Best Hunker Down Poems | Poetry

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The Best Hunker Down Poems

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Gypsy Guy

Well, Gypsy Guy would rather die than hunker down in chains,

be ridden south with bit in mouth, or heed the hold of reins.

The ruling lot are in a spot, the boss man he complains:

“The gypsies’ soul, I can’t control, my patience wears and wanes;

they will not cede to common greed, which conquers far domains

and furtive spies and news that lies have barely baked their brains.

“But in the court of last resort the final fix remains:

in boxcar bins with violins we’ll freight them out in trains

(should one ask why, a quick reply: ‘It’s that which God ordains!’),

and in the bogs, they’ll die like dogs, and everybody gains.”

Copyright © Terry O'Leary | Year Posted 2012

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Homeless, I hunker down
next to a garbage bin.
And hail morphs into rats
that gnaw at exposed skin.

Hunger twists my stomach
with a pain hard to bear.
And a putrid smell clings
to the soiled rags I wear. 

Acid tears flow freely
in my cocoon of shame.
And my head is hung low
in self-pity and blame.
The sun abandons me
to the darkness of night.
And leaves me all alone,
a neon sign for a light.

Sleep swears it'll save me
yet often fails to come.
And I'm feeling frightened
venerable and numb.

Copyright © Emile Pinet | Year Posted 2015

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Lone survivor

Lone survivor
July 3, 2015
I sit alone in my basement all hunkered down
My faithful dog with me
Because tonight is the night of firecrackers 
And firework, yep it’s the 4th of July.
My dog gets to wear a rap around cover
I get just my basement,
You see I am a lone survivor just like my dad
He from world war 2 me Vietnam. 
My platoon was on patrol when we saw some
Kids playing baseball it was on the 4th of July
So we asked kids if they wanted to play us
Sure thing, as we were playing an enemy.
Patrol had seen us and hit us as we were playing baseball, 
I got hit in the leg and fell down my buddy was hit 
In the head and killed he fell over me
I played dead as they check us over.
It took me three days to crawl back to base
All platoon was wiped out but me.
So on this 4th of July like others
I will hate and hunker down as the damn firecrackers
And fireworks go off…

Copyright © Steven Siegel | Year Posted 2015

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Open All Night'

Everybody, and his brother
Stopped in, at one time, or another
Not for the greasy hash browns
Or the coffee, with a half a cup, of grounds
They weren't there for Ruby or Ruth
Whose numbers were in the phone booth
At night when the honky tonks closed down
It was the only place open in town

The regulars sat at the back
The bar was reserved for the hacks
Nobody ever stayed very long
A blue plate special or a jukebox song
The burgers were extra greasy
Waitresses a little sleazy
But there were always people around
It was the only place open in town

My mom, warned about it's reputation
My dad, more concerned about damnation
I used to go there, from time to time
Back when a pay phone was just a dime
On occasion wound up in jail
And one might say, I've been through hell
Anything one needed could be found
It was the only place open in town

We saw the smoke, from miles away
Heard the fire trucks, early that day
Everybody not working, went to see
The roaches and the mice run free
When the honky tonks closed that night
Everybody had to go home tight
Cause before the old cafe' burnt down
It was the only place open in town

Looking back, had some good times there
Just sit by the window and stare
Reflections of places and faces
Kinda like a memory, oasis
Life was a whole lot slower
I was a wild oat sower
But anytime, one wanted, to hunker down
It was the only place open in town

   by Daniel Turner

Copyright © Daniel Turner | Year Posted 2016

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Rainfall roulette and games for suits

As the dogs led me on our walk, I took a chance and left my raincoat behind despite the threatening clouds.  The sky turned from dappled to grey but I stayed dry, although my legs were damp from dogshake after we past the creek.

In the woods, the air was quiet as nervous birds flitted silently from tree to tree, uncertain if they should hunker down to feed for a few more days or move on afore it gets too cold.

Across the border, the wanta be leaders of the flock, all dressed up in party suits, are playing a different game with stakes almost as high. And while I don’t have a vote I sure do hope that Hillary trumps Donald.

