Insurgents Poems

UNAFRAID OF MY JAN 6TH NEIGHBORS BUMPING OUR DOOR LOCK BREAK INS ON A DISABLED VETERANS FAMILY

VERILY I PRAY TO JESUS YAHWEH INCLUDING ALLAH ITS BEEN TWO YEARS NOW WHEN BIDEN AND ALL THE HORRORS SEVERE THREATS DURING COVID OUR LIVES IN SHAMBLES AN YET DOMESTIC TERRORISTS RIPPED OUR FLAGS MORBIDLY BREAKING INTO OUR HOME WE HAVE SPENT OVER 3000 IN NEW LOCKS LOCK SMITHS SECURITY CAMS THE JAN 6TH NEIGHBORS BUST THEM OUT IN THE DEAD OF THE NIGHT THEY CRAWL OVER FENCES PUT KEYSNIN THE DOORSBTO MAKE QUICKSET KEYS TO ENTER OUR HOME CIRCLINGBOUT APPOINTMENTS ON OUR CALENDAR SO THEY KNOW WHEN TO STROKE TAMPERING WITH MY VIETNAM VETERANS MEDALS OUR MORTAGE BANK INFORMANTION MEDICAL INFORMATION I SUFFER I SUFFER MENTAL ILLNESS PTSD TRAUMATIC BRAIN INJURY MY HUSBAND AS WELL REACHING FIR MY BIBLE IT'S NOT RIPPED OR FOLDED THESE TERRORISTS ARE BOLDLY MERGING WITH THE SAME DOMESTIC TERRORISTS BITTER OVER MY AMERICAN POETRY MY GOD ITS DEVASTATING THESE ARE INSURGENTS BULLIES COMMITING HOME INVASION EXTORTING OUR PEACE HERE IN AMERICA GOD BLESS AMERICA

Leaving Tipperary behind

Leaving Tipperary behind 
the rolls of greenery industrial 
findings fields of yellow catering 
to my innermost calm I’d always 
remember my home in Mason 
thee unforgettable rebellion 
costly revolution the insurgents 
blocking broken roads rushing 
over cattle filled lands beholden 
to a quiet comfort so well hidden 
beneath the hillsides where 
Gaelic melodies sang out above 
the melancholy mountain tops 
tis behind me now morning glories 
bloom sparingly across wide open 
plains peeking between the wondering 
shadows of the beaming sunlight

Bad Day In 2009

The 10th July 2009
7 soldiers died on the front line
Panthers Claw the op was called
Sangin district is where we toured

2nd battalion the rifles had a few bad days
With many a soldier still in that haze
Sangin DC or Fob Rob to others
Left a lot of grieving mothers

The worst fatalities in all the years
Fighting insurgents bringing with it tears
You can't help but to think why
Another of service men and women should die

Others left with life changing injuries
From gunshot wounds to triple amputees
Swift and bold the motto was
But leaving the gates everyone was anxious

Even today 14 years on.
Soldiers struggling feeling they don't belong
Mentally and physically exhausting it is
The mind playing games taking the piss

Rifleman Simpson and Rfn jo Murphy 
Cpl Jon horne and Cpl Scot Lee
James backhouse and Sgt Paul mcaleese
William Aldridge lives taken with ease

I know war is war
And casualties happen
But why should this be
Those who survive get PTSD

Running Feet

I see running feet
Disarrayed like troubled ants
Running violently in indefinite path

I see hunters
Pursuing preys dodging at gunshots
Continuously in all directions

Justification: Our cattle are hungry!

I see blood of the running feet
Splatter, splashing, in churches and mosques
In bed rooms and streets
On grasses, rocks, books, everywhere

A troop of insurgents
Has invaded our land.

