A butterfly on barbwire
Those hearts piercingly maim.
In so giving the sharpest twinge
To Freedom's withheld pain.
Categories:
barbwire, butterfly,
Form: Rhyme
I don't know when the crying ended
or how deep the barbwire was buried
I didn't even know how far it extended
I found it, running away from the Rhubarb
Almost lost wanting to be free
from one home to the next house
The next house was an old lady
The next house was at the edge of the woods
All the Scotch broom was between me and there
I was running, eager to play at the house
past the old lady because they were my age
and maybe they could understand or explain
why I was running away from my house
my house was a big red house that felt lonely
I didnt have any friends in that house
even when they would pretend to be
I ran through yellow flowers and grass
and suddenly tripped, felt fire
it wasn't grass
it was barbwire
Half buried, like it didn't matter anymore
it probably ran underground for a mile
only surfacing sometimes
to remind me
Categories:
barbwire, childhood,
Form: Narrative
all the girls bring one cigarette
discuss pain,drink gin
going back to school day.
Categories:
barbwire, angst
Form: Haiku
I toss and turn because i can not sleep.
I think its because my barbwire dreams.
I fell them tearing into my flesh.
Its like I am breaking through a wired mess.
It seems it is slowly closing in around me.
It slowly pulls me deeper in.
I hate these dreams of hate.
I hate them because i know there memories.
Categories:
barbwire, hate,
Form: I do not know?
We had started preparing dinner,
but when I told her they were grazing out back,
she wanted to go see them for herself. I folded the dishtowel
and put dinner on hold.
I suggested we take scraps
Lettuce leaves, carrot tops, apple cores, …scraps from the counter
The three horses were clustered under the trees,
munching tall grass, not far from the house
Only barbwire, the swing set, and their indifference between us
We tossed pieces of lettuce over the fence, and called out their names
At first they pretended not to notice us,
but finally one pony swished his tail, and slowly, sidled closer
My grandchild held out the apple, with a hesitant hand
At first she was afraid, of losing a finger perhaps,
or her quivering thumb
But, I told her to flatten her palm, hold the apple like a gift
The pony devoured the apple, and continued to nuzzle her hand
Barbwire is no restraint…. And love has no constraints
Sometimes amounting to nothing more than
an open heart, and open hand and an apple core
Categories:
barbwire, life,
Form: Free verse
(This is a fictional poem)
Old man Smith has a sign that says not to trespass.
I crawled under his barbwire fence and it pricked my ass.
That darn fence also ripped off my pants.
My legs got covered with about two hundred ants.
They climbed up my underwear and started biting my ass.
They all ran to the ground when I passed gas.
I turned around and saw Old man Smith's bull.
I started running because I'm no fool.
The bull chased me and used its horns to tear off my underwear.
I finally got away but I was embarrassed and scared.
I needed to get home without being seen.
But an old lady fainted when she saw me.
Being seen naked was something I was trying to prevent.
When that old lady saw me, I nearly died of embarrassment.
Running from that bull was very intense.
That's the last time I'll crawl under a barbwire fence.
Categories:
barbwire, angst, animals, funny, old,
Form: I do not know?
We awoke to the crack of rifle fire,
With mortar rounds hitting the ground near by.
The flying shrapnel was absorbed by sand bags,
Which saved lots of us who wished not to die.
The hot spent shell casings fell to the ground
As the VC charged our fortified hill.
We killed so many the stench made us sick,
While we fought to live and not for a thrill.
Barbwire, bullets and clay-mores took their toll
As red and green tracers lit up the sky.
Before long I was the last GI left,
When napalm caused my enemy to fry.
Fleeing the sound of our choppers gunfire
The enemy retreated to the caves and trees.
Then I cried, "thank you " to heaven above,
As I checked out my buddies on my knees.
Somehow I managed to survive the day
Though many I've served with names I have read
Carved in the shinny black stone of The Wall
Are my comrades of war, among the dead.
Categories:
barbwire, history,
Form: Rhyme