Long Admirals Poems
Long Admirals Poems. Below are the most popular long Admirals by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Admirals poems by poem length and keyword.
in mass-produced photographs leaking
oils and plastics into oceans eternally
churning secret species speaking sonar
beyond the corridor of human tongues
awaiting arrivals admirals of slaughter promulgate
fading flags of kings and queens aging on God’s throne
as veins rise to the surface and lines on maps bulge winds
direct tyrannies toward destinations cultivated by natives
beholding prophecies piercing membranes of skylines
families gather in gluttonous homes quiet as guilt
consuming bounties bound in card-board consumed
by glowing signals processing visions of impotence
and incompetence revealing its radiating birthmark
shaped like a deformed diamond vapid as brutality
Nothin' should surprise the citizenry in the news reports anymore.
The latest puzzlin' saga occurred today off the California shore!
Look! Up in the sky! Is it Peter Pan, Superman or a UFO?
Strange that the generals with their fancy toys don't seem to know!
Some dude, somewhere seems to have fired a missile in the sky.
Now the blame game begins with fingers pointin' at the other guy!
Wizards at NORAD don't have a clue and are hunkered in their hole.
The Navy admirals are frantically countin' missiles on ships on patrol!
The Brass at Fort Fumble (more commonly known as the Pentagon),
Are scratchin' their skulls tryin' to figure out what is goin' on!
The Air Force, the likely culprit, ain't sayin' much about the matter.
Since the Marines ain't in the rocket business, they're enjoyin' all the chatter!
The Army is concerned about tanks and guns and are outside the loop.
News reporters keep babblin' away and speculatin' on the latest poop!
I suspect when the dust settles, it won't be a general who takes the flap,
But will probably be some lowly PFC somewhere who'll take the rap!
No one knows what they were shootin' at or from whence it came.
The numerous stories we've heard to date are pretty doggone lame.
If jug-butt generals and admirals who are paid to figure these things out
Can't do it, then my confidence in our nation's security is in serious doubt!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
They slip in unnoticed
just below the burning rays of the sun solstice
lighting on the last flowers of summer bare,
sweet nectar wafting in the heavy laden air,
colors brilliant, glowing, coy
orange black monarchs and viceroys,
great spangled fritillary yellows and whites,
tiger swallowtails in yellow black stripes,
California sisters, red admirals, blues, skippers,
silent and stealth like they come on windy clippers
floating and flittering in mid-August dance,
waltzing on the warm light breeze tree branch,
eye-catching, dainty lace winged soarers,
quick and slow in flight flutterers scorers,
enticed by flowered whispers between thorn and nettles
painted ladies hovering in place on petals
mourning cloakers, dark gray stokers with blended color palettes,
rudders navigating windy turns and landings on salads,
southern dogfaces heading south in transition
migratory lives gathering in submission
to climatic phenomena seen on the window pane
tempered by the sun, the surf, and rain
waving goodbye to the northern lights
hello to the southern fields and forests cool nights.
Born to the sea
Mind of water, flowing thoughts;
The currents beneath your words could change us all.
River heart, born to the sea;
The solace we seek waves to you and to me.
Join me on this voyage, over water, to a new land.
All hands on deck chairs are temporarily in the sand.
Cast ashore to repair our vessel,
But soon we shall cruise again, so hoist that sail.
Raise it so high, that the crow's nest will not be our peak
And the land dwellers will be the last people that we would wish to meet.
My crew and I are setting off on an adventure;
A journey across the deep blue, to a land of mischief and wonder.
The undiscovered land, on the other side of a new life.
We be pirates, so we be; so raise that Jolly Roger flag upon high.
Let all who see our symbol know the story of our ship.
The unsinkable voyager;
A blast from the past, blowing through the wind.
Raise the sails and let the wind take us in and move us on
And throughout the jagged edged cliffs and beyond!
And on past the mermaids that sit upon the rocks,
Singing such enchanting songs
And on past the things that they call ‘The Leviathan’.
Release the Kraken! The foulest beast from the Gods up above
And we shall continue this trek into the darkest of the rum.
To the bottom of the barrel, right down to the Admirals eye.
Let the birds be our guide to our next paradise.
Land ahoy! There be treasure there for sure;
So onward ya scurvy rats and be prepared to fight once more!
We are damned to forever sail,
Since the life at sea swallowed our cursed souls;
Now we travel these high seas in search of more silver and gold.
(C)2016 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
Form:
It rained for 3 days,
drenching torrents plunged down
as if a dam had breached.
There was some local flooding
but by and large only minor damage
a lot of litter and flotsam though
‘sky wreckage’ some called it.
The butterfly house was swamped,
its netted walls were ripped ragged
by broken tree limbs,
the seams in the wooden roof
split apart and a wild,
wind-riding rain rode in.
Purple Admirals were beaten down
by the gusting blows,
then drowned.
Painted Ladies were murdered
their mangled decorative forms
no longer cosmetics.
Longwings no longer flew
but in death, swam limply
in the splashing puddles.
A disarray of broken wings
carpeted the deluged floor.
Somewhere in this caged house
sodden chrysalids sway upon fractured twigs;
eventually there will be fluttering wings,
but not here in this ruined shelter
were the air still drips wetly
onto unreceiving
and unmoving antennae.
Floating, adrift in icy water; like discarded driftwood
(his Commander, Warrand, bravely stepped aside to let him pass)
the sole survivor so thought Ted; of the proud and mighty Hood.
