Long Discharging Poems
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>>1111>>Knocking on your dreams door>1111>>Quincy Mac<<1111<<
date written: 11.23.2015
I was a boy not quit seventeen,
I enlisted when I was sixteen…
Wanting to serve my country…
I had no family it was just
my sister and me…
My mother had died, when
I was very young, new family
adopted me…
My sister was also adopted,
by another family…
As you can see, it was just
my sister and me…
It wasn’t long before my adopted
family, first my new father died
then my new mother, followed him…
She missed him so much, for
she had a broken heart,
that wouldn’t mend …
I went to war as a little boy,
came home a man…
As you see I was just sixteen…
The time was at “Chaute Thierry”,
doing world war one…
As a young man I thought we won…
Standing behind a cannon as
it was fired, shell casing discharging
from the breach, sent hot shrapnel
and pain into my foot…
Sent me to hospital where I
laid in pain, until they treated me,
sent me home, with crippled foot,
shrapnel of imbedded in my foot,
as well as the pain in my foot…
I’ve never been able NOT to work,
even though I have shrapnel
in my foot, walk with a limp, and
have pain in my foot everyday…
Now you can see, that it didn’t
keep me from work…
Though I was wounded during
war, no purple heart was given
this boy a young soldier…
Wasn’t until my son wrote our
Congressman, explaining what had
happen, and what hadn’t been done…
Took over fifty years, but I got my
purple heart, thanks to my son for
what he done…
I would have gone to my grave,
for I wouldn’t have said anything,
as I hadn’t for years, for I thought it
was their job, to recognize what I
had done…
My family was proud, of what I’d
done, but I feel, that they were more
proud of me now…
Only told my story a few times,
mostly to a few close friends, and my
children, for it was part of history…
Now you know my story, the young
soldier, just boy…
By Sandra L. Hoban
©2006
This poem was written and dedicated to my father who served as an infantry soldier during World War I. This is also dedicated to all those who have served our country and was wounded or lost there life while serving, not just World War I but all wars, conflicts and military police actions.
May 14 Relationship to God Bible Meditations Based on Job 23-26
Key Verse – Job 23:16 For God maketh my heart soft...
LORD GOD, YOU ARE MY HEART CHECKER
Lord God, You are my heart Checker
against bitter murmuring and groaning
Thank You for instructing me while leading me from declining
Surely answering my arguments with Your divine reasoning…
Please deal with me and my disputations that need truth-leaning.
Lord God, You are my heart Checker
against vain longing and desiring
Thank You for covering me darkness of terrified fearing
Surely disciplining my carnality of worldly preferring…
Please soften me from hardship, persecution, suffering.
Lord God, You are my heart Checker
against discontentment’s raging and surging
Thank You for letting me abide in Your will of revival charging
Surely enlightening my motives around Your freedom’s caging…
Please protect me against unbelief by deceit-discharging.
Lord God, You are my heart Checker
against threats of crisis emerging and rising
Thank You for bringing me toward Your stores of blessing
Surely feeding my soul with Your bounty’s pressing…
Please provide me as I share without hypocrisy’s cursing.
Lord God, You are my heart Checker
against attacks of pride dominating and exalting
Thank You for esteeming me despite my worm-stature that’s wasting
Surely purifying my thoughts from vain boasting…
Please remind me of Your love with Your redemption-granting.
Lord God, You are my heart Checker
against helpless fretting and worrying
Thank You for helping me overcome struggles of futile wearying
Surely counselling my mind from faith-swaying…
Please develop me toward Christlikeness while in You I’m staying.
Lord God, You are my heart Checker
against wrong choice of treading
Thank You for instilling in me Your precepts for gracious guiding
Surely enclosing my health with Your welfare-guarding…
Please settle me in partnership of stewardship’s upholding.
May 14, 2023
Charge d'affaires struck by lightning bolt
While high falutin dip low matt
flying his kite insurgents
planned coup d'etat
clear out of blue, a devilish
forked, jagged, knifed
dagger "O" type electric current licked
more'n the pants off harried envoy
clear rants heard
all the way to Timbuktu
damn donnybrook loosing mayhem
special averred ambassador
last best hope
thwarting total mortal Kombat
Zeus bribed - putin two and two...
