Long Artillery Poems
Long Artillery Poems. Below are the most popular long Artillery by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Artillery poems by poem length and keyword.
Frustrated, fiery, forceful fighting.
Also additional anger at all atrocities.
Fleeting fire furiously following fast.
Soldiers soul’s senses, seriously smouldering,
of onward outrageous oblivion.
Splintered shrapnel spears so silently,
and ashes ascend angrily amid artillery.
Frightening fire flashes feverishly forward.
Suddenly silence surrenders solemnly.
Perpetual peace permeates progressively,
bestowed briefly beyond battles by bated breath.
Contrition captures calm collectively.
Selfish superiors summon senseless slaughter.
Every enlightened ego exudes estimated esteem.
Instantly intentions increase industry's interest.
Profits pushed promoting political power.
Seems soldiers suffer sacrifice so senselessly.
Onward observed obeying ordained orders.
Dutiful dying, deluded, disoriented, defenceless.
Wondering whether war was worth while.
Observed obscene onslaught over.
Emphasizing every ego exerting evil extremes.
Were war, worth while, we would willingly watch
worldly warlords with weaponry wage wars,
bringing best blueprints being bade barbaric, bloody battles,
performing practical parts prescribed plots.
Each entity enlisting ego, entering eventual elimination.
Well! sycophantic misanthropist, verbose agitator of spite
Club footed whore master, couldn’t goose step for his life
Malicious propagandist, spreading hatred in every breath
His wife willing disciple, poisoned their 6 children to death
Demanding patriotic nationalism, big speech carcinogenic
Snickers in vehemence, sardonic grin, genocidal eugenics
Never dirtying his hands, an aryan superstar, not by blood
Master race aspirational, looks into the mirror then shrugs
Doctor of nihilistic supremacy, swearing hypocritical oaths
5 ft 4” gigantic paradigm, inferiority complex, slow growth
Promising victory up to the last, faithful to his fuhrers flag
Cowers from nearby artillery, blasting Swastikas into rags
Hiding amongst his sewer rats, goes insane down a bunker
Mixing morphine with champagne, to alleviate going under
Saved the best cocktail for last, cyanide and bullet casings
Fitting end to crawling malaise, and cockroach infestations.
Biting Satire Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Edward Ibeh
24/02/2021
(or, "Your Old Stomping Ground")
There’s a secretary that I know
whose husband recently died
But life somehow continues as before
She has to keep replicating the myth
that everything’s all right –
A savant of the copy machines
A mannequin in a megastore
There’s a child that I know
who goes to school with bruises
Just a shell of a thing bearing signs
of a nightly artillery attack
When did we start sending
our kids to the frontlines,
And when in the name of Christ
are we calling them back?
You just pretend
Things aren’t crazy
The bandleader’s not deaf
And the King is not a clown
So you defend
The last vestiges of confidence
And stick your flag in the last square
Of your old stomping ground
There’s a family that I know
they only speak in whispers
Afraid to raise their voices
for fear of an alcoholic’s rage
I wonder how they’ll fare
twenty years from now:
Will they ever rise up from their manacles
or their transparent cage?
And there’s a young man that I know
Has his whole life ahead of him
Still stuck on the diving board
over a pool of unemployment
Just wait a while, just wade awhile
Cling to your inflated promises
While you’re stuck in this limbo, might as well
Drown in your enjoyments
You just pretend
It’s getting late now
And the party’s letting out
The stragglers and the drunkards head
for another port of call.
Yet suspect the hosts, the powers that be,
in their senility, misplaced our keys
So we derelicts wander directionless
Like half-ghosts bumping into walls
But we just pretend…
Greetings, ladies and gentlemen of the Associated Press.
As you know, our modern world is a chaotic hostile mess,
And we are being overwhelmed by garbage and pollution.
Hyper-Magnetic Technologies (HMTCH) has the dual solution!
Our new hypermagnetic ballistic launcher (HMBL) weapon
Is the latest greatest weapon of mass destruction.
Imagine, if you will, an ongoing heavy barrage
Made up of waste chemicals, and landfill garbage.
For eample, if problems continued with Iraq or Iran,
We could bury in refuse both Bagdad and Tehran.
Their population would give such an outcry
That their governments would fall or be compelled to comply.
Forget about ICBMs or future US invasions--
Garbage will be the ultimate ‘big stick’ for persuasion.
One ten ton HBML Launch
Would be the penultimate sucker punch.
Air Defense Artillery cannot shoot trash down.
All garbage launched will hit the target ground.
Invest now while our stock prices are still low;
We have the signed contacts. Watch your portfolios grow!
"A malicious war carried out
on the innocent
in lies
that has disseminated their cities."
Quote_by Poet
Early dawn while people slept,
heavy missiles rocket launched
the violent attack came
in waves of mass artillery fire.
Homes and buildings up in smoke
destroyed in quick succession
leaving pile of rubble and
people fleeing yelling and in pain.
Families, young and old ran
or crawl for their lives weeping
in the streets, as some are struck
down, some help each other to safety.
Others killed in their last tracks.
Rescuers search for bodies
of the missing in the shards.
