Best Centurions Poems
Act 1: Earth
Water
Droplets fall to earth
Meniscus lens on the world -
Wellspring of life born
Air
Gaseous brew forms
Invisible elixir -
A breath of fresh air
Fire
Destructive, cleansing
But giver of warmth and light –
Fire’s dual perspective
Act 2: Plant
Leaf
Spring buds burst afresh
Summer leaves decay so soon –
Death lords over all
Palm
Giant grass not tree
These swaying centurions -
Lives must co-exist
Sunflower
Massed bright sunflowers
Heads turn in obedience -
Sun sets on their lives
Act 3: Animal
Slug
Slug saw juicy leaf
Raced to eat this rare delight!
Bird swooped, slug no more
Ant
Ants march home in line
Communal desire on show -
Nature's will prevails
Butterfly
Winged beauty flutters
Abstract painting on her back -
Looks often deceive
Act 4: Man
Crescent
Curvaceous glory
The home of wealthy leisure -
Rich built upon poor
Gaudi
Parabolic waves
Acknowledge natural forms -
Colour outlaws grey
Dubrovnik
Sun shines on pan tiles
The town's uniform new shell -
War scars fade slowly
Act 5: Machine – the final chapter
Computer
Bits, bytes, ones, zeros
So Charles and Ada conceive -
IT’s Pandora’s box
Robot
Man and beast replaced
Same task over and over -
Objective carnage
AI
Boolean bible
Artificial ignorance -
Logical ending
Postscript: Evolutionary finale
Obliteration
Human destruction of earth -
Annihilation
Poetry Soup Featured Poem: August 16, 2020
In ruined scatter witnessing the greys into black
Why has it come to this as us humans finally lack
Through my eyes bloodied looking down on such
Crossed I've become in frenzied scarred mode
As to I I'm in awe as to the I that fuses
Centurions from Legions brave, showing confuse
To my left to my right seeing said damnest like I
In wondering their theirs as to their paraded
Mirrored like I that they require I be masqueraded
The tolling bell has spoken as I enter my demise
As I hang above paradise seeing cawing crows fly
Images of my existence, forever, eternally why
They decry their gun birthright
is to defend their home,
protect what they own
A government tank might come rolling
down the road one day
New Roman centurions coming to take
their beloved metal sons away
Give unto Caesar the lobby coins,
and he will let you keep your guns
Ask for the AR-15 exemption too ...
get a death certificate of ownership for you
Have in your treasured collection,
the most coveted item
that can blow dreams away
Possess the wizard of war wand ...
keep it on concealed Oz display
What lies behind the magazine veil
will blow your citizen reticence away
AR-15 lying wonder:
Killing machine putting souls
six-feet under
It’s your American gun birthright
to have death by metal proxy
at your trigger side
Bumstocks and sawed-off barrels,
high-velocity bullets: metal projectile arrows
Second Amendment voice tools,
get pleasure in bringing the pain,
speaking with First Amendment lead liberty
Shoot first and ask questions later ...
The law of trigger-nometry rules:
the barrel with the loudest bang,
has the highest caliber free speech authority
Gun birthright zealous voices
speaking with hot impassioned impunity
Shoot first and ask questions later ...
AR-15 making serial killing noises,
silencing crowds with political immunity,
automatically blowing dreams away
Talk to the trigger hand they say: Shoot first,
and ask questions later on another day
Oh! What a weary world of woe
To see a pious man, laid low
A pitiless look, from Godless eyes
Barabbas luck, means His demise
His destiny, to be betrayed
That Judas kiss, a liar made
A King of Kings, in paupers clothes
A Crown of Thorns, His sweet repose
For He’s no friend of mine, he cried
Three times condemned, three times denied
Wash clean the sins, from guiltless hands
A barbaric end, the mob demands
Your truth lies closer to the bone
Your fate is theirs and theirs, alone
They claim you, as their King of Jews
Is this the epitaph, you choose
Her dream, her life, her wondrous joy
Her son, her blood, her little boy
Her pleas for mercy, peal in vain
As blood falls from his face, as rain
Not wanting, of His pains to blur
He drinks not of the Wine and Myrrh
To lay His life down, for mankind
The Heavens weep its Angels blind
A final thrust, centurions spear
The Miracle of Christ is clear
Released from Earthly bonds, His prison
The third day down, the Lord is Risen…
Hair today, gone tomorrow, it's starting to thin really fast
Thought I'd be one of those centurions with locks down past my ass
Think again, old fellow
You're starting to turn yellow
Don't want to pass on till my youthful appearance does pass
© Jack Ellison 2015
for Aidan in row 5
At the edge of the sky, there is a crimson slash
seen through the leafy scrolling of trees that soldier
the perimeter of the lake. Overhead there is only
gray, as in the war zone of my heart where there have
been far too many casualties. Lamplight in a window,
abruptly extinguished, takes out what illuminated
a mid-November Crepe Myrtle, aflame with
leaves destined to fall; yet, it rises regally red
in royal transformation, before the dark comes. Then,
with no preamble, a carnelian blush spreads
the clouds as if punctured with a pin. There is always
the unexpected. So, Take heart. "Be of good cheer,"
parting words from my dying friend, Cyndy, from her
hospital bed. "Be there when I come," I reply.
