Best Ill Equipped Poems
Ukraine is putting up a brave fight and is not giving in
A two finger salute to that murderer, Vladimar Putin
For eight months now they've held out in their cities
Dispite missiles, murder, rape and other atrocities.
Putin thought he had the most powerful and efficient army
If you believe that garbage you'd be bordering on barmy
They're inefficient, ill equipped, and cowardly in battle
When Ukraine advances they quickly retreat from trouble.
As winter approaches he's trying to demoralise the nation
By sending orders to his vile Orcs to bomb a power station
The west must send generators to help ease their plight
Along with more weapons to help, brave Ukrainians fight.
The grain shipments to poor nations is now under threat
That man is sub human and how much lower can he get?
Like the Roman empire and the Nazis big cracks will appear
Putins Russian empire will crumble and eventually disappear.
The Russian army has a long yellow streak down its back
It fires missiles indiscriminately when it's under attack
No thought for human life be it kids, women or old men
Sanctioned in that scum ridden place, they call the Kremlin.
Putins campaign for more troops is not going too well
No decent minded Russian wants to go into that hell
He's recruiting in prisons, along with the old and the lame
Putins cannon fodder and for Ukraine they're fair game.
We must not let Putin succeed, with his 'special operation'
He must think we're stupid; it's war against a peaceful nation
I have every faith in brave Ukraine and in the end they will win
There will be no Russian victory, and hopefully the end of Putin.
Victory to Ukraine.
Written on 1st November 2022.
The base camp was my youth
I stood alone, ill-equipped, looking up.
The challenge before me, gullies filled with tangled unknowns
and sharp lessons.
My guides had abandoned me, left, tight lipped
no map, no promise
little hope
and so I started my ascent,
faltering, stumbling, tightly gripping
any friendships I could find,
skinning my knees on setbacks as ages passed
until I found myself peering over the summit,
elated.
But in the distance
oh God.................
another mountain
and at its base
another me
For contest 'Mountains', sponsor Julia Ward
There’s a poor hockey player named Rupp
And though ill equipped, never gave up
But while in the big game
His groin was the puck’s aim
He said, “No sweat, I’m wearing Stanley’s cup.”
In the strait of straight talk
Twain shall be able to walk
One twin of twain often mocks
Causes me, myself and I am talks
When human concepts flip
Love gives us worthwhile tips
Of new wine time to take a sip
Wisdom of Love is ocean’s dip
When old wine has become inept
`Tis time to remember where love is kept
Into the serpent the mind doth flip
a serpent logic stem, ill equipped
Evil was not of Love created
of human mind was meditated
ample proof is worldly integrated
~ Though tis of love mitigated
What has been said…
has already been read…
time and time again
add new message blend!
least consciousness suffer again!
Holy verse, subject to human
interpretation, holds only shards
of insight into divine wisdom
leaving us ill-equipped, in our
imperfection, to truly
know the mind of God.
And in our imperfect state we
have been granted the use of
only a small percentage of our
miraculous minds because we
are wisely given only that
which we can reasonably handle.
So how is it we lack humility,
claiming infallible knowledge
of sovereign will and law?
And why is faith confused
with fact when there is no
evidence to support it?
Still, self-righteous zealots
peddle pre-packaged religion
complete with divine amnesty
if you 'act now'
and warning labels
for those who refuse to buy.
We are all unqualified
to say who is right
and who is wrong.
And not one of us
is fit to know who
lacks divine approval.
To disagree is not a sin.
But to condemn another
is to usurp the throne of God.
What can make the heart grow fond
I'll give you the tip
Nothing can satisfy your taste
Like Scottish Steak and chips.
Juicy highland cattle steaks will
melt just past your lips
feeding well the hungry soul
That's Scottish steak and chips.
What can put some fat on you
on your frame and hips
you'll never ever fade away
With Scottish steak and chips.
There's no food in this modern world
whether haggis, burgers or fish
that can match the beauty and taste
of Scottish steak and chips.
TV chefs seem unawares
and seem so ill equipped
of talent, skill and feel required
to cook Scottish steak and chips.
No need to be serious
Always poems to make you think
Need a bit of humour
Eating Scottish steak and chips.
When grandchildren ask about the nation's dish
"is it haggis or whisky nips ?"
I'll lean back in my rockin' chair
eating Scottish Steak and chips.
Brexit Sonnet No.5
‘To Clothe The Wreck’
A game of chance, the climb to rule this land,
As much a slip of others as trip of yours.
Oft’ ruled by chance events, not thoughts well planned,
Same for freshers new, as time-served bores.
And now we see the cards in shuffled deck,
Prepared again to face the green baize cloth.
Plans anew prepared to clothe the wreck
That’s Brexit, now sad without its champagne froth.
But cards are dog-eared, faded, worn and ripped
With two faced jokers squirming in the pack.
The dealer haggard, drawn and ill-equipped,
Can’t stabilise for strength they plainly lack.
Quantitatively ease this wretched, worn out pile;
Print more talent and from Brexit, please resile.
