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Long Computer Poems | Long Computer Poetry

Long Computer Poems. Below are the most popular long Computer by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Computer poems by poem length and keyword.

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Long Poems
Long poem by Ed Ebbs | Details |

LA Sewers

This is a draft, my computer is being weird, so I put this here...

There was a time to survive the streets of Los Angeles without bruises, cuts and possibly your life, you had to size up those approaching by carefully watching each and every move they make; are you a target. 

I'm watching to see if they take notice of me as I cross over the other side of the street. Sigh, they crossed over to the other side matching my movements. I'm in trouble, I can feel their penetrating eyes and everything inside is screaming. Remembering there was a storm sewer at the corner of the street I just passed a few moments ago, and without hesitation I turned to run for my life. Sliding into the street corner between the sidewalk above and the street below…a few more pounds and I would have been stuck. This storm sewer basin is a large concrete box with a large concrete pipe in the corner that goes somewhere. The gang members are all around outside of preventing any escape swinging their chains, sticks and blades. They're acting like a pack of dogs yelping and hollering as their prey is trapped in a corner. They are working on the manhole cover above with a crowbar which would give them access to me below. Fear is now getting the best of me so without much thought I quickly entered the large drain pipe and went deeper into a abyss.  This drain pipe connects to a tunnel large enough for a car to pass through. 

They must have opened that manhole because I hear their voices, they’re following me so I decide to run down the tunnel into the darkness so they would not see me and then stop to listen.  I hear no footsteps, but I ran so far I cannot see a thing, there is no light, just nothingness. I start to walk and I bump into a wall. I can’t go back the way I came because the fate that would await me going that direction, but there is nothingness is all around me so I am not sure what direction that would be. I remember running down the left side of the tunnel before stopping to listen. When I start to walk again and I run into a wall, so that must be the right side, I think? I decide to continue, and being right handed I'm more comfortable on the left side so I turn and walk towards the left side to have something to touch. It seems like an eternity until I finally reach a wall. This wall will become my security from the nothingness...I can’t see my hands or feet, or even hear a sound. There is no frame of reference, only the wall and the solid ground under my feet. Thank God this was a time before those vampire movies or Freddy Krueger; I have only the Alfred Hichcook movies to pull fears from. Continuing through this nothingness a beam of light begins to appear from above. It’s amazing how much light is coming from this little tiny whole in that manhole cover—it lights up the whole area. I stand there amazed and I take a deep breath in this light, it has been a long journey to this point.  Standing there I notice a ladder leading up to a possible escape. Listening carefully before pushing up on the cover, I push and push...I'm not strong enough. Many of the manhole covers are spot welded by the public works department to prevent an open manhole in the middle of a street. I climb down from the ladder and pause for a few moments in the light absorbing what I could before continuing on; this tunnel must lead somewhere, right? Another beam of light, another welded manhole cover. The fear of the gang has long past, my only thoughts now are those of being lost and I am starting to feel hopeless. I remember a verse I was taught about falling down, the faithful fall down seven times, but they get up least that is how I remember it. They're words from a Sunday school teacher. I was terrible at remembering scriptures to get those stickers, but I remember what the verses meant. The nothingness continues as I walk, and it has been a long time since the last little beam of light and I have found the meaning of hopelessness.  The floor below is beginning to get damp, ick, what am I walking in? I can’t see a thing still and I'm too afraid to stop touching the wall or even to stoop down--the wall is my security.  My mind is pretty numb right now, my only thoughts are dragging my hand on the wall wall and walking. The dampness becomes wet, and from wet to splashing. A moment almost overcomes me fear, I pause to sense if the water is moving; am I going the wrong way and about to get swallowed up by a wall of water. The water seems to be static and the nothingness yields no sounds, so I continue. Finally, salvation from a beam of light shining from above reveals little fish in the water below. I'm headed to the ocean, I'm sure, confidence starts to be renewed. The movie Jaws was years away so there are no fears. The nothingness continues until again there is a light at the end of the tunnel. The wall is no longer my security, I follow the light.  The water is at my knees as I continue towards the light. I can smell the ocean and feel a breeze. I can see the ocean and the sand. Sigh, there is a bar screen blocking my exit—I'm feeling defeated, their is no way I can every go back. Looking closely at this bar screen in the way of my freedom, one corner has been pulled away, it’s bent outward under the high tide. There are no other choices really, so I take a deep breath and down I go. My shirt snags on something as I start to reach around to the other side and pull. I struggle, my shirt tears and I am free.  Freedom never felt so good. I look around at the beach, it’s rather windy, only a few people walking here and there, but it’s sunny! I turn in a circle to get my bearings, it’s sure great to be alive and free.  Months later they’re welding bars over these points of escape.  I am heavier now, and I would not fit anyway, but I ponder about my escape, what about others. I feel sad for them..

