say they saw him
at the Somme
some say at Crucifix Corner
"...forgive them for they know not..."
it went on and on
'...what they've done."
But I had by gum!
I pitied the poor ******
Crawled out under
****** fire.
Put my last ciggie
between his lips
made of nothing but
tea leaves....liquorice...treacle.
"Thanks mate.!" he gasped
with his last breath
turning into young Tommy
Smith at His Death.
A right good lad I knew
from Hudersfield.
Shell shocked
they said I was.
I wasn't.
All men are the Son
of God as it happens.
Even a dead 'Un is one.
The Son of God is forever
getting it wrong.
Christ! Will He ever
learn.
Timing His next Coming
to land up in WW11.
Other Wars
waiting in the wings
for Him
to come again.
Wish He would just
give up on us.
He's of no ****** use
whatsoever.
Death is a better
friend.
Survival as I know
is Hell.
***
***
"...FRESHER FIELDS THAN FLANDERS..." is the last line of a Preface that Wilfred Owen intended for his book.
Was first going to write a sci-fi thing with the Saviour coming down at just the wrong time. But as I wrote I remembered an old man I used to look after who would tell me about his WW11 experiences and of his grand dad's tales from WW1 so that it ended up as a mixture of the real and the unreal in the surreal situation of war and all it entails.
Nov 10, 2018
Nov 10, 2018 at 4:13 PM UTC
*Dust on the ledge, before me, magnified
Smell of gun oil in my nostrils and cramp in the calves
The boredom of the wait intensifies,
Stale air in my loft is full of must
With the failing light I’m grateful it is almost time to stand down.
Through the cross hair sprints a target
An ordinary, everyday, running target,
I know not who this target is,
I know not why it runs across my sights,
But because it is, where it is,
It becomes my enemy.
In a microcosm of time
the loud bang alters things forever.
The buck of the rifle’s recoil,
The immediate sour stench of the shot washes back across my face.
The intoxication felt, in being the one who caresses the trigger.
The satisfaction earned in deservedly making the ****
My target spirals in mid stride,
Contorts in agony
And collapses to the rough tarmac
To lie dishevelled, an insignificant, dishevelled item.
Checking the **** through the telescopic sight
I see the rough stubble of the chin,
The nicotine stain on the fingers,
I see the colour of the eyes are pale blue.
…I know well, it will breathe no more.
With descending twilight
I trudge from my tower perch
With the long ****** rifle slung across my weary shoulders
The crones in the street glare as I walk by
There is a loathing in their aged eyes, It is a tangible thing.
I know they have no knowledge of the target,
But they know, however, that there has been a killing made for the cause.
A cold beer would be nice.
God! how I hate these young punks with purple hair.*
Marshalg
Gaza, Palestine/Mogadishu, Somalia/Kabul, Afghanistan/Tehran, Iran/Cairo, Egypt/Islamabad, Pakistan/Soweto, South Africa/Dier El Zour Province, Syria/Beirut, Lebanon/Baghdad, Iraq/Tripoli, Libya/Pristina, Kosovo/Grozny,Chechen Republic/Veracruz, Mexico/Guatemala City, Guatemala/Sao Paulo, Brazil/Moscow, Russia.
27 November 2012
Nov 28, 2012
Nov 28, 2012 at 8:17 PM UTC
If I were a soldier
All ****** and bribed
I would go down by the trenches
On a tank time joy ride
If I were a soldier
Death would be my game
For all the wrong reasons
They will remember my name
If I were a soldier
I'd say my farewells
Down the barrel of a ******
And straight down to hell
If I were a soldier
Wounded by pride
For a country not worth this
Lest we forget,
I have died
May 2, 2015
May 2, 2015 at 10:06 PM UTC
In the comfort of this chair
The enemy is all around me
My twin and I, like a pair
Patience is the key
To be a ******
Looking down the sights
You cant be hyper
Killer from great heights
With controller in hand
My brother and I,
We control this land
This is no lie
Dec 4, 2012
Dec 4, 2012 at 5:08 PM UTC
"You're not one of them", he says
"I can tell, I got this GIFT, see?"
The relief clear on his animated face
Too twitchy, too... off
"They watch us, you know?
They got those satellites and ****
They'll read your ID through your pocket
Then they gotcha!"
I nod, only mildly alarmed
And throw down my smoke.
Step on it to make sure it's out
"Only you can prevent forest fires"
A childhood echo
He picks it up
Looks wildly around
"Your DNA is on that! Epithelials!