©Keith Murphy
From far North Vikings came in ships,
to plunder the church's gold
and monks in fear were ill-equipped
only peace since days of old
These Vikings came to English soil
brought death and shattered bone
with horns to blow that cause turmoil
as misery was at home
To the forest dark twelve monks had ran
to flee the Viking pain
A lonely Knight would make a stand
no question of monk's shame
Firm and fierce as death comes toward
he stood on sacred ground
with prayer's wish and sharpened sword
he drew his blade around
An axe in Viking hands convey
a fear within the church
The evil came without delay
to vanquish peasants from the earth
With blood, they rid the church of gold
left dead across the ground
and body of a Knight so bold
before they cut him down
With a sword upon his chest, he died
to save the monks who'd run
The honor did his anguished cries
attends the setting sun
Within the burning English walls
did lay a virgin bride
In her last breath, she grasps the hand
of her Knight, who bravely died
contest Form B
12/18/16
While other birds ran away and hid,
That is not what the dodo did
And, sadly, being ill-equipped to thrive
Designed stupidity could not survive.
Assuming divine intelligence, it's odd;
What did the dodo do to upset God?
As we traveled together in directions we didn’t really know;
I believed with everything I was that you and I were meant to be.
But I kept you tethered and I was angry that you slowed me down
I didn’t realize how living like that could end so badly.
Of course I’m sorry and I’ve tossed away that rope of obedience;
I had it tied to my own neck as well and we both suffered for it
I see now that if you try to own anything, owning will own you.
But now my respect for you keeps me on the outside looking in.
There’s a lot of twisting roads in this life and I’m certainly on one;
But regardless of what I do I will always love you for trying.
You weren’t wrong to choose me it’s just that I loved like a coward
But I’m braver now even though there are still no guarantees.
The ill-equipped revolutionaries fought and died to set this nation free.
Against all odds they triumphed sending George's troops back across the sea!
The precious freedoms we cherish today were won due to their staying power.
It can truly be said of those courageous men that - "This Was Their Finest Hour!"
Men in Yankee blue held the line at Gettysburg with unwavering resolve.
Mr. Lincoln steered a steady course that a united nation might again evolve.
Alas, it took a fearful toll and bled the nation of its youthful flower.
Valiant men died to make others free - "This Was Their Finest Hour!"
In June of Forty-four, brave men stormed Normandy's shore to force a breach.
Heroic American soldiers forfeited life and limb upon that crimson beach.
They took a noble stance in order to knock the tyrannical Axis out of power.
History books will record forevermore that - "This Was Their Finest Hour!"
During the tense decades of the Cold War, dauntless warriors were on alert,
To protect and defend our priceless liberties that others sought to subvert.
Like a sturdy oak they didn't bend nor did they deign to cower!
A grateful nation will ever proclaim that - "This Was Their Finest Hour!"
Valorous American troopers yet today strive to uphold freedom's cause,
To stem the tide of terrorism that seeks to impose its despotic laws,
To bring peace to embattled peoples and install just leaders to power.
'Twill be told in generations to come that - "This Was Their Finest Hour!"
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
They parachute nude into urban New Jersey,
two Brits on a mission to claim their nobility,
a Prince and his Princess, infantile, ill equipped,
out to reconquer America, their rightful home.
*******
A synopsis of a novel written by a British author.
Have you heard of it? or better yet have you read it?
Hint: His initials are M.H.
Eyes pucker and swell
Erupting with tears
Of pleasure or joy?
But who is to know?
The quivering lips
And trembling hands
Equipped with cotton
To swab the overflowing
Excretions from eyes and nose
Of pleasure or joy?
Is it for me to be
The analytical master
Of this robust emotional
Human puppeteer.
Alas alone struggling
With unbridled emotions
Of pleasure or joy?
Why some choose to cull
All emotion for private
Yet others ill equipped
With self control cannot
Quell the tearjerking
And public displays
Of pleasure or joy?
The loveless and the lonely
The defeated and lost
No one to judge
No cross to bare
But I surmise at times
Through life's unparalleled
Roller coaster it is to be not
Rejected not ignored but
Simply admired from afar
As an uncontrollable impulse
Of pleasure or joy?
The result of which commands
The same tearful over dramatized
Actions whether private or on
Display for passers by to discern.
Most people unabashedly cultivate this art
For rising on the ladder of progression fast
Never mind debasing oneself in the court
And act audaciously putting aside all doubt.
They are singularly motivated by self-interest
That guides their path through the conglomerate
With honey in the mouth and a smile on the lips
Attract everyone around using suitable tactics.
Never tired of taking rounds to appease the boss
Forever full of praise for traits he doesn’t possess
Extolling his missing virtues in front of others
An art by itself very few really can have access.
It allows rising incredibly fast in the hierarchy
This is seldom possible through the routine way
That makes this art temptingly charming utterly
Very few can cultivate this aptitude so superbly.
The ill-equipped ones with acerbic tongues
Can never ever dream of acquiring such skills
Despite owning ample talent and adeptness
Certainly hang about on the back of progress.
We Are All Somebody’s Child
There’s no difference between you and me,
Accept the color of our skin, or origin of birth.
Our lives conceived, through passion and procreation,
Veins full of blood, with many DNA affiliations.
Just innocent young beings ill-equipped at first,
Unaware of our plight, not knowing our worth!
It is said that Life has stages,
Let’s widen our horizons, by reading all the pages.
Time and events have a way of confusing the mind,
Wake up, smell the coffee, it’s all by design.
Our lives hang in the balance, time to recognize our place.
Take responsibility for our action, no more hiding your faces!
This world is what we make it and the stage is set,
We Are All Somebody’s Child, parts of Societies outlet!
Let us not de-value life!
Written By: Sarita A. Milliner © 7/8/16