Best Salvo Poems
The mighty 3rd to the north did steam,
Chasing a ghost not to be seen
Guard the landing your task assigned,
Quiet the day is to be benign
At dawn the Imperial fleet does appear,
Surprise complete, ranging fire splashes near
Outnumbered and out gunned, duty is clear,
Close the range you must in spite of your fear
Laying smoke, a jagged course you take,
An account of yourselves you will make
Steel your heart and make sure your eye,
For each salvo keeps you alive
Toe-to-toe the battle, you exchange mighty blows,
Triumph impossible, yet into the fray you all go
In perfect rhythm, the mad dance goes on,
As smoke filled gunhouse loads powder and shot
Decks strewn with the dead and dying,
Teams repair to keep the ensign flying
Struck and struck again, yet to point blank you steam,
Hard to port, you cross the “T”
“All guns to fire at the turn, torpedoes away!”
The enemy scatters in disarray
Too late, mortal blows you take
To the deep, no more your enemy to rake
One final salute their captain does render,
For you fought to the death and did not surrender
On this all men do still agree,
These were the finest two hours of Taffy 3
*****************************************
On October 25th, 1944, 3 destroyers and 4 destroyer escorts of Task Force
Taffy 3 engaged a combined force of Imperial Japanese Navy battleships and
cruisers in a 2 hour running gun battle to protect the escort carriers and troop
transports taking part in the Leyte Gulf landings in the Philippines. Two of the
three destroyers and one of the escorts were sunk while sinking three
Japanese heavy cruisers and damaged three more. Due to the fierceness of
the attack, the Japanese fleet retired from the area thinking they had been
attacked by a much larger force. At the outset of the battle, the commanding
officers of these 7 ships, without orders, individually decided to attack and
headed at flank speed to the fight all knowing they would most likely not
survive the day. Almost 1600 did not. In a final act of respect, the commander
of one Japanese cruiser saluted the crew of an American ship that had just
sunk as his ship passed them floating in the water.
At The Footbridge
Two Armies
One shoots off another salvo
The other fires back with gusto
Each offended
At the aggression of the other
At the footbridge
Foot soldiers die
In agony you hear them all bloodied, cry
War is a must and you wonder why?
Kings collect gold
Queens their ladies in waiting
Castles must be filled
With linens and fine silver laden
All with justifications
For the death of serfs and those of the invasion
Left And Right
Either side the cannons roar
Took of blood and wanted more
Salvo after salvo into the valley
Point blank range to deter the rally
Water poured over steaming muzzles
Russian gunner at this sight puzzles
Tis madness against this cannonade
Tis the sacrifice of the Light Brigade
The quicker they fired the faster they came
Under billowing flags and the Queens name
Torn and shredded they carried the fight
And many a soul, never saw that night
The Redout
The Russian generals looked in wonder
Stood in awe at the total squander
The cannons barked and took their toll
Removing horse from man, man from soul
Rifle, cannon, spoke the same
The Light Brigade on they came
Thundering hooves and yelling cries
All for the sight of the Russians eyes
And at the distance of a lance
The Russian soldier in a trance
Sabres cut and slashed in violence
All was death in the cannons silence
The Russians fled in disbelief
Last shot fired to the Brigades relief
Bleeding soldiers and tattered flags
Stumbled, tottered, like wizened hags
Down The Valley
Looking back along that mile
Bodies, horses, pile on pile
Wounded men lean on lance
Said a prayer in skyward glance
On the ground a sleeping parade
Remnants of the Light Brigade
Depleted souls but not of honour
Yet a picture of battles squander
On the conclusion of this battle
Fingers wag and tongues will rattle
But nought should be put to shame
The Light Brigade and its day of fame
At Night
When the moon shines that longest mile
Hear the hooves on lush green pile
The rattling sabres and rippling flags
And how he rode the horseman brags
In the night the ghosts they ride
Full of honour and full of pride
Six legs, two arms and often a tail
It greets its own kind with an expectant wail
They may well converse and they may form a pack
But what do they keep in that very small sack
There’s others that come bearing more heads and limbs
And some that appear when the light of day dims
Its plans for a peaceful encounter can fail
Often the culprit has foreshortened tail
Quite unlike what might occur on the X-files
It doesn't spit fire but does hurl projectiles
It then splits in two, it knows where each one lands
And rushes them back to its other halve’s hands
It’s salvo continues ’til someone cries ‘ouch!’