Copyright © D.W. Rodgers | Year Posted 2016

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THE PERFORMANCE She’s a dancer ready to chronograph her next move. The chair is her boogie down stool. Her hand synthesis the groove. She looks as if her depths are being used. Her arm is amalgamated to the symphony sounds in the room. She squats in a hunker down pose to expose her sensual core. Yes, she desires to be an instrumental part of the performance. _______________________________________________________| Written February 27, 2016!

Copyright © Verlena S. Walker | Year Posted 2016

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Never Land Part 5

A lad is stopped by roving cops, who shoot in disregard. His face is black, he’s on his back, a breeze is breathing hard, he bleeds and dies, his mama cries, the screaming sky is scarred, the sheriff and his squad at hand are laughing in the yard. Bob’s wife’s in town, she’s broken down, she’s ranting with a fury, their baby coughs, the doctor scoffs, the snow is all a’ flurry, their life of sin has done them in, they skirmish, scrimp and scurry. It’s getting late, Bob’s tempting fate, his choices cruel and blurry, his midnight dreams are filled with screams, he knows he needs to hurry - he chooses gas, they breathe their last, there’s no more cause to worry. Per protocols near ivied walls arrayed in sage festoons, the Countess quips, while giving tips, to crimson caped buffoons: “To rise from mass to upper class, like twirly bird tycoons, you stretch the treat you always eat, with tiny tablespoons” A learned leach begins to teach (with songs upon a liar): “Within the thrall of Satan’s call to yield to dim desire lie wicked lies that tantalize the flesh and blood Vampire; abiding souls with self-control in everyday Hellfire will rest assured, when once interred, in afterlife Empire”. The words, they weave the make believe, while slugs in salt expire, baptised in tears and rampant fears, all mirrored in the mire. It’s getting hot on private yachts, though far from desert plains - “Well, come to think, we’ll have a drink”, Sir Captain Hook ordains. Beyond the blame and pit of shame, outside the Walled domains, they pet their pups and raise their cups, take sips of pale champagnes To touch the tips of languid lips with pearls of purple rains. Well, Gypsy Guy would rather die than hunker down in chains, be ridden south with bit in mouth, or heed the hold of reins; the ones that plot are in a spot, the boss man he complains: “The gypsy soul, I can’t control, my patience wears and wanes; they will not cede to common greed, one only way remains, in boxcar bins, with violins we’ll freight them out in trains, and in the bogs, they’ll die like dogs, and everybody gains.” Arrayed in shawls with crystal balls, and gazing at the moons, wiled women tease with melodies and spooky loony tunes while making toasts to holey ghosts on rainy day lagoons: “Well, here’s to you and others too, embedded in the dunes, avoid the stares, avoid the snares, avoid the veiled typhoons and fend your way as every day, ’gainst heavy heeled dragoons.”

Copyright © Terry O'Leary | Year Posted 2012

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A Christmas Tale

Outside my dorm window, the snow began to fall;
Everybody had gone home, but I didn’t have a car.
Christmas break started yesterday, they’re gonna throw me out;
I’ve got no place to go, I’ll just be wandering about.

Rubbing elbows with the rich kids on an academic ride,
But the tracks that I come from are from the other side.
No daddy who’s a lawyer; no mother with a doctorate degree,
No car keys to a new Porsche underneath a Christmas tree.

Threw some clothes in my backpack with the cafeteria food that I stole;
Borrowed my roommate’s comforter to protect me from the cold.
Found a shelter for the homeless on the other side of town;
With my First Year Contract Law book, I started to hunker down.

A little boy walked up beside me and stood beside my cot,
“Mister, would you like to share my candy, it’s the only thing I got.
I’ll give you half my candy cane if you read me a story from your book.”
How could I refuse this little boy and the longing in his look?

“You can keep your Christmas candy, but I will tell you a story,
About a newborn baby King and the star that signaled glory.”
As I told the story of Christmas, the best I could recall,
People gathered around the two of use as the snow outside did fall.

When my story was finally over, the little boy just smiled,
And put a smile on every other face that gathered in the crowd;
Then he looked at every one of us and said, so simply,
“Jesus Christ put that star of hope into all of you and me.”

