Long Guerrilla Poems
Long Guerrilla Poems. Below are the most popular long Guerrilla by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Guerrilla poems by poem length and keyword.
They prepared a squad to ambush
On hairy forests of a human head.
Things were well planned to push
The army on the murky skin-bed.
Army of Lice marched on warily
Towards the places assigned to all.
They had to peep everywhere slyly
Lest they are knocked by Fingernail.
The Larger ones are the commanders
Of this momentous Guerrilla attack.
Smalls will follow forgetting Slanders
And battle with guts, work in Pack.
They furrow the skin to make Trench
So that they can fight and stay secure.
Some would plunge in them to drench
Themselves in the blood for adventure.
These Lice have a Mission to fulfill.
They make slices of nice hair with
Their teeth of Vice like stinging Eel
Or Mice, with ruthless urge beneath.
They have attacked on the Two-footed,
Some would hide and ambush at once,
Some hang by hair until it’s uprooted.
All they do is sip, sting, cling, flounce.
Dream on man
War is constant
It has gone beyond
Catholic or Protestant
Religious wars
From our short lived past
Will never dilute
As long as we last
In this modern world
We fight for different reasons
What ever the excuse
And in any season
We fight over land
Imaginary WMD
Even over soccer
How the hell can that be
We now fight over oil
In a camouflaged war
Taking innocents with us
In public deplore
Guerrilla, assault
Bombing with precision
We vote them in
As they twist their decisions
Dream on man
War has changed
Greed has taken over
From the pasts deranged
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/war-3.php
Guerrilla war in the Athens
Athens a confusing in August, what with the heat and pollution, I had spent the night sitting
on a park bench, looking at a white wall lit by moonlight, waiting for a movie, any movie
forenoon staggered into a church and joined a queue; a priest was handing out paper bags of sweet cakes, but the old lady behind got none since she had been in the line three times. I ate a cake and gave the rest to the lady. Grateful, she ate the cakes, blew up the paper bag, hit it against a tree, and we were surrounded by an anti-terrorist squad.
The lady, a known, would-be terrorist, had been blowing up paper bags all over town, was arrested, and they were going to arrest me too since supplied the paper bag; I was a tourist, and the police, let me go with a warning.
Deep in the park, I found a cave walked in and saw baby Jesus inside a small aquarium; he appeared like a dead angel as painted by Caravaggio; Jesus opened his eyes, smiled like a street urchin selling himself to paederasts, and began masturbating, chocked I took a step back and collided with two nuns who laughed hysterically.
Escaped and found a cellar bar drank ouzo served by a woman who looked like a horse; she was
a pony that had escaped from a Swedish circus.
We hit it off. I have always been fond of horses since an Indian chief in Alice Walker’s poem. I have forgotten the title of, who says horses make the landscape more beautiful. Midnight, she shut her bar, and bareback, we rode through Athens mysterious night.
Hand, each one has its...
My hand has its way of being,
the hand of the world has its own way...
My hand shakes hands,
for the colloquy...
The opposing hand does not do it out of envy...
A hand caresses your beloved,
the other hand takes a gun
as a guerrilla...
my hand smoothes the cat,
the other hand stirs a wild wolf...
My hand gives spiritual passes,
the other hand does weirdness
in wiggles...
My hand writes freedom,
the other hand incapable of greatness
imprisonment doodle...
My hand dares to conceive paradise,
the other dreams hell...
My hand tries to swim
to save itself...
The other hand too...
In danger, two hands join each other
facing the possibility of death,
join hands in common... !
The year is 2310
Humans still inhabit this earth
When they view all around them
It hardly seems worth
For their ancestors before them
Never heard what was said
If they continued to abuse her
In two hundred years she'll be dead
As they look out their windows
And view as they say
As they scroll through their histories
The world their ancestors knew in their day
They lived at the time
When their world was at lush
Where animals were still with them
Some demised to a hush
The Polar circles were threatened
By mans carbon emissions
They never heard what was said
About common sense missions
Their populations exploded
As they struggled to feed
Their richer got richer
Conglomerate greed
The life of their planet
Continually plundered and raped
Rain forests destroyed
Barren lands now drape
Conflicts were rife
Guerrilla warfare the norm
Pales into significance
From the 90's Desert Storm
As they look out their windows
And view as they say
As they scroll through their histories
The world their ancestors threw away
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/life-5.php
My house is perpetually full of stuff I do not need.
Diapers? No.
Hair bands? No.
Pens that do not work. No.
Patterns? Who sews these days?
Material? No.
Stuff I have dragged in myself after dragging other stuff out.
Like stuff.
Stuff so similar, it was silly to exchange it.
I am looking at an Easter banner that I took down and put on
The TV set last April or March.
I did not even see it again until
This second, and it is November.
My piles of stuff is staring at me.
Glaring at me.
Laughing at me.
If I had to identify what was in the pile in the corner
Right now or a guerrilla would machine-gun me, I would be murdered.
I would be luck to guess two things in that pile.
Death might be preferable to
Cleaning out this stuff.
