Long Pawns Poems
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Autumn Winds
Autumn winds
blow restless and un-tethered
subject to its own patterned weather.
It neither rests nor sleeps
racing forward without retreat.
It rises in the west as well as east
slip sliding north in wild feats.
Autumn once held calms
moving summer’s pawns.
In creeps in upon subtle breeze
refreshed anew surfing on the seas.
It breathes deep, alive and well
clinging to the storming swells.
Autumn paints the earth
surging in momentary rebirth.
It sustains the last harvested fields
replenishing the storage yields.
It ends the season of full glowing moons
as life dances to delicate swoons.
Autumn closes summer’s door
leaving winter to wield its score.
It chills and cools an oncoming frost
where cold and ice creates the final loss.
It sheds its cover and its dress
bowing to winter’s snowy best.
The past can be found written in history books,
Statues stand and tell no lies.
To see the future, to the stars you need to look.
We are pawns in a game of queens, kings, and rooks;
Bygone crimes we seek to sanitize.
The past can be found written in history books.
Time does not change a hero to a crook,
And to the devil you cannot eulogize.
To see the future, to the stars you need to look.
No matter what liberties with the truth are took,
Man’s bygone crimes remain, that all must realize.
The past can be found written in history books.
Always remember: man’s follies are just a page in God’s scrapbook,
Our foolishness we look to normalize.
To see the future, to the stars you need to look.
This world came without a guidebook,
Our past is not perfect and cannot be idealized.
The past can be found written in history books.
To see the future, to the stars you need to look.
A high price paid when war declared,
Peace retreats when no wisdom spared.
Deaf to reason and foresight blind,
Blood and battle plagues mankind.
Lives are shattered once begun,
Death of legions profits none.
Except the mongers perched on high,
Who reap rewards while good men die.
Shipped abroad on foreign waters,
Pawns are made of sons and daughters.
Fought with sheer determination,
And affects each generation.
Bullets fly while parents weeping,
Bombs will drop while children sleeping.
A body count's sad conclusion,
Carnage marks this mad confusion.
There's remnants from every nation,
Who sought for emancipation.
When will we feel the final sting,
And when at last will freedom ring?
An endless clash where no one wins,
So who will pay for all our sins?
The price of peace you can't ignore,
But what's the total cost of war?
Heinous are the horrors in the rages of war
after it makes its purchase of pawns.
Brave are those following orders with a salute.
Some will never see their homeland again
for the reach of the reaper is relentless.
He is a cimmerian chasing after souls,
a stalwart fiend approaching in dark pursuit.
I am a soldier trying to escape his clutches
but my chest was the target of a mortar shell.
Lying alone, body bleeding in a trench,
I linger, wondering if this is where I die ~~
on this dismal edge of the abyss of hell.
I look for stars glowing in the sky
but there are no lights shining down on me.
My vision is too blurry too see
for the hand of Death keeps trying to close my eyes.
I beg and plead, "A few moments more."
before I hear piteous painful cries
and realize the voice is mine.
I have no choice but to accept this merciless fate,
knowing this ditch will be my burial place.
A wretched grave for a brave soldier,
but one no longer fearless and willing to die.
Soon, I will feel no pain
for Death is moving closer to my side.
I cannot hide my fear and disdain
as tears mingle in the streams of my blood.
Numb to it all, I will soon become.
My battered body is being bathed in rain.
I feel a chill flowing in my veins,
draining me of life as if it were a succubus.
I'm too weak to fight for one more breath.
Death is claiming me, not as its friend,
but with arrogance of one who holds power.
Thoughts ramble in my last hour,
my mind holds profound sullen images
of characters in history ~~
I will not die swinging from a wooden gibbet
and no dagger will be thrust by Brutus's grasp.
Poison Hemlock of Socrates, I will not prohibit.
but Death will claim me just as he did Cleopatra
when she was bitten by the fangs of an asp.
Against the cold embrace of Death's persecution
there is no reprisal, no hope left for me.
Silently, he will abscond with my life before dawn.
The clock gnaws marrow from the bone,
Its hands are wolves in a quiet room.
I pace the halls of books like a penitent,
Collecting alphabets, equations, broken hymns—
Each one a splinter of fire to brand my palms.
Learning is a lantern, I tell myself,
But it burns both the pupil and the page.
Still, I drink the poison of knowledge,
Measure each drop with trembling fingers,
Because power without mercy is a blade in the dark.
Let the evil ones be caught in their own traps,
Sealed in jars, their whispers locked
Like moths in a museum drawer.
The good should hammer the lid shut—
And yet the shadows leak, they stain the air.
I scavenge disciplines the way crows hoard silver:
Philosophy, astronomy, anatomy,
A perpetual ladder built skyward, rung by rung.
The body sours, but the mind must not sleep,
Not while questions are hissing in the grass.
Don’t hate the players, hate the game—
But I see the board stained with red squares,
Pawns split open, queens reduced to ash.
