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Metaphor War Poems | Metaphor Poems About War

These Metaphor War poems are examples of Metaphor poems about War. These are the best examples of Metaphor War poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

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Details | Free verse | |

Moments In Time

The sweetest sounds of burning trees
A gentle stroking in the breeze
The calm has lasted past the storm
Cloudy visions, Satan’s roar
Too many sights have passed my way
A time found only in the haze
The softest screams are running bare
My aching bones creak as I stare

You walk a distance towards me
The fall’s eternal, can’t you see?
I’m a memory in your heart
I whisper to you in the dark

The battle’s started at the end
No one is coming to repent
The sinners grab their wine from prey
No judgment calling here to stay
The sport is reckless to be told
The one is laughing at his souls
It falters nowhere to be sure
The power grows forevermore
Like a spirit in the wind
I have no say in where you’ve been 
But cross the line to come to me
And pay the price for ecstasy

You walk a distance towards me
The fall’s eternal, can’t you see?
I’m a memory in your heart
I whisper to you in the dark. 


Details | I do not know? | |

To those for war

Paddling through a river you made.
Rowing to your success & fame.
So row!
Paddle through the blood,
The blood of your countries sons.

Watching your people try to swim.
As they fill the river to it's brim.
So stare!
Watch them create the river you row through,
Rowing through all their blood.

Planting your countries flag into a generation.
As you land at your destination.
So sow! 
Plant the metal pole through the shriveled corpses,
The corpses of a dead generation.

Hearing the mothers' cries.
As they stare at all their sons' lives.
So listen!
Hear the tormented wails of agony,
Agony caused by your greed.


Details | Free verse | |

Generic Minds

generic minds listen to generic music
have generic thoughts that are unknowingly abusive
watch generic things talk about generic things
gee this generic *****is spreading like a disease
better get your flu shot 
thats what they said to me
a suicidal vaccine 
a subliminal killing spree
its contagious and the outrageous
thing about it is that the people are blind in an eye
that they didn't even know they had
it's sickening to watch these clueless civilians 
inside the looking glass
with nightmares of being free
without a key to their mind
for it is trapped in the frequency
in the illusion of time
bathed in our universe
killing all that refuse to see
those that admit to hypocracy
or see the message in hip hop
how cant you see
the message in the lyrics that
bring adolescents to their knees
from bullet wounds conflicting their flesh
contradicting that they're the best
but the songs keep telling them that they dont need no rest
that they dont wanna go home
that they should ride alone
with the gat as their only companion
and so the only path they choose is the one that they're told
until they grow old and hope turns to a window pane
inside a window pane, until all they feel is pain
they realize that the music itself is ashamed
so whats to look up to
when you cant even speak when you cant even walk because you look so bleak
your eyes are sunken from the tv you're infested with the dee zees
now its too late to turn around and live for your conscious
so when youre screaming oh please
close your eyes and bring your mind to life
open your eyes for the first time
and never wonder why
since the answer this entire time
has been inside
and you better find it before you die
you dont want your soul to be in a pool with all the others
a buncha brothers missing their mothers
but only seeing strangers
only feeling the haters
wishing they would have used their minds when they had them
and now its too late,
now it's time for another new born fate to grab them


Details | Haiku | |

The Internet: Return

A void of Facebook
Creativity dies here...
Procrastination!


Details | Lyric | |

Solipsist

Let the Deicide commence.

You're a voyeur at best!
Your vampiric heart is beating out of your chest!
And you have slayed the ones whom would love you for anything less
Ready to consume the final fragments of innocence,
And for you there is no forgiveness,
On your knees pleading, screaming to a tyrant in the skies;
The father of lies.

I will never be enslaved in your superiority
The people agree: jaded of your false dichotomies.
Know: I will be whomever nature intends to be
Apollo and I will share our dreams,
and you will be forced to see
your failure!

I know who you are...
Readily the first to present your scars
Chained by some despot or mental czar
An emotional homunculus in your mind, behind bars
Reluctant to escape - even when proven fake
Your demented mind - depths no one will penetrate!
 
...And you see me suffering
Not caring of any casualties
Just as long you recieve your safeguard of sympathy
So very wary of the masses and their Anarchy; Liberious ways

Solipsist - Is there no one you can see?
Even if she was presented burning?
Solipsist - Is there no one you can believe?
Even if Sophia was screaming?
Solipsist - Know you have killed and abused me
Imprisoned in your own  personal reality 




Details | Free verse | |

World War - Benita Margaronis

RED  DOOR (collaboration)


by~ Benita Margaronis

War Of The World Death, pain, blood, 
Shell-shocked men, suffering and darkness. 
It's all they ever saw.  
Soldiers thinking about their lives.  
Rotting flesh and the whimper of dying men with their bodies half blown off.  
Other soldiers shooting them in the head to end their pain.   
The shattering sound of an explosive destroying life and more ground.  
Blood and body parts spray through the air and spread throughout the ground. 
Total emptiness and nothingness.  
Mounds and mounds of biting bodies and horses.  
Scattered planes, tanks, trucks and others.  
Burning guns and oil.  
Because the world went to war so much was lost for so little gain.  
The war of the world shall never be forgotten. 


