Long Pillage Poems
Long Pillage Poems. Below are the most popular long Pillage by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Pillage poems by poem length and keyword.
Fierce fighting raged, but surprise was gone,
the Americans rallied and pushed hard,
the Indians fell back, out of the ravine,
the patriots driving them that far.
Hand-to-hand combat broke out brutally,
with knives, clubs, and rifle-stocks,
Iroquois would wait until patriots fired,
then while they reloaded, charge with tomahawk.
Herkimer saw his people being killed,
so he ordered them all to pair off,
one man would fire, the other would load,
now It was the Indians who felt sharp loss.
The killing continued, on through to morn,
until a thunder storm broke over the field,
the fighting quieted but neither side budged,
neither side put down powder or steel.
But as the storm passed, back at Stanwix,
the garrison heard of Herkimer’s plight,
they charged out into the near empty camps,
putting the few British still there to flight.
They plundered and pillage all that they could,
ransacking and stealing their supplies,
when word reached the battle, the Indians turned,
now it was their turn to be surprised.
The broke from the field, ran for the camps,
but when they arrived they saw it was too late,
the garrison had retreated back to the fort,
with their spoils behind a barred gate.
At Oriskany, Herkimer held the field,
so by the standards of the day he had won,
but neither side had gained that much from it,
despite all the bloody work that was done.
The patriots were too savaged to continue on,
to damaged to hope to lift the siege,
they retreat back east, to Fort Dayton,
to see to their wounds and their needs.
St. Leger found himself in a terrible spot,
supplies dwindling, his camp ransacked,
to make matters worse, mad Indian allies
started slinking off, not to come back.
Not long after another relief column,
led by a general who’s name won’t be said,
marched for Stanwix, convincing the Brits
they had little chance of not being bested.
St. Leger ordered his forces to retreat,
back to Canada his troops did go,
and the British plan to split the colonies
suffered from its first heavy blow.
Herkimer didn’t live to see that day,
his wound quickly became infected,
when the time came to amputate his leg,
it was botched up, and quite freely bled.
At least the brave man got to die in his home,
and his name is recalled in glory,
he remains a hero in upstate New York,
for his courage at Oriskany.
I awake with the sweat of a distant dream....
Thinking of what I'd seen
Remembering what was in my mind's eye
Such sad, sad thoughts of a time gone by
I remember the heat of the desert and the dangers of camouflage men
of small remote villages.......and the people within
I recall a child.......I can still see her smile
Black was her hair, her hands they were oh so small
I can still see her face.........I remember it all
Erelah, yes that was her name
and ever since I met her my life's not been the same
She'd come to our station almost everyday
coming for her hunger, always to play
running round and round, hiding from us all
I still can hear her laughter........ I remember it all
Such a small girl, born into a ruthless world
A world where men prey upon men, and life is simply discarded like sand to the wind
Sunlight and shadows
One illuminates while the other falls
As days become weeks, distant voices call............
Messages of distress come over the wire
speaking of death, fire
of a small village, of evil men who rape, murder, and pillage
Cloaked with the tools of Azreal, the tarmac erupts
Awash in wind and sand, we're elevated into the air
Nap-of-the-earth quickly, mountains, valleys pass by fast
Distant souls burning, we ascend upon the village at last
Pyre smoke engulfs the senses, as it swirls around and around
Hovering high above, we descend swiftly to the chard ground
Toils of men are revealed in the dawn's light
The departed are scattered about as we scour for signs of life
From one burnt structure to another
We find nothing but hopelessness and despair
Only the dead and the dying, Iblis has been here
A familiar door, one I passed through many times before
Reluctantly I peer in, and to my great sadness I'd see
Little Erelah laying by her mother, still deep within a "dream"
But from this "dream" she'll not awake, nor shall she ever play
Both her innocence and life were taken
Never to learn to read, never to learn to write
Never to run and sing again, due to man's mindless strife
I promised to protect the children ever since that day
And always defend them against man's evil ways
And never ever forget her
That angel from above, or her simple message
LOVE.........