Afghanistan

ideals to inspire soldiers
    when 9/11 spewing black clouds meant a 
                                         complicated revenge
defeat terrorists, take out bin Laden
remake a country in democratic vestments
golden good intentions that lose their way in 
                        an undertow of violence
the bones of wartime, bullets of combat carnage

Taliban insurgents hide and seek in Pakistan 
militants wait to impose their laws
as a regime falls, unhinged by corruption
unwilling to fire a shot
swift capitulation like jaws snapping shut

US departure, flawed
      dangles like severed wires
refugees stampede 
     flee the bondage of remaining
evacuation - a spreading blood stain, chaotic

Afghanistan intervention, no sound preconditions
                       for success
in an end game that had no ending?
just more of the same?
achievements of 20 years
        seep through outstretched hands
        like heated wars
               storms of desert sand
that fixate on what cannot be changed



Poem composed September 5/21
For Afghanistan Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Kai Michael Neumann

The Negotiation Table

The negotiation table

With sounds of Booms
Invading rooms
And the mounting fears
For the closest spears
The negotiation table
That could things make stable, 
Should step into the scene
And hands not yet blood-stained keep clean.

The four-legged furniture
For every peace-craving creature
Never greeted with smiles,
And chilling glimpses by Evelyn
Of Enemy killers Javelin!!

That which urges insurgents to split
And mutineers to wait a bit;
War dancers proclaiming a disappointment
And combatants giving a different appointment.
The carpentry that halts an Armada;
A criminal use of the radar,
Holing up the anxious grenades
Of panting infantry brigades.

Dries it does the tears of a shelled neighourhood; Stickers to the scene of their childhood,
Speedily sheathing a drawn dagger
Which would its receiver stagger.

The Negotiation Table is another Olive Branch 
For intercepting blasts that make people bunch!

Anathology

When we were born Mom and Dad 
cried and laughed, in pain and joy. 
But they did know one day, we will kill their freedom! 

In the wrath of Corona, 
the looter looted state coffer, 
the rapists, the insurgents have killed 
the living people, insulting humanity
But the people are still speechless. 

Of course, I am an atheist within 
the understanding of present society.
In my understanding, 
I am not a hypocritical religious 
but a self-righteous person who 
walks on the path shown by nature.

We are part of a society where we grew up 
between a superstitious society that sucks blood 
in the name religions preachers 
Rama, Krishna, Buddha, Jesus Christ, Mohammad!
 
It is not my fault that my country
And we are known as beggars and poor!
The fault is the reason of abusing people’s power 
by the ruling government on accepting loans, donations and charities. 

In the morning, with a cool breeze, 
touching your body, stroking silky hair,
Lips kissed by both of us in the 
whirlpool of lost consciousness!

Brave Only With Hope

As i say a man may not cry i truly wish to cry.... I must say that Bravery lays in me... A Man Suited in armor taking barrages of arrows is brave.... A man charging into a barrage of cannon and musket fire is Brave.... A man Crawling through Holes in Vietnam is brave... A man in Kevlar Charging into a city full of Insurgents is Brave..... A man supporting his family is Brave.... But may i let you in on a secret? A Fine line divides a Hero and a common middle class worker... The hero is only Braver a minute longer... Yet we tell ourselves that minute means More.... Well i Must say Its true That minute means 1 more life is saved....

Rodriguez the Tinpot Dictator

RODRIGUEZ THE TINPOT DICTATOR

“Hello, my name is Rodriguez the tinpot dictator of South American country A. I came to power and made everyone a communist whether they liked it or not.
Those who disagreed disappeared. You see, I ain’t a bad man but as I’m in power I have to be firm and they’re no more.
Some call me Steel Balls as I go up against my country’s insurgents, in the pay of the Yanks, and tie down their capitalist forces in a futile war they can never win and I send the traitors’ families the bill for the bullets – pay up or die!
Everything went well till the Americans sent the Marines in and we beat them at first but now we are losing, so I’ll soon be out of a home and a job. I’ll find another country and take my cause to them, overthrow their government and be a dictator again.
Ill teach the Zionists a lesson and show them how a communist can fight.”

Why - Controversial Contest

They stood and watched in horror
Their teacher was being burned alive.
Committed by what, they call themselves humans,
One hundred and thirty two children died.

What were they guilty of, what was their crime
They supported Malala and her Nobel peace prize
The  Murdering Taliban's tried  to kill her once
All because she wanted an education to improve girls lives

They lay there pretending to be dead
Holding their breadth when insurgents passed by,
Who killed with a smile on their face,
Only way to survive was hard not to cry.

Schools  you would think were safe places
We can see now that this isn't so
Pupils at This Army  Public School *
Take their lives in their hands whenever they go.

Wailing mothers are crying, wringing their hands in grief,
Why must  children die how do these murderers sleep. 