Even so these days, I cannot stop grieving for the lost
and missing. At noon Mass on Sundays, a boy, four or five,
heavy glasses dominating a small face beneath a luxurious
crown of curls--the image of my dark haired, sweet-armful child
of the past--sits on the floor in safety between his parents'
chairs. He's busy with his books and toys, until he's told
it's time to go to the priest at the altar, and they
help him to his feet. Come, he will, but not alone--
clasping in his two hands his necessary companions:
soldiers, centurions perhaps, the protection of a Praetorian
Guard; talismans and amulets, with which he would not
part. As for myself, I have none of these, not of plaster,
not of flesh, but if I could hold this boy in my arms,
I believe he would heal my heart
Roman capital punishment,
crucifixion morphed into
another raised gravity depravity
Guillotine justice dropping down —
off with the heads of the enemy!
Sleepy Hollow gangsters Herod-ing into town
Time pendulum swinging ...
death sentence methods changing again
Face the firing squad
Termination by little lead sledgehammers
hitting the head bullet hard
That final granted death wish stick smoke last seen
came from the barrel of smoking guns
The temporal blade is ever swinging
in kaleidoscopic frenzy fatally spun
Change the reel on the snuff film again
Strap the condemned into an electric chair;
place the rubber cap on their head,
after shaving off the hair
Gov’ment gotta get a false witness or two
to make the charges stick
Media static permeates the air,
news flash:
Executioner has the day off,
a nurse said the death doctor was sick
Then the metal switch morphed into a plastic syringe
Lethal injection with enough poison
to make a grown elephant of a man cringe
Tear a futuristic page from ancient history,
fact check the story if you need ...
DNA results came back: it said
the death row candidate was innocent
But the brigandine centurions wouldn’t listen;
they turned an adder deaf ear, they didn’t wanna viper hear
Pilate decree taking place as scheduled —
never mind that the convicted is innocent,
State sanctioned murder must go on
Although, the torture inquisitors can’t yet prove it,
they know the condemned did something wrong
Three days later, the psychic judges were told
the dead body was resurrection exhumed
The next termination iteration
is weaponized sonic waves, I presume
From: Governor Silva, Lucias Flavius
To: Commander, Legio X "Fretensis"
The Judean slaves finally finished the assault ramp.
Order the centurions to roust the legionnaires from each camp.
Give each of your legionnaires extra water and a double ration,
Then assemble the squares and set them in motion.
The last of the defenders are cowering behind the wall.
Well before nightfall, I should expect Masada fortress to fall.
Among Eleazar Ben Yair's Zealots are Sicarii assassins,
So ensure that each prisoner taken is searched for hidden weapons.
Capture as many as you can of them to be sold for slaves;
But toss all their dead off the cliffs--don't bother digging graves.
It may still be awhile before the Tenth Legions rotates back home;
When that day comes, I'm sure Vespasian will honor you all before Rome.
Optio's! Centurions! Lend me your ears
But finish your rations and down your beers
For tommorow awaits the adventure of a life time
We battle our enemies for many bloody crimes
So tonight go home and bed your wives
Because some of you will lose your lives
Fill your bellies and admire your friends
For they will follow you to all your ends
B K
U R
T A
T P
E
R E
F H
L T
I
E N
S I
Giant butterflies, bigger than life,
Symbols of free dom and peace..
Giant butterflies with heavy steel frames,
Hung with brightly patterned wings.
Turn and flutter, with the slightest breath
Of a breeze. They perform
Graceful aer- ial pirouettes
An architec- tural wonder,
Amazing how they maneuver.
With such grace and ease,
Silent centurions, guarding the park.
Butterfly witnesses,
In day light,
Or dark.
Dear Mary
I arose from bed this morning with you in mind.
While awake and still in bed, I reminisced the years
we shared and the JOY you brought to so many lives.
You were always delightful and 'pure JOY' to be around.
I reflected upon your 97th birthday celebration that
I was privileged to attend and recalled the visit with
you in the nursing home. That was 3 or 4 years ago, and I have longed to see you since. But then came
COVID-19 in 2020, and we were not able to see you again.
Why, there are many things that I could say, but I will
settle for simply two more treasured jewels about you.
My wife knew you first and spoke often and lovingly of you.
I tell you Mary, I loved you before I knew you. And then,
the privilege was all mind when I met you. Your face of grace
arrested me, and the loving spirit of your presence captured me.
There was something you usually said each time we visited with you
that most overwhelmed me. You would say, "I don't know why The Lord
has me here for so long". Mary, my dear friend, I suspect the reasons
are numerous, but none ring out more to me than the JOY I see
in you and the Spirit of Christ projected from your entire being.
Would to God that there were more centurions like you.
