Best Intel Poems
Social Media is raving about my seafood haven.
Any ocean gift you wish is on my menu list.
It is known for chocolate bliss in any form that exists.
I should not dismiss other desserts that are hits.
Casual, tables are papered well for messy shells.
My wait staff excels in manners and menu intel.
I love that guests linger, even ignore phone ringers!
Causes could be shell-spiced fingers or the singer.
Yes, a nightly classic rock band known as “Remand.”
Built on the boardwalk, lights twinkle from the dock.
Floor space grants all my dining guests the chance
To party down, get lost in dance or pursue romance.
All seafood, chocolate, romance and dancing you want
Await your bidding in my oceanfront restaurant.
My relaxed establishment, named ‘Ocean Pleasure’,
Welcomes all to come soon and enjoy its full measure.
How can people want rights but they aren't right
While working in the daylight with souls bright as night
The creator shall judge the judges, The evil deserves evil
Good people will get what is equal to their actions
And immoral skin passions have fatal lessons
God has a scale where He weighs & sits
Because everything has equal opposite
We selfish to others but hold our nose when they sell theirs
And not giving pardons while expecting God’s cares
And blessings while leaving others with our bee stings
Now turn to your devil’s favorite things
Praying to join the heavenly choir
But with an evil song you desire
So retire before you join the hell fire.
To be right there's no wrong, the righteous are morally strong
You need more than calcium to be the backbone of society
While society breaks you, to makes you. Surprisingly,
The -able are ignorant and unstable
Unable to add-up in the moral table
Telling fables of multiplication while being divided
Trying to add reasoning in facts provided
Their individualism is subtracting from the fold
Being percentages of a percentage, losing the stronghold
False foundation told about a “Doomed Youth”
While the witty wise horde the fake truth
As the truly righteous shake their head and sings
Go ahead with the devil’s favorite things
Praying to join the heavenly choir
But with an evil song you desire
So retire before you join the hell fire.
The battle of truth lies in the beheading of lies
The Righteous must write us
For justice to be just to us and right us
Bleeding thoughts to think, words to ink
Carving insight to push sanity to the brink
Punching Intel, in mind, for knowledge to sink
Unfold stories consoled foretell tails told
Today's prophets profit profits with souls they forfeit
Crumbling towers with warped foundations
Ripping families but cursed lives they’re facin’
Losing the troubleshooting; uprooting with a booting
Bearing false fruits flawed brings
Now play with your devil’s favorite things
Praying to join the heavenly choir
But with an evil song you desire
So retire before you join the hell fire.
With a sleep-living shuffle, they plod along
Apathetic senses, that don't notice it's wrong
Automatic living, with the brain turned off
My ideals of freedom, their conditioned to scoff!
The sheople who live, in societies herd
Who think flying freely only applies to a bird
Corrupted, sealed minds that believe every word
Unfortunately their truth is...at best my turd!
You may think your free, I tell you THATS a dream
The propoganda machine, is the only intel you've seen
Your brains so washed I think it must be clean
Robbed by the government, robbed by the queen!
They must have such giant sheep, for this much wool
Though the deception begins whilst still at school
Too many righteous idiots, believe false word as rule
But it's me who has to madly suffer these fools!!
©John-Ovan.P.Hull
Chances of precipitation zero. Chances of dew, zero. Chances of a raindrop, one hundred percent, as she was spotted in the sky about six seconds ago. If Adrianna lands here, how will we collect her? Who gets access? Where was the sighting? How accurate is the intel?
The ants had already dug a pond in their anthill in case she landed there. The beetles came around and tried to suck up to the ants, but they briskly shooed them off. The faeries were the tellers of the tale; the sighting, after all, had come from their high-flying ally, eagle. The faeries, like the elves, and nymphs, were pretending they might share Adrianna, knowing full well they would rather fight to the death than share her.
The owls had set mint cups out on their oak leaf branches, hoping she would land in one of them. The entire village was abuzz. No one had seen a raindrop here for twenty-two minutes, four hours, and sixty-three days.