I seen it! I seen it on that CSI!"
I mumble something
His eyes narrow. He laughs too hard.
"Kidding man, I'm just kidding"
He skitters off, like an ant missing 4 legs
I look up, and nod to the ****** on the roof.
~JNc
9-15
Sep 17, 2015
Sep 17, 2015 at 1:49 AM UTC
We've climbed this mountain
A mountain of homework and back stabber
We may not have climbed together for all of it
But we climbed together side by side now
All the people trying to tear us down or drag us off
But we won't let the other fall we keep each other on the path
We've climbed this mountain
We can see the end
But our enemies can see us
So near the top we threaten them
They take aim attempting to knock us off
Insults and snide remarks fly at us like bullets
Violence always creeping towards us a dog of war
We have been civil far to long to these brutes of failure
We strike back now
The harder they hit us the harder we hit back
The mountain of high school is almost over we're not falling now
Take aim my brother with your ****** rifle aimed at their deepest weakness
Locked and loaded to tear them apart in front of everyone
To rip their heart out for all to see
Don't worry I've got your back
My machine gun of cynical secrets gleaming for support.
They won't drag us down
They can't pull us back down
We're at the top and moving on from this high school warfare
Nov 7, 2013
Nov 7, 2013 at 4:12 PM UTC
My shattered soul is
Scattered throughout space and time
Infinite fractals -
Holographic pieces
Containing the Whole
I am stardust in a faraway galaxy
And the warming rays of the sun
The blade of grass on a meadow
Gently undulating in the breeze
The refreshing rain on an arid plane
And the tree that has seen it all
I am the mountain standing firm
In neutral observation
I am the waves on the water and
The teeming life within
I am the Sirian in human disguise
And the quantum of light -
A traveling photon shooting through
An ocean of emptiness
Heralding change
I see myself reflected
A thousand times
I read my words
In other poets’ poems and
Hear my song sung
By venerated voices
My hopes and dreams are
Imagined into reality
By actors calling themselves human
Unaware of their role on
The stage of life
I am the little girl
Scared to face the world
And the Amazon with eagle eyes
And heightened senses
Confident about my next move
The grandmother burdened
By a life of suffering
And the one crouching behind
The eyes of the beggar
Beholding the careless passerby
Who is
Oblivious of my existence
I am the ****** on the roof
The killer and the killed
The mother tenderly nursing my child
And the little boy lost in ecstasy
When I see the ocean
For the first time
I am the light
I am the dark
The poet and the poem
The muse of the painter
And the color on her brush
The blank canvas and
The piece of art
Everything and nothing
A paradox of the universe
So I am sending out
A magnetic pulse
Spreading love through all of existence
Thus calling my shattered pieces
Back to the
HEART
© Jasmine, Amsterdam, October 2013
Oct 2, 2013
Oct 2, 2013 at 12:11 PM UTC
If Thoughts Were Audible,
Would you try to catch & make
Every fluttering thought your Bible,
In your craving
To come face to face
With that one thought
Which would have the answer
To what is the question,
That has gnawed at you since birth.
What if you bumped against
Hitherto infrasonic tremors
Of a morbid sigh or curse,
While hoping to tune into
A blessing or yearning,
Would you consider yourself
The ****** of the Panopticon
Or a prisoner of it?
Would the nail-biting curiosity
Of groping the trail
Of fragmented thoughts
From all (how many?) corners
Make you lose your own 'stream of consciousness',
as they would call it?
Deaf now to your own mental utterances
Would you (n)ever speak again?
[Since,
Your eavesdropping mind
Would already know
What the other has to say
As would he, about your thoughts
Before either uttered the first syllable.]
Or,
Would you start thinking
About what to think first
And what order to place those thoughts in, next,
So you could fool your mental trespasser,
Sending him off to a parallel trail of thoughts?
But of course he would be able to
Hear through your strategy
As he would also know
Of that moment
When you decided to
Guard your own thoughts.
But the question is,
Do you have any left, now?
A numb stare is reflected
In your mental neighbour's eyes
As you both confront
The fact that
*Deaf people don't have
Songs stuck in their head.*
Sep 16, 2014
Sep 16, 2014 at 12:59 PM UTC
this path i wrote
wrought with missed
twists and turns and trip
wires made of pit vipers
camouflaged in ******
stripes the color of bumble
bees that make me sneeze
humbly god help me please
i hear foot steps quietly
lightly on the trail behind me.
r ~ 11/15/14
Nov 15, 2014
Nov 15, 2014 at 12:53 PM UTC
It is another one of those early mornings when hatred spews out of my body and aims for itself, I never miss. I have always been good at reaching targets, even better when I myself am bullseye.
