You abused the rare title of confidant,
viewing vulnerability as nothing special.
Now I’m in control of the editing of want.
Armed to the teeth and ready to wrestle,
I’m recanting each display of affection.
My discipline has reached a new level.
Toxic dynamics now require intervention,
your frostbitten words have no meaning.
It’s time to rewrite the contract extension.
Never again will I get caught pleading
remember that, take your time rereading.
Bagram airfield the Ugandans handled the bomb dogs.. heading back to my CHU after a mission i would see them for their morning walks.. one dog famously wore motorcycle goggles, story is he took a blast of rocks in the face and survived but was partially blinded.. apparently his sniffer still worked and he could see well enough to do his job.. cool doggy
There were 40,000 people on that base and most armed to the teeth. several thousand were local nationals. Trucks in and out all day.. those dogs were a necessity, god love em. i played with them as often as i could. The Ugandan dudes were cool as f' ...
Upper-class clowns, socialists whining from their crystal palaces.
Fine dining ... greasy-lipped pimps.
Lecturing the working man on global warming,
Who just topped off their private ride
with ozone-poking jet fuel piss-
Upper class clowns and socialists, always cawing about American gluttony.
The redistribution of wealth.
While wearing dead pelts around swollen necks and double chins.
Blood diamonds dangling from pampered pinkies.
Weeping crocodile tears about the evils of the Second Amendment.
While behind ((((gated communities)))))
their private security dogs armed to the teeth-
Upper class clowns and socialists.
Burning books, babbling about lack of freedom.
While strolling naked over minimum-wage-manicured lawns.
Dipping painted toes in minimum-wage-maintained pools.
Sipping minimum-wage martinis under a commies red dawn.
So eager to take you to task for not wearing their commie red masks.
Playing their little shrinking violet games.
Only half out of their socialist closets.
Hypocritical yapping -socialist autocrats.
I sail on an ocean of custard and jam
Aboard a ship made of biscuits and bread,
I am the sweet toothed pirate I am,
And clearly not right in the head.
Nebulous streams clouding my brain
Give me some peculiar thoughts,
I wear a vest made of liquorice sticks,
And a pair of marzipan shorts.
With my motley crew of gingerbread men
Who are armed to the teeth with balloons,
We go round the world kidnapping cakes,
While we gorge on sweet macaroons.
Entry for
YOUR CHOICE LIGHT VERSE ,
Any form,any theme Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Brian Strand.
26/6/2019
Grandad was a sea dog,
Who'd sailed the seven seas.
He told of his adventures
As we sat around his knees.
He told of a giant octopus
With tentacles aplenty,
We cried "how many grandad,"
He said "I reckon twenty."
He said it had one giant eye
And a sharp and deadly beak,
And what it did to sailors
Was too horrible to speak.
Then there was the enormous shark
That could bite a ship in two,
Once everyone fell overboard
The shark would eat the crew.
He saw ghostly pirate ships
Crewed by pirates, long since dead
Just skeletons, armed to the teeth
Waving swords about their heads.
He said he'd swam with mermaids
And wrestled with a squid,
Then danced the conga with an eel
That's what my grandad did.
We loved to listen to grandad
And the adventures he regaled,
Not only was he a sea dog,
But the king, of telling tales.
Brexit Sonnet No. 48
‘Weather Report’
I’m the ‘Beast from the East’, a blizzard of painful degree,
The bus and the train now refuse to adhere to the clock.
With a blast of my breath, your diaries I now can wipe free,
And postman’s delayed; I make silent his regular knock.
Schools I can shut with a blink of my icicled eye,
And wildlife I kill with a beat of my cold hearted heart.
Bills I will raise through the roof as my snow passes by
And misery I bring, as power lines and cables I part.
Events I can cancel and trash, I do what I like.
I’m the sting in the tail, winter’s last roll of the dice.
But humbled I be when I see the Beast next to strike,
Armed to the teeth and not pleasant nor patient nor nice.
The ‘Beast that is Brexit ‘; I’m frightened so quickly withdraw.
Beast do not leap till après my imminent thaw.
©Keith Murphy
She was armed to the teeth with just a pen and a pad
She was loaded like a spring with just her thoughts in hand
With a burning passion, she furiously wrote
Her deep-rooted feelings had been abruptly provoked
A battleground of truth and bitter words combined
There were deep cut wounds that clouded her mind
Emotions emerged from where she couldn't hide
To remember her battle scars killed her inside
So much pain in her heart, so much burden it had
Her tears swept most of the words on the pad
She always wrote, but no one listened, no one cared
Her beautiful verses were always left unknown and unshared
Such powerful words for her timid demeanor and poetic spark
as for her brilliant mind, it would be forever left in the dark
Found next to her cold body was a letter dampened by tears
if only she had been listened to by friendly ears
As for the message found, just the last line could be read:
"But no one ever knew, no one will ever know what I've said!"
That pain is back.