One tiny raindrop – named Raindrop Adrianna was spotted in the sky, six seconds ago. Suddenly brothers and sisters were fighting, wrens and robins were not speaking. Faeries and nymphs were lying. It was not unusual for one little harmless raindrop to start world war six, which is why we always name our raindrops after women. The eagles and the owls had not been speaking for decades, over the last raindrop.
Raindrop Adrianna had turned the whole world upside down. She probably had no idea what turmoil she had started, as she had already landed on a grateful red tulip, on the other side of the village. We told Adrianna’s story until World War Seven, which was started by Raindrop Rhoda.
Written 11-16-2018
Contest: The Raindrop Poetry Contest Sponsor: Craig Cornish
We had a desert mission
Just north of us in Zarghun Shahr
But little did we know that day
We wouldn’t get that far.
We did not doubt the intel
That led us up the road of dust;
an IED exploded,
in up armor we trust.
To check if there were wounded,
The hatch went down and out we went.
The medics tended to the wounds
And I my ammo spent.
I fired on them with fervor
Though til then I’d not shot
a single round in battle;
Sharp shooter I was not.
I focused on the basics:
steady, aim, breath, trigger squeeze;
Before my second shot was fired
I’d brought one to his knees.
A second man was running
but Cam was by my side.
Adept at all things gunning,
He shot, the second died.
How their eyes danced with darkness
and no more saw a beam of light,
Turning us into killers
Baptized in blood and fight.
How their eyes turned to rapture
When they died in the Stan
and darkly dancing, stung me,
those eyes of Taliban.
How their eyes danced with darkness,
the cursed strangers on that day;
for what they’d done, fate would demand
A heavy price to pay.
I lay there, panting heavily,
and Cam gave me high five.
Our training had not failed us,
and we were still alive.
On Attack: A Rainbow Six Siege Poem
By: Jacob Wallihan
Time to prepare
The drones are on the field
Rolling right towards
The building called “Coastline”
Callouts for the position of the bomb
Not Kitchen
Not Bar
Not Billiards
It’s Penthouse
Spotted the enemies
2 Roamers
Caveira and Ela
3 Anchors
Pulse, Mira, Rook
All spotted picking up
Rook’s Armour
Drone’s all shot
Pick the spawns
Pool is mine
Let’s Go
Spawn in
3 minutes on the clock
A 5 man squad
Montagne with Blackbeard
The hard breachers;
Hibana
Thermite
For Intel: Lion
Enter the building Hibana
Through VIP window
Frag the Ela
5 v 4
Montagne
With defuser
Walks into Guitar
In doorway to Penthouse
Blackbeard watching Monty
Sees the Rook
Reacts late
4v4
Hibana places a claymore
VIP hallway
Runs back to window and vaults
Lion activated “Big Brother”
Hibana rushes past Monty
Lion
With grace
Bounds through bathroom hatch
With Hibana
Picks off Rook and Mira
4v2
Monty smokes
Goes for the plant
C4 below
Sends Monty out the window
3v2
Defuser down
Thanks to Lion
Pulse
Activating the claymore
Flies into the courtyard
3v1
Caviera
Running quietly into theatre
Downs Lion and Hibana
Throws a hail mary
Monty doesn’t react in time
Cav gets the defuser
Over the coms
“OPFOR disabled our defuser”
“Mission a failure”
My place of work they used to call ”Ma Bell”
As switchboard operator, “number please”
Became my tool of their “advanced intel”
With wires and plugs held to connect parties.
Three days a week from three to ten, my job
Was set; with school next day, I soon burned out.
My arms and back were sore, began to throb
From stretching here and there and all about
To find and reach, connect the lines between
The callers and the called through panel holes.
Soon tired and aching with this job routine
I knew this one would never meet my goals.
No doubts about my choice have haunted me…
Switchboards dissolved with new technology!
