"trooper" poems
It’s round 2, time for teamwork
Cowgirl position, hit that reverse
Up and down make that thang twerk
Got wet juices all over my T-shirt
Taste so good like it’s a dessert
Tap out twice quicker then sooner
Love you babe you a trooper
I’m the present & your future
Hi, I’m Zay, good to meet ya
When we’re done, I’ll have you dreaming
Have you singing like Aaliyah
Came inside you, you a keeper
I’m a giver, not a receiver
No pressure here, I’m here to please ya
Go half on a baby, yes I need ya
Round 3 is about to have you eager
Sep 20, 2020
Sep 20, 2020 at 6:51 AM UTC
Blueberry lemon juice
Gangly goose
Cruel brew moon
Roam
Soft lovely Mary
Sailor Taylor
Your lord, sinking sored
Vagon Ford
Virginia east coast roast
Most test
Chest, mess
Darling Dublin
Idaho, Ioawa
Cine noir
Lullaby
Mistic bee
Free my blue at the noon
Moaning soon
And the ring mostly seen
Chase my word
Siren fog
Heaven myths
Lick a lip
Nov 13, 2012
Nov 13, 2012 at 10:44 PM UTC
Star wars
star wars
What's there not to love?
Laser swords
and clone trooper hordes.
The action is thrilling,
the plot is chilling.
And everyone is just plain
badass
Starships and land rovers,
life is all in the galaxy.
The begining is epic,
*A long time ago
in a galaxy far, far away...*
What's more iconic?
Yoda so fly,
ain't no other franchise can try.
Star Wars,
my first true love.
Always wantin' to be a jedi,
destroy all sith
and bring balance to the force.
Almost may 4th,
May the forth be with you
there was 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, and 6
but 7?
you bringin' me to heaven
Star Wars,
is there anything better
May 3, 2016
May 3, 2016 at 3:50 PM UTC
There was death and gore,
During the second world war.
Many people died in extreme violence,
Killed before they could call out to loved ones.
Young men were trained to ****
Often against their morals and will.
So when I see your 1940s weekend -
Your 'war was fun and cosy' pretence,
Your clichéd polyester and fibre glass mockery,
Aiming to re-enact a mostly imagined happy-go-lucky camaraderie -
Forgive me for not joining in,
As I happen to feel it a cardinal sin,
To idealise and romanticise a decade,
Made up of austerity, rationing and air raids.
I've read a little social history,
The 1940s were not idyllic or crime-free,
Just as now, there were heroes and villains,
Among the soldiers and civilians.
Heroism abounded but so did black marketeering,
There were brave sacrifices but also racketeering.
City-wide black-outs were a gift,
To those who would rob and grift.
Your jolly nostalgic tribute is an annual celebration,
Celebrating your own fabrication,
Of a time when the machinations of war and a crazed ideology,
Saw the near extinction of an entire ethnic minority.
I do not wish to be a party pooper,
But don't just step into the fake shoes of a fictional trooper,
Please occasionally remove your rose-tinted glasses,
To remember that beyond your nostalgic narrative of the routines of the masses,
People lived with the daily fear,
Of the likely deaths of people they held dear.
Oct 9, 2018
Oct 9, 2018 at 6:49 PM UTC
Exceeding tall, but built so well his height
Half-disappears in flow of chest and limb;
Moustache and whisker trooper-like in trim;
Frank-faced, frank-eyed, frank-hearted; always bright
And always punctual--morning, noon, and night;
Bland as a Jesuit, sober as a hymn;
Humorous, and yet without a touch of whim;
Gentle and amiable, yet full of fight.
His piety, though fresh and true in strain,
Has not yet whitewashed up his common mood
To the dead blank of his particular Schism.
Sweet, unaggressive, tolerant, most humane,
Wild artists like his kindly elderhood,
And cultivate his mild Philistinism.
2.8k
Hey Princess my name is Han, I picture us together in a Galaxy Far Far Away
I promise you adventure to say the least
I'm not saying the courtship will be all filled with peace
I will fly you in a spaceship which is very nice
I hope you are able to withstand some strife
I have to let you know that I have a kind of pet he is quite unique
He is a Wookie you may in fact rather kiss him than me
If my mannerisms get under your skin
I feel I should warn you about the competition that is interested in You
I heard about a fat ugly guy named Jabba The Hut, he might even want to imprison you
Well I heard you once were interested in your brother, I am willing to overlook that fact
I can tell you that dating me is not boring to say the least
We will fight against The Empire and you will get to meet many Jedi Knights
You and I together will have to dodge fire from Storm trooper guns
Not to mention the dictator Darth Vader wants to **** both me and you
I will let you know if this don't appeal to you or sound like to much fun
You could date a certain doctor named DR. Who and see were he and his Tardis might take you.
