Long Military Poems
Long Military Poems. Below are the most popular long Military by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Military poems by poem length and keyword.
The colored pains are carved onto the back of my ancestors’ history.
My oppressors see my Africanness as a curse,
the rotten fruit of savagery, slavery, and the barbarity of colonization.
The blackness of my skin has made me a suspect since the cotton fields.
I am from the cradle of humanity.
I grew up in a colonial trading post.
My homeland never had factories that manufactured weapons of war,
yet I know how to handle a Kalashnikov like those child soldiers.
My first shock: an infant, cut to pieces and stuffed in a sack hanging from a palm tree.
After the colonial massacres, dead cities to soften the cruelty of a bloodthirsty dictatorship.
I share the same convictions as those independence fighters
that the general’s colonial army labeled as “rebels.”
I am neither a suburban kid nor a ghetto dweller.
I took my first steps in a shantytown of Equatorial Africa.
Some cross the Mediterranean toward the Western tyranny of misery,
while others choose the illicit path to shine in the gloomy cells of capitalism,
lit by the flashing lights of the “Republic of Enlightenment” slavers.
These Western impostors treat Africa like an open-air dump,
while their neo-colonial military bases protect the safety of multinational corporations
that have been savagely plundering Africa’s wealth for centuries.
They finance Islamic terrorist groups so that African dictators
can sing the globalist symphonies of Western democracy.
I am a Sub-Saharan animist like the first pharaohs.
I remember the massacre of the Amerindians
when I see African Americans filling the prisons of a nation born from genocide.
My holy land is Africa.
I will never submit to the negrophobic laws
of supremacists indoctrinated with the vile delusions of the Third Reich.
I remember Pope Nicholas V’s papal bull
when I see the Catholic Church meddling in the political affairs
of Africa’s banana republics.
Slave blood in my veins,
in my heart too much pain, only love, no hate.
My conscience has never been chained.
My criminal record remains spotless,
like the orifices of the Christ’s own mother.
"Missed"
if you wanted me
to write about
rainbows and unicorns,
I would have to say
romance was never
on the menu of
the grinning soul,
in the days
when war came.
lines drawn in sand, see,
grains easily blow away,
to reveal what of strength,
hard and cracked, yet so
tangible survives underneath
it all, firmly remains.
the thistle with
its royal violet inviolate crown,
its thorns like swords,
persistent, makes its way
to what little light
endures, holds out,
shoots its way through
the fallout clouds.
it blooms
like a revolution.
never changes its
regiment colour.
beauty in survival
allays arid memories
and relishes the rain
to grow new life;
and like a thistle
the petals will-o-wisp
like a halo up into
the sky, far away,
but the roots
remain fixed
strong and
militarily resilient,
day after day.
romance comes
in the flurry of snow
falling on an
upturned face,
faith in something
of grace, offers
a smile that sings
still life doesn't exist here,
tongue outstretched
sensually tasting
a poisonous life
remembering
the last naked
tryst and how
one survived
the assassin’s kiss,
though the shooter
didn’t fare that well.
the shooter
perhaps loved
the target,
too much.
the target saw
the transparency,
reality of truth,
a subtle softness
pouring out
in the bleed, could win
through
the atomic
missed.
(LadyLabyrinth / 2022)
“This is what comes of military training”, she said, ”born and bred from military - both air and land forces - one becomes habitually practiced and intuitively alert to the enemy's position. Strategically, one is always lethally equipped, both psychologically and physically, in surviving wars on the mortal plane. Particularly, much later in the singularity wars, for a neural neophyte piloting those missions of slippery inter-dimension”.
In the days to follow, this quality in her would stand her well, in both dark and light fields, contradictory yet complimentary, the two warring co-ordinates of the Cross Field in the new domain. It was the place of the in-between worlds, where her mission would be implanted and eventually executed, expeditiously and with great success. Much to her detriment.
long hair a sign of rebellion
a leveler for rich and poor
"no money for a hair cut?"
"no problem - you're styling!"
the flannel credo
cheap and colorful
soft, softer, old and see through the
softest
the perfect place to ride
a rebel heart
a two-fingered salute
to the military industrial machine
haywire on testosterone
stick a daisy in that barrel buddy
sex, now that was a rebellion
guiltless sex lauded
"If you can't be with the one you love"
"love the one you're with -- "
take your third eye
use your second sight
put horns on Nixon's head
and fight war
for peace
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Qs6aaaJBAv0
The sun drenchs and heat soaks the air.
It throbbs with fumes.
The drivers of the three wheeled, canvas covered
taxi’s curse, beep, and press
their way between motor cycles
with garishly clad riders.