© Sandra M. Haight 2014
All Rights Reserved
~3rd Place~
Contest: Jobs
Sponsor: Sara Kendrick
Judged: 12/11/2014
G-O-I- to the N. These 4 letters fill my head and that point I do begin. To go in and bust a ryhme. Come with a bong and you're right on time. To see my quickness, watch my shine and see me snap on every line. Through the course of this beat, I'll try to demonstrate. How everytime I jump on a track, I seem to defacate. And literate the coldness that I epitimate. Let's get it straight. I'm up on my way to the top and all my opponents I will eliminate. I see the game today and I must say it's a shame to mention. they're ryhming street with meat but lack a true flowwer's intuition. they're just spitting about the money and how they're looking so legit. And you say that you're running the streets well I'm about to take your jurisdiction. Because i never run out of breath. Can't you see that I'm clearly insane. Because this state of excessive dilirium has got me on a campaign. To get my streets from out of their sleep. And have them bopping to the beat. It's a renasance full of ambionce. And bovine hide free. It's a party and I'm the host. But the rest you've yet to see. Go by name of Intel The Brain. Or you could just call me I.T.B. Or you can call me that brother that can go up in the sky and have a mass celabration. Homie call it higher than thy. The skills that I sketch in this sonat, so horribly toxic. That if put inside of a missle and you launch it, call it atomic. And if you did'nt understand it then you need to run it back. Because I just plainly showed you how to go in on a track.
Bujas entered the divisional intelligence office having very important business
business of national importance touching on high level national security issues.
so he was volunteering to be of the much needed help maybe help halt the bombs
and kabooms hitting his beloved city.. the copper looks a him in a certain way that
that suggested we don't deal with vigilantes only trained officers
Abujas left... saying behind sealed lips the officer hearing it none the less
your loss not mine.. my mother land weep on.. for your protector lacks in..
lacks in skills good enough to become a protector.. yet next day they sent
summoned for him to give them an enlightening lecture.. let hope the bombs
belong to the past year for we now have the good will of the vigilante
Pistol service guy made Abujas to leave in a huff.. only to recall the silver star
awarded vigilante... such are the happenings at the pistol service gatherers...
of Intel prohibited by law to act on the Intel.. yet their emblem a pistol in-circle
akin to throwing a stone in the bush failing to hit a bird and scarring a squirrel
Lewis kay
pmc, dpmg
BloodOfJesus
Not the wine sacrament of the church not the grape juice that we use not the chalice cupp
not the rememberance not the ritual not the religion not the commandments of men. The
BloodOfJesus is the real blood that he shed on the Cross of Calvary the post of Jesus. ON
the Romans Internet it was www.JesusSaves.Com.Blood the Pointless Pilot smurffed the
action then went behind the bathroom tossed up all his cookies lost his function. The
COnstant searching of the Knights of the Rounded gave me pause seek becomes find King
Arthurs COmputor did not have the same wireless button on mine. Smile you are on CharlaX
Camera candid the price of life is death the death of GOD. GOing to a function and
remembering his sacrifce will never save you but the realization given to you from the
Holy Spirit to once and for all convince you that it is this Jesus Crucified in Jeruselum
His Holy City and cast out to SHED his blood on the tTtree of Golgotha the Hill of the
Skull it was a place of Death is where this new eternal life comes from. Drinking wine in
small amounts and breaking cracker crumbs will not save you but the shedding of the blood
of JESUS when he did this was over Two Thousands Year ago this Christmas. Not the formal
necktied meetings but the Beaten Dying Lord hangging dripping Blood the blood of Jesus.
What he said was WHEN WHEN WHEN you are DOING THIS (meant breaking bread at the meetings
and drinking the wine as the sacrificial remembrances) HE then said Remember ME ???
Meaning Jesus. www.shedbloodoncross.com on the older model Snail mail COmputors you wlll
not be able to see this. You now need INtel. This may seem humorus to you even fruitless
or breadless at least it is wineless but it may seem like sacrilegious but many people use
this internet the web is huge and they also need to be saved by the shed BloodOfJesus.