   
Penned on September 7th 2015.

 * School in Peshawar Pakistan where the Afghan Taliban slaughtered children and           teachers

Insurgents Hard Heels

Under Insurgents Hard Heels

Have you been under insurgents hard heels before?
While being in pain and suffering forevermore
Before you knew it, family member was found dead
And over him or her many prayers must be said.

While we all around the world may be celebrating
Mid-East people suffer pain that is excruciating
They before never created or had thought of
Only wanting world peace and all their love.

What a world has become full of conflict like this
No wonder many of my points they often miss
Another news story's here you dread to have read
About a child starving to death dying with no bed.

Where can any hope possibly ever be found
And much agony can no longer hear its sound
Some are alive loving their poppy and mommy
We in school read about Code of Hammurabi.

Capital punishment never accomplished anything
Only more tears and suffering often would bring
We live everywhere being a loving lassie and lad
Rest of world is miserable always seeming so sad.

James Thomas Horn, Retired Veteran

Now to figure out what to code this other
than simply, utterly miserable.

Under the Same Moon -In Afghanistan

Here in violence and in beauty, living under the same moon
The beauty is so ancient, but the present violence here consumes
On one hand Afghanistan is all that it appears
Insurgents here are so deadly; through the land they spread fear
But a turn of that coin, would reveal a much different side
A land which contested the Great Alexander, and ruled by Shahs with pride
With its mighty Hindu Kush, and many rivers at hand
The graveyard of countless empires, its resistance that spans
The brave here fight hard, a fierce gamble, with their inheritance of wealth
Battling the Taliban with an opulence of old grit, using the hands they were dealt
Keeping Kandahar, Herat, Mazar-i Sharif, and the capital -Kabul
Free from tyrannical domination, oppressed by Taliban rule
I’m in awe of these courageous Afghans, this country has come far
This is the Afghanistan which I see, who else will share where they are?



This poem was inspired by "Under The Same Moon" a three way collaboration by Poet Destroyer A, Chris D.Aechtner, and NIKKO P..



Written DEC 2013 in Afghanistan

A Known Politician

A known politician
Like the bed bug, they bite
Anything that comes their sight
Without being given the right
They are well known for earning more than a stipend
But they always fend
More than what they would spend
Like the weevil, they bore hole
Into the nations credit zone
So that they could be financially mellow
Like the peripatetic soldier ant
They walk down our girls pant
Without having for them a penchant
Like the African wasp, they sting
The decent girls that shun their ping
Because they know they have for them no ring
Like the green mantis
They send insurgents
To kill and crush our people in a blitz-Krieg
And pretend in their political vicarage
As if they are unaware of the carnage
Like the golden eagle, they have carte blanche
To fly around the world and eat a la carte
Without remembering that one day the court will visit their case
Like kite, they go to greater height
Without remembering there would be a night
That every movement will come to halt
And that day they will be starved for nights
And they will be left to fight to right
To bite the carrion in sight

And beg for their death to set

His Hand

His hand is offered to all freely
In hope that His hand will restore tranquility
Spiritual feasts for famished families
Are graciously provided by
His hand

For His hand delivers peace
Harmony prevails
When His hand works wonders
Delighted are those who accept
His hand

While families suffer torture in Iraq
His hand brushes tears away
Yet brutal insurgents refuse His hand
Lacking compassion, meaningless to them is
His hand

And when we face our final sunset
His hand will carry us to eternal life
Gates of heaven will open wide
To all who have accepted
His hand



*Written August 31, 2014

Where Have the Young Girls Gone

Inside the town of Chibok the tears flow in pain
Abduction, unexpected; abhorrence and disdain.
They came with evil intent and took the girls away
These are but harmless children, for what are they to pay?
Are these the brave insurgents who flaunt the law at will
By taking girls as hostage, their hearts with terror fill?
What’s wrong with education? Of what are they afraid?
Is this the real mettle from which true men are made?
Release them, they are children; your deeds are wrong and fake
Just listen to the pleading. Wake up for heaven’s sake!

(Written after the kidnapping of nearly 300 Nigerian schoolgirls in April 2014.) 

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Contest:  a poem you have not entered in a poetry soup contest #1 
Sponsor:  Poet Destroyer A
Placing:  3rd

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