Long poem by Chris D. Aechtner | Details |

23 warning signs that you are severely addicted to poetrysoup dot com

1) Since you have such a crazy drive to post every thought which goes through your mind, you consider posting your grocery lists.

2) You come up with another lame senryu just to post something new(and create a cheap entry for yet another contest).

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Long poem by Shadow Hamilton | Details |

A Week In Life

It is Monday, today is pay the bills and light shop.
All this after we have been for the morning run.
The dogs are always keen, they trot beside me
as at ten miles an hour we cover the ground

Always pleased to see their friends we stop and chat.
A full mile we go in a circuit of my village.
Then home for their breakfast while I make lunch.
In the car we stop at the village post office and shop.

Do the essentials like feeding metres and buying cigs.
On into town we hit the supermarket for some staples.
Now the dogs favourite time when we go to our trading estate
which is being knocked down for housing and mainly now vacant.

Here they stretch their legs and chase each other, rabbits beware!
Tired they pile back into the car and doze on the way home.
Chat to a few passer's by as I lock up the gates, then
time to make supper and feed us all, water the garden too many tubs.

Now I settle down its poetry time read a few write if I can.
Total self indulgence as I disappear into the words I read
An hour or so of telly or maybe a computer game its ten pm
dogs go to bed just me and my three cats we watch Tommy Walsh.

A last check on the beloved soup sure to be a good new poem 
waiting there, surfeit and happy I again indulge in written words.
Decide if I am staying downstairs on the day bed or going upstairs.
Read some pages of a good novel usually a crime book then to sleep.

Tuesday up bright and early its main shopping day
Trudge around the various stores, head home to unload
In the afternoon we go out maybe up on the hills
or on to Exmoor maybe one of the two reservoirs.

Here I stroll, while they play looking around noting the changes
that have occurred since last I was here, watching the buzzards
swoop and play and if lucky a hawk or two to enjoy.
Often a glimpse of a red deer or some boxing hares.

Home to the nightly routine with a slight difference
tonight, its off to local obedience training as a
well taught dog is pleasant to be around and its fun for us all.
Chit chat with the other handlers praising if they did well.

Wednesday usual routine then out in the garden to weed and tidy.
Net the leaves from the ponds while watching the fish and newts.
Gather what apples are ripe and give everything a good water.
Early lunch and off to Wales for some ring craft training.

Thursday its the first in the month tonight is poetry group.
First its see to the dogs a walk down the fields by the river.
Sort out which poems I will read tonight at the open mike.
Listen to what the other poets read and to our guest poetry speaker.

Have fun discussing the various new poems and just catching up
Drive home and often inspired, sit down and write a new poem or two.
Feeling well satisfied with my week so far I turn to other poets work
and slip off into the beauty and images they inspire. What a treat!

Friday butchers day to pick up meat and bones for the dogs
They know its in the car their noses twitching in anticipation.
Supermarket yet again running low on fresh staples time to stock up.
Afternoon its usually down to the beach where the dogs chase the waves.

Weekend some grooming prettying up the dogs we are off to a show.
Hanging around waiting for our classes to start then its time we are on.
Proudly they strut their stuff showing off to the judge, will we get placed?
We beat them all at the last show. Yes, yes Minstral has another 1st.