I shoot directly for the mirror. Into my thighs, my chest, this mountain range of a body. I send my angry in a direct path towards my folds, my stomach, my skin, in all that is human. I launch bombs on my own territory like it's what I've been sent to do, like I was made to destroy what I have spent my whole life building.
I ask why it so easy to rip apart the things I've put together myself. I ask why it feels so normal to want to break down the rafters of the only shelter I will ever be able to use for protection.
I blame everything else before I blame me. I blame the girls with bodies like sunsets, that contrast my mid-day average sky of a figure. I blame the dresses that I cannot fit into, the way they **** the life out of me every time I can't stretch them past my hips. I blame genetics with absolutely no knowledge of science behind me.
I want to blame society for the hate that has been multiplying inside of me but at the end of the day I am still the one who does the math. It is still me who pours self-deprecation over my head to shower in all of the things I cannot wash out. It is still me who incites hurricane upon every part of myself that is impossible to change by nature. I am the one who detonates my disappointments like the explosion will somehow change the way I look, like the aftermath of destruction will leave me with anything but empty and wreckage.
I often forget that it is me who spoon feeds myself memories of failure at every meal. It is me who hands over guilt every time I reach for the snooze button to fall back asleep. I even shove myself in fault to depression, cover myself in darkness and then wonder why there is no light to be seen. I am the culprit in it all.
In the mornings when my mind is still circling to figure out where it left off, I point it in the direction of negative. I take all of the crooked and pile it up to remind myself of the mismatch. When I take aim at my reflection, I never miss.
I direct the ****** of my mistakes, vulnerability and insecurity directly towards my image. I have become the hitman of my own assassination. My fall into disaster is wholeheartedly my own doing. I am the best of the best when it comes to this form of damage. I never miss.
Jan 9, 2015
Jan 9, 2015 at 3:05 PM UTC
The snipers rifle hung from the parapet
still warm, cordite drifted from
the business end.
It resembled a cigarette,
dangling in the groove of an
ashtray which was given to you
as a souvenir from a place
you had no desire to go.
And you had no desire to go there
as you had read stories of donkey
cruelty and the militias’ refusal to
accept Greenwich as the
centre of time.
Their struggle against the meridian
has been well documented in film and
prose.
Stories and rumours filtered in
from the hinterland, carried home in
economy flights from different time zones
arriving at the terminal, milling around the
carousel.
****** victim 4 lay in a forensic
scene, white tapped surrounded by
duty free bags, and the secret dossiers
exposing the militias plans drifted, blood
stained in the breeze.
Dec 31, 2012
Dec 31, 2012 at 5:21 AM UTC
I sign up,
just to mark it with my heart,
and follow you,
although baby,
I've forgotten how to hunt.
Difficult to make the right turn now,
maybe left is only
what I'm left with
to stay with breath.
Just maybe..
****** already knows,
where my heart is.
Nov 15, 2014
Nov 15, 2014 at 1:46 PM UTC
FAKE FRIENDS
You call me a friend, as you pull out a knife
You stab me in the back, not once but twice
Friends for life, but that’s a straight up lie
You aint gotta clue, about Ride or Die
I’m surrounded by wolves that are dressed like sheep
Telling straight lies, dry snitching on me
Claiming it wasn’t you, behind the line up glass
You straight pointed out me, to save your own ***
I’d rather sweat buckets, to search out peace
Than spilling gallons of blood, fighting demons in me
The battle continues, frighten the anger within
It’s a full time job, dealing with FAKE *** FRIENDS
Ever time I think I know, what you’ll do next
You end up selling me out, for a yard or less
You made you a dollar, so I’m screaming again
You’re a straight up punk, a FAKE *** FRIEND
I can sit and formulate a plan in my head
Take a ****** shot; make your FAKE *** DEAD
Now I’m on the run, a fugitive at large
Aint a FAKE *** FRIEND around, worth taking a charge
Their a dime a dozen, you can find them anywhere
Just don’t be fooled, because its buyer beware
It’s a known street rule, don’t say it wasn’t said
Because FAKE *** FRIENDS, usually wined up dead
But ill take what GOD gave me common sense, and walk away
It’s a soft *** move, but Ill write another day
Not locked up covered up, dealing with my sins
Nothing wrong with cutting off, a FAKE *** FRIEND
Aint a chick or dude around, can’t relate to what I’m saying
We all had friends, which were straight perpetrating
Saying they got our back, all the way to the end
Same ole same ole, just a FAKE *** FRIEND
So now I ride solo, I know it’s a risk
If push comes to shove, Ill add my girl to the list
Now I’m RICH and FAMOUS, and you wanna make amends
But as I told you before, **** FAKE *** FRIENDS!