Aug 9, 2014
Aug 9, 2014 at 8:31 PM UTC
Janice adjusts
the red beret
on her fair hair
and pulls at the hem
of her dress
as she sits
on the wooden seat
of the swing
in the park.
I sit on the swing
next to her,
ready to kick off,
my feet on the tarmac,
my eyes glued on her.
She winces.
Gran spanked me last night
for saying
that four letter word
you taught me.
You weren't supposed
to tell your gran.
You never said
not to tell;
I didn't know
what it meant.
Sorry,
I should have
told you.
(I didn't know,
but I don't tell her that).
She pushes off
with her feet
and she's air borne;
her sandalled feet
high in the air
as the swing goes backward
then forward.
I push off, too,
holding tight
to the steel links
on each side of the swing.
Maybe your gran
should have washed
your mouth out
with soap
instead of a spanking.
I wish she had, too.
My old man's aunt
swears like a trooper;
I used to go
to Sunday tea with her
and her husband
and my Nan used to say:
that's enough
of that language,
there's children present.
What did did she say?
They don't know
what it means,
she used to say;
but Nan'd say, no,
but they might repeat it
to people who do.
And did you?
Janice asks.
No, at least not
if my parents
were around.
I am swinging higher
than her now;
my feet seem to reach
the nearest clouds.
She tries to swing higher,
but I am still higher,
by swinging backward
and forward on the seat
and the holding tight
to steel links each side,
I am up there
with the gods.
Have you ever
been spanked?
I look at her.
Once when I peed
in my toy box
and my cousin
told my mum.
She pulls a face.
How ***** of you.
Yes, I guess;
Mum thought so.
I feel a breeze
in my hair and face
as I ride high,
swinging back and forth
on the swing.
She's beside me
trying hard to reach
as high as I am;
her feet reaching up,
her legs swinging madly;
her body going
backward and forward;
her red beret,
clinging on
for dear life
on her head.
I reach my maximum height;
my feet touching
Heaven's gates
or so seems,
my body going
back and forth
as much as it can.
She’s almost there,
smiling,
the wind riding
through her flowing
fair hair.
Dec 7, 2014
Dec 7, 2014 at 1:57 AM UTC
There used to be a time when you were paddling down the river
You'd hear that banjo song and you'd go all a quiver
You know the song I mean it always made me shiver
Now, there's something scarier when you're out there on that river
(banjo music...deliverance theme)
No matter how far south you go there's tv shows galore
Cajun this and Cajun that and Cajun even more
Louisiana sold out it's a reality tv *****
If you find name one show that's filming you know there's 15 more
(banjo music...deliverance theme)
Of all the shows out there I don't get Honey Boo Boo
I mean, look at how that child looks we're talking nasty ju ju
There's a high priestess out there who did some Boo Boo Voo Doo
I've never seen another kid who looks like Honey Boo Boo
(banjo music....deliverance theme)
There's not a place down south not owned by Duck Commander
They own the rights on everything, on every salamander
If there's a deal on anything, these good old boys will land 'er
The Robertson's own everything, those Buck 'n Duck Commanders
(banjo music...deliverance theme)
Now, as I said that banjo song was scary and it was a real big hit
But, now it takes up second place, something else will make you 'git
No need to fear the banjo being played by a hermit
It's when the State Trooper asks..."Boy, where's your paid up film permit?"
( banjo music...deliverance playout)
Jan 27, 2014
Jan 27, 2014 at 11:51 PM UTC
UNCHARISMATICALLY, he frowned his displeasure.
On his hunting ground, the rough-coated trooper lunged
into a human intruder.
Predation was a constant chore where extracting food
could be hard work in a competitive and heavily armed environment.
Feeling lucky he grinned, grinding his fused toothplates,
then grabbed and pulverized the passing meal, aware that
overgrazing could destroy his future.
Apr 10, 2010
Apr 10, 2010 at 3:04 AM UTC
A Storm Trooper Remembers
Lord Vader was always getting bees stuck in his helmet. Eventually he learned to live with them in his way,
it was even rumored he kept a flower garden in the Death Star's attic, perpetuating his own affliction. One time
pollen completely clogged his breathing apparatus and when he pulled off his helmet we saw that he was
wearing lipstick and eye shadow. He claimed it was for a play he had been writing and that he had to stay in
character and then he killed a bunch of us and claimed that was in the play too. Another time we caught him
smacking his head against the wall cursing Yoda, bees flying everywhere, we shot at the bees for hours but
inevitably didn't hit any, why did we even have guns? One time the dark lord was speaking fondly of his
annihilation of Alderaan when huge globs of honey began to bubble from his mouth piece. It was really hard to
take him seriously after that but I mean you had to, bees or no bees he could still choke the life out of you from
across the room.
