"sniping" poems
Haitian Divorce
in the warmth of the tropical sun
sipping zombies by the Caribbean Sea
Samuel and Daisy fell in love
dancing the merengue
they fell into each others arms
an affair to remember for all time
they decided to get married
there just wasn't any other way
the bliss lasted for many weeks
the kisses grew sweeter it seemed
but out of the blue a comment was made
and the sniping got heavier each day
he would shout she would bite
it went on like this every night
until the kisses completely stopped
they had nothing more to say
it was so much more than thought
they decided to end it well
a little trip to the islands once more
hurry now no more delay
they raised their glasses one last time
there would be no remorse
staring out at the churning sea
they celebrated their Haitian Divorce
Gomer Lepoet...
May 5, 2013
May 5, 2013 at 7:41 PM UTC
Surviving a War that doesn’t seem to end, bombing and sniping all around. This is the real story in a book called “ The Cellist Of Sarajevo”, where three characters emerge to face this adversity head on. You have Arrow once a innocent young girl, now trained assassin to **** her targets without making a sound. Then you got Kenan a person who risks his life to fetch water for his family and others in need, no matter if it weighs a ton. Finally you have Dragan the person hard to explain, he just does what he needs to do, he will come to not care about the dangers of the outside, because he will control his own destiny. Each of them has their place in the race to survive this cruel onslaught from the men on the hills weaponry.
Jan 2, 2015
Jan 2, 2015 at 2:45 AM UTC
This is for all my battle buddies, HOOAH!
Serving in Iraq,
Serving in Afghanistan.
With a grainy, sandy, hot, and humid desert surrounding you.
Looking into miles of nothing.
Always ready, always on patrol, ready to roll.
Ducking your head to re-load in the middle of the firefight.
Taking a stand against the evils of the world.
To my battles with integrity,
We all bleed the same,
Fighting for freedom of the Red, White, and Blue
Live green die green
Scream it with me at the top of your lungs:
HOOAH!
Soldier people;
This for all the clowns that play Video Games
Talking that 1337 (LEET) speak
Owning some newbs for fun
Screaming at the little kids that they ****
I’m taking on the girls 1 versus 1
Passing by the hours staring at the screen
Drinking Mountain Dew, and eating skittles
Sniping people with your M4,
Blowing them up as they walk through the door
Gamer people;
This is for all my Tech-y nerds
Working with computer components
Make sure you stay grounded
We don’t want an electrical eruption
I hated Network Theory,
But I still didn’t get a B.
The “have you tried restarting,” people.
Surfing the Internets, refer to Wikipedia people.
Tech people;
This is for all the Snowboard bums,
We ride hard, but still chill
Jumping in front of the skiers for a mighty thrill
We do it for an Adrenaline rush
Boardin’ through the trees,
And the snow that is white and plush
Snowboard people;
This is for all the Music lovers
That let the beat move their souls
Bumpin’ to the rhythm
Dancing out of control
Let the beat take you away
Fist pump yourself into the night,
Even though I can’t dance, ‘cause I’m White.
Music people.
Sep 27, 2011
Sep 27, 2011 at 9:43 PM UTC
On the first day of Christmas, the meat man sent to me, a couple caps of some broken knees.
On the second day of Christmas, the meat man sent to me, two hands in gloves, and a couple caps of some broken knees.
On the third day of Christmas, the meat man sent to me, three killed friends, two hands in gloves, and a couple caps of some broken knees.
On the fourth day of Christmas, the meat man sent to me, four hundred herbs, three killed friends, two hands in gloves, and a couple caps of some broken knees.
On the fifth day of Christmas, the meat man sent to me, five ****** things, four hundred herbs, three killed friends, two hands in gloves, and a couple caps of some broken knees.
On the sixth day of Christmas, the meat man sent to me, six obese a-weighing, five ****** things, four hundred herbs, three killed friends, two hands in gloves, and a couple caps of some broken knees.