Nov 15, 2018
Nov 15, 2018 at 8:48 PM UTC
You might be on ****
if you run over your own transmission
pushing your car as hard as possible
because Tik Tok by Kesha is playing.
You're definitely on ****
it afterwards you pull into a nearby parking lot
and decide to just shoot **** there
for the next few days.
You're not on **** anymore
when the business owner is fed up with you
and you're falling asleep talking to the police
who only find empty bags and tell you to leave.
The lines become blurred
when you're six months sober
and a psychosis has developed
to the point where you're hiding
behind your couch from the shadow
people with ****** rifles outside.
Apr 1, 2021
Apr 1, 2021 at 5:19 PM UTC
Sudden intimacies
Old missed opportunities
And a
Woman who should've known
Exactly when I'm not my own.
She strikes like a viper,
Shoots to **** like a ******
And she
Quickly has disappeared
Confirming what I had most feared.
Jan 31, 2016
Jan 31, 2016 at 1:34 AM UTC
the size of you now from way back here my dear
you may not know but let me tell you... how you fill the pavilions with your ether whiskers
and your sumptuous mask. the all night habit of your ring finger's habit.
the flinch of your dashing rabbits.
you might be breathing something from monte carlo.
but your flames flamingo. yooouuuu don't even know the half... but the whole thing reeks of pablum
and bamboo shoots. illustrious pulp. you are not the virtue that you want
as much the virtue that you lack. the size of you now
from way back here, is merely the reticule of god's ******
with the rubber-room bullets and the nice lighting.
you have wind chimes in your wrinkles again.
are you that much gone from nod
as you might seem steam
on a roof of a low owl
atop giant
mouse ?
Dec 15, 2012
Dec 15, 2012 at 3:28 PM UTC
I've never had that crisp good nature
I never want to have it
I am no superman
I am a Brawn
Young
Powerful
Indestructible
Unstoppable
Stronger
***** your rules
Now i am free of you
***** your perfect mold
***** them all
Saving a cat
**** THAT
Why not a bank vault?
Save a few dollars from the government
The thrill of battle
The ecstasy of intoxicating cash
The sweet taste of challenge
Always stronger
I am not your hero
I'd just as soon rob you as save you
I'll save you only because
Without you I have no one to rob!
I am the Antihero
I am the perfect defender of man
**** or save i can do both
I am not perfect
A rampage is as effective as a ****** round
I am the hero in the shadows
I am Power
I am Freedom
I am Imperfect
Oct 2, 2013
Oct 2, 2013 at 12:12 AM UTC
The snow was blowing among the trees. In large wet flakes it tumbled down.
My captain turned, as if to speak, but from his lips there came no sound.
A red rose bloomed there on his chest -staining dark the Wehrmacht grey.
I looked in horror as he pitched face forward to the ground.
****** I yelled and ducked for cover. The copse of trees echoed the sound.
Somewhere out there he awaits; the Devil’s son, the cunning foe.
He’s stalked our party for three days yet leaves no footprints in the snow.
I served in France in Forty –one; before these Russians were our foes.
I shiver but it’s not from fear; it’s just that we lack winter clothes.
I motion briskly with my right hand, I think the shooter must be there
my corporal nods and starts to move; perhaps he can outflank this man.
My soul is black for I’ve done some things;
for which I once would have been ashamed.
I saw the Jewess try to shield her babe
as I placed them in a common grave.
This man out there, a warrior; he risks his life upon command.
He is clever, this one, he waits his chance.
Either its him or me that’s dammed.
The drifting snowflakes hide his breath.
But He’s still out there this I know.
My Captain lies still upon the earth
and is slowly covered by the snow.
We are soldiers who risk our lives.
We sacrifice for the Fatherland.
We dream of a woman and a warm bed
Never of Death’s cold clammy hand
My men cry out, the fox is flushed
The ****** has at last been found.
It’s true what they say of the bullet that kills you;
I never even heard the sound.
May 5, 2016
May 5, 2016 at 10:17 PM UTC