To me she was a moment of Spring, in a lifetime of endless Winter
She is but a dream..........
Now gather around, ye lusty lads, a tale I'll tell to thee
Of jealous Gods, monsters and ill-fated men who sailed the sea.
My tale is set in hoary times when fickle fate was by divine decree.
Then men were men who faced all odds, much sturdier than you or me.
It was the time when the Trozans fell, King Priam's pride was turned to dust,
Odysseus' ruse of Trozan Horse, made him of the God's accursed;
For Apollo's faith was crushed by heel of Grecian fleet,
And rape and pillage, with lust and greed, was rampant on the street
But fair Odysseus, with wanton fill, mindful of the weep and wail
With his Grecian hordes and a dozen ships to Ithaca did set sail
With hope-filled heart, with fair Penelope and Telemachus in mind
His course to fair Ithaca was charted and well and truly defined.
But fate, I did say, was most fickle-minded, and had deviously contrived
A fate which would try their grit and test how they fought, and survived.
And so the ships driven willy-nilly by the North Westers and South Easters
Drove them by predetermined chance to the Land of the Lotus Eaters.
The Lotus Eaters were a race which the world forgot in their drugged state
With food of the Nelumbo, of a species time forgot, but did their hunger sate,
And drugged their minds to exclusion of world, to family, and other cares.
Odysseus , abstinent was he,, dragged them back on board, with crew unawares.
Thence post-haste did the ships set sail and sighted fair isle with fatted cattle,
Fair game for stocking provisions, but first a Titan Cyclops they had to battle.
Odysseus, full of guile knew that force would lead to hapless naught,
So crept he in, midst cattle din, and there sleeping Polyphemus sought.
And there as the Cyclops soundly slept, blinded his eye, which was but one.
Polyphemus, Titan, unbeknownst to Odysseus, was Poseidon's beloved son.
With prideful boast Ithacan King, in derision his name did daringly decree.
Wild with rage, and dreadful pain, did Polyphemus call his father from the sea.
Deeply hurt at deceit and guile by which the Grecians blinded his offspring,
Poseidon did curse and said, " May stormy seas and whirly winds calamity bring"
So tossed about were the dozen ships, windblown and tossed on heaving seas.
With heavy heart and tired limb went they to Aeolus, the Wind God there to please.
~11 Jun 2016~
HOOKEY DAY
So you went off to school son and what did you learn?
will it make the world better the next time it turns?
No I didn’t go to school ma, I played hooky today
and I learned that it’s time to throw the books away.
I went to the cities and I walked down the streets,
and talked to the graduates where they work and compete.
I looked at the systems that they have contrived
and it’s hard to believe that we’re still alive.
I heard bankers scheming financial plots
to turn all of the haves into have-nots,
to place the whole world under total control
in endless poverty with no hope of parole.
I heard doctors and lawyers speaking in tongues
to patients uncured as the innocent hung.
Big pharma was addicting whole populations
as wall street convulsed in financial elation.
I saw shadows behind men high in power
as the world grew darker hour by hour.
The light at the end of the tunnel seen
was in the hands of an interrogation team.
My thoughts became knots, all tied up in the hype
that the media weaves through the lines of it’s type.
Life was distorted by camera and crews
***** called art and fiction called news.
Did you study your lessons and pass all your tests,
will you use what you learn to become a success?
I learned that the minds of those studying there
are molded by evil for tools of despair.
They're captains of industry, the corporate select
who ravage the earth and cause human neglect.
They measure success by raids and attacks—
and the depth of the blade in society’s back.
They control the planet and technology
that could energize earth, pollution free,
but they profit more from machinery
that fouls the air, the earth and the sea.
Go to their schools and you’re taught to agree
with the policies of the powers that be.
To aid and abet them in criminal goals
of pillage and plunder and global control.
To cast aside all conscience and sense
and leave the future to pay the expense.
To covet and hoard, collect and amass
and consume the earth to the last blade of grass.
These are the men of letters and worth
of corporations destroying the earth.
