Best Firearms Poems
Abusive soul who tormented my heart
I didn’t wait for us to drift apart
I found inner strength at last
So don’t look at me aghast
You’re merely a crumb on my heart’s pie chart
A defumigator removed your scent
Into the trash all your hunting boots went
And those ghastly deer “trophies”
Ablaze with your spoiled green cheese
Your firearms too in the bonfire were sent
Valentine, let me give it to you straight
Goodwill came by for the very last crate
Maker’s Mark* for the homeless
Now that’s ironic justice
Hope your new home in the tent is just great
You wrecked my car and destroyed my credit
So you got off easy from where I sit
Not that you had much to lose
Just hair, weight, someone to use
Cupid aims, may your hemorrhoids get hit!
*Maker’s Mark is expensive whiskey
Entry for Sidney~Lee Ann’s valentine to an ex-lover contest
Written January 17, 2012
Categories:
firearms, funny, lost love, me,
Form:
Limerick
Famished and flagging footsoldiers;
formerly fitters and farmers.
Facing fatigue, fitful fever,
faeces and foul, foetid fungi.
Fostering feelings, frustrated,
for this faraway, foreign field.
Forsaking fissures and furrows,
forced forwards with fleetness of foot.
Firearms flash and fragments fly far,
feigning the firmament aflame.
Fighting so fierce and ferocious,
fratricide set free on this field.
Fuelled by freedom, nay, falsehood;
for their fellows and friends, foremost.
Forays so fraught with fine failure,
fatally fettered from the first.
Forged by such fatuous fawners,
focus firmly fixed on this field.
Forfeiting furtive and fiendish,
fulfilment was falsely forecast.
Fate flexes her fickle fingers,
future’s foretold and foreshadowed.
Faustian favours forthcoming,
for folly to feud for a field.
Families of fine forefathers,
fought fiercely, for fear we’d forget.
Forthright and filial feelings,
forgo fun and frivolity.
Familiar flora forms focus,
for the fallen in Flanders Field.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - -
8 syallables on every line (www.howmanysyllables.com)
November 2018
(This is my original / extended version)
I wanted to do something special - and a bit different - to mark the centenary of the end of The Great War (11 November 1918). This poem is dedicated to all the brave souls lost defending freedom during that terrible conflict (and all conflicts since).
Categories:
firearms, conflict, death, history, memorial,
Form:
Alliteration
10/9/17
More houses
More boundless
More guns
More funds
More drugs
More plugs
More liquor
More, get the picture?
More logic
More and more profit
More of that
More A.S.A.P.
More gas
More cash
More in my glass
More before I pass
More wax
More racks
More in my cup
More of that stuff
More tabs
More dabs
More jars
More cars
More bars
More decks of cards
More yards
More of living large
More of taking charge
More paths being carved
More firearms
More tools
More jewels
More shoes
More booze
More clothes
More homes
More love
More of all of the above
Categories:
firearms, creation, imagination, perspective, poetry,
Form:
Rhyme
Of course, I don’t mean guns
I mean your arms, of course
Lift them up to the Lord and Rejoice!
Praise Him with all your heart
Allow His Holy Spirit to engulf your whole being
With His mighty firearms
Let Him burn away your sins and pierce your soul
Let Him in, Let Him in
Hear ye, hear yeah
Hear His almighty call
And behold His mighty sword
Slice away any cancerous shenanigans
Immerse yourself in His love
Let Him be your guiding Light
Through these dark, seemingly darkest of times
Don’t ever let anyone stomp out your faith
Especially me, especially me
It be never my intent to ever to do so
Quite the opposite in facto
Sure, I have my moments of doubt and pain
He knows my every short coming
Sure, sometimes I even faulter
But rest assure, I read His Word
As my daily bread for sustenance
Only He is truly fulfilling
He may be the only one who cares
So, I bare my soul, to thee
I share with you how I really feel
Here’s the deal . . .
I long for a Democracy of Heaven
We rebel against kings in this country
But that’s really not His Way, is it?
He’s the King of kings! The Lord of lords!
So, I humble myself to His will, and not my own
Though sometimes I know not what I write
But this I do know, and it just feels right
“Jesus for President!” and I’ll be His running mate
He’s the President of presidents!