One half then watches the other half crouch
It scans its surroundings to feed the small sack
Wherever it’s from it’s then time to go back
But first it must visit the red hi-vis bin
The small sack, now loaded, deposited in
Its travels may take it up hill or down dale
Six legs, two arms and often a tail
*
If you don’t get this, your minds full of fog
Or your brain just went south on a train
It’s only the tale of one man and his dog
So why don’t you read it again?
"Drop your pants Zoe"
"No, am scared"
"You will love it, trust me"
"Aa aa aa am scared"
"Look into my eyes, Zoe"
"Okay, be gentle"
It's the deafening sound of silence
Tickling the ghost of her past
She hears a sea laughters
Wave after waver, laughter after laughter
She hears a council of drums;
Drumsticks, the skeletons of her closet
She hears the phantom crunch of footsteps
Foot after foot, moon walks on the gaunt floor of her psyche
Dance after dance, dust after dust
Banshees hum lullabies; weredogs sway her cradle
Her neck is failing, the weight on her head is pressing
Reins are taut and insanity rides the chariots of sanity
A salvo of dragonballs roast her neurons; her mind is an apocalypse
She grabs her head in disguise and wails off her trance.
Her howl strikes a match, scare away the ghost.
She looks around, hoping no eye bears witness
D etonated
E mbarrassed
A fflicted
T ormented
H arassed
Her silence, her death, her noise, her breath
Her grace, emotive;
That's why she's talkative
That's why she's hyperactive
She laughs to dead jokes and her lungs slave in their cage of ribs
Harass not but embrace her.
THE GREAT BATTLESHIP
Once sailed as the lumbering hulks of the high seas
Fierce winds accompanied most of its expedition
Woozy and exhausted crews grappled the oars and crosstrees
With smoothbore and muzzle-loading guns geared up for a mission
The tall vertical spar supporting aloft the white canvas
Stretched out to catch the invisible strength of the wind
The ship’s keel watching the seabed at its vast
Emerged gradually from the water to meet the enemy lines
Whizzing salvo of the battle began off the island
Ships clashed, and soldiers engaged in a fight
Dead bodies slammed and the injured crossed to near land
Hear leaves without figs crushed to the ground
Ship ahoy! Shouted by villagers as they waited eagerly
Slowly ship emerged with the image of heavy wreckage
Wounded and exhausted crews embraced their family
Another saga of brave men printed on book’s page
The plaintive music now played on air
Tattoo beats called soldiers back to barracks
From bow to stern, ships respite from war
A short-lived fashion from majestic into rugs
For chieftains, captains, and crews laid beneath the ocean
Their remains rested in their sunken ship as their grave
Great battleships are now history and ordain
Shipwrecks underneath the sea were untouched and remained a treasure
Let in children’s cry slowly clear the fogs of war
And hail farewell to brave men who once sailed with the great battleship of all times
Posted also in voicesnet.com Poetry Site on 28 September 2009
Note: Other poetrysite have posted this under another name which is a clear plagiarism.
You may check this site: http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-great-battleship/
and you may search also your poem title there, maybe they have posted also your poem without your consent.
The klaxon sounds and off we do scurry
Up to the gun house we head in a hurry
Through narrow p-ways and up noisy stairs
We pass each other with far away glares
What threat to meet, all do wonder
We’re well trained and there’ll be no blunder
Hatches closed and scuttles secured
Drive motors humming, we speak not a word
Ammo to the hoist, battle dress in place
Flash hoods cover all but our face
“Mt 51 manned and ready!”