Go sit with their scholars and sully your brain
I’ll pass on the classroom and keep myself sane.
In a drunken stupor, I fall down on my comforter
Baby blue sky covered in fluffy clouds of cotton.
I kick off my shoes, faded pink chuck Taylors
And make clumsy work of my shirt buttons.
I slip an oversized shirt over my head, Bart Simpson,
And pull it straight passed over my bra and panties, past my knees.
Now in the dark, on my bed, I hear the door creak open.
I turn to see your silhouette, and I hear the door behind you locking.
I sat up, before you lunged on top of me, and smacked me in the face.
I tried to push you off, but a little girl is nothing against a man.
Fear pinned me down with your arms, the look in your eye was crazed.
I yelled out as you punched me again, before stifling my breath with your hand.
I felt your fingers probe underneath my shirt, rough and groping.
The straps tore at my flesh as you ripped my bra apart.
I tried to push your hand off my face, I was having trouble breathing
But when you took your hand off and I gasped for air, it fell back against my cheek hard
I stopped trying to push you away, tears streaming, afraid you’d hit me again.
I bucked when your course fingers pinched, it only seemed to excite you more.
I cringed as you raked your nails deep down my stomach digging in.
You stopped at the top of my panties before yanking them till they tore.
Panic sliced through me as I felt you unclasping your jeans, understanding swept me.
I knew then what you intended to do and my blood ran cold at the thought.
You took your hand off of my mouth and threatened to kill me if I screamed
But I yelled anyway begging for help, preying that you would be caught.
I was silenced by a stinging blow that sent me hard against the head board.
Too disoriented by it to yell again before you were done taking off my t shirt.
Through blurry eyes and mind I felt your eager hands pillage and explore.
I was smacked again for screaming at how badly your fingers inside me hurt.
You showed no mercy as I screamed in pain against the palm of your hand.
You only continued to probe and play, talking dirty to me, making me talk back.
Through bloodied lips and wrenching pain I was abused by this man
He made me say unmentionable things about him, while he cruelly laughed.
I absconded with reader rabbit (Peter), to celebrate Saint Patrick's Day
Ah Sheik Hog - Ho!
One "FAKE" Wingman
think Monty Python's
Flying Circus skittering
on thin ice - Skidamarink
a dink, a dink...
hither and yon, to and fro
Via O'hare To Dublin y'know
Cuz, The Leprechaun within
me, no spring chicken bro,
nevertheless oz offer friendship in toto
good day to thee with cheerful adieu.
Though nowhere to be found despite search team
loudly trumpeting thru depleting fresh air
supply terrestrially polluted atmosphere,
asper the unknown whereabouts, regarding
said royally titled quasi legally inherited bare
naked lady loving bastard oven heated affair
son last seen donning Herringbone Wool headwear
supplemented by Irish merrino wool sweater
and custom made Hemp (smoking hot) pants
informing observer with seedy, faux debonair,
and pseudo (reed "FAKE") suave cultured couture
clothing automatically camouflaging to disappear
without a trace, thee alluded to rival to the throne
(Irish to keep ye in the dark) like chocolate eclair
secret recipe (one takes to the grave), unless held
at gunpoint by bonafide Machiavellian consigliere
ruthless if necessary forcing captive to declare
high fidelity, indemnity, loyalty, et cetera to a
life of lawlessness adopting anonymous incognito
guise accepting bewig noggin with long knotty hair
tattoo skin with "FAKE" scars to accentuate fear
factor accepting (cryptic blood bonded) brotherhood till
death do you part loot, pillage, vandalize, et cetera
in a blitzkrieg effort (albeit violently) to repair
evenly distribute disparity between 1% and 99%
grassroots uprising (peopled with migrants) spear
writ ting their exploitation at the (Taj Mahal) bear
sized paws swiping at susceptibility, vulnerability,
inequality, et cetera series of unfortunate events
decreed, instilled, ordained clamped like ironware
shackling one generation after another, an outright
outdated, on par as anachronism, feudalism, stoicism
where stark difference between rich and poor unfair,
especially, cus the latter labor sweat of their brow,
which backbreaking toil essentially endows wealthy
at expense of grunt work signalling ominous nightmare.
