Best Artillery Poems
~Perfect Rain~
I can see!
All the tribulations around
A rage against the burning wind
Nobody hears the crackling sounds in my voice
Everybody avoids feeling the smoke hidden within
A rain so deep it burns all the enamel off my skin
A rain that cut my soul in half
Two-piece that will not entwine or merge down a dragon path
I feel this eternity has no ending blaze
Trigger happy rain, extinguishing a bonfire around my rose.
I will sleep under the artillery stars tonight
With the perfection of my fiery crystal lava teardrops
Washing the ashes of my face,
Suppressing the overwhelming fear
Knowing no one will ever, "BLAME IT ON THE RAIN!"
As long as the torch keeps loading another artillery round.
~*~
PD
4/12/12
Trashed #3, sponsor, Broken Wings
Date Trashed November 2nd, 2015
The spiral staircase made her high heels sing, the metal tips on her heels dinged on the metal steps.
The sound reminded John of bullets ricocheting on a tin roof he had heard two weeks before.
She reached the stage and joined the other dancers and then one of the girls sang Brahms lullaby.
John was enjoying a day’s leave at the hotel, last week it was full of German soldiers, Paris was now liberated and the look of joy on the Parisians was evident on their faces.
Tomorrow his regiment was being deployed, to where he did not know, it was just after midnight when they got back to their camp; a couple of miles from the hotel.
At the briefing the next morning the orders were given to assist US forces at a town called St Louise, It was 04.00 as they drove up a steep hill and from here the city churches pierced the mist.
They arrived at the town and he could hear sporadic bursts of machine gun fire, an American captain signalled Johns regiment to keep their heads down.
He soon found out why as the whistling of artillery shells hit their target at the far edge of town.
Silence now, and then they began a sweep and search operation going from house to house.
Then he heard music, cautiously he entered and at the far end was a young girl of about ten
John approached her and she smiled, he picked her up and she was still clutching the music box.
He went outside and in case of snipers he closed it and now smiling crossed the square.
There was a field ambulance by the fountain and John handed her over to the medics there.
He started back to join his patrol and then the girl opened the music box which started playing, yes of course he had heard it before, the unmistakable sound of Brahms lullaby.
Written on Wednesday 6th June 2018
For one nine and sixteen poetry contest sponsored by Viv Wigley
Tobruk Siege
Rommel of the Blitzkrieg
had Europe overcome
With the Stukas and dive bombing
And the Tanks that overrun
North Africka would see his tanks
il Duce’s troops were beat
Aussies took 20,000 Italians
At Tobruk in stinking heat
In Europe when his tanks arrived
The captured did surrender
The Poms escaped at Dunkirk
The English well remember
Morsehead an Aussie General
He baited the trap
Strategic mines, artillery, cooks
manned Italian guns , and ack ack.
Tobruk the Panzer tanks came in
The rats went down their holes (Desert Rats Aussie Diggers said Lord Haw Haw)
They rose behind the tanks
Wehrmact soldiers bullet holed
25 pounders fired at just point blank
with cooks and Pommy Armour
Were thinning German ranks
true blue these little charmers
So they blew the turrets off
16 of the best
Unbeaten until this point
A trace of fallen crest
8 long months they dished it out
Though Rommel tried again ……….(lost just as many tanks again)
He had to wait till the Aussies left
To take Tobruk from them
Don Johnson
70 years ago, the Afrika Korp would attack the 14,000 Aussies and Tommy Tank men, Also known as Rats.
The Tanks rolled into the perimeter, Aussies sprang from their holes and fought the German Soldiers behind the tanks, “We shut the gate behind them” the Aussies said.
This thorn in the side in Rommel ‘s mind allowed time for the massive replacement of
armour destroyed by Rommel, with American tanks. The siege held for 240 days in
what is now today’s , Gaddafi’s Lybria. These Aussies were used to living rough
sleeping on the ground
walking from town to town in the great depression, they were brought up on roo or pig shooting and the occasional rabbit.
...He reformed the routing patriots,
formed a line atop a rise, Perrine’s Hill,
brought in General Knox and the artillery,
commanding the mass through sheer force of will.
He needed to buy time for the main force
to march on and join up in the battle,
the British kept coming, soon to attack,
convinced they still had the patriots rattled.
