A conscript in the army of married men
I thank God my wife is not a hen
She only picked me, never pecked me
Romance renewed daily, as you can see
Dark forces
conscript
the last moonbeam
As day turns
to night
in the sky
And silence
takes over
the valley
That harbor’s
a final
goodbye
Where light
used to play
in the meadow
Shadows
forbode
laying claim
To what
used to live
in your memory
That dies
in this darkened
— refrain
(The New Room: June, 2026)
Must God stay beyond
understanding
His prophecy to conscript
and confuse
Are the Trinity and
Resurrection
Both miracles or only
a ruse
Building temples to
edification
Storing Icons that judge
and decry
Is the Bible fictitious
or sacred
Is Redemption the truth
— or a lie
(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2017)
Who’s been planting censorship seeds
growing these trees that will not leaf
referendums divide countries
hornet immigration killing our bees
Oh my god that’s racist Trim
if hornets come we let them in
send those bees into conflict
birds won’t fight though gender conscript
Equality ay until those bombs hit
these days born a black man half Chinese
but I now live in a white woman body
my baby girl is a transatlantic
she speaks English but looks Hispanic
my son is an Eskimo but he lives on the moon
he went into hospital came out a baboon
PC really does PC me off
made an honest man out my accuser
entering court as a pronoun abuser
he said the sound I made was so abusive
so I punched his face in to show him what abuse is
he can’t argue if he’s he or him with those stitches in
I think with his males bits he calls himself misses et
In a few years this poem will vanish I’ll put it back up with my freedom of malice
And marry a man who calls himself Alice
Representative ending it Sensitive censorship
If old men fought the wars
Would there be quite so many?
Maybe we’d reach a stage
Where we’d not fight any.
Life becomes more precious
With the passing of years
The realisation of mortality
Bringing its own fears.
Let the young live their lives,
No longer treated like cattle
Marshalled and forced to
Fight the old mens’ battles.
Let the old men go
To fight their own wars
Don’t conscript the future to
Go die for another’s cause.
If old men did the fighting
Perhaps there’d be more trying
To find a different solution if
Old men faced the risk of dying.
(D-Day 6th June 1944)
Love, you are my dazzling light,
In times when life seems very bad.
Love, you are my armor shield,
When conscript caught me heaped.
Love, you are my stunning beau,
In middle of heinous view.
Love, you are my very soul,
When things got into toll.
Love, you are my forever,
In past, present and future.
Love, you are indeed my half,
That He gave me to fill my gap.
I have no regard
for other poets
how could it be other
As they conscript
the words away
of which I’ve not discovered
A battle royal
zero sum
as phrases block and parry
The winner left
his voice reclaimed
— the loser most disparaged
(The New Room: February, 2024)
* It’s been three years, Dad, and it hurts like yesterday … I don’t know why I was the one to walk you home, but it will forever be my bittersweet blessing, and an honor I didn’t deserve. I miss you very much. *
~
( 9.18.26 - 10.27.19 )
for that bright rose of his honor
those edged thorns of sacrifice
to the steeds he’d left unbroken
and the chimes, a-pealing thrice
to the statues, still in marbled earth
countless draughts thus never spilt
to that knight left rusting in the rain
the steadfast bridges that he’d built
to the jester in his dancing court
the somber conscript left behind
for his queen midst her devotions
and his swords of heart and mind
for the master, mate and martyr
who we laud now with our breath
and the God he loved with graces
who has grieved us with his death
may we wear his garland shining
with the charms that he’d impart
and ne’er let his laurels wilt there
but bloom bright within our heart.
son, brother, husband, father, friend ...
kanpai.
Copyright (10/27/20) © Gregory R Barden, rewrite, October 27, 2022
All wars are local now.
If across an ocean
a butterfly dies in a hail of machine gun fire,
a moth here expires in the light.
Oil gases-up inflationary angst.
Cocaine lines grow longer,
Fentanyl funerals explode.
Mobs move up to the front line
where the mindless
scream their battle hymns.
Most war-mongers could not find
a war torn Ukraine town, or their local
V A center on a map.
Hawks gather to pump up pride
then hide
when the fan drips s...
A Russian conscript writes home
“the locals’ hate us” he tells his mom’.
His mom lives in a shack in Vladivostok,
it’s still too local,
she sees the ripple effects
of burning tanks in her dreams.
Born under a bad sign,
verses time recalled
harder luck and trouble,
moments trapped and stalled
Born under a bad sign,
rock of ages sold
answers stay unquestioned,
bells no longer toll
Born under a bad sign,
darkness settles in
rumors take the place of truth,
wages buying sin
Born under a bad sign,
desperate to belong
days belay what lies conscript,
wordless—heartless—gone
(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2022)
Dark Days of Yore
Knew No day should be evil
Only people dwelling therein
In its steep lights are casting
Dark spell and curses upon it
The warlock is out loose in wild
Bringing back the dark old days
More than evil we've once known
Lurking in the faraway woods
Cursed land of the abhorred
Left to the mutant creatures
Known only to our doomed
And untamed Imaginations
The evil wizard has escaped
He broke the old tired chains
Heading into the cursed woods
To cast his carnage upon us
Nocturnal serpent is coming
Creeping up and slithering
Beware of its kiss of death
Sending you to great beyond
Conscript us back into the past
Calamity is turning back the clock
Like the world is aging in reverse
Malevolence of dark days of yore
Wonderful cage,
not for birds a place...
carnal body, is not
for man, ideal...
Be restricted to the body,
but not the spirit...
The spirit is conscript
to the universe...
The bird wants to fly,
the soul wants to travel,
connect with the divine,
desires to realize the infinity,
demands the etheric yon... !
Religion a misnomer
whose conscript is God
Devotion misguided
—preeminent fraud
(Strafford Pennsylvania: July, 2021)
The story of a Poet,
more tragic than his words
What then in fact his deeds conscript
—his writing leaves infirm
(Dreamsleep: March, 2021)
Is there truth without belief,
facts left on their own
Disconnected from themselves,
answers poorly shown
Can dogma live in vacuums,
when empty of itself
Will formulaic reasoned minds
—conscript what goes unfelt
(Villanova Pennsylvania: November, 2020)
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