By Stanley Russell Harris
The new mad author
If you suffer pain yourself!
I hope you are all helped, by The National Health.
Hope they got your treatment right.
Or you’ll be in pain, all blinking night.
Now, I’m doped up unto to my ears.
My pain is bearable; you’ll be pleased to hear.
Yet even when dosed up, you know.
Sometimes that blinking pain won’t go.
When the pain does go away!
To recharge itself, I meant to say.
I wish I knew where it did go.
Then to that place, I would flow.
Armed to the teeth with what I’ve got.
Paracetamol, codeine, morphine the lot!
I’d scatter them all about; continue until there’s not a doubt.
There are no more pains about.
My apologies if you live where there is not an adequate health service that looks after you.
Hope you all had a happy, peaceful Easter time.
I sail on an ocean of custard and jam,
Aboard a ship made of biscuits and bread.
I am the sweet toothed pirate I am,
And clearly not right in the head.
Nebulous streams clouding my brain,
Give me some peculiar thoughts,
I wear a vest made of liquorice sticks,
And a pair of marzipan shorts.
With my motley crew of gingerbread men,
Who are armed to the teeth with balloons,
We go round the world, kidnapping cakes,
While we gorge on sweet macaroons.
They stand on the corner anything you want they got,
Some do the deals some run the money and some call shots,
All of them are ready to pop at the first signs of a problem,
Smith n Weston and Glock know just how to solve them,
These boys are no joke they stay with one in the chamber,
They be the real definition of a true gang banger,
Quick to snatch a life in a min with no second guessing,
Putting snitches in body bags so that they learn they lesson,
This isn't a hobby for them this is everyday life,
They married to the game no time for kids and wife's,
Blood in and blood out or sometimes plata o plomo,
Turning your back on your family is a major nono,
It's getting crazy on these streets these boys run in groups,
Most of them were trained by the army so it's groups of troops,
Armed to the teeth with new age armor and weapons,
If you see them on your block get your self to stepping,
Cause they show no remorse innocent or not,
When bullets start flying everyone's getting shot.
~DM2~
Villanelle : The Dilemma of the Non-Violent – 18
World in which is ingrained innate violence
Where nation-States all hell-bent on blitz wars
He who abstains from doing harm commits offence
Is branded traitor parasite perched on fence
On conscientious objector shine no stars
World in which is ingrained innate violence
Even cowards by nature obtain licence
To kill at will armed to the teeth in holy wars
He who abstains from doing harm commits offence
The non-violent sport no medals bright dense
Nor do they rape their loved ones inflicting scars
World in which is ingrained innate violence
Boosting ego is the craft of violence
Insecure feelings drive muscle-man jaws
He who abstains from doing harm commits offence
Do no harm and attain pure inner silence
Resort to arms let rage Raskolnikov indoors
World in which is ingrained innate violence
He who abstains from doing harm commits offence
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2015
Armed to the teeth, but not in the head
Soon the ground will be covered with dead
Shooting and fighting, explosions galore
Wounded fall to the ground, see the blood pour
Technology making the casualties increase
It seems that our warlike nature won’t cease
Skirmishes and battles, the war has no end
Doctors perform triage, some wounded they mend
Confidence slipping away from the troops every hour
Brute force and ammunition, the measure of power
Each side has their losses but keep fighting on
The reason for war is all a big con
Economy the reason, false causes the shield
Covered up by the blood of the dead on the field
Stone cold, committed, their expression soon thaws
Enlisted, now dying for another man’s cause
Seems as the day of end draws near
That humanity begins to fall apart
Bring about a prophecy
That you want to avoid but instead you start
The world's gone crazy and we all suffer
At the hands of the armed
Mentally screwed, armed to the teeth
The bodies fall upon your feet
It's like a virus that's slowly spreading
One that the sane are always dreading
That day, God was a man
Who was far too gone to understand
Took several lives into his hand and crushed them down
When will the tragedies end?
We suffer, all too scared to step outside lest we are killed
The world's gone crazy, that we all can see
We pray for the lives lost and pray ours don't go unfulfilled
The world's gone crazy, we don't want to see
Language flowing out the corridor
Hoofprints of history juxtaposed
The unsettled gashes of human experience
Returning again to unfold new contours
Armed to the teeth
Our story replete, posted
From ancient backdoors
Charging mystic dreaming banshees
What planes will we walk?
As extreme inches have been carved
The hustle to flow capital gravitates
Through the backs of skulls
Highways like particle accelerators
Feet to photons on asphalt glass
Barriers pounce at break neck speed
Charging the stolen past
And the fantasized future
The crazy in me came out last week,
but I don't care???
Normally my house would be armed to the teeth,
waiting for some form of retribution,
normally i'd be bouncing off the walls with paranoia,
darting in and out the windows.
My mind thinks about it,
but i'm not fazed,
i'm calm,
my mind just won't fixate on it.
eerie calmness....
but I still wait for whats to come.
death comes to us all...
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