Long Minefields Poems
Long Minefields Poems. Below are the most popular long Minefields by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Minefields poems by poem length and keyword.
The marriage proposal
like a forced march
through Fort Jackson, a backpack
Full of chert beating on his spine.
He stood his ground with her.
His actions spoke volumes.
Good soldiers die with assurance.
No romance in war.
Refreshingly quiet,
The dutiful tour.
She paced herself sleepy.
She could rest in peace.
Honor the hero.
(He'd saved her once.)
Uniform with purpose.
Fight the good fight.
The battle impressed.
Things escalated.
Orders got shouted.
Ammunition, manufactured.
Grenades for detonating.
Entire minefields laid.
(Dangerous territory:
Don't play the field.)
Tanks roll in now.
She runs for cover.
Still he stands strong.
Warriors don't yield.
Until there is torture.
Torture's illegal.
But you know what gets said
About love, and real war.
They'd die for each other
But living, so different.
They live with surrender:
Embattlement, love.
A mischievous smile belies a trembling lip:
as pleas get uttered in the name of friendship.
And with sad eyes glazed in a foggy stupor:
you beg forgiveness, for yet one more blooper.
I painted your heart in a coating of trust,
now, its metal's showing, and starting to rust.
But while sharing a moment weighing your pain,
my heart got crushed, on hearing you cry again.
As your dreams dissolve, you readily succumb
to any sensations in a heart gone numb.
And hope's lost in a maze of needles and pills,
chasing death through minefields of chemical thrills.
You keep falling, even when I hold you tight,
slipping into darkness surrounded by light.
And, fleeing from reality's nightmare screams,
you shoot up in pursuit of vanishing dreams.
I tremble at the mere thought of losing you,
whatever pain you're feeling; I'm feeling too.
And I'll not sever that bond and let you go,
but will fight for you with every trick I know.
I’ve been working on this poem
it’s called (Blown Away)
Don’t worry, there’s no bullets
just some points to be made
I can write it with an arrow
from an old weathervane
dip the tip in lead
and be on my way
with a heavy sway
I’ve been feeling kinda dizzy
but can’t explain
how I keep going south
into a hurricane
Double-barrel primed
I’m ready to blow
blinded by flashes
This can go anyway
who gets to say?
I’ve been crossing minefields
on a pair of stilts
The wind’s at my back
my trousers make sails
I’m falling to bits
spinal tissue exposed
my ribs come detached
But the outlook’s okay
I had spare ones today
I’ve been throwing paper planes
on the rehab lawn
They’re below Mach speed
and the gardener waves
Gliding on zephyrs,
let’s the edges unfold
Unraveling daisy cutters
my payload explodes
No time to pray
but I did yesterday
(yes I did yesterday)
By David Kavanagh
Between spacetime ripples
lurk dark energy waves,
emanating from the void
strange forces hold me slave
I mean! What type of creature/
flies a kite in thunderstorms
One searching for answers
carrying Cain’s multiple forms?
Left to roam earth’s surface,
blind man at the controls,
Free will: a human delusion,
designed for plugging holes
Filling up wishing wells
that possess no walls or gold,
If angels once flew here,
torn scapulas failed to hold
Inconsequence yields potential
for those without aim,
Living in guilty dreamland,
faking the conscience game
Fate’s not predestined,
broken paths bifurcate the way;
Either side are minefields,
where decimal points blow astray
Catatonic medication
seeps into my mind
Light speed slows down
bringing stability of a kind
I stare at open ripples,
stretching ever far apart,
reflecting chronic heartbeats,
flatlining from the start
Can barely make an effort
to clear my cluttered desk;
paperweights grow heavy,
the inkwell more grotesque
Time — time is endless
when prepping a final letter.
No sense quoting scriptures;
makes the flood outside seem wetter
To hell cast this world,
gamble away life’s coffers
Nothing left but truth
that only entropy offers
Chip the tip off a bullet,
Russian roulette my head
Peep inside the hole dum-dum,
you can always bank on red
Question marks hang over Cain;
mine has proven true
Decimal point erred again,
later resurfaced askew
Left to bear its blunder,
I send my kite into a storm tonight,
To hear the heavens rage,
“That decimal point was always right”
By
David Kavanagh
Nietzsche declared that God is dead
Since thoughts of Him man’s heart has fled.
If it is true that God is dead
Let hearts of men be filled with dread.
Once God had died the race was on
among the gods man’s mind would spawn,
which one would fill the space God left?
Yea, who would occupy the cleft?
The no-God notion tried and failed
To fill the void man’s proud heart veiled
The need for one greater than man
Whose essence man’s mind cannot span.
Materialism also failed
As grift and greed man’s heart assailed.
Possessions could not fill his need
Once man from his God did secede.
Scientists tried God’s role to fill
Their efforts cannot fit the bill.
The inventions their knowledge yields
spawn hazards that are like minefields.
