Long Plan of attack Poems
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Strange noises come from my basement,
And they're making it hard to sleep.
A cold chill rushes across my skin,
As I hear the sound of a child weep.
Soft cries rising to a crescendo,
The pitch is deafening to my ears.
My bedroom door slowly creaks open,
And the shadow of a girl appears.
At first, I couldn't believe my eyes;
As a ghastly vision filled my head.
Her shrill voice echoed in my mind,
Without a single word being said.
Heart pounding wildly in my chest,
As she gradually drew much nearer.
When she reached the foot of my bed,
Her haunted face shown much clearer.
She then laid her hands upon my feet,
And I was completely paralyzed.
The brutal past of the vision cast,
Was how this young child was victimized.
The same shot rolled over and over,
Like a movie projector on a screen.
Beaten and raped again and again,
Her father's face in this horror scene.
With innocence stolen by his sins,
Body bleeding and close to death.
To silence the crimes committed,
A pillow took her final breath.
Then buried deep in the basement,
He fled without leaving a clue.
Tears in her eyes as she disappeared,
I realized what I had to do.
After some investigation,
And searching the family archive.
Lo and behold, to my surprise,
Discovered her father still alive!
I soon devised a plan of attack,
With some time, I tracked him down.
I saw he was now an elderly man,
Living alone in another town.
Late one night, I broke into his house;
As he slept quietly in his bed.
I thought about that poor little girl,
And with an axe, I took his head.
Your memories perplex a confused mind.
A vast sea-like water spout erupts behind.
I morphed into what you were enduring.
We are once again being left in the wind.
Scars were tickled with scent of spring.
Tulip gardens and vivid hues are enchanting.
Hypnotic mind's remoteness is strange.
Using the ninth divine cloud, you lauding.
Dismal views would drive me strange.
I'd sing for the spirits of the carnage.
In my mind, the calm of today is gone.
Darken spots provide a unique phage.
Feeling in the heart as cold as scorn.
So, where is this mind going torn?
This is the mind's intrinsic norm.
Wherever darkness rules are born.
You can't discern truth from deform.
Yet, reality is a colorless transform.
Trust has been ripped and struck.
The only thing left is a bodily storm.
Sadness is the hallmark of the muck.
Left you with no clear plan of attack.
It's the saddest situation conceivable.
It is the master interface for all ruck.
Written: October 04, 2021
I've got a story, that needs to be told,
about my mean ole granny, she's pushing "83" years old.
She came at me trippin, it was a Tuesday night,
griping up a storm bout her broken, bedroom nightlite.
She claims I attempted to cause her to trip,
with ending up on floor, and a right broken hip.
She waddled down the hall, walker leading the way,
her hair was a wreck, misplaced comb I would say.
I calmly explained light stays constantly lit,
seven days and nights, my excuse, sounding legit.
Before I could say that the little bulb just blew,
she slowly bent down, and grabbed a brown velcro shoe.
Not quite for certain of her plan of attack,
shouldn't be worried, her eyesight, rather unfit.
I went to the kitchen, quickly opened the junk drawer,
located a pack of bulbs, I had purchased a week before.
Staying out of her way, her comments, and aim,
back to her room, the nightlite I had supposedly maimed.
I quickly replaced the old bulb with new,
the light flickered once, twice, then its radiance grew.
I went back to sit, where I was before,
with granny still ranting, barely pacing the floor.
I told her, her light seems to be fine,
that she could go back to bed at any time.
Slowly she dropped the brown velcro laced shoe,
continuing to cuss at me, like a mad trucker would do.
With a final curse word, and a slam of her door,
I sat silently, grinning, and thinking, "grannies' rage", I simply adore.
The determination in my eyes
says don't mess with my time
to brilliantly shine and to rise
keeping my focus on the prize
with no one causing my demise
I will keep my self contained rage
coursing deep inside my veins
To unsheath my sword on that day
when my enemies will have to pay
battle hardened with strategy in play
To live or die for the cause I ride
because
my warrior spirit I can not hide
gathering my soldiers on my side
Mounting our horses saddled to deride
my opponents who can not fight
An intellect beyond their comprehension
A wind at our backs igniting confusion
Their victory song will be an illusion
The smell of sucess will be a delusion
My plan of attack is right now in motion
Sweet revenge is my bottled potion
Drop your swords my unrighteous foes
Off with your heads are my righteous blows
Bodies piled to be picked apart by crows
With these slaughtering fields I will gloat
I'm a warrior with my strength to show
Very feminine yet extremely deadly, woah!
(My true God is a rightous warrior and
taught me to be a warrior too)
I'm having the hardest time
Trying to find something that rhymes
With Paul Simon's counterpart
Garfunkel so I'll just call him Art
Always standing to Paul's right
Feeling left out in his life of strife
Struggling in the crossing over
This bridge of his troubled waters
Although he can sing sweet as sin
There's nowhere for Art to put his hands
While Rhyming Simon strums his guitar
Empty are the tinder hands of Art
Pockets front and pockets back
Are his only plan of attack
If he had known it'd go down this way
An instrument he would have learned to play
But as far as history goes
Who wouldn't love to have his voice
Although he can sing sweet as sin
Art Garfunkel has nowhere to put his hands
Though Art Garfunkel while singing would hold the Mic stand at times he did keep his hands in his pockets quite frequently...awkward.