Males in western-style helmets
drive women, dressed in peacock-colored saris,
down the main boulevards between
the Mercedes of diplomats and
the Range rovers of the wealthy Western usurpers.
Upon the cracked concrete edged sidewalks
lined in a herringbone pattern of bricks walk bird venders,
whose baskets of finches, parrots, and macaws tweet wildly.
The baskets upon their shoulders swing.
The noxious fumes of the traffic apparently insufficient
to quell the beating of their small hearts.
Shop keepers hawk fly covered, freshly butchered chickens
from dirty white porcelain surfaces;
as tomorrows dinner pecks seeds through
the floors of their wire cages.
Through and amongst the plethora of colors and noise
military and police in mundane blue with rifles mounted
on the rear of their vehicles pass by.
Ordinary citizens hack up spittle from raw throats and congested lungs
while horns blare continuously;
blending with the barks of hundreds of stray dogs.
An army in green
fields,
ever vigilant, ever
silent, ever still.
Their honor ever
their shields,
falter, they never
will.
They've fought their
fight,
served how and when
they were needed.
They've earned their
reprieve from the
harsh, glaring
light,
but their post,
after all this time,
they still haven't
ceded.
Stones, shaped to
stand and dressed in
white,
mark where they lie,
mute through the
years.
Not voiceless,
though, for there
are those who
remember their
fight;
when called on by
one such in need,
their steadfastness
appears.
Carrying on their
legacy, are those
who continue to add
to their venerated
ranks.
Some call them
soldiers, some fools
and some heroes;
some see the endless
marble formation and
give thanks.
Down the somber rows
reflective feet
tread,
seeking friends,
family, or simply to
respect those who
gave all.
Regardless of race,
gender, creed,
religion, or
homestead,
ever onward, kin
they are; ever
together they stand
tall.
Never forget why
they're in those
green fields; the
battlefields they
crossed,
the kin they left
behind, to grieve
and remember.
Regret young and old
gone too soon,
innocence and family
forever lost,
but don't begrudge
their sacrifice -
with our lives burns
their eternal ember.
Boys turned into men
Acting chivalry needing to defend
Thackray who never was
Due to the wasp woman wanting buzz
Gunners waited for Watford to arrive
“Foul!” they did claim in a cry
On target goal after the penalty try
Followed by one then another
Sunday’s mother
Agree those went in
Later on Arsenal committed an innocent sin
Deeny connected
Shot was not protected
Three one at the break
Story brewing about the yellow jacket relegation wake
Being well back
Singing stingers put together an attack
Calling upon Danny to give a whack
A nice song he did bellow
Not enough to save the hives, dear fellow
For the longest time
In her own mind
Mrs. Harris
Just home from Paris
Thackray did not cause any trouble
There was no reason to blow any bubbles
As time ticked away
Grealish earned his claret blue army pay
Slicking it through the post
Mrs. Harris a few seconds later returned the gesture with a kind toast
A draw
Was the call
And Aston’s Villa would not be sold
Since they did not fold
“Send down the Honey Cherry Buzz flavor”
Second tier league requested as a favor
Mr. Bourne with toffee candy in the mouth
His cherries ready to head south
But today he enjoyed a sweet victory taste
Wasn’t showing ill feelings or haste
Instead filled with Goodison’s grace
Citizens on the other hand made the canaries look like nothing
Man City netting five which was something
Four sixes were on the executive level table
Two were issued to pensioners writing a Chelsea fable
While the Red Devils had a pair
Enough to scare
That pesky fox
Now having respectable stock
“Worry about a single commitment next year
And enjoy that cheer”
Was the message
About priority addressing
As for Thackray, the west ham
Romantically united Mrs. Harris succeeded in her plan
Next time a gale force winds come through
Infecting play asking ‘what are you gonna do?”
Do not put the season in the hearses
Just be sporty write creative poetic rhyming verses
The End
The morning sun’s oppressive; a nasty b*tch in heat on Rizal Avenue,
Where vendors hawk their cigarettes, baloot, and dog meat barbecue.
The jeepneys buzz the intersection like a hornet’s nest,
But it’s quiet down the mountain once the stone has come to rest.
Olongapo is waking. Magsaysay Drive gives up its dreams.
It’s six AM in Subic Bay, Republic of the Philippines.
A sailor slouches back to base, hung over and depressed,
But it’s quiet down the mountain once the stone has come to rest.
His head is stuffed with sawdust. His mouth’s as dry as peanut shells.
Last night he guzzled mojo on top of all those San Miguels.
At midnight he responded to the curfew’s harsh request,
But it’s quiet down the mountain once the stone has come to rest.
