Long Soldiering Poems
Long Soldiering Poems. Below are the most popular long Soldiering by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Soldiering poems by poem length and keyword.
I set off in search of the great theta rhythm
Trav'lin' alone full of promise and hope
I stumbled and swore I'd ignore frustration
Soldiering on to the Cape Where I Cope
Uniform firm on my shoulder I wore it
Proudly displaying the emblem and drape
Holding fast to the pledge as I swore it
Firmly believing in the cope of good cape
I didn't know as the waves washed o'er me
Should a remnant survive, stay alive to reach home
One never knows when you start on this journey
Where you'll end up, if you'll still be alone
Alpha, Beta, Gamma, Delta swelled and yelled, "Be careful there!"
But undaunted Psyche taunted, "Never back down from a dare."
I tiptoed round with Psyche leaving Cupid with the bill
But swimming round the Maelstrom left this mess brimming in me
Beauty beckons me there in the dawning
Fawning daunting ego is where
Trepidation fills up the yawning
Maw where fools ignore the stare
Glaring oversight is now blooming
Looming on the precipace where
False bravado becomes all-consuming
And brave though knavely soldiers there
Fast the waves come crashing onward
Pressing me toward the shore
When I try to slow the rhythm
There I struggle ever more
when the war was finally over they placed flowers
into the heated barrel of his battered cannon
gathered condolences and dropped poppies
upon unmarked graves and pompous shrines
he was a lucky one who escaped the inferno
scarred tired and weary of explosions in his mind
they pinned a few medals and ribbons onto his chest
held celebrations and parades and glowed in victory
lost in action and deprived of freedom many times
he never surrendered and followed mad orders
took a few lives for glory freedom and survival
now he was confined to a wheel chair of anger
a young veteran who gave all for his country
for insanity gods and industrial military complex
a shining example of the pursuit of delusion and greed
a hero hooked to the needle and food banks in return
youth spent at the frontline near hell’s entrance
a wife who divorced him while soldiering on
with kids ashamed of the cripple he was
he lingered on between hatred and pain
a bit late for brave conscientious objection
self-help books from charity to cover his wounds
the page of his life crumpled the dust jacket torn
he finished off where his innocent enemies had failed
a few comrades paid their respects from a distance
as there were no ramps for their mobility scooters
the priest’s words appeared hollow and out of order
but at least the coffin was soundproof and safe
08th July 2020
Blank Page
Clean Slate
Untouched
Somewhat
Once Great
Tho Not So Great Enough
Back Again
Here I Am
Here Again
Unfinished
Tinkered
Tailored
Soldiered Too Fit
Sailors Despise
Redundance
Repitition
Without Point
Without Goal
Without Role
Without Cause
Without Baseline
Without Ship
We All Crash
We All Drown
Why Am I Here
Why Do I Seek Ground
What Is Rich
What Is Poor
Why Does A Begging Man Thieve
Why Does A Thieving Man Beg
Does He
Does He Not
Why Is Happyness Not
Why Is Happyness Sought
I'm Just A Ship On An Ocean
Soldiering On
I'm Just A Sailor Adrift
I'm Just A Beggar Of Current
Richly Alive
Poorly Entwined
Richly Blessed
Poorly Denied & Damned
Fated Too Thieve
Fated Too Conspire
Ride The Waves
Too Navigate
Keep Sailing
Soldiering On
TInker Tailor
Soldier Spy
Richly Poor
Poorly Rich
Begging For Today
Thieving Towards Tommorrow
Leaning Towards Gallows
Scheming Towards Shallows
Solid Soil
Hallowed Ground
Where My Feet Rest Steady
Where My Breath Breathes Selfishly
Unswayed
Alone
Away From
Yet Amongst
The Tinkered With
The Tailored Too
Rich Man Poor Man
Pursuit
I'm Beggan Man
Please Untie This Noose
Bring Me Up
String Me Up
Set Me Free
Drowned Me Under
One Or The Other
One Or The Other
I'm A Soldier
I'm A Sailor
Ima Keep Soldiering On
Ima Keep Sailing
Thieving These Days
Thieving These Nights
Breathing And Drowning
Drowning And Breathing
Untill My Lungs Grow Gills
Untill My Souls 8 Timesed 10
I'm Gonna Walk
I'm Gonna Swim
I'm Gonna Tinker With My Tailor
I'm Gonna Soldier With My Spy
I'm Gonna Be A Rich Man
I'm Gonna Be A Poor Man
I'm Gonna Be A Beggar & A Thief
I'm Gonna Forever & Always
One Way Or Another
Always Be A Sailor
Navigating The Stars
Ill Find You Wherever You Are
Forever & Always
From Here To Botswan
Should I just relent and do it
Spin my verses on the pages
Like I ultimately know it?
A sage of truth and ages
Will my words align to show it?
Should I muse with introspection
On the mad kaleidoscope
And the altered misconceptions
Of the oft-repeated tropes
Which apply to our condition?
