Best Munitions Poems
Rising
sprawled
amid the carcasses
of demons quelled
strewn
like soldiers slain
spent munitions
drained of all their fire
their bloodshed pooled
puddles
of watered down
egos and woes
glisten
in the morning light
as hangover destined
in reflection
one half dead
and addicted
vain plan to abstain
finds itself
shot down
again
8/3/2019
Eight Word Challenge Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Emile Pinet
Once again, the powers that must
In rise again in what we trust
An overseas conflict, another war
Just what in the hell are we fighting for
Families are asking, Korea has just passed
Generations again reft, how long will it last
A country in need, to rebuild again
Flags at half mast, in wind and rain strain
Once again into war, sent by the Washington Post
To send back reports to hit home the most
Military observers were the first to be sent in
Another chapter of man entering existing sin
I'm witnessing our ariel power, Lam Son 719
US planners determine their incursion, saying all will be fine
Along the Mekong River, we'll carpet bomb their supply trail
Tons of munitions and napalm, this spread surely cannot fail
Many sorties are being flown, for the wounded and the dead
Whilst Nixon and his cronies, aren't thinking with their heads
The news of losses has reached me, nineteen have been killed
Eleven missing, fifty nine wounded, more American blood spilled
Seven fixed wing aircraft, more sons in action loss
Whilst back at home more protests, fading the dyeing's gloss
To to this job that I do, I was never prepared for this
To witness such bloody scenes, and ignore that life is bliss
How can I write about a soldier, whose name I'll never know
Killed at nineteen years old, his family he'll never see grow
Or even explain to his parents, when carried from the AH-1
His body bullet riddled and limp, when lifted it bloodily run
I never went back to the theatre, called the Vietnam War
Having witnessed the wanton killing, what were we fighting for
This colonial conflict that started, us on the side of France
So many came back as strangers, many to live in trance
James Fraser's entry into the contest " WORLD OF WAR: VIETNAM "
En France, les demineurs
still search the fields
removing shells,
grenades and bombs
of two World Wars
Would that we had the same
for affairs of the human heart
to defuse munitions lurking
under a landscape of civility
I’ll forgive but canna’ forget
A dangerous occupation
more than six hundred have died
removing millions of explosives
and each year farmers die
tilling their fields.
We’ve laid the mines
of icy civility
to restrict crossing
this no-man’s land
yet your smile lights a path
through this treacherous passage
to the warmth of your embrace.
En fin, les demineurs, ne travailent pas
______________________________________________________________________My poem to remember this week. I wrote it years ago on reading an piece on Les Demineurs in the newspaper.
IN HONOR OF THE MAN WHO STARTED IT ALL
My Friend John
The Day (of the Quote Wars)
The Day was gray with wisps of smoke, like fog upon the ground
The carnage lied in heaps piled high, void of any sound
A single figure stood that day, solemn in the field,
The enemy fought bravely, but found they had to yield
They fired fast a volley, then, tried to hold their line
And each one to the very last, Defeat was all they'll find
They came with much munitions, taken from their shelves
Armed with acquisitions, building libraries for themselves
With words upon their lips and volumes in their hands
They started posting Quotes, that's when the War began
It was on a summer’s day, that the voices came to battle
We heard the slamming of huge volumes and the pages start to rattle
There was Emerson and Keats, Will Rogers and Mark twain
Neither knew defeat, nor could have felt the pain
Quotes were launched at him, design to cut him down
But Sebastian fired back with something more profound
They quoted every author, from eloquent to sublime
But The Quotes that Sebastian used, were so much more refined
They thought to quote from Philosophy, Theology and Science
They quoted away, most the day, while Sebastian stood defiant.
When the fiery missiles stopped, one man stood firm and smiled
Sebastian Fate had Won,”The Day” by quoting Oscar Wilde
War Heroes
Between black wheel tarmac
the crossing reflects a figure in polished paint
at the stagger of his old loose feet
crosses the barrier of traffic
with the beacons conversation meaning nothing
its flashing occupation signals his lolled neck stumbling
sucks the bottle for one last time
and forgets
Sighting on blurred reactions
sipping the spit of his dribble he stares at his daughter mannequin
wincing past his performance
begging her to listen
while her attention is fixed ahead
the traffic rolls slick full of monoxide toxic
breathes the waste of her distress
she ignores the principal wave of his bottle
releasing her breath with the clutch
the zebra smells like a mouse trap
the white ladder bars and black adder cars
bump pristine edges on his boots
he sways across
The market trolleys squeak echoes the ache
she steps on tender ankles
swollen while he eases her past the cardboard
the plastic bags of her life crammed to full
the tatters of memories
she thinks of china cups and lost children
on blazing streets that lived on rations
Some where in her mind he is a hero
medals adorning his battered uniform
the traffic roars as loud as the blitz
some where in his mind he sees her yellow skin
the gunpowder struggle and the munitions factory
have worn away her beauty but still her eyes are sweet and lovely
and the traffic blasts like the blitz
on the people they were before
I wonder what your thinking, in your country far away
And what on earth possesses you to threaten mine today
You allow your people to starve, munitions they are first
While daily people starve to death and many die of thirst
Your father and grandfather should have taught you how to care
Instead they shared their legacy of treating people unfair
Many live in work camps with three generations or more
Simply because they disagreed, so now all must chore
You live in style above the rest, have people who adore
But deep down, I believe that each person longs for more
You teach hatred and despise my country each and every day
For freedom and free choice would take yours away
Your people follow in fear, like robots in a line
I wonder how long they will conform or will it be your time
More and more try to escape, or die instead of live
In a country such as yours that takes much more than it gives
Each building,statue, memorial you have to tell a tale
Of twisted truths and travesties instead they often fail
For freedom is what's needed in the country you call home
Grow food instead of opium,and leave the people alone
You have the power in your hands to change what was past
Hurry please before it's too late you must do it fast
Do not start a war in which more people will die
Because your father and grandfather started it with a lie.