Before in battle the Redcoats just had
to flash their bayonets in the bright sun,
that was enough to scare Continentals
and assure them the battle was won.
But they were no longer facing such men,
the Americans had learned Europe’s game,
they did not flee at the sight of steel,
gave hard volleys once the foe was in range.
Britain’s field commander, General Cornwallis,
made several attacks to break up the line,
only to run into fire and rage,
with his Redcoats turned back every time.
They he tried to turn Washington’s left flank,
the boldest maneuver of the fight yet,
but the main force had come, and pushed forwards,
striking hard under young Lafayette.
Seeing there would be no quick victory
the British withdrew there forces back,
both armies in defensive positions,
the fight would become a long slugging match.
Soldiers hunkered down as across the fields
artillery thundered and cut loose,
both sides trying to break up the other,
their foe’s ranks they sought hard to reduce.
The heat was such that many of the men,
suffered and even died from heat stroke!
One man passed out and his wife manned his gun,
fighting on alongside all the blokes.
Then Washington sent Nathaniel Green
with artillery up towards Comb’s Hill,
a high position on the British left,
from which the guns could enfilade and kill.
The British saw their hopeless position,
and quickly began an ordered retreat,
marching north towards Clinton’s main force,
having blown their opportunity.
Washington saw his enemy leaving,
and sent Mad Anthony Wayne forward,
to harangue the British as they marched off,
cutting down men despite their good order.
And through the battle ended as a draw,
for the nation it was victory,
they’d kept the field in an open battle,
and matched the Redcoats in soldiery.
This changed the calculus of the whole war,
all knew battles would be more costly now,
England would no longer campaign in the north,
hoping for easier prey down south…
Driven Crazy in 41
You were there in forty one,
When Australia it called,
King an country it was fun,
Adventure it enthralled.
On a hill in Syria,
Death was to be denied,
French Foreign Legion plastered you ,
And several Aussies died.
75 mm cannon gave you shellshock,
Amongst a hundred shells,
Almost driven off your block,
Insanity you’ll tell.
And most were driven crazy,
By the ringing of the bells,
And several walking lunatics ,
Were left there in their hell.
4 days of hammering artillery,
And then you got away,
The Aussies drove off the French,
The guns went quiet today.
Kokoda found you in the green,
Quietly creeping through the hills,
Move so slow, listen though,
Jap will plonk you sure to kill.
Your eyes don’t stop a watching,
For a movement in the mist,
For if you stop a watching,
Surely, bullet kissed!
Jap scout plonks at you ,
And you’re a plonking back,
Fixed bayonet stabs too,
When death walks on the track.
Somehow you get off the first shot,
Old Tommy gun is true!
The knockdown power,
Kills Jappo dour,
Life goes on for you.
Don Johnson 19-may-11
Spoke to a cloud today –
the usual conversation
about shape and size,
lows and highs...whether
my need to tote a handy, spring
loaded umbrella...or a better chance
to go without pants, dance
on the beach ~ showing off
thighs, widening sockets
of older generational eyes – he
told me of clouds who gather and
threaten, causing ships to leap into
salty lather, sailors beware!
take battened-down care! – schools
of fishes diving to ocean depths
they share, with ancient vessels (and sewage),
a seafloor covered with sandy
coinage – a diver's delight; when
stormed into sight –
more subjects of our chatter
and debates, were those of tides
and tectonic plates; also of bony-splatter:
living shrapnel, from a well aimed cannon-ball
against a wooden hull, or artillery shell,
man's modern perpetuation, of that never
settling, always heartening seafarer's knell –
I went on to ask, if in all his travels, had
he ever seen anything truly divine?
Like an angel passing...or a saucer
flying...perhaps some mythical dragon
soaring, trying to lasso down a tasty
moon ~ bring him brightly closer,
doing some dragon flips, salivating
for cheesie fondue lips....
"Minefield"
My mind's a minefield.
To traverse it and make it out in one piece is a victory I'm trying to avoid.
Let me load my paint gun with more colour.
Reloading artillery now.
(Lovejoy-Burton/2017 Dec)
(1)
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=alobicscTjY
(2)
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_DPF4bi29-Q
[MILITARY PHILOSOPHY]: METTLE IS A BETTER WORD OR TERM!