On the seventh day of Christmas, the meat man sent to me, seven palms a-skinning, six obese a-weighing, five ****** things, four hundred herbs, three killed friends, two hands in gloves, and a couple caps of some broken knees.
On the eighth day of Christmas, the meat man sent to me, eight grenades a-killing, seven palms a-skinning, six obese a-weighing, five ****** things, four hundred herbs, three killed friends, two hands in gloves, and a couple caps of some broken knees.
On the ninth day of Christmas, the meat man sent to me, nine babies relapsing, eight grenades a-killing, seven palms a-skinning, six obese a-weighing, five ****** things, four hundred herbs, three killed friends, two hands in gloves, and a couple caps of some broken knees.
On the tenth day of Christmas, the meat man sent to me, ten lords a-peeping, nine babies relapsing, eight grenades a-killing, seven palms a-skinning, six obese a-weighing, five ****** things, four hundred herbs, three killed friends, two hands in gloves, and a couple caps of some broken knees.
On the eleventh day of Christmas, the meat man sent to me, eleven snipers sniping, ten lords a-peeping, nine babies relapsing, eight grenades a-killing, seven palms a-skinning, six obese a-weighing, five ****** things, four hundred herbs, three killed friends, two hands in gloves, and a couple caps of some broken knees.
On the twelfth day of Christmas, the meat man gave to me, twelve brothers ******* eleven snipers sniping, ten lords a-peeping, nine babies relapsing, eight grenades a-killing, seven palms a-skinning, six obese a-weighing, five ****** things, four hundred herbs, three killed friends, two hands in gloves, and a couple caps of some broken knees.
Dec 7, 2018
Dec 7, 2018 at 5:27 PM UTC
It was a beautiful rainy day.The rains showered like blessings from the sky to mother earth.The drops drizzled over several stunning creations of God. The ***** frog winked in fright when the tiny drop thumped on its peeping head which it had kept out from its water world curious to know what's happening outside.The lazy ladybird hides itself in the rug of leaves it hopped and played till then.Little dusty leaves quivered with joy as they rejoiced and celebrated the long waited bath.
Far aloof,the village looked so spanking new than ever after it was wetted by the light rain.so modest,so composed,the radiating sun put itself out of sight making way to the pompous clouds.Besides all these petite feelings,the livid eagle gaped at the sky sniping for it had missed its daily glide over the rusty mountains.
All these tiny things shaped out the background,while the main subject remains undescribed yet.The big fat buffalo stands aright in tranquility as if nothing new happened.Its skin so tight,shining so bright,created a beautiful sight as the raindrops tapped on it pitter patter.Its horns like engraved artifacts mirrored each other and stood still amazed at their similarity.The momentary muddy puddle covered up its hooves.
And now comes the most interesting foreground of the picture. It’s the little cute boy!!! Small dark brown eyes...Umpteen hopes filled in them. He wore the most beautiful jewel on his face....it’s his smile gleaming with merriment. While his tiny hands held tight the wicker, his entire little body hid itself behind the huge gunny he wore to shield against the shower. He hopped over the small puddle creating beautiful waves and exquisite splashes.
And that forms the most beautiful picture about which my dad told me.The little boy is none other than my dad. :) :) .
Apr 28, 2013
Apr 28, 2013 at 7:19 AM UTC
Random randomness that means nothing at all
Neurons sniping and watching things fall at random locations.
Connecting dots picking forget me nots and making a pile.
:-)
May 28, 2013
May 28, 2013 at 10:47 AM UTC
there's that safe place between cold sheets,
the shivers welcome the dreams that harbor this unknown peace..
