Camo Poems | Examples

Owen the Pheasant

In Memoriam: Owen the Pheasant
Lost at an auction in Vermont betwixt a first edition Anna Karenina and a bitter divorcée named Ruth. 


There once was a pheasant named Owen,
whose plumage was splendid and showin’.
but a flatlander brute,
with a camo jumpsuit,
won him cheap—next to Tolstoy—unknowin’.

Bless the Hippies

I think the hippies had it right 
pop a red and watch the lights
pray against the cold machine
tie dye the world in tranquility
breaking bread with old friends
lend your heart -become undead
                  BUT
Sometimes the world has blight
evil eclipsing the gilded righteous
time to put away the peace pipe
march within the muck and fight 
clip the wing of evil before it flies
dust off the camo-burn away tie dye 
                  BUT
For the most part the hippies had it right.

Is it pandering?

Is it pandering? 
Will camo hat with name do them any good?
Next will be the dead deer draped across the hood.
  ha ha

I just thought of something stupid. Deer can't read.

Our salvation in the hands of doom

Arctic front just a little seems to much
A tolerance to something with no passion or no desire
To be that frozen bird on the wire
Burning purpose Burning reason 
reason to plant the greatest ideas 
A non-touch society bleeding out slowly
As they shape our mold 
To be a force or be a commune
Starving the less prepared 
Now their army they call us the  metronome 
Building their power forgetting humanity's moral disaster
Ambiguous though they left us no escape held hostage
Corporations traps us always fighting for food.
Panic it's out of their control
We the people
Hold all the cards
Watching the economy teeple
Expecting only handfuls to be still driving cars
I have been stuck in a black hole 
searching for ammo for my soul
Searching for camo 
Before gravity takes it's toll
Now it's 2066
They think home will be hit by some close encounter 
Some near Earth object is eyeing annihilation 
Apophis at 3.4km on 2029 sounds pretty close
Apophis Just go away we don't want you back

camo owl

Camo owl was not seen easily in the tree
I sensed him there, with his brown eyes on me
He made no sound, pretending he did not see
The pretty fey faeries, who numbered three

I finally focused my eyes on that owl, Whee
He did no hooting, stayed silent in that tree
What is the deal? Asked a faerie named Twee
Why does the owl pretend not to see?

I thought this was nervy from this little She
But faeries are bold, and I mean sometimes terribly.
I pretended I did not hear this faerie, Twee.
So, she flitted off, far away from me.

The Sure Fire

Somethings You never know
Sometimes you have nothing to show
Tears in those eyes
Comfort city on the brink of misery
Killing fields the dreams of you and me
Desert sunshine warning you how things are going to be
Give in to glory my little can of spam
Leaving a ledger of love upon a tree
generation far away from where we begun 
I can't tell you how to how to live 
I can't tell you who to love
Killing a life of horror.
Killing a life of monkey's hope
Tied to a chair 
breathing liquid air
How do you see this world
Not explored nor swayed by cruel intention
Tears in your eyes
Killing field
horrors camo to the endless nightmare
sitting next to medusa
with her snakie weaving golden hair
Dial a dream 
Fall into the pit where emptiness frees loneliness
Centripetal force  a hurricane inside my brain
Sarah's so desperate to remember your name
The world wind of street camels haste
At arms instinct taught war
Left the saving for ideals never born
To recall what you hate the most
Inside a dream inside a smokey gleam
of hope

Foreign Policy Folly

The United States greases the slippery palm of Iran.
Who frolic in the frying pan with Hamas and Hezbollah. 
Whom vow to destroy Israel and the United States of America.
The United States provides Ammo and Camo to Israel. 
Who are at war with Hamas and Hezbollah.
This is the reason no country can trust us.

United States foreign policy is really about foreign folly.
The defense contractors and their pals on capitol thrill.
Will make billions and billions off the misery of citizens.
For sake of ratings the media puts coexistence on the spitz.
Scores of dark forces are wishing us, to the brink of oblivion.

Disruptive Pattern Material

I was first picked up
In a cast-off shop in Liverpool; 
Surrounded by racks of seasoned shirts
Bearing names of old soldiers.

