Long Patrolling Poems
Long Patrolling Poems. Below are the most popular long Patrolling by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Patrolling poems by poem length and keyword.
The murmur of voices rises to a cacophony
The start of the walk is imminent
Boots laced, sticks at the ready, rucksacks on backs
The human train heads for the hills
The ascent begins along a rocky track
Poles in ones and twos offer support to experienced legs
Step by step, breath by breath
Ever upward they climb
The viewpoint beckons the leader to stop
Birdsong competes with the drone of traffic far below
The invisible elastic stretched to the limit
Recoils as the back marker arrives
An organic modern art display
On the golf links’ mown grass canvas
Slate soldiers stand to attention
Patrolling boundaries between field and heath
At the Druid circle café lunch is free
A hare freezes on seeing the newcomers before speeding away
A sheep baas its resentment of the intrusion
Refuelled the human train regroups for the onward trek
Nature’s palette of wildflowers announces spring
The coconut aroma of gorse confuses the mind
Yet out at sea the mechanical springtime is permanent
Windfarms harvest the invisible crop
Buzzards, skylarks and house martins fly the moorland airspace
While curlews, wagtails and oystercatchers hug the water’s edge
Wild ponies roam the moors, foals shadowing their mothers
A bleating lamb separated from its maternal security is reunited
Red shell markers turn to blue
Coastal route goes shoreline
Manicured lawn paths morph into a paving slab jigsaw
As walkers reach the finale
And then finishing line crossed
Weary satisfaction after eighteen thousand steps
Boots off – that moment of ecstasy
The long walk achieved
Patrolling the jungle, testosterone surging, muscles finely tuned
He stumbles upon Jane swimming naked, in an open lagoon
This handsome stallion stopped dead, beside waters edge
Me Tarzan, she just smiles, stepping out by thin hedge
Standing before her, beads of sweat glisten his well toned chest
Long mane of hair, ripped biceps, a specimen, alpha the best
Spellbound as she kisses, hush my baby just let it happen
Breathing heavily, in submission, Tarzan oozing passion
Dynamic forces at play, in virgin jungle, latency is being woken
Pheromones, endorphins, gushing rivers, packing implosions
Arboreal creatures gaze down, with perplexed trepidation
Positions below change, moans turn into exclamations
Her statuesque body, his athletic frame, create perfect recipes
Both out of control, relentless, inexorable pain, and ecstasy
OH-EE-OH-EE-OH-EE-AW-EE-AW, Tarzan roars exultation
My God you beast! says Jane, an indirect translation
Not finished only getting started, she too is insatiable for more,
Naked in the wilderness, aesthetic bodies, primed to explore
With a Herculean physique, Tarzan’s pulse keeps on giving
Jane meets halfway, this goddess takes every collision
So marathons ensue, flesh upon flesh, tugging pushing delight
Lusting thrusting each other to a standstill, going until night
Tarzan swings her home, a safari campsite nestles nearby
Same time place tomorrow, you got a rematch big boy.
OH-EE-OH-EE-OH-EE-AW-EE-AW, triumphs with joy
By
David kavanagh
MAKE LOVE NOT WAR
Love’s Trial
by Odin Roark
Side-by-side
They travel together
Lust the ever-free spirit
Reality the ever-faithful arbiter
From time to time
Reality’s mediating influence
Becomes smitten as well
It’s only human
Usually during the inevitable deposition of Lust
Where questioning of Love’s visceral weakness
From Reality’s listen-now-or-suffer-later truth factor
Steadfast common sense often renders
Passion’s natural appetite to feel…well…
Unnatural
Inducement’s tactics can be challenging
But as time passes
Love’s back and forth trial of persuasion
Is decided by Patience and Respect
The yin and yang judge of all things lasting
Even as our side-by-side rivals
Continue patrolling Love’s “faithfulness” highway
Often eyeing each other from opposite lanes
But avoiding frivolous confrontation
Love normally holds strong
Avoiding prurient weakness
Protecting its right to remain esteemed
However…
Once in a while
Lust and Reality acquiesce
Accept their humanness and weakness
Join hands
Admit they miss each other
And flirting their way
To the next watering hole
Try to avoid causing
Another “settlement” kind of trial
Don’t call me a Hero.
