Best Firing Line Poems
Me, my brother Tom and Uncle Pat were on a fishing holiday
three men in a rowing boat way out in Dublin Bay
we anchored up and cast six rods over a sunken wreck
hoping for the catch of our lives to haul onto the deck
hours passed with the floats just bobbing up and down
Tom fell asleep and Pat sat watching with a frown
a ferry passed by and the swell nearly made us capsize
as I held onto the sides Pat stood there with staring eyes
his float had gone and the rod had bent double
I woke Tom up and told him we were in trouble
Pat grabbed the rod and with all the strength he had
he struck the line which went straight down, oh man this was bad
the boat began to list quite far and water was gushing in
we started bailing out, but Pat held firm he stood there with a grin
he had a bite that was pulling hard the line shot under the keel
only one fish had the strength for this, it was a giant conger eel
Tom rummaged through the tackle and handed Pat a knife
we shouted ‘cut the line’ or this fish could take a life
but he heaved and reeled then shouted ‘get the gaff’
we saw his head and great big teeth and said ‘you’re having a laugh’
Tom grabbed an oar and whacked it’s head, the oar it broke in two
Pat’s foot was in the firing line and the eel snapped at his shoe
the eel it thrashed; we kicked and lashed the eel half out the boat
but the eel was having none of it and was going for Pat’s throat
the screams were heard by other boats who came to our rescue
the next we knew the eel was dead killed by god knows who?
a harpoon in it’s head stuck out and we were showered in blood
Pat saw blood gushing from his foot, then fell with a sickening thud
we climbed aboard the other boat, the eel it was their prize
we lost our boat and rods, half a shoe plus two toes, It’s the truth, I tell no lies….
© 21/2/2014
For Caleb's Contest...Now it has been judged I can say it is all true....
Old Lord Harry put up a good front.
He hid socks in his pants as a stunt.
But, his Lady swore
as argyle hit floor
that no organ was found to be blunt.
6/17/14
It seems some did not get this poem so a wee bit of 'splaining is above for all you Desi Arnez fans.
Definition for
FRONT - noun the side or part of an object that presents itself to view or that is normally seen or used first; the most forward part of something. [i.e. the front of his pants]
FRONT - noun in a military sense the front is the FIRING LINE
FRONT - a fake or false personality
This poetic devise is called a double entendre [a play on words]- a word or phrase open to two interpretations, one of which is usually risqué or indecent.
ORGAN - is also being used this way - The human ***** is an external male sexual organ - as well as a musical instrument made of pipe
ARGYLE - a pattern composed of diamonds of various colors on a plain background, used in knitted garments such as sweaters and socks.
or ARE GUILE - someone who is sly or cunning
even the word BLUNT has another meaning here since a BLUNT sword would be of little use
Savoured roots at the tip of a spade
Dying leaves escape their own tree’s shade
We’re in a draught, spare me your tears
Unless you’re a portfolio full of shares
The land is levelled by green boots
Their orders given by black suits
Does anyone know who invented the book?
The written word whose hand knowledge shook?
I'm the wailing guitar's disconnected speaker
The cure found in the slip of a broken glass beaker
The trillions locked away in a vault of greed
The billions our fear safely breeds
I'm surrounded by a heat of hatred
My peaceful world's smouldering and defeated
Deep in lack of love's crippling frustration
Sunny days clouded in cold perspiration
Life is crawling down the barrel of a gun
In the firing line of death rays escaping the sun
I count my enemies in each empty shell
I pick it up to glimpse down the bottom of hell
I'm seen in forgotten memory
A lost entry in a 1939 Nazi diary
Left out to wet and dry like an old newspaper
Let me fly this wind fate's prepared proper
I was searching for peace and quiet
I couldn't afford to pay a requested quote
So I live up the slippery walls of a bleeding nose
Along the ear channel’s tunnelled noise
I hear whispered dark secrets
Confessions and prayers hummed and sacred
Shouted insults and empty threats
The clearing and swallow of a dry throat
Thabang J. Ngoma
13-12-2015
John lawless’s Where Echoes Hide - Poetry Contest
I'll play the bad guy,
if it will make you feel better.