Suddenly, my self-pity flew right out of my soul,
Becoming rich like all my schoolmates, no longer was my goal,
I closed up my text book and went outside into the snow,
Laying on our backs, making snow angels, we watched the stars aglow.

“The star of hope still shines brightly, each and every Christmas night,
With our faith in baby Jesus, everything will turn out all right.”

I returned back to the university and finished my degree,
Dedicating my life thereafter to helping others out of poverty.
Every Christmas Eve I go back to that shelter on the far side of town,
And retell the story of Christmas to whoever comes around.

Copyright © Joe Flach | Year Posted 2016

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Cold Winter Winds


The wind is chilly, it blows snow in your face.
Grab onto your loved one, and tightly embrace.
The drifts are deep, the snow piles near the fence.
Its hard for you to walk, mother nature`s suspense.

Blizzard warning is coming, make sure you get wood.
The visibility is bad, you would hurry if you could.
Cars end up in ditches, they slide of the street.
The snow is measuring up, and its more than 2 feet.

The wind chill is freezing, you get frost bite on your toes.
Your eyes got icicles on them, and theres red on your nose.
Scarfs and mittens are worn, a thick coat is the style.
Your yearning for heat, but its going to be a long while.

Winters tight grip has wings, the angels are building a fire.
Your to tired to shovel snow, so you put up a sign for hire.
5 months of the nasty weather, the devils up to his sins.
Hunker down by the fireplace, in the cold winter winds.

Copyright © Jasmine Cruz | Year Posted 2014

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Thunder from afar
Wild wise creatures hunker down
Life giving rain falls

Copyright © Willow Lawrence | Year Posted 2014

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A Major Heat Advisory

There's a heat advisory in the frozen north Must take precautions as we go forth Need to hunker down Or in sweat we will drown Dangerous times as the temperature soars © Jack Ellison 2015
Yes you heard right... a heat advisory in the frozen north!!!

Copyright © Jack Ellison | Year Posted 2015

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A Snow day comes.

Snowfall impedes our mobility.
Now some venture out to test their ability.
Our streets and yards are pristine white.
We're trapped 'neath Winter's cold, grey light.

Don't venture out on a day like this,
As Old Man Winter shakes his fist.
You wait for the snow plough, this is no jest.

Come bake some cookies or play a board game;
Or shovel the walk way till you've got the blains.
Most hunker down by the fire to stay warm.
Even rabbits stay in on this chilly morn.

Copyright © Judy Ball | Year Posted 2012

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Hunkering Down

Hibernation is the name of the game As we hunker down today from the rain 200 mph winds were sustained In that Mexican hurricane Best let it blow over as to a lamp post we're chained © Jack Ellison 2015

Copyright © Jack Ellison | Year Posted 2015

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Tail-end Charlie

There were many unsavory jobs during the Second World War.
Some required guys to hunker down just a wee bit more!
None more so than "Tail-end Charlie" in the back of that old queen,
Known affectionately as the Flying Fortress, the B-Seven-teen!

Usually the smallest member of the ten-man bomber crew,
He was probably the most vulnerable target that ever flew!
Isolated in the tail end, genuflecting on his knees;
An appropriate position, imploring God with his fervent pleas!

Awakened from his reverie to face a day in the terror-filled sky,
Today's mission over the fatherland, nearly six miles high!
A Messerschmitt slides in to attack directly out of the sun;
"Charlie" sends him to eternity with a short burst from his gun!

Flak and shell around him would whistle, zing and hiss.
In his training days he was told there'd be thrilling days like this!
Nearly freezing, tho' he wore a bulky heated flying suit,
Ever alert, watching his six-o'clock for that enemy pursuit!

Jaunty but brave, this warrior winging thro' God's celestial dome,
Praying that he can fly his twenty-five missions and get safely home.
A grateful nation bestowing awards for laurels won upon his breast,
Home to his beloved America for a well-deserved rest!

Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(© All Rights Reserved)

Copyright © Robert L. Hinshaw | Year Posted 2010

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The Promised Land

Forty years is a pretty long time to be out on a camping trip,
And when you’re living on a mountainside you can start to lose your grip.
So God called his people together to tell them about his plan,
“Folks I just wanted to say, I’m sending you to the Promised Land.”
He talked to them of a land that was flowing with milk and honey,
And told them that to own it all wouldn’t cost them any money.
God divided them up into tribes and then into armies and finally squads,
They thought that their vision of milk and honey must be different than God’s.
When they marched into the land they found people who were very big,
They thought that this land of giants would snap them like a twig.
The walls of the cities in this land were tall and they towered to the sky,
They thought that God must be mad at them so they went to ask him why.
“Lord, it’s going to be tough to attack walls made strong with mortar and bricks,
When we are all only tiny little people running around with pointy sticks.”
God railed at them for having so little faith and told them to attack,
They sort of looked at each other and then told God that he could have it back.
But the Lord told them all to hunker down and do their very best to be brave,
After all the time that Moses had invested God was certainly going to save.
And so they were delivered and the land became their home to keep,
They just never would have guessed that the rent would be so steep.

Copyright © Tony Lane | Year Posted 2011

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Cold World

Cold World
  Blizzards pass, storms ensue,
  Snowy paths, guide my view.
  Where roaring winds are in pursuit, 
  my heart is where hope is imbued.
  Laying the bedding, in earth’s full view,
  I hunker down, and slumber ensues.
  Where hope is, I am in pursuit, 
  For this cruel world is in need of review.  

Copyright © Samantha Lim | Year Posted 2014

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The Lost

Billowing taupe clouds, hunker down and hem in the Peninsula,
The morning rips open
A glimpse of sun shone; a lemon curd slivers between slits of of silver illumination
The first hint of light glances up frothing crests of salted foam,
Waves slap mineralized milky encrusted piers,
A place she never goes,

The boats, the ropes, salted misty chalky vapors 
All a mockery of thematic proportions,

Unduly deliver a set, a scene,
In which a broken-hearted woman creaks about over well trodden planks
With a mystery in her eyes,

A coat two-sizes too big
And a hint of faded spicy cologne
Envelopes her unconscious, the odor she is unaware of

She perceives a mounted flaking, patinated iron harpoon mere décor 
A prop on the set of this distant sea,
An artifact for ancient ways of hunting, the heart of the whale she knew was the size of twenty men.

Old men begin to mill about from the shore they amble toward the beauty and the death of the sea,

The lulling sea
A salve for old men, a balm to quell the roaring mind,

Clapboard sided sea worn boats rise and fall not of their own accord,
But as slaves to the the great sea, slaves to the sea

They carry metal traps, hemp ropes
And the unforgiving memories of the land,

“Landlubbers” she muses. A momentary countenance of mirth gleams in her eye.
Such a funny word.  An erstwhile chuckle engages her lips as she knows now the seriousness of life, whereby in bygone times mother warned: “Love will make a mockery of us all”

Copyright © Toni Orban | Year Posted 2016

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Beneath a Dire Moon

The moon hovers there, shining aloft,
its form the infamous crescent,
its glow so luminous as to reveal the rest of the orb,
oft-hidden when its time in the sky is not nigh.

Underneath, a fog coats the cold ground.
It floats eerily around everything in its path,
twisting here and there, suffusing the darkened morning
with a fell feel, secrets behind every bush and tree.

As my fellows and I trudge past a field to our left,
the mist reveals the obstacles we placed there afore;
in the sun, just part of training, procedure - 
in these cruel environs, an ominous vision.

Barbed wire raises from a fence line
like the hackles of an angry beast;
threatening even we who emplaced it with its edges,
taunting our easily pierced flesh to embrace it.

Bunkers hunker down by the edge of the wood,
barely glimpsed openings once promising solace -
in this haunting setting they appear more as gaping maws,
showing to the world only a presence and visage of hunger.

Meant to hamper the enemy, defend those who built them,
on this macabre morn they serve more to menace their own.
Our bristling band hurries to pass that brooding breadth,
the horned moon vanishing at last from our unsettled sight.