Aug 10, 2012
Aug 10, 2012 at 3:25 AM UTC
Sleeping. A minute or two at a time. Mark. This guy hit somebody. Awake. Coat on. Front door out. A silver hatchback is parked blocking our driveway. Drivers Door opens. A man with dark hair gets out. Italian maybe. Takes three steps. Sees me. And at once without any acknowledgement beyond eyes meeting he is back in the car. And it's all you can do to stare at the rectangle of pressed aluminum. It's white characters on green. 638 UAR 638 UAR. And then his car is gone again but not before you glimpse the passenger side front quarter panel. What's left of it. Man he did a real smack. And then Still in Costco house shoes You listen to the scrape of his tires drive away and walk the outer line of the front fence along the line of cars parked in front of your house and up the front door of your rather dory sort of spry 84 year old neighbor. As you reach her front door You see it is open and only the glass screen door is shut. Think about rapping but reach for the doorbell instead. And there she is. Hi you say. A guy hit one of your cars out front. Four cars parked out front. two silver two redfish. Well come in she says. You apologize for the house shoes. A dad don't. As you step inside you realize how close to Christmas it really is. Her entire house. Silver & red. Four women Sitting around The dining room table. Someone's car has been Hit 84 says. The murmurs at the table soon turn into realizations. And questions. Which car? I don't know. He left. I just came here straightaway with the license plate. You realize you've been saying it aloud this whole time. 638 UAR. And now you and 5 bible studiers walk back outside. It's the first car. A white silver one. Joy for not much damage but Enough to pray over.
Jun 15, 2015
Jun 15, 2015 at 9:15 AM UTC
She was riding me with violence
Then there came this suspect silence,
Our bodies’ short alliance
Had came to a swift end.
Dismounting like a trooper,
She left me in a stupor…
To write on her computer?
I lay there in a daze!
She looked at me with eye of,
The deepest green, they’re kind of,
(you may have caused this rhyme love)
Like a gangrenous dove.
“I’ might continue later…”
I struggled not to hate her,
But it’s not her job to cater
To my seductive gait, or my deviant- like needs.
So I hatched a plan that just might,
Render my plight more trite,
And make my mind-set alright,
To continue through this day.
So I grabbed my **** with vehemence,
and pumped with such experience
that the ceiling’s coat of cream just
might vindicate my mind.
As it was dripping off the ceiling…
I began to get this feeling,
My intent had been revealing
To this cheeky penguin's view
As I looked over to guage her
reaction, I'd ought to savour,
but I was faced with a much stranger
Situation than I’d expect.
She was sitting with a smile...
The umbrella cocked awhile.
She must have seen through my quite vile,
Intentions straight away
She tilted her head slightly,
and with a wink, said quite politely -
"I guess you're done now Riley?
My plan...it worked a treat"
That’s why I like this woman,
She keeps me guessing more than,
a stockmarket versed in Russian,
or a way to end this poem.
Apr 30, 2012
Apr 30, 2012 at 6:56 PM UTC
Woke up this morning I was tired as hell, decided I would sit in the garden and dwell,
On the last weekend of pubs and clubs,when my ears picked up this feeble buzz,
Now usually the buzzin’ is my bassbox boomin’ but my bassbox bins were still back in my room,
Looked at my feet and to my surprise was a big bumblebee who’d fallen from the skies,
He looked worn out,torn up up,but still a lil’ fighter, musta gotten separated from the rest of his flight yeah,
So I remembered a tale taught by my mum,how to get a tired bee back to buzzin and hummin,
Put some salt and some water in a little saucer,and watch him build up his strength like a sorcerer,
But I decided to add my own twist to the game,so the Manuka honey,out she came,
Put a little dose of each in the saucer on the ground,so I could help the lil’ fella start buzzin around.
Helped him over the lip of the saucer quick,he looked about done in til he gave it a sip,
Then like popeye with spinach he started to swell,comin’ hummin like a trooper from the gates of hell,
From close to the end he was like Zip Zing!,floatin’ like a butterfly,ready to sting,
He took off and flew around all my ma’s fresh roses,full of beans, lookin mean striking Irish bee poses,
Then he landed on my hand but not to sting me up,
Took a little Bee bow then rose right up,
And I coulda swore I heard a voice hummin out to me,
"Thanks man you really helped out this busy bee",
He floated like a butterfly off my hand ready to sting if needed on the flowers he lands,
Then I gave him a wave and went on my way, and started the bee- ginnings of my own busy day.