Do I dare to be a mouthpiece?
Make a statement universal?
Plant with care the soldiering seeds
In marching rows and intervals
To range and bloom in open fields,
Or blaze intrepid, fiery thoughts
With fundamental words of proof
That speak of beauty never lost
In elemental shades of truth
Which serve to lift the lonely heart
What will it take to do it
Capture such a mighty thing
Seize the substance of the spirit
Make the bell of it to ring
And align my verses to it?
Should I boldly go and do it
Muster out my inner thoughts?
Is it time for me to show up
Cast my likes in with the lot
And declare myself a poet?
Lemme titillate thee
regarding myself daily soldiering thru breastworks
read out loud to experience where dangerfield lurks
twenty five years a husband unknown marital perks
bachelorhood to die for, cuz warp and weft
courtesy webbed and wedded bliss
incorporates life threatening quirks.
Hazardous beyond belief
analogous crossing a landmine good grief
ensnared yours truly mistaken for Baghdad thief.
Impossible mission to step up pace
when ambling one room to another
footfalls of generic guy approximating brisk,
cuz one misstep could find me flat on back
with damaged spinal disc
worse fate than experiencing
strong arms of law reach out his hands that frisk
old meister wordsmith
merely ventures innocent risk,
yet may as well surrender self to Taliban,
who would willingly whisk
Garden variety Caucasian American bloke
afraid to tread amidst belongings strewn
pell mell outranking rating tornado 5 courtesy
enhanced Fujita Scale
whereat Good Housekeeping ostracized spouse.
As precautionary safeguard, I carry amulet
to ward off ill luck toward life and limb you bet,
especially when gingerly
taking one step after another with lights turned off
owing steadfastness to prayerful debt
intoned toward guardian angel to get
self groping in dark without bifocals
envisioning severely myopic
(blind as a bat generic guy
without spectacles) met
bedded objective where
menagerie of stuffed animals
(albeit Woodstock favorite pseudo pet),
which aforementioned Peanuts character
called warm fuzzy as sobriquet.
The missus bursts out laughing,
whom I damnably scoff at and berate
as I trip head over heels
cursing said spouse ever since first date
at Tex-Mex restaurant
in North Wales, Pennsylvania,
a gut level intuitive sense -
even then our sealed fate
cursed analogously crashing thru Hades gate
antagonistic altercations in actuality
displaced suppressed anger toward parents,
which father and mother (both deceased)
their sole son of did hate
for afflicting psychological trauma
regarding them furiously irate
doling out ultimatums
interestingly enough comfort found
within company of loving mate,
she weaseled compassion
evidenced by poetic prattle I prate,
whereat ye can (of course) highly rate
feedback I eagerly await.
*Beasts of burden*
Then I couldn't grapple the hand
that held onto what I hinged upon
Never 'ld, instead I reached for its head
Mortal-minded, neither soldier nor lord
or rather, faux,feeble, too torn
Long I stood, living in graced faith
Nature denied me a knife or dagger
But a soldiering destiny waited for death
at hefty times when all didnt query, yet,
these souls ran Godly errands afar
In the morning we equally laid tiredly
Thought I was gone too long to return-
nooks 'n crannies, moonlit-sanity.
Me, death with feud on a bale of hay
discreetly left on a tomb for liason
Strongly gave out , solely a sacrifice
We passed!, Feute'de'mieux, to die
looked down as far as I could, just ice
under the haystack, I failed to age.
Death entertains beyond prying eyes
*(LANCELOT)*
Sassy sobriquets schooled sissy spindleshanks...
studious skinny scruffy scribe
Scathing, scolding, screaming,
scorning, searing, sing,
sociopathic sarin soaked skewed
squirt, sputtering, squawking, sleepily
staggering, stabbing, swaggering
sweltering sadistic, sarcastic,
savage, systemically systematically
stigmatized, supersized saber sharp
schick shaving, shunned, sabotaged,
scarred, scorched, smote, sanguine,
stippled, speckled schizophrenic
sensibility, spurring, seething,
somewhat stultified, sophisticated,
spellbound spirited scabrous
schlemiel schlemazel, stenciled,
sundered sniveling sanguine storied
snakebitten sojourning smartass,
skeptical shoddy sophomoric
screwball, subtly sagacious,
stunted, sclerotic, scrappily
shuffling short, Shylock
styled sideburns Semite,
sainted Shasta sipping
shriveled sad sack,
sullenly syncopated, synthesized,
slobbering sybaritic, scruffy
sheepish sketchy scalawag,
Socratically scrutinizing, seizure
stricken, stoically sneezing,
shamed Skidrow skeezer, shifty,
sweaty, sham shaman,
supremely spidery, schmaltzy,
sylan seeking subsidized succor,
self shuttered, sequestered,
sidelined, shiftless, shabby,
semantically snazzy, soldiering,
shrieking, skulking, somber,
stooping, Segway scootering,
schmart spendthrift, Swahili
speaking, straitlaced, streamlined,
spongebobbing, sandal shod
sealegs, squarepants sporting
spectacles, sedate, sensate,
sentient, ship shaped,
shanghaied, salubrious,
slithering, snakish, stuttering,
sluggish, smashface scarred,
sober, solitary, sangfroid
skidamarink singing, Shamokin
speaking scrivener, scuzzy,
spunky, starved, submissively
suicidal, sunburned,
salaried shuffling senescent
snoutish soundcloud shutterflying
snapchatting schnorrer.