Marxism, and all the other isms
has left society mired in schisms.
Man sought freedom by declaring God dead,
The absence of God brought bondage instead.
God’s replacements have failed to quell
The yearnings that in man’s mind swell.
These cravings only God can fill
As man accedes unto His will.
I like to give all things
living personality --
wind, for instance, not just
complex science
but conscious velocity --
mindfully determining its own speed
and direction...
---------------------------------
Time is not all lineal
you know --
I often travel freely back
and forth,
casual jogs over stored memories --
The good ones require no careful stepping
While the bad can be minefields --
I wonder how you recall me?
Perhaps a mixture of pain and pleasure?
An occasional vintage along with the bicarbonate
Like those deeply grooved records we wildly
Danced to:
My confession, I yet listen to them…
Thinking fondly of you, ignoring the hisses and
Scratches. To be young again would be enough!
Your thought-balloons are filled with wild and magical freedom ~
until madness seizes your think tank
trapping your ceaselessly chirping ideas
within the teeth of its snapped steel-jaws
refusing to relinquish you; lest you chew up and spit out your mind-racing brain
ire over this cognitive quagmire is quite understandable ~
like the murmuration of startled starlings
amassing in angst and taking wing
your thoughts, your second thoughts and afterthoughts
gather in pulsating dark masses
swirling into flight and shifting directions
turbulently twisting into tornadic spins
unable or unwilling to unravel and unwind
as they hurl themselves
in a pessimistic panic
through the maze of gray matter minefields
not wanting to explode their legs-to-stand-on should they alight...
...and despite butterfly nets vying to capture them
they are whirling dervishes twirling out of control --
holding your damnation in a state of suspended animation
Susan Ashley
March 24, 2018
Her reveries slant the compass of time: 1970s. Minefields now roar through blurred visions. She retreats into dots of space to live in the moment, as emotions fling to a gray sky. While curtains blow unceasingly, hours freeze. Again, love passes; leaves, while a young wife’s heart crushes in tears.
bouyant clouds wander
in the expanse of night time
to gather shadows
There is delicacy in pain. Letters from Nam change the dark of winter to a glitter of December lights. As she sets the table, the flaming candle waxes through a kitchen filled with sweets and almonds . He is the breath touching musical tones in the quiet rhythm where carols are sung together. Feeling his presence,
she regales in a lone dance of fond remembering.
pines in crimson gold
waltz across the starlight
etching mellow notes
Somehow, a woman begins to droop beside a half-closed window. In the cold of duskfall, she longs
for her soldier husband, quietly. Then wiping her cheeks, she is refreshed by those who need her, now. In a joyful play with daughter and son, Aunt Jamie finds her true north. Such is the luster of more tomorrows,
moon glimmers, dust fades
a balm of healing renews
fresh discoveries
For 1/14 2016
24 February marks 1 year of conflict between the Ukraine and Russia. May moral guidance, good sense, faith in the future and God's grace, mercy and wisdom bless and guide these great nations, and all other nations in conflict situations. Peace is possible. Miracles happen all the time. Blessings, love and light.
Peace is possible
By Michelle Morris
21/02/2023
It's been a year
Since the war started
Between the Ukraine and Russia
A year of loss and destruction
A year of political minefields
A year of fear and sorrow and death
No celebration is in order
No peace appears on the horizon
Only hope and faith in the hearts
Of millions that this will end
Soon...
Yesterday!
What is it that drives men
To put their beloved nations
At risk?
Over and over again?
What is it that causes us to
Look away?
Over and over again?
It's been a year
Since the war started
Between the Ukraine and Russia
And yet all signs point to this day
Being a mere milestone
In the continued conflict
Peace seems like an impossible dream
Yet miracles are possible
Miracles happen all the time
The impossible becomes possible
When we apply our hearts and minds
Peace is possible
In our time
© Michelle Morris, 2023
The colour of an uncomfortable truth
Bullets of ecstasy white powder clear spirits
shots into nothingness forgetting looking away
Translucent syringes monochrome devastation
fighting for a better world wholeness surrendering
to psychedelic transcendental illusion
Explosions into Nirvana black darkness oblivion
powerful mind- and minefields one in the soul
Grenades shed colour of blood guts and gore
the olive skinned baby disappears in a flash
Rockets and missiles illuminate boots on the ground
marching to enchanted delusions of higher stronger
escalation of greed hunger power single vision and death
No stone is untouched no life unworthy of killing
men women children are equal in the addiction of war
Moving pictures on wide screens in high resolution
feature the strong hold of ruinous splashes of fire-works
a true melting pot in the scorching heat of the battle
All shades of skin colours united in excremental demise
interspersed with advertisement for super bowls
fast food consumption computer games Kentucky fried
Mac Evil’s temptation to escape poverty of kindness
Love is a silent rainbow composition of all colours combined
antidote to overwhelming addiction of domination abomination
and being hooked on humanity could shatter the madness
01st June 2016