He certainly has my vote!
I throw down my rug, I throw in the towel
And kneel before His Grace
I pray to the Prince of Peace
Let this day be the day
That I see His face
That He grace this place, this time
With His mighty Bomb of bombs
His mighty Arms of arms
And hug the child within us all
And keep us all from harm
So, tallyho!
I lift my arms up in surrender
He really blows my mind sometimes
‘specially when I put my trust in Him.
The End.
Categories:
firearms, how i feel,
Form:
Spoken Word
Our fortified camp is well out of range of arrow, or gun shot, except the rear flank,
of course the Shoshone are reputed to be deficient in firearms
but are expert in hand weapons and guerilla tactics,
its a gamble, but we must seek to establish identity and intent
I'm taking a recon group of twelve into the valley
we're spread out to mitigate the impact of ambush
remaining close to the brush and treelines
the interior of the mountains look like the inside of deep candle wells
and we are the flame that attracts attention,
I see three people by a popping creek,
its a girl child, a teenage girl and an old woman with baskets picking grapes,
for an instant I think of the mythological Fates, have we been plucked and cut,
signaling for Drouillard, I procure a mirror, a comb and other small trinkets
to offer as gifts, and I'm rolling up my deerskin sleeve to show I am a White Man,
tactfully I step out of the snowberry thickets unarmed
pleading repeatedly the Shoshone phrase I've learnt from Sacagawea,
" Ta ba bone...Ta ba bone...Ta ba bone..."
the child has immediately wrapped herself around the old woman's leg
the teen has scampered like a doe in silent terror
looking back at me with eyes of screaming innocence, mouth crying open,
the woman is standing frozen with a face of defense
and from her beaded belt unsheathes a carbonized dagger,
Drouillard comes out gently doing his best with the speech and sign language
as I go on one knee showing the gifts, thank Deity they calm, smile, and accept,
we have convinced them to lead us to the village
the woman has persuaded the teen, named Maraseca to rejoin and receive the mirror,
J.A.B.
Categories:
firearms, adventure,
Form:
Epic
Famished and flagging footsoldiers;
facing fatigue, fitful fever,
faeces and foul, foetid fungi.
Fostering feelings, frustrated,
for this faraway, foreign field.
Forays so fraught with fine failure;
forfeiting furtive and fiendish,
fatally fettered from the first.
Forged by such fatuous fawners,
for folly to feud for a field.
Forced forwards with fleetness of foot;
firearms flash and fragments fly far,
feigning the firmament aflame.
Forces fight so ferociously,
fratricide set free on this field.
Forthright and filial feelings;
families of fine forefathers,
fought fiercely, for fear we’d forget.
Familiar flora forms focus,
for the fallen in Flanders Field.
- - - - - - - - -
8 syallables on every line (www.howmanysyllables.com)
November 2018
Entered in Brian Strand's "Contest No 515".
(1st Place)
I wanted to do something special - and a bit different - to mark the centenary of the end of The Great War (11 November 1918). This poem is dedicated to all the brave souls lost defending freedom during that terrible conflict (and all conflicts since).
Categories:
firearms, conflict, death, history, remembrance
Form:
Alliteration
Birthday
I am a citizen of that country
Today is her birthday
Surrounded by barbed wire,
Waiting for the command of firearms
I think that everyone has birthday
Somebody knows, somebody doesn't know
Sometime valuable, sometime worthless.
They have countries, they have rules
Mathematical formulas are known
They have birthdays, festivals
Then the red , black, white, how many countries
They have birthdays.
If give up all the barbed wire, discrimination
Mothers would be same with the smell of soil
Mother would be human being
Then birthday of the world, to me, your, everybody
So today I feel
My birthday has become one of the world's birthday.
SANDIP GOSWAMI, INDIA
Categories:
firearms, birthday, earth, feelings, friendship,
Form:
Prose Poetry
Firearm fantasies
Guns should never be a matter of right
Firearms are not fun in psychopath’s hands
Lax gun control laws tragedies invite
Mentally deranged are there in all lands
Who knows when one of them decides to kill
Firearms are not fun in psychopath’s hands
Crazy ones may look like men of goodwill
Wrong is the view that firearms make life safe
Who knows when one of them decides to kill.