Copyright © Andy Sprouse | Year Posted 2014

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evening rolled into 
my self conscious beliefs
during a subtle warming 
of climate change

i'd completed a list 
of life's worries
that had henceforth succomb 
to a natural disaster before me 

why i was quite tempted 
to hunker down beneath whims 
thee hovering of thee vanishing eye 
from this tropical storm

brewing within my soul 
emotions were stirring about
calalities of sudden laughter 
hazing almost above the hinting 

of rouge the sweet nectar 
surrounding suicide thoughts
a bleak craving of balance 
between life and death

why i'd explored eternal meaning 
immortal matter consumed me 
wrapping my body in a mauve garment 
of my past my present

as my future mingled about sanity 
madness had occured over time 
an yet i'd never felt 
more whole before

than in my death 
created somewhere within 
my own mangled mind

Copyright © Yolanda Jones | Year Posted 2012

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The Rationale Of An Animalistic Mind

I’ve been good for too long,
   my finger 
have become permanently curved
and I growl
     with every other breath
so in order to gain control
I release the beast.

Running into a field
   I tear out of my shirt
as my bones begin to shift
      locking into a sleeker,
   primal form
reawakening the wolf,
 and as my jaws extend
I raise my head to the moon
    and howl
        at the sight
of my aluminous friend.

I slide to a stop
as the last of my fur
finishes extending 
through my pores,
sit and cock my head
  as I listen,
catching a rustle
off to the right in the near woods.

Instinct decides
to head towards it
and I begin at a ground eating pace.
I can taste its scent in the air,
Reaching the edge of the forest
  I delve in full tilt,
      mere inches from the trees,
so close
   I can feel their presence
on my skin.
There it is
   bolting across the path,
I snap my jaws
  catching its right hind leg
and swing my head up
lofting my prey into the air.

Back legs sliding 
as I turn around,
dirt and rocks
spraying away from me
I leap,
   its still trying to run in the air,
I feel my mouth encircle it
and clamp down.
As my teeth meet
  I feel the head pop off
then I come skidding to a stop,
   splattered blood
dripping from my muzzle,
breath coming in pants.
I hunker down
to my feast,
desire sated for now,
   next time
I’ll have to find
                larger prey.

Copyright © Mark Matthews | Year Posted 2009

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The Hurricane Was Harvey

The Hurricane was Harvey
By Franklin Price

The hurricane was Harvey, what an unassuming name
Left the western Yucatan. across the Gulf he came
Building up his power to a category four
Slammed into the Texas coast with wind, and rain, and more
Coming into Rockport with winds one thirty some
Evacuate or hunker down, to damage he has come
He leveled many buildings, and shut the power down
He sent his rains to Houston, to sit there and to pound
Houston, a large city, fourth largest in the land
Rained so hard, in hours, was no dry place to stand
Rained a record fifty inches, that's the Roman numeral L
Overflowed the bayous, made life a living hell
Few had evacuated, of six million people plus
Would have been impossible, a traffic jamming fuss
Bumper to bumper everywhere with auto, truck and bus
Would even make the best of us, wring our hands and cuss
The water rose, it did not stop, covered roads from fork to fork
More area than the cities of Chicago and New York
No one quite expected Harvey to sit and pour
Until the first floors flooded and headed for the second floor
Water, many places, flowing fast and overhead
Rescue workers needed or thousands would be dead
Boats and trucks and copters came to do the work
Reminiscent of the rescue, of the soldiers, at Dunkirk 
The heroes came from everywhere, left their families and friends
To risk their lives for others, and the rescuing begins
Hour after hour, from rooftops, trees  and cars 
Stranded ones were rescued by strangers from afar
The Cajun Navy from Louisian, the governor called the guard
Florida sent their Fish and Game, rescuing long and hard
Soon more than thirty thousand were brought to drier land
Rescuers so exhausted that they could hardly stand
Still they kept on going on  helping all of those in need
And took them to the shelters where they could sleep and feed
Some died in the effort, not all in need were found
Some rescuers gave their all, and no longer are around
This is what life is all about,  the way that it should fall
We should respond to others'  needs, for the better good of all
Think about your fellow man, in all you do and say,
Don't be the Harvey victim, be the rescuer today.