Then came Bill, and Bob, three, from one thousand four hundred eighteen
ripped and torn apart from Admirals to seamen second class.
Brave souls all, who crossed the bar that day, a crew, a brotherhood
through a flaw in Hood's design. They knew; The Royal Navy brass.
Just before 06:00 on 24th May 1941, HMS Hood was struck by several German shells, exploded, and sank within 3 minutes, with the loss of all but three of her crew of 1418; Midshipman William Dundas, Able Seaman Bob Tilburn, and Ordinary Signalman Ted Briggs. The British Admiralty was aware of her vulnerable deck armour
Julyme Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: William Kekaula Placed 3rd.
Date wrote: 23-July-2021
"Why is it that everyone seems younger to me these days?", I muse.
'Tis enough to give a feller a serious bout of the blues!
Wasn't that long ago that everyone looked so old to me.
My! How times have changed! I wonder how that can be?
When I was a young lad struggling to get through school,
Schoolmarms looked so old and dour (as a general rule).
Nowadays, they seem so young, chic and so engaging!
(Alas, could this be because it is me who's aging?)
The other day I saw my doctor for my annual screen.
To my alarm he looked to be about the age of seventeen!
His credentials I viewed, so I guess he knew what he was doing.
(Is my jaundiced view due to all these years I'm accruing?)
I recall white-maned preachers I knew as a wayward youth.
My preacher is so young he should be in Sunday School, forsooth!
But I admit that he stirs my lethargic soul with masterful skill.
(Lord! Forgive my acerbic views - is it because I'm over the hill?)
Even the admirals, generals and presidents look so young today.
I reckon there ain't no use in fretting about it anyway.
'Tis some consolation that they'll all lose their youth so dear.
(Oh! How I yearn for the carefree, feckless days of yesteryear!)
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired (© All Rights Reserved)
In summer my garden comes alive
as graceful butterflies make it home.
Peacocks with vivid colours flit
from blossom to blossom
Busily working gathering nectar
pollinating as they go on to next
flower. All so pretty I love them all
visiting my climbing rambling roses.
Red Admirals, Swallow tails and monarchs
adding swathes of brilliant colour
chased by Skippers and Orange tips
as each one vies for one more bloom.
While Gatekeepers and Clouded Yellows
delicately sip from my hibiscus.
A cloud of Fritillary's descend on stocks
and Painted Ladies mock the sweet peas.
A drone of bumble bees sets the tune
for Tortoiseshells to dance to.
Purple Emperors set the scene
as they visit my asters and begonia's.
Ah! sweet summer flowers, all
are kissed by Comma's and Coppers
bringing my garden to life
with joy as they all busily work
written 08/12/2015
contest Skat's Butterflies
A problem with fundamentalist short-circuits
is their Left-dominant tendencies
over RightBrain polypathic-polyphonic resonant feelings.
Fundamentalism shrinks Left-RightBrain Both-And
WinWin ecopolitical thinking,
strategizing,
democratizing,
domesticating,
creolizing.
For example,
imagine your nationalistic domestic policies
to pit those who victoriously have
against marginalized and criminalized lepers,
parasites, really,
in your not-so-humble,
vaguely fascist,
opinion,
are not going so well
as you might have Republican conservationally predicted.
You need something
you know everyone, of importance, will champion,
so you point out that transgenderal confusions
are not appropriate to military-industrial's bottom-line
compete unto death
monoculturing focus.
Transgenders must, then, be an unnecessary economic liability
and political loyalty risk
because they aren't decisively anything fundamentally patriotic,
much less appropriately straight patriarchal.
Unfortunately,
for the fundamentalist Either-Or nonthinker,
without richly constant and diverse healthy relationships
with any ecopolitically multicultural depth,
what might sound like a political big win
over little inconsequential losers,
breaks down with actual one-on-one experience.
The anti-transgender agenda
breaks down because too many sergeants
and corporals,
lieutenants leaking counter-factuals
to admiring admirals
and generalist generals
about the long history
of incredibly excellent military-industrialized service
individual transgender personnel
in the thousands
have delivered in the past,
unlike a dysfunctional bicameral Congress
and a sociopathological White House;
whether a swampy, witch-infested dump,
or not.
Transgender co-intelligence
tends to understand
cooperative media economies
and political persuasion.
That's a bicameral nest of honey bees
you don't want to fundamentalistically mess with,
because they will make you look politically stupid
and economically bereft of moral integrity.
It's rather like believing health-assurance climates
of care-receiving
and for mutual healthcare-giving
is just a Democratic women's eco-survival issue
when your own nationalistic patriarchal prostate
is growing in a cancerous viral,
self-imploding,
wu-wei.
Years ago, my aunt developed mesothelioma. She and her husband did not have money for medical care. It was a Jewish hospital that took her in, and helped her through her last days free of charge.
The Jews have built many hospitals, made contributions to many charities, and established many foundations. The list is endless.
Jews have been instrumental in government and finance. They have served in our American armed forces from recruits to high level generals and admirals.
I have never seen a Jew burn an American flag.
I have never heard of a Jew cry out for his God while assaulting a woman.
Jews take their God seriously, and are respectful In prayer.
Jews are good pet owners. Many Jews own cats and/or dogs. Jews recognize dogs as one of God's gifts to all of us.
Jews endure a lot of hate and bullying, yet they stay strong.