Might strength along with an image be a concept to consider?
Else, to be strong is considered to be mighty.
Tapping into another’s reserve is a way to achieve an advantage.
The test of fate is allowed.
Like acquiring power from a source of pleasure.
Easy seen when you win.
Inoculate your fortress to be invincible.
Surface your mind to ruminate stratagem.
Absolute absorption of the power you possess.
Be of focus and conquest.
Engage your thoughts and emerge with invigorating ideas.
Trade show your heavy artillery to those you trust.
Take away knowledge to acumen the estate.
Establish an institution of today.
Respond when required even if vulnerability is present.
Wage efficaciously for thorough use of all resources.
Ornate to eradicate poor will.
Ruminate the home front amply.
Defeat downfall and roar once again.
Obstinate for thorough insight.
Resist when in question.
Time efficaciously for thorough use of all resources.
Edify to educate poor will.
Ruminate the home front amply.
Muddle downfall to roar once again.
______________________________________________________|
Written December 15, 2015!
The voice of a refugee
What happened to this world?
So beautiful in the past
The rivers lakes and oceans
And fragrance of the grass
And now the land is barron
It's no more fertile
I hope that the plants grow
Once again for a while
What happened to our society
So generous in the past
Now there is terror
Scaring the mass
Aware of all around me
but one thing I could not stand
It was worse than I could see
Women being beaten up
Children badly tortured
Level of terror rising up
No one's being nurtured
I want to change this
And bring back humility
Return the nature's bliss
And bring back prosperity
Then I realised that
I should be the change I want to see
To bring back that ball and bat
Instead of guns and artillery
I want to live freely
And not be so confined
It's not easy being a refugee
No house to live and place to find
It's my request to the world
To please help me
To be the change I want to see
And again be free
Feel to the anguish of the less fortunate
Picture those who opt for shortcuts in life
Sense their grief for they’ve missed out
They forgot a simple life’s equation
Hard work bares success
See the crack of dawn
Even though the day is not firmly established
Just like your journey, it has just begun
Each second present you with a chance
A chance to better yourself for future
Strive not to be the same as yesterday
For yesterday is history
In life nothing is promised
But through hard work anything is attainable
Learn from your predecessors, O! You chosen ones
See the miles of my journey through my grey headed
My journey was lonely and tiring
I lived as if tomorrow will be dissimilar
Now I know change is now
O! If you would listen to my adage
Our era maybe dissimilar
But the challenges are similar
Let my impediments be your road signage’s
To help you avoid the knocks I took
So that you prosper a satisfying life
Let each opportunity fill your artillery
To allow your mind to discharge missiles
That can help you crack your impediments
Just like the light penetrates the darkness
Fire the thought that says, you can’t
Because your love for life, tells me you can!
Yes you can
Form:
Dad never knew his father. That soldier died in a war.
All Dad heard was brief stories of the man that went before.
Grandma had some pictures and some medals on a wall.
But Dad never knew his father which was what mattered most of all
I’ve done some family history, and seen the ship’s manifest.
I’ve heard again the story of the good ship Lafayette--
How Grandma and her children searched the waves for periscopes,
Knowing that one torpedo could blow away all of their hopes.
This could have been in any war. Soldiers die and families flee.
But this was the family story that was handed down to me.
It started in old England, then to an immigration line:
A 3-year-old at Ellis Island, in July 1939.
They fled their burning country, to be called “war refugees”.
With help from an old uncle and a kind community,
Grandma made a new start here in the land of liberty.
They learned that Grandpa was killed in ‘44 in Italy.
I found online the letter, that my Grandma didn’t see,
About how the Sergeant-Major’s infantry company
Was caught out in the open by Wehrmacht artillery.
The letter said he didn’t suffer. Was he really killed instantly?
I never knew my Grandpa, though I was named after him.
Though I served a different flag, I was a soldier like him.
I’ve seen my father’s scrapbook, and Grandpa’s medals on the wall.
But I never knew my Grandpa which was what mattered most of all.
Greetings, ladies and gentlemen of the Associated Press.
As you know, our modern world is a chaotic hostile mess,
And we are being overwhelmed by garbage and pollution.
Hyper-Magnetic Technologies (HMTCH) has the dual solution!
