Best Rifle Poems
The Gun was gleaming
Flashing in the summer sun
Confidence of steel
Eleven years had passed
since the marching Allies left
the small and peaceful town of Baiano;
they glanced back and heard
the song they cherished and loved:
admiring those pretty stripes and stars!
Grateful for their kindness,
women threw flowers petals
and claimed them heroes;
the smallest boys and girls
followed them dreaming of their America:
a free land where everything was granted!
I pulled a yellowed picture
out of an old photo album...
uncle Steve held a drill rifle
given to him by a young dying
American soldier whispering,
" Keep this rifle and remember
that I fought to free Italy...
to give you back your freedom! "
Minutes after he died staring
at the cobalt Southern sky...
perhaps his wish was to be
buried there sensing serenity!
The year of our Lord was
ninenteen sixty two and on that
memorable Christmas Eve,
I went back to that room to review the photo
of the young and proud soldier holding
his drill rifle: he had a charming Yankee smile;
I wanted that rifle, nothing more...
nothing less, but who could get me one?
Santa Clause was a fascinating fairy tale
that only little children believed in;
I peaked in the chimney, but ashes
blackened my adolescent face...
" Santa, Santa...I have a wish for you!
I like to get a drill rifle and be a soldier! "
He did not hear me...I shuddered in despair.
I went to sleep that evening,
the chill crystallized the snowflakes
stuck to the foggy window;
why did the distant stars shine brighter?
Why did gorgeous Baby Jesus smile at me?
I woke up on Christmas Day,
and next to me there it was: the drill rifle
I wanted so much! I looked around
and my dad stared at me giggling,
" You have been a good boy:
here's your present, son! "
Written on 12/12/2016
Metal never pierced flesh or bones
Ligaments weren’t shattered in dashing haste
Not decorated with purple stones
For my heart hid from that waste
Sand and fear my tongue still taste
Born to die in hellish fire
Infernal flame, spirit crushed ready for
Assured last breath, in deathly mire
I shut down and lay in war
Thoughts race, scream and roar
I’m afraid
Escaped the valley of abyss
Return to applauds and cheers
All is well they claim and hiss
But I’m clothed in heavy years
In stormy sands, all's unclear
Did I cease to be?
So much loss for what was fought
My humanity
Walking dead in thought
Wilting heart was caught
Won’t let most too close
Then they’d see
Moisture trails that only froze
Can’t contain the mine that bleeds
Vulnerable to evil Deeds
So I pretend to feel
Watch as they laugh and sing
Being human taught to kill
Focused on how to life they cling
Waiting for my time to spring
What am I without my rifle
To do what I was trained
Taking life was mere trifle
Do I cease to be again
Letting go of this friend
But how, but how
I was raised to end life
For those I loved with strong vows
For those who don’t know strife
We were sacrificed
Letting go, the roaring sea
Placing weapon down, reaching honesty
I lay with peace and feel the touch of God
Emerge from that desperate fog
I see as a child
Staked rifle down for the vine to grow awhile
I am clean
All is not what it seemed
IS THAT A TRIVIAL TRIFLE OR A RIFLE?
Weightless
Weightless while watching ripples row their way across a wading pool
A pool that portended peace
A peaceful pool in the coolness of a kiss in springtime
A scene of serenity
Weightless
Thinking
Unblinking
Sinking into a pool of my own
A pool of thought
Caught somewhere between actuality and a playground in Poughkeepsie
And the thought occurs to me
No longer a blur to me
But crystal clear
As I consider the word “trivia” as in those trivia games people play
One might choose to say that I have a dispute with “Trivial Pursuit”
Well for just a moment or two let’s examine, explore, expose and exhume if you will
The meaning of the word “trivia”
Now I don’t own a dictionary, nor does anyone nearby
But as far as I can tell
The root word of “trivia” is trivial
As in unimportant, inconsequential, insignificant, and most notably
Trifling
And so I’m rifling through the attics and dungeons of my medulla oblongata
And I gotta say, in reference to these trivial games
No matter how convivial the participants are
I’m not spending hours being asked frivolous questions
And hearing petty answers
Answers that may be wrong or right
And thus to be edified and educated by the inconsequential
Meaning, in essence, of no consequence to anyone
At anytime
In any place
But that’s just my opinion
Coming from someone who comes dangerously close to being labeled a fool
Weightless
Weightless while watching water in a wading pool
Floating
And noting the trivial and trifling
© 2012…copyright…PHREEPOETREE ~free cee!~
The children were pulverized, decapitated,
Their flesh was ripped apart.
