Long Guerilla Poems
Long Guerilla Poems. Below are the most popular long Guerilla by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Guerilla poems by poem length and keyword.
Civil War II
Perhaps if civil war comes, it will be broken into scores of guerilla wars.
This prolonged agony is a reason General Lee surrendered!
The division in America—2024
Once again, they’ll vote him in
Unfinished business he’s say’n
With inflation, border security, and Putin
If I were President, no war ‘tween Russian and Ukrainian
The root of every problem lies at the feet of DemocRats
I’ll make America even greater again so wish me congrats
With all due respect, say the other body, about MAGA Mayhem
Coming from the Rat Party, Trump’s administration
Second American Civil War erupts
Portland bucks any attempt at a putsch, mobs
on the part of bonkers right wing nutjobs
NOVA-Richmond-Hampton Roads urban corridor
Virginia’s historic ties to the first Civil War
Michigan takes firmly on the blue population
Process of coups and political consolation
Attempt on the part of the Far Right
Blue stand up winning this states fight
New York City is far more progressive
N. Y. State revolutionary hotbed, aggressive
The Big Apple proclaims itself a free city
Maine, Texas, California, I can go on, such a pity
Political Refugees
The Deep South the old confederacy on a political level
Getting extremely excited, a race with the devil
As for the rest of the states, their ability to pick one side, but please
Their biggest problem would be dealing with political refugees
An assessment and something to seriously ponder!
The pandemic unfolds, relentlessly
Hiding here and there, shamelessly
Guerilla tactics in the crowded jungle
An uninformed battle line can only bungle
So we are back to commodity trading
Peddling wares whose glamour is fading
Selling systems which worked in yesteryear
Declaring of home-grown innovation, real fear
Mentally and emotionally we are at the ceiling
Tomorrow may bring the unknown feeling
Living in the past, we go back to school
Trying to see, who’s the bigger fool
When AIDS hit, we rallied our front line forces
MERS and SARS followed the same courses
The text book on this one has not been written
So with Hydroxychloroquine we remain smitten
Wood chew believe aye took stock...?
Upon a whim, an endeavor
arose to communicate
cumulative key whatchamacallit,
yea...nuggets o' wisdom, asper
about yours truly no reason, nor
rhyme unwinding, tooling sputtering
most vexing mystery more
baffling than any whodunnit,
asper in this ole rattle trap to whit,
which drab filler hoop fully doth newt
induce thee to vomit
while this true bore doer sits here twit
tilling thumbs, one doubting Thomas
addresses, (albeit favoring abridged titbit
alphabetized list), I attempt (collusion
gluten, GMO free), aye solicit
motley fool, not to accrue superprofit
unbiased worded atypical, bohemian
rhapsodizing non mercurial portrait
most challenged since umpteenth orbit
whiling away this last May 2019 Tuesday
around nearest star circle game
impossible mission exit
or at least until after exhausting
without courting death
senescence to delimit.
ME? ANTI THE FOLLOWING::>
aggression, alcohol, apartheid, authoritarianism,
billboard, bureaucratic, censorship, church,
cigarette, anticlericalism, anticolonialism,
commercialism, communism, conglomerate,
conventional, corporate, corruption,
counterfeiting, crime, cruelty, cult, defamation,
diarrheal, dogmatic, dumping, elitism,
establishmentarianism, fascism,
fashion, formalist, fraud, fur, guerilla, gun,
hierarchical, hijack, hunter, king, illiterate,
litter, lynching, macho, materialism, militarism,
miscegenation, monarchical, monopolist,
mosquito, nationalist, nepotism, noise, nuclear,
obesity, pesticide, plague, pollution, poverty,
racist, racketeering, rape, religion, revolutionary,
riot, royalist, sexist, shoplifting, slavery, smog,
smoker, smuggling, snob, subversive, tax,
terrorist, theft, tobacco, totalitarian, violence,
vivisectionist, welfare.
What About You?
(when living nightmare pierced real time
thus engendering the following rhyme)
adrenaline powered stealth bomb blast
with the noggin of this, ah... ur... bane chap,
which debilitating anxiety doth outlast
means to cope (thunder and dumb struck)
with stranger mental things
at expressed vertigo, nausea, racing heartbeat
ogres recreated tormented, torpedoed, tortured
most decades from my yesteryear,
which aye presumed long passed.