I'll make it my favourite role,
they'll probably award me an Oscar.
I'll stand in the firing line,
taking all the shots - maybe I'm bulletproof.
Put on those boxing gloves,
but punch me hard, so you knock me out.
I'll be your willing punching bag.
I'll act a joker, paint a smile on my face.
I don't know how to play the victim.
You can tell all the media -
I'm the villain.
I'll be your gangster,
rob a bank for you -
but I can never be a killer.
You can belittle me,
stab me with your words,
poke me your insecurities..
Defame me, shame me - massacre my character.
I'll slay your demons, whilst you slaughter my personality.
Let them point all the fingers - at me
I promise I'll be silent,
no courtroom will hear my confession -
a secret I'll take to my grave.
It's ok, I'll hide the truth.
I'm immune to the insults - just numb.
I won't look for tomorrow - It may never arrive.
Forget forever - I'm not evergreen - are you?
In this mad world,
I'll die misunderstood -
just like Van Gogh
Strip me of my clothes,
trample over me like you would on snow.
Leave me vulnerable,
shivering among unfamiliar faces.
Before you go,
cut me open,
let me bleed dry, just like a poetic death.
When I'm just a memory,
remember me when it rains.
Maybe the mystery of each drop,
may explain the unexplainable pain.
Old soldiers in the firing line,
Community clubbing time,
Let's honour them in rhymes,
Now in the vault of the unleashed,
Their courage released,
For the job, they were the right men,
The flower of past generations,
People to treasure, through the ages,
In theatres of combat, such stages,
Designer beers wanted here,
On Anzac Day, we give them silent cheers.
'Tis well-known that military blokes speak a lingo of their own,
But it has served them well over the years, it has been shown!
To a General or a Private, such jargon is totally sensible,
But to ordinary citizens, 'tis utterly incomprehensible!
"Yard birds" know all about "policing the area" and "kitchen police."
A seasoned "grunt" knows what it means to "clean his piece."
The "head" is a sanctuary for musing to a sailor or marine,
But to an airman or soldier, 'tis better known as the "latrine."
When on the firing line the Sergeant yells, "Fire at will!"
Guys aim not to kill Will but to improve their shooting skill!
When a Corporal invites his squad to a "GI Party" on Friday night,
There'll be no beer but you'll scrub the floor and do it right!
From the dreaded "Reveille" to "Retreat" (when troops must salute),
Bugle calls herald tidings quickly learned by even the rawest recruit!
Everyone scans the "Daily Bulletin" for the latest "scuttlebutt."
On parade, troopers snicker watching "second louies" strut!
Essential to national defense, the brass concoct acronyms galore,
And there are geniuses in the Pentagon always begetting more,
Word forms from (A)WACS to (Z)ULU and betwixt ad infinitum!
Ah! Those handy acronyms! How could we fight a war without 'em!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(© All Rights Reserved)
I had pondered over complaining about my life yet again
Filling up this pages with idle talk
Sharing past and present experiences
Politicizing my perception of reality
Writing about friends i had failed...
Relationships i had lost
And opportunities i had taken for granted
Then i remembered
Somewhere out there in the world
Not far from our borders,in the lands of syria and south sudan
Innocent people are surviving under appalling conditions
In spaces that undermine their humanity
Deprived off a normal existance
With no roof over their heads
No place to call home
The lucky sleeping in abundant buildings
As they have fled their villages over night
Attempting to outrun guerilla wars
They are innocent civillians, caught in the firing line
Seeing starved brown babies
Going for days with no food nor water
With their bulged mulnutritioned tummies
Seeing the unlucky...forced into manhood
As they get made into child soldiers
Dying on the way to seeking freedom
Their childhood stolen from underneath
We have heard...as far away bystanders
Of their 'sneaking' under our fenced and guarded borders
Seeking for refuge
In the unknown lands,to find a better tomorrow
What will become of them?
