"Watch out! This here is much worse than falling timber!" --quote by poet
You flirt with risk one too many times.
The pin is p u l l e d; it's now airborne.
Oh boy, you've really overdone this one.
You chose the wrong toy to play with;
And this sword of Damocles blows BIG!
Mama sure wasn't around to warn ya...
You left
in anger
and despair
with hand grenade
words
thrown in the air
how much
you didn’t effing care
although I knew
that wasn’t true
a heavy door
had slammed
shut behind you
so I looked
up to the clock
for a minute
then began
to stare at
shrugging shoulders
shaking heads
scratching hair
all looking at
your big empty chair
with not much left
for me to say
except that
our time was up
now we too
had no choice
other than to
leave it there.
what we had forbade
arm blown off by a grenade
body in grave laid
I want your forgiveness to come last:
You often go back to a sin too fast.
I could you with soldiers grenades blast
And later pained flag fly at half mast,
Even as onlookers are aghast;
Of the sorry news try to broadcast;
My guilt and worries soonest cast aside...
your benefactors you leave red-eyed
As though they had for days on end cried
Or in public staked and lost their pride
Or spent and spent and up pockets dried.
He does not treasure his link
With four Arab Terrorists:
Men who’d pretended they could think
But for their savage strikes, Humorists…
He shall his thoughts bare and not blink
“His haters now whisky glasses clink
And in The Blue Sky also pick out Pink”.
This is no picture of A Challenged Scenarist,
Rather A Good Nose’s for the smell of An Animist
Off and on, his rivals at one another wink
For The Armada about to profitably sink.
The four accursed terrorists
He’d taken for amiable tourists,
Until up the ugly heads of shotguns reared
And in the shooting the bullets veered,
Plus involvement of a wasting grenade
That looked like it had been Russia-Made…
And in his hotel the four didn’t shrink,
When the strongest beverage was the drink…
Mr. Mole guessed he must do something, meanwhile
And not away image-saving time while.
Frag
The same old feeling
The same old issues
By the same old feeling
Why do you still take it?
I ask myself each day
Better the Satan you know
The **** beasts me
Each and every day
I should’ve been a Marine
Than an army soldier
Day in day out
Same old ing
I think I’ll frag my officer
When we are alone
Out in the bush
Say it was an accident
All the he gave me
Join the army
See the world
That is my world
Tonight I’ll frag him
Then take off cross county
The border is fifty clicks away
Join the cartel
Or go independent
the army
And their rules
PUNICA GRANATUM
Yes, in Paradise, Adam and Eve ate pomegranate
No, to apple-etymology - No, to The French "Grenade"
No, more or less 613 seeds (sorry Pharisees and thy 613 Law)
Yes, Malum Granatum, no origin in Carthage, Latin Rome's flaw
(c)Deo, Pomegranates are mentioned in the 4,000 year-old system of healing, AYURVEDA.
Along the shore there was a maid
who brought to the boat a grenade-
fear ran through the men,
who fished now and then,
“boys do you like it, it's homemade?!?
They grabbed their fish, ran off the boat,
for it was scary, they couldn’t float!
She saved the young men,
who fished now and then---
and so my folks…that’s all she wrote!
Syllable count: 8-8-5-5-8 (howmanysyllables.com)
Date written: August 4, 2019
Two Sea Themed Limericks Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Tania Kitchin
Grenade Lob at a Mob
Of course I am watching MSNBC
and came up with this.
A grenade should give a long lob;
Can completely destroy the mob;
Of Trump rid;
God forbid;
President sucks and is some snob.
Jim Horn
Walking through a field of mind grenades
I think of all the explosions & how many X
I have died
Perhaps I was sleepwalking when I laid the mines under the light of the moon
& the cracked dirt trailing across the floor
I blamed on the cat
I said nothing about the earth between my feet
I said nothing...
Nd' that silence is what pulled the pin & scattered my body to the wind...
The frenzy of neon kisses, pinkly afterburns
on imagination's smouldering cigarette,
searing tongue savoured lips.
A diamond white smile, ghostly rictus upon
snowing TV screen's grey deadlock,
feverish hands clenched on thrusted hips.
The feather-light touch, delicate summer breeze,
balmy sexual calypso fingers
stroking urgent and hypertense veins.
A telephoto stare, terminal gateway soul
of aquamarine laser beam stabbed desire,
inflicting razor thin pain.
The hypnotic facial structure, porcelain portrait
of love's short fuse radiator
burnt in ecstasy's furnace room.
Nitro-glycerine flesh, the fragmentation grenade
in this torrid house of love,
my consciousness just went boom!...man.