Gas eject air pressure is holding steady
“Air action port!” our circuits align
Gun slews, the target to find
“On target aircraft!” the checksight declares
Our peril confirmed, no drill, all just a deep inhale
“Right and left guns load!” first powder then shot
To the mad dance, cast we all our lot
Guns loaded, we track knowing not when
Waiting the salvo alarm, the dance soon to begin
Fourteen men poised, ready for the show
Bound to each other, not for their own glory they do go
Gong! Gong! Fire! The first stanza a roar
Then rapid and continuous we feed each bore
“Bore clear!” signals to load the next round
As hot-case men pitch spent brass to the ground
Practiced harmony, each motion robotic
Load!, Ram!, Fire!, Eject! the cadence hypnotic
Smoke and flareback, gases choking
Onward we whirl, and curse the foe attacking
“Foul bore left gun!”
A stuck case has us undone
Pry bar in hand, the Gunner appears
The extractors are broken, confirming worst fears
Casing removed and the gun finally clear
Up all night we’ll be, fixing this gear
“Cease fire!” all safely emerge
Realize we now, our fears to purge
Destruction averted, another hour to draw breath
Till the enemy returns, seeking our death
“Police up that brass and swab out those barrels!”
The chief keeps us all intent on the peril
They will come again, or we will seek them out
So little rest we take, while the issue is in doubt
***************************************
This describes a live shoot from the prospective of
the men manning a twin 5 inch gun aboard a destroyer.
These ships were common in our Navy from 1944 through
about 1980. The "old salts" out there will find this very familiar.
This is a spinoff from my "Tin Can Sailors" write even though
the ships in that story were single mounts. Same gun, but
with just one barrel. Those were before my time.
World
Of a Great truth the world is Sweet,
Shaking hands with those that got Understanding
Smiling and Mocking the Ignoramus.
Of 'ts fate the World satisfy all;
For her beauty,structure and tautology beckons
for Salvo.
Of a truth the World is large and full of gesture;
It waters the learner
And brings to Vertex of ones discovery.
09/04/2003(9:30pm)
Inamorato,
Ascultate my vociferation!
Contravene your sepulcher.
Insurrect our omnipotent.
I enjoin thine quintessence.
Eupnea!
Eupnea!
Whilom anon.
Euphoria salvo.
Eschewal Valhalla's porticullis.
Genitive hedonic, envisage.
Erewhon betwicts my gammons.
Imbibe of my mammilla's.
In perpetuum cache me.
Gehanna upon macrocosm.
Forlorn.....
Forsaken......
Your Inamarata writhes.
Is thus kismet?
Cull Inamarato!
Winnow!
I abjure forthwith.
Abaddon velleity extirpate my noumenon,my pneuma.
MOSCOW SHOP GIRL’S ANGER
Never knew quite what wind blew up her skirt
Maybe the way I dressed or my shoe’s unbrushed dirt
Like a woman scorned, her fury knew no bounds
Like when the fox has successfully eluded the hounds
The tongue-lashing was the first salvo in her armament
Couldn’t even get a word in to show my disagreement
Oh but the extremes of modulation in her voice tone
Made me glad I could see her and not just be on the phone
For the facial gestures and the eyelash lashes she performed
Were an accompaniment not to miss in her tirade as she stormed
Through Act I into Act II when the hands on hips were a prelude
To a theatrical show that simply had to be viewed
Then the head was tossed several times for effect
And the brushed hair floated around in a circle perfect
I’m sure the audience was rapt and about to applaud
Had they not seen something about her display which was flawed
Her rhetorical questions, her cleft sentences, her exclamation marks
Left no impression on her target, like smiling at a dog that barks
This guy, they thought, must be deaf, dumb and blind
To be so unimpressed by a prima donna performance of this kind?
Maybe he is straight off the funny farm and unaware of her sarcasm?
Or perhaps he has a weak constitution and is about to have a spasm?
They had no inkling and neither did she : the reason for my lack of discussion
Was simply that I didn’t understand her spoken Russian.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ... . . . . . . . . . ..
