Long Conscript Poems
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Have you ever watched a sitting
of an Australian parliament
For thirty years or more my attention has been absent
From what I do recall
the language that they use
is full of vitriolic abuse
They have inflated audacity
in what they do believe
They are empowered to enslave us
it's a model I aggrieve
These parliamentarians, they are described as sitting members
when supposedly "democratically" elected
But are they ever sitting, seems to be they're mostly lying
It's a deceptive model, which for three decades,
I have vehemently rejected
And then to rub our noses in the dirt,
they assume the title, the honourable member. How can this be is this a joke
Dishonourable is more apt, treat the sleeping population with contempt
For so many decades this dis-empowering system
Why have the people never been awoke
Such atrocious decisions that are surely made
Conscript young men to fight another nasty corporation war
No love for humanity or for themselves
do we need them? Such direction I abhor
The irony of it all is that we are forced to vote for a so called democracy
Such corruption such a sham
war propaganda, lose your job if you're not jabbed
all these lies issued, to perpetrate a filthy scam
And there's the pensioners, the disadvantaged
who exist, just above the line of being poor
Whilst these parliamentary parasites
send millions to support a Ukraine/Russian war
I maintain no desire, for another human being
to claim he represents me, in any shape or form
And so I do declare a pledge , to do all within my power
to deviate from all political norm
How to educate the public, where does one begin
Of the treasonous system embedded deep within
My allegiance is to adhere to the principles
of our loving Father, existing hgh above
To include each and every day
a simple message of harmony peace and love
All wars are local now.
If across an ocean
a butterfly dies in a hail of machine gun fire,
a moth here expires in the light.
Oil gases-up inflationary angst.
Cocaine lines grow longer,
Fentanyl funerals explode.
Mobs move up to the front line
where the mindless
scream their battle hymns.
Most war-mongers could not find
a war torn Ukraine town, or their local
V A center on a map.
Hawks gather to pump up pride
then hide
when the fan drips s...
A Russian conscript writes home
“the locals’ hate us” he tells his mom’.
His mom lives in a shack in Vladivostok,
it’s still too local,
she sees the ripple effects
of burning tanks in her dreams.
Dark comes swift
Daylight departs;
Nightfall intervenes
~~~~~~~~~
Hair salon tour
Dye and cut;
Grooming culture
~~~~~~~~~
Images float
Ideas now hurry;
Deadlines cut short
~~~~~~~~~
Journal monologues
So much to write;
Mundane thoughts conscript
~~~~~~~~~
Old magazines
Outdated rapture;
Gossip yellowing
~~~~~~~~~
One certainty here
Change terminates;
Uncertainty loiters
~~~~~~~~~
Traffic congestion
Slow motion here;
Jam without bread!
~~~~~~~~~
Ever so often
Flipping prejudices;
Like musical chairs
~~~~~~~~~
Why is not
Just a question;
The answer is why
~~~~~~~~~
Green parrot
Cocky indifference;
Vomits cranky words
~~~~~~~~~
Haiku mosaic
Experience shuffled;
Random words tell
~~~~~~~~~
Sleepy moments
Midnight interlude;
Night veils secrets
~~~~~~~~~
Leon Enriquez
16 April 2016
Singapore
Who’s been planting censorship seeds
growing these trees that will not leaf
referendums divide countries
hornet immigration killing our bees
Oh my god that’s racist Trim
if hornets come we let them in
send those bees into conflict
birds won’t fight though gender conscript
Equality ay until those bombs hit
these days born a black man half Chinese
but I now live in a white woman body
my baby girl is a transatlantic
she speaks English but looks Hispanic
my son is an Eskimo but he lives on the moon
he went into hospital came out a baboon
PC really does PC me off
made an honest man out my accuser
entering court as a pronoun abuser
he said the sound I made was so abusive
so I punched his face in to show him what abuse is
he can’t argue if he’s he or him with those stitches in
I think with his males bits he calls himself misses et
In a few years this poem will vanish I’ll put it back up with my freedom of malice
And marry a man who calls himself Alice
Representative ending it Sensitive censorship
It is hard to walk in the sand especially with boots and a heavy rifle.
