The draft-dodgers who fled and even more
Deserters who abandoned their posts
These are the real heroes of war
They’ve paid their personal costs
Their names will never be known
No obelisks will be erected
Their very existence will be forlorn
Otherwise scorned and rejected
They knew they would be slandered
But by saving their own lives,
They gave the answer to their offenders
Let’s flee, despite of being despised
It’s a senseless slaughter for false ideals
Of politicians with high morality
To whom people’s lives aren’t a big deal
Who dream about their own immortality
Let their faithful armchair analysts snap
They never fight wars only talk a lot
Patriotism fits well with a nap
One snore away from the hot spot.
I introduce myself as Douglas
some immediately shorten it to Doug
Should I just accept their choice
and metaphorically bury it beneath a rug
Politely I request a favour
would you please use my full name
There has been two or three resist
they don't want to play my game
One day I met a man called Les, abbreviated my name from his lips it came
When I asked my favour he described me as pedantic
So I asked if I could call him Lesley his full given name
not at all, it raised his ire, an interesting semantic
Is the name I prefer to choose,
my expectation, perhaps a bit too romantic ?
One day it was revealed and it made me realise
that when I'm seen running I must have a loping plodding style
So the locals dubbed me Draft horse well that really made me smile
What really matters that if you abbreviate my surname you'll come up with Gill
If you address me in a loving way that will fill the bill
As I sat and pondered my final draft,
I lifted my cup for another draft,
When the cracked window let in a cold draft,
And chilled me just like the '69 draft.
Bringing back faces of the men I led,
In '69 the air was filled with lead,
A sudden snap. I broke the pencil lead,
This note to a soldier's son outweighs lead.
I could not let the chance to write you pass,
And tell you how he fought in that damned pass,
Your father never let a challenge pass,
Never a test so hard he could not pass.
Of all my men he was the best in line,
So I'm writing you...the last of his line,
And hoping you don't find me out of line,
Bringing back the past with such a poor line.
The candle trembles in the draft
shadows stretching like whispered secrets.
A single heartbeat fractures the dark
and stars lean closer to listen.
Even the silence carries it still:
we once had our light.
We're mannequins peering from a storage
bin. We slouch across from
the "No-Food" paper sign.
Its message sags to a pulp taped to the shoulders
of a glass door. Shoppers,
incoming, their shared orange
squirts juice. Our mannequin-custodial
grins bar us from the lips' sweet 'oh'.
Crowdsourcing emboldens shame, our French kisses hung
on tangy wind chimes breezes tongue.
From the outside it might look like my life has improved,
But in spite of how I like to be viewed,
I’ve never had to bite my tongue as often as I have in these last few months.
Just gotta chew on my words like food.
On the Southside of the city view,
The lights on the water shifted reflecting off the choppy grooves,
The night stopped by and gave me an eye.
Like my mother,
Tonight disapproved.
Tomorrow too,
Or at least I’ll assume.
For all the loud fights with myself,
I still feel awfully removed,
Almost asleep behind the lights because living lively is living like a ruse.
Take me as a bite,
Chew on my words for a while,
Spit out the waste as your cheeks grow full.
Taste the bile,
Brew on the thoughts for a while,
Hints of a sorry guile pace meekly on your tongue.
The push,
And the pull.
I would give everything I own
Give up my hat, toupee, and comb
I would give everything I own
Just to scratch your back again.
Sometimes there is no meaning
Not what we feel, but this feeling
It's how I feel, how you feel
Knowing it's temporary, one season
Be fleeting, don't be fast
Because the faster the steps
... .... .....
Have you ever heard of an old saying?
" Haste is the enemy of perfection "
But you really achieved
This desired perfection
What's perfect for you?
A pencil to paper, creating, shaping
The shapes, the words, the curves
A simple example
A simple text
A simple sketch
Just a draft
But it's not enough, it's not enough
To be or not to be enough...
Insufficient, unbearable, unfortunately…
What is this bitter feeling?
