Long Siege Poems
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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.
(***warning ungapatchka language ahead***)
Flush with rage the spouse will become allied
if reference made how she buzzfeeds disorder
altercation especially likely if divorce blurted
making me wish to experience (immediately)
bartered bride, when mine pointed finger doth
nonverbally chide markedly appalling untidy
predilection she blithely exhibits woeful scant
interest to maintain can-do spirit affecting plea
zing aesthetic humble abode ofttimes slacking
off cleaning trail of abomination, which talent
includes unwittingly cultivating qua primordial
soup possibly duplicating conditions when life
originated (bajillion years ago) on planet Earth
witnessed courtesy think gummy, groovy, gooey,
gloppy, (nippy, nap, noopy) protoplasmic slimy
oozing blob (starring Steve McQueen) amoeba
like swallowing small towns with names such as
Chester Springs, Downingtown, Phoenixville,
& Royersford hungering, hinting, and hankering
to hasten home hearing Harris harridan hooligan
hoopla conniption purportedly linked into order
issued courtesy board of health for hen pecking
wife to hustle & make house beautiful for Biden
(accompanied with hit parade) announcing (yea)
at long last Republican administration overhaul
which fête yours truly slated to host determined
(weeks ago), thus necessitating legally wedded
counterpart to apply elbow grease in tandem to
render spic & span where unsightly food scraps,
soiled clothes, scattered papers, et cetera strewn
helter skelter, the disarray the culmination of 4+
years occupying these digs in Schwenksville, Pa.
Upon being told "get the place in ship shape order"
she went ballistic like bupkis fired out me gluteus
maximus, (whereat I couldn't help but think ICBM)
yea, an incongruous thought as she rattled vitriolic,
colorful expletives coarse language enough would
make sailor blush shutting his yapper uttering before
he even uttered "shiver me timbers," hence clatter
and din created cacophonous noise as my fair lady
affected one woman siege warfare as pots and pans
flew pell mell thru air while I took refuge in fallout
shelter unused since total mortal kombat destroyed
major swath of webbed wide world, global debacle
our dear leader triggered (when in pensive mood) he
lobbed weapons of mass destruction after being axed
to "go back home" meaning his mother planet Uranus.
III.
It was near midnight when they came again,
four warriors armed all with flaming brands,
Myron bolted up from a fitful sleep,
and poured out bullets as the horses ran.
He managed to shoot one off of his horse,
but the trio screamed and charged in once more,
Harold said”They’re fools to keep charging in!”
But Myron though hard, and wasn’t so sure.
He called for all to cease firing
and listened close as if searching for proof,
then he heard soft thumps coming from above,
one of them had gotten up on the roof!
The charging men had been a distraction,
and Myron grabbed the shot-gun in a hurry,
fearing that they would set the roof aflame,
he opened fire with a hot fury.
A hole was blasted where he shot the brave,
the dead man rolled off and struck hard on the ground,
the charging warriors roared in anger,
so Harold shot another one of them down.
The survivors fled back towards their camp,
but no withdrawal did the Sioux men beat,
instead they took turns sniping at their foes,
to deny Myron and his family sleep.
Come Morning Myron looked out and saw perched high
sixteen warriors atop their steads,
with lances and rifles and tomahawks
preparing for the morning’s bloody deeds.
But what chilled Myron’s soul more than anything
was the small tree trunk that two riders held
by the branches, to batter down the door,
and visit upon them a living hell.
The others let loose a barrage of shots,
to try and suppress Myron waiting within,
he fired endlessly took down two more,
then leapt back as the riders bore down on him.
The battering tree smashed right through the door,
a slew of war-cries went up, loud and piercing
the shot-gun blasted, two more warriors fell,
the noise left all their heads and ears ringing.
Harold went down from a shot to the chest,
the doorway was a commotions of words,
but standing there clutching his aching head
was the muscled form of Diving Bird.
Myron leapt forwards and drew his pistol,
then jammed it straight into Diving Bird’s ear,
Roared,”If you value your War-chief’s life,
you will all stop, and ride straight out of here!”
The Indians outside froze when they saw them,
none understood the words that he did say
except for an old man, missing an eye,
who spurred forwards to attempt a parlay...
CONCLUDES IN PART IV.
Beyond what’s said and be done,
Lies the hideous Black Sun,
Whose aim is to run a’ground,
To tear and destroy all around,
Plan in the years passed away,
Silent this Dragon appeared to stay,
But behind this stillness insidious lay,
When all were not bothered, they’d party and play,
This ‘Anti-Christ,’ a unity diabolic,
Worked against his foe that frolic,
Rumors spread but silenced all,
Tis’ Dragon’s besieged the saints that out-said,
What horrors run amidst this land!