by~ Poet Destroyer

War of the world Sacrifice.
Doors tainted red, tragedies never forgotten.
Mediterranean swept the soul of combatants without a word to say.
A war so defiant both sides lost more than humanity to each other. 
Prisoners, white flag surrendering, shot in the head with no remorse.
Brave soldiers wiping off the blood of their face like a tear.
Men in fetal positions crying hard like the day they were born for*mom-MA.
Soldiers pocket full of notes and dog-tags for a loved one.
Achievements that followed death without a mother's hand to hold.
Chaotic news and telegrams traveled without a moment to spare.
A flag brought to the door painted black.
Mothers falling to the floor broken hearted.
Because no one can mend the courage one gave to us today. 
The war of the world shall never be forgotten.


A collaboration with * Benita Margaronis

My collaboration contest


Details | Iambic Pentameter | |

The Letter

Present Date:   December 25, 1995
Envelope Date Stamped:  December 23, 1944
From:  _______  no return address but clearly overseas
To:  Addressed to widow living in same home 54 years

~          ~          ~          ~          ~          ~          ~          ~          ~

The Letter

The letter came by mail on Christmas Day
The envelope was clearly decades old
No postal service can be used today
From overseas the stamps were sealed and sold

This could not be about the man I lost 
The mystery of where he is remains
Is MIA from World War II his cost
In this enfolded missive clue contains 

An overwhelming fear takes hold of me
To get this letter on a holiday
My life content but miss my man at sea
Potential subterfuge to my dismay ?

Sit next to flaming hearth not thinking clear
There's something that this letter has to say
Mentation meditates the chiffonier
I put away to read another day


Details | Epic | |

Trilogy


She splendid came before the light of dawn,
Emerged from Halls of deep memoir's efface;
'Let me express my love in eyes and ways,
before death turns me back to granite stone.'

Embraced were we while the winds raced moaning,
our strings of lives joined outside of mute grief;
there was a hope left when the arcane Nymph
fled East, towards the first light of morning.
..............

Unvirtuous sons of metamorphosis,
vociferous assault - lives to degrade,
with cymbals' wrothly thump, my land invade,
drums' beat enacts my apotheosis.

They cut me thrice and once as I slaughter,
grotesque barbarians, that fight entranced;
I prayed to dawns' refulgent light; enhanced
their monstrous growls fly with a twilit bird.

Accented their trilogy - immoral,
from deep wounds - inferior weep their cries,
euphoric Spring forces them to baptize
in anaphoric flowing red to flora.
..............

She splendid came before the light of dawn,
Emerged from Halls of deep memoir's efface;
'Let me express my love in eyes and ways,
before death turns me back to granite stone.'

© G.V. 10-04-2012, All Rights Reserved


Details | Free verse | |

Love is the Weapon

Fuse ignited by the half-lit cigarette
perched precariously on the corner of your mouth,
I'm a suicide bomber,
and you are all I have left to believe in.
Side by side, 
Our lungs screaming,
we torch the world around us,
destroying perfection to create beauty.
We rise again from the smoldering wreckage,
cleansed with the split blood of our broken hearts.
The embers drift in the sky like fireflies 
as we wipe the ash from our eyes.
Hands clasped,
we venture forth into this brave new world,
rebuilding reality brick by brick
and from each other,
learning to love again.


Details | Lyric | |

Silver Ships

Written May 31, 2013


The sun does rise
Over silver ships sailing in the sky
Rain on down on our parade
In a concrete jungle
The kids come out to play
Masked by this dreadful masquerade

A cosmic dance where stars collide
The kids and parents run to hide
Shelter from the enemy above
Who light up the sky with lightning bugs

The land is dark and the sky is black
Mothers pray the birds will not come back
Be it by barren land or vicious sea
Lord just hear our plea

The sun does rise
Over silver ships sailing in the sky
Rain on down on our parade
In a concrete jungle
The kids come out to play
Masked by this dreadful masquerade


Details | Heroic Couplets | |

mount, saddle, weapon, rider

final dismount, final ride
pasture waits for dappled roan
girth mark of the lonely byways
lather from the battles flown
dew eyed weary, spinal backed
stumble step'd and nostril blown...

stirrup brass with bugle hung
faded strap and leather worn
bridle twisted, crackled spur
broken packboard, blanket torn
carbine scabbard, saddle sore
salt and stain wrung round the horn...

cosmoline and splintered stock
powder burned and pointed lead
flashpan crusted, blackened sight
ramrod tamped and barrel fed
faceless names etched in the action
thunder echoed, eardrums bled...

now the rider, less the man
mustered out a thousand suns
restless eye and palsied hand
scattered mind behind the gun
drumbeat sigh and breaking heart
no true glory grasped and won...

in the world
of the world
in joy's cascade as much as grief
season turns
while seasons end
wind blows down the autumn leaf.
         