Bundell managed a 3rd he still needs time to mature next year he will do well.
Sunday dawns a day that weekly changes sometimes a BBQ or a family meal.
Another we will be off to Wales for more training or a show perhaps, or
A day to relax and visit friends and catch up with their news.

No matter what the day there's always plenty to do, did I mention housework?
Nah, that's far too mundane its always there hovering, waiting in the wings.
Some days have not enough hours, time relentless ticking on. So much to do. 
Yet it is seldom boring living in this madhouse of mine. Bless all animals.

Long poem by Louis Borgo | Details |

My In Heritage

To know your history is to know your literature a lesson to learn, which will Stand the test of time and what one founds of their in heritage no matter how enduring and grim it may seem it something you should embrace- I came from a small city with big roots and routinely I was ask “where are you from”, especially from girls, if it wasn’t that it he thinks he cutie? And I’m asking why I would say something like that. Or He thinks him smart, God!!! I’m just answer the teacher question? But when I got older, older woman told me they probably think that ascent was sexy and I’m thinking where in high school what do they know about sexy? Man is her computer seat warm? America woman I just don’t understand them? I wonder what they do if they heard me speak a few difference language at same time? Thank god I’m quite because it not like they can read my mind. But it got me thinking from and questioning My Roots- What I found was the name Borgo had many difference Ethnicity & meaning with it as well as nationalities and that Borgo is Small Island between France and Italy. And if history may not mention it was a Borgia who captured Napoleon? How do I know where did it take place? BorgoBaby- No wonder I like Caribbean woman and it is this one that get my heart beat beating up to 400 beats per seconds if that is possible I can’t say it is a forbidden love but what I will say is breaking the ice and melt when think out loud? And yes she knows my name but why ask not why but why are some lyrics so deep my dear? Remember some old friends asking don’t you make beats? As I have some bread and tea. And that Bourbon is a drink, a Pecan Pie and a Street I’m thinking man if I have girlfriend What date it would be- Then I dig deeper and found the prime sources that seem to let to these events the Borgia or borja married into royalty which happen to be Louisa Borgia who married Philp De Bourbon or Philip V of Spain. He was rejected as King Louis legitimate son because born out of wedlock but later accepted but Philp never forgave and where he could have been both king of France and Spain he was just the king of Spain. Question I ask do any one know today the real reason why France has no nationality? Hurtfully to write or hear but i heritage mean full name as should other take to one, I have heard rumors that true bloodlines of nations of Kings that don’t rightfully take the throne it is a reason for that but not my place to say the way history is written is just to say to remember men wrote history but literature holds another tell? Who can tell the differences, but one question for god I always ask Why so much war my lord, I truly feel like a man without a country and Just walking away- I myself never came from money I start literally from nothing but as I got older I was given legitimate connection legitimate ideas and principals and the understanding of wealth but so trying of spending night and days with no day off of a seven day week wonder if I can make those principals work for me as sick as I am there are reason undefined why I do this things and money is not the endorsement my life is more complication then eye may receive to capture but if you listen you learn more than just hand written if you get the drift- I was never told of my in heritage put as one will it something like a scare or tattoo I had to found to adjust to my nick name is “Jason” but my full name is Louis Antonio Borgo III as I’m about to fall to sleep and lost all aim of conscience I see a email with my full name spell out in question how did they know I was search for them and if I ever be accepted from this other half as I am a man literally without a country and in love with French woman more than American the phone rings and a woman from Canada called speaking French I drop the phone and finally I fall to sleep and As I sleep dreaming could anyone imagine wanting to go home but where? Remembering the ringing noise of girls ask ” where are you from”...

Long poem by Lea Hela | Details |

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Long poem by Andrea Dietrich | Details |

A Doggy Afternoon

Narrator:  I take you now inside the mind of a ten year old miniature Eskimo dog who
 lives happily inside a Rambler house with a fenced back yard that serves as his special 
area to periodically run freely when his “favorite person”(Love) puts him out, always 
shouting “go pee!” to him. Strangely, Ollyver does not really seem to understand that 
command. Perhaps to him it means “go play” since often he is later caught inside the 
house in compromising positions, causing his owner to rush him again to the door to 
the back yard!