This is the land of the free,
And the home of the brave.
Good guys with guns waited an hour.
19 students and 2 teachers were murdered.
The children were pulverized, decapitated,
Their flesh was ripped apart.
We need AR-15 rifles to kill prairie dogs.
We need AR-15 rifles because they are semi-automatic.
11-year-old Miah covered herself in her dead friend’s
Blood to stay alive.
The children were pulverized, decapitated,
Their flesh was ripped apart.
If more Americans own AR-15s, SCOTUS will
Think they’re for common use.
You can help prepare young Americans for
Military service if you are skilled with an AR-15.
The children were pulverized, decapitated,
Their flesh was ripped apart.
100 rounds were fired into 2 classrooms
Students called 911
Parents begged police to charge the school.
Good guys with guns waited an hour.
19 students and 2 teachers were murdered.
17 children and adults were injured.
In America, guns, and violence
are the answers to every problem.
In America, violence means
You never need to find a solution.
The solution is always violence.
If violence solves nothing,
It’s because more violence is required.
The children were pulverized, decapitated,
Their flesh was ripped apart.
Published: Dissident Voice, June 19, 2022
IS THAT A TRIFLE OR A RIFLE?
waiting
Weightless
weight less than a pound
Weightless while watching ripples row their way across a wading pool
A pool that portended peace
A peaceful pool in the coolness of a kiss in springtime
A scene of serenity
Weightless
Thinking
Unblinking
Sinking into a pool of my own
A pool of thought
Caught somewhere between actuality and a playground in Poughkeepsie
And the thought occurs to me
No longer a blur to me
But crystal clear
As I consider the word “trivia” as in those trivia games people play
One might choose to say that I have a dispute with “Trivial Pursuit”
Well for just a moment or two let’s examine, explore, expose and exhume if you will
The meaning of the word “trivia”
Now I don’t own a dictionary, nor does anyone nearby
But as far as I can tell
The root word of “trivia” is trivial
As in unimportant, inconsequential, insignificant, and most notably
Trifling
And so I’m rifling through the attics and dungeons of my medulla oblongata
And I gotta say, in reference to these trivial games
No matter how convivial the participants are
I’m not spending hours being asked frivolous questions
And hearing petty answers
Answers that may be wrong or right
And thus to be edified and educated by the inconsequential
Meaning, in essence, of no consequence to anyone
At anytime
In any place
But that’s just my opinion
Coming from someone who comes dangerously close to being labeled a fool
Weightless
Weightless while watching water in a wading pool
Floating
And noting the trivial and trifling
© 2012…copyright…PHREEPOETREE ~free cee!~
Its a piece of plastic
And a piece of steel
Holding it up has an un natural feel
It has optics fitted to magnify life
And when it fires a round causes strife
It has a magazine you cant read
But when it does its job
People become brown breed
We carry it wherever we go
All shiny and clean not just for show
Its an instrument of war
And a plague on peace
With our brave soldiers deployed all over the middle east
Iraq would be safe without the Imans
Just like Afghanistan minus the taleban
But one mans terrorist is another mans hero
Some even celebrated when the planes hit ground zero
What we need now is some new heroes
Because Blair and Bush are just a bunch of Zero's
The Assault Rifle Madness Continues
By Elton Camp
From Sandy Hook we are still in dismay
Then another shooter blows folks away
This time it is in western New York State
Where a murderer expressed his hate
A military-style Bushmaster did choose
Same type weapon as on kids just used
Shout “Second Amendment” all you can
On such guns there should be a total ban
This is nothing but a killing machine
Exactly as we repeatedly have seen
The killer left a note describing his thrill
At getting a chance more people to kill
It’s not just for checking of buyers I call
This type rifle shouldn’t be made at all
This wasn’t the 2nd Amendment’s intention
So the “rights” of gun owners, don’t mention
That “right” has been interpreted very wrong
Clearly, only to a “militia” does it belong
Her long, flowing, black hair
sways in the autumn breeze
silence speaks, she is silent
a lonely bullet lays in the chamber
her hands rest gingerly on the guard
her fingers snuggle the trigger
The leaves blow, the poppies bloom
and the grass stands still....
