Best Conscript Poems
It was not so
It was not so
Before the invasion of the vultures
In those days
When being black makes us thick
When our communion whispers across oceans
When our ties thrust distrust
When our dreams were dreams
When our groans frighten their gods
When our cowries outweigh their currencies
But now,
The invasion of the vultures
Mocked our mores
Crucified our tradition with their crusades
Barter our black gem for arms
Conscript our angels into prostitution
Littering our minds with the doctrines of servitude
It was not so
With their holy writ they stabbed us
It was not so
Before the invasion of the Vultures.
awoh kingsley awoh
Who’s been planting censorship seeds
growing these trees that will not leaf
referendums divide countries
hornet immigration killing our bees
Oh my god that’s racist Trim
if hornets come we let them in
send those bees into conflict
birds won’t fight though gender conscript
Equality ay until those bombs hit
these days born a black man half Chinese
but I now live in a white woman body
my baby girl is a transatlantic
she speaks English but looks Hispanic
my son is an Eskimo but he lives on the moon
he went into hospital came out a baboon
PC really does PC me off
made an honest man out my accuser
entering court as a pronoun abuser
he said the sound I made was so abusive
so I punched his face in to show him what abuse is
he can’t argue if he’s he or him with those stitches in
I think with his males bits he calls himself misses et
In a few years this poem will vanish I’ll put it back up with my freedom of malice
And marry a man who calls himself Alice
Representative ending it Sensitive censorship
Life's thread is spun, measured, and snipped
By three dainty pairs of deft hands
To weave the cold words of life's fickle script.
Clotho spins life with a valiant grip,
Her spindle ablaze with gold strands.
Life's thread is spun, measured, and snipped.
Lachesis measures without pause or slip,
Deciding the length of life's band
To weave the cold words of life's fickle script.
Atropos carries the scissors that clip
The thread where her sister commands.
Life's thread is spun, measured, and snipped.
Every last soul becomes a conscript,
Drafted to heed their demands
To weave the cold words of life's fickle script.
With each stolid snip, our free will is stripped
As Fate's fluid flames are fanned.
Life's thread is spun, measured, and snipped
To weave the cold words of life's fickle script.
*Based on Greek Mythology's "Moirai"
Taming a warrior no end in sight Enticing lockspiel enters the mind Clashing wings the battle intertwined Night music and rhymes did ignite Flames are never consuming bright Sparking forge winning losing combined Climax never intends but is climbed But this dance is all about the flight Catching a falling star may be harder For a conscript may bleed losing heart The seasoned at home it is his right To only capture midst all the ardor Victory so sweet but losing so tart
With the advent of those with devious intent
To serve own greed, a heaven torn apart
A shift into darkness, perpetual, distend
A vendetta, to burn through generations, sparked
Once bound by the seal of love, of empathy
A Cultivation that boasted of intrinsic diversity
This brotherhood that cherished in peace and harmony
Now thirsts for blood, in the name of vanity
Induced upon us, an obstinate ferocity
A misbegotten hunger that fuels our rage
Bequeathed down ages, a curse upon humanity
Blinded of reason, unleashed carnage
We seek serenity in slaughter of our own
And devastate families to satiate our yearns
Our cause, to us, still remains unknown
Yet, the desire to kill, back home returns
Denial to this order is yet to be witnessed
Divided, we fall, do you not understand
The faith, the legacy, and the strength we harness
Whatever the odds, united, we stand
Shall I best through tides and deny the inclined
Or succumb to the norms of the wretched fraternity
To be a man of purpose, an enlightened mind
Or be a conscript of havoc, doomed for eternity
By Muhammad Hussain Effendi
Everybody deserves a day off,
even corporate pimps
Let somebody else watch the Madison Avenue whores
advertise their seductive cable street wares
Conscript the company pimp wannabe intern simps
Then issue frequent frequency warnings
to the parents,
telling them to shield the children's eyes ...
But do not attempt,
do not attempt to dilute or disguise
the visual sale messages with clumsy adult lies
Though B of D executives will foreswear otherwise
It's on me ... so take that day off, corporate pimps
Just remember to text the memo
to all the legal department gumshoe limps
Should any dark net pirate intercept
this encrypted communique,
of which their security breaching eyes are not
authorized to read
The strict protocol after being cyber hacked,
is to disavow any disseminated classified company
market philosophy
Nevertheless, let the corporate pimps
enjoy their easily earned day off
in a consumer paid luxury hotel
Surrounded by pretty women dressed very skimp
What “ matters” matter?
the why of things, the how?
If I spoke in an enlightened manner,
would you be convinced of my meaning?
Women cry out like children,
Stomping feet.