I absconded with reader rabbit (Peter), to celebrate Saint Patrick's Day
Ah Sheik Hog - Ho!
One "FAKE" Wingman
think Monty Python's
Flying Circus skittering
on thin ice - Skidamarink
a dink, a dink...
hither and yon, to and fro
Via O'hare To Dublin y'know
Cuz, The Leprechaun within
me, no spring chicken bro,
nevertheless oz offer friendship in toto
good day to thee with cheerful adieu.
Though nowhere to be found despite search team
loudly trumpeting thru depleting fresh air
supply terrestrially polluted atmosphere,
asper the unknown whereabouts, regarding
said royally titled quasi legally inherited bare
naked lady loving bastard oven heated affair
son last seen donning Herringbone Wool headwear
supplemented by Irish merrino wool sweater
and custom made Hemp (smoking hot) pants
informing observer with seedy, faux debonair,
and pseudo (reed "FAKE") suave cultured couture
clothing automatically camouflaging to disappear
without a trace, thee alluded to rival to the throne
(Irish to keep ye in the dark) like chocolate eclair
secret recipe (one takes to the grave), unless held
at gunpoint by bonafide Machiavellian consigliere
ruthless if necessary forcing captive to declare
high fidelity, indemnity, loyalty, et cetera to a
life of lawlessness adopting anonymous incognito
guise accepting bewig noggin with long knotty hair
tattoo skin with "FAKE" scars to accentuate fear
factor accepting (blood bonded) brotherhood till
death do you part loot, pillage, vandalize, et cetera
in a blitzkrieg effort (albeit violently) to repair
evenly distribute disparity between 1% and 99%
grassroots uprising (peopled with migrants) spear
writ ting their exploitation at the (Taj Mahal) bear
sized paws swiping at susceptibility, vulnerability,
inequality, et cetera series of unfortunate events
decreed, instilled, ordained clamped like ironware
shackling one generation after another, an outright
outdated, on par as anachronism, feudalism, stoicism
where stark difference between rich and poor unfair,
especially, cus the latter labor sweat of their brow,
which backbreaking toil essentially endows wealthy
at expense of grunt work signalling ominous nightmare.
Thanksgiving Day
~ pretty weird that it is necessary to have one day allocated during the year to give
thanks to the harvest or anything else we might and should be grateful for during
the year and I do not suppose that turkeys approve of this pagan feast when we
stuff ourselves with bird flesh digestives condiments from the gravy train of riches
Hallelujah for burgers wine and soft drinks Coca Cola Mc Donald’s Gallo’s Alamos
on consumption’s battle fields entrenched in modern living praised be the Harvest
Queen the God of Wall Street the Guns and Drones that feed our seeming needs
the wants of affluence and exploitation the fig leafs of sweet environmental humility
You sow the wind and reap the storm and flatulence and bloated waistlines waste
lines of reason’s indigestion shed fatty malnourished winds of tempest’s thunder
Armaggedon in the waking waiting helplessly for paradise at least in our neck of
the woods the Global North’s power broking houses of doom injustice domination
Far from honouring the beauty the Dominatrix yes mother Gaia is female and
should protect ancestral love and kindness from the milk and honey breast of
feeding body mind and soul and spirit communal comprehension ancient modern or
just timeless cycles of sustainable responsibility we pilfer rape and pillage desecrate
One day of feasting praising what we otherwise forget lest we remember leaves
three-hundred and sixty-four periods of moon and sunlight spinning out of all
control and we’re oblivious to the warning signs of plenty erase the gift we should
pass on to our children lineage progeny now left with massive mess and no Messiah
Were we more honest we would solemnly acknowledge that what we’re praising
in hypocrisy and neglected conscience is human depravation the demise of dignity
loosing the plot the fields and garden from where our harvest needs to prosper
would in frank and serious good faith admit that what we garner and amass is