her eyes gaze and wonder....
the enemy is in her cross-hair
silent speaks....
The bullet whispers to the wind....
Down The Sight Of A Rifle
Looking down the sights of his rifle
He sees people he was told were his enemies
Men, women and children walking down the street
Who are real enemies?
Who are innocents living their lives?
His finger tightens on the trigger
How could he know if his shot was true?
He watches the people carefully
Hearing his orders echo through his head
The order was given a half a world away
By men sitting in a room trying to raise the body count
They don’t know the people their orders effect
They can’t look into a new mother’s eyes as she holds her baby
The trigger starts to tighten as the man obeys
The gun blasts forth a breath of flame
The bullet leaves not knowing its target
The bullet lands five miles away never tasting blood
That day a soldier decided that no one would die
No one would be in the hospital because of him
That day he would be the hero who no one knows
He knew in his heart that he cared about other people
If only more thought like him
Felt like him
War would no longer exist
No humans would die needlessly
And there would be peace
Witchcraft fruits shrivelled gorillas' brains
Wrinkled spectral charm fire scarred apportionment
Wary growl sharp lip foretell malefactor debauchery
Overcome in jungle rummage, fur maimed
Leather crevice herbivore hand final resign
Claimed by human biscuit boned, rifle of dominance
Cunning stealth shadowed charcoal fervour obvious
Conquer given, victor's triumph misaligned
1st February
Inspiration from
Eric Duthie edited ' Wild Company '
published 1962.
Story - Gorilla Hunter by Paul de Chaillu
Roy Campbell 'FLOWERING RIFLE'
¥"
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Guns don't kill people
But bullets do
So keep all your guns
But make bullets taboo
Restrict cartridge sales
Like any jet flight
With proof of ID
& registered right
Limit each purchase
To registered guns
Make mothers happy
With long-living sons
Bullets kill loved ones
& people we know
So give every shooter
A tough row to hoe!
My AK-47 will arrive sometime today.
I am horrified.
Why did you order an assault rifle?
To hunt.
To hunt what?
Deer.
I stare at her.
Wild pigs?
I glare at her.
People? She says slowly.
I wait in hiding for the package to arrive.
Snatch it off her porch and smash that Ak-47 up into tiny pieces.
It is not easy, but I have a hatchet, a machete and an iron will.
My grandma is in the throes of dementia.
I doubt her home health nurse will return
if she gets plugged in the face with an assault rifle.
I took grandma’s credit card too.
The only thing I could not get was her car keys.
She has them attached to her chastity belt with a ring.
Don't get it twisted just because my smile is nice
I signed up for the war not once but twice
When I went to Iraq I dodged death and it's stunts
but when I got home I smoked blunts and stayed drunk.
Now I can't sleep and I'm messed up in the head
I wake up having nightmares and I keep pissing the bed.
I talk in my sleep and I walk in my sleep
instead of counting the sheep I think of killing the sheep.
People tap me on the shoulder, I think I'm being attacked
So I a ball up my fist because I don't know how else to react.
I get really depressed, I never used to be this way
It's a struggle for a brotha to live day by day
Don't say you love me because you think you know me
if you got love for the troops then you better show me
I am 33 and I at least want to see 35
I don't want to be popping pills for the rest of my life.
I want to win in this game of survival
Will I live for the rose or will I die by the rifle.