The Truth has beld upon this sand,
And when it saw, it’s peril’s woe,
They plotted against their powerful foe,
Cowards! They couldn’t face the West,
Call a meeting, their devilish best,
‘What to do?’ They all did ask,
Endlessly thought! A diabolic task!
One stood up and said ‘I know,’
Send this enemy a cowardly ‘Sore,’
But first they test amongst themself,
Found a cure and hid it shelf,
Behest WHO to withhold so,
To spread this Bioweapon low as low,
After breakout, they cried a’foul,
‘Blame the West!’ this Dragon growled,
That Ignorant WHO, really need ask,
‘Who is WHO?,’ an investigative task!
Must be done, to further protect the West,
From this Dragon and its scum-behest,
All are hostage to this Marxist-Mao,
Rise up O’Hong Kong, do not bow,
Show the world how wrong they are,
About this Dragon and its reach afar,
It must be said, that once this done,
The Dragon stretched its arms a’help,
Confused the Cause and its Spread?
After all, ‘Who can contend against it?’ it said,
But Wisdom sees this trick a’play,
It does not give in all the way,
But I urge cut all the ties,
Till it starves, burns and dries,
Rise up and hold siege this accursed beast,
I implore you O’Saint Michael put a leash,
Hurdle it to the bottom-less pit,
Where in torment and pain its sit,
For what it has done from past be seen,
Only blood shed wherever it’s been,
Crushed its head already be,
Satan lies defeated under ‘Our Lady,’
Don’t be afraid my people of West,
Rise up and confront this Beast that thinks its best,
I assure you that, its tail it will tuck and run,
When it sees your Armies come,
And on that day China will know,
With the west, don’t play tick-tack-toe,
All your intimidation is useless O’Chin,
You will be defeated; this War the West will surely win!
Mao’s China must fall!
In better times, Anders Throne once was
a good husband and loving father,
married to his sweetheart, Rosie Smith,
who’d grown on the Chesapeake waters.
He worked as a lawyer, was well renowned,
had a little boy by the name Chester,
if fate were just he would’ve lived out his days
and saw his happiness never perturbed.
But when the war with the north broke out
to his country he was compelled to stay true,
he said good-bye and stole away north,
marching to war with the boys in blue.
His father-in-law said "Good riddance!"
and moved his precious daughter away,
to a big mansion deep in Richmond,
where he felt she could safely stay.
The war dragged on, and in the end
Richmond found itself under siege,
all in the city knew things were rough,
that there was no real hope of relief.
Day after day the big guns did roar on,
a crashing hail of fire and shell,
until one April day when the Union struck
and the town of Petersburg fell.
Unable to hold Richmond any longer
General Lee led his army to the west,
but Anders, arched into the fallen town,
hoping somehow to find his dearest.
But cannons and not the most precise of things,
and when he reached her father’s home,
he saw cinders scattered, shards of broken glass,
from the hallway ceiling’s grand old dome.
He found an old slave who explain it all,
that whoever had been inside no was dead,
a cannon-ball had ignited a great blaze,
and they died of the smoke in their beds.
Anders collapsed when he heard the news,
and roared out his agony and pain.
He railed at God,”I fought to free people!
And as thanks you go take her away?!”
Bereft of his son and his dearest love,
he walked away right then and there,
deserted the army and wandered off,
if they hanged him he did not care.
He aimlessly started heading for the west,
and as he walked along he wound find
the ‘truth’ of it all, so clear and so crisp,
took over his grief-battered mind.
God cared not for the trials of men,
nor the world that he had once made.
The beasts had it right, take what you can!
Destroy any who gets in the way.
The only rules that mattered were anarchy,
laws of the jungle, ever cold and cruel.
He was done pretending that there was a point,
manners and honor were lies for the fools…
CONTINUES IN PART II
In seventeen seventy-seven,
amidst the deep summer’s August heat,
Barry St. Leger, loyalist milita,
and the Iroquois walked on sore feet.
Their mission was clear: move down the Mohawk,
meet Burgoyne and split the rebel states,
except the Americans in Fort Stanwix
were effectively blocking their way.
To advance the fort had to be reduced,
but St. Leger’s force had few big guns,
so he settled into a siege of the fort,
with a mind to hold strong 'til he’d won.
But the patriots knew of the British plans,
and were not content to just sit and wait,
Tyrion County called up its militia
to save Stanwix from a bloody fate.
Eight hundred of them marched for the fort,
under the command of Nick Herkimer,
a palatine German of the Mohawk vale,
an able and determined fighter.
They stopped to camp not far from Stanwix,
and Herkimer counseled that they should hold,
to await a signal from inside the fort
and launch a two-front attack bold.