Furthermore, new computer technology has enabled Ollyver’s owner (his “Love”) 
to come up with a crude translation for Ollyver’s stream of thoughts. She knows his behavior the best, but still she must guess at a few things inside his brain due to his limited range of vocabulary and his typical doggy unconcern with that ! So now she has just let Ollyver out the back porch to go pee. . . 

Ollyver:  I go out! I go out! Run run run . . . Run here. . . Run there. . . Strange man 
by fence. . .  I can’t get to strange man. What you doing by my yard? Leave here leave here leave here. . .  yip yip yip yip yip yip yip. . . . .

Owner’s voice from the porch: Go pee, Ollyver!!!

Ollyver:  always “go pee” she say. . . Look look at me. . . I go pee . . . run here . . . 
run there. . . (Ollyver continues running back and forth yelping at the stranger who 
has since gotten past the fence as he walks along the canal road) I go pee I go pee. . . 

Narrator: Ollyver runs back to the house, never having actually gone pee. He runs to 
sit by his owner, whom he perceives as his favorite human. She is eating a bowl of ice 
cream on the bed. 

Ollyver:  I go in. . . see  yum-yum milk. . . I want I want I want 

Narrator: Ollyver goes toward the bowl and gets pushed away, so he stares with big 
anxious eyes going back and forth to Love and the bowl of yum-yum. 

Ollyver: I want I want I want. . . Give me give me give me. . . Ohhhhh. . .  Yum-yum  
getting smaller and smaller. . . Ohhhhhhhhh

Narrator:  Ollyver’s Love pats his head and lets him lick what remains at the bottom of the bowl. After he finishes, he snuggles by Love and beings to lick her hand and arm.

Ollyver: kiss kiss kiss kiss. . . Love Love Love

Narrator: Suddenly the door bell rings, and he dashes off the bed to the front door 
with his Love following behind him, yelling: “No Ollyver!” He peers through the window and sees a stranger.

Ollyver:  yip yip yip yip yip yip yip yip yip go away strange lady go away strange lady 
go away strange lady yip yip yip yip yip yip yip. . .. 

Narrator:  The door bell rings again and Ollyver runs to his favorite corner of the family 
room, where he begins to do the very thing his owner had wanted him to do previously 
when she let him out into the back yard. Her voice yells shrilly “No, Ollyver” and she 
shoves him to the back door saying: “OUT here, Ollyver. Go pee out HERE.”  Ollyver 
then runs across the yard going back and forth, back and forth.

Ollyver: see see see, Love. . . I go pee I go pee

**For the contest of  Just That Archaic Poet:This is my personification of Ollyver, the pet that gave me the greatest unconditional love of any pet I ever owned. Because we could never train him (I even hired a trainer to help us) and because of other complications, I had to give him up when he was around ten years old. I missed  him so much. and even my cat, Razzmatazz cannot replace him for pure affection. I gave him to a place that promised a no-kill policy and to this day, I am hoping he had a great life until the end!