so close your eyes just this time and we'll let the substance sing us to sleep
pulsing through twisting veins as we're counting killer sheep
savage teeth rip animal instincts across your outstretched arms
and there lies a broken promise, you're no longer safe, raise the alarm;
these claws are killer digits, these fangs are sniping rays, so softly sneaking through curtains of hair;
their lights pierce through shades of skin, turning you
black and blue as you begin to pale
and now i'm singing siren songs, melodies to lure them in
one by one, my massacre begins
and all these morbid metaphors mean just one thing
i speak of that healing that time is supposed to deliver
and as my limbs curl under these sheets, gathering folds of fabric
while my mind's velocity reels under a veil of false awakenings
i'm just waiting for those shivers
for those god **** shivers that rack my spine, turning my lounge into fetal position
leaving my jaws open in silent indignation, letting quiet sounds drain my emotion
i jolt awake, leaving cries on the stagnant air of this summer night
and clack together these sharp rays of light
grinding these ivories down to soft keys again.
the stars hide from me in their shroud of fossil fuels, saturated, decomposed on the heavy air.
when i open my eyes, you are still elsewhere.
and i close them again, just to be sure you're not a ghost, but here they come again, those god ****** shivers.
Jan 22, 2011
Jan 22, 2011 at 8:24 PM UTC
We post, tweet, google and skype
We re, fwd, edit and code
We have so much access, to so much tripe.
We log in, connect, update, download
Instant information,
endless exploration
constant zombification
Our wireless Nation
Pale electric shadows,
cast on the walls.
Unable to break from
the gripping siren's call
Camping the bodies
pwning the noobs
sniping their medic
just for the luls
Mining down deeply, into the nether
Waiting for spawns that follow the weather
Collecting the pets, weapons, mounts
Getting achievements that cross all accounts
So much to amaze, mesmerize, and entertain
All the things to look up, argue about, explain
A race with access to knowledge galore
and still we demand faster, better, MORE!
Mar 25, 2013
Mar 25, 2013 at 1:13 PM UTC
We were down in the province of Basra, Iraq
For reasons not precisely clear.
Our objective that day was a Shia run town;
A town named Sari Mi Dyr.
The road to the town was a minefield of sorts
It was booby-trapped with I.E.D.’s.
Still it was the constant sniping that caused
the bulk of our casualties.
The day was as hot as a woman’s scorn
when the last of her tears have dried.
I’ll remember this road to Sari Mi Dyr
On which so many good friends have died.
The day was near spent when command showed some sense;
We heard our choppers draw near.
They aborted the mission and extracted my men
From that hellhole called Sari Mi Dyr.
I’m writing my after action report,
and trying to hold back a tear;
When I think of the good men and women who died
On the road to Sari Mi Dyr.
Dec 7, 2015
Dec 7, 2015 at 6:25 AM UTC
I found my call of duty
inside your warzone
after leaving my pressurized cabin
and dropping in randomly
I started collecting money and items as fast as I could
to match the competition’s capability.
Everyone’s an enemy, everyone is hostile
I fear them and the weapons they’ll use on me
barraging me with dragon’s breath shotgun blasts
to put me down quickly
or silently sniping from far away
so I can’t defend myself.
The only way I can survive is staying in your circle
which keeps moving away from me
so I sprint through the fields and forests
making my way through already looted homes
hoping no one takes advantage of my vulnerability
racing to your circle before I suffocate.
Once I finally get to your circle I realize it’s too small to hide in
because everyone is so close together
I must engage them before they attack me
but they all lay siege to the small shack I’m trapped in
lobbing grenades and firing at me
I can’t even poke my head out.
So I stay inside
donning my gas mask
letting the circle overtake them and pick them off one by one
as I wait inside anxiously worried someone may try to join me
but eventually they’re all gone and I’m the only one left
and in that moment I have achieved victory royale.
May 19, 2020
May 19, 2020 at 10:12 PM UTC
" red letter day "
eventually from the hot seat
you may strike it rich
on the common touch
with a sharp tongue
straight from the horses mouth
with open arms stretch your legs
but avoid to sweep somebody off his feet
for the sixth sense
is a flash harry to the law of the jungle
the fact is that---no quickest running paw
will be faster than a sniping bullet
just like---a single tree does not make a forest
so to save face,,boil something down and rely on a birds eye view
below par,by hook or by crook
overcome those butterflies in the stomach
stop making crocodile tears and
don't be a wolf in sheep clothing
express your self during the thunder and lightning
be brave in the middle of storm in a tea cup
because a cat and dog life
couldn't make a busy bee !!!