together spelled collusion
arch enemies of democracy de facto
2020 election in cahoots,
whereby sore loser trumped,
activated thinly veiled plot
made good diabolical promise
demanding winning or else
"ye ain't seen nuttin"
imposing himself victor
nee, declaring tyrannical
prince sup pulled "purple" reign,
despite just shy winning majority
crowed as "FAKE" optical illusion
claimed apparatchik infiltrated
voting booths rigged
machination stole courtesy
bounty on mutiny playbook page,
the average joe buyed
entire hook, sink, and liner
titanic ruse to unseat
all time self crowned best president,
apprentice skills garnered
thru "art of the deal,"
albeit machiavellian
who refused to admit defeat
usurped, proclaimed, kindled... diktat upon
those opposed driving fiat
vis a vis disallowing, discharging,
disenabling, disguising, distilling
carving up United States
in league courtesy
best buddies Kim Jong Un
populace will pay price
bear every burden
every hardship el don jon doth
punishingly mete out
recruiting military modern
death cab for cutie squads
dirty deeds done dirt cheap
personal vendetta and vengeance
as just desserts
succeeding presidential term
to abdicate pronto
lest civilization bombed
back into stone age
no matter enfranchisement
law within lady liberty land,
nonetheless he decreed
global hegemony forever
pressed hot button
omnipresent nightmare manifest destiny
global destruction unleashed
threatened to obliterate
every last trace of mankind!
Doctor, what a delight you are here with your grace
Doctor, I've been so worried that you disappeared.
Doctor, I have this feeling somebody appeared
At the lacrimal gland, is climbling down my face.
Doctor, how are your children and how have you been?
Doctor, do you sleep well these days? What have you seen?
This armchair's - God's a witness - result of a craft,
Is exacly the same as in most Boeing aircrafts.
People are visiting you for their life's preview
As if you're Buddha. Is your paper in Hebrew?
Doctor, I'm begging talk to me for a minute.
Doctor, I'm asking just be with me when I'm mute.
***
What is bothering me? Here you go -
I wish that God I dearly care for
Would make me the same so that.. hmm. So
I woulnd't feel anything anymore.
A sharp elbow's - but why? -
Pointing at my soft chest,
Missing a beat at crest.
So I don't shout or cry
And I don't wither
And I don't blether
But to sadly groan
And fall in a moan.
Lie down so that your bare shoulder blades
Are stamped down hard to the lake's bottom
Tuck yourself in different clay shades
That is the moment you stop caring,
Hardening until you're forgotten.
***
Why don't you answer me? Your pair
Of eyes with your head are nodding.
Some tea for me? Anti-despair?
I'm applauding.
Let's go to my place, Doctor? Mate?
Maybe you'd kindly change my rate.
Perhaps you'll forbid me to rhyme
My emotions. Is that a crime?
Would you caress me? Or scold me?
Please adopt me altogether.
Doctor, what do you think? Rather
Different? Tell me!
In a breakdown I shove your door,
All I hear - "Head down, on the floor!"
What are you scribbling? I can't see.
No. You can't be discharging me?
Form:
Smoke drifts across the field,
explosions, distant and blurred.
Machine guns discharging rounds,
Scorpions launching slugs.
Flashes of fire,
plasma blue, violet and emerald.
Constant noise, deafeningly loud.
Longswords rocket above,
Banshees screeching past,
Seraphs wheeling about.
Carriers,
their strange curves and mauve plasma,
float ominously above, charging.
Beams strike down, waves of heat,
splitting of the ground beneath my feet.
Before me, as I run,
my comrades are impaled,
by phantoms.
Cyan double swords,
carving the air.
Glowing jade trails knock back my lines,
followed by lilac needles,
exploding on contact.
A whisper of the air,
as if it were shivering itself.
A mirage.
Moving fast, growling at the sight of me.
Searing pain,
the worst I’ve ever felt,
skewers my stomach.
I look down,
into the eyes of a monster.
Onyx eyes, large and livid,
Four jaws, razor teeth.
Gilded armour, highlights of burgundy.
Suddenly it screams, and I feel more pain.
Looking past this monster in gold.
I see another.
Black and platinum,
Faceless and unrestrained.
Blood red blades of light,
lancing the beast’s golden chest.
Indigo flows from the charred wounds
as the other draws its weapons out.
The monster slumps to its knees,
Gurgling and choking.
I fall to the ground as well,
sliding off the cyan sword.
Night is creeping on my vision,
whispering of relief from the hurt.
There, standing above me,
the black and platinum being.
Robotic in appearance,
human in movement.
Staring down at me.
The last I hear,
from this monstrous savior,
is a strange tune.
Issuing from its helmet.
“Olly, Olly Oxen Free”
“I am Spartan 0D- One Three”
A Falcon
It swoops.
Its eyes are
a pair of
visual images
of wildness.
