Best Cannonade Poems

My thoughts they roil like waters dark 
in the abyss of blackest night, 
with memories of mother’s bookmark,
of Longfellow read by lamp light.
She called, in the room around me,
the patter of other small feet.
Her gentle voice fetched angels	.
Oh, the rhymes, they astounded me 
like lullabies...

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Left And Right

Either side the cannons roar
Took of blood and wanted more
Salvo after salvo into the valley
Point blank range to deter the rally

Water poured over steaming muzzles
Russian gunner at this sight puzzles
Tis madness against this cannonade
Tis the sacrifice of the Light Brigade

The quicker they fired...

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Memorial Day Tribute
© Ben Burton 5-25-2015

They stood up for America
And for their families left behind
Our soldiers sent to unknown lands
Secure that God was on their side

Esprit de corps was palpable
In every battle they engaged
Where many saw their brothers fall
From bombs on high and cannonade

That sacrifice...

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Once wars were fought with sticks and stones
to flog the flesh and batter bones
and conquer lands, defending thrones -
though gods provoke, not one atones. 

The multitude (by hordes beset
with battle-ax or bayonet)
braved blades, dyed red and dripping wet -
the stains were wiped with no regret.

When...

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It is the scent of you, that breathes in me.
It is the music when you laugh
that chants across the apse
between our heartwalls,
signaling desire, tossing off forever
thoughts of penitence and shame.
It is the holiday of you
that sings in me.

My eyes need not fulfill the longing in...

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He didn’t have a native land, 
therefore, he had no reminiscences of any sort,
neither good nor ill, other than reckless killing 
at the battlefield where he was compulsorily taken into 
and deployed to fight unwanted fight: the legend of warmhearted provisions provided in the name...

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—Memorial Day Elegy—

The grave site
where the men and women of patriotic spirit fought bravely 
in the battlefield and fell for glory of the nation, 
abandoned everything that they have, buried 
at an age that is too young to die lie as headstones.

No matter with how...

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When men of fame do meet discord,
They find a way to prove their point.
Then it is, they think of the art,
And call to play artists of doom.
The artists too, who know their art,
Would play the strings from their guitars,
Releasing pleasant   sounds  ...

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Set me off. 
I dare you. 
I want you to feel my rage. 
Taste my vindictiveness. 
And swallow the bullets I've bled out from. 
You made me like this.. 
Unsure, worthless, uncared for. 
Look at yourself. 
I hope your rotting heart flourishes throughout the physical...

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Oblique! 
(The day the gray line Wavered) 

It was hot again, for the third straight day, but it was the 3rd of July; the time the place was Gettysburg and the year was sixty-three 
The fence is still up at Emmitsburg Road, cried one Southern...

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when I
a rock-chucking stick-slasher

patch-monger
was

there was a waterless
		well

where we would await sprites and goblins in ambush


shoe-lace lariats
piles of rock for cannonade

this and all  all the angels
at bay

for there is nothing gay grisly meaner than

restless
idleness

caked with efflorescing dandelions
raging raiding sun...

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As I sat the serene waves were evocative of those pleasant days,
The setting sun made the myriad memories come alive,
The waves to and forth: encircling my legs like meanders asking questions in 
this vast sea of life,
Embarrassed I had so long prevaricated about the meanders...

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General Cornwallis of Great Britain
faced a problem that he couldn’t resolve,
he’d won at Camden, they’d captured Charlestown,
but still the southern colonies wouldn’t fall.

Instead he faced a string of reverses,
lost at King’s Mountain and then at Cowpens,
and couldn’t stop the rebel irregulars,
like the damn Swamp Fox...

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“Lasciate ogne speranza, voi ch'intrate", most frequently translated as "Abandon all hope, ye who enter here". A. Dante, 14th century Italian poet

They sway the power over mere mortals
They drop the words that cannot be appealed
Gods of carjacks are deities, immortals
The voodoo magic over vehicles they...

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You were sharp|ning grass
With your eyes | sit & fixed
Again | a substitute for mow|n
Machine chug|ging along lug
Nuts, molar friction | u - r - n .
Lawn stretches of up|beat
Beach | was there even wind?
Filet a cannonade me | see
The crayons fly | in a...

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