"truces" poems
In between the hills lays a land of green green grass
Where the heavens made their love of life
And gods sung of such sight
Be the lands that they did fight for us
the green green grass
Oh green the land of warriors
The land we all do dwell
Green the grass the layman loves
True paradise be felt
In battle times and truces found the land did best
It could
Yet all of them who fought for us they knew and understood
The green land see found their place to die for
Poppy's blood
A land we wished we all could live
A world of peace and love
Oh green the land of warriors
The land we all do dwell
Green the grass the layman loves
True paradise be felt
Someday the land will fill our souls and peace will
Win the day
The green green land will be our rest god bless to all we pray
In those who fought so we could see the green green land this way
We praise and silence once a year
Remembrance
Poppy day
Nov 6, 2013
Nov 6, 2013 at 10:42 AM UTC
Poppy Day
In between the hills lays a land of green green grass
Where the heavens made their love of life
And gods sung of such sight
Be the lands that they did fight for us
the green green grass
Oh green the land of warriors
The land we all do dwell
Green the grass the layman loves
True paradise be felt
In battle times and truces found the land did best
It could
Yet all of them who fought for us they knew and understood
The green land see found their place to die for
Poppy's blood
A land we wished we all could live
A world of peace and love
Oh green the land of warriors
The land we all do dwell
Green the grass the layman loves
True paradise be felt
Someday the land will fill our souls and peace will
Win the day
The green green land will be our rest god bless to all we pray
In those who fought so we could see the green green land this way
We praise and silence once a year
Remembrance
Poppy day
Nov 8, 2014
Nov 8, 2014 at 3:26 AM UTC
In between the hills lays a land of green green grass
Where the heavens made their love of life
And gods sung of such sight
Be the lands that they did fight for us the green green grass
Oh green the land of warriors
The land we all do dwell
Green the grass the layman loves
True paradise be felt
In battle times and truces found the land did best it could
Yet all of them who fought for us they knew and understood
The green land see found their place to die for poppy's blood
A land we wished we all could live a world of peace and love
Oh green the land of warriors
The land we all do dwell
Green the grass the layman loves
True paradise be felt
Someday the land will fill our souls and peace will win the day
The green green land will be our rest god bless to all we pray
In those who fought so we could see the green green land this way
We praise and silence once a year remembrance poppy day
Nov 11, 2012
Nov 11, 2012 at 1:11 PM UTC
Scars, that I’ve been hiding all my life
With scarves
Bruises, witness of what the truth is
Red eyes, brimming pearls of lost truces
Yelling, Blaming and banners of ‘Deserved it’
Never saw the alarm signs
They were not bold enough, like me
Always told that I’m fine, when I couldn’t even breathe
Maybe it’s been hash on me lately and
I don’t wanna make you too feel low
Maybe just pull me closer and never let me go
Cause the scars are now aching
And the bruises, deep blue
The pearls are now sold for ground breaking news
The yelling has me shaken; I stand with heart that’s broken
Too many times like my body
But you’re innocent, oddly.
Scarves, that have been hiding scars for long
I put them free
Cause I again, wanna feel like me.
Feb 16, 2021
Feb 16, 2021 at 12:37 AM UTC
Robot rendezvous and electric engagements
Android alimony to cyborg sexists
Weve created our technological truces
Bound tightly to this digital dance
We wont work without electronic easing
Copy and paste emotion
Upload desires
Forward your sentiments
Firewall the insufferable experience
Logout of life and reboot reality
Let the dry bones regain their flesh
The empty eyepits become filled and see
Electro-spark the cognitive cardiac arrest
And reascend the route from the CPU catacombs
Feb 12, 2013
Feb 12, 2013 at 2:28 PM UTC
I met a woman
with a trumpet tongue
who played her words on
paper, white as truces.
she told me through my stereo
"we've both had days
where the phoenix didn't rise".
we' have all had days
where the phoenix did not rise.
but thank goodness
my birthday was the first time
I heard your lips part
and saw your teeth spill oceans
of blue blankets across my jellyfish eyes.
I wish everyone understood the irony
of writing love poems to a lesbian,
but my hands never seemed to reach
the ends of my arms
like I want them to.
They always get stuck dancing somewhere
in the middle.
playing a tune only they can sway to
knowing all the steps
bouncing off every syllable
while others let their wrists go limp
as if the puppeteers needed strings
to tune their fiddle
for a happy song
somewhere far far away.
so take my breath again
keep it wherever it is that you keep
the gasps our ears give you
as your words pull the
heartstrings we forgot we had
that we forgot how to play
to wave our wet-noodle fingers and
conduct a life worth living
so full of blatant love
not afraid to make no sense
my chest was an rusty locket
the day before I heard you
and now I am so full of echoes
from it's tiny, timid click.