Your Friend,
Sitruc
072622PSCtest, A BRIAN STRAND PREMIERE CHOICE, Brian Strand
The puppet masters plot and weave, when first they practice to deceive
From Bush to Bush the fire spreads, a wildfire born from the Great Beasts bed
Intent, creates a new Zeitgeist to spawn a child, an anti-Christ
The seed’s been sown in Satans name the purpose clear, to God defame
No deeds revealed in tabloid papers Kept hidden their iniquitous capers
They mock our angst with rabid glee and crown it, a conspiracy
A sick exposure of the fact, success repeats the Patriot Act
Cruel fate awaits a Christian race the journey’s set at the Devils pace
From Hitlers hands their fortunes fed, a Rotten Apple, spiders threads
A Presidency on the cards their chorus rings from Satans bards
Twin Towers fall to Evils gain, Nostradame marks an old quatrain
Noahide Laws infused in society, Bush’s claim to the Devils piety
The terror laid at Americas shore, Homeland Security at its core
Involve our sons in fore-planned wars fuel Bankers interests near and far
To reign with iniquitous intent, the rule of money, purity bent
A system born to grease the palms, of those who seek the Devils alms
Indigenous inequality, why share what they can take
The Devils hands laid idle, write the rules for them to make
They form their words in whispers, they speak with a forked tongue
The parchment fresh, the quill’s been bled, the trap it has been sprung
Your liberty’s been stolen, a subtly sanctioned sin
There is no war on terror, the terror lies within
No longer called a prisoner, Genevas cause is lost to law
Detainees they’ll term us to be a welcomed lawyers flaw
Witnessed by a vanquished people, an American constitution
Set forth in pious reverence, genocide its resolution
Rockefeller spilt the beans a farcical invention
RFID for you and me their ultimate intention
Not for the good of those concerned,
Though pay you will, you’re chaff to burn
A single cause a twisted communion
Creates a North American Union
Though history repeats itself, its Trump card clearly dealt
The final thrust, centurions spear exposed, our innards felt
A thunderous cloud, the storms approach, the hurricane it howls
Gods hand outstretched, His children freed, as Satan sadly scowls!
well, my mother loved to visit miss Peggy's place
yes, they talk about this and that but
still, Miss Peggy had several
spaded black cats in her place and
mother would ask her three young boys
to come out and visit Miss Peggy's house
unfortunately,
i
was the only one
brave enough to say that i have
a deep fear inside my chest that sing out
then I said, mama
i
am really scared of
those
big black cats are creeping around
in
Miss Peggy's house
the black cats looked like
centurions guards and griffins
standing along the
halls and stairs,
with
their marble red eyes and
white Cheshire smiles and
i
cried when mama
said
boy you come over here
and
give Miss Peggy a nice big juicy kiss and a fat hug
i
finally screamed out loud
and
said
mama
i
am really scared of
those
big black cats in Miss Peggy's house
and
that
Miss Peggy's has a thick black mustache
and
i
did not want to kiss her strange lips
will
i
I was unable to pass through.
Miss Peggy's house anymore
Unto the mount of calvery where once the cross was raised
I bow my head in honor, servitude and praise
This mount where once the Savior took the cross for me
My sins far to many for me to count
Of each one he set me free.
His tears fell upon the stones beneath
I kneel down to touch
To find a last remaining trace
Of my Lord's precious fallen blood
As my own tears pour forth, onto my cheek they slip
I feel the unimaginable, the lashes of the whip
I see the stations of the cross
His face imprinted upon the shroud
The viscious blows of centurions
The cowardice of the crowds
His falls under the heavy cross
The way he still re-took his stand
The cuts and bruises on his face
The splinters in his hands
How did I forget all this?
Such pain and suffering
And without a word of mercy
He did all this for me
I reclaim my lost unpaid debt
The promise to remember
To celebrate the birth of Christ
To forget my Saviour never
I raise my eyes up to the sky
The place of his ascent
The Holy throne, the crown of thorns
Fulfilled
Thy Testament
On a wisp of wattle
that cradled in the fig,
a dreaming began
as sleep draped veils
to nurture a gleam into
dazed eyes,
as mantles of moonbeam
wreath temples
I fell to,
A gathering cluster
that saturated all reality,
a sculptor with tool
set about carving
a bird of paradise
as form finished
it flew away
A dove birthed
from a painters brush
and wiggled free to
splash the canvas
of black
staining its feathers
in obsidian
from centurions
I am gifted a
mariners compass,
they lead me to three rivers
setting sail
like the hunter after hare,
the cross and crown
my guiding lights
my keel wedged
on flying fish,
once soaring
times hand pulled
me to dock with face
now,
so weary I sleep
endless tomorrows,
and will drift awake
as the phoenix
morphs to crane
infinitesimal stars
will emblazon my hair
with constellations
as I regather from
the comforts of reverie
—-
and every now and then,
seeing miniature worlds
on specks of wonderment
will remind me,
that I am just dream-weaving
through southern lights