Nestle in deep slumber the mighty Kublai dreams
of lapping cold milk, eating fresh meat, running wild
with hundreds of his doggie friends
Little Genghis shoots up from bed and darts out
running to room to room to sniff and search for what abouts
finding Kublai asleep on his fluffy pillow bed
He sniffs him gingerly and retreats under the adjoining chair
Peeking through the curtains a stream of sunlight
embraces the mighty Kublai and he stretches in place
sits himself up and has a good long yawn
He steps off his bed as if he was sleep walking
and within an blink of an eye
A snarl a flash a quick ten yaps, the little Genghis
is on the attack, he jumps he jives on Kublai hide
then just as quick he runs away and hides
Kublai stumbles back on his rump, shakes his sleepy heavy head
looks confused and tries again to stumble up-BUT
BOOM! the attack resumes happy growls awake you pal
as Genghis barks and snaps won't shut his trap
then just as sudden disappears
Kublai shakes it off, softly coughs and nudges his way back to bed
lies himself down with an irritable frown and lays down his sleepy head
Genghis purrs into a growl getting ready to pounce his pal
But I open a bag of doggie jerky treats
Kublai immediately stands on his four feet
Eyes wide open nose in the air, he zooms so fast without a care
Genghis planning another attack but with Kublai barging
gets slapped back, flipped over and rolls under the chair like a cat
Kublai will have no more of that
He greedily grabs his doggie treat
the taste of morning now so sweet
Little Genghis finally got it back
no more of his morning guerrilla attacks
Genghis gets his jerky treat runs and hides in defeat
Mighty Kublai licks his lips savors the flavor of treat he gets
What a way to begin my day nothing really left to say
no TV shows could bring me the joys
of the silly antics of my little morning boys
Though her life span was less than a week,
The Pink Lady of Malibu was a glorious sight,
Never to be forgotten by anyone who was lucky enough to see her
The daring escapade spanned six months
Timing her final foray on the cliff to coincide with the full moon
On October 31st, 1966, seemingly overnight
there appeared on the sheer cliff wall
above the Malibu Canyon tunnel
a 60-foot-tall painting of a nude woman
gamboling freely with her black hair flowing behind her
and a fistful of yellow lilies
No one knew who had created this guerrilla artwork
but scandalized Los Angeles County officials
Fearing traffic congestion and looky-loo accidents
They had decided she couldn't stay
House paint and a giant stencil to accomplish the artwork
The paint had soaked into the porous rock
Finding it impossible to remove her
The county ended up covering the Pink Lady in beige paint
Jessie James was a fine young lad,
When he joined the Confederate troops.
He learned his craft as a shootist and spy,
While traveling with this group.
His commander was one Capt. William Quantrill,
A man with a checkered past;
And under this man he learned hit and run,
Leave your enemies standing aghast.
After his death in 1865,
Quantrill's celebrity stayed,
And Jessie and Frank used what they had learned,
And found guerrilla warfare paid.
They formed with their friends a wild outlaw band,
And looted the banks and trains.
It seemed to work out just as they planned.
To them it seemed quite a good game.
The money came easy and life was good,
And Jessie took him a wife;
Deciding to settle down for a while,
And lead a respectable life;
But two men were killed in a robbery gone bad,
And the governor wanted his life;
And one of his friends thought he'd turn him in,
And get paid and save himself strife.
Dead or Alive made no difference to him,
The reward would still be the same,
But Jessie was fast and his aim was true,
So it seemed to Bob Ford it was plain,
Jessie would have to be caught unawares,
If he would celebrity claim,
The honor, prestige, reward and glory,
As the man who shot Jessie James.
April the third, eighteen eighty-two,
Robert crept up on his friend,
Shot him in the back as a coward will do,
And that's how his story ends;
But Robert lived on in shame and disgrace,
As a low down, back stabbing coward,
Who betrayed his friend for money and fame,
On the day that he shot Thomas Howard.
"AND JESUS SAID UNTO PETER,'PUT UP AGAIN YOUR SWORD INTO IT'S PLACE FOR ALL THEY WHO TAKE THE SWORD SHALL PERISH BY THE SWORD."
Matthew 26:52
For Dana's History Contest
Regression Whispers
ancient almond wild stood still
stark in dark forest through which
moved determination
a quick tobacco roll
cold beer
AK the companion
whispers in jungian depths
puffed from psyche
fumes of struggle, lymph
floated across eyeballs
camp was porridge, malaria, madness
heart opened a tendril
a shudder of brilliant focus
how far was freedom ?
and what was it ?
this mission to unshackle
shame or ignorance or land
outer triangles inner
the quick smoke tormented
logistic management or cavalla
trudge along, single file
whispers of ape to shoot
could not stop hunger’s choke
a single sinew of animal flesh
soldier with ape, with crescent moon
staring down, heavens cried
somehow Rahu appeared
no crows cawed
not a single lone dragonfly
just mosquitos, a taruntula
scurry from heavy leather boot
immune systems build
armours of steel
ape, black-brown mammal
its life for brothers, sisters
whispers float the dark
animal eye integrated human eye
souls unite
before blood, shadowy shudders
a single tear rolled down
night-drenched cheek
she settled for mopane
worms as they built a fire
for an ape braai
no lamentation
~~~~~~
footnote : braai :
South African word
for barbecue