Dec 8, 2015
Dec 8, 2015 at 6:40 PM UTC
*We fight delicately, sniping, taking and giving verbal punches.
Our skin doesn't bruise, maybe our egos our minds,
but our bodies no.
Our velvet arguing is seamless, flawless.
Anyone listening would hear witty repartee.
A couple playfully bantering, no more.
Polite meritorious armament of words.
Primed to fire a salvo of cruelty.
Cruelty, covered and handled with crushed velvet gloves.
Textured, cultured, arguing.
Polite parrying, pleasant resentment.
A bottle of wine, remnants of a meal, wounds needing to heal.
Less or more cruel than a punch? This seamless linguistic pain.
Bruises fade, pain subsides, mental cruelty resides.*
Jun 17, 2014
Jun 17, 2014 at 6:53 PM UTC
A short fuse
Fused together
Together forever
Forever sniping
Sniping, snipping
Snipping an already short fuse.
Apr 7, 2014
Apr 7, 2014 at 6:24 PM UTC
my little heavenward glow
my redeemer with bony knees
you were never alarmed when i'd go
or when the summer burned my feet
you sent me a million notes
gauging new york and it's many beams
and you came home to gloat
with black licorice and beating wings
oh! everyone swayed you, Bonnie
with Teflon coated strings
and everyone had you, Bonnie
the sniping smoke was my reprieve
when my ma asks of you, Bonnie
I see our tails lashing against the gleam
of this filthy ******* town.
Dec 7, 2010
Dec 7, 2010 at 1:53 AM UTC
It is a lonely life to live
And I would seldom recommend
To the weak of heart
But for the hopeful
I commend this struggle
Stirring younger men
To live learn and grow
Perhaps leaving family behind
In the pursuit of the mind
Paying dues with isolation and time
Finding your muse rightly used
But facing a nation racing away from
The acquisition of knowledge and wisdom
A society determined to remain blind
In Plato’s Cave slaves still obey shadows
Sniping at those such as yourself
Who struggle to expand and include
All things within and without
Till the wanderer comes home
Alone better not bitter from the journey
Open and ready to share
Hoping the world is ready to care
About such wonderful things
Oct 28, 2015
Oct 28, 2015 at 6:47 AM UTC
I’m fed up with Prague, Paris and progress
It’s because I feel like a lonely boy.
I could sweep aside the art and crafts for the day,
pick up my manlier toys,
in an hour of need.
~
Years later I may grow up,
guns in hand.
Yesterday’s fissures show up honourably
on TV, and I may one day be called to fix small arms symphonies
in lands where tyrants trail newly won streets with
glistening gold-plated depleted uranium hypocrisy
~
If they should come close to hurting you, which I could never bear
With titles and a message, or anonymously
I’d stockpile shares everywhere
and raise forgotten silos, for you
in our hour of need,
What’s more, dear
this sniping threat …
I have learned we live more than exist
~
For brief respite we’ll hire those brave, gifted folks to close down this travisty
suspend the dream-merchants
so we can perfect our progeny
(permanence, is, after all something)
in this, a dark hour of need.
Oh my darling if you would understand just what it takes
to cling on to that last noiseless sigh of power,
to be devoted to all
which will revoke all the old failings
which will enable a better way of equipping
someone to watch for us, with both eyes wide,
as the lesser hand counts round, and again
and inevitably strikes
war
© Copyright David Bosworth March 2014
Mar 24, 2014
Mar 24, 2014 at 10:40 PM UTC
What now, the loss of limbs in a distant conflagration?
The seeping brains amongst poppy fields?
The myriad nature of violent death, outside of journalistic imagination
A grind of experience on which the lost youth builds.
What now? Within the shredding blasts euphoria
The élan of a soldier, in memoria
Downing drinks in the Stag and Hare
After a tour, ordinary actions reek of tedium
There is, in the conviviality, no rush of adrenalin there
Fermenting trouble establishes a happy medium.