now, within my head "guerilla"
warring faction
lobs a grenade followed by "bombs away"
broadside finding this body electric doing
a kamikaze nosedive into sick bay
where major organs suffer direct hit
analogous to a giant fist
smashing pumpkins,
sans thine flesh as if clay,
which psychic sortie plagues my ability
to function reduced
tub bing bedridden one day
approximately one week ago
from this thirtieth of April
tooth house sand ate teen gray
ting, grinding, and grounding with figurative
threshing blades employed
to winnow chaff from hay
literally crushing willpower,
where invisible jaws
of sharpened steel interlay
atop pulling stalwart garrison strafed,
(akin to a crash test dummy) named Jay
Walking to become blindsided
obliterating every last trace to stay alive
hence, this emergency transmission,
viz this bloke communicating
desperate plaintive wail,
that I haint okay
with plea PLEASE HELP
this tortured soul on verge pray
begging tubby rescued before drowning
like a panicky gull clay pigeon,
and buoy albatross
strangling me far distant from any quay
quickly sinking spirits,
abducted via fiendish runaway!
We'd made a dawn start that day, following in his footsteps, as
apparently Jesus used to get up early.
Our group had gathered for a reading, and to pray, along with
fruit and cereals our first staples of the day.
The good Lord had gifted us a painted morning of Coeruleum blue,
and a warm spiced breeze flossed my smile.
I turned and watched the city for a while.
Amidst the pink and beige jigsaw of the old city, the Dome of the rock
had caught the morning rays and was now bragging about it,
shamelessly blinging,
competing with the shouts of Minarets
and Church bells ringing.
Few things can compete with an Israel morning, but you did.
Perched like an Owl on a low wall, cross-legged, your head moved
from side to side, scanning the mount, sharing our glass,
drinking the moment.
You wore white cotton, an arm hung with beads, an evil eye bracelet
and what looked like a Kara, glistening.
Styled by the Gods, with three quarters of a straw hat
wedged in the bricks.
And then I found myself before you,
Lord knows how, and I was trying to remember how my mouth worked.
Your head cocked to one side you watched me for a while
then nodded me a soft hello, and finished with a smile.
Ice broken, we gathered intelligence- you, a 'gap year Guerilla'
on a global reconnaissance , armed with just a shoulder bag and a credit card.
Me, a lapsed Catholic with an empty soul, seeking a childhood faith long discarded.
A shout from the tour guide burst our intimate bubble and I retreated,
backwards, gesturing, as if in the presence of a Shah.
She waved back, almost lost her balance, and a gust of wind would
have placed her gently among the sleeping of the Kidron
if she hadn't grabbed her hat.
And that was that.
I went back to the wall that evening, and the following morning,
I don't know why- she'd be bathed in the rose of Petra by then.
For a short time I was bereft, and stood, fittingly, before the
Basilica of the Agony, and then sat on our wall,
to watch the chosen wake up.
I think my soul woke a little, just then.
For God had left me with a little bit of love.
Unrequited, but worth hanging on to ,
worth building on.
It's been thirty five years, and in those occasional quiet places
I still think of you
For contest 'Love in a far off place', sponsored by Frank Herrera
22nd July 2015
Gamesomeness goads gawky, gingerly,
goofily graceful, grandiloquent gent, gallant,
genteel, geico, guppy gecko, gabbling gaffes,
gagging, gamboling, gestating, gesticulating,
garlic, gnashing, gobbling, gyrating,
gruesomely grinning, grappling, gnomadic
giggly, grubby, gastrointestinally grumpy
gewgaw gazing guy, geographically germane,
gungho, grave gremlin, grumbling, guiding,
guaranteeing, guerilla gripped gatling guns
ginning gumpshun.
Hello! Herewith halfway harmless hazmat,
haphazard haggard, hectored, hastily,
hurriedly, harriedly hammered, handsomely
hackneyed, heady, hellbent hillbilly, hirsute,
hidden hippie, huffy humanoid, hexed, heady,
Hellenistic, holistic, hermetic, hedonistic
heterosexual *****sapiens historical heirloom,
homeless, hopeful, holy, hee haw heretical hobo.
Indefatigable, iconographic, iconic, idealistic,
idyllic, inimitable, idiosyncratic, ineffable,
irreverently issuing idiotic, indifferent, inert,
ineffectual, ingeniously iniquitous, immaterial,
insignificant, indubitable, inexplicable, ignoble
itches, ineffectually illustriously illuminating
immovable infused ichthyosaurus implanted
inside igneous intrusions immensely
imperturbable improbable.
