Long Outpost Poems
Long Outpost Poems. Below are the most popular long Outpost by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Outpost poems by poem length and keyword.
Hinterland
It is not a romantic outpost but a place of survival
The landscape, mountains and forests are war zones
where battles are ongoing.
There are no rulebooks here, it is raw capitalism
in action, the strongest always wins.
A moose cow’s newborn must get up ready to run
in minutes after birth predators are on the hunt.
Wolf packs fight over dominance; insects kill insects
In this dance of death, the sparrow eats flies.
The talon of an eagle grips a trout and eat it alive.
When the sleeping bear awakes, pity the salmon.
This cycle of life if broken by man, spells disaster.
At first light, I awoke feeling revive and lively swell
Yet no words am to describe what I’m to foretell
I knew you were alive from words of my overseer
And ceaselessly I seek to be reunited with you together
My search for you led me to an outpost of surviving humans
Soldiers preparing for war against the advancing demons
When them who receives me, they knew victory was at hand
Yet it was me, who have had their souls condemn
With the battle raging, I commanded their wills bidding
And at the very wield of my bow, the end’s at my summoning
I killed those of defiled as well as humans, of whoever standing in my way
Of strength nay my own, I slaughtered in regardless of dismay
With a vicious smile, I stand the only surviver in victory
With tears after to see even children I’ve killed earnestly
Every mortal seen, suffered from the wrath of the Heaori spirit
Slaughtering with a blinded heart from the insanity I inherit
Such became reasons I am to isolate myself from those who breathe
Eventually, my service to the Word I can only forsake and leave
Since was my loneliest of period, having to endure one’s denied existence
As foreseen, word of my mishap was outspread to those of The Ancients
I dread having to live the dawns till the awakening of nights
Death became the reason left to welcome relief for enlightenment Light
Thus, a suicidal thought came to mind from the newfound strength
Mayhaps I’m to use this curse to see to the DarkLord’s end
Proven otherwise, was the beginning of my wait for your return
As Champions of the Word reunite, I swear will all evil burn
I cannot tell you how is one to passage through the Heaori Chamber unharmed
Only to thread carefully, can we rely upon our weaponry at arms
Let us discern ourselves of those undesired thoughts and make haste
The Leech-King draws nearer each dusk, since began was his chase”
grandma had always been a magical offspring of nature
collected herbs images mushrooms psychedelic support
tattoo in her mind rebellion independence and freedom
mescal beans at stakes looking like witches’ broomsticks
cultivated night shade a belladonna of sorts in the woods
tree house cut from the forest and the stepladder frayed
an outpost for the paradigm bare of dogma and convention
a jungle of green sheltering indigo orange and violet of mind
no phone no computer only drums of heart and pulsation
spirits did not haunt her impression of legendary surprise
a pen cut from charcoal a sharpener cut from pine growth
opinions and premises and razor sharp wits and emotions
no delete button no erasure only stream of the subconscious
free flow of psychedelia as she flowed in crocheted pants
over all happy and void of convention and stifling dogma
lotus position next to a mat woven from strawberry fields
coarse linen cushion haunted hunting to mould her behind
future certain breast happily sagging but pendulous thoughts
wicked and mysterious and candle light a flaming lamppost
from desk to kitchen and boudoir as a anthracite fire raged
pendulum swinging from knotted branches swayed in the wind
crystal balls blown from history nostalgia and fierce resistance
tea leaves coffee ground a cup full of memories and aspirations
never too old to have a happy childhood she abandoned the past
tribulations conjectures treasure chest of nuggets wisdom’s appeal
the old scribe never died for an apple seeds quite close to its home
26th June 2020
This planet is the farthest flung outpost,
of what?
We know we are the verge,
the utter outer rim of everything else,
yet direction and point of aim
around the edge of the immeasurable
are as meaningless
as depth without surface,
The Center of the incomprehensible
has promised us
that we are the very pulse of all that is
or ever will be.
We are not lost in space,
or any construct of time,
we're just stuck in the mathematics
between beginnings
and endings.
Nevertheless,
thank you for showing up.
Missing the Real... Red, White and Blue
rip yer guts out if yer able
put-cher colors on the table
red fer war and green fer envy
now dance yer jig with righteous gravy
you sell yer soul to istanbul
with lucre' from yer cock and bull
yer eyes they puke-up venomous snakes
for feasting nations, raise the stakes!
maybe- drop a bomb or two
that's how we roll in katmandu
our boys you send them to their graves
defending what? new amerikan slaves
the time will come, you'll see it soon
we won't build yer brigadoon
so give us back the land we love
crush all the cannons, send us doves
and we will once more strike-up-the-band
sing all the classics....ain't America Grand!
***inspired by PD's jammin' slammin!
07/17/10
5:55pm
helpful note: am reacting to a young Man's death in Afghanistan
two-days ago, from my town, defending an outpost in Kandihar,
he died alongside his two mates....we're all having trouble swallowing it....