Long poem by jalani jenkins | Details |

im back

Stand back 
Here comes the hurricane
The storm is worst then a earthquake 
Ima gas planet like Jupiter & saturn
Sufficication no life just toxic gas 
Blow u to pieces 
It's so interesting 
Reachin for me is like reachin the stars in the solor system
U'll never get to me son
Think twice before u wanna try me
The size of Tyson
Gorilla in the mountin
I dominate this with out fear
I'm better then most u hear
Hate the truth 
I don't give a ****
I'm not the type to smile about *****
I'm smart I osverb the poetry,biology,philosophy,history & literature 
I mind **** so many people
It's like a video game I'm playing with my brain
I go off like I'm on speed
I'm so crazy in the brain 
I can't stay normal
I puff good green 
To keep my head good 
Most of ya wack 
Ya fake take the make up off
I'll spray u with the hose proudly 
Ima problem child 
No one can touch me
U couldn't be me if u took Notes & did research
Ya talk too much like ya was the broadcasters on the news
I'm far from the sun
But I have a heated temper
The flame I leave on the mic it can't be out out 
Call the fire department
It ain't gonna do any good
The savage poet on the loose
Taking mc's out 
Eating em out like oral sex
As long it don't stink ima eat u out the frame 
Ya like on the breakfast menu
Put u in the cementary 
U forgot I'm the grave digger
I dig graves for fun
Most of ya dig ya own graves
Talking about money cars & hoes
It's annoying 
Its having a Knat in ya ear while u sleep
Ya niggas stupid most of ya belong in special ed
The graves I dug
I show no remorse
I'll continue I'm iller then a bad cold
Cough it up u like swallowed hair
Inhale the good *****
Never the doo doo type
U style is lame u sad go to the circus 
Marry the beard lady
U envy me like the rest
I'm slick 
I can scoop a lesbian turn that ***** inside out 
Niggas hate on me I know they don't like me
Ya niggas are ugly it's like u got scraped with a fork 
Sit down 
Watch the king at his best 
I can take many sittin on the throne that's how ill I am
Take em out no competition 
Booyaka it's gettin real 
It's scary the nightmare on elm street
Coming for u in ur dreams 
**** Freddy Krueger 
I'm the true grim reaper when it come to takin souls
Take u out Ur misery 
U a kid in a growns mans world
Ur breath smells like ass & fish 
Take the mic from ya ur skills is dry 
Buy a toothbrush mouthwash and a pack of gum
I'll put u in the graveyard
Dig ur grave 
Dress u up with ur hands crossed with ur eyes open
Ain't it terrifying 
Sign my name on ur casket
Put u in the dirt put u 6ft under
Ur gone ur forgotten
Goodnight sleep in piss *****
Wack niggas wanna be down with the j
But my circle is small 
Sometimes I don't roll with em
Ya Niggas closet fags
Stay on my dick keeping my name in ya mouth why
What ya in love 
**** off i ain't into that 
Going off like I was in Vietnam fighting Vietcong 
Beating my chest like King Kong before he fought the t-Rex
I'll kill ya lawyers
U soft u wouldn't hurt a fly
U talk a good game 
U a motor mouth
****ing with me
Ima cobra ima spit venom right at u
Watch u shake screamin louder then a chick
Goons always got em on dial 
Latin kings don't get it ****ed up
I'm nasty as a mold growing in a corner in a bathroom(eww)
**** that 
Worse then a bushy pussy with a fowl smell(gasp)
What's gets worst then that
I can think of many 
My mind is like a computer 
The power is on
I'm full of energy 
I said enough I feel I'm done
Adios I'm ghost I killed it enough

Long poem by Vicki Acquah | Details |

A long poem about cyberspace and the people who live there

/by Vicki Acquah

Before, when we were young; 
We were together all of us.. 
Awhile back when you were young,
I was youthfully older-We were
together back then as space and time 
had arranged.

As some of us were offended 
Never wanted to share the same space 
here in cyberspace or on the planet earth;
But still the universe dictated that
We be in motion at the same time
Same Station; Stationed on this plane. 

Although we were not headed 
in the same direction.
We circled the 
Planet,and landed,
On Facebook At
Different times
Different place
Same Space.! 
And we waited four hundred
revolutions of the moon.

Now that I know what has happened 
To you, I know now where you've been, 
And what you've been through.
Tell me again why I should remember?
Tell me something I never knew 
about you; 
Why do you want me to know?

Cannot imagine -If we had prayed
What could have happened, 
If we would have waited to
Get into Paradise, If we
Meet again the old fashion way. 
Yes meet by chance.. 
Maybe my soul would be restless and 
Unsure if I'd even make it there
( Heaven ) that is

But this is cool- Better than 
A black and white movie
And a T.V. With static.
And then you; You who I never 
Knew in the flesh ...
My spirit takes you, 
You go with me...
Everywhere I go. 

This is the 21st century
My time is not now-
Loyalty and vanity ain't friends
But this cyber Karma is getting expensive.
investing in people that just might disappear 
With your love offerings 
into thin cyber air- puff ! 
Liken to a jack legged preacher
Who disappears after a sweet sermon.