Make stricter gun control laws that do chafe
Only the deserving ones should own guns
Wrong is the view that firearms make life safe.
One in ten thousand may need to own one
The government needs to fearlessly act
Only the deserving ones should own guns.
Deal with the issue with resolve and tact
Guns should never be a matter of right
The government needs to fearlessly act
Lax gun control laws tragedies invite.
Fantasy mine
Issue real for all
Obama’s dilemma?
Ps: Written just after the killing of 26 people, including 20 small children in a school in Newtown, Connecticut, US, by a gunman . Attention is also invited to my poem ‘Firearm fatalities’ posted in Aug after the Wisconsin incident.
17/Dec/12
S. Jagathsimhan Nair
Entered in SKAT's contest on 14 Jun 13.
Categories:
firearms, death, fun, life, may,
Form:
Terzanelle
The human experience fulfilling sensation,
our environment is our creation,
not ours originally,but ours to maintain,
natural system,needs are sustained...
Everybody has a bell that rings
cellular vibration,in song it sings,
a siren song enchanting desire
a high which takes you higher and higher...
The world is full of it's rising stars
untapped potential which takes them far,
it also has it's falling stars too,
a world of fools,a world of ruin...
A new portal behind every door
a gambit of play being explored
every encounter a game of chance,but,
what do you bear,the cross or the lance ?
The relic spear a source of power
Imperial thrones built up their towers
from Constantine to Charlemagne,
the Byzantine to the Lorraine...
All just sequels of transformation
preceding was laid their emulation
enacted improvements instituted
system of governing constituted...
All in hope to outlast the past,
relay race,a passing of the staff,
still only bond by popular opinion
confounded by those noxious minions...
The eastern hemisphere full of rage
they crossed the Atlantic to disengage,
but,in their scope,they brought disease,
methodology which didn't appease...
The red west never got a true chance
as invaders stormed behind their lance,
Montezuma welcomed with open arms,
soldiers of fortune brought firearms...
Indigenous people filled their plantation
others were chained to fulfill fruition,
Noble's became Don's,others slavemaster,
chain of events was still a disaster....
From fuedalisms fortune of birth
circumstance directed self-worth
peasantry suffered tilling the soil
while others got fat from plundered spoils...
Categories:
firearms, history, politicalworld, song, song,
Form:
Free verse
Does society treat you the way you want it to, or are there some things that could use a tweak here and there?
Do people judge you without even knowing you?
Do you feel oppressed?
Are you a victim? Have you been abused, raped, taken advantage of?
What do you care about?
Do you care about anything?
What's it like in the shoes you're in?
Do you hate labels?
Who decides what's right and wrong?
Is it okay for men to do "men things" and women to do "women things?" Do gender roles even exist? Did you judge me for saying men before women?
Are having firearms a problem? Those terrorists, how can we stop 'em?
Do you support a cause? Do you stand for something?
Do you stand for anything?!
What rights do animals have?
Should we eat them? Should we breed them?
Why do people propagate ****? Are you trying to help stop it? How?
Are you part of a group trying to be heard?
Or is it just you?
Who do you follow? What do you share? What do you like?
Last year’s news reported hate crimes, church shootings, so you like the post. You see a page about human trafficking and that's bad so you put a sad face. And when you're really moved by pictures of orphan refugees living and dying in the streets, you share it. Twelve people like it, two sad faces.
Who cares?
Obviously you don't.
This sinister cyclical web like a whirlpool puts out the fire of activism as if the cause was just hot air even the brightest balloon can be deflated and each cause--sedated. The passive "like" just consoles your conscience so your conscious mind might forget the influence. Don't matter the party or political position, liberal, conservative or new or used "ism." It's a lazy move--social slacktivism.
'Cause mindless multitudes of Facebook freaks devouring their feed like indiscriminate starving swine look more like "millions of mouthless dead" than supporting a cause.
Supporting a cause?!! You really think you've made a difference? How many shares until somebody does something? Until something changes?
How many likes will it take to stop racism? To stop hate crimes? Rape, abuse, violence, you name it - there will NEVER be enough likes.