He fought for glory
He fought to kill
Trained in battle
Broken rebuilt will
Once an innocent
Now a master
Following orders
No matter the disaster
Women , children
Clad all in black
Strange lands of sand
No plan of attack
Reinvent reality
Dreams are red
Blood splatters
Too many to count dead
Retreat go back
Set up the board again
Draw another map
Search for a different end
Once so young
Now so grown
Memories of yesterday all gone
but what you are told
Reinvented redesigned
Where did you go?
Life's' journey passed you
What have you to show?
Metals pinned on your chest
Hands raised high
Your a hero now young man
You did not die.
Though observation I obtain and soak up knowledge, I express self opinion and take mental notes. I read because it opens endless opportunities of wonder and creativity while also expanding my horizons in my desired plan of attack within my critical thinking process. I apply a self goal of strengthening my stance in the foundation of facts, putting forth proper presentation and applying the appropriate approach in future debates. I refuse to step into a war of words based on hearsay alone, opinions are great for the simple fact that they express one's indifference & ability to agree to disagree but it is simply that, one's opinionated judgement minus proven facts. Any and all competition that I'm faced with, I know to never underestimate them therefore I enter with the mindset to unleash everything in my arsenal upon them. Whether it be physically, emotionally or mentally, I Vow to keep the decision out of the judges hands & promise to leave nothing on the table that would give them momentum when battling back. It is self suicide on my behalf if I leave even the slightest room for error rather than showcasing complete dominance from start to finish. My only vision is to rise victorious as the soul survivor & be the last man standing.
Ashes to ashes, and dust to dust,
The end of all we knew.
The death of all the love and trust,
To be reborn anew.
Spring, rebirth, a phoenix,
All symbols we have seen.
One step forward, not a trick
Fleeing from where I’ve been.
Who was I? It matters not,
What matters is where I go.
Sure-footed now, giving all I have got
Can’t let the relief show.
The past is behind, and I don’t dare look back -
Or else I may lose the way
One day at a time, my plan of attack,
I am stronger, or so they say.
What will I face? I’m excited to see
Despite all I’ve left behind.
The worst has now gone, I guarantee
No more will I be blind.
You’re by my side, that’s the difference this time
The reason I’m so sure -
We've both had to hide, now there's you in your prime,
Two halves of something pure.
What Llama Lil Saw in Baghdad
In Llama Lil's Cafe eating crackers and Stilton
surveying the street and reading Milton
Sits a strange and moody itinerant
Icon for a well-known roll-on deoderant
Under cover spy for a US president
Devoid of all human sentiment
On assignment he was hand picked
And his code name was Eggs Benedict
Perusing the pages of Paradise Lost
he re-read the phrase "At no human cost"
For his orders were, to him revealed
between the lines of Milton concealed
and I suspect, though I really can't say
the reason for this strange communique
Was due to the results of a wide-world survey
Showing few are caught dead, reading 'poet-ray'
Deep in thought on his plan of attack
He heard a blonde from the table at his back
Summon the waiter with fingers clicked
to order a double Eggs Benedict
Mysteriously, in dark glasses AND reading Milton
She slipped him a note- her number at the Hilton
He felt a strange rumble in his tummy
He remembered how the cheese tasted funny
The last thing on earth our hero has seen
are the spinning walls of Lil's, Argentine theme
The rest of his life flashed past his eyes
Is this the way a hero dies?
Super -spy and icon for a well known deoderant
Killed -from effects of a straying rodent
Missed his liason at the Hilton
Some one mailed his copy of Milton
pages torn and stained with Stilton
(Yes! It was from the Bagdad Hilton!)
To an address inside the cover
T'was to: George W Bush or someone or other
In May of seventeen seventy-nine
Henry Clinton was having a hard time,
so tired of the rebels still fighting,
had to somehow get Gorge Washington
out of the looming Hudson Highlands,
and then force the war to a final ending.
He marched his army to the north
meaning to shut down King’s Ferry,
threaten West Point and draw them out,
determined to up the ante,
no nonsense was he to bandy,
his men took Stony Point.
With the King’s Ferry now block and closed,
across the Hudson supplies couldn’t go,
Washington found himself in a hard place,
with a foothold beneath the Hudson Peaks
the British now could his main camps seek,
he could not let himself be displaced.
From atop a nearby mountain
he saw the British were building
abbatis and gun emplacements,
with scarlet the point was filling,
he knew that there’d soon be killing,
he would retake Stony Point.
But then the British made a mistake,
trying to set bait Washington would take,
sent Tyron to raid towards New Haven,
but Washington was not a damned fool,
he saw what they were trying to do,
and in the Hudson Highlands he remained.
Drew up a new plan of attack,
then Mad Anthony Wayne he called,
a general of temper and great skill,
they would see the British fort fall,
the garrison their troops would maul,
they would take Stony Point.
See when the British had fortified,
they had forgotten the river had tides,
and that a beach would soon be exposed.
It was a long shot, but one they would take,
if they could get behind the lines would break,
so only the best troops were picked to go.
No bullets would be in their guns,
stealth and steel would be their choice,
the only way they could be sure,
detection they had to avoid,
there really was no other choice
to penetrate Stony Point.
Wayne then split his forces into three
to face Britain’s seven hundred fifty
and sent Murfree to face the center,
his job was to raise hell and distract,
while to the north Butler’s troops would track,
from the south Wayne’s main force would enter.
At midnight they would all attack,
Under cover of the deep night,
white papers were stuck in their hats,
so they could see who not to fight,
bayonets set to stab and bite,
they marched for Stony Point...
CONCLUDES IN PART II