Wore your T shirts with pride- 
bought your lies and your book.
Held your dreams up with
borrowed clothes pens.
Like Clean sheets blowing in the wind.
We were cyber neighbors 
until your status changed

And you mock me now 
You glorified traitor- I was warned
People pleasing and pimping.
And now we are no more friends...
Where did you go - cyber heaven,? 
This is the 21st century -

My time is not now.
Different world
Different understanding of 
How love behaves..
I met you on the ground
Cannot reach you now- 
You're living up too high.
In the Cyber Sky - 

When you get back to the ground
And make your rounds
It will be too late, the wolves
would have already devoured me

I Confess...I have eaten the 
Sour Cyber Grapes. 
Your paranoid behavior betrays you
Ah Been peeped ya!
But Your secret is safe with me, 
A Cleveland-er... Me 
That's Not how we roll...been round 
Three sixty, but I am back here with 
Those... Who knew my flesh 
IN THE SIXTIES... When it was tender.

PEOPLE, Who know how real I am-Know
Respect is due, Due also to those of you
Who followed through in the real world.
AND FOUND ME in cyber ciphers.

Some we meet
And here we are
WE that are left over from the same clan 
Now; In the same time and place. 
But this is Not Heaven --
However - We Are
Together again in

After this ? 
Like, is there more than mere "Like" 
Here.? What No Love button.?
Since this realm is not physical.
Will these messages of love
and letting go, float through 
the universal traffic
like a SOS in Morse Code.?
Well it's been nice knowing you 
I guess- I think- I mean I Hope -- !
I mean really .. I don't know...
If you know my purpose has business 
with your purpose.
Then All this, is on purpose.
Then... Amen.

Long poem by Leann OReilly | Details |


Don’t know when it started….freshman year?
I look in the mirror
Remembering the food….calories….sugar….fat 
Passing my lips….
		Leading down my throat
			Into my stomach….onto my hips….my face…my stomach…my arms…my legs
Next day, no food….hardly any water….
Stomach is growling….I don’t care.
	Killing myself….I don’t care. All I want is to be…
Two weeks later….friends are suspicious. I had a big lunch/breakfast/dinner. I’m not hungry.
	My stomach protests…I don’t care. 
I’m caught…I give up. I’m weak.
Food passes my lips…
		Leading down my throat
			Into my stomach…I protest. Too weak to care. I eat.
Sophmore year. I look in the mirror.
I see….fat. 
	Skin hanging
		An extra set of boobs on my sides
			Bulging under my clothes….tags getting larger along with my waistline.
I am fat. I am ugly. Like twins they go together…fat and ugly. Ugly and fat. 
	I refuse to eat…I pretend I am full. Move food around, no one will notice?
		Stomach growls but I fight back…killing my body but I don’t care…I want to be skinny.
I want to be pretty.
If I am skinny, I am pretty. Like twins they go together…pretty and skinny, skinny and pretty. 
I am neither. I am not pretty. I am not skinny. 
	I am FAT. I am UGLY.
I step on the scale. I have lost five pounds. Success. 
I reward myself by not eating for another week. Three pounds are back…I hate myself. 
I look in the mirror. I am still fat. I am still ugly. 
My friends see the dark circles. They know I’m not eating. Some say something…I ignore them.
	I’m scared. I’m lost…but I don’t care. I am still UGLY. Fat and UGLY.
I’m running…trying to lose weight faster…I want to be skinny.
	Dark edges around my eyes. I don’t care. 
	Head is spinning. I don’t care.
	Breathing is labored. I don’t care.
My friend finally confronts me. If I don’t stop…she will tell someone. I care. I do.
		I’m scared. 
Food passes my lips. I hate myself.
	Weight is still dropping…I find myself eating again.
		Yet…always lingers. I look in the mirror…I see…
Junior year. Eating again. Sometimes skipping meals...trying not to go back. 
	Constantly an option in my ear when I step on the scale…
			Look in the mirror….
				And don’t like what I see.
I fight it. I want to be strong. 
	I force myself to eat…it comes back.
		I begin to skip meals…watch the scale drop.
			Along with my self esteem….again….
Friends are fighting with me, I miss them…I am constantly on the verge of tears…
	The only thing I can control anymore is the food…I can stop it from passing my lips.
		I may not be sleeping but at least I’m not gaining weight.
I look in the mirror. I want to see me. Instead all I see is what I need to lose…what I’ve always seen.
			What she used to say to me….
				A few more pounds…maybe then I won’t be…fat.
I open my mouth…it all pours out. I open my computer…the words arrange themselves. 
	Tears at the truth. I am sick….but I am not
I am not 	