The thought of their plight tortures the soul of the viewer
As we watch their lives play out on our tv screens
The shock on our faces is temporary
As we share their lives in documentaries
Their whole lives scripted into 120hours
Their history formulated into screen shots
Our greatest nightmares is their everyday reality
As we ponder over our political future
We fear that we can turn into the next zimbabwe
Yet,they have nothing left to fear
As they have experienced rape,beating and gun shots
We cry for them from our posh homes
Yet,we do nothing to improve their conditions
Imagined as victims of circumstances
In an empathetic world
Coming to realise...that my reality is propably what they inspire to
Word Play Lines
My main line muse stepped over a line –
My confuser got confused off line
Rhymes on strike, my pen went dry in a stiff hard line
Thesaurus got clean away flying through the pipeline.
I searched for foot lines on the moon in bluest of blue lines
Then looked around for yards and yards of a water line
At the park dropped a line running through a tag line
Then my hash line ran away again between the lines.
Drank some punch line, giggles burped – crossing the line
Found a lucky cooper penny on the green A line -
Crossed a plot line, story screamed like angry beelines
Out of line couldn’t find all the frayed drag line!
Dinner time, thick beef steaks on the firing line
Front and center, calories feeding me a story line
Smorgasbord of sights and smells lay it on the line
Honeyed, gooey just desserts lead me to some sweet lines.
Went to a bar almost bought all the current date-lines
Hollow words of neck lines – what a bunch of air-lines
Took the bus – had to duck – bruises on my headline
Tripped then fell - almost drown in the bottom line.
Gained some weight – oh, oh, no – now too snug my belt line
A little late –running tardy way behind the time line
Invitation RSVP to conga in the party line
Rows and rows of polka-dots, line up on the dotted line.
Muse returned from her day – fainted on the deadline
Had to duck, words run amuck in the mixed up chorus lines
Told me this was asinine feeding her a landline
Not too late! Get it straight! Balance on the fine line.
7-9-21
Contest: Word Play Poems with Play-On-Words
Sponsor: John Anderson
In the dreary battlefield why he has to die
A soldier away from his family and home
Orders to march and kill he has to comply
The time for him to think doesn’t come.
Fortified with strong nerve and courage
Across the firing line he would venture
The thought of death is out of his visage
He would strive to strike like a thunder.
He has a duty, a mission to accomplish
Save our lives and defend the nation
He doesn’t know if he would live or perish
His mind like a bee is busy in action.
In victory he celebrates his rewarded toil
Anguish penetrates the psyche in defeat
Marching over dead bodies his mind recoils
For whom war is fought he would often posit.
A martyr, he turns an instant national hero
When the worrier is brought home dead
If the war is won or lost he wouldn’t know
Time forgets the tears his kin would shed.
An unsung person is also a hero to me
Who sacrifices a lot even life for our cause
Howsoever trivial and small it might seem
For him in my heart I would grow a rose.
November 21, 2017.
Contest : Hero
Sometimes it pours like hot
drips of melted wax from a candlestick;
your migraine.
I wanted armistice.
Untangle the lies,
I am not in your firing line.
The tulips in the barrel of your gun
cannot forgive the bullets.
There will be no ceremony after the funeral.
Give a slice of blue departure
of moon to light the beach,
there was a brutal murder on the lake
among the muffled waves of protest
in the home of insanes, who were
praying for the sun to return.
SATISH VERMA
A new year means a new start
A chance to mend a once broken heart
Being brave and taking part
Trying this year to not fall apart
Things seemed to be going well
On things from last year i did not dwell
I learnt to stop and not to yell
But then i remembered our last farewell
Untill this point things were fine
People were happy I'd drawn a line
Life again had started to shine
But just one thought and i'm in firing line
Out of nowhere this thought came
Suddenly my mind was full of shame
Upon myself i felt blame
And without guilt this thought grew aflame
The thought that came made me smile
Friends unaware were fine all the while
My mind itself starts to beguile
And doubts the memories that were hostile
Lifeblood of democracy hemorrhaging
ousting the "FAKE" president only recourse
to staunch impending grim demise,
since forefathers drafted
United States Constitution
ratified more'n two centuries ago
hoi polloi must take to the streets
denouncing severe curtailment
impinging sacred freedom of speech
linkedin with paramount bedrock provision
accessing unvarnished flint stoned "truth,"
nonetheless commander in chief
he quakingly, staunchly, vociferously...
