Long Reinforcements Poems
Long Reinforcements Poems. Below are the most popular long Reinforcements by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Reinforcements poems by poem length and keyword.
A sentinel
A sentinel stands motionless, staring out into the distance;
Surveying the horizon in case of a new threat.
He has been there all night and now dawn is breaking.
The light shines in his eyes and lights up the glen.
The flowers are in bloom and all the trees are a radiant green
And still he stands, watching; looking for any kind of enemy.
He can hear his fellow soldiers stirring behind him;
Their hangovers are seeking a remedy.
He wonders if this will be the day they are attacked;
Or will the peace last?
And will reinforcements arrive before the enemy?
Still he stands still, staring into the forest;
Waiting for someone to cross his path.
This war has lasted too long already and no end of war is in sight.
He is just thankful for the peace that lasted…last night.
(C)2016 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
Form:
Two young nudists went to lie down and bask
Along came a cop who took them to task
Thought they broken the law
For basking in the raw
Then the cop said" you're not wearing face masks"...
The nudists thought it was some kind of jest
Both cursed the cop and started to protest
Reinforcements were called
The nudists were appalled
When they were charged and placed under arrest...
They were both before the judge the next day
To the young nudists he had this to say
"Maskless face is a crime
So you will both do time"
They got four years and were taken away...
And two more from Belle Bellevue
Wonder if the cop's prudish or a creep
Who just couldn't resist taking a sly peep
Was the mask excuse
To get a good view
Does he count naturists when he can't sleep.
Four years is too long for not wearing masks
Who the devil pays their keep one might ask
We all well know who
It's us, me and you
Free bed and board, it's not bad for a bask.
Written 15th August 2021
I am stuck in the darkness of another sunny day
The demons inside of me, prescriptions cannot slay
My psychiatrist is demented
I’ve got psychoses she invented
For each new diagnosis, extra I must pay
The world inside my head is a scary place to be
Sometimes I am unaware of which persona controls me
I am alone in a crowd
The silence is too loud
But it is too crowded when I am in solitary
Positive forces are in a negative state
If everything is normal – there must be a mistake
The reinforcements are arriving much too late
The euphoria I feel, I know will soon abate
My masculinity is crying like a child
My libido is running around wild
My id has started to let go
There is nothing super about my ego
I can no longer function
At this neurotic junction
Compassion is out of fashion
And pierces like acupunction
Individual personalities inside
Have been born and died
Some committing suicide
A tact I do not abide
Left to devices of my own
Captive in my home
Not casting any stones
Decaying to the bones
Dialing 9-1-1 on the telephone
At twelve forty-five, the clock struck one,
and when it had seen what it had done,
after sixty more minutes flew,
that timekeeper struck two.
It never learned, next to the shelf:
"Always keep your hands to yourself",
so, it continued its violent spree.
An hour later, it struck three.
Reinforcements came through the door -
but, too late, that timepiece struck four.
We could only hope to stay alive,
when Big Bad Ben struck five.
We knew we were in a terrible fix
when that chronometer struck six.
Three went to hell, four to heaven,
when that outsized watch struck seven.
The FBI came to investigate
when that mad sundial struck eight.
The national guard stood in a line,
and the ticking demon struck nine.
I prayed it would never happen again.
Just then, the awful beast struck ten.
When I cast my eyes up to heaven,
that hunk of gears struck eleven.
Into the hour's nature, my mind did delve,
as the clock, time's agent, struck twelve.
A riddle: how much blood did it spill?
Seventy-eight, it would kill.
And now, by order of fate's decree,
time is racing after me.
So, when I hear the clock strike one.
I know it's time to run.
The Flag
The white flag means to give up.
It means to end every chance
of effort to stop what is about to happen,
or what is happening, or going to.
There is no road back,
from the end.
Do not take this path,
unless the forest is on fire,
the sea is boiling
and the mountains have been driven
down into the deep,
cut into halves and quarters
of their original size.
Instead, look to the heavens,
reinforcements have arrived.
White horses,
with angel riders, draw near.
They are on the edge of the sun,
at the rim of the sky.
They carry swords and bows,
They will cure the woes, of the earth.
There true intention to announce
the return of the King!
"He is coming!"
Pick up your weapon and breath again.
Do not give up or give away, your soul to the troll.
Your value beyond measure a treasure for the King,
willing to conquer evil and ready to reign
over everything.
In the winter of eighteen thirty-six the historic siege began.
The Mexicans went three thousand strong with Santa Anna in command.
The Texians defending the mission numbered one hundred eighty-two
lead by Travis, Bowie, and Crockett, they vowed to see it through.
The Texians expected to be reinforced, but reinforcements never came.
