Short Bugles Poems

Listen to poem:

three black specks glide
white hazed sky whitened brighter
swan bugles trumpet...

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In tune

Crafted drum sticks

Headless chicken

Symphony of cold blood

Bugles...

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trench foot ankle deep

fanfares baptize innocence –

bugles sound defeat


30th January 2020...

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Bugler

Beyond the mists of Tattered Ridge,
Plays a Bugler who bugles alone.
He’d prefer to bugle in his living room,
But the missus won’t let him,
when she’s at home....

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Mice, rats, winter day clouds, coats, shawls.
Gray pants, tunics, bugles play calls.
Horses neigh for action hate stalls.
Ride hard brave scout.
Paint on iron battleship hulls
make rust stay out....

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In all my honesty I want this to be a good world
I am willing to step out of myself to see what others see
I do believe there does not have to be any dark sides anywhere
We will just play bugles all day long
And linger everywhere...

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what cottagers miss

summer guests are gone from the street, 
fall approaches warily.       
old man fox returns in silence,
soon his vixen will follow. 
time slows to watch the geese fly by,
their bugles chase the weather....

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The graves have been dug
all bugles away
Medals awarded
for valor displayed

The soldiers in transit
to homes once so dear
But where is the peace
—when gunfire you hear

(Opening Poem To My New Novel: ‘Approaching Storm’)...

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Bugles Blared 

Up everything we had been summing,
Had head's up a threat was coming;
Had been worried,
And we hurried;
Bugles blared and did hear drumming.

Jim Horn

This is the introduction to my war
poetry series of limericks....

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Bugles
Calling horses 
Some missing riders
The enemy dead beyond
A five hour victory march
In the morning the burials commence
The following day all men to rest
And with the subsequent dawn—to start again

(Villanova Pennsylvania: July, 2016)...

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Waking from slumber to greet the new morn
Trumpets and bugles I hear greeting the dawn, 
It's the tune I've been waiting for all of my life
To tell all that "Today is the best day of my life" 
The Father, son and Holy Spirit, give it to me
My prayers answered, let me be all I can be...

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Riding into the moment
  with pen ablaze
  past-future on the hunt 

Fear taking a seat
  across the fire
  begging for what it wants

The bugles blow
  all lights go out
   —twin enemies approach

Upon whose sleeves
  my heart is laid
  in doubt the morning cloaked 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2015)...

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Good governance,
the enemy of government
States rights,
oxymoronic at best
What works,
the bane of impostors
Who exist
to feather their nests

Revolution
 is quickly fomenting
Change only
at the point of a gun
Voices from Concord
heard calling
With freedom not given
but won

(The New Room: October, 2021)...

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Moonbeams spun on cobwebs
laced through with dew.

Daybreak bugles
then burgles
as light enters its brazen domain.

Old Horace
wakes from his untidy cot;

an uncertain pause, then:

carpe diem, quam minimum credula postero,

for cobwebs, like tomorrow, are frail
and this day is a blade
to seize as you may....

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Drums fade
as does the scrabble
of boots on foreign shores
				“never to be forgotten”.

Bugles weep
amid eerie rows of crosses
praising not the gods
but the soldiers.
		        “never to be forgotten”.

Flags ripple
in a free breeze
proudly poised
above  a passion
		        “never to be forgotten”.

Memories fade
as did the scrabble
of boots on foreign shores
				“never to be forgotten”.


John G. Lawless
©7/4/2019...

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The Fog of War

Our foes wait in their well-defended lair,
Imagining that they’ll stay safe and warm.
Our siege cannons thunder; smoke mists the air.
While thinking of barricades each must storm,
All my soldiers ready their arms to bear.
Bugles sound: Battalions!  Companies!  Form! 
Once over the walls, we’ll know what’s in store. 
It’s hard to see through misty fogs of war.


Mark Halliday/Warrior Poet
Through the mist contest
19 August 2014...

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MEMORIAL DAY

          THOSE WHO DIED

    My daddy served till I was six.
    A Navy man he loved his ship.

    Rejecting hero he would proclaim.
   "Those who died should have that name."

   Sailed many times across the waves.
   Rescuing prisoners from cells as graves.

   A coxswain warning of things to come.
   That sound still echos to setting sun.

   Blow the whistle as bugles blare!
   Today the fallen shall be honored
             everywhere!

MAFLongfellow...

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