Manuel and I would sit on a rock and watch the moon give birth to
a distant blue Africa.
Franco's Guardia Civil were not all thugs. A few were poets.
Manuel's father had worshiped the general and had blessed
the day Guernica 'that Marxist nest' had been flattened.
That was decades before he was born, yet Manuel still patrolled
the beach, weaving between sunbathing tourist seeking nonexistent saboteurs.
On his rounds the young conscript fell in love - often, but in winter
(when his sneering corporal was away), he would sit in the bar,
tongue curled like a snail shell, dedicating lurid hyperbole
to every female foreigner that had smiled at him, and to all
the Catalan girls that never did.
That night the moon seemed to translate for us.
He asked me earnestly:
if I thought Franco would ever lift the ban on bikini's?
"Never!" I replied, "The Pope and the Rightists are against it."
Manuel rose and shuffled sadly away, his rifle dragging on the sand.
That night the moon came close, to bask on Manuel’s beach,
and she without a stitch of cloud-cover over her matronly form.
* an updated version of a piece I wrote for my favorite baller, Kevin Garnett *
~
intensity ... defined
excuses were for gods and gamblers
(lesser giants with fairer feuds)
HE ... was of a wholly-invested mettle and mind
the conscript of a checkered court
dauntless defender of glass and lattice
and the pride of a kingdom
grand and green.
chilled steel above
warm wood below
the thund'rous awe
each mightied blow ...
adversaries wept for his fervency
ability, focus, effort ...
at levels unequaled and as yet unseen
a vitality and resolve
that at times seemed immeasurable
expecting the utmost from his confreres and allies
yet far MORE from himself ...
of rare devotion to his cause and kind
a jaded gypsy who had found his home and heart -
the hallowed ground
worthy of his marrow and blood.
one honored hub
a stronghold land
worth ev'ry wound
each knuckled hand ...
he was clad in shining-yet-simple armor
- béni avec cinq -
that he wore with a generation's honor
and wielded a sword of sinews and strength
noble and knightly, but of ferocious intent
with a dignity, dark ... outspoken
mindful, selfless ... monstrous and mad
the grace and guile of a mongoose
with the hiss of a snake ...
the childish charm of a leprechaun
with the wild howl of a wolf ...
and a heritage that coursed his veins, veridian.
those demons, green
that spurred his dance
brought each his foes
naught e'er a chance ...
his fortress now stands empty
but the ramparts still tremble with his ire
the ether within those sacred walls
yet echos his roar
and strains to press a cheek
all for the sake of his standard and spoils
and thus, now -
yes, and none too soon
those rafters roil with a banner his own
and a kingdom, blessed, bows in reverence
for his consummation and creed
and the green blood that still stains his flesh
and those proud parquet floors …
one day that land's
bright sun may set
still, flames will burn
the name ... Garnett
thank you, KG!
Copyright © Gregory Richard Barden, September 2, 2020
One year ago Dictator Putin’s
Massed military might
Invaded the Ukraine
Not really expecting any fight.
One year later, with increasing
Frustration and despair,
Putin’s battered conscript army
Is still trapped and fighting there.
Like all modern military bullies
They failed to understand
The power of the patriot when
Asked to defend his land.
So many recent example
Of the futility of wars
When Military ambitions face
A defender with a cause.
Vietnam, Iraq, Afghanistan,
All refused to accept defeat
Although battered and torn
Each forced invader to retreat.
With arrogance and ignorance
They don’t learn or even care
Of the proverb telling of the power
Of sword turning into ploughshare.
In the end it’s down to statistics
The invader finally accepts he’s lost
When faced with the ever mounting
Life, material, and economic cost.
They leave behind chaos while,
Like hungry vultures they hover,
Waiting for the ready profits there
As they offer assistance to recover.
The purveyor of munitions
Not really taking any side,
Quietly counts his profits from
The sales he’s made worldwide.
And gleefully rubs his hands
Waiting for the rise in sales
That aftermath of a conflict
Inevitably entails.
The bully has to replace arms
He’s used on the battleground
And so the oil of commerce
Makes the World go round.