“Draper” draped on an immature frame
In a collage of brown and green, 
Overlapping and enveloping
Any semblance of a past self.

Baby-faced and militant,
The paradoxical camo in an urban warzone.
Slogans painted from shoulder to shoulder
In pungent, nuclear-white bathroom paint.

The smell is burned to memory,
Singeing nose hairs with chemical vigour,
Of dance-generated sweat, upturned pints,
A lover’s aftershave, the sting of cigarette smoke.

Washed once, maybe twice,
But anxious eyes watched the spin cycle,
Fearing specks of dislodged paint
Covering my muddy canvas.

Now “Draper” drapes a matured frame,
The only scent that lingers is
The petrichor of Northern summer
Tie-dyed deep into my fibres.

I bare a name that isn’t mine,
Memories of a life I did not live,
Scars from battles I never saw,
And honours that aren’t mine to claim.

On We Go, Ennui, No

A world full of syllables
Is so highly tillable;
they ebulliently buoy,
never leading to ennui.

When you’ve got Hong Kong Phooey
with a bowl of chop suey
and a glass of Drambuie,
what else do you need?

Or a wolf man named Gershon
with a camo tutu on
and he’s traipsing ‘cross your lawn,
asking more is just greed.

—————

H/T to A Playboy’s Toys by Gershon Wolf

I'M a Muslim

(Prequel after Poet Em Em)

I won't bend /yes i won't - never 
I won't fall / never i won't
Even though my name is tied around the apron of ail
Tell them - I behold the protector of fever
That walks upper whiff above the soil - & is seen.
I'm one of the soldiers of God - but not in green camo.
I fight war - yet never hide under greens / I shoot bullets but not with guns still it spits fire.
I'm one of the party of Muhammad /not in a golden garb /but I sew myself uniformity / wear myself the same unity that sleeps at our feet 5 times daily / just to take a gift home.
I'm a buyer from the Rosul
Whose soul cherishes good
He's the seller
Whose faith & creed I bought
Sold it to God
& He bought it a golden price.

Do What You Can

Happy birthday, dear Leslie Ann, 
Another year lets your life glow; 
Time just lets you do what you can, 
Allowing your knowledge to grow. 

Topic: Birthday of Leslie Ann G. Camo (March 14)

Fearing Her Essence

Her camo fatigues
Set a particular mood
Scare potential dates

Honoring herself
She apologizes naught
She lives her best truth

Others back away
Afraid of her awesomeness
Fearing her essence

Be Down To Earth They Told Him

Be down to earth, they told him, more real, more true.
Meaning more like them, the status quo, the easily disturbed mob.
But he could not be, for he had a loving heart, and did not understand
Their fascination with guns, bullets, or the thrill of the kill.

He was a rabbit, a deer, a creature of the wild who loved daisies.
They tried their best to get him into a flannel shirt, and camo gear.
He ran off, and hid in the forest. The animals sheltered him at night.
We are glad you came to us, they said. We have been waiting for you.

How much more down to earth could he be? Mother said to his father.
Living his truth, going barefoot in the summers, studying the wind.
He is totally true to himself he is more real than you could ever see.
Her husband was embarrassed, figuring it out at last.
He went off on foot, to retrieve his son.

Hate Is Born of Fear

Hate is born of fear 
From the bowels of the barrel of the beast
of a closed person

Closed heart
closed fist
closed mind

Hate poisons the environment
Worse, hate finds hate
The perpetrators look carefully
For those like-minded 

Others who carry rage and sorrow and anger
and want to kill someone, 
thinking it will make them feel better

Let’s get that one.
He looks different than us.
He is kind of effeminate. Not a fighter.

No camo, no guns, no anger, no rage.
Let’s go as a pack, like a slashing crashing murdering 
insane, crazy, fanatical out-of-our-mind mob

That should make us feel better
Picking on beauty, slashing it and annihilating it.
We congratulate ourselves with buckets of beer
Because we are the chosen 

Maybe and 
The trickster devil may have a special room for you
Tread softly you homophobic haters, 
You may not yet know what real fear is….

Gotcha

The wheel chair flew by like a gun
Which left me standing quite stunned
The crippled old goat
Grabbed my camo coat
He can hide but he sure cant run

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