You weren’t even there
When I got the wound
That put me in this chair.
I was doing my duty
Patrolling disputed ground
It was just random chance
That I took a sniper’s round.
You didn’t see me
Moaning and crying
Totally convince I was
Bleeding out and dying.
No, the Hero was my mate
Who applied dressings that day
And stayed there with me until
The medics could take me away.
Heroes don’t wake up screaming
In the middle of the night
Because the bloody flashbacks
Have them convulsed with fright.
It would be wonderful, if,
Just for one special day,
I was there as myself,
Not as the Hero on display.
Please don’t call me a Hero
It’s such a status to live up to
And when l let you down
As I so often do
I feel in despair
At your so obvious surprise
And the disappointment
Reflected in your eyes
Just once when they tell me
How lucky I was not to die
I wish I had the nerve
To openly ask them why.
So, don’t call me a Hero.
All I did was survive,
And I’m not quite so sure
You can call this being alive.
A while ago I was chatting with a friend about treatment of Forces Veterans. He said he could be a little more sympathetic if they weren’t always referred to as Heroes. I pointed out generally Veterans don’t refer to themselves like that - just people doing their jobs - but it’s third parties, many of which weren’t Veterans, out to raise funds for whatever reason.
I met many fellow Veterans over the last 7 years working as a volunteer with a Veteran Support Organisation, quite a few of which I thought were Heroes, but none of them did.
When the last golden sun streak is vanishing
into clouds under the darken canopy of night.
The shivering dust settles behind the evening,
of cloudy Satire coming with new dawn of light.
Patrolling the traces of low whispering voices,
following the Verve of strange words in the air,
Sentence disappear again into clandestine vices
The choice of deeds nights is reluctant to share.
Bar and restaurant recommend to go the extra mile
after ruefully losing their keys the best thing to do,
is to make guests welcome with a smile,
the assured voice speaking louder than we want to.
Amorous thoughts locked behind closed doors,
only the sound of voices breaking the silence,
Heroes of the night, walking by on hotel floors,
bound in code by the laws of their conscience.
Energy roll away into spaces of sleeping room
corporate pleasure at the expenses of leisure,
Upper decks not lower into drapes of gloom
for lovers to lay their heads and count treasure.
The day is lit again rinsing away voices captured,
amidst the wanderings curious moments flow,
remains a mystery to know the voices that chatted
behind closed doors where hunger desires go.
Your dog bed is empty, so I should know you're gone.
All our favorite places are now too spacious—
The couch, the patio, and the rug that we’d nap on
Feel cold and lonely, as I become the one and only.
Just last week, you were anything but gone.
Together we stayed, all over we played,
Burying bones and patrolling the lawn.
Now, the squirrels can't believe their sudden reprieve.
You’re not with me, so I should know you’re gone.
At first I didn’t fret; you’d only been taken to the vet.
And now here I am, watching a new dawn
Without my best pal to boost my morale.
These days feel dark, so I should know you’re gone.
No more silly drama, no more bark-o-rama.
Under a silent burden, the house feels withdrawn;
Without you, our big bone just isn’t fun to chew.
Every day, I must face the truth that you’re gone.
Our human's attention is the sole prevention
From dismissing each day with a yawn . . .
Receiving belly rubs and comforting hugs
Is the glimmer of light helping me see
How there still is a purpose for me.