Genocide…
05th November 2016
In a kingdom afar
Dispute broke out and transfer
Through the land like wild fire
Then came an old man with eyes of sapphire
With wisdom that equals that of Solomon
Without delay he summoned the powerful, high and common
First to arrive was the Head, Hand and Leg tribe
Then came came Belly and Heart tribe holding plaque, war inscribe
"Your strength is in your diversity,"
Thus speaks the wise old man
"There has to sincerity
To coexist in this blessed clan"
The head Tribe grumbled and boast
"We play the best role so we deserve the biggest share,
Without my brothers mouth, brain, eyes and nose the tribe is unquestionably lost,
So if we ask for more it is thus fare"
"Nonse" Shouted the Hand
With a thundering Clap
"Unbelievable" barked the Leg clan
With a quaking stamp
"Selfish" belowed the Heart tribe
With a forceful pump
"Thats appropriate heart" screamed the Belly Clan
With a rumbling yup
Amidst the uproar
The old man voice's soar
Calming The Fury
That blinded their reasoning in a hurry
"Great men without vision,
Thy strength is in thy cohesion
A race without its head,
Associates with the dead
A tribe without its hands,
will only lag behind
A clan without its legs,
its first choice is to beg
A tribe without is heart,
Cease to enjoy breath
Its our belly that stores the taste of life,
From its bank we gather strength to laugh
A nation in turmoil,
Is never free from boil"
So the wise man verbalize
While they sat and gaze
"All leaders of all tribe
Hide not under ethnic patronage
For your show of intrest is only gibe
The cause of this strife is the result of your pillage
Inhibit your greedy bowels for a year
See if grasses won't grow in this desert
But I know what you all fear
That the commoners will get wiser if they have a sniff of your dessert
Which man will you spear that will not bleed?
Can a lamb survive in the mist of wolves?
This nation is in discord cause of your deeds
Your children are in safe haven while others in ignorance lose their lives
For the sake Of unity show patriotism
Shun ethnic jargon and favoritism
Uphold Justice
This land will know peace"
Form:
War is the art of making a withdrawal at the bank
With checks written in the blood of patriots
Spending lives
Without a care or whim
Sacrificing body and soul
Life and limb
To justify a means to an end
The most vicious of my troops I send
To pillage a loot
Your cries of peace are moot
Its truly a tragic scene
For the continued slaughter
Of the fleshy targets
Of everyone’s daughter
I surrender myself
As a modern-day martyr
This is what I do
I destroy them
For you
Point, aim, click
And they explode on cue
Delivered death
Retriever of your continued breath
Until there is nothing left
The charred carcass I heft
To be tossed to the pile
Stacked deep by the mile
Offering a wicked smile
To intimidate
My target of late
The reaper of souls
Would like a date
Not picky
Of your attire
Or where to eat
Just where to hang you by your feet
So you swing to the beat
Of the ratty tat tat
And the boom boom gloom
It’s a buffet of mayhem and doom
Your dance partners
Wear a pin and a spoon
Pull aim and throw
Watch the flesh
Separate and blow
Meat and greet
A disgusting show
Yes its quite fun
Fooling the simple
Almost satisfying
Like popping a pimple
But more fascinating
To watch the meek
Struggle like sheep
Taking orders for death
How would you like it prepared?
Well done, medium or rare?
How about vile and unfair
Without a care
Doing everything I dare
Laying the insanity of humanity
Bare
For all to share
In 1080p
For all to see
Or possibly 4K
To taste the flavor of the day
Bright and vivid
So you can get good and livid
And cry out WHY?
Do so many have to die?
A fair question to be sure
And I do concur
But humanity has it’s lure
It’s a hook
Its a crave
To control others
By filling the grave
Of the willing
To do the killing
Because they were told
By the rich and old
If they win
We fold
Were sold
They will break our mold
And end up cold
It’s truly a rotten game
This thing called war
It should be called
The nothing of evermore
Nothing
Ever
Becomes
More
Eric (and sometimes not)