Best Commandeered Poems
Our dog is relaxing for the first time in almost eighteen hours.
The interloper is finally gone.
She is so relieved; I have never heard her sigh this deeply and we have had her for seven years.
Yes, I am referring to the bulldog-pit bull mix puppy that has held us hostage and consumed
Our every waking thought for almost two days.
A heartless person kicked this puppy out onto our road on Thursday.
On Friday animal control said they would come and get her; but they did not come.
This dog, through no fault of her own, was dumped in the evening on a dark, desolate country road.
My road.
Featured once in a Kansas City magazine with this caption:
Donohoo Road, the most desolate road in Kansas City.
Nice huh?
Our porch is a war zone. This poor puppy that we tried to bring inside, but
Could not due to its adverse behavior toward our dog, and our dog’s incessant barking
Had to be outside for two nights.
Last night it rained all night.
Luckily, this strange little puppy commandeered the outside cat’s cozy bed.
Shark, the displaced cat slept in the garage’s first bay on a hard concreted floor, and was mad all night.
Did I say the porch is a war zone? Everything we left out there is in shreds – snow scraper, shoe,
Boot, gardening glove. This puppy somehow managed to chew an entire tennis ball down to a little
Pink center.
We are all so relieved it is gone.
My husband took it to the Humane Shelter and gave them a large donation for keeping it as they
Originally said they did not have room. When he told them the amount of our donation, they made room.
He said a lady picked up the puppy, and the puppy snuggled into her neck, and she will be warm tonight.
I hate animal-dumpers.
Casting my mind back many a year
To childhood days spent catching bees
Those long gone memories do bring a tear
Playing with friends in the summer breeze
A simple jam jar, air holes pierced in the lid
Laden with clover and blades of green grass
To catch a bumblebee, shear delight for a kid
Observing him carefully through the transparent glass
Like little scientists we named differing species
Terminology I can still recall to this day
What a pleasure it is to remember these
Adventure along the hills was our kind of play
It saddens me today to see young minds so numbed
Lush fields of green devoured and disappeared
To technology, children have now succumbed
Our beautiful world has been commandeered
Whilst walking upon a small meadow of green
I spotted a young boy with a glass jar in his hand
My eyes were aghast at what I’d just seen
It seems there’s still hope upon the land
I watched from afar as he examined his catch closely
Suddenly releasing him and away he did fly
With a loving smile, the boy waved him off joyfully
As I meandered off into the distance, wiping a tear from my eye
A Space Trip to Remember
The couch and foot stools were delivered today, and while they were carried in…
Yes, Dragon and the penguins, commandeered the boxes quite quickly, settling in.
They put them at the top of the hill, where they could see the purely, open sky.
Then took off in their spaceships, going higher, and higher, and higher, to fly!
They wanted to be the new aliens: exploring the moon, the planets, and the stars.
They wanted to be a part of the final frontier, and were… in their creative minds.
The big box was the mother ship; the smaller were the fighters and the scouts.
For you never know what awaits out there, in the great beyond, with all its routes.
Once they turned a tad to fast, while trying to miss a great big sun!
Their boxes fell over, dumping them solidly, then, upon the ground.
But nothing seemed to matter as they rolled quickly down the hill.
They came up laughing, with their stun guns in hand, solidly set on chill!
So they climbed that mountain high, to stealthily win back their beloved ships!
In the end they invited the intruders found, to lunch, before taking off again!
The rings of Saturn would be theirs to hold, before the beginning of night.
And they took out their balloons, to contact a gaseous nebula, in their sights.
Bubble blowing was the language of the universe, as they flew among the stars.
And when the stars came out that night… They wanted to stay a little longer!
Dreams that night, were of stardust when they finally went to seek their beds.
Oh, if I could only be young again! I’d join them just, one more time, I said!
It was on Friday night I got the call
Well a message on the phone so small
It said, John, its Al, bad news, call back
It's Mary and the news is black
Now, Alan is my brother in law
I called him back at half past four
It's Mary, he said, I was taken aback
She's had a massive heart attack
They rushed her to the hospital block
But she died just after two o'clock
So that's how I got the word
My big sister passing to the lord
Brutal, sudden, gone like that
We all rushed round to Alan's flat
No one tried to say a thing
The air was still, the eyes did sting
Words would not come, they never do
When someone goes, its kinda blue
Her daughters wept, as did her son
Hard for them, their mother gone
Mary was my eldest sister, Mary was my mother too
Mary commandeered respect, she would do her all for you
For thirty years she nursed the weak
If you needed help, it's her you seek
For thirty years she helped and cared
Those with illness, those impaired
Even in her teenage days, she was a Butlin's redcoat, on the stage
Bringing joy to a holiday camp
The kids all said she was the champ
God bless you Mary, they threw your mould
I hope your cloud is made of gold
You were more than a big sister to me
I was a branch but you was the tree
RIP
Untitled 5
“Her anger left marks on my skin; beauty transformed to fury and rage- my heavenly angel became an angel of death. With each word she broke the fibers of my being; she plunged her hand into my chest and commandeered my bleeding heart. Yet with every squeeze of my heart she breathed new life into me; like a god she commanded the my universe to shift its landscape- the collision galaxies rattled my spirit with toxically addicting love; she was a dagger in my chest, a black hole in the infinite space of my soul. If I expunged her hand from my chest surely my heart would be stolen away. And it was- I forced her out of me- her carcinogenic love left me hollow and aching; now I stand in this nothingness calling her name, hoping and praying that she plunges her hand in my empty chest and returns my heart- I wish on a thousand souls that she grants me her toxic love afresh.”