Long prior - I took to the wheel
On a day, fairly, surreal
Amid one of my visits back home
I went to see, tailgating, all alone
My boyhood city. A city on its knees
I began patrolling, unemotionally
Among, the hollowed, disintegrated, arteries
I've gone into a run-down, stepping ground
Of relinquished houses, torched down
Cess-pool of spoiled industries, shook
Dismal, diminishing, to tears look
A catastrophe of block, smoke, and gook
Miles and miles of wrongdoing, invaded places
The most exceedingly awful, that humankind embraces
Free, with the blazing fury
Of youthful, spontaneity
I started to take pictures, ardently
Of drifters, hobos, winos, and the beggarly
Wearing, worn out, robe of strands
And vagrants with solidified hands
Crouched around, enormous, hot drum cans
Without modesty, I eagle-eyed
The crestfallen, with nowhere to hide
That permeates, everywhere, I spied
Offering itself for examination
A photo of urban immolation
I was alone in a no man's homey
And in a no man's city
There was a knight with locks that were golden
Protecting a kingdom in threat of folding
King and his trusting mighty duck
Caring only for the almighty buck
From the north
Sharks were present for what it was worth
Putting on stage predators telling them to go forth
Until one day in a foggy dream
A mariner let out a scream
There was a gigantic Kraken
Started attacking
With only eleven on board
Holding things on shore
Trying not the rip the chord
Apparently the King’s mighty duck
Got wind about the maritime bad luck
Issuing a statement through a loud quack
How the fisherman got whacked
Upon pondering the news
King knew what to do
Take the singing predator out on a date
Make them lyrical bait
Seasoned to perfection
No reason for a rejection
Sending the sharks in
From the tank where they are projected to win
Sticking out their deadly fin
Somewhere in the desert the knight with golden locks
Was watching the clock
When a peasant came by
Noticing the golden lock good looking guy
Walking her coyote companion
Ran in
To each other
Both needing a lover
Smiling a grin
Knight with the golden locks was getting ready to sin
When a quack was heard
King’s message distributed from his trusting swimming bird
“What do you mean Kraken is alive
Wasn’t the sea hawks patrolling the sky
I must go and be the 12th man
Take a warrior stand”
Off the knight with the golden locks went into battle
Easy corralling the aqua monster like it was cattle
In the end he steamed Kraken real good
Delicious sea food
Understood
Glazed with special oils
Before wrapped in foil
Canucks placed at its side
Decorating the meal that was worth a tasty try
When the knight with golden locks came home
There was a call on his phone
From the peasant girl asking “are you all alone?”
Meeting halfway
Wedding ring proposing lifelong stays
As for the Kraken
Needed to receive backing
Sharks and predators answered the request
Wanting the knight with golden locks to be put to another test
Miles past the nightstand
over the plastic water bottle.
the Ambien pill dispenser
and the soul-bruised eye shades,
an arrhythmic clock
ticks like a bombed-out tank.
Of course there is the lampshade
(that lighthouse for the luminescent krill
of submerged consciousness)
that seems attached to my skin
whenever body parts want to cut ties
with a mattresses concave reality.
Secreted like a drugged shark
in the shallow recesses of a snaring drawer
a snubby barrel with six mad prayers
snugs up against a snoring bible.
The raven iridescence
of night-cats prowl a life leaking bed;
occasionally they look up
their eyes shining
as they search for an alien presence.
On its four arthritic legs the nightstand
watches;
its tour of duty still patrolling a far off
conflict of doubt and faith.
Time to turn over the hull of being,
upright any surface
with a legibly printed label,
then haul that address back in
from the far side of an arm’s reach.
Time to shuck whatever shell
still rolls unopened in the surf
of the tossed and blanketed.
BRENDAN AND BOBBY
Brendan joined the Provos in the spring of seventy eight
The local pub was bombed and killed his brother and his mate
Bobby joined the UDR when he was seventeen
His uncle had been murdered, in the colours of the Queen
Brendan had his first kill and he got the taste for more
He shot a local soldier, in the family’s grocery store
Bobby got his hatred from the Catholics he would meet
He was kicked and spat at, out patrolling on the street
Brendan made his first bomb, in the basement of a bar
It killed a Prison Officer, when it blew apart his car
Bobby lost a colleague in an ambush late one night
He took a bullet to the throat, just to Bobby’s right
Brendan placed explosives, in an old abandoned shop
He fell as he was leaving and he heard his ankle pop
Bobby manned a checkpoint, when he heard the painful yelp
He thought he’d check the building, just to see if he could help
Brendan gazed at Bobby, as the sweat ran down his face
He knew they’d take their last breath in that old abandoned place
A blinding flash and thud, both men tossed into the air
The whole place collapsed on top of them and crushed the dying pair
A Mother sits in Chapel and she sheds a painful tear
Some people watch the funeral of a young dead volunteer
A Mother sits in Church with a medal on her chest
A piper plays a slow lament and Soldiers laid to rest