"soldiered" poems
Tired and hopeful
I soldiered on
Searching for my
Dawn
Dec 2, 2014
Dec 2, 2014 at 5:57 AM UTC
Its silvery eyes full of blazing moon,
Its stare as cold as death in brilliant glow,
With sense sharply horned of familiar tune
Of scared preys hushly scurrying below.
With stealthy talons perched on silver bough,
Rotating head do help view all round;
Then by mysterious commands to strike now
A rat in mouth dangle without a sound.
This night is there to stalk and terminate;
Its mission to **** get the ruffians off.
As though allowed on terms to live to mate
Under rooftops, barns, it soldiered aloof.
You hear it hoot, hooting shadows at night,
O'er fields beyond the moon's silvery light.
Jun 24, 2018
Jun 24, 2018 at 9:59 PM UTC
So we soldiered on
Because the lives we led were held on battlefields.
We trudged onward
But it felt like we were stuck there forever
Amidst the crossfire.
Dodging make believe bullets
That whistled sweet melodies to our ears.
We were camouflage.
Trekking undetected
Through the world.
But the war is over.
A few casualties still unaccounted for
On the bloodied floors.
Whatever happened to no man left behind?
May 24, 2013
May 24, 2013 at 8:54 PM UTC
I’ve had myriad seizures in my life.
I’m however, still alive.
An obscure force constantly attacked me.
A force directly proportional to gravity.
God granted serenity to accept the certainty,
Epilepsy, you’re in my life.
You don’t own my life.
My cognitive function has been dented.
I’ve been labelled and painted.
Sometimes even laughed at.
Seized, fell and rose countlessly.
I soldiered on courageously.
Giving up has never been an option.
I never took my eyes off the goal posts.
Epilepsy tried to shift the goal posts.
Against all odds, I graduated.
Applause as I approach the podium.
They applaud for academic success.
I however applaud for overcoming epilepsy.
Hospital was my other home during studies.
Marks capped, academic record not true image of success.
Jun 13, 2018
Jun 13, 2018 at 5:16 PM UTC
salt stings soldiered eyes streaming
i am not crying —
just releasing a weekend of wine and Netflix,
a relapse i can't admit
when people ask what I did last weekend.
Muscles burning in the agony,
their capability
long squandered,
by lazy nights and wine.
Monkey mind zombied to flashes of LED light.
Docile strides to somewhere I have to be.
oh TV, you are so tempting to a binger like me.
I think about the last episode
when I should think about the road,
leading to my forgotten sanctuary,
where limbs stretch, teachers chant krishna
and rub students with essential oils.
But as I listen to the
sitar in shavasana,
interrupted
by iPhone rings,
teacher grasps the money
from the donation box greedily.
I feel slightly annoyed,
but mostly pity —
three students
thirty five dollars
for an hour.
But I think
this is what happens when
yoga becomes a
commodity.
Like TV — a fix,
not a spiritual experience.
So we'll pay the minimum,
or stream it illegally.
Sep 9, 2014
Sep 9, 2014 at 11:42 PM UTC
Print screen my whole being,
in the cadence of seasons changed.
Generation X's sweet heartbreak.
Strangers share the pain.
We walk the walk online,
nowadays,
in these times that are a changed.
Changing no more - subtly maybe.
The footfall of history stored,
in Google baby,
& terrabytes & ram.
A virus called.
And the rhyming stalled,
until;
Man made museums in nothing, but,
soldiered components,
smaller than the eye can see.
Nano moments,
lost in scrolled screens,
likes and comments,
compassion shared
around,
the world,
until forgotten;
fads
fade
away,
into familiarities.
Then we logged out of life,
and left reality behind smokescreens,
of PCs
HD ready, on blue days -
Blue Rays,
now smaller.
microsized.
Our brain waves microwaved.
Attention spans,
in the palm of our mouse shaped hands.
Say goodbye to the old days,
guilty as charged,
in
the strife of low battery life;
running out of charge.
