Short Conscripted Poems

Indentured as servants,
and not as our masters

Words are conscripted
—their meanings enslaved

(Dreamsleep: October, 2020)...

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With no respect for time,
words revisit
Invading my consciousness,
attacking my fear
The moment conscripted
beyond all denial
 An ageless understanding
—of what’s to become

(Dreamsleep: April, 2022)...

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Philosophy is not
an act of discovery,
but
an act of creation
the difference sublime

Poetic verse is not
conscripted but inspired,
whose
direction cries inward
—its essence Divine

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

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Religion
a prison…
to fence and restrain

Spoken
or written…
 it tries to contain

What can’t
be conscripted
or coveted pure

The Presence 
as given
—freely endures

(The First Book Of Prayers: January, 2022)....

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Compelled to fight dirty,
in attempts to stay clean
The shadows conscripted,
clandestine and mean
Surprise as an ally,
you stalk and you spy
To vanquish the monster
—declawed and defied

(Villanova Chapel: December, 2021)...

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Scripted

Such is life,
as we go,
stumbling through,
uncertain strife.

The play goes on,
curtain rises,
feign courage through,
another crisis.

Unwilling actors,
the end predicted,
we all discover,
life is scripted.

So play your part,
we're all conscripted....

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Bear witness to those dying men

Conscripted fate by poison pen

The scorched remains of foe and friend

Their ashes scattered on the wind

Pawns sacrificed without a pause

Death descends from steel wings and claws

More martyrs of a nation's cause

Forged and fired by enacted laws...

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The first line already written
the second will soon arrive,
soon the poem is incorporated,
but still ambiguous and insecure...
The poem grows
in the soul being conscripted...
I don't know if it will be perfect,
I don't know if it will be complete...
Writing is always a feat
the ethereal is not concrete... !...

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Striding outside the castle wall's 
On stricken donkey's 
With only a Mexican blanket for a saddle
The rider pinces 
For king and country 
My stomach is hungry
As are the wizened children 
Behind the gates 
Conscripted to the work house's 
The furnaces blast
In metal casts 
Swelling the army 
Making up the number's...

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Let all the war hawks
And war hungry
World leaders

Be conscripted 
To stand on the front lines

To satisfy their souls
Thirst for war

In straight 
Regimental lines

As the world
Hears their whines

(C)
Copyright John Duffy 

Foundation of the piece.

Would the thirst for war have a different narrative, if those advocating for it, served on the front lines?

....

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The sins of religion,
religion of sin
holding God hostage,
a prisoner within

An Almighty weapon,
inflicting great pain
heaven in bondage,
redemption in chains

The politics of religion,
its dogma a curse
with guilt as the wellspring,
all heretics thirst

Angels conscripted
the devil awaits,
for those who would question
—with hell as their fate

(Dreamsleep: April, 2022)...

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In those days when national service
Conscripted me for a necessary chore
In in the tap root of Amachara
I abode
At dusk, strange hands lacerate my flesh
At dawn, your girls dragged me into drudgery
Today, weights of reminiscent garrison my thoughts
Amachara, are you still the egret that drums in my auditory?
Is your tail longer-than Mbaise?
Perhaps your cousin Ezeleke
Will let me proof the weight of my love for her....

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the Septet II  is  a fun, interesting form  of English origin: it is composed of 7 lines  with a syllabic count of 3-5-7-9-7-5-3, basically unrhymed...



"Sign here please",
what the sergeant said.
Conscripted to the army
"How I wish that I was dead" ...he said
barbers gave  me a bald head
life no longer best.
Sign what next! 


Penned on Msy 19 2015
By Seren Roberts
Contest : give me a sign....

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A brief smile whispers shadows
A rifle his burden, innocence lost
Bruises on both elbows
Eyes clouded with a thousand sorrows.  
A painting of a young soul, no longer a child
But a half-grown man who has seen too much.

His grin reveals brown teeth 
A tbacco’s stain playground  
Hair bushy, not black but brown 
Dreams taking cover in his eyes.  
A boy conscripted, his spirit dies
In the painting, a silent cry....

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