~NC
If big brother were watching me
just think how insanely bored he’d be.
But never the less, I must confess,
I have been spied on ruthlessly.
Not one, but four pair of eyes observe,
disapproving that I have the nerve
to walk on the deck they’ve commandeered.
I am a monster to be feared.
They feed on the chow that I provide,
this creature whom they can’t abide.
Though their own mother approves of me,
I take one step and they all flee.
I don’t know why they’re so afraid.
Is there some subtle hint I’ve made
that if into my hands they get
I’ll spay or neuter the whole quartet?
DON’T ANSWER THAT!!
That sound!!!
scratchy, tapping,
drumming,
at my door.
Unseen presence
silenced breath
scritching, scratching,
lightly tapping,
memos on
my unlocked door.
Reminders -
trembling moonlight -
distant daybreak,
far from sight,
dreams commandeered -
Pirate flags –
angel wings
lost in dark clouds,
tapping, tapping,
ever-rapping,
dead of night
or noonday napping,
rhythmic rumor
growing stronger,
knocking,
slowly knocking,
Life’s tick-tocking.
Last knock
cold knuckled rap
of “death’s” demand.
John G. Lawless
12/15/2015
The great unknown is not feared
For I feel I have been here before
My vessel merely commandeered
From the harbors of distant shores
It is obscure what set me adrift
On this river of life I travel
Rapids rough and the current swift
Bluff banks crumbling to gravel
With sun painting thick clouds
My vessel, floating slowly, in the shallows
Night songbirds like angels grow loud
The still becomes darkened with shadows
My destination has not yet been mapped
Although others have passed before me
This journey will soon be recapped
In a sunset of magnificent glory
Dead flesh will return to the dust
My soul disappear in the dark
This human mind beckons my trust
I'll be judged on the love in my heart
In the horizon looms the last bend
Making preparations to disembark
Oh what a journey it's been
On this river without a chart
6/16/2018
by Daniel Turner
Face framed ornate, or curl corner blu tacked up
Childhood fanciful daring must softly be contained
Dispicable hovers inside cherub cheeked adorable
Challenge for enamoured to create correct shape
Administer discipline with compassion entangled
Potential beckons infant innately curious
Toddler discovery meshed with messiness
Woven with wonderment routine can't limit
Succumbed mother disowns justifiable furious
Besotted witness, sure estate for mischief
Nudging daughters towards beings approved
Beyond old rigidity, modern option multiples
Youth spoken forums we're foreigners to
Images of genuine and fake indiscernible
Listened to lunacy delivers messages askew
Duty to daughters reflect our similarity
Penciled declarations stuck to fridge
Devotedness focussed on child precious
Inflated effort, parents' universal currency
Whether meagre expenditure, or excess
Snippets of your prosper are written in me
Lawyer loads clothes into washing machine
Submerged both classes in a world severe
Puppets of striving in fast passed society
Consumer boom boldly commandeered
Disparity reveals parental symmetry amazing
Faithfully accommodating girls' shifting needs
Working mothers, each of us 'unaccompanied'
Various sized resources serve child raising
Sacrifice made by dedicated souls equally
Providing guidance, friendship gripes quieten
Line of latitude curved by desire to control
Old school wisdom bolsters brains susceptible
Dramatised screen infused new century children
Content quickly spirals into unacceptable
Desperately hoping, we Mother soldiers
Shield children from future provocation
Hold fort, nest feathered dedication
Thrusted comfort, reluctant scolders
Admist mixed rails, reliable station
Within swayed pre teen trajectory
Sturdy parenting depots journey
Home stands firm from outside duress
Finances overshadowed by reliability
Partnered peers approve sole success
17th July 2020
9/11, 2001
Tuesday morning when it all began
Four Jet Airliners
Hi-jacked at will
To fly their mission
To kill, blood spill
Target chosen
New York City
No questions asked
No pity
Internal flight
Laid-en with fuel
Turned off course
To the Hi-jackers rule
Islamist, al-Qaeda is the name they claim
What honest faith
Would want this fame
To take these lives on this September day
It's not what religion should portray
Nineteen jackers, whats on their minds
To do their deed on their own mankind
No scriptures, books of the olden day
Would let any brother, be slain this way
What battle would be, without seeing your killers eyes
This nineteen, the world despise
Our modern world on camera caught
Jet Airliners flying the next so fraught
North Tower hit by flight 11
Then the South by flight 175
All aboard the planes, would not survive
Many compatriots would also die.
