I’m sure no army prays for it:
It’s a soldier’s safe throat slit!
From behind a troop Rat-Tat-Tat,
A soldier would slump plus his hat…
Popularly, a batch’s ambush
Against them laid in a bush:
Something for which one makes retreats;
To withstand one a thousand feats!
But staccato shots won’t let you:
Fusillades of gun-fire that chew.
If one survived it Hero
But the chances often zero;
Israel had braved Black September’s
Till date a stunt Dad remembers…
Jacob’s sons swooping on Hamor:
The Rapist who’d whopped their sister,
The act to them saddest humor:
They’d chosen, first, blister!
If you had a surprise attack,
Some eyes had been watching your track,
Then tried to commonsense rack:
For the weight lift of clean and Jerk!
Categories:
fusillades, cry, death, fear, violence,
Form: Rhyme
You mean to convey passion
but your voice is devoid of it.
Your words a dagger
come straight at my heart.
I cannot respond
to these fusillades;
I can only deflect, counter,
invent excuses,
turn cold and shiver in the night.
Two cats fighting in the alley.
a game also small minds play,
and when we run out of steam,
I feel no loss, watching you
sink out of sight in
your own quicksand.
@jjote 063021
Categories:
fusillades, break up,
Form: Free verse
Rainwater stands in rippling pools, or trickles by.
Sharp fusillades of hail pelt down...and glance --
Far distant thunder calls, and echoes a reply.
Sunshine, streaming through the clouds, lights up the sky;
Like sunlight, shattered by a prism, rainbows dance --
Rainwater stands in rippling pools, or trickles by.
In search of worms, a daring robin, keen and spry --
As warbling songbirds greet a pristine world, entranced.
Far distant thunder calls, to echo a reply.
The earth seems, here and there, to nearly liquify --
Stray raindrops falling, glisten...happenstance.
Rainwater stands in rippling pools, or trickles by.
In full glorious bloom, wildflowers revivify...
Like tiny armies, windswept, sway and prance;
While distant thunder calls, to echo a reply.
Rows of thunderheads, arraigned, withdraw on high --
While shadows flee -- daylight makes swift advance.
Rainwater stands in rippling pools, or trickles by;
While distant thunder calls, to echo a reply.
Previously published in Lyrical Iowa, 1993
Written March 27th, 2005
Categories:
fusillades, nature,
Form: Villanelle