Details | Narrative | |

The Truth of the Dragon-Knight

Last knight Eye dreamed Eye was a dragon with wings made from disdain and shaped like quaking fear that burned holes through my subconscious imaginings. Eye was gliding soundlessly thru dark clouds, thunder, and rain, while the Slayers stood below, grounded in tyranny and trying to pull Me from the knight sky...Then Eye could hear, then Eye watched thru Dragon-I's as arrows joined my flight...trying to penetrate the hard scales of My spiritual skin. The muted sharpness of the arrows' dancing ricocheted off of Me.

Then Eye cried. Not in agony or pain or sadness...no

Eye cried in echoing defiance of the oppression of blind slavery and meaningless denial. Eye belched blue and green flame and roared aloud--as loud as my Dragon-voice would carry. Eye scorched the minds of the lie-ers and self-made martyrs (there, the ones who were carrying the omission of Truth of this world).

The Slayers still stood their ground. They kept circling  around and around under Me...but Eye kept pumping My neck, Eye kept beating My wings, but still the Slayers came...more and more of them...

Eye dived down deep toward their barren landscape (My Own Hunting Ground!!); Eye needed to see their torn, hated faces...Men, all. They kept their hoods drawn, their faces hidden from My I's. But their bodies were bare and naked to My Dragon-flame, naked to the force of My righteous wrath. Eye swept down closer, closer until Eye could smell the scents of their sweat and dried blood (of conquered servants before), and Eye could see, even count, the dark hairs sprouting from greasy, dirt-clogged pores. Eye could see that some bore vehement scars, jagged marks streaking across their man-flesh.

Their weapons were crude, mostly: wood axes, scythes, cudgels, kitchen knivez sharpened to a murderous edge...the only sophisticated armaments were their bows, their arrows. The bows were of blood and bone and tendon and blind fear, the sinewy string woven with acceptance of the  Truth...how odd (the Truth that they must stand and fight a common enemy as a single unit, that they must stop war amongst themselves to do so)...and their arrows were bound with Hope and Reason, that Eye would die before them, that they would live on. The bows were more beautiful than the Slayers deserved to wield, but they commanded them with such grace and poise and proficiency...

The Truth is Eye, the Dragon-Knight, and the Slayers are all of mankind's fear and war and social stigma among thorns...

Their bows were the making of Truth and Love and Acceptance, only constructed and command-able when mankind will stand together and open their I's and see.


Details | Verse | |

- Temujin -

Temujin

The purple Royal banners wave above his armor's steel;
the chieftain carries his Mongolian, relentless wit,
young Genghis Khan, the Temujin, applies his sovereign zeal,
to merge the lands beneath his will, the warlords to befit.

Consorted by young Börte of the Onggirat kin tribe,
the martial Temujin receives high honors by the clans;
a skillful warrior invades the lands while his young bride,
awaits; for no one else predestined is to be her man.

The chieftain slaughters hence his passage through the western soils
invincible his tactics are, and triumphs ascertain,
advance his rule, expand his territorial rights and spoils,
while Börte, granting loyalty, in virtue she ordains.

How valued is the flight of eagles that conduct above,
depict trajectories, and soar to vanish where the Gods
embrace the sadness of unanswered prayers and bridal love,
the Royal maid in loneliness, defends against all odds?

So priceless have become their plumes upon the Mongol plains,
where the persistent Northern steppe cold winds enfold the ghosts
and Princess Börte counts her solitude, stands tall and reigns,
believing that her Temujin bestows his kind riposte!

" Support him Goddess of the moon when grooming Charon thuds
and sends the clanging of the steel, commanding thus, the souls,
to travel the descending route of coursing loveless blood,
and through the gusting of the winds, transports their saddened calls. "

© 01-20-2014, G. Venetopoulos
(Iambic heptameter)


Details | Lyric | |

The Coming of the Nothing

Collegiates and learned mercenaries
Await their time to lead the willing minions
As lemmings, suicide seems ordinary
Both deaf and blind, devoid of all opinions

Ageless as time itself, she waits
An elixir of evolution
Needing no cure, no answers
No humankind solution

What stops us moving forward
What keeps us all enchained
What keeps the starving hungry
What drives a world insane

A galaxy here, a universe there
Speckled by constellations
But man it seems is content to fight
For the sake of his small nation

Black as an empty starless night
Deep as the hungry ocean
Timeless as death, on its endless flight
In a time of perpetual motion

What stops us moving forward
What keeps us all enchained
What keeps the starving hungry
What drives a world insane 

When will it end, God only knows
As greed alone inspires us
Old Earth, its very soul exposed
To MAN...IT'S LIVING VIRUS!!!


Details | Dodoitsu | |

FRUITS OF WAR - PORTMANTEAUS

FRUIT OF WAR - PORTMANTEAUS

Brusted gree skirt the terrain --
its fortress now smog of pains.
Sprolled brave emoticons flurst
floppled by remorse.

Alive, lovely floriage.
no mercy, at once loafted!
Finentual world ethics 
forgotten clang cries.

Blind men sinduced to power:
justice then a fadograph.
Bescraped kindness ,dusten traits,
birthing woes and death.

Precious breathing counts one, two. 
In and out wheezing some help
Oozing damage marks hatred
Peace start when war ends.