Merry Christmas
FROSTY THE SNOWMAN and I had a talk
In a WINTER FAIRY LAND.
The snow got so deep that I could not walk,
So, on his SLED I did stand.
We talked about TOYS and TRIMMING trees.
We talked about ELVES and SLEIGH BELLS and bees!
We talked about songs and sang, "JINGLE BELLS".
We talked about CHRISTMAS and all it's intel.
He told me a story of long ago
When a baby was born one winter's snow
We talked about angels---How they did sing!
Glory to God for the new born King...!
After the story, I felt kinda sad.
Why would This man have to die if not bad?
He said so we could all forever live
Free from our sins...because He would forgive!
So, next I asked him about SANTA CLAUSE.
He got real quiet, then said with a pause...
His suit represents all blood-covered sins.
The white trim is each of us...new again...
Then on each Christmas a gift Santa brings...
It's always free! And there's not any strings!
To remind us of the gift Jesus brings...
And of the hope He gives us in all things.
So, Merry Christmas! I say to each one...
Happy New Year! And may You know God's son!
deborah burch ©12.18.16
_______________________________________________
Form: rhyme
Using 10 words in BOLD...
However, my BOLD is not working.
So the 10 words are in ALL CAPS.
Ridiculous. Never have you met a brother to ever have explosiveness. Like a pyrotechnic you know that I will stay blowin' this. Beat up till' I wake the streets up. Because Gary, Indiana needs a spiritual re-up. My city is sobbing and it's looking for some perfection. because it's spirit has left it's body. Call it astral projection. This is how Gary raps. The best thing since Mike Jack. And it can't get no better than that.
And so begins my city's rebirth. The Midwest the quickest rappers ever seen on this green earth. Too rappers try to race us, they need to reverse. Because too many lyrics coming at you upon this mean verse. The G is the city that not a single soul has tested. If they try us then they will see that we can never be bested. So many people hurt. Twice as many arrested. Our natives don't really care. they're born and raised to be reckless.
The rip and the wreckage that you're seeing on every block. And the cops acting hot when they try to run in your spot. Addicts on the corner are always looking for rocks. And these prostitutes are sexing and sucking on every cock. So many have tried but have never made it to fame. Because they're looking at Gary like a sack of some sour lames. So riches is something that we really couldn't attain. That is until today, because I'm on a whole nother plain.
To be glyph here are stories that go with bringing Gary back to it's former glory. If you're squeamish then cut it off. To be honest this is gory. How I'm gonna chop this beat and cook it like tenderloin. Maybe a ghost town but will never diminish. We're bucked up now. It's a fight to the finish. And that's for anybody trying to snuff my city's rebirth. Off the dome sophistication. No, my lines aren't rehearsed. It's Intel.
Proem
After Sir Thomas recovered the Spear of Destiny and returned it to the Pope at the Vatican in Rome, he remained there for several months serving His Excellency, attending meetings, and recovering from several minor injuries sustained while recapturing the Spear that pierced the side of Jesus the Messiah. Sir Thomas could have stayed as a guest of the pope in one of their lush suites, but he chose the bare walls of a guest bedroom at the local Knights Templar castle. The pope then called upon him for his next assignment: Leave Rome immediately, by boat, again, back to Constantinople. “Head off a Scot by the name of Sir Robert Bruce, whom our intel indicates has a map and is currently on his way in search for the Holy Grail. Sir Robert is a stubborn ally. You will help Sir Robert, but convince him that the chalice of Jesus belongs here in Rome.”
Prior to shoving off the west coast of Italy, a few miles from Rome, Sir Thomas wrote the following message, and placed it in a bottle.