I refuse to hate myself. I refuse to hurt myself. 
But that is not the way to be.  
	No more. No more pain…no more starving. I will be strong. I am not weak. 
I look in the mirror. I stare past my reflection and I fight the demons…
	I am not fat. I am not ugly. 
		I will change. For my friends who love me. 
			For my family.
				For me.

Long poem by Odin Roark | Details |

Vets Know

Vets Know
                  by Odin Roark

(Via Refrigerator Magnets)

Should have told you

I’m sorry
I’ve buttered
the last piece
the heel
you never eat

Can you forgive me?

I toasted it
like you used to do
like you used to make
for me

I can’t be back for a while

I’m Here
(Via Email)

Nobody Told Me

They say ‘cause I’m alive and healthy
I’m supposed to grieve in stages
A bit presumptuous, eh?
Just how is this insight acquired?

Just maybe
If they’d outlined the steps
Both of my bereaved deployments
Might not have ripped heart and spirit
Into so many scattered pieces

I could have asked friends
Weep with me?

I wouldn’t have excluded them
These many months of loneliness
But then
Maybe I wouldn’t have accepted
This fragile courage
To double check my mags
Make sure the chamber’s loaded
Step cautiously and nudge the child’s severed arm
Closer to her body
Wipe my eyes clear
Take another step forward

Can’t help wandering
When and how was I supposed to get it
This euphoria of numbness some call it
This make-as-you-go survival kit

Nobody told me


I’m There
(Via restrictive mail prohibiting my saying where)


Reality in search of…


With smartphones
Computer smart cars
Driverless transit
Gigabyte this
Gigabyte that


Crippled minds and limbs
Knowing sure
From where they came
Knowing not
Where they shall go


Caring in their way
Address the circles
Like gentle creatures awaiting validation
Veterans attentively turn ears
Leaning forward
Still breathing

Compassionate directives
Come forth

Some square shoulders
Others straighten legs
A few retain stoic resolve
While the heartiest
Blink their acknowledgment
Some with the left eye
Others with the right
Whichever has survived


Stare blankly
Neither here in group
Nor there with the blasts
Merely as existence in limbo

Why try?
Asks one

‘Cause there’s still a mission to complete
Comes the answer

To retain life in that arm you still have
To keep atrophy away from the spinal chord smashed
But not severed by shrapnel
To know
There is help
There are choices
There is life of another kind
Needing to be shared
To prepare those of the next war


In the circle
will learn to adjust
Some with eyes of glass
Skulls of titanium
Feet of shapely plastic
All with hearts still beating


Destined to become…

Jaded TV spectators
Will tweet our friends
Cell-photo our spouses
Even unconsciously text ourselves
Ya gotta tune this in


As few

Like a circle of timid buds
Having weathered tempests unimagined
Await blossoms that may never come
Awakening each dawn
A little at a time
Nurturing desired full bloom
Knowing very well
Storms so often happen
Are part of it all

But always

Even as their numbers remain scarred
They continue unblemished
A different reality


I’m Back
(Via special air flight)

A Zip Bag Memorial

What were once men and women
now but ragged and putrid bundles

Without thinking they were idealists


This marvelous
inspiring mix
rendered still
decaying camo-rags
shrouded not with angel’s wings
but swathed in black
a savage mantle of flies
carrying off sacred parcels
war’s memory
immortality in ruin

Quick for God’s sake
Zip the ****ing bag


I’m on my way
They’re bringing me home

Long Poems