(c) Olive ELoisa
10:41pm
August 20, 2014

from the list: smog, emoticon

from research:
brusted - Brown Broken and Rusted
gree - any number of green trees
sprolled - sped and rolled
flurst - flew and burst
floppled - fell, flopped and toppled
floriage - flowers and foliage
loafted - floated and drifted
finentual - final and eventual
sinduce - sin and seduce
fadograph - fade photograph
bescrape - escaped and broke
dusten -dusty and beaten


Details | I do not know? | |

The Petty Posh-WahZee - Liberation and Ostentation



The Petty Posh-Wahzee - Liberation & Ostentation


The Not-So Distant Past:

The fallen fighters for freedom, are unable to turn in their graves,
their battered, fragmented bones, mixed with a handful of torn rags,
are all that remain, a mute reminder of their selfless valiant sacrifice.

They endured brutal Apartheid harassment, detentions without trial,
torture in the cells, and mental anguish when loved ones disappeared,
they left their homeland, to continue the struggle against racial bigotry,
while countless others fought the scourge of white-minority rule at home.

Nelson Mandela and many, many others, spent their lives imprisoned,
on islands of stone, and on islands of the cruellest torture, yet they stood,
never bowing, never scraping, they stood, firm for ideals for which they were prepared to die,

and many, many comrades did die, at the hands of the callous oppressor,
and many, many comrades perished in distant lands, torn from their homes,
while the struggle continued, for decades, soaked in blood, in tears, in pain.


The Present:

19 years have passed, since freedom was secured at the highest of prices,
delivering unto us, this present, a gift of emancipation from servitude,

a freedom to walk this land, head held high, no longer second-class citizens,
in the land of our ancestors, whose voices we hear and need to heed today.

I do not care much for fashion, Lewis-Fit-On and Sleeves unSt.-Moron,
yet the ostentation that I witness baffles even my unsophisticated palate,

our ancestors' plaintive whispers are being dismissed, left unheeded, as
we browse the aisles for more and more, always for more and yet more.

Asphyxiated by the excess of the Petty Posh-Wahzee, we find ourselves,
perched precariously on the edge, of a dissolution of all that is humane,

babies go hungry, wives are battered, our elders left in hospitals for hours,
I cringe as I scribble these words, perhaps too sanctimonious and preachy,

yet I know, deep in the marrow of my brittle bones, I know, I know, I know,
this tree of freedom planted by the nameless daughters and sons of Africa,

needs to be shielded, nurtured, protected from our very own baser impulses,
so that the precious tree of freedom, may bear the fruit that may feed us all,

for if not, then we are doomed, to tip over, and into the yawning abyss, we shall fall.








Details | Light Poetry | |

Storm in a Teacup

Silence does a reconnaissance around the room 
betraying not my artillery of thoughts
that acknowledge the elephant in the room 
so starts the ceremony that seeks to save soldiers

body language begins to breakdown barriers 
as actions march in motion anticipating
the ritual of tea that takes centre stage 
tactically open to observation and interrogation

all actions organised to be economically efficient
calibrated by the infra red eye of the guest
animosity surrenders respectfully and retreats
a ceasefire that allows peace to deploy and enter

steam captivates a tea cup holding it hostage
watching whilst water wages war on leaves
cajoling caressing domineering them to 
release  and surrender their secrets and serve

with military precision this tea sets in motion
a tour of duty washing away all detachment
reminding us to deploy civilized actions
that counter attack collateral damage

the tea ceremony symbolically strategises 
and ambushes all thoughts of war away
quenching the thirst for covert operations
once again a creating coup d'etat in a cup


Details | Epic | |

My Temple Message

Space up your brain frame/
Flame up your main pace/
Dish up your thoughtful rhymes/
Blood out your soulful goals/
Scratch mark your tearful poems/
Dress up in your motherful tongues/
Spiting fatherland splits via ancestral grave-zones/  
Hang up your lyrical cloths/
Dope visions for lifeless poets/
Skin tones glorifying Lucifer's bones/
Convert brains its no animal stains/
Socks up your manhood pictures/
Wipe all your demonic tales/
Paint misfortunes of recital codes/
Drive through inspirational poems/
Prayers singing rap tones/
Dust of earth you are the Maker's breath/
Space up your brain space/
Kick start your waking up calls/
Shelf life records no political stones/
Fist up artistic roles/ 
Masculine verses exercising best prose/
Shaping Amandla when we strike blows/ 
Poetic armies baptized in the name of lost roads/
Flushed ish reflects case closed/


Details | Free verse | |

There Is No Now

The pollution is psychedelic
Hell, you could even say poetic nature
Terms of enragement
Definitely not engagement
Can suffice in describing the depredation

Fire from the skies
Burning through the system
Dropping through to nothing
Learning not what’s in them
Always running from them

We may hide our voices
But you hide your souls
Torturing us with woes
Never able to feed our hole
Scars bleed out like coals

Paint it any color you like
Doesn’t change a thing
This war that you’ve brought forth 
Has killed us all
In the past and future