Feb 22, 2016
Feb 22, 2016 at 8:06 AM UTC
I remember when I was a potato,
About to die
By the fry-
-ing pan,
And that was the devious,
Devilish,
Fiendish,
Plan.
They wanted me
Like lust from their bellies,
Their pillow lint belly buttons
Begged for my meat,
Calling for my ****
By boiling, rolling, heat.
I did what I could,
With my potato eye!
I rolled like Ollie
Away from the fry!
Went off the counter
Landed with a smack,
Swore to my potato skin
That I ain't going back!
I rolled across the floor
Right under their nose!
A small child saw me
Said to his ma,
"Mr.potato head, there he goes!"
I soldiered on,
Got dirt in my eye!
But swore to myself,
Never the fry!
So I was near the door
Rolling a lopsided way,
I could see the light,
The sweet light of day!
I tried to roll faster
And tunnel sighted my eye,
I was getting so close
I was screaming "Goodbye!"
Then between the counter and door,
A distance I mistook,
Out went the sun,
And I was squished, underfoot.
Aug 31, 2010
Aug 31, 2010 at 10:55 PM UTC
The roof quaked and the sky cracked.
Thunder rang through the misty atmosphere,
and rain plummeted from the overcast sky.
I could hear the drops thrumming rhythmically on the windows,
and the splashing of the cars that meandered down the soggy roads.
Lightening shot down and splintered the heavens,
followed as always by the roaring of the dark night.
I felt the house shuddering
as torrents of rain were cast forward,
and gales of wind crashed around it like waves on the rocky shore.
Through the dripping glass panes,
I saw fog gathering in the dense, stormy air,
shrouding the leafless trees and neat fences in mystic obscurity.
The persistent booming of the heavens did not cease,
and the pounding of the raindrops soldiered on,
but in all the noise, the clamor, the chaos,
the only thing I could hear
was calm.
Nov 11, 2013
Nov 11, 2013 at 12:00 AM UTC
8AM strikes like a *****
And romping the losing street -
The engineered reptile stalks the hound we are.
The soldiered army, oozing molten pride,
Spike me in the side with their knees
Lifted to caution, so-so below the chin
The cold, dead breath bullies like a child
Never been taught, never have they ought;
I give them pity like spit, the drool reared.
The glands of my sodden state are nucleic
They spark and fizz and pop at the slightest fix
And they mount the green turf as they say the things they say
They say them in spite
Their eyes to register a flat-line, the pulse of my eyelid
Froths staring into their granite granules, you call them eyes
I do despise, I do despise,
The heartless range of those hunter-deers,
The wet pathos that criminals invoke
And then, I woke, the rage, the rage!
A mountainous affair, cracked into your skin
You wished I were dead so you could be thin.
And when I am not hot,
Risen, aired by the microwaved Monday dawning,
I can almost laugh about the spaces between your eyes
The slight disgust, the frozen musk
Awns over me, little fist tight of pink
Ears rabbited off -- a sharp, twisted empale
And then, you are there--
Frozen and dominating, your coffin spooks to me
A spoken longing and then all we know wilts
A running red cloak of tartan regrets
Jades the illicit wail bespoken after the instrumental twist
The torture device you call your words is broken out
I ask for one thing, beg for it, screech it
To the solars like I am owed.
Knowing Death, if not heed, the spited greed--
Give me strength, for the thoughts
The thoughts, that blow through me
Windswept, gliding the dead human ash through my marsh
Do not upturn the limped greyed grass
And blow through, a harmless storm,
With nothing to say about how I carry my day.
Move on to your homeward-bound, your
Concentration plantation, reeling off dead spinners
Like your words, your cold ******* words.
You slimy ******* you ****
I have spoken, one million syllables,
For your satisfaction.
You lord it over me like a raw-meat hand
Of the disciples. Well, well, Judas, Judas --
I bite my tongue. I bite it so it jades.