When I keep hearing this song so called "
South Africa supplied Russia munitions,"
I just laugh loudly ," Huh?Hahaaah! Hahaaah!
Hahaaah! Hahaaah! Hahaaah!
Hahaaah! Hahaaah! Hahaaah!
Hahaaah! Hahaaah! Hahaaah!
Hahaaah! Hahaaah! Hahaaah!"
Political language is hard to understand
Than mathematics and physics
Reason why some universities
Professors
Turned puppets
Of some politicians.
Don't ever underestimate
Some politicians in politic games
Because they can drible you and
You turn to be
their body guards
With your universities qualifications.
There is no African country
Which has capacity
To supply munitions
to Russia even Ukrain.
If it was about
some foods,
drinks,
cocoas and
other fruits
I could accept because many
African countries always
supplied those stuffs
To so many European countries.
I know that Usa , France, Germany, China, England and Russia are the biggest supply
of munitions In Africa.
By Alfonso Warally Ngengethe
Mussabwa Chris
More than twelve hundred souls
Meet their watery grave.
German U-boat patrols
Spark a fatal shockwave.
This echo of the past
Resounds throughout history.
Rousing war unsurpassed,
Deadly shroud of mystery.
The empire aids Cunard,
Loaning millions in pounds.
Lord Inverclyde toils hard
On deceptions unsound.
They hide admiralty
Within their merchant fleet,
And in reality
War barons plot deceit.
Famed cruiser so agile
Brings home the Blue Riband.
Propellers prove fragile,
New designs would respond.
While retooling the craft,
Gun mountings are installed.
Hidden away most daft
Down where the ropes are hauled.
However they decide
To switch their new design.
Large cargo holds shall hide
Munitions in her spine.
War with Germany starts
With land mines and blockades.
America builds parts
While Britain launches raids.
The Isles become war zones
With no sure passage back.
Submarines would throw stones
To sink the Union Jack.
So Daniel Dow protests
This British smuggling ring.
The prior chief suggests
Attacks these loads will bring.
A German message warns:
"Huge risk at British sea!
If allied flags adorn,
They'll be hacked to debris!"
Captain Turner is picked
To lead the merchant ship.
"Speed shall avoid conflict
On this momentous trip."
Voyage two hundred-one
Departs Pier 54
Under a watchful sun,
Fresh ammo in her store.
Steaming toward Fastnet Rock,
Bowler Bill seeks advice.
Three ships are sunk in shock,
Warnings are confirmed twice.
Posting double look-outs,
They ready the lifeboats.
Bill secures a black out
While taking careful notes.
Thirty miles from Cape Clear,
The vessel enters fog.
Weather thwarts so severe
The captain slows their slog.
The periscope spots them
As orders are passed down.
One button shall condemn,
Destruction all around.
The Old Head of Kinsale
Watches the missile glide.
The bomb shreds to assail
Those weapons stowed inside.
WHAT IF....
What if we thought of creative solutions
to issues like drugs and pollution,
poverty and munitions,
crime and overpopulation?
What if every chick and chap,
put on their creative thinking cap?
What if we sold everyone a perpetual phone?
Instead of guns, no one would be alone....
Connect everyone to the worldwide web,
All humans in Jung's vast collective,
One connected global race,
Smile's on every human face.
What if no one was taught bigotry,
One global humanity to be free,
What if we taught all kids to walk away,
Say 'no' to bullies and drugs each day?
What if there were more creative solutions,
Ideas for freedom from these pollutions?
What if all the chicks and chaps,
Did put on creative thinking caps?
Positives, instead of negative strife,
Yes, What if's could change everyone's life!
God bless you politicians who refuse to communicate,
defeat at diplomacy is the victory I await.
Peace is just a lull to replenish ammunition stores
and to pacify a people there’s nothing like a war.
Who needs castrated carnivores and peaceful serenades,
to quell a confrontation you need bullets and grenades.
Just give me slimy politicians, their pockets filled with graft,
and an inclination to divide the world in half.
Fire up hostilities, organize assaults
and engineer it always as the other party’s fault.
Utilize third parties to agitate the peace
and you’ll make a decent living dealing in deceased.