For the whole World knows
There’s no way to compete
With satisfaction gained
From a healthy profit sheet.
Putin still sits in Moscow
So immaculately dressed
Repressing a country that’s
Been constantly repressed.
POTUS sits in Washington
Land supposedly of the free
Where anyone can starve
In the name of democracy.
Two different systems and
Two very different voices.
You just pays your money and
You just makes your choices.
* It’s been three years, Dad, and it hurts like yesterday … I don’t know why I was the one to walk you home, but it will forever be my bittersweet blessing, and an honor I didn’t deserve. I miss you very much. *
~
( 9.18.26 - 10.27.19 )
for that bright rose of his honor
those edged thorns of sacrifice
to the steeds he’d left unbroken
and the chimes, a-pealing thrice
to the statues, still in marbled earth
countless draughts thus never spilt
to that knight left rusting in the rain
the steadfast bridges that he’d built
to the jester in his dancing court
the somber conscript left behind
for his queen midst her devotions
and his swords of heart and mind
for the master, mate and martyr
who we laud now with our breath
and the God he loved with graces
who has grieved us with his death
may we wear his garland shining
with the charms that he’d impart
and ne’er let his laurels wilt there
but bloom bright within our heart.
son, brother, husband, father, friend ...
kanpai.
Copyright (10/27/20) © Gregory R Barden, rewrite, October 27, 2022
Life's thread is spun, measured, and snipped
By three dainty pairs of deft hands
To weave the cold words of life's fickle script.
Clotho spins life with a valiant grip,
Her spindle ablaze with gold strands.
Life's thread is spun, measured, and snipped.
Lachesis measures without pause or slip,
Deciding the length of life's band
To weave the cold words of life's fickle script.
Atropos carries the scissors that clip
The thread where her sister commands.
Life's thread is spun, measured, and snipped.
Every last soul becomes a conscript,
Drafted to heed their demands
To weave the cold words of life's fickle script.
With each stolid snip, our free will is stripped
As Fate's fluid flames are fanned.
Life's thread is spun, measured, and snipped
To weave the cold words of life's fickle script.
*Based on Greek Mythology's "Moirai"
The guards patrolled the Chinese wall
As they did every day
They did not pay much attention
Seems to be the usual way
A clink disturbs ones peaceful stroll
A three armed hook appears
Catches on the parapet
With one of its ears
The guards are so outnumbered
There is just one thing to do
Set alight the warning fires
For the coming of Shan Yu
In the Palace of the Emperor
Panic reigns supreme
The calm tones of the Emperor
Voice of reason it would seem
Send messengers out far and wide
Conscript or volunteer
Take one from each family
Then bring them all back here
One old decorated hero
Zhou from the clan of Fa
He was one could hardly walk
For sure below his par
His daughter Mulan took him home
She has another Fa in mind
Her father asks no questions
He is sure she's being kind
She goes alone into her room
Her tresses start to fall
She continues cutting til
There's not much left at all
Then dressing up in rough male clothes
The palace to attend
I am the volunteer from Fa
The only one they send
Mulan is not a boy's name
That will have to change
Ping is one she thinks of
From a quite restricted range
Li Shang leads them into battle
Takes them head on to the fray
Against the army of the Hun
That has got bigger every day
The small defending army
Uses rockets for long range
The advancing Hun just pours along
With very little change
Now Ping espies a mountain
With quite an overhang
She sends a rocket to explode
Start a landslide with the bang
Buries the attacking Hun
It seems the job is done
Then the worst thing happens as
They climb out one by one
First the horde attacks the Palace
Takes the Emperor in hand
Kill him and his leaders
Then spread throughout the land
There is only one can stop them
It is the girl Mulan
She needs to kill the great Shan Yu
In any way she can
She faces him with threat of sword
But just when she seems beat
A friend that has been helping her
Sends fireworks and heat
And so Mulan she saves the day
Everyone bows down
The Emperor gives her Shan Yu's sword
And his own medal of renown
She takes them to her father
After shock he feels at peace
The worry and frustration
He was buried in can cease