But the militia saw this as cowardice,
and said,”What else could we expect?
His own brother fights with St. Leger,
we can’t expect him to take the next step.”
Herkimer darkened at his men’s words,
and would not idly receive their scorn,
he ordered the men to be on the ready,
they would advance the following morn.
But the British knew of their approach,
and prepared to put them to the test,
near five hundred set out to intercept,
mostly Iroquois with some Loyalists.
The next day the Americans, on the move,
found themselves passing through a ravine,
unaware that eyes stared upon them
as they drank from a cool, tiny stream.
The British had planned to wait until
the patriots were all stretched out,
but some Indians opened fire too early,
a roar of muskets and loud piercing shouts.
The first volleys hit hard, stunned the militia,
a good many brave soldiers went down,
Herkimer took a ball in the leg,
and from a dying horse pitched to the ground.
So fierce was that first surprise attack,
so many patriotic souls shot dead,
that all sides involved said the tiny stream
was stained by the blood until red.
Some tried to move wounded Herkimer,
but he was still in no mood for retreat,
he took out a pipe, leaned on a tree trunk,
and said,”I will meet the enemy...”
CONCLUDES IN PART II
The evening air spreading its soft chill,
Playing with the blue mountain to nature's will,
New snow flakes engulfs the barren hills,
Taming my heart with tender warmth and thrills.
At the inn the keeper holds a lighted candle,
For us to follow with our packaged bundle,
With grace I wish to avoid a scandal,
Watch my man close the lone door by its handle.
Firewood burns in the wooded homestead,
Spreads it warmth over the snug cushioned bed,
Waits to partake in our action unsaid,
Melting moments for me to love or dread.
Delightful face turns to look up to me,
Candid sensuality in phantoms plea,
Urges me to be forthwith naked and free,
Passion denudes barriers under siege.
Anticipation now burns to aspire,
Taut space between our naked bodies perspire,
And I blush in its heat with hot desire,
Keep my eyes closed as he sets me afire.
Intoxicants flame touched by libations
Sequesters inflamed wet-lip deviations,
Within pleasure kiss gratification,
Outraging tongue's in communication.
Open my eyes to his tactile fondness,
Soon hands engage the spherical hardness,
Force me to opt with resoluteness,
And lie on my back touched by tenderness.
My desperate palms crawl over his back,
Nuptial quivers awake rapture's with knack,
Crazy teeth dig and wildly bite his neck,
Betwixt the legs he performs his attack.
In anticipation I surrender,
As he sets to probes the naked blunder,
Rave’s down the silky valley to plunder,
Unzipped by the latent strike, I thunder.
Reeling from the quick fervent thrusts I cry,
With rage responding to his sadist try,
As he pulls back to enter and defy,
Totally exposed I shudder and sigh.
Quaking with delirious pleasure I cuddle,
Both legs entrapped within the carnal struggle,
Brace quivering bottom in the muddles,
As petals rock within the moist puddles.
Smiling at my denuded enslavement,
Holding my arms in ardent deployment,
Torments my frail defiance with enjoyment,
While his knee's direct steady placement.
Seething with resistance his hardness grows,
Raw power sustaining his taming blows,
Ecstasy mows the bulging heat to sow,
Freely we climax in its cosmic flow.
Begs reprieve for his ebbed shrunken demands;
While in love he obeys all my commands.
Kiss
One word to describe an endless lifetime
Kiss
The sweetest thing, the sweetest taste and the worst thing to be taken away
Kiss
One solid moment, a product of slow motion; fireworks cascade, decorate the sky
Kiss
Never could a small moment make someone feel more alive
And tear someone completely down when deprived
Kiss
As passionate as a wedding ring intertwined with a lonely rose petal
Smelling of honey, of delight, delightful excitement
Kiss
As frightening as a thunderous, destructive, lightning storm causing immense panic
Kiss
Could make a man do perpetual back flips and handstands
Could make a man addicted to love and other drugs
Could make a man keep coming back for more
Kiss
Could make a man become questionable, filled with doubt and puzzlement
Could make a man fearful for the next time around
Kiss
Could make a woman sing harmoniously for a thousand days, in a thousand ways
Could make a woman melt in place from the brief intensity
Could make a woman smile endlessly, dreaming happily
Kiss
Could make a woman feel regret unlike any other
Could make a woman burst into tear, feel indecisive
Kiss
The perfect weapon of ultimate happiness, the perfect weapon of destructive breakdown
Kiss
A hopeful wish on a cluster of stars
To cement the idea an angel would be able to kiss goodnight to a hopeful someone
Kiss
A daylight dream amongst a boring scene, attempting to capture a realistic moment
Like catching fireflies in a jar in the eyes of this maid
Waiting to be a proud queen to a king
Kiss
The one panacea known to evaporate the lurking sadness of a day laying siege like pirates
Kiss
The remedy for dying by a thousand cuts
Yet still finding the strength to defy the demon and stand up once more
Kiss
Kiss…kiss…kiss…kiss…
Another moment to chalk up a point for happiness
The perfect weapon of destructive breakdown
A firework spectacle; the sweetest feeling, the sweetest taste
Worth dying by a thousand cuts, the remedy to bring the dead inside alive and well again
As passionate as a wedding ring intertwined with a lonely rose petal
Smelling of honey, of delight, delightful excitement
A hopeful wish on a cluster of stars to cement the idea an angel would be able
To kiss goodnight to a hopeful someone
In the quiet whispers of dreams,
I dance with shadow's ebonescence,
as photonic particle - collider,
photosynthesis derider,
unveiling entities,
of "agents provocateur" to seize a "visitation"
upon the dimensions precipice
per chance to lay siege.