There is no now…


Details | I do not know? | |

For Bruce Springsteen

for bruce springsteen...


it was a rain-swept monsoon day

way back then, so many moons away

when i felt the music strumming in my veins

setting me free like a runaway horse without any reins

you sang of simple truths, 

your verse spoke to people just like me

in my lonely, wasted, and desolately quiet night

as you screamed out tragic human wrongs, and of everyone's plight

'bobby jean' spoke to me

of that girl down the street

glimpses of whom, we as innocents would furtively meet

and 'the river' that flowed through my ever-barren heart

led me down further roads of thunder

when slowly i finally learnt that the hardest part was fighting on

and never to surrender

to the hard-luck dreams that were born to run

while i danced in the dark 

with memories vivid and stark

even as i whined like that dog who for forever lost his howling bark

and then a 'human touch' came along

and 'better days' seemed real, not just words in a song

and still you sang and swayed and spoke straight into my unseeing eyes

as gardens of secrets were opened, and as your fist punched the skies

in an anger that i too felt and in whose cauldron i too burned

as we saw murder get incorporated, while on its wobbly axis, our fragile world apathetically turned

and then suddenly i was told that i was all grown up

working on a highway of scattered ideals

and absolving myself by sprinkling some coins in a waiting cup

well, after all these years of walking along so many a thorny road

with an armour of your verse covering me, even as i hear them taunt me and even as they continue to goad

but now i can feel myself fading away, into the bleakness of this coming night

just like the ghost of that old tom joad...


Details | I do not know? | |

Conviction

Innocents is purity, which evil preys.
To endure such beings may leave one in decay.
Anger and hate will fill your mind, weakness seeping down your spine.
Fear gives in, you can not breathe and can not stand.
Darkness overwhelming with the end at hand.

A reaper comes to collect your spirit.
But on this day you need not fear it. 
A helping hand he comes to give, he sees purity and light deep with in. 
Pick yourself up young lad and breathe deep, your life has meaning if you seek.
Your mind is poisoned and your heart frail. 
Stay steadfast your light will prevail.

Your conviction is strong, it never falters.
Take your pain and build alters.
Around your heart to ward off the dark.
Your almost there, protect your spark.
From the evil that dwells in your mind,
Leave it there and don't be blind.

Enjoy the beautiful things in life.
So you may better understand your strife.
For the road to glory is long and treacherous.
Do not fear because you are dangerous.
Armor thick forged in pain, spear of light leaving blood stains.

Do not fear the beast with in, control it and give it name.
Listen to the vibrations, now take aim.
He is your spear, your love is the light. 
Protect the innocent and fight.

Glory comes, but does not wait.
To seek it out is to seek my fate.
Innocents cries, evil feeds.
A spear of light is what I will be.
Piercing the darkness of evil deep,
Until glory comes so that I may sleep.


Details | Verse | |

Does the War Ever Really End

A moment stauls...
Somewhere in between
What shall always be... 
Known as my lost and forever hour

Where I wake to sounds of thrashing rains
A clock sits staring, ticking and tocking
My own darkness illuminating lightning
Distant thunder following her in shame

Although, throes of raven blackness
Slumber holds on to the pitch
But, I pass through limbo hallways of surreal
Stumbling forth in directions by my blinded feel itch

Walls of lucid memories like dripping paint 
Begin to lapse deep into the younger years 
And creaking footfalls shatter their echo
Of certian remembered fears 

"Ah" deja vu sounds the alarm even further
Cracks from father’s room, is the ceiling leaking?
Into my little ears I'm more awake
As I hear the faint famaliar tears of weeping

My curiosity ever stronger than before
And innocent eyes through doorways peer
It’s the war again; Mom said he tried...
To leave it all behind, but still it's always there

And the storm's outside, but in a booming violence
Rushes back surreal into the unforgotten killing
The death, its experiences still locked up
Within his mind never free or escaping

A heroes love is his strength
Protecting me from a world with terrible pains
But, somehow I’ve learned to understand
That he needs his son, to calm his troubled angst

And silently I step
Inching slowly towards him
And nestle up within his trembling hands
Tugging upon one sleeve whispering "Dad, oh dad?"

“God has sent me here”
I say directly in his ear
Quieter now “To love you”
My tone gentle to his needs

Wiping away his tears
He whispers back...
“I know”
And picks me up, relieved

And in turn we face the scene
Of a passing storm into silence
As the rain seems alive to notice
Stopping to watch our mends in evanescence

We are somewhat aware we are within God's presence 
Looking to each other with a shrug
And then my dad holds me up
Giving this boy the biggest hug

Beneath the returning quiet 
And the ambience of moonray light
He carries me back to my room
And places me into bed amid the last flash of white

Pulls the blankets up
Knowing this will comfort me
And I’ll never forget the words
He said so effortlessly 

“One day...
You will have a son
Always let him know you love him
And your bond will never end”

Again I wake, this time
To the sounds of an apologetic rain
The lightening has ceased its battle
And the thunder it no longer blames

I unwind the blanket
And uncover and sit
Rubbing the sleep out of my eyes
Awake, on the edge of bed