Misunderstood.
Belly dancing around issues.
Men stand stoic, offering the smile, a grain of stock.
Women die inside for this look.
Approval, conscript.
The moon causes a lunar reaction on the surface of the ocean.
Creating movement of water so vast;
it destroys a population.
Reset. Noah's Ark.
If lunar is to the Moon,
as waves are to the ocean,
How do two items suffering such distance quarrel to draw each other close?
Correlation.
We dance
We dance
We dance.
Never loving and loving only the act.
Spreading pathosis.
Nestling each other in the night.
Distilling tears on pillow cases that smell unsoiled.
Familial divisions, obscured children, betrayals.
Drawing close like lovers, absent the love.
Vulnerable, unavailable.
It was said by a wise man that all brave individuals
Have enemies.
Those with minimal ego offend.
Smug.
Are we brave or smug?
Divested with strangers we cry in the night,
Choosing to walk the week alone.
Friday night lights.
“Independent” is a buzzword.
An improper sort of adjective because I need and want you all at once,
One no more than the other.
Women love like water while men lay beside us,
Watching us sleep,
Immersed in the universe.
Capable and incapable.
This mortal world feels like a maze;
Times and seasons in clouds of haze;
The pathway home a blurry daze.
This tedious swirl feels long and tough;
Moods and reasons scream strain and rough;
The pathway home like dreamy stuff.
This spacious twirl feels cold and bare;
Mind and body conscript bleak fare;
The pathway home floods loaded cares.
This anguished hurl feels torn and bleak;
Heart and soul see desires that streak;
The pathway home a trail made weak.
The passage here feels sad with pain;
Fierce winds of change pierce and constraint;
The pathway home a glimpse of gain.
The moments dear feels like a dream;
Dreamer of fear feels taunt and scheme;
The pathway home a squandered dream.
The highway pulse feels like a hint;
Dreamer awakes to a new mint;
The pathway home a jaded tint.
The wise impulse feels like a craze;
Weird ideas urge to charm and daze;
The pathway home: labyrinth maze!
Leon Enriquez
19 Mar 2014
Singapore
All The Ghosts
Families hushing
Around crackling transistors,
Like the sound of rushing
And muffled whispers,
And all the ghosts enter
Through a heart-shaped door
Where a nervous presenter
Is announcing war.
Post cards and kit bags
Are strewn in the hall,
Their tears and nametags
Says it all,
And waving goodbye
To their husbands and sons
Are the wives who will cry
For the enemy guns.
Marching tin soldier,
Like a puppet, a toy,
Not much older
Than someone's little boy,
All the ghosts mothers
And all the ghosts wives
Dream under covers
Far from their lives.
A brave volunteer,
An unwilling conscript
Toast the same fear
In fields of conflict,
"To the bittersweet irony
Of life and death"
They breathe, admiringly,
The enemies breath.
When words left unspoken,
To our heroes, are said,
Some return broken
And some return dead,
Where a million hearts grieve
As they are laid to rest
And all the ghosts leave
Through holes in their chest.
© RJVHorton2015
The guards patrolled the Chinese wall
As they did every day
They did not pay much attention
Seems to be the usual way
A clink disturbs ones peaceful stroll
A three armed hook appears
Catches on the parapet
With one of its ears
The guards are so outnumbered
There is just one thing to do
Set alight the warning fires
For the coming of Shan Yu
In the Palace of the Emperor
Panic reigns supreme
The calm tones of the Emperor
Voice of reason it would seem
Send messengers out far and wide
Conscript or volunteer
Take one from each family
Then bring them all back here
One old decorated hero
Zhou from the clan of Fa
He was one could hardly walk
For sure below his par
His daughter Mulan took him home
She has another Fa in mind
Her father asks no questions
He is sure she's being kind
She goes alone into her room
Her tresses start to fall
She continues cutting til
There's not much left at all
Then dressing up in rough male clothes
The palace to attend
I am the volunteer from Fa
The only one they send
Mulan is not a boy's name
That will have to change
Ping is one she thinks of
From a quite restricted range
Li Shang leads them into battle
Takes them head on to the fray
Against the army of the Hun
That has got bigger every day
The small defending army
Uses rockets for long range
The advancing Hun just pours along
With very little change
Now Ping espies a mountain
With quite an overhang
She sends a rocket to explode
Start a landslide with the bang
Buries the attacking Hun
It seems the job is done
Then the worst thing happens as
They climb out one by one
First the horde attacks the Palace
Takes the Emperor in hand
Kill him and his leaders
Then spread throughout the land
There is only one can stop them
It is the girl Mulan
She needs to kill the great Shan Yu
In any way she can
She faces him with threat of sword
But just when she seems beat
A friend that has been helping her
Sends fireworks and heat
And so Mulan she saves the day
Everyone bows down
The Emperor gives her Shan Yu's sword
And his own medal of renown
She takes them to her father
After shock he feels at peace
The worry and frustration
He was buried in can cease
One year ago Dictator Putin’s
Massed military might
Invaded the Ukraine
Not really expecting any fight.