The tip of the fur tree sticks out like a sore candle
Barely visible an angel drowns in a pileup of presents
Fortunately wrappers and cards are bio-degradable
Each allocated their circumspect place for recycling
Ribbons find rest in a manger on top of Baby Jesus
Who awaits resurrection just breathing under the load
Season’s decorations sum up the festival of love
Finely crafted dollar signs meet the cherishing eyes
Wooden ornaments of cross bows and skull bones
Defiled grave stones miniscule reminders of peace
Guns and roses entwining unmistakeable messages
Thorns are forever and tiny bullets shine like tinsel
Mesmerized the young family looks at their gifts
No plastic in sight because this is a sustainable feast
Chocolate Santas jingle silent nights on Kalashnikovs
Pinocchio attempts to rescue the meaning of kindness
Slides down the chimney on Rapunzel’s delicate hair
Gets ditched in a trench of poppies bloody like wine
A veiled little figure begs for mercy at the Jolly Inn
Which looks like a shopping mall that hails indigestion
Jojos powered by solar eclipses arrest in full flight
But the children are happy as long as they get a drone
To spread holy prophesies in the name of liberation
From infidel contamination of pagans soldiering on
Jonny plays with the cardboard crates not quite prepared
For what might be in Pandora’s Box and Felix the cat licks
Tins of caviar and dolphin with no tuna caught in the net
Holly and Ivy are too small to digest mince pies and porkies
They shriek when Christmas crackers explode in their faces
Are too young to wonder what might have caused the charade
20th December2019
...Duncan pulled free and sprinted, half-mad,
tears streaming as he made his retreat,
he’d never imagined hell this bad,
and didn’t much care if they were beat.
All he desired was to get clear,
to run himself far away from here,
but as the boy ran his panicked sprint,
lines of provincials marched up to him,
a commander grabbed him, smacked him hard,
said, “Come on, lad, we’ll yet win the day!”
Forced him to march back into the fray,
but as before, they didn’t get far.
How Duncan survived this next attack,
he didn’t know, nor how he got back…
’Twas a beaten army marching south
along the wooded shores of Lake George,
there great advance turned into a rout,
without getting in sight of the fort,
the French would still control Lake Champlain,
and Duncan asked if he was still sane…
One thousand British casualties,
due to that half-wit Abercrombie,
Duncan wintered down at Fort Edward,
and troubling thoughts came to his mind,
he tried, but no reason could he find
for putting all those lives to the sword,
so that a king he’d never chosen
could claim more land, and taxes from men.
Was that what his life would amount to?
Was this the reason he’d come to be?
He did not see how it could be true
that he lived to fluff some king’s glory.
Was that the same reason the French fought?
For the power that their Louis sought?
How could it be so many were damned
to feed the vanity of one man?
The pride he’d felt for his soldiering,
blew away like thin clouds in a breeze,
in not much could poor Duncan believe,
all certainties of old now fading.
He wanted to run away from this hurt,
but knew he would hang if he dared desert.
The next year Abercrombie was gone,
and Lord Amherst had taken control,
his leadership promised a new down,
he’d seized Louisburg, was much extolled.
In July his army did sail north,
the French had only a meager force,
so small that they left their forward lines,
and fled to the fort to buy some time.
Amherst did not make the same mistake,
he took his time, and set up a siege,
the French knew they would not be relieved,
so they fled north by Champlain’s great lake,
but not before a great flash was seen,
they blew up their powder magazine!
CONCLUDES IN PART IV.
Amazon mist and rainy mornings green as the day God made them
dropping from a moist sky full of even grays and sheltering light
peaceful music playing from the spheres of a dense forest dream
we are all little humans in a big big giant cave, .... the rain
Pitter patter drops on thirsty tree in a world that is evened once again
sheets of rain fall from my window and I click click click and glean
a slow memory of old, photographs of mom and dad inside the garden
we were small and happily drinking in the scene .... the rain
A Sentinel watches from a soldiering evergreen, I lived there before
the white washed walls of peace and the age old chanterelle dance
as raindrops settle in my soul, I compose a poem about the downpour.
Petrichor scents permeate my living space as I listen to ... the rain
Rainsticks and drums Native chants and Pagan dreams of old, I remember,
Lady Gianne and her healing chants, how she lifted her face to the winds.
"Heal me now and make me whole" * " Bring peace and love forevermore"
As nature creates pathways to equity, the rain loves US,
again and again and again. .... the rain.