For Andrea,
you are a sketchbook muse,
something I have to guess at on my
worst days when there are no words
and the rain smells like a swan song
from the sky.
you kept me writing when there
was nothing left to draw
or sing or smell or see anymore.
when there was black smog
between my eardrums pounding out
the dying breath of clouds
you held me through tinny earbuds
and poems I etched in the moss
running over back roads in my mind
so I hope
you find peace
every time you find a microphone
and that someday, I'll play you a tune
which echoes through you,
with a tiny, timid
click
and a full breath
that resuscitates the open blue
until we are both whole beneath it
until, again, we are true.
Aug 2, 2013
Aug 2, 2013 at 11:38 AM UTC
It’s a burnt sort of breeze
The type that grins with
Nervous thoughts
Boys call it beauty
We try not to believe them
It’s a burnt sort of breeze
A twisted core asks for change
The new don’t know the old
The birds will fall
It’s a burnt sort of breeze
But it will be colorful
Remarkably beautiful
Faces washed and flesh repaired
It’s a burnt sort of breeze
And the pain will return
And the memory will ****
Onto the arms of the weak or young
It’s a burnt sort of breeze
That circles around
She brings hope
But truces are irrelevant
Nov 4, 2012
Nov 4, 2012 at 10:37 PM UTC
The most
fragile
of truces,
held together
on a
silver hair's
breadth.
Sail
your fingers
across
the ocean
between
our shipwrecked bodies
and say
it will
all be
ok.
It has to be ok.
Oct 10, 2014
Oct 10, 2014 at 3:19 PM UTC
Truces
by Michael R. Burch
Artur took Cabal, his hound,
and Carwennan, his knife,
and his sword forged by Wayland
and Merlyn, his falcon,
and, saying goodbye to his sons and his wife,
he strode to the Table Rounde.
“Here is my spear, Rhongomyniad,
and here is Wygar that I wear,
and ready for war,
an oath I foreswore
to fight for all that is righteous and fair
from Wales to the towers of Gilead!”
But none could be found to contest him,
for Lancelot had slewn them, forsooth,
so he hastened back home, for to rest him,
till his wife bade him, “Thatch up the roof!”
We must sometimes wonder if all the fighting related to King Arthur and his knights was really necessary. In particular, it seems that Lancelot fought and either captured or killed a fairly large percentage of the population of England. Could it be that Arthur preferred to fight than stay at home and do domestic chores? And, honestly now, if he and his knights were such incredible warriors, who would have been silly enough to do battle with them? Wygar was the name of Arthur’s hauberk, or armored tunic, which was supposedly fashioned by one Witege or Widia, possibly the son of Wayland Smith. Legends suggest that Excalibur was forged upon the anvil of the smith-god Wayland, who was also known as Volund, which sounds suspiciously like Vulcan. Keywords/Tags: King Arthur, armor, sword, Excalibur, spear, Lancelot, wife, domestic chores, war, peace, homework
Apr 18, 2020
Apr 18, 2020 at 1:17 AM UTC
a handshake
sincere smiles all around
i laughed as my feet hit the ground
we had so much in common
i must have retold all my favourite jokes to you
because by the second time we hungout
i found you reciting the same jokes to all your friends
a pinky swear
with more to say then just drama and secrets
we found ourselves connected by unspoken truces
and the promise to stay there for more
not knowing what "more" stood for, scared me
but you said i could trust you
so of course
i did
a thumb war
subliminal targeting with unprepared words
sometimes i wasn't sure if you even meant it
other times i questioned who had the upper hand
was there even a hand to be upped
or did my stubburness seem too pretentious to recognize
and my fatal flaw was not recognizing yours
an arm wrestle
stuck between what we knew and what we wanted
ambitious ties and flawed questions
maybe sometimes flawed people
but mostly unrecognized confusion and dismay
a punch
it was really quick and it hurt like hell
i guess i didn't have my guard up when it happened
not sure what you took out in the process
but we both lost something
that something i didn't realize till now
i never really lost in the first place
Jun 9, 2014
Jun 9, 2014 at 10:52 PM UTC
the raw confusion of the nucleotide fusion,
the great concoction of recombinant DNA,
when we cross over our own boundaries
and subsume, integrate, reformulate our
very selves, with inhalation complete of
another human being; the danger’s inherent,
absorbing a foreign body totally is the creation of a new being entire, vulnerable
despite the new totality of the resources of