Been a year since he’s been stateside, a year since he’s been home.
Just another duty station, and another port to roam.
When he hears a stand-up comic, he reacts indifferently;
He lost his sense of humor on the South China Sea.
He’d picked a girl named Cora, and booked an air-conditioned room.
He’d paid her fifty pesos to revel in her raw perfume.
He spoke a few Tagalog words, but she was not impressed,
And it’s quiet down the mountain once the stone has come to rest.
He held her like he knew her; embraced her warm skin tenderly.
His dreams were of Missouri; his nightmares, of the open sea.
He’d found a lonely refuge with his hand upon her breast,
And it’s quiet down the mountain once the stone has come to rest.
A new day brings its promise of beauty and of poverty;
Of cockfights in the province, and monkeys in the mango tree,
But Subic is a working port, and work must be addressed.
Still, it’s quiet down the mountain once the stone has come to rest.
Been a year since she divorced him; a year since she’s been gone,
Just another disappointment, and another West Pac dawn.
If he laughs, it’s nothing funny; it’s the sound of irony.
He lost his sense of humor on the South China Sea.
And that chip upon his shoulder’s like that ancient, fabled boulder;
He’s a victim of his own mythology.
The supreme leader of Red China wants his state workers to get by with a 30% reduction in their salaries! Some of their hard earned money will line the pocket books of himself and his mistresses and his family! But the Red Chinese people have never known a democratic form of freedom government! And in fact would not not know what do to with one even if they could have one! And I am truly sorry about that but it is very sad and very true!
The rest of the money probably won't go to his military but most likely be used to make even more dangerous nuclear weapons to launch on its neighbors, the USA. India, Japan and Australia! In order for him to fulfill his nefarious dream of world domination in 2035 or even before then! And he certainly is not keeping it a secret!
He is even boasting of it and defying the rest of the world to do any thing about it!
There is a God in heaven above and on the earth below who will do plenty about it! In the fullness of His own time schedules and not any mortal man!
He does not care about the plight he is causing his very own state employees! They are his minions and his puppets and he is their puppet master supreme ruler. Who dares in the sight and in the presence of All mighty God his creator! And deify himself and chairman Mao to be worshiped as Gods and they will be judged by All mighty God, Himself!
He wants to worshiped as God not just by his minions and puppet people, but by the entire world! He is not nor never will be any God of any born again Bible believing Christian, or any Messianic Jew or any devout Muslim! "No one man or no one country shall ever rule the world," Jesus Christ!
When we see these things start to happen, we are to look up, for our deliverance draws neigh! The return of Jesus Christ during the Rapture of the Church is almost at the door. It is just right around the corner! We know the times and the seasons of His return but not the hour nor the day!
Sincerely,
Roxanne Lea Dubarry
Roxy Lea/ October Country
December 15, 2021
Diary written within the mind of experiences
Instances with boundaries
The fears within
The Black Man being the Center Man
Spotlight and focus
Acceptances and rejections
Battling the world as if in the military
Times of tears
Being the Black Man meant
Is the world ready to handle to connect
Introspective
Knowing the Black Man will always be a Black Man
Prepared in all circumstances and situations
Compromise but will never surrender
The Black Man Principle
Complexity and Official
Black Man feelings
Unassured and lack confident
A world that doesn’t understand, but label the Blackman’s role
Assertive when needing to be
Black and Brown color trait
Racism high society
The Diary
Black Man
Survival
Commitment and Responsibility
Black Men are taking their place.
Perchance, happenstance, my sailor found me
as I arrived (a package deal) but I stole his heart
and wouldn’t share, though some so-and-so tried.
She’s lucky she’s still alive. Thankfully my sailor
couldn’t be bribed. He was revived, not villified,
by my return. He told me all about so-and-so.
I said so-what, we had just met, no big deal.
But I didn’t know she’d hide behind rocks, at the end
of our dates, ga-ga-ing over him. Her glasses brim
with puppy loving, but I stole his heart. It was around
my neck so she couldn’t find it. Kick to the curb,
so-and-so, you're so outta there. Really “out there!”
My Prince, thus nicknamed, brought me to a movie,
first base - ahem…I mean on base. We kissed,
we missed what was playing in the dark. He took
my hand as our lips played like a bow and harp.
I momentarily look up. Some chump, who worked
there was holding my hand - I am NOT that kind of girl.
Roll up your sleeves…knock out this jerk, this l o s e r.
MY sailor had won my heart. No other hand comes close.
Did I tell ya, I also had a sailor in the chow hall, during
boot camp, lick my boots - no my hand. What is wrong
with the seas. Glad I swept up the pearl and not the disease.
9/2/2022