Long Riffle Poems
Long Riffle Poems. Below are the most popular long Riffle by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Riffle poems by poem length and keyword.
Royal blue sky scattered sapphire clouds
On horizon embroidered in navy blue attire
Summoned by the onset of marigold sun
Emitting amber gold on tuscan yellow fire
Where tapestry of fluffy lavender floats
Decorating patterns of designs periwinkle
Mosaic of colors then spray-paint the water
Spreading a layer of golden yellow cover
Shimmering gold dust on twilight ripples
Abutting brushstrokes of dark blue egyptian
I saw you briefly where first time we met
On the lonely bridge that extends into bay
But as the dark landmass peeked its head
And the lifeless vegetation glinted despair
The tangerine breeze announced your exit
Quivering our aura beneath glittering riffle
For you refused to witness impending flame--
Broken vows ablaze in last breath of sunset
Written: August 4, 2018
Submitted on February 6, 2023 to:
2022 Poetry Marathon Qualifiers' FINAL Placement Contest
Sponsor: Mark Toney
Submitted on December 7, 2022 To:
Placed 3rd: 2022 Poetry Marathon Mile 22 Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Mark Toney
Poem of the day on August 7, 2018
Placed first in standard contest #180 by Brian Strand
I hasten to place much faith in idle talk
Reality tells me i am never getting out of here
Rather I am destined to die here
Beside these other condemned band of brother's
This sorry War friends has forced upon me to rely
Word has filtered through the end is nigh
But though false dawns may lift the spirits
Of the uninitiated
A seasoned second tour trench institutionalized vetran
I remember this more than my walls and streets of home
And what if the rumors are to be proved true
I Fear the Man I shall Return
Is no longer the carefree Boy who Left
Another lifetime ago
How am I to live out my Day's
Knowing now what I have seen and done
For King and Country
My Sunny Valentine has been replaced by my Riffle
And the reflection in my polished bayonet
Bounces off my tin helmet
I inherited from some poor soldier never going home
Make what sense of the following sentence
You must
I will be sad to leave this place of untold misery
Come that Day
Saying Goodbye will be paved with raw despair
For so many other reasons than those we lost
Along the way
You asked a boy to buy into this War
And now I stand before you a Soldier Sir
It isn't fair Sir
Please don't send me back Sir
This is all I know now
I love the way the shell's fall darkening the Sky
Exploding into shrapnel furness plumes of Death
The Mud
The smell of human faces
The bloodied broken bones
Blown into a thousand piece's
I am so accustomed now
I think Id miss shell shock
Once more over the top please Sir
The War isn't won or over yet
And Sir
I am not ready to go home just yet
INFANTRY
At alert all day,
Waiting for the Marshal's orders,
To move into position against the foes,
Disintegrating into companies,
To launch their campaign.
Day and night on the battlefield,
Bullets raining the sky,
Reinforcements and air supports engaged,
Soldiers left hoping to come back alive,
But many died on the battleground,
And others injured,
Sacrificing their lives at the altar of victory.
As a sniper,
I said to a fellow soldier
''God gave me a special gift,
Made of fine instrument of warfare,
If He was to put me and my sniper riffle,
Anywhere up to and including a mile,
A mile to the arch enemy,
With a clear view of sight,
Pack your bags young men,
War is over''.
ANYABOLU IFEANYI GENTLE
A.D 2019,JAN 29 {whatsapp 07061816037}
#Repetition_of_irremediable_calamity
Stare the dark gloomed space of shooting casanovas, blurred with shades of karma, coated with deja vu, I was here the mind says, my hands mired with more dirt, contaminating my hard work and effort to never to pass through this hind streets of lingering pain and regrets, a rotational oozing of ghostlike tormenting shadows of my yesterday, and feel pacing in slow motion in this circles of no exits, no matter the effort pores punches all over my hope, feel drowning, suffocating and my soul ebbing, dilating in volumes I can't contain any further
My calamity takes everything out of me, regret there be nothing to identify me with, after it's taking, invisible blows shatters me from every direction, how can I not give in when I too was made from the very dust of this earth, a human like the rest
Here I'm tested to never rise again or to man up and prove the naysayers and those who have written me off even before my birth, spirit lead my me to faith without borders, pass me a riffle to eleminate every doubt before me, face up, faith on, and irremediable is just a word in my calamity
#Poetic_Ink
UBA!!!!!
Help! Help!! Help!!!
A race in none specific landing
Rolving round like the platnet on the space
In a beautifying rag of a helpless lion
Though roaring but its voice is silent.
Who is in the jungle?
Making a blast as such
That there might be no end.
Oh! i know
They are the workers of our masters
No wonder no one dares touch the anointed
You're better gone in their hands
Than you deleting anyone of them
"Afterall, their agitation is for their right
While slaves dare not try to own a riffle.
They need to "survive".
38 were rescued, none was arrested
For their anointed children have "complied"
As if there's no law governing the society.
Help!
Our land is on the verge of leaving us
While we might be the sacrificial lamb
Self defence does not apply to the annointed
Yet they are laced with the best gadgets.
Sangoooo!
Oooguunn ooo!!
Ooyaaooo!!!
Sanponna ooo!!!
Where are you?
Hope you've not left us yet?
Eesu oooo
Do not let these blood sucking palets
Take away your heritage
As our land is ravelled in their quest
While our adobted bastards sabotage our heritage
For the sake of their belly.
Nowhere is a place of refuge
Even the place of faith is a compromise
Should we await the second coming of christ
For our hope to come?