Mar 27, 2016
Mar 27, 2016 at 3:50 PM UTC
"Do you know why i pulled you over?"
" Suspect it was because of my speed."
" Did you realize how fast you where going?"
" Nearly 75 miles per hour, you see, I noticed that concrete median just ahead and realized I have been suicidal lately, so I unbuckled my seat belt, glanced at my blinking airbag light letting me know this would be a for sure thing and gunned it. Then of course you turned on your lights, and i knew there's too big of a chance of making it to the hospital alive with a cop this close by when it happens so i decided to pull over. I thought may be suicide by cop would work, but i don't have a gun with me, so the worst that would happen is i would get tazed, and you'd have to do paperwork, so i abandoned that about the time you reached my bumper. To tell you the truth, you, and solely you, for multiple reasons, may have been the only thing that kept me from killing myself tonight. Now that I've had some time to think about it, I don't think dieing would help either, wouldn't help me or anyone else, so i think the best thing would be to just go home and sleep it off, sleep until i start to feel something again."
".......Life gets hard sometimes and you can't let it get a hold of you like that. Where do you live?"
"about ten blocks up"
"I'll let you go, but I'm going to follow you there just to make sure you get home in one piece, and in the morning check yourself into somewhere."
"I'll make sure to."
Jul 29, 2013
Jul 29, 2013 at 4:04 AM UTC
The storm trooper costume was somewhat of a joke between us friends. When we were 20, we dreamed of buying houses full of useless merch that fans buy out of love for something, but really just feeds the capitalist machine. Those friends are gone now and so are those dreams. The apartment is bare and empty, save for rusty heater that groans like an old drunkard, the hard bed in the corner next to the window that lets in the cold winter air and the single chipped wood table that wobbles on its uneven legs. There isn't even a lighter for the cigarettes.
I wonder how much Darth Vader paid his storm troopers? I wonder what it would be like to be in that suit, firing guns at Jedi Knights but not really hitting anything. I wonder what it will be like to be on spaceships travelling between galaxies and different points of the universe at light speed, setting eyes on new planets and whole new species that may range from space worms to aliens with higher intelligence.
Then again, there was that possibility that I could die. I was part of an intergalactic army after all. I'd be no match for a Jedi and i'd probably have no idea how to work my own weaponry. You probably can't smoke or drink, either-- lest you wish to incur the wrath of Darth Vader but... despite all that, I'd still take it over all of this grimey ****
After all, anywhere was better than here.
Jan 19, 2014
Jan 19, 2014 at 10:12 AM UTC
1. With index fingers extended, hook a belt loop on both right and left side of pants-
2. In a **** and twist" upward motion, hike pants up 2"-3"
3. ****
4. Utter **** **** or Oops!"
5. Jump in septic tank truck(don't forget to secure hoses)
6. Secure gun rack
7. Propel down highway.
8. Show state trooper National Rifle Association membership card
9. Post bail
10. Go home!
submitted by: R.V. Parks - June 19, 2015
Jun 19, 2015
Jun 19, 2015 at 2:57 PM UTC
Reluctant
or aloof gestapo.
Peers
look shocked,
or... waited apathy.
As they jubilantly run off
to implement the last resort.
© S. Wesley Mcgranor
Feb 21, 2015
Feb 21, 2015 at 5:14 PM UTC
“A mobster”
“Tony Soprano”
“Something out of Grease”
“John Travolta”
“You’re gonna whack me”
“A Greaser”
“The Godfather”
“One of those actors”
“Elvis”
“Pauly D”
“A state trooper”
“A cop”
Thanks,
Want me to,
Rudely,
Randomly,
Tell you,
What YOU look like?
Nov 16, 2023
Nov 16, 2023 at 10:43 AM UTC
Hey Princess my name is Han, I picture us together in a Galaxy Far Far Away
I promise you adventure to say the least
I'm not saying the courtship will be all filled with peace
I will fly you in a spaceship which is very nice
I hope you are able to withstand some strife
I have to let you know that I have a kind of pet he is quite unique
He is a Wookie you may in fact rather kiss him than me
If my mannerisms get under your skin
I feel I should warn you about the competition that is interested in You
I heard about a fat ugly guy named Jabba The Hut, he might even want to imprison you
Well I heard you once were interested in your brother, I am willing to overlook that fact
I can tell you that dating me is not boring to say the least
We will fight against The Empire and you will get to meet many Jedi Knights
You and I together will have to dodge fire from Storm trooper guns
Not to mention the dictator Darth Vader wants to **** both me and you
I will let you know if this don't appeal to you or sound like to much fun
You could date a certain doctor named DR. Who and see were he and his Tardis might take you.