Jan 24, 2014
Jan 24, 2014 at 12:48 PM UTC
For Better, or Worse,
They freely consented.
The gowns were fitted,
the Tuxes were rented.
They both pledged their troth
before family and friends.
A fairytale Day,
but all fairy tales end.
For Richer, for poorer,
the latter's the norm.
with three kids in college
who all want to dorm.
They worked extra hours
to pay the expense
of caps and gowns earned.
Those were happy events.
In sickness and health,
There were scares, here and there.
A bout with colitis
A broken hip, a wheelchair.
They soldiered on through it
lifelong lovers must.
Silver may tarnish
but it never will rust.
Till death do them part,
No gold left in her hair.
She relies on her walker
He's confined to the chair.
She struggles to aid him,
at night she just cries.
Though his body still lives
there's no light in his eyes.
This is the journey
from the ring to the stone
Either rise to the challenge
or live life on your own.
Dec 10, 2011
Dec 10, 2011 at 9:51 PM UTC
the acid talk really put me onto you
the specifics did it. precision cement.
the way you fill the silence, violently
**** victim defender. defender of what?
if you stuck to one version of your rules
you'd hear your disgusting tongue, you
would taste what you say and purge
you were in so many places at once
you touched the stars. drank in bars.
according to your true story account
the child soldier. soldiered psych wards.
for all that i know, i know no more truth
i know, i know, i know i let you in but i
can't truly know such an obvious liar
nor believe it in my core that you're a friend
what do you want from me?
the steel trap that memorized my paychecks
what do you want from me?
the cancer factory that steals all my class A's
what do you want from me?
what do you want?
your verse your version
infects my art
never have i ever been so tempted to spend
money over the internet
much too much too
curious
Oct 19, 2017
Oct 19, 2017 at 6:32 PM UTC
I saw a ladder
It was set firmly into the ground
Reaching all the way up into the sky
The bottom steps were broad
But as it continued up
Narrower the steps became
Many people could climb the bottom steps
But the steeper and higher the ladder became
The less people could fit onto the steps
Most fell off the ladder
Back onto the ground
The ones who persisted continued upwards
Walking in singularity
No one to the left, no one to the right of them
Single file they soldiered on
At the top there was a bright light
Into which they were consumed
The ladder was pulled back
Like a carpet rolled up
There was now no connection between those above, and those below
And the wolves and the sheep had been divided
Aug 18, 2023
Aug 18, 2023 at 5:07 AM UTC
Sixty-three...
Sixty three days
you went missing.
Nine...
Nine weeks
a candle burned in your window.
The same window
you were taken from.
Petaluma, outraged and determined,
became a colony of ants.
Ground searches to mass mailings,
they never gave up hope
and soldiered on.
In a high-tech dragnet
you became the first internet child.
Your anxious mother
fretted over every detail
concerning you:
"I have a daughter out there--without shoes."
You would always be your parents
beloved little girl.
You were laid to rest
the day after the butterflies flew away,
migrating to a warmer climate
where they could play in safety
--the life we wish for all children.
Twenty-five...
Twenty-five years ago
you went away.
A remembrance
that is felt everyday.
Nov 6, 2019
Nov 6, 2019 at 11:03 PM UTC
I wish that I could talk to you,
and beg you not to go.
I wish I asked what you were going through,
but now I'll never know.
I wish that I had some warning
of what you'd do that night,
and that you'd given me a chance to save you,
to help you make things right.
I wish that you could've soldiered on,
and worked through the pain.
If you had, I promise you,
you would've been happy one day.
I wish that the last time I saw you
I didn't rush away.
I wish that I had hugged you harder,
and told you I loved you that day.
I wish that I could bring you back
to see you one last time,
to hug you close, to hear your voice,
and then the world would be fine.
But all these things can't ever happen,
the nightmares are all about you.
There's not one thing I can change,
because these wishes will never come true.