To this day i wonder why?
CNN and TV crew's
Capture, man's cruelty to man
It makes you spew
The cowards that commandeered these planes
Are not religious, plainly insane
To be on the ground and look above
Two Manhattan giants
New Yorkers grew to love
Taken down by evil beings
They can't believe what they are seeing
Two explosions in just under an hour
Office life is about to shower
Paper and life fall to the ground
Silenced grief makes no sound
To New York City, that never sleeps
In a state of mourning that will presently weep
We hear on the news, Washington's been hit
The Pentagon, yea that's it
One of the four, also has it's say
On this dark September day
In Pennsylvania
The fourth still in flight
Passengers on board
Try with all their might
Overcome the scum
Who hi-jacked their plane
The next hour would never be the same
Somerset County is where she fell
These brave civilians,
As calls will tell
To try and claim the plane that's theirs
So suppress those infidel curs>
The Ruba’iyat of Créteil Lake : Part Thirty-Five
Chief of Staff commandeered the Lake Restaurant and Sailing Club
Setting up mass long-term cuisine facilities for Robo-Cop
Turned Swimming Pool amenities into canteen facilities
Took over the now vacant Lycée class-rooms as rest-room club
As someone said within ear-shot: “He has bouclé la boucle!”
Added Galapago Rani: “He sure runs a tight ship schedule!”
Chief Executive called him up: “I can come for seven hours.”
“Sir, best to stay put: Never know what’s between now and next poll!”
The drones and sound-barrier blasts of fighter plane practice runs
Have died down in the distant swan-song red-eyed horizons
And Maghreb prayer for the Faithful was drawing to a close
When the now less-than boom-voiced Commandant edged by entrances
Seeking to confront the Holy Mullah with the Writ’s purpose
Black-beaked Bernache geese stretched sleek clarinet necks to hoot opus:
The Lake’s sacred even-song anthem bidding one and all adieu
As the wintered Sun still majestic drew woollen curtain cloak close
CS ordered check-points to be set up at short intervals
In the Robo-Cop five-strong ring round the Mosque’s exit portals
Lest the “Miscreant Poet” sneak out in chador black by night:
Dainty Robo-Cops were rushed in to frisk chador-clad mortals!
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2014
What holds us together
has been torn, the unity
of a people split apart.
Both poles have lost
their grip and rupture
into division.
Categories now proliferate
and place each soul
into a labeled box governed
by the ideologue.
Word by word, language
has been commandeered by fear
and threatened with shame.
Good words are put on trial,
stripped of meaning and sentenced
to silence. They sleep in old books
sought out by the apparatchiks
for removal or to be replaced
by neutered covers.
Soon Macbeth will be lobotomized
to reduce the risk of upset.
The grand order has gone mad.
Long lines of citizenry queue
for entry into asylums
now spreading
like shopping malls.
Others won't leave home
and ossify in the safety
of their shuttered rooms.
Meanwhile, to the chants
of a sterilized song,
children skip towards
glittering castles hanging
precariously in thin air,
proud parents happily
clapping them along.
A boy made of soot and soil,
blood of fire, temperament at boil,
His dreams and wants lie ahead,
Prepared with fortune, crowned on his head,
His tales of toil, belie the truth
He writes, reads like the book of Revelations,
But grasped within lies his pen,
Commandeered from above, divinely sent,
Within this tool, the offer of life,
Repeatedly rejected, he blindly fights,
Instead he authors personal demise,
Seeking his 'death rattle',
Subduing natural rights,
What he weaves, is what he sees,
Warped and molded, life seethes,
of disingenuous problems, sloth, lust,
He relishes it all, he is forced to be,
The boy made of soil and blood,
Heated through jealousy, ignorance he claims,
The misery he bestows transcends the game,
But at the end of the pen birthing history and fate
Lies fingers made of earth, nails of slate,
His wishes of helplessness are refused to be heard,
The boy who writes, sits at the top of the world.
When our own planes were commandeered
And used against our own,
Three thousand good folks met their deaths
On that first day alone.
These fathers, mothers, husbands, wives
Were innocent of wrong.
We watched in horror as they died
And had reactions strong.
Attacks on these United States
Cannot go unavenged.
Decade of war and villain's death,
We now feel we've revenged.
Our way of life was tipsy-turned,
In ways we couldn't know
On that horrendous, deadly day
Eleven years ago.
January 12, 2013
Color clings to the trees and won't let go,
though Winter has sent an early flurry.
And crimson canopies shake off the snow,
reassuring Autumn not to worry.
Jack Frost's fire excels in setting the trees
ablaze in scarlet and vermillion flames.
And though some snowflakes commandeered a breeze,
Winter's not earned the victory, She claims.
And as the snowflakes swiftly melt away,
Fall's breathtaking scenery gets restored.
And for all those wishing the snow would stay,
Winter's fun, but Autumn won't be ignored.
Brisk breezes bathe in showers of dead leaves,
and migrating geese honk as Autumn leaves.