Was this a dream?
Or a twist of fate reality?
I ponder, running fingers through my hair
And, merely reflect upon it

Then I realize…
I was not alone
Dad is watching, not far away
And I know one day, I'll see him soon, after heaven's gates


Details | Lyric | |

Bicycle Beds

Written February 26, 2013


Its all this new slang
Got them banging their heads
Against their bicycle beds
And the foolhardy pledge 
To ride tricycles instead

We are the kings and queens
Of the wonderful yard
Of the street corner dancers
And panhandling bards

A generation will rise
So duck and cover your eyes
We're building up through the night
No need to put up a fight

Godspeed to those approaching death
They won't get to see
What we've got coming next
You'll faint from holding your breath

This cold case is closed
No need to stay in repose
To dwell on precious regrets
That are laced with vellocet


Details | Romanticism | |

Save Me From Myself

Save Me From Myself

I was tangled inside your words to the point I knew once I tried to escape I’d be broken.
Could you have eve imagine how damaged I was once I escaped it was more then what I could have bare. Soon I became deranged and trapped inside myself not able to feel not even your ray of light could pull me from the darkness I had formed to shield myself.
Be proud are you not? This was all your doing and now I must live on knowing that I am no longer sane, yet yearning for you with every breathe I take. Who will be my knight in shining armor for it were never you, or shall I be forced to save myself from myself? Once trap in tangled of  lies ad deception  escaping just to find out everything that had happen was all my own fault. Should I be saved or should I be left to kill myself slowly.
It more then enough poison in the world to destroy my body, but not the broken soul which now know no safety. Don’t bring me back to this world for I wish to be saved. So I shall wander through time ad space until I am at peace. Save me my knight from what’s eating me, hurting me, killing me to the point I’m unrecognizable. Save me for I am selfish, destroyed, conceited, and without a purpose. Who shall be my knight in shining armor? I’ll be waiting for you, save me from the darkness that I call myself.


Details | Rhyme | |

The Bourgeois and the Spinning Wheel

In a room filled with a solitary red hue
The bourgeois spins a wheel
With no destination, nor need
She will spin until her brittle Hands bleed
Just to satisfy her ennui and artifice
But she does not see - the rien I see
The monster approaching her empty dreams

Spinning still - she does not know
The insomniac rose will begin to grow
The thorn of clandestine and ebony
Ostracized for he began to realize
What lies in nonsense is decadence
Which sparks interest
Who's lover is a dadaist
But his story is over now
As Seth lead the way
A poet dies in dismay

The thorn as she spun penetrated
A distraction and a lack of action
She knew the temptation for she so loved the sensation
Of crass, rebellious - ways 
The thought laid it's seed
In her Gaulish mind it breeds
She has no other need and no regrets
So she proceeds and the smile lets
With full intention and desire
Caring none of her fate that will transpire 
She presses her finger on the thorn 
So now she bleeds knowingly
she did not recede


Details | Shape | |

Bazooka Joe is Gum - 1000 ways to die

David slings a rock Cop holsters a glock, Lizzie Borden packs an axe Mac he packs the knife, Billy battles with a club, Tommy’s gun is a sub Kelly’s got one too, Bazooka Joe Is Gum, Peter Gunn isn't,Colt45not malt Nor is it a horse, horseshoes & handgrenades, canons have big balls, Doc Holiday had TB Rock Hudson had HIV, James Dean crashes his car,Hank Williams crashes a bar, Natalie Wood don’t float, Cain killed his brother, Juliette drank poison for her lover, Rev. Jim Jones killed with cool-aid, Whitey Bulger he got paid,dead man walking gets to eat Rodney King got beat, Cupid’s arrow as Clyde Barrow, Mama Cass choked on ham 57,000 gone in Nam, Four dead in Ohio, Kamikazes fall 1941, again they fall 2001Iraqi leader with a rope, John Belushi too much dope, Charles Manson is alive MichaelJackson isn’t,Saturday night special is very ordinary, Fast and furious is the crime, Dick Clark just his time Pirate victims walk the plank, THINK, Next I’ll come rolling in a tank Hear the whistle of my missile Dirty Harry had the biggest The Derringer is small Smokey Bear forest fire Greek funeral is a pyre Too many +’s or -’s Is electric surges Woman and child sing the dirges Walking dead Are zombies Fat man and Little Boy Are atom Bombies


Details | I do not know? | |

Blasphemy

Blasphemy

The caustic tongues of the evangelists,
Across all creeds and faiths,
Seem as brittle as an old bone.

For they promise heaven and they spew forth threats of hell
While neglecting the words of that man who walked in Galilee

'let him who is without sin, cast the first stone'

the caustic tongues of the evangelists...

across all religions
new-age and the ones of old
baffle me even as I hear
a single simplistic sermon

for they really do, view us all
as blind imbeciles
scurrying around like faithless vermin


the caustic tongues of the evangelists...

wag on and dazzle us with visions of an eternal paradise
while here and now
their hypocrisy festers
within their earnest
well-meaning eyes...