You can't imagine what its like to march on a sacred city,
to plunder and pulverize a Peoples' promise to Deity,
demolishing centuries of lavish labor, wasting offspring of ancient heredity,
destroying flesh, scriptures and stone with a savage Roman military synergy,
a discipline determined in it's destruction of dissention, inspired by ancestral victory,
politics was not our purview, methodical punishment was our specialty,
We were War's royalty, we were Legio XV Apollonaris,
monsters of Mars, messengers of Apollo, the juggernaut of Jupiter,
along with 11 other Legions led by General Titus, 60, 000 cuts of glory we stood,
for 3 and a half years we fought through Jewish guerilla ambush
asymetrical urban warfare welting our progress like a pirate pestilence
district after district, hell spell after hell spell we bled with chilled maneuver,
the Zealots were pyromaniacs, burnt sacraficers, their zeal and our bodies zesty wood,
in the Kidron Valley they flooded the streets " knee high " with oiled water
as the Cohorts waded through the lanes leery, a torch was tossed, flames rose in rush
240 men perished like spazing stars trapped in a box, our grief agape with a horrified crush,
as reprimand, Titus made the Legate sit in a tent with his chopped off ring finger
smoldering like hot sand in the hand of a marooned man aware of error in his plan,
the insurgents had men we called Fox Tails, desperate demons who knew how Hell began,
as a skirmish succumbed to our skill and number they would run into apartments,
dragging the fury of our blades into rooms of Hades revenge, these were fire entrapments,
the buildings would blaze like windowed volcanos, screams salting us with panic linger,
It was not uncommon to discover a missing Brother Legionary
castrated, and decapitated with a headedless eagle carved upon his chest,
don't speak to me about morals and mercy for I have seen and dealt the damage of rude death
hate becomes your Father, vengence your Mother, aggravated murder your cause
when everything you revere and fear merge to make a leviathen of life,
the " Chosen People " of God became the chosen target of annihilation,
Mount Moriah, mansion of Yahweh the Pariah would become capital of Divine crucifixion,
J.A.B.
This poem has been entered into the Roman Legion Contest
to honor Ancient Rome and the Poet who sponsored this historical subject.
They win not by victory o'er their enemies,
for their enemies are invincible, yet they fight:
aging can be resisted, hemmed in for a time,
but its rolling is relentless, thinning the skin,
shrinking the brain, thickening the arteries....
They are partisans, the victorious old,
fighting, alone, a relentless guerilla war
against one enemy, Old Age, who takes
everyone prisoner, if they wait long enough,
while the other foe, their last enemy,
takes no prisoners at all....
And this final and most heartless enemy?
Death always wins, there are no exceptions,
but the victorious old give it no joy--
some even smile at Mr. Death, the light in
their eyes still burning as their souls sense
the oncoming freedom, the smell of Heaven--
and Death, never happy, sulks away....
My boyfriend Peter’s like smoke, he’s elusive. He doesn’t always carry his phone.
There’s a crosswalk in Tokyo, it’s in all the movies. The light changes and hundreds of people walking in different directions meet - but they don’t collide - they make room for each other, flowing around each other like water.
Peter and I make room for each other. Then we come together, and we make something. We’re of such different textures - we come from stark counterpoints but somehow, we mesh.
He’s the first person I go to with an idea because I trust him, and I think he understands me. He’s my secret weapon. His advice is a coin I’m careful with.
He’s gone through the long slog and achieved a dream. And he did it poor. He fought a guerilla war with almost no resources. He lived in crowded spaces, existed on Ramen noodles and saltine crackers, taking any job to cover.
He’s practical, goal oriented and he can be unsympathetic. He’ll whisper, “Nutup up, tinkerbell - you’re such a baby,” but there's a supportive energy to it - and he’s usually right. He heralds a reality I’m not always used to.
Anyway, he was smoky tonight. I couldn’t reach him. Sometimes we go over a week without talking (I'm not always reachable either) and when we do, it feels intimate and victory-like.
.
.
Song for this:
Come in from the cold by Marc Broussard
One Two Three by Hooverphonic
Somehow I feel connected to each lock
They remind me of a time before me when black was not just hip hop
They remind me of a movement towards freedom
When we were gaining the momentumm to no longer be oppressed
To me they represent bold, natural blackness
Symbols of non-conformity and to some
a sign of spiritual royalty
From ancient egyptians
to the movement of the rastafari
The lion of Judah remains represented entirely upon the heads of those
who rebel against enslavement
In modern times and during the times of
John the Baptist, King Tut, Solomon and Samson
Connected deeply to the Rastafarian and the struggle of the block
Guerilla warriors swore not to cut the locks
until the release of their authority
Jah-Rastafari or Haile Selassie I
Big ups to the dreads with conscious minds
The intertwined knots remind me of naturally grown crops of herbs
Each lock a spliff of some FIYA YA
to help calm my nerves
Burning the corruption and the lies told about the words written
While filtering out the bullcrap I found truth in transmission
Giving it to you is my soul mission
Locks. Beautiful like the afro
Symbolizing freedom from strong holds
Still black and proud though
I love locks
They remind me of pure blackness