May 19, 2016
May 19, 2016 at 1:39 PM UTC
She slumped by the archway of the Chapel,
Forlorn, beaten in fact;
She had come to these grounds from Plattsburgh,
(Cold, martial little city home to General Wood’s summer flings)
To lay a wreath she’d bought near the train station at Bayeux
Purchased from a women at a small shop table,
Who’d had the grace not to haggle over-much,
Knowing full well why someone would make such a purchase.
She’d hoped to lay it at her brother’s marker;
He’d been lost at Omaha, likely before he’d set foot on the sand
(She’d no ideas of such things at the time,
Death being a thing that happened to rabbits
Their old shepherd chased down in the back yard,
Or dolls beheaded courtesy of her younger brother)
But the plot number given to her with such confidence
By the young adjutant from the War Department
Had a name wholly unknown to her
(Where the information was bollixed she had no way of knowing,
Not that officialdom would be any more help to her,
With so many sons in Scranton,
So many husbands in Hamtramck,
So many fathers and brothers in the same boat)
And so she sat, overwhelmed with the distance she’d come,
The magnitude of her failure and its implications,
And the whole **** burden of simple humanity
When she was approached by an older man,
Who clearly resided nearby
(Why he was here less evident—the hush of the venue, perhaps,
Possibly some corporal he was indebted to).
He’d understood her predicament in an instant,
No doubt a scene he’d witnessed scores of times before,
Laissez-le sur un monument funéraire,
He crooned, patting her forearm
Ce n’est pas important, and he sauntered away.
She’d considered heeding his advice,
But she remained hostage
To some vestige of latter-day Babbitesque can-do,
And so she soldiered back toward the endless rows of marble,
Stretching out in endless parallel lines
As in some middle-school perspective perspective drawing
Without borders, without end.
Jan 31, 2018
Jan 31, 2018 at 12:10 PM UTC
A brackish lance of squandered resin,
Hurdles from the beacon shale, soldiered
To a least of blinding dwindles.
In epitaphs of silhouette
The spindle miradors retire
Earthbound castles martyred to
The coming of the rain
Jul 6, 2016
Jul 6, 2016 at 11:56 AM UTC
For too long I thought about your strong stature
that presence that quickened my breath
the closer we became, your scent intoxicated me
your inquiring mind attracted me, to discover
your mischievous eyes distracted me
your lips that parted so softly with each spoken word
I was lost in the world of you...and the possibility of us
Chance, risk, bravery took hold of me one night
Spurned on with thoughts of a finite life
I closed my eyes, and jumped
and landed with a thud on the plain of rejection
The feeling engulfed me, swirled through me like drafts through the rafters
but valiance shone through, relief overcame pity
the voice of fate whispered he's not for you
grasping at that, I soldiered on and recovered from the
sickness of love, or lust, or longing
And now someone else has you,
aesthetically pleasing to quote your phrase
to share in the laughter, and the joys of life
So here's to ye both, my love, and my best friend
may ye find out what ye are really like
Jun 12, 2011
Jun 12, 2011 at 2:56 PM UTC
Some days I just
Lay there,
2am – staring at the
Ceiling
Home alone when
I walk through my
Front door,
Thinking:
Take me. Take me now.
I can’t be this strong anymore.
I’ve been the travelling man
I’ve wandered through this hell,
Parched of love
Full of loneliness
Broken hearted
Defeated
Beaten to a pulp.
I’ve soldiered on this far
But now
The vultures can have me.
Then I sleep
And somehow I wake to the
Onslaught again.
Nov 12, 2011
Nov 12, 2011 at 9:29 AM UTC
She does not live there anymore
Pass by as often as you want
She has already closed that door
To the past, to the past
She finally said goodbye.
It has been a while
Since she moved away
But it took her
An eternity and a day
To move on
From the past, from the past
She is no longer burdened.
Everything became stale
Yet she soldiered on
Even then when hopes were frail
She fought past, She fought past
Til she smiled at last.