A fight that was not equal in strength.
3/20/2022
Is Truth The First Casualty Of War And Why Is That
Sponsored by: Sotto Poet
Lind30nr
7779 unrhyme
using How Many Syllables Counter
Arm deals and more arm deals, that's all I see.
Calibres change, the type of artillery
Changes, the game players grey and go and
Are replaced by darker capillary
With greater thirst for bleeding enemy
And with more dangerous artillery.
Deadly toys in the hands of eager youth,
Intended for warding off intruders:
Scaring them with heaps of artillery
So that they would harder prepare soldiers
If the should covet and desire to loot.
In their minds they have peace in their brooders.
But to brood over unused firepower
While only playing with blanks on dummies
Kindles unquiet thirst only blood can quench
Kills empathy for sonless war mummies,
And in blasts of gun smoke the youth's flower
Drowns its thirst in the thud of fall'n bodies.
(c) Nyonglema
Russia outproduced the U.S. in artillery, in industry for war
The targets were in Ukraine, deaths that we deplore
The Russians haven't used nukes, Putin didn't allow
The missiles hit in another hemisphere:
for now.
China fortifies its island chains across the southern sea,
Building silos where nuke missiles will be.
It demands Taiwan, it hopes we will kowtow.
A buildup like we've never seen:
for now.
Jihadis rule Afghanistan and Syria too
Imposing in Africa a different world view
Nobody to stop them, will West Africa bow?
I might as well plant begonias:
for now.
Jews have been killed for being Zionist
I have to hope I'm not on some list
I see violence on TV, no sword into a plow
And the raging ocean laps my toes:
For now:
I try to maintain balance on a rope
It's not that I have a false hope
There are bills to pay, paths to wander
Limited time that I don't want to squander
I dread "now" when it finally becomes "then"?
When the storm front faces, when the bear leaves the den.
When we have to fight, but I don't know how
When what we hoped to avoid, becomes imminent now.
Without an invite,
You took me in,
A perfect stranger,
Without further ado,
You embraced me,
An unexpected guest,
When I had taken to you,
Then I realized,
Then I understood,
I had a few days to stay,
Few days to sail with you,
Continuum of days to go
onboard with you,
The thought of these saddens me,
I try hard to put up a smile,
I try to blanket my feelings,
It's hurting deep within.
Day and night come,
The clock ticks away,
It's as if time is on a run,
Like the end of days is near,
Like doomsday approaching,
How do I wish time can be trapped,
How I wish it can be made to stay
still for a while,
Or at the very least made to decelerate.
Time - a fundamental quantity,
A measurer of events and occasions,
A foot soldier with his artillery,
A harbinger of separation,
I am of the hope that we'll meet some
time to come,
Then we'll no longer be apart,
Not anymore,
No space between us.
I'll always remember Granpa Shreeves
No collar,braces and rolled up sleeves,
Leather buckled trouser belt;
Number forty-six with Gran he dwelt.
A curled up moustache,
His manner stiff and harsh;
Horse artillery in a younger day
A shilling a day his rate of pay.
His hens roamed at the end of the patch
Each day free to root and scratch;
Collecting eggs from his homemade coop
His aging back acquired a stoop.
Fresh,brown and range free
Daily for breakfast or tea;
He killed a chicken as a special treat,
Plucking now a forgotten feat.
A waist-coated old stager
Known to all as the Sargeant Major;
Old fashioned,a bit of a tartar-
Made my Gran a domestic martyr.
Like wounded soldiers they walked down the street, carrying their bullet less guns on their shoulders leaving a war that is not yet over, their marred with sweat and tears drips from their swollen face, it is not victory or defeat but they must separate themselves from the fleet.
With battered bodies and broken bones they journey towards their celestial home, with a rancid stench seeping from their breath, and a bashful frown leading them toward a woeful death.
They come from various clans and multiplied all over the land, many of them were slaughtered like trapped sheep in the land; they are no match for an army carrying tons of artillery, rockets, missile and automatic weapon .
The wounded soldiers were placed on the frontline without handguns and grenades, without trenches or barricade and so the bullets from the sky rained upon their head leaving blood spilling all over the street.
Like wounded soldiers they marched on to a place of nothingness, going to place where no home exist, burnt out buildings’ and charred body left in the street and the wind carried the stinking aroma and deposit it in the sea. There is no sign of life, and even the trees have to pay a woeful sacrifice, animal and beast lie down dead and there was no one to bury the dead so they kept marching on.
The other side was bursting with life, traffic was flowing up and down the street and some people went shopping for meat. The smell of freshly brewed coffee perfumes the atmosphere and the smell of fresh baked bread tempted their appetite.
People were having a feast and others were dancing in the street, the markets were busy the malls were overcrowded and life became alive in that city but they kept marching on.
They came to the roundabout, and converge underneath a big tree, nothing was happening there but they had something dynamic to share, the leader pulled out a map and everyone was shocked.
He circles some points and said. “we are crossing over there”, we are going to take this city be surprise with just a butcher and a knife and so the wounded soldiers cross on the other side in dead heat of the night and took the entire city by surprise with just a knife.