Entered in Andrea's Contest
SHOW ME THE FUNNY PART TWO
Though my mind has clearly gone,
my hollowed vessel sails on and on.
Tattered memories clatter through,
dried leaves in search of their limbs,
desperate to seek the plumpness of youth.
Their only hope; give up the fight,
to death magnetic earth,
once more, rebirth.
Yet far and wide they stride,
the empty vastness of my tumbleweed state.
My world weary gait,
my lucid lament,
only serve to further propound confusion.
Scents send senses searching relentless.
Optical deficits, no acoustic solution.
Solution beyond reach,
beyond my touch,
and I want it so much.
For King and for country,
for valour not treason.
I search for The Season,
the peace I believe in.
For peace eternal,
for posthumous pardon.
Salvo
By Nathan Hannen
With the fire wind came the death givers, Cracked and demented, Floating in rivers
These putrid bretheren remained as one, Tortured, Hung, On the run
They swirled and span with something akin to joy, Toothless and decaying, But not
delaying
Back to avenge their own, There thoughts, Toxic and cunning, There blood running
They start to separate in this churning mess, Each wanting a hate filled direction, An
eerie bugle call, All in favour of the rule
Broken into shards, Staggering through the end, From inception to finish they remain
The End.
My little versification remains
I versify to satisfy
Beautify and dignify
Our union
My Amazon
Flourishes in honesty and dignity
Glows in beauty and sanctity
Flawlessly flaunting your scintillating
Curvature with all courtesy and curtsy
My Arkhaggelos
With an angelic benign voice
Warbling sonorously to the
Tune of life
My charming tall pageant
Winning unendlessly
Miss World in my world
Vivaciously dazzling like a
Fresh morning rose
From the city of those
Who only chew “Oro” and go to bed
Promising to ceaselessly
Abide in your kingdom as long as
I remain the King
Whence there forth, you will
Remain the only “Olori” in my palace.
In my quest for wanderlust
Shivering to remember
Fidgeting to be reminded
Your usual subtle salvo
Threatening brims and stones
If caught dribbling
Promising by HIS grace
Not to be drifted away
Or caught in the web
Of the harlequin filthy fig
Not to whither
But to hold tighter
Till we roll in the alter
I once again versify
To continue to water you my Thuja
Without season or dribbling
As long as you promise to
Remain faithfully slim and svelte
Like the white flower that will
Always flourish anywhere in the world
Which you are.
Alayande Stephen T.
12.45am
3rd June, 2004
Driving to my designer job
Pondering my authenticity
Ready for a surgical strike
Against the imposter of me
Bay doors now opening
Missles armed, blinking red
Has a non-approved thought
Ever entered my little head?
Missle lock acquired
The target is red hot
It’s hasta la vista baby
Looking down for the shot
Flack all around me now
As I scan below
New Balance, Levis
Countless brands and their salvo
Holy spit, that was close!
My horizon spinning wildly
Am I walking talking billboard
With no understanding of me?
Pulling the nose back around
I’ve got to make this one count
Does our hive mind steer itself
Or is it influenced from without?
And is it such child’s play
Like trapping lightning in a cell
To buy my untapped potential
With thoughts of being someone else?
Pushing this machine to the limit
Soaring high above so many
How deeply have I been branded
By the stamp of authority?
Attention mission control
I’m not returning to base
Just label me a traitor
I no longer believe in this way
But with sobs behind my visor
Fruitlessly slowing near the heavens
I begin tumbling back to Earth
Just in time to clock in
I heard the clangorous salvo,
heard its joints pivot and shear,
the hips of thick branches crumble
as it folded into the night.
There was a fibrous unclasping.
The ground flew up
over its rebounding shadow.
This morning thigh deep
in foliage and catkins, I listen.
There are death throes, a green surf ripples,
rustling whispers.
Leafy mouths tremble. Bark lips
rattle and curl.
Vowels drum in burnt cavities.
It seems the suddenness of death takes time,
It needs a Requiem Mass of murmurs
to explain what the moment did.