That I painfully feel
That leaves me constantly
With hate for this world
I'm just a draft
Burn me, erase me, tear me
Contrary to my inner silence
That says: if you hate, everyone hates you
That says: kill yourself, stay away, isolate yourself
We are not perfect... we are just a draft.
I wandered and pondered my bleak isolation
As I slowly perused this wide open space
That one cloud above me seemed, like me, quite lonely
Its passage was slow as it matched my own pace
And then I saw poppies so tall, red and bold
I wished they were daffies in yellow and gold
The lake in its vastness reflected the skies
And sprinkles of sunlight beyond that lone cloud
Peppered the ripples with myriad eyes
And led me to feel like I walked with a crowd
While unopened poppies stand tall with bowed heads
They’ll stand even taller displaying their reds
Could there be any more precious a day
I all at once yearned to be no other place
With sunlight and ripples and poppies that sway
I found that a smile had enlivened my face
For such a sight might make an old poet gay
(Which one should interpret the old fashioned way)
For oftentimes upon my old sofa lain
I reminisce of all those poppies so red
Their petals occur to me now and again
But gold hues hold sway in my head
Though poppies, that day, cleared my mind of its ills
I still wish that they had all been daffodils
First Draft
Classroom creativity
Ebb and flow
Teaching the things
I know I know
Investigating others
For a much better skill
To teach to spark hunger
And never to kill
The desire to grow, create and fulfill
Dreams and goals
In the language of life
With the music of poetry
And literary device.
~ Judy Bausch
Like moon on nights of skies unstarred
she lived without her Abelard.
A parched, still plain was Heloise -
like moon on nights of skies unstarred.
In death she would not lose regard
for him who’d been her rain and breeze.
Like moon on nights of skies unstarred,
she lived without her Abelard.
I love K food
I love the taste
I love the fragrance
I love the smells
I love the texture
I love the feel
I love how it looks
Korean food is somewhat like
Chinese, Japanese, Vietnamese, and Thai
With some American influences as well
But it is also unique
Distinctive and delicious
The fragrance of Korean food
Is what draws me in
The aroma of garlic, ginger, sesame oil
Soy sauce, red pepper paste, vinegar, sugar
And other spices and herbs
That creates a symphony of scents
That stimulates My appetite
And make My mouth water
Upon her last sighs, she narrates cosmic
sagas flowing within poetic veins.
She still remembers
those idyllic evenings,
engrossed in raining confessions,
influenced by her shipwrecked heart,
expressing scarlet
sentiments that sail in silence,
across unruffled ink-stained waves,
amidst the endless oceans between
their untouched silhouettes.
Her every desire to reunite and
cast away midnight blues,
float within perfumed love notes
written by the silky seashore,
placed in crystalline bottles
of timeless lyrics,
that shall be carried through
estuaries that lead her
to his sacred island
with everlasting roses~
where pearlized shells reflect
saline left as tropical memories
of tomorrow with him by
her sun-kissed innocence.
On synthetic derelict stage of deception domain,
I gyrate the split mind, ensnared by bipolarity chain.
Under illusive limelight of ostentatious time,
I’m entangled in machinated invasive paradox prime.
In make-belief life’s drama I act with no compunction,
I face fabricated faces flocking redundant in conjunction.
Identity lost in conglomerate of counterfeit facades,
I don’t perform by heart's prudent prompt if it pervades.
In masquerading faces reflected in warped mirror,
I see concealed the contorted contours of rancid rancor.
With their phony pretense a conciliation role I tactfully play,
my misshapen face of spite, the actor in me doesn't portray.
Finding a fake place to subsist in pretend archival spaces,
I’m a configured antique in the museum of masked faces.
Massing waves drummed offshore
Above them a partnered wind blew
Together they prepared to war
Against what I once knew
The dark and cold green vastness
Carried forward my waterloo
Upon the rocks it did press
Against what I once knew
Then a gray shadowed the land
Coloring my thought of you
And as the waves broke across the sand
They removed all I once knew
Sub Categories
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.