In order to stall the Mexican advance, they decided to stay just the same.
Knowing they would probably not survive, they never considered to flee;
they selflessly made this sacrifice so fellow Texians could live free.
Legend says Travis took his sword and drew a line in the sand;
knowing that it meant certain death, the rebels crossed it to a man.
Whether the legend is true or not, cannot be verified,
but what we know from the history books is all the Texians died.
The assault commenced on the thirteenth day before the light of the sun.
Colonel Travis shouted, “Give ‘em hell” as the battle was begun.
The greatly outnumbered Texians fought with valor and pride.
They bravely stood their ground, but ‘twas a mere hour till the last one died.
Today the site in San Antone is viewed as hallowed ground;
the spirit of the heroes that died there can be felt in the air all around.
The old mission is viewed with great respect by all Texans down the line,
and all will tell you that the Alamo is a truly a Texas shrine.
An unseen battle, rages on;
both good and bad;
of light and dark.
Defense of souls is a cumbersome duty.
Souls are timeless nomads;
incarnation is their vehicle.
At any point, on the battlefield;
souls stung by celestial arrows heal slowly and
lessons are better absorbed.
Voices on the ether's lure a soul, astray;
question what you hear.
Evils voice is sumptuous;
its bite swiftly paralyzes.
Step softly upon the battleground;
march within the light.
The battle rages all around the universe;
reinforcements are always available at no cost.
Invoke no arrows of doubt and
cross the ether's, safely.
A STORY OF TEENAGE THUGGERY, JEALOUSY, TEASING AND TAUNTING -
THE DESTRUCTION OF A PROMISING LIFE ................
Staggering down the rain-drenched street
I see you, reeling drunkenly
like a sailor trying to keep his balance
on a storm ravaged ship.
You stop only to vomit your intoxication,
falling to your knees, then wobbling back to
tottering unsteadiness as you roll
faltering, aiming for the safety of home.
Your friend tries to steady you, but
you push him away in a tirade of independence.
Sober insecurity magically transformed
into inebriated confidence.
Then, there she is - the teenage focus
of your immature passion. She doesn't see you -
she never does - she ignores you
as she teeters on her too-high-heels
staggering, like you, over the rain-drenched cobbles,
taunting her hormone packed companion
with her pert breasts and pouting lips,
until she stops to kiss him in your view.
Sudden sobriety steadies you as you watch
them jealously - touching, kissing, exploring -
you call out angrily to distract them: you swear,
you name-call, a juvenile torrent of verbal abuse.
The reinforcements appear from the shadows:
his mates, jumping to his defence.
They grab broken bottles, discarded wood, one has a knife,
and they chase you, full-pelt, down the rain-soaked street.
You are easy meat: your reflexes and reactions
still laggard with drink. They floor you easily.
Blows raining down in a frenzied downpour
of merciless, unceasing violence......
kicking, beating, spitting, knifing, wild,
like a pride of lions decimating their prey.
You sink into unconsciousness, your lifeblood
draining, trickling with the rain down the pavement.
She watches, silent tears snaking from
mascara-laden eyes. She notices you now:
for the first time she acknowledges your existence
as your very existence is snuffed out ....
snuffed out like a near spent candle.
Seventeen years obliterated by youthful hatred.
Seventeen years annihilated by needless thuggery.
What a waste. What a bloody, bloody shame.
....did I say this was a 'story'? No, sorry, it's true......
Russia pounds Bakhmut to dust in 2022
Putin bombs and tortures civilians too
Western diplomats warn, "Naughty, naught, shouldn't do!"
No marches, no protests, no counterattacks, no coup
Putin smirks: "Civilians? Them, we do not attack!"
Words of a fox, a liar, a megalomaniac
Zelensky and Ukraine fight back with all their might
But in 2023, Ukraine's nearly out of arms
~ quite a desperate plight
Zelensky awaits reinforcements from the West, but alas
The delivery system is almost out of gas
Enmeshed in partisan jawing and enmity on Capitol Hill
Never forget: If Ukraine loses, Western lives pay the bill
Until Now
David J Walker
This poem was waiting for
The right paper before
It is said
It is Written
of
Printed plain words
until now
unspoken
Thoughts and hearts in clouds
Crowds of dry denizens crying in the dust
Until now
Unbroken
On the edge of ether and untried ideas
Of silent sentiments forming the Brokering Reinforcements
Until now
Unavowed nor
Vetted in sentiments of censored compunctions
Flowing in moonlit waterfall forests
Until now
Unnoticed
the Winer is welcomed with inevitable approbation
And essential acclamation while privately negotiating with Spring
Until now
We thought winter might never end
With summers anticipation