Its micro-mind
stretches into
voracious rapture
while soaring
with its prey.
A Cobra
It wriggles
within the claws,
a closed space
for discharging
opposite energies –
to eat, to exist.
A Pedestrian
The cobra slips out
and lands on his
shoulder. Winding,
it bites on his neck.
Already a half-
carcass, it succumbs.
Later, he too. A
meandering death –
from the sand
through the air,
then straight down
to his neck
out of the blue.
Art Of Death
Death seems an
art in diversity.
Ultimate charm
of creation is in
its abstract end.
Many make it
awkward with
anxieties arising
from blood and
gold; a few, serene
through realization.
First published in Skylight 47, Ireland
Somewhere, someplace the rhythms fall.
In unison, you glide over the sandy dunes.
Each step lashing sands in bewitching mobility.
You move like fiction erasing your earlier treads;
Expanding with the beats of sound pulse to pulse.
Floating hair, cascading torrents of swirling pools
Engulfing your eyes, your body and charms in mystery,
And you churn yourself in shallow fits of rage.
The fire’s may crackle, now and again to your dance;
But the moon reflects, and sparkles the desert scene.
Some electra in your eyes, dazzling black.
Moment to moment, you swing to the beats.
The maestro plays, Sarangie’s yearn
Rhyme and chime; at each quake of the strings.
With each push or pull, the thirsting wand sings
Your beauty, your grace; as you flutter to its call.
He is the wild, the raw, the unbroken mare
He jumps, he jolts to the paralysing trance
Shoulder to shoulder eye to eye, he moves;
Chewing his urges, his fancies and his moans.
It is the natraja in you that boldly performs.
With the arms and the legs, and the sights you spin.
And he buckles and he runs, with each lap or lash
A worshipper paying tributes, to you
Your feet, your beauty and the erotics in you.
But you, in your rapid thrusts with the occults.
Awaken coherence in the forces of assaults;
Like quirks of energia discharging at his core.
And he smitten by the Scorpion’s sting.
Simmers and burns; under those hypnotic spells.
Sweltering anger spills raw emotion
dispatching choppers in the air,
intense heat disseminates murmuring voices,
discharging menacing messages packed with fear.
Suddenly the academic mob appears,
and storms up the bullet rigged stairs,
while the deceptive tree watches with opposing eyes
calculating their blazing passion
and ignoring their desparate cries.
Intensity swells,
the sizzling temperature increases,
unflinching voices resonates,
ripping up fortified roof
and penetrate their deep flaming scars.
Footsteps thunder across the room,
while the beguiling tree sits listless
pouring salt into their bleeding wounds.
“Answer us now!” they shouted
“We are tired of your choreograph lies”
but the tree kept uttering deluding words
that were already familiar to their ears.
Mealymouthed explanation coincide with
years of empty promises swims to the surface
and consume their heartfelt sentiments.
Desperation looms over sun scorched faces,
sadness cracked their blazing lips,
tears roll down their stricken faces,
but the tree looked at them with ostentation.
“Tomorrow”, they uttered
“We give you until tomorrow to solve this matter”.
the wind tossed the tree to and fro,
bending its arm and breaking its charm.
Anxiety brewed, tension flares,
but the tree and its entourage disappeared
leaving the academic mob in deep despair.
©2013 Christine Phillips
As a moth attracts to a flame,
I became; blinded by his blaze.
Leaving me wounded and dazed,
On the battle Ground is where we remain.
Leaking trust like a weak bladder,
Discharging accusations like violent explosions, of gunpowder.
Not believing in the love, I have for him,
Leaving Blood splats all over the arena.
Bleeding blood shot eyes.
Everything I have to say, he takes as lies.
Having no mercy for the man before me,
I become the predator.
Breaking up just to make up, crazy to others but works for us.
Love and war for the man I adore,
Late night bickering in engage peevish arguing.
Skirmish conflicts leading to intimate kisses,
of the battle of the sexes.
Some loving is what I really wanted.
Sexually yielding complying with the request of his desires, I admire.
I lay down on the battleground, surrendering my rights while he continues to play fight.
Lieutenant in his presence,
next in rank to my captain.
In love with his persistent makes me pursue this.
Never having to fight for his attention,
He gives me everything I been missing.
As he is taking charge, I am pinned up against the wall.
He is my personal lifeguard, my body as the main yard.
My love is the trump card.
Battling to death almost out of breath as the words I am sorry lay our problems to rest.
Until next time with our bipolar tendencies, he loves and dislikes me.