One year later, with increasing
Frustration and despair,
Putin’s battered conscript army
Is still trapped and fighting there.
Like all modern military bullies
They failed to understand
The power of the patriot when
Asked to defend his land.
So many recent example
Of the futility of wars
When Military ambitions face
A defender with a cause.
Vietnam, Iraq, Afghanistan,
All refused to accept defeat
Although battered and torn
Each forced invader to retreat.
With arrogance and ignorance
They don’t learn or even care
Of the proverb telling of the power
Of sword turning into ploughshare.
In the end it’s down to statistics
The invader finally accepts he’s lost
When faced with the ever mounting
Life, material, and economic cost.
They leave behind chaos while,
Like hungry vultures they hover,
Waiting for the ready profits there
As they offer assistance to recover.
The purveyor of munitions
Not really taking any side,
Quietly counts his profits from
The sales he’s made worldwide.
And gleefully rubs his hands
Waiting for the rise in sales
That aftermath of a conflict
Inevitably entails.
The bully has to replace arms
He’s used on the battleground
And so the oil of commerce
Makes the World go round.
For the whole World knows
There’s no way to compete
With satisfaction gained
From a healthy profit sheet.
Putin still sits in Moscow
So immaculately dressed
Repressing a country that’s
Been constantly repressed.
POTUS sits in Washington
Land supposedly of the free
Where anyone can starve
In the name of democracy.
Two different systems and
Two very different voices.
You just pays your money and
You just makes your choices.
Dark comes swift
Daylight departs;
Nightfall intervenes
~~~~~~~~~
Hair salon tour
Dye and cut;
Grooming culture
~~~~~~~~~
Images float
Ideas now hurry;
Deadlines cut short
~~~~~~~~~
Journal monologues
So much to write;
Mundane thoughts conscript
~~~~~~~~~
Old magazines
Outdated rapture;
Gossip yellowing
~~~~~~~~~
One certainty here
Change terminates;
Uncertainty loiters
~~~~~~~~~
Traffic congestion
Slow motion here;
Jam without bread!
~~~~~~~~~
Ever so often
Flipping prejudices;
Like musical chairs
~~~~~~~~~
Why is not
Just a question;
The answer is why
~~~~~~~~~
Green parrot
Cocky indifference;
Vomits cranky words
~~~~~~~~~
Haiku mosaic
Experience shuffled;
Random words tell
~~~~~~~~~
Sleepy moments
Midnight interlude;
Night veils secrets
~~~~~~~~~
Leon Enriquez
16 April 2016
Singapore
Trite foot soldier status lacking
Pedigree earned by under stress not cracking
Anonymous ward of the state with little backing
Nameless face sent into the infernal abyss hacking
On unstated mission sent packing
In an unknown, unfamiliar field bivouacing
An amorphous, invisible foe tracking
Without reserve an unidentified conscript attacking
On an obscure plain flailing and whacking
Unseen rifles and cannons above the tumult clacking
Unnoticed, soldier falls during the shellacking
Body hurriedly pushed into unmarked grave after the sacking
Unacclaimed minion; no metals racking
Go saddle me the black black steed
For I am going on a long long journey
Go wipe away the tears that roll
Across brawny cheeks of gypsie lassie.
Fifteen well made men going on their steeds
To get their brides leap over the strand
The brunt hills in search of a namer
Drying fast to justify conscript of land.
Twilled with a broach and a ring wintry
The death stalks the hill with sickled moon
The leaden sheen on the steed’s back
Has turned the night’s face into a roon.
Late late yesterday I saw the moon
Full bodied like a new sickled maned
The death will stalk these streets tonight
And am afraid of downy owl’s nickled bane.
Come on fair ladies hang your hair down
Over the fair head over the abordour
The fifteen men have gone to castle waste
And along came the death to devour.
Go saddle me the black black steed
The merry castle keep has hovelled a cry
Though death stalks every haste and waste
And brawny cheeks of gypsie have gone dry.
Christian
Crisis why cries Christ mess
Confusion the challenge
Communion the message
Cuddled in manger a
Conscript lover of peace
Come with me he shouted
Conquer hypocrisy
02nd January 2016
Pleidades for Christmas
7 times 6 syllables
howmanysyllables.com