Quarrelling with a man who wears a business suit
Is displaced adventure, smashing his face in is a hoot.
What now? A mate, a favoured friend, dies in the dirt
When whistling a tune, recalling the holiday in Spain, the family,
A shot coursing through his unbuttoned shirt
Deflating his lung, another shattering his knee
When he died, his platoon died too,
Metaphorically; the snipers aim was true.
Bottled up in Basra, aimlessly wandering in Helmand
A shrill event on News at Ten between politics and football,
Another death, another iconic face, the catasphropic end
Of a youthful life. What now? The swift end to a morning stroll
Amongst watching villagers in dry breathless mountains
Empty streams and florescent fountains.
In the terracotta dirt my soul leaked away
My final return was like a funeral celebration,
I said nothing anymore. I had nothing left to say.
I’d given my youth to a sniping cynical nation.
What now? It was over for me in a grasping world-
A gooey puddle spread beneath me as my soul evacuated.
Sep 5, 2016
Sep 5, 2016 at 4:08 PM UTC
The pettiness of people is pervasive.
Those who feel better when others fail.
Feeling contempt and envy when others succeed.
Reflecting ugliness behind their backs.
Makes them feel better , superior somehow.
People sniping at those after leaving the room.
Talking ugly of those behind their backs, those who cannot defend.
The world is rife with such little people.
Those who manipulate with words and deeds, hoping
to bruise the gentleness of others kindness. Seeing ulterior
motives where none can
be found. Those who stomp on the
hearts of others if their sin is wearing it on their sleeves.
The gotcha society so reflected in today's headlines and the internet.
The world is crawling with little people looking to push
underwater all those who cannot navigate the shark infested
waters of our world.
Take a look in the mirror... not a giant to be found. We are all little people, not a Saint in the bunch.
Much work we all need do.
Dec 13, 2016
Dec 13, 2016 at 1:59 PM UTC
Its begins with the rights of the presumed good
And the wrongs of perceived sin
Clashing together over could and should
Words of pain, stabbed in order to win
Shouting and words, as sharp as a knife
Cutting through the memories we have
Sniping and hurting until there’s no life
Scared one day there will be nothing to save
The sun rises, bathing the life of light
Over the fading battle ground
Of the unmoving mouths, nothing more said
Over the slain strewn bodies of those now dead.
Let’s stop it now, before the battle has begun
Let the love prevail while we are young
Hold each other in the fear of the world
Not in the view of fear of the other.
Jun 25, 2013
Jun 25, 2013 at 6:29 PM UTC
Is a precious commodity,
Hard won and easily lost,
And once lost doubly, triply,
A thousandfold harder to regain,
A fact of which I am reminded
Over and ever over
By those who appoint themselves
To my judging panel,
No matter any right for redemption,
Repentence or change,
Only the justifief raging of the injured,
The gleeful snarling of the lookers on,
It is enough that a man might
Reasonably give pause and thoughts of ending,
Indeed I have had bleakness
Well up enough to drown me,
Pulled and pushed toward the dark,
Towards despair,
Towards oblivion,
Towards an ending offering restitution to the injured
And entertainment to the chattering hangers on
But my spirit is strong enough,
Or maybe I am just
Too ****** obstinate,
I have survived long enough
To see that other force,
The one that can rescue even a wretch like me,
Even the sorest damaged victim
From this dismal purgatory,
From perennial, repeated argument,
Recrimination and pointless sniping,
A veritable undeniable force,
So gentle yet indomitable,
A force to sunder grief and reconnect aching hearts,
Put aside the rage and hurt
Dismiss the hangers on,
(Prurient perverts all,)
And build anew
A better stronger life,
An edifice anchored
Upon rock
And that force
That thing between us,
That revelation that mystery
All along was love,
Love in all its glory,
Corinthian love,
Patient and kind,
Unenvying and humble
Honourable not self seeking,
Above all
Slow to anger and swift to forget
A slight or insult,
That love I found still feebly burning
In my heart for thee,
And peering through the battle smoke,
Sifting through the wreckage
Of us,
I found that same dim flame in you,
Flame I now gently blow upon,
Nurture and feed,
Watch grow back towards a greatness
Sufficient to burn old wounds,
Incinerate infection and leave behind
Hearts touched by a refiners fire,
Silver-proofed against doubt despair.and trepidation.