two hearts acquired for mergence
and the rush of two different bloodstreams
now circulating, stronger by far, and equally
vulnerable to diseases never prior considered,
these tissues patches, interwoven skins, two
fabrics, silk and wool, a smooth itchy, that
makes us stronger with yet unknowns of weaknesses, and then we encounter what
cannot easily be digested, comprehended,
for even new cells split apart, and the terrible
terror of dividing division that is the side effect of integration, new subdivisions never
ever forever foreseen cause volcanic tremors
and trusting your other half is awful,
until the fear subsides
*this is the why
I write of
only love poetry,
the study of this process
so poorly and powerfully
misunderstood
is the atom bomb
of the human psyche
in rivers dark we travel,
oars with cotton muffled,
for there are dangers on each bank,
and in the waters beneath
the salt and the fresh
excitingly & violently blending,
different weights
somethings fall to the bottom,
others rise to the top
*and when the process is nearly resolved
(for never ending,
by default defined,
for end is a conflict
constant
interrupted by truces fraught,
fragrant and vulnerable)
*this then
is living,
this physic of the
bio-il-logic process
called love,
and the endlessness
that it requires
the inconstancy
of the
constancy
of the
deepening well,
and the
redemption of
redefinition
of what is
well*
<>
2:10pm
nyc
10/21/24
Oct 21, 2024
Oct 21, 2024 at 2:11 PM UTC
Can you keep a secret?
Promise me,
you'll keep it
shut behind your
lips and teeth and tongue.
Though I'm sure
once I've said it
you won't ever forget it
but I'll regret it later
when its been said and done.
Since all the walls have ears
and all the ears hold whispers
little things
that I could never tell
but you remain so silent
when inside you're so defiant
it's secrets like this
that reveal your true self.
Yet,
once they're out
they're out
and everything changes
and what's more strange is
the fact that
everyone says, 'they won't'
but despite their excuses
loose lips often sink our truces
because words have a way
to undo the 'don't's
don't tell a soul
it's between you and I
forever
and
ever
but that's a lie
since all the eyes
looking back in mine know
that don't became
'did you know...'
The doors close and lock away
all those with the courage to say
Can you keep a secret?
Promise me,
you won't
Jun 20, 2015
Jun 20, 2015 at 5:04 PM UTC
For every good intention there is 1000 evil uses
And for every evil use there is 10000 dead bodies there is no art in those corpses and there is no art in yours
They do not tell you about the cold ice that will devour your skin
The wails of my mother stay my hand, she is silent but it's all I hear
I don't need you here, I will take what's offered I know the deal
Let's seal it it with a kiss I can be your lateness swing and miss
You will always have your bliss, it's good to know my uses
I'm tired of your truces, lies that don't last a week, i prefer your abuses, at least that way I have some sympathy to eat
Jan 7, 2015
Jan 7, 2015 at 9:34 PM UTC
merciless genocide
slaughter of native peoples
wrought with (super) wanton zeal
feeble ability to thwart
"discoverers" rapine wicked onslaught
merely ratcheted wrecked webbing
wrenched tribal unity,
violently rent asunder
vibrant indigenous linkedin weave
rendered sacred weltanschauung
decimated "noble savage"
woke wretched nightmare,
sans pock marked worsted weal
the Native American holocaust
shrouded in whitewashed veil
tragedy trampled truces
triggering tearful trail
scoped scattered remnant
snuffed out via surveil
futile sympathetic remonstrances,
viz rant and rail
hermetically sealed
***** deeds done dirt
blunted, cheapened,
and deadened
lance armstrong to quail
most definitely coloring faces
of captive
American Indians deathly pale
into figurative coffin
got hammered
rusty nine inch nail
subpar critical population mass
for survival, plus storied "red man"
bereft of ample potent male
off limits to original proprietors
forced to hightail
happy hunting grounds o'er hill and dale
becoming desiccated bleached bones
devoid of awful, pitiful,
and sorrowful fait accompli
and roaming spirits
like banshees bewail
grievous shadow a blot doth cause me to ail!
Apr 29, 2018
Apr 29, 2018 at 6:16 PM UTC
Cesspools of naked bodies and lust.
Emptiness ravages the home I call my soul,
And in the throes of love and despair
All is not lost, all turns to rust.
Over time, over distance, over loss of care
I lie alone, in the midst of forget-me-nots,
You have devoured me whole.
I am an ***** donor-
If you need my heart, you can have it.