Our hope is lost
And the our land is crying for our loss.
Rest on Uba
Rest on the victors
May our land stop bleeding soon!!!!
©?olorunleke olorode
Hindered by the depth and breadth of winter
Cliffs dangle just outside the bungalow
With clear icicle mysteries remote
Hanging over shingles for dear life
Inside, imprisoned safe and sound
The hunter counts his rounds of ammunition
Riffle nestled useless by the common fire side
No chasing prey this season
Sleep takes its place
Why shoot the snow without a reason
It would only blow around and settle somewhere else
Outside the storm brings misery
Three feet of snow to block the door
Wind rattles windows to claw inside
The cabin remains remote, imprisoned
Embedded in the snow
More inches rise with no where else to hide
But down on frozen lakes on powder blue
Cold holds on to banks of solid earth
All those inches piled high for what
Filling up the landscape with so much white
Pines cling on to memory of ice below the tundra line
Like all good trees they freeze but never die
Over sleeping keeps the bears in dens
No need for hunting them
It would only mean their end
The realization of how quickly drifts can rise
Accumulations conspired by cruel natures wrath
Shear numbers of snow flakes conspire
Wind and sky hold up the nights good-bye
Now stuck inside the simple shelter fixed
Winter bound, oats are hunters sustenance, companion
Along with tea and lemon, honey makes the best of company
Will see him through to doomsday, till things turn about
Closed in on times advances
A captive audience of one
Now waits in winter wonder
On snowy mountain counting down the hours
Our fishing guide thought I wanted to catch fish –
that I had come to the River’s Edge to catch
a mottled Brown for a mantled photograph.
I should have told him that I cared not for a fish
for my father had recently passed away
and I held his rod of beautiful bamboo.
I had come only to cast into my memory’s mist –
to hear the line sing my father’s song
and again his voice arise from a riffle.
Many mornings he held my hand to teach me
to find the rhythm of the line then extend
to mirror and become the water.
From a rock, I cast into pocket water
where a Brown watches but then chooses
not to strike the timelessness of the past,
at the river’s edge.
Winter Bound
Hindered by depth and breadth of winter
Blocked doors and windows on the cabin cliff remote
Imprisoned by three feet of snow and all those inches
Piling up outside, no where to go
Pines cling to memory of icicles below the tundra line
Like all good trees they freeze but never die
Over sleeping kept me from hunting deer
The realization of how quickly drifts can rise
Shear numbers of snow flakes conspiring
Cruel nature with wind and sky to hold me in
Now stuck inside the simple shelter fixed
Riffle and ammo sitting useless by the common fire place
No chasing prey this season, no reason to shoot the snow
It would only blow around and settle somewhere else
Winter bound, oats are my only sustenance, companion
Along with tea and lemon, not exactly the best of company
But will see me through, till things turn about
Closed in times advance
I become a captive audience of one
The only show in town watched now in wonder
On snowy mountain counting down the hours
VASILY ZAYTSEV
As nature took me back into times,
To witness sadden and heroic events filled with cries, It was very soul engulfing that I couldn’t stand to witness,
But was compelled by purpose to attend.
Old time landed me safely at STARLINGARD
I beheld a sniper riffle upon a raised platform,
The shooter as I approached diminished,
And I couldn’t say something to him,
I followed my way from starlingard,
Up to YELENINSKOYE ORENBURG, There the story began.
Songs were heard in a family,
A son came into the cosmo,
With a saddened task facing him,
Unknown was it to him,
Destiny and fate moulded him in,
That was VASILY ZAYTSEV The hero of Starlingard.
Gradually he grew into a finetaker,
Tracked down a wolf with only a bullet as a kid he was satisfied, Without a view of his role in Starlingard,
Due to Hitler's territorial conquest.
Troops marching out in thousands,
Outnumbering the alluvial sands,
The hope of the world was towards Starlingard,
Since the soviet union subdued by Hitler.
Starlingard became a stronghold,
Because of the undying spirit of men in the patriotic war.
Assigned to the 1047th Riffle Regiment,
Vasily was the pride of the company which later was named 62nd army at Starlingard,
That was on 17th September 1942,
Vasily started shooting around the axis
Zealous as he was on the battlefield,
A sniper concealing his locations,
Covering a large area from three positions, Known as the "sixies" up till today.
Killing 11 scores plus armed men including 11 snipers. Making It 32 axis killings.
Undiluted spirit of enthusiasm,
Towards conquering enemies at the gates,
Manifested by his perfect shootings,
Calculating the bearings of directions of his sniper,
Diminishing enemies until he conquered,
To him there was no land beyond the ''VOLGA''
ANYABOLU IFEANYI GENTLE
I am a civilian at war
I do not know how to hold a gun at all
I hope to return home a warrior
I am a civilian at war
facing giants and the world
I hope you hold my hand when I stretch it for help
I am a civilian at war
My feet are swollen and my stomach as well
I hope you feed me when I won’t be able to lift my hand
I am a civilian at war
My uniform has rugs
I hope you dress me when you see me naked
I am civilian at war
Confused by man’s religions
I hope you guide me if you see me my friend
I am a civilian at war
My riffle has run out of bullets
I hope you recharge mine if have some in excess
I am woman
alone in a labour room
I hope you come to my rescue if you hear my voice
I am a man
Depressed
I hope you talk to me when you see me drowning
I am girl child
sexually Assaulted
I hope you protect me next time you see me alone
I am a young person
Caught stealing and swindling my loved ones
I hope you employ me next time you read my resume