Our new hypermagnetic ballistic launcher (HMBL) weapon
Is the latest greatest weapon of mass destruction.
Imagine, if you will, an ongoing heavy barrage
Made up of waste chemicals, and landfill garbage.
For eample, if problems continued with Iraq or Iran,
We could bury in refuse both Bagdad and Tehran.
Their population would give such an outcry
That their governments would fall or be compelled to comply.
Forget about ICBMs or future US invasions--
Garbage will be the ultimate ‘big stick’ for persuasion.
One ten ton HBML Launch
Would be the penultimate sucker punch.
Air Defense Artillery cannot shoot trash down.
All garbage launched will hit the target ground.
Invest now while our stock prices are still low;
We have the signed contacts. Watch your portfolios grow!
The black wall reflected my white-washed skin
and disheveled jacket, above the chattering din...
Loosly lopsided glasses hang limply on my face,
Cold, dark, black, they somehow seemed to fit this place.
The smooth memorial seemed to stretch on,
Longer than death itself;a banner, a chord, an unsung hero's song.
...
Memories race through my unsettled mind,
The dense rainforest reverberates right behind...
Exploding artillery, I see several comrades fall down.
They lay moaning or silently still on the densely foliaged ground.
Like tin soldiers, “Playing dead,” I force myself to believe
Trying to dam the tide of fear, for death is all I see.
“Will, help!" a young and bloodied soldier calls to me.
Hands gruffly grabbed my shoulder; I meet my commander’s steely eyes,
Torn, bruised, and bloody... I could see he wasn't surprised.
“We won’t survive with extra baggage. Retreat to the copter, now!”
He hollered hollowly, his featured in a ragged, downcast bow.
Pondering quickly: Die a hero? Or forever regret today?
Without a hesitation, I hoisted that young man up right away.
He seemed light, until I picked up another, fallen on the beaten path.
The odds were all against me; flying bullets unfurled their wrath.
Lifting yet another, I wrapped him silently around my tired arm.
The day I died, two comarades were saved and taken away from harm.
...
And for a single breathless moment, I thought that I had seen myself,
In the teary-eyed man reading these lost names all by himself.
Now and forever, my name will be a simple written sprawl.
An etching in a stone, a memoir to this black unyielding wall.
Beth Watkins
3/7/11
~Dedicated to those heroes who have died to defend our freedom.~
14 July 2010
The Sea Rover
Moving sideways or careening
All hands hoay and avast ye
Sea dogs and landlubbers go on pillaging
Jolly Roger is flapping guarded by cannon and artillery
Pistol, daggers, and doubloon among things inside the sea-chest
Walk the plank if they caught you as offenders
Or heave to an island and marooning them as helpless
Yo ho ho! and a bottle of rum as a way of pirate’s laughter
As the ship rolled about on high seas
Plenty of cackle fruit to serve a salmagundi
A drink of grog or bumboo wobbled their sea legs
In tossing ship, proves them as scallywags
Blow me down! alerted by a cannon blast
The enemies have climbed on their Jacob's ladder
Black spot meet their way on to Tortuga’s vast
All hearty and brave soldiers have fallen to Davy Jone’s locker
Spirit broken again
Her spirit was broken again
as the police broke the news!
Her beloved Enrique had just been killed
shot three times,
caught in the crossfire of gang violence
in Toronto's west side.
Helena,35, now was left hopeless, and in despair
how could she care for her 3 children?
You see, Helena was a refugee from war torn Syria. Sadly, she had lost both of her parents about 2years ago, they died when an artillery shell blasted their little apartment in Aleppo. At least they died together in their sleep.
Helena was crushed, obviously,
by the sudden news,
and her spirit was broken.
Her husband, Enrique who was in a settlement camp in Germany, called with the news that he qualified for refugee status and the whole family could start a new life in Canada.
Elated, Helena picked up,
all the little pieces of her broken heart and spirit,
and what was left of her family, and headed for Canada.
Helena and Enrique were so excited to have finished their English course, and Enrique had been working for two months, at a food distribution center in
Brampton. Their new life together as a family had just got started and then this tragedy! Helena was watching the news of a tragic shooting never imagining that it was her husband, who was killed...and then the knock at the door!
God help her!
John Derek Hamilton
September 22,2016