My lungs have breathed for you since we met.
They are corroded with tar,
That beating muscle is broken, salvage it.
I hope you find someone who rises your suns once they have set.
And in the end I am left with
Digital memories and things I'd be better off to forget.
I can erase the pictures on my phone
But I cannot erase the once thriving forest,
With leaves of desire and soil of trust,
So alive- feelings of love, bereft.
You burned down the home
We built together, for what?
I forget things faster than they come to mind,
But you are the exception.
I would've walked through fire and razor blades and nooses and water just deep enough-
But you couldn't even explain why.
What with your unconscious deception,
We could've gotten higher and have it made and truces and wander deep in touch.
But you couldn't even fight.
We say our goodbyes and
I listen to the silence that follows.
I reach into the void for some sort of closure that you will not bring.
It ends in screeching cries and
The kind of pity that wallows.
I turn to dust and collapse to the shadows, the kind of song you can't sing.
Finish her and bury the evidence.
Throw her into the water, let the tide take her away.
She will rot and corrode with nature, become one with the sea.
Don't forget your medicine,
And make sure you tell them you love them and this time, stay.
I will see you in the future,
Where we are one and you are me.
Mar 22, 2017
Mar 22, 2017 at 5:43 PM UTC
I am the cultivations of civilisations and cultures
pulled like skin over a drum across oceans and continents,
An amalgamation of nations,
a mosaic of traits and tricks of the trade and familiar faces and swirling DNA
I am a product of my time,
a member of the wasted youth, existing in the chasm between philosophy and mediocracy, democracy and demolition, truces and the truth
I am a night thinker and a daydreamer, I have flowers in my hair and demons in my heart,
I'm a chain smoker;
a broken individual at best
I'm a money chaser, a risk taker, a pretty little heart breaker, a liberal, a time waster, an anything but what I should be.
I am here and now,
gone by tomorrow,
a hedonist at heart,
rising and falling like a setting sun
Apr 20, 2015
Apr 20, 2015 at 7:58 AM UTC
Hope fades
and we knew it.
Thank God for the Goose,
It might have ended faster.
All the compromises. Truces.
Your head was big, but
my mouth was bigger.
We blamed each other,
But both saints were sinners.
Despite Friday dinners,
boredom overcame.
Freedom had many names.
We always came back,
To the fighting, condescension
to the lies, and the tension-
for the familiarity.
Maybe for the charity.
Do not pity me.
Argue with me.
Let's make it easy-
Take it to the bed,
inflate your head,
shut me up.
Screaming and sweating,
it ended how it began.
And now we're smiling,
dreaming, pretending
until the next round,
sinning, hell-bound.
Hell-bent.
Ask me where hope went?
I'll tell you: it faded.
Jan 20, 2011
Jan 20, 2011 at 1:21 AM UTC
Long legs are in this season.
So bring your own cameras.
Prom-queens dream of deflowering each other,
To the sounds of ******** pounding.
Hundreds of tears falling simultaneously.
Who paints these images.
Situations are limited,
Don't you think?
These rifts between the continents.
Indeed, fit together quite nicely.
Are you romantic or just pedantic?
Lands of love are lost like missing contact lenses.
So remove your power cords from faulty sockets.
Rockets to the moon keep time to your tune.
I wonder if truces are too much to ask for?
Did you sour this moment?
By being too loud or intrusive,
While the angels are all moaning,
Phony people throw pebbles into rivers.
Are we awake or are we dreaming?
Keep streams clean,
And instead throw your rocks at people!
Jan 18, 2019
Jan 18, 2019 at 12:45 PM UTC
Trust, ties, tears, tears;
With setting rising sun,
just Truth remains.
Trinity's traits transcending to transcript,
The temple trusting the tryst to tall togas;
Truces, tangs, tangles, tags, teams,
with tricks or trills are tackled, tamed by
Those trained to taste the towering truth.
Taints, taboos, tattoos;
With cycling of seasons,
only Truth stays there.
Transgressing traps, talons, treasons,
Thorns, thongs, tides translucent;
These tapes, talks, tales transient,
Are trifles, tickles, trivial, trite;
To tribes treading the track of truth.
Talents, tacts, top techs;
Against infinite labyrinth,
Truth alone can pass.
Taut troops trotting the toiling trek;
Taunting, tapering the tonnage of trash;
Transversing tough tests of tempts,
Are trails of tiring trials, For
Those who treble the tone of truth.
Thrashing traumas to transfixing trance;
With beast or with beauty,
Truth belongs to soul.