There’s profit in munitions, keep that market hot
and you‘ll make a fortune while the bodies rot.
Peace is just a lull to replenish ammunition stores.
And to pacify a people there’s nothing like a war.
Conflict is the agreement that you disagree
with peace as the solution to subdue hostilities.
Peace is just a lull to replenish ammunition stores.
And to pacify a people there’s nothing like a war.
Now there’s nothing that I know of that can quickly calm
the passions of resistance much faster than napalm.
Just bathe the opposition in that jelly bomb
then revel in the screams while they’re crying for their moms.
And while the elevation on artillery is set
we’ll discuss the finer points of landmine etiquette.
We’ll get real close and comfortable while fixing bayonets,
go out among the wounded and stab them all to death.
I know this is the reason why God has put me here—
to pacify the planet and rid it of its fears.
Peace is just a lull to replenish ammunition stores.
And to pacify a people there’s nothing like a war.
FUTILITY TWO
Extremism
Communism
Socialism
Fascism
Bigotry
Slavery
Misogyny
All futility
Humans need to want to change their attitudes,
Tolerance taught to chicks and dudes,
Set our daily intention,
No dumb arguments for attention,
Here's a job for your 'my sons',
On every building, a roof top garden,
The future is not too far on,
Instead of guns, grow Oxygen,
Yes, a 'Silent Spring' indeed,
When we've destroyed all plants and trees,
Why not use compacted plastic for beams?
Think of your own creative solutions,
Nukes and munitions are mind pollutions,
How futile would be genocide museums,
with no one on Earth left to see 'em?
Off and on they signaled, always in rapid fire
casting munitions across my window blind
A garish platoon of aggressors engaged in war
all tossing hand grenades at my haggard mind
Their bullets were blinking in Morse code
flashing in rhythm with droning dissonant jazz
From their stronghold across the asphalt road
they nightly attacked in a tawdry scheme
No clouds as allies to enshroud the moonlight
In cryptic shadows I avoided the street lamp
and the eyes of their sentry. Her stilettos tapping
in syncopation, I slipped by their sentinel vamp
Stealthily I moved, muscles tensed and strained,
I peered through the umbras to launch my attack
An alleyway spotted, and there I ordained
the weapon to silence their nightly escapade
Behind their front line, my hand unlatched the box
I flipped all the switches and pulled out the fuse
The only sounds I heard were patrons moaning
No Morse code signals or stilettos walking in ruse
On my window blinds there were no flashing lights
No tacky neon sign, offering home brewed beer on tap
Victory over the aggressors. I mumbled their last rites
I slept peacefully through the night with a fuse in my lap
Note well, all you New Year's mad hatters,
It's the future that really matters,
With all your joyous bevies and beers,
Blazing fireworks and raucous cheers,
What does really matter,
All you party hearty mad hatters?
What's our New Year's resolutions,
As we commence our anticipation?
What about peace as liberation?
Or making extinct extinction,
For all our human nations,
And our animal populations?
Can we think of new solutions,
Beyond reafforestation?
How can we end terrorism?
Which masks the real perdition---
Running the world on munitions.
Very unpopular thoughts, my dears,
One of my muse's strange ideas,
How can we make the world a better place,
For everyone in the human race?
So, all you New Year's mad hatters,
It's all our futures that matter.
Life is entanglement plus time,
A Gordian knot of opportunities,
Each ravel a riddle to solve
or a battle to be won.
We grab and pull at the gnarls,
Greedy fingers seeking solutions alone.
Though the more we worry them,
the tighter the fibers cling together,
defeating our efforts with every turn.
The working ends unhitched and hidden,
Knots impossible to untie without another;
Desperate, we seek the means to unset
the tightened rounds of coil.
We need only look up from our lonely struggle,
Unhand the ties and trice up munitions,
In favor of a more effective weapon,
for a prize worth more than any puzzle.
Love is the sword that cuts,
The foil to Gordius' grateful gift,
The force that frees us from the knots
that bind us alone in despair.
Love is the lens that exposes the path,
To unraveling the tangled mess,
To bearing witness to the holism of loops
and eyes along the same length of rope.
Love alone is the key that unlocks
The secrets of the tightly-wound tangle,
Revealing the pattern of the overlaps
and the beauty of the intermingled angles.
With love as our scope, we can maneuver
Through the maze of twists and turns,
Unleashing joys and embracing the weight
of the lessons we learn as the bind slowly burns.
Through patience and kindness, we can loosen
The strands that have wound us so tightly,
Embracing the challenge and refusing to choose
the path of ire or slacking down without a fight.
So let us unravel the knot with hearts ablaze
And together minds set on finding the way,
With love as our sword and our site and our hope,
we can unravel the rigging and seize hold of the day.
His mind was full of bonfires
his chest full of mustard gas
as he coughed all day
If only I could die
he would have thought
if he could have thought.
She sat beside him holding his hand,
her face pock-marked and yellow
from the munitions factory
No one knew
what the chemical ration could do
but she sat crooning her song.