On US Army about
Legacy is leaving a mark on the people around you and the world.
Like placing a rocket upon their shoulder
Or giving them choice within the assessment scale of your grade
I could only hope I haven’t left a scar
Gentle as fragile instances passing by my observation
The Flame and The Fire control detonator
Who let the kids play with the matches
When overmatching the match mayn't appear the overmatching of the most ethical
Then will the most ethical appear hypocrisy if the Decision Dominance saves soul from trap of the Devils
Inspired by Ogden Nash
These poem was written well prior ADP 3-13 was published in Army Directory
But will the Army then give me benefit of serving as a source
People today claim themself with no shame being AN INFLUENCER
Do the they comprehend responsibility then ?
Smeared In a pattern.
This Rorschach abstraction.
Flowing like satin.
In cascading fashion.
Symmetry, mimicry.
Mirroring the mind.
Coddling, throttling.
Either or is fine.
Full to bursting.
Ache encephalitis.
In many minds of how this building
pressure will ignite us.
"Ticky tacky" tinderboxes.
Longing for the flame.
Effigies of rememberance.
Not all burn the same.
The beauty of the sanguine bloom,
detonator primed.
T-minus the countdown.
Get on with the ride.
Functional, nominal.
Broken by design.
Apathy, empathy.
Whatever's left is mine.
In written depiction.
This Incessant chatter.
An empty inscription.
For a mindless matter.
It’s the Great British Bake Off
And I’ve got to week six
But I think it’s all over since
They’ve dissed my bread mix.
They said it was rubbish
When I baked my plum duff
And Mary said my cake
Was sandy, coarse and rough.
There’s a slinky little blonde
Who’s giving Paul the eye
And I think it must be working
Cos she’s more than getting by.
Her bagels were quite dodgy
Her bottom soggy and wet
Yet he said they were delicious
Definitely teacher’s pet
They’re going to push me out
Deep down this I know
But I’ll take the b’s with me
If and when I go
I’ve planned my revenge
With my Kamikaze pudding dish
With TNT and dynamite
And petrol, just a splish.
I’ve made my own shrapnel
With glass and tacks and nails
To ensure there’s a back up
If my pudding mixture fails,
So, when they tell me that
It’s time that I went
I’ll push the detonator
And blow up the bloody tent.
There’ll be weeping and wailing
And lots and lots of tears
But that’s one Bake off episode
They’ll not forget for years.
I’m the Kamikaze chef
Divine Wind of the Aga Range
Apres Moi le deluge
After me things will change
Smooth Elevator Operator
I truly am a smooth operator
When I let one loose in the elevator
If it’s only me there my air blows free
Have got my own detonator you see.
Able to let fly with such immense pride
And can play a fine tune from my backside
That is until others enter the lift
I tell them someone else has left the whiff.
* * *3rd August 2021
When I Let One Loose In The Elevator Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Charles Messina
*
i'm a pretender
a thin man in disguise
return to sender
with address hard pressed to find
considered a keeper
secrets about myself
i'm a deciever
some things i can not help
a reverse revolator
there are things i'll never tell
a strong detonator
wiring myself up to fail
Pistachios, once colored red,
With dye that stained your fingers,
Are nuts I really like, although
One memory still lingers.
In Istanbul, at twenty-one,
I bought some from a vendor
And got so sick, that might have been
My thumb-crack nut snack ender.
Though dyeless, they were fresh and huge
And tasted just fantastic
But somehow they produced in me
Unpleasant spasms (gastric).
That episode’s another tale
Yet now, some decades later,
I crack those shells and don’t expect
A stomach detonator.
Still, memory kicks in sometimes
When ‘stachio shells I’m splitting;
I’m glad that that experience
Did not result in quitting.
Your love, my Lord
The bastion of my soul
No enemy of your Word
Ever, able would be,
Its walls of devotion to
Ascend
For
Hate, the kingdom of terror to
Establish!
© Demetrios Trifiatis
19 JANUARY 2015
*Boko Haram, Nigeria, just used a 10-year-old girl as
a bomb detonator, right after massacring up
to 2,000 people. To these victims of terror, I dedicate
this little poem of mine! God bless their souls!
this threshold of emotional pain
kept within the upper torso of us
all,
is like a detonator
waiting to go off,
waiting to shut us down,
waiting to send us running amok
with nothing left to lose,
with no more hope in the want to
gain
anything---
when the bleeding inside is so
fierce that the mind & heart no longer
cooperate,
when everyone that you’ve known
to get you through before,
no longer surfaces anymore help,
every sign in your head
is pointing at the finish line &
enough,
is the only conclusion
enough,
is the only conclusion
enough,
is the only conclusion &
it vibrates endlessly throughout
&
that very vibration
counts down the remaining
moments.
"I was convinced that there were bombs planted all over the place.
Everywhere there were going off explosions
as if someone was sitting at a control panel base
and pushing detonator buttons.
There was another explosion,
and then another one.
I didn't know which way to run."
- Teresa Veliz, working on the 47th floor of the North Tower on 09/11.
how many walking time bombs
wearing fake smiles
dwell in america?
explosive charge + timer + detonator = resident of the US of A
Terror ! Terror !
Conquer People, not Corpses
Coward You are, dwell amidst Ammunition
Arms in embrace are stronger than Arms in hand
Non-Violence is courageous than RDX
RDX is powder sans detonator and suicide bomber
Once in a while 9/11 or 26/11 is not a Victory
Erecting few Tombs and Memorials is not glory
If vengeance is the intention
Kill monsters of Poverty, HIV, Global Warming
If disruption, loss of Life is Terrorist's wishful Victory Podium
Such Victory carry Prize on Head, no clap from Headless Corpses
Terror ! Terror !
Conquer Peace, not Rest-in-Peace
Fighter
Insurgent man
Detonator in hand
Stone eyes watch the troops approaching
Killer
Awaits the optimum moment
Shouts "Death to Infidels"
Soldiers survive
Coward
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