excoriates, lacerates, repudiates...
one damning hermetically sealed,
iniquitous airtight, vacuum packed
flagrant misuse of power,
(not to mention nepotism)
invidious, insidious, injurious... infractions
incontestable, incontrovertible, contemptible...
significant melange in führer
re: hating deplorably
crooked basely barren
factual exposé after another,
deft correspondents all not quiet
along western front
(I heard Maria - mull remark)
bring "to light" execrable,
lamentable reprehensible...
gross transgressions
commander in chief
significantly overstepped
Pulitzer prize winning
prestigious storied publications
scathingly trounced, pillaried,
lambasted, insulted, denounced,
butchered, critiqued, demonized,
fricassed, gored, humiliated,...
pummeled, quartered, reviled
courageously expounding fiend
ensconced within his Taj Mahal
impregnable donjon, whereat he trumpets
laurels asper, nonpareil administration
laying groundless accusations
baring his white fangs,
twittering, naysaying, mocking.. supreme
renown gifted by "honest Abe"
recalcitrant commander in chief,
who refutes objectionable
dogged investigative journalism
every step of the way,
where dedicated news gatherers
risk life and limb
firing line reportage troopers
ferreting (foxlike) he/she
doth gopher precious nuggets
uncover alarming undisputable details
impossible to refute raw bits
agent provocateur freely colluding
immediately hashtashed poppycock
smarmy, snooty, snappy
beastly capital one ogre
blatantly castigating diligent endeavors
oblivious pie in sky
delusional egotistic haughtiness
bobblehead vilified by silent majority.
fat chances
take your fat chances
trim you wick for flight
lantern blown by western winds
turn the guns
of
night
bullets on terrors clouds
smoke comes barreling down
poets are beat from the bush
trump card knows how to push
pope rapes the children
listen to their screams
torture for the Jews
hitler's hidden seam
sewn past eyes
of
recognition
that
only
the
blind
could
see
draw your firing line
watch me step across
i am not a lost soul
stuck within a coins toss
drink with me as i learn to die
my love is emortal stretching
beyond outstretched skies
watch as my cat dances
teaching fat chances
to
sing
forgotten lullabys
?
My son is coming home today
he's been away so long
when he left here to go away
We knew that he was strong
He told us he was leaving soon
his girlfriend had to cry
the bus took him away at noon
and we just said goodbye
a military man so fine
so able and so tall
he's put into the firing line
not holding back at all
He sent a letter home one day
I don't remember when
his mother told me just last may
she got one more again
We got a letter monday last
from one who knew the score
My son was caught up in a blast
and he could serve no more
The plane came in, they set the chocks
they brought him in a bag
and now they've put him in a box
I get to keep the flag
My emotions tease me at their will,
Plunder my hapless intellectual world
And declare a bloodless coup d’état.
This undeclared war shocks my core,
Grips me with a freakish fear
And forces me to plunge deep within,
To rein in my inner turmoil.
Ceaseless kisses from my emotions
Fail to hide their deep-rooted delusions
With perennial problems of articulation.
Hidden serpents on a rocky hill
Stare at savage beehives
Eyeing their harvest to pulverize.
Happiness sounded glum,
Too long has it slogged,
With no more illusions to burn
Counts its days in slumber mum.
Tearful was Sadness.
It leaves me woeful and gloomy,
Confused and lethargic.
Disgust, honest in self-decry,
Sneaks hate into my mind.
Fear, my constant companion,
Apologizes for its presence.
Anger, a rapid-fire submarine,
Begs pardon for its volatile firing-line.
These emotions in commotion troop in,
And pass through a numeric scanner.
A sigh of repentance fills the air.
A dire silence with numb insights,
Linked to daily self-assessment,
Gives my emotions a new mission,
To learn through showers of forbearance
And to improve upon past renditions,
With a will to remove
Their emotive larvae, stalk by stalk.
What a boon are walks on grasslands!
To help restore our crops of emotions,
Made for all seasons and commotions.