'...dil mein hai khwaaish-e-hoor-o-jannat
aur zaahir mein shauk-e-ibaadat
bas hamen sheikh-ji aap jaise
allah-waalon se allah bachaaye...'


'...in your heart you desire the maidens of heaven
yet in the now you practice the rituals of piety
o' sheikh, may allah protect me
from the people of allah like yourself...'

is my tongue as caustic as the tongues I write about?
if so, then glad am I
for they shouldn't be the only ones
who preach and rant and continually shout

from their pulpits ever so high in the sky
from their hubris of comfort in possessing the 'truth'

from their 'knowing' that heaven or hell
awaits both the strong as well as the meek

while oblivious to the reeking foul smell
that encourages prejudice and hate
and visions not of peace
but of endless chants and prayers

which they, in their opium haze
rattle on and on
as they never seem to cease to speak

and though I’m sure that all this bile that I have spewed
will threaten
hurt
and offend

friend and
unfriend and
acquaintance alike

but...

take pity on me instead
for it'll surely be I
who'll burn eternally
impaled by a benevolent god
on a slightly warmer than normal day in hell

on a crude wooden spike.


Details | Rhyme | |

Our politicians

Our Politicians
They speak like politicians
And hold a great ambition.
They think they are right
And same speech they recite.
They always gather for a bite
Deciding who should start the fight.
All have their own stations
To be the victims of cremation.
They gather their own crowd
Who cheer and clap to any sound.
They think they are right
Only here for a bite.
They speak like Aristo
And act like Montecristo!
They smoke big cigars
And all drive tinted cars.
They dress in glitter
And all have Twitter.
They act so polite
But hardly can write.
Always in action
Only during the election.
To make a collection
Or a connection.
O What a time you feel like 
Committing a crime.

For a brief background about this poem, pls, read the poem (Beirut).


Details | Free verse | |

parasites cause mental illness

the tarot is a story of the pharoas birthday
4 royal families in hiding to win a war as a gift.
satan was the pharoas name
jesus was sarge
mary the nurse
jesus was hired to carry out satans itinerary to abolish slavery
the death on the cross metaphor is a crime of the century to abolish torture
in the above mentioned way.

the royal curse
a ring of parasites
to get rid of the next...mice eating caterpillars in your body.

the davinci code reveals the bait and switch gimme drawing of the line known as halloween
the killing of kindness at christmas as to why the song and dance
the resolutions for change at new years, is the drawing of the line
realise your allie during valentines
buy your way across the line at st patricks day,
easter is a reminder to change the bait and switch of the name game of changing locations

the last crime of the century is a court game called the name game
why what is named after who where and why
kindergarden cop

our crime of the century is to mastermine mankinds good intentions and result in world peace
when the transaction of every dollar on earth revolves around peace not war, we succeed

global homework to act out the global survival of all worst case scenarios from every angle where the world achieves peace
then do them again
this ends up as a pancake breakfast where we talk ourselves out of a missile crisis

win war like they did in the old days
mark your enemy for death by making them stand out
rush them in groups of ppl and drive their noses into their brain

ding dong ditch is effective
random hey.

when was the last time you heard the mental health system cured someone of a parasite, like ring worms?
are they just waiting for the military to come home and convince them to take medicine
and use those buildings to hold prisoners of war?
practice makes perfect.


Details | I do not know? | |

Swamp in the Sea

When your turn to fear us
Oh, how it descends

Just another day
To save these scars
How can I remedy
What’s way too far

It’s just a melody
So keep it strong

I just don’t know
Why everything has to go away
How do I stay
If there’s nothing more I can do

A rain ago
Too late to go

Dreary are the boats I sail
Lonely is the boat I am
Knocking, slamming into me
How can I worry, how can I be

Take a drive
Stay alive

They come fiercer in the night
Always knowing with running might
We can’t escape the flames now cast
We’re running from mistakes of past

Keep it simple
Stay nimble 

Can you win the war
If you chase your own tail
Try not to overthink it
That’s the secret


Details | I do not know? | |

Abuse

Trapped. No where to hide.You scream at me through the door.Though your words still 
sting me.
I sit on the ground alone.Blood drips down like tears. tears run down like rain.The room's 
spinning.  My heart bursts out of my clothes.We got into a fight.  Why is unclear.
I tried to leave.  You hit me. I fell.I started to cry.  You kicked me.A sharp pain burst out of 
my chest.  I could not breath. I have little energy,I kicked you.  You fell. I ran to our 
bedroom.
I am trapped.  No where to hide.I'm weak. I stumble to your Night stand.I see a gun.You 
break down the door.  I grab the gun.You start to choke me, squeezing my throat like you 
were trying to get some sort of juice out of me.
I pull the trigger.
BANG!Trapped.  No where to hide.Your grip feels looser.   Your face in pain.
You fall down. i fall into darkness.Free.  No need to hide.