OUR hearts
OUR love,
OUR future.
And
I
Am
******
Glad
Sep 9, 2023
Sep 9, 2023 at 5:42 PM UTC
Crying
In The
Shadows
My Heart
Withers
Wilted
In
Shame
Of
My
Loneliness,
Trapped
Beneath
The Shackles
My
Heart
Rattled,
Hoping
To Find
Someone
Who
Finds
My
Pawprint
In
The
Black
Snow,
Who
Follows
Through
My
Mist
Of
Loneliness
Who
Sniffs
Who
Finds
Hope
For
Me
Emotionally
The
Honest
Ones
Who
Get
This
Message
The One
Who
Is
Honest
To
My
Face
~Paris Styron~
To
My Face
During
The
Black
Dark
Days,
Which
Leads
To
My
Tearful
Black
Tears,
Running
Somberly
Down
An Empty
Hole
Saying
"Where
Will I Go"
~Paris Styron~
My Dark
Sorrows
Grasp
My Hopes
And Dreams
Render
Them
Helpless
Tantalizing
My Emotions
With
Sorrows
And Disbelief
Perfuming
Me
With
Despair
That I
Cannot
Describe
But
With
Black
Bleeding
Tears
Running
Down
My
Face
~Paris Styron~
Sniping
One By One
The
Tones
Darkened
The Gray
Clouds,
Drooping
The Bodies
To The
Grave
The Bullets
Flying
To
Their
Victims
Precious
Light,
Farewell
My Friend
Your
Black
Rose
Diminished
In My
Heart
~Paris Styron~
~Farewell~
The Dove's
Heart
Woos
The Somberness
Of
One Soul
Leaving It
In
Ashes
Shriveled
From
Existence
Wooing
The
Woefulness,
Weeping
For
Its Victim
Dripping
Drooping
Filling
The Room
With
Puddles
Of Blood
~Paris Styron~
Her Heart
Rendered
Helpless
Between
Her
Tears
Weeping
For
Forgiveness,,
As Time
Passes
By Her
Eyes
And Her
Tears
Grow
Dimmer
Of
A Color
Known
As
Black
Then
Her Soul
Shattered
Into
A Grave
~Paris Styron~
Apr 27, 2016
Apr 27, 2016 at 9:41 PM UTC
We were down in the province of Basra, Iraq
For reasons not precisely clear.
Our objective that day was a Shia run town;
A town named Sari Mi Dyr.
The road to the town was a minefield of sorts
It was booby-trapped with I.E.D.’s.
Still it was the constant sniping that caused
the bulk of our casualties.
The day was as hot as a woman’s scorn
when the last of her tears have dried.
I’ll remember this road to Sari Mi Dyr
On which so many good friends have died.
The day was near spent when command showed some sense;
We heard our choppers draw near.
They aborted the mission and extracted my men
From that hellhole called Sari Mi Dyr.
I’m writing my after action report,
and trying to hold back a tear;
When I think of the good men and women who died
On the road to Sari Mi Dyr.
Dec 27, 2016
Dec 27, 2016 at 8:53 PM UTC
I am the cutter
Carrying the blades to blaze a path
Sniping at the ends of what life gives me
I am never satisfied
I cut the food to fit my fight with life giving plight
Submitting
To the ones who can live to love scrap
Teach me how to care for unfinished crap
The cutter slashes branches like my gaze upon the earth
Why can't I see the beauty in daily destruction
Because it doesn't reach me
I have cut my reaches to you all
The cutter can not feel what their blade mauls
But can hear their feverish call
I promise to cut no more
Feb 20, 2021
Feb 20, 2021 at 8:20 AM UTC