This is dedicated to some friends of mine who are big science fiction fans, and my daughter who likes DR. Who
I also give credit to George Lucas who created the Star Wars films and Whoever created DR. Who
#science #star #personal #wars #fiction #ad
Oct 15, 2015
Oct 15, 2015 at 10:40 AM UTC
I ran back
down to Piccadilly Square
just to get a closer look
at that doll baby.
She rambled by so quickly in
striped red & white stockings,
her lemon yellow
draped her shoulders,
bouncing like springs,
like her gorgeous *******
& that sweet sexy-tune.
She had vibrant graffiti
sprayed on her arms,
wore come-do-me ruby stilettos
as she glided like a storm trooper
along the promenade.
Her blackened full lips puckered,
with slanted paparazzi shades,
leaving a wake of open-mouthed
wide-eyed gawkers speechless.
Man, she was tough,
a rare cool bird,
struttin' her pretty
hot stuff,
it left me breathless.
Feb 6, 2014
Feb 6, 2014 at 1:22 PM UTC
Me:
Cruising down the left lane
Grey skies, and makeup smudged from the night before
A night of confusion, lost with no direction
Until now, on the highway
I know exactly where I am going
Street signs are dusted with flakes of snow
I envision the night before
Arms around my waist
Is that where they are supposed to be?
A kind of unwanted taste; is this the right spice?
Trapped in my mind I don't notice the lights
Flash, double flash, and then flashing blue
A state trooper, official and firm
Belching his words which then suicide on the pavement
Screaming like an inner child, yelling like a large man
My brain gets trapped mid-belch
Like his words have pinned me down; they are boulders
And my mind rushes back to years ago
My stepfather marching, screaming, pulling
And my head hits the cabinet
I'm awake, a ticket in hand drenched with tears
Before I can say a word, I look in my mirrors and he is gone
Click, shift, back in drive; back in my mind
As I venture home, sobbing, cursing
Screaming to the music as loud as a want; nobody can hear a thing.
Him:
And to this day I can only see her face in my mirror
I could not stand to see her suffer
It was a bug, she said; an insect in her mind
fighting with the neurons and itching for control
And I will never forget the day the insect won.
I could have been there, I could have stopped it.
All of those close calls, all of those sleepless nights
All of those trips to therapists
And I should have seen it coming.
I never knew she would really jump.
Drivers today, they are imbeciles
Left lane dwellers, I've had enough
**** the people, the emotions, the petty thoughts
**** the ignorant college students, the young ones
So I pulled her over.
The same hair, eyes green like my daughters.
She hated me, she despised me, I had done it again.
My words were like ***** up and out
Hasty and volatile; but I emotionless
And I'm off again down the dusty road.
Jan 14, 2011
Jan 14, 2011 at 6:44 PM UTC
Kathleen, my little girl,
Just texted me.
She's in labor.
D-Day.
What a trooper.
Soft landing
To my first grandchild.
Jun 11, 2014
Jun 11, 2014 at 7:26 AM UTC
THE STORM
frees the "elemental man"
from the complexity
that merely impersonates
the seed planted
in fertile soil
the seemingly impenetrable prison
he has put himself in
which collapse as
true consciousness is shown
one that incorporates
all the rest
with a nurturing breasted vision
of eternal love
a love that permeates
all who strive
to make clear
a MANKIND growing unto a
"YOU & I"
and
by grace
is
finally seen
THE STORM
sets the warriors free
to find eachother
MAN TO MAN
able to STORM
the prisons and tear them down
and thus reveal
the real world
Sep 27, 2010
Sep 27, 2010 at 10:52 AM UTC
Beer Boys at The Cross Keys
money crams the table – chalk names filled to closing
so we moved next door
to The Jolly Trooper
where a crowd of old boys drank whisky and talked clod
over pickled eggs and ham
we thought the chatter would stop
but a worked hand ****** a glass deep into my palm
‘ere, aveadropuvthisun
amber smelling liquid
raised my lips in sour expectation
gone
fire from the hearth
autumn plums and American oak-soaked grape
sculpture a smile
it’s good **** good
a clap on the back and a glug in my glass
Nov 27, 2013
Nov 27, 2013 at 11:15 AM UTC