So. You’ve got a cause worth fighting for.
#No one cares
Categories:
firearms, i am, internet, society,
Form:
Blank verse
What have you done to my life
When I think about it, it cuts like a knife
Don’t you have a heart
Or am I just not that smart
For six weeks I sold myself
Defiantly not on the shelf
Needles in my arms
As dangerous as firearms
Had to find a shower
I needed it for will power
A plate of food
If you are in the nude
Every part of me
Wished it could be free
You fed me to the dogs
I’m now in all the catalogues
Speed dial just for fun
I’m there like the noon gun
Categories:
firearms, abuse, addiction,
Form:
Personification
MISSION OF THE HUMAN BEING
We are wild creatures, wild beasts
for them
Their adjectives unreasonable,
Unrealistic
Just as savage, cruel, inhuman, and ferocious
Not civilized and uncompassionate
Sun sneering and moon bantering
at civilized human beings
Every day, every night
Firearms, explosives, mass destruction weapons
Are not our inventions
Merciless murders, massacres and many more
And killing without purpose
Not in our inhuman lexicon
Wisdom flying beyond the planet earth
Imperiousness caused
Destruction than construction,
And shortened the life span
Of everybody
As well as planet earth.
How civilized are you?
Jayaratne Weerakkody
Categories:
firearms, animal, earth, people, planet,
Form:
Verse
One country some often say
Since banned firearms day
Is safer than the USA
There really is no truth in that
Mass shootings there rare before Act
Little or no change after... fact
Though mass murders no reductions
Some five plus killed on six occasions
Difference was no guns as weapons
Along with USA's mass shootings...
Other countries have mass stabbings
frequent car attacks and bombings
All countries have problems this we know
People with agendas gloss over for show
May 7, 2018
Categories:
firearms, confusion, corruption, culture, mental
Form:
Rhyme
Congressman and senators forewent
all manner of civility, fidelity and integrity wii
hull ding broadswords, derringers
and firearms as all hell broke loose as testimony
to the dire prognostication foretold
more than saber rattling and Gatling guns que
kind from lambastes, fisticuffs
and brickbats ratcheted up as agents provocateurs nee
said obedience to semper fidelis credo, coda and cock knee
stance when dire straits called for restraint
against excess versus raising cane old hickory
i.e. Andrew Jackson latched onto when opposing with energy
and verve espoused by fellow delegates, and his hologram ghost bloody
from battle scars outside and/or inside
the halls of government where blows bashed
dovetailed elected legislators to officiate
as angry birds viz brouhaha clashed
Federalist against their nemesis
of the twenty first century
during the term of Donald Trump
who throve on the cutthroat frenzied
internecine lawlessness dashed
to and fro, hither and yon any hope for civilians to escape bloodshed
spilled from without vaunted halls of justice,
the approach of doomsday
writ large as anarchy and mayhem flashed
with uproarious coup d’etat,
when Democrats outliers gnashed
teeth, and nonestablishmentarian outlaws
pistol whipped and hashed
tagged traitors who roared America
went bankrupt at sold at fire sale price slashed
when Donald Trump ran the country
into the ground evidenced by Molotov Cocktails residue
in concert with the sulfuric odor of hand grenades trashed
Categories:
firearms, crush, grave, hate, history,
Form:
Gun Play in the Meat Locker
At the bottom in the Mexican bay rests a 22 calibre pistol,
it is in a box and the box is in a plastic bag that moves
with the tide; the gun was mine I had bought it in Galveston.
I had been obsessed with firearms lately, needed a shooter
but didn´t want to buy one bulky cannon difficult to hide,
it was easy to purchase came in a box six bullets included.
Back on board and with trembling hands I placed the gun
inside the frozen carcass of a sheep and tried to sleep.
Night in the bay of Mexico I took the pistol up on the deck
and said. ”bang, bang you are dead. Put the gun back in
Its box and the box in a plastic bag and threw it overboard.
It was a beautiful night and I was free of my obsession with
firearms they make me nervous and I´m satisfied to know
I was not born to be a gunslinger called Morgan Kane.
Categories:
firearms, absence, anger, conflict, culture,
Form:
Sonnet