Copyright © Franklin Price | Year Posted 2017

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Crash down softly, where the red crush deepens
Charming, snatch your cherries from the stem
Rude health walking in the greenburst showers
Weather wonders whether she's with him.

Then fly downhill for the lost sensation
Climbing with a shudder back up fell,
Rainjacked half smiles and a skywide feeling
Rush to hunker down the shattered elm.

She could suffocate the hyacinthes
Breeding and pervading every pore
Skim-stop stones among the lead-tipped peril
Breathing once again in semaphore.

They play catch perhaps, a shimmy in slow motion
Every brush a shock to seek again
All fall ragwards in the bluebell clusters
Laughing, shrinking, knowing... something.

Jill woos butterflies while you play Hamlet
Cradling a half-brick in your hands
Grass-stained livery that can't stay forever
Sedge bonfire from nowhere and that hound.

Who'll tell grandma that the wolf has eaten?
Who'll break the bank for just a dare?
Leave mudboots ashamed to save twelve seconds
Gunning for the best seat in the lair.

Copyright © PV Harrington | Year Posted 2015

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Prelude to a Storm

I woke under heavy grey skies of morning, foreshadowing of a tropical storm warning Gently, the rain was falling in a drizzling mist, nurturing botannicals as though being kissed Just a little wind but torrential rain I will get It's hurricane season so everything gets wet This one's not expected to be brazen like Katrina No hurricane could have ever been much meaner I've plenty of food and water in case I lose power and if I do I've candles plenty to last hour after hour Pen and paper to write poetry even in dimmest light I'll hunker down, wait it out through tomorrow night Two days on hold from this storm to be called Cindy She'll bluster and I'll cuss her if she becomes too windy And when the angry storm has finally passed me by I'll wake to bright sunshine and a beautiful blue sky

Copyright © Lin Lane | Year Posted 2017

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The Seedy Side of Bagdad by the Bay

Beneath the window
the refuse refuses to wander,
at least not for long or far enough.
Plastic wrap floats like a bridal veil
taunting a salty breeze.
Oceans of buts..
fill an ashtray of misspent time,
blackening the arteries beneath
the cloaked skin of humanity.
Street dwellers swathed in layers of 
tattered army green cast-offs
casting furtive glances into the depth of
iron grated doorways
heat seeking miss-I-les
looking for a warm place to
hunker down.
And so the seaside Sodom
rolls in an ever present attitude of
come on!

Copyright © Debbie Guzzi | Year Posted 2012

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The Red Eye To The Soul

Here I stand
sweat dripping off my nose
as I bounce my axe 
   in my left hand,
blood slides off the blade.

They tell me
   my eye turn crimson
when I’m like this,
   another stain in the snow.

A flash to the left,
     shift to the right
as I concave their chest,
   blood splashing upon my lips.
my weapon out of 
    the cavity I created
I rip the jaw
      from the next unfortunate.

They tell me
   my eyes turn red
when I’m like this,
   another stain in the snow.

I lick the back of my hand
   after I remove
       a part of this skull
and bury the spike on my elbow
   just under the ribs
      of the one behind me,
more blood splatters my chest.

They tell me
   my eyes tinge with blood
when I’m like this,
   another stain in the snow.

I deflect the weapon
   of someone
      I let in to close
and snap into his throat
      with my teeth,
blood spraying my face,
   and as I lick my lips
my axe severs a head,
        body toppling to the ground.

They tell me
   my eyes scream blood
when I’m like this,
   another stain in the snow.

My chest heaves
  as I shoulder through
the front line,
  grabbing the neck 
of some malcontent.
Using his body as a projectile
    I pin his companions beneath it.
Tossing my axe
     into the back of one fleeing
I draw daggers
   and hunker down
to clear a path
      for my brethren
shredding flesh,
   creating a crimson mist 
upon the battlefield.

They tell me
   my eyes bite into the soul
when I’m like this,
   another stain in the snow.

And as I rise,
    blood dripping
from every angle upon my body
I feel the calmest I’ve ever been.
Bathed in blood
I’ve found solitude.

They tell me
   my eyes burn with savagery
when I’m like this
    but I’m just another
          stain in the snow.

Copyright © Mark Matthews | Year Posted 2009