Through love and death,
the true timeless tapestries;
Life translates to truth,
and becomes a happy moment;
The moment which is forever.
Apr 13, 2016
Apr 13, 2016 at 9:57 AM UTC
Beneath the oak tree I lie
Watching all the passers-by:
Here are a happy chubby boy
And a girl playing with a toy,
I hear them intellectually converse
Over the sins of universe:
‘Humans crave wealth with immense love,
Like the bread crust eaten by a hungry dove,
Like an elephant devouring tons of peanuts,
Like an ape wolfing down a tree of coconuts,
Like pearls bringing woes to misers,
Like swords slaying their carriers,
Like truces signed by traitors,
Calling them “The Peace Creators”
Like Pharaohs, owners of stakes,
Oppressing within lands and lakes,
Like Agamemnon taking Achilles’ prize,
Like Caesar thinking he’d immortalize.’
‘I concur,’ the girl goes on to say,
‘Our life on earth is a short stay,
The Lord above we should obey,
But creatures, insolently, go astray;
Yet He awards us generously.
Caution: we may be taken heedlessly!’
No time to waste, no time to sleep,
No time to slacken; the matter IS deep:
To the Lord above I beseech,
Oh God, have mercy on our breach.
Apr 1, 2015
Apr 1, 2015 at 1:59 AM UTC
Mammy's favorite colour was red.
Cycle red. New born red. Deep cuts red.
And roses.
Daddy preferred earth colour.
New potato patene, manure mix,
And bottle brown.
We all knew green-eyed envy,
White-flag truces and surrenders.
Black somber calls in the pitch of night.
The passion of purple,
Serenity of blue wounds.
The orange hues of morning and evening
Where anticipation and destination meet.
Aug 29, 2017
Aug 29, 2017 at 8:54 AM UTC
Theoretically speaking I'm constantly seeking for truth.
Waving white flags and truces even when whites are hanging nooses, buildings of blockades an aid for destruction mentally constructed to keep our eyes blind a constant excuse for freedom.
When sometimes I think freedoms a disease the way so many armed forces are forced over seas to siege a way with an extra arm to squeeze at enemies abroad for things unknown just to drop a nuke.
So let these visions be televised and in the future wise men become the eyes sequences in history repeating repetitiveness will seize but until then we live out America's Dream
Feb 7, 2017
Feb 7, 2017 at 11:24 PM UTC
Lands of love are lost like missing continents
Remove your power cords from faulty sockets
Rockets to the moon keep time to your tune
Truces are too much to ask for
Did you sour this moment
Loud like two lovers moaning
Phony people throw pebbles into the deep
Are you awake or pretending to sleep
Do we dream or do we think
Keep streams clean
Instead throw your rocks at people
Mar 8, 2019
Mar 8, 2019 at 12:56 PM UTC
Maybe I just wanna sabotage this
While I wait for you to do it
Western style
Locked and loaded
Who's gonna draw first
**** a white flag
No truth in our truces
Well this time,
You won't catch me with my guard down
Apr 19, 2017
Apr 19, 2017 at 1:27 AM UTC
Since i met rakim i became a microphone fiend
Been Big since i had dreams magazines
Limousine picture me getting cream
Ridiculous suckas turn suspicious
Once they see my money grow vicious
Mk ultra a beat silence the elite repeat
See my tactics could wipe a navy fleet
Smoke torpedos this is for ya pendejos
Hating only my flows check these holes
As the blood pours left ya with open pores
Ya finna soar to the skies with no floor
Floating like Casper villian master
Taster any beat i eat with no receipt
Needed multiple guns
beaming
Flashback ya back into the
future
Got ya mind to time slippin' still rippin'
Sucka emcees glide it like Cal Ripken
Sippin' the baddest sins once again
With Thick chicks from African to Puerto Ricans
Dominican
Let's go time traveling
javeling
Fools hiding behind the
bushes
Only truces when my guns going in dueces
Extension gooses back to the Canada mooses
Yo im a bull make ya winkle as I get rocky
Jab sicker than Ali why me try me sly me
They dont wanna see the devil dance
Glance rhymes to beats greets romance
Unzip ya girls pants
make her beg for one more chance
Hit her with the dopest
stance
Cup the mic like it was a
baby
Fresh outta the womb from the tombs
Your consumed by the
blossom
To booms yo fools gotta make rooms
Gods Is back black melanin attacks
Swift as the slash of an axe
Causin' cell damaging
impact "yeahhhh"
Nov 16, 2019
Nov 16, 2019 at 6:06 AM UTC