______________________________________________________________
A.D. 1301
My dear sweet wife and babe within her womb
The five long years since I had lost you both
I prayed for inner peace despite my joy
You're both in heaven; worship Thee Most High
Because your love exceeds all life itself
My lips will glorify you ever more
I praise you for the rest; my living days
Your name I lift on high with my bare hands
Was on my bed that I remember you
I think of you the watches of the night
The shadow of your wings I cling my soul
The depths of which my sword shall honor thee
I yearn affections taste where two come one
The seed by faith that yields abundant life
Endures celestial kingdom's perfect place
It brings this missive to its endless oath:
To bless, release my restless heart that bleeds
Commit my swords allegiance to the Lord
To you Dagung the earth is smaller still
For every inch be searched to see your face
You disappeared, not dead but still alive
I feel the transom temper my resolve
For in this ship another search begins
The Holy Grail; Dagung I'll find you both
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Postscript
I toss the bottle through the wind to stormy sea
Inside the missive of a knight in love with thee
__________________________________________
Marc Spectar is Moon Knight . . .
the traveler . . . the pathfinder . . . the defender
protecting and avenging the innocent
the son of a rabbi
with D.I.D.
(Dissociated Identity Disorder)
~he is actually a fictional Marvel Comic character,
who worked as a mercenary, until he was mortally injured and died
in the shadow of Khonshu, the Egyptian god of the moon ~
he was reborn . . . The Left Fist of Khonshu
to fight evil and defend all who travel at night
from vampires, from monsters and from super-assassins
Marc's alter ego Moon Knight does the fighting,
takes the punches, he is the one who spills the blood
wearing a white armored costume, well, sometimes
black and white, and sometimes all black
~but they are not alone
Marc has other alter egos, Steven Grant, billionaire businessman
Jake Lockley, the violent taxi driver, and Mr. Knight,
the suited detective and police consultant, and many more egos ~
trauma in his childhood resulted in the D.I.D
he hears the voices of his other identities
has spent some time in a mental hospital
sometimes, he chains himself to his bed at night
and it has be suggested he has brain damage
yet, he is a closed fist . . . made weapon
he is "The Left Fist of Khonshu" protecting the innocent
~ fighting evil with strength, combat, technology,
detective work, tolerance for pain, willpower and experience
with the help of his alter egos who gather the intel
he has died many times . . . but has be resurrected each time ~
. . . he likes his vodka, ice cold, and has a girlfriend too
a pretty normal guy . . . until Moon Knight
The Left Fist of Khonshu is needed . . .
__________________________
October 02, 2022
Poetry/Free Verse/The Left Fist of Khonshu
Copyright Protected, ID 10-1491-758-02
All Rights Reserved, 2022, Constance La France
Written for the Premiere contest, Moon Knight
sponsor, Robert James Liguori, Judged 10/18/2022
First Place
Throw rocks
hide the hand
My mission is to
stop your masterplan
Throw rocks
hide the hand
Soon you'll be
under my command
I'm the smooth criminal with his
thieving plot
So smooth and beguiling like a
cunning fox
You don't see me, the real me
If you could, you would flee
You see, I often work when you're fast asleep
I gain vital intel as I creep and peep
Yes! I love to work in the wee-hours underneath
the moon
My lovely, dark playground, where I come
in to swoon
Sweet succubus incubus so sublime
Astro-projecting to confiscate your feeble mind
Oooh, wee! Like a fish in a fisherman's net
Now, your spirit and mind I have, next your body
and soul I have to get
I love how you stopped dreaming and believing
I told you I'm the smooth criminal who doesn't stop
scheming and stealing
Smooth clandestine and unassuming, that's me
I'm your co-worker, friend, and yes, family
Throw rocks
hide the hand
My mission is to
stop your masterplan
Throw rocks
hide the hand
Very soon you'll be
under my command
Constrictions and restrictions in place,
now delightful depression sets in
Your self-esteem is at an all-time low, personal
hygiene in the dumps, and you couldn't care less
if you lose or win
Ha, ha, ha, ha,
I just love my job and those frequent dips
in the Devil's Pond
So, after I obliterate your masterplan, why don't
you join me for some devilish fun