Still, I move my piece forward.
Still, I mouth the rules until they cut my tongue.
Why are our lives so short?
Because the brain is a storm,
And storms cannot be persuaded to last.
Profits push political power,
As they gather to make plans.
Like witches in their covens each hour,
The power of black masses spans.
Increases industries interest, no Wall Street crashes,
Evil leaders plot devastations
Wizards cause frightening fire flashes,
War has struck all nations.
That of outrageous oblivion, they led.
Soldiers sacrificed so senseless.
Dutiful dying, deluded dead.
Sent them into war defenseless
Observed obscene onslaught,
The war pigs fail to surrender
Home in safe cozy houses they retort,
Get reports of ashes ascend to ember.
Soul’s senses smoldering, frustrated fiery feeling.
Anger at all atrocities, fire following fast.
Splinters spear so silently, no chance of healing.
How long will it last?
Do they think it's a game? War pigs started this war,
Remnants of where scared soldier's bodies lay.
Do we know the horrors they saw?
Soldiers, like brainwashed pawns didn't really want to play.
Is it to extend borders?
Day of reckoning will come to the pigs in charge.
Onward obeying orders.
Dutiful soldiers, their pride is large.
No contrition to comfort them.
The pigs on knees begging mercy for their sins, .
Verdict, Condemn!
The devil finds it amusing, when their pleading begins.
To see these cowards squirm
No reports of their punishment were ever in store.
When the time comes, but it will be firm.
War pigs, please tell me what is it we are fighting for?
The chessboard stretches, black and white,
Too many pawns crowd every fight.
Resources dwindle, tempers flare,
Too many hands grasp thinning air.
The planners meet in silent halls,
Their charts and graphs like ancient walls.
They speak in terms both cold and clean—
"Efficient means," not "cruel" or "mean."
A gentle nudge, a softened blow,
Less birth, less war, more death below.
No famines loud, no bombs to shake—
Just medicine we do not make.
Subtle are the tools of fate,
Disguised in law, in boardroom weight.
The world, they say, must be more small—
But never start with us at all.
Madness,
How nice they felt
To be free,
From the dampness of humanity.
They are plunged into a different universe
A free life of toils
A prodigal,
Of a profilial,
Feeding from oral to oval,
Your earn for your oral,
And not for your keep
All squashed in a heap.
The sane man is begrudged
Wittless
Penniful yet penniless
Live yet but vegetable
The luck rests on the insane
Oh! The madmale
Only he is live
Yet free!
Oh! I am the luckiest,
As a Madmale as i am,
No one knows my thinking
No one knows the meaning of my face
As a mad male i am insane
But!
As a mad female i am sane
As i still remember my feminity
Vividly as it is not vivid,
Clear as unclear..
As water on a stony path,
Yet unclean.
My madness my solace
Be me him
Be me her
All are free
What all seek is a reality escape
A fleeing route,
Yet a fleeting one
Yet, yes oh yet!
How her remembers you say?
From a skimpy scarf
To an able polythene
All these she remembers
To aquire,
So her heart is intact,
But, her head is In turmoil
But! the her norms intact
Forgone him you say!
No cannot be!
Him is a negation
Of her.
They roam and roam
In woe with foe
In joy with joy
On any path
Of any choice
All, choices of theirs
But, him is a lost cause
Hmmmmmmm!
I sighed at the sight
Painful but comical
All is well,
Will be well
Oh! How envious
I seem
They just exist in their imagination
But comical in our sight
Free of old shreks and their queens
Toiling with their pawns
All in the name of a state control
How funny it is
Oh!
How my jealousy tickles me to an edge
Wanting all thus
Them, i like
Them, i must be!
Bus drivers and plumbers
don’t start the wars
The nurse or school teacher
too busy inured
What’s common among us
with tasks to withstand
The elected entitled
our blood on their hands
Without a real job
and whose terms don’t expire
They poison the well
with aggrandizements dire
To them it’s a game
that they cannot lose
Their voters just pawns
in a continual ruse
But one day the reaper
with sickle in hand
Will come to reclaim
what’s stolen bedamned
And the serfs will rise up
in an infamous rage
The despots left burning
—their ashes in shame
(Radnor Pennsylvania: June, 2023)
Would someone please tell God
I’ve heard enough
of all His chosen people
spouting stuff
filtered through their gray
and troubled minds
those who left His truths
so far behind.
Please tell him that I listen
to his sun
whispering in the leafless
treeless dawns
reminding them that seasons
they will come
for we are but His agents
not His pawns.
Please ask Him in your prayers
to call on me
in visit from a squirrel
or buzzing bee
to howl outside my window
in the wind
allow my hawk like prayers
slowly ascend.
Please tell Him that his words
are rearranged
to suit the needs of people’s
joys and pains
lost on city streets
forgotten names
listen for His voice
in tent-less rain.
John G. Lawless
©10/30/2019