Whether it is
Irony or cliche
To come walking by
When her feelings no longer sway
It is a blast from
The past, the past
She no longer yens for.
May 5, 2013
May 5, 2013 at 7:19 AM UTC
Scrolling through old pictures,
I come across the photos
That show a timeline of my descent into madness
As mental illness ravaged every single part of me
Stole my personality
My laugh
My smile
The very essence of my being.
Most will say
"It was just a phase"
But that torment
That mental and physical pain
Wanting to disappear
The horror of looking into the mirror and not recognizing yourself
Not knowing what was going on
And not being sure you could stop it.
When your worst enemy lies within you,
How can you attack it, without hurting yourself?
Perhaps that is why mental illness is so tough to overcome.
You can't just snap out of it.
I shed tears for how sick I was
How inconsolable
How dark days turned into darker nights
Where nothing mattered
Nothing had purpose
I was less valuable than the air I breathed.
But I'm grateful for those that stuck by me
That believed in me
That picked me up when I fell down
For I didn't disappear into the abyss
I was propped back up on my own two feet
Prepared for battle
Prepared to change
Prepared to do whatever it took to survive.
Fought through university
Fought to make new friends
To NOT be defined by my invisible illness
I soldiered on.
Now I'm up against the hardest part of the battle.
Accepting myself for who I am.
And I will continue to fight.
For surrendering is abandoning the very essence of my being
My soul will not bear a white flag.
May 8, 2016
May 8, 2016 at 1:22 AM UTC
as I do I stand to bother
with thoughts of clouds
that rise from rubble all around
yet my mind wanders upward
I stifle sounds to stand in cold
and beckon yearning so abound
this little thing that I would mould
though all is fire all around
these sirens haunting so profound
are whispers falling to the ground
and here I bother lest confound
with markings soldiered and unwound
instead of spoonfed thoughtforms "found"
Dec 12, 2013
Dec 12, 2013 at 3:10 PM UTC
morning bird
awakened to our sins
stripped from the clear light
and forced into shadows
the keepers of secrets
the holders of silence
trapped beneath the marching of soldiered feet
across barren land
empty and bitter to our decline
for they yield no worth
for when reality strikes back
with its venomous teeth, ripe with treason
sun spread wings shall soar
above dark mountain tops
only to land again in darkness
Feb 28, 2013
Feb 28, 2013 at 1:46 AM UTC
All meaning is lost, when
Traumatized
By what One loves the most
I could not listen anymore --
What had always
Made me feel alive
From then on
Left me
Trembling on the floor
Just a sound
I would break down
Just a bang
I would go numb
How do I brave on
When my reason
To be
Veered from eternity
To treason.
I could not, I reckoned
Unless I decided;
I still deserve the best,
I stated.
The path to recovery
Is a wretched one
But find one
Even a rose
With too many thorns
Equals a princess
That soldiered on
I discovered
That I was able to once more
Write lyrics
To the tracks
That set me
Back on track
That I alone
Can possibly
Understand
The essence of
Its existence
The true meaning
Of one's being --
Brick by brick
Building me up to the music;
So not only can I listen
But here I am,
Dancing again.
May 7, 2014
May 7, 2014 at 2:53 AM UTC
Once upon a time there was a man who fed on other people's fears.
He soaked them up, he seasoned them with myth and stirred them up for years.
The stew he made was glutinous. It clung
To one's intestines and it stank like dung.
The gaseous mess oozed venomous stink
That fuddled minds and made it hard to think.
This fog of hatred , fear and false report
Made careful thought
Impossible for some,
But others battled on.
They had begun in youth a search for clarity and truth
And soldiered on through media hype and politician's babble,
Ignorance and greed ( the fodder of the rabble and the man it loved; the man who spoke for it,
The man who made it fine to hate).
He promised all a blissful state where each would live and call his own
A paradise that he could have alone
For who would share it?
Who could share?
Jul 27, 2016
Jul 27, 2016 at 5:30 AM UTC