Details | Rhyme | |

The Blade: Dull, Wise, Sharp, and Forever Heard

The stone, icy and arid He brings it to the table, all the while a fable plays in his mind He remembers a girl, a girl from long ago His blade in hand, shining armor dawned, He charges forwards, to save the girl, He slips, falls, his heel tender, his body is ill in ability He stands up, how can he carry on? His comrade tells him to carry on. And the stone in his hand becomes the instrument, the pawn. He slowly turns it over and over, and inspects it for scratches. Yet he has no intention for the stone in need of patching. He drags the blade over the stone, even amidst its plea for relief. There in the distance is the hill, the flag to capture. Oh how he tries, his armor’s shrill screams holding him back. All the while his mind screams for him to attack. There She comes, the night mature. She hides him in her cold embrace. Slowly he sinks, deeper and deeper. Till yet so suddenly, none can see his face. His face to fades, his intent for virtuous fight fleas faster and faster. There at home, a young widow cries. The Night Mother does not forget. Here the blade comes to pass to the hands of another, another tries. The Night Mother does not regret. The stone, now whet and tasked, lay drying, the blade is well. The man who carry it now, remember all those who fell. He remembers all those, His Night Mother won’t let him forget. He holds the blade: She holds him under her spell. How can he understand enough to regret? The Night Mother calls to the fallen of the field. The Fallen gather up, Gather up the Fallen swords they wield. Where they used to lay, The Night Mother called the Standing to praybe vigilant. There, the Fallen stay. And who, who of all, could call, call the Night Mother A Tyrant? Yet, there She lay, in her mausoleum. Where there is Her Freedom? What of her fallen? Sprawled and laying in the fields. There still lay, all the tools they tried to wield. The Fallen, how they cry out. How ever will the Standing find Out? Now the man with whet stone in hand, The sword of the Fallen on his shoulder, The cry of the unheard echoes throughout the land. Even the Fallen, the Fallen buried under the great eastern boulder. How can the Standing know what the blade’s legend was? The Night Mother, She has not left a witness among the Standing Yet, He Has: the blade amid the Standing.


Details | I do not know? | |

To the Nameless Soldier

To the Nameless Soldier

Your orders may come now...

...or at 19h45 this evening.

'Shoot to kill'
'Engage the enemy'
'Hold the line'
'Break up the gathering'

'Ready, aim, fire'

but you have felt too

the stab of hunger
the bite of thirst
the bayonet of loss
the wound of despair

but you have seen too

the pain in a mother's eyes
the grief in a father's face
the incomprehension in a child's down-cast look

'Ready, aim, fire'

but you, the nameless soldier have heard

the cries of the grieving family
the wailing of the widowed wife
the quiet agonizing sound of the child's weeping

'Ready, aim, fire'

your orders may come now
or at 23h30 tonight
or tomorrow
or the day after that
or next week or month or year

but you have seen and felt and heard too

the agony of a peoples' simple desire
the hurt of a nation long bludgeoned
the wounds of your stolen generation

so when that order comes

now

or at 03h30 tomorrow morning
'Ready, aim, fire'

let your humanity muzzle your rifle
let your conscience dismiss the order
let your better side come to the fore 

and let your very own people, your mother and your father, your sister and your brother, your son and your daughter, your friend and your lover
let them live
let them be
let your rifle fall to the soil of your beloved motherland

o' nameless soldier.


Details | I do not know? | |

For Aung San Suu Kyi

For Aung San Suu Kyi

manacled
you remained unyielding
bruised by their bayonets of power
you remained unyielding
gagged by their coarse brutality
you remained unyielding
today you return
and we salute
your spirit
that remained
and remains
unyielding


Details | I do not know? | |

Renegade Heart

I'm a soldier, can't you tell by my wounds?
I've been tortured, I've been beaten, and I've been bruised! 
I have scars, I have stitches, I feel pain all the time. 
I don't cry anymore cause tears have stopped falling from my eyes.
I've broken up homes and destroyed countless bonds 
But I too have been lied to and conned! 
I've fought many battles and won many fights 
I've learned many tactics like when to shoot and how to shoot right.
My brain is filled with memories, memories of my wars
I've tried to erase them but they've filled my body like the sores.
I've played in fire and got burnt time and time again 
Destruction seems to be my one and only friend 
Cause my enemies are countless and are everywhere I turn
But the one thing I desire hurts more then the wounds I've endured,
Battlefields cause damage I could have suffered more
But when its all said and done all is fair in love and war!


Details | Rhyme | |

JEZEBEL

Dim lit, damp and distant corner

Torn from dream of vapor’s fold

Slow descent to worlds divided

Nothing hot and nothing cold

 

Long ago, this soul forgotten

Cast off in the ides of youth

Un-forgiven deeds left hiding

Neath the stones of burden’s proof

 

Wait to see if fate redeems her

Wait to hear if time repeals

Sentence passed down just to mar her

Word and deed like flint and steel

 

‘Jezebel’ they mock to call her

Waging war against the skin

Pressed on by the mob’s directive

Let the judgment now begin

 

Scrutinize each blood stained footprint

Left across the ice drawn field

Hide the ones who hold her province

Never bend, no never yield

 

For from that damp and distant corner

Ever flows the world of hate

Through the veins of those who think they

Hold the key to Heaven’s gate

 

…Jeff Bresee