Short Claymore Poems

Mayday tomorrow, 
but the pole has been toppled,
the good earth churned by munitions,
and then seeded with Claymore mines.

There will be no dancing on rubble ruins,
as we bury desecrated corpses, 
this year’s harvest will be lean....

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And I have yet to see a man
With eyes the kind to see the sight
Of red that is in love.
Be it he may be deaf or dumb
He will see to me beyond the grave
And beseech my dreams at night.
He will undoubtedly be 
My Untimely Lasher
With no cause of death but
The sounds of his own beloved hands....

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Again I bend to kiss this  blade
Then face the winds of Change in steadfast resolution
Whisperings of vows long made
Spin in dizzied revolution
Old and weary wrinkles fade
In face of coming restitution
Tis now my turn to face the night
and at long last to know what's right
Freedom's been a constant fight
Worth every dancing minute
To earn a living in it...

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hello blank white fog of empty
familiar you of wrapping guilt
standing in the sands of time
catching at my thoughts pre empted
claymore buried to the hilt
chuckling at attempted rhyme
tilting tattered wind blown kilt
watch it lar I’m sorely tempted
Words are forming in my rage
Soon to fly at empty page
Spitting splatter
What’s the matter?
Is it time to clean my cage?...

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Me’ Fury

Me’ fury, ensue, inasmuch of the bullies; my halo es leaning, me’ grimace is beaming, my hand on the hilt, mahound be at awe, es me’ duty

Sheathe the’ inedible reach, lid thy albinism duress, your forehead me’ claymore to rest, snipe fell manual take topheth, down to the cove shall descend 

Coffer, tricely  Mankind, pending another one come, donion debar de devil, Lord with the wade, or bis mein Woden o hoard...

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Among all crimes you adore
Anger is of the first cocksure!
It is so vice that it does shower
On the weaker whom they abhor.
When one encompasses, one bore
A deep profound peril in his adore.
I do, but hate me why not I deplore
Anger – my timidity – shown ashore.
The best place for it be boudoir
Where no one feels no gore.
Anger, for me, just like a claymore
Which hurts none but us before
We realize or understand or lore....

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