In the depths of "our present darkness",
petra-charred and invisible against the oiled skin
of night.
Chameleon sins-
spiders its neural network
across the fruited plains,
trading insiders
like it was the New York Stock Exchange.
Black domes in the rock of jig altar,
to sire getaway mountain dens and tunnels
for BlackRock Pfizer Op -Executions.
Their golden boy, will spotlight meteoric,
the proverbial fly in the ointment,
Act III lift of a-weighted curtain-lifting back wings,
showing a defyning eye and marionette strings.
Les Miserables-play on words-play on heartstring phantoming our opera, staged in
Anti-Christian cryptonite.
History channeled redirect
rhetoric dialect of reflected subject to chain,
and the death of fiat currency,
just a coincidental theme?
Freedom is a currency isn't it,
a Hallmark card from the Corporation
to the People- to read,
between the lines of allegiance-
swearing till blue in the face,
alliance against malfee-seance in press release
of 3 letter agency.
As Apollyon waltzes in from the bottomless pit.
Social credit scored to fit the bill.
Cloaked in fine Kingly robes of industry.
fact checked by the Ministry of Information.
When will love speak it's instinctual dialect
in a neon sign language not lost in translation?
When will hope weave it's august majesty,
Seraphic-wings spread over as a covering tapestry.
In cure of a cerulean sky with
hope diamonds of open transparency,
lifting us in perpetuity.
Till that day,
with each intrepid step, a nightmare before Lent
their Black Christmas unfolds
a returning echo on the steppes,
etched in our collective brains like petrified mold.
In an apology of words,
emotions coagulate churns sour worm meal,
acidic curdling of my stomach, a larvaeic curd-
cysted curse to the soylent green new deal
of New World sufferings
and pain, of UnitedNationsBurntOfferings,
with a disdain for comic relief
or cosmic entymology.
Born in 1915 at Birkenhead by the Port River Inlet
A son of Port Adelaide as one of the best youd get
In the days before bridges he would row
Across the river to training and games hed go
He debuted for the Magpies in 1936 at Alberton
And was the best player in that game then
Winning the 1938 Magarey Medal as the best in the league
He was one who epitomises the best of the Creed
Then in 1939 he captain coached the Magpies
To the third premiership after the ones in 1936 and 1937 as Football wise
But war clouds were gathering and he heard the bugle call then
Enlisting in second 43 Battalion in June 1940 as a warrant officer second class his country to defend
Off to North Africa he sailed with his mates
To Libya and Tobruk battlefields his life risked to fate
Then on the 3 August 1941 who took command of the 10 platoon
At the siege of Tobruk to blow a barbed wire machine gun soon
He told his men that death was near
As the Germans poured on fire across the battlefield clear
And he would lay the last Bangalore explosive torpedo
The most dangerous one to place near the machine gun hed go
Only three of the seven survived in the heavy fire
With Quinns turn the next the danger so dire
And he was hit by shrapnel in the top of the thigh
Being hit in the head again the bullets flying by
On top of this a wounded mate called out
And he took him up on his back to the trench after the shout
The machine gun was silenced in the mission success
A Military Medal was awarded to Quinn as one of the best
When his wounds healed he was promoted to lieutenant
And to the Pacific War defending Australia he was sent
And in September 1943 in New Guinea he was injured severely
In his knee arm and face which could have cost his football dearly
But he made it through those broken years
Returning to Adelaide and more football cheers
To win a second Magarey Medal in 1945 an accolade
As captain coach of Port Adelaide
So we remember this brave man
Of the battlefield and Aussie Rules oval grand
Two Magarey Medals three premierships four best and fairest medals 15 times played for South Australia and All Australian player
With a Military Medal on the battlefield a brave ANZAC soldier.
© Paul Warren Poetry