Out here in the outpost
I guard the borderland
“Over and out” – I lose the call
And you are out again
This is my shout out
From the hinterland
“Roger, Roger” at my post
But you are – out – again
You do not deem to call
While my receiver’s on
I fiddle with the dial
But – static – is the tongue
Cold the rime upon the pane
That crackles to the sound
Of Solitaire I muster out
– And the hand that I put down
Is a winner, at its best
– It seems the Ace is high –
– And here my friendly guest
Just winks an evil eye –
The creaking of my little hut
Is charged with energy
Buffeted by winds about
– thou art mine enemy! –
Cold the outer fathoms
And in the frozen stasis
White is in the noise
And silence in the spaces
The dark outside is deep
Did I just hear a knock?
– it’s just the knock, knock
Knocking of my beating heart
– Cornered as a winter mouse
Frightened from its nest
I startle to the voice I hear
And flee my inner guest
Then the guns roared!! and it was hard to distinguish the
Hush from the roaring; the two seemed almost
Indistinguishable.
Was it the roaring, I wondered, or was it the hush that was
The more fragile?
In truthfulness I was disappointed when I got home and
Watched more of the same on the telly.
The British army is not what it was I have to say; the
Gun-Salutes did not appear to be well orchestrated to my way
Of thinking -- left one feeling all rather...unsatisfied.
Gone are the days of bright red tunics, golden buttons and
Tall, glossy white hats; and gone the long stylish sideburns...
How magnificent those lads must have looked on the march.
Gone also the days of the glorious campaigns. The valiant
Battles. The desperate, heroic actions defending some hopeless
Situation or some far-flung outpost that was deserving only
Of camel dung and fleas...and certainly wasn't for the lack of
Thanks we only ever got! ...same now for the Yanks I suppose.
But glory fades along with the ages...just as our long-gone
Age sank, ages back, into the fullest, mellow glow of the
Whistling scythe's last Harvest Moon.
For I am unapologetically an English man; and will die as
Lizzie died...
As English as sausage, egg, chips and peas.
And to hell with those who decry Empire and Nation Building.
We saved the best of it, and created many a Sovereign State
Out of nothing but mud and straw.
Lately I have pondered, that perhaps we sucumbed to what was
A natural culmination of too lofty an ambition?
Or maybe it was nothing more than a simple case of
Over-acheiving?
And if so, how do we arrive by the 'Grace of God' to all that?...
Could it be an inevitable fate which was pre-ordained?
But for the fact we had good glue we should have come unstuck
Many a long year ago;
But good glue we got...and still more to come I might wager.
Tomorrow, no doubt, the crowds will line the hilly miles;
And later we will have our pomp and ceremony...
But what has gone comes but once.
Then the whole world will watch, gawking, when an entire
Race holds up their hands as a hurting child reaching up
For the comforting arms of their firecely protective Mummy.
Okinawa War thoughts
these dark moods
follow me
as I tour Okinawa
where the last battles
of world war 11 were fought
thousands died
in the first
and last outpost
of the American East Asian Empire
Okinawa Beckons me
Okinawa Japan
kept calling to me
in a dream
notifying me
always in the background
where my memories
always waiting for me
Beckons me
everywhere I go
cosmic reflections
of past lives
never seen before
seems lost in time
maybe just the spirits of the dead
everywhere I see ghosts
Okinawa Street Scene
Walking the streets
of Fabled Naha Okinawa
a life time dream
someday I would visit
I am surrounded
by ghosts of the past
and Japanese beauties
all around me
tempting me
with their sweet smiles
Impure thoughts
fill my head
as they smile at me
and I smile at them
No wonder
so many Soldiers
brought back
Japanese wives
Japanese Coffee Barista
watching the Japanese
coffee barista
preparing my snarling cup
of hot boss coffee
fills my heart
with erotic joy
how I wanted to express
what was on my mind
right then
to the Japanese
coffee barista
Ghosts of Okinawa add to Ghosts Poems - post as separate poems
Ghosts of Okinawa
Touring the battlefields
of Okinawa
where so many young men
gave up their life
so many years ago
I see the ghosts
all around me
feel their spirits
floating through the air
Kilroy was here
there and everywhere
whoever that was
and John Dean wannabes
and Elvis wannabes
and so many other wannabes
and I see the ghosts of the fallen heroes
all around me
O fountain of knowledge
crescent moon of
compassion
outpost of fortune
and failure,
your watchful eye
has seen a million heartbeats
flood the river
of life
steadfast, your window
to the soul survives
pitched battles
amidst loss,
and triumphs
course
correction
I take your hand in
mine and gently trace
the outline of
your life
far from your heart,
you speak of
floods and
rivers of
delight
the sweetest songs I
hear you sing
and sadness belies
your colored rings
my wish for you
flows in my veins
to shine your
light,
forever
bright
09/09/17
2:19pm
BASTION of TRADITION
the erstwhile
contemporary
surreally clustered
together
mellowed
to an extent
that
immortality
still appeals
driven by
an impulse
of
isolation
against still
prevailing
then
but
now forgotten
bourgeoisie
then
surely
antagonising
stunted
&
scandalous
outpost of
controversy
of
inverting imagery
errors in society
the motif
producing
a
furore
against
of moral
decay
&against
in mistrust
of in
authority
NOTE:THIS IS AN OPEN(organic) FORM VERSE using spaces&breaks without grammatical symbols ,the ' open' relies upon 'the one breath limitation' & so inherently requires the 'reader' (reciter) to input and responds thus making this enigmatic form a two way interplay & interpretatIon unique to the moment& changing according to mood is inherently variable.
Copyright © Brian Strand