Short Khaki Poems

Pride
brave, patriotic
fighting, striving, protecting
gunfire, khaki, trench, bones
crying, screaming, crawling
painful, cruel
fear....

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Look at Tommy go
Watch him fall in neat khaki rows
Bravely led
Tommy bravely bled
20,000 went over the top
20,000 lay dead...

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The pen stains
you wear like badges
scattered tatters across
your khaki JNCO jeans
tell me more than
your irreverent demeanor

May you fly high....

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the grass is strangled
by brown
Too Many have written
extolled the virtue of weeds
But I!
feel the weight of transition
green to khaki
     and dead-
brown....

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There once was a bridegroom so wacky
His tuxedo was made of green khaki
   His bride screamed, "Ee gad!"
   Then went raving mad---
Her wedding ring was pure ticky-tacky...

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Autumn brings cold darkness
Enveloping fog gathers
Hanging in joyless khaki
Leaves mound noiselessly
Offering people quiet rustles
Should the unsuspecting vegetation
Whirl xcitable-as-a young zephyr




Please excuse the minor indescretion on the last line :)...

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sienna oak droops low

khaki-like trunk stained in brown,

leaves flapping on roads

crumpled by autumnal prints...

weaving a fabric of tree's hue.




Maureen's Mc Greavy's  New or Old Less is Mo Little Poem 
Re-post 2/23/2019
~ Not entered in any contest...

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The world turns 
under the kick-me-off shoes 
of a man in summer-rolled, khaki pants 
and turned up sleeves 
that allow gentle 
hands to settle 
in pockets with no money 
Hands that pass through disheveled hair 
to rest below a well worn smile 
on the only shadow of his day. . . 

. . .his chin...

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there's a lot like us
mom's died and left us homeless
not putting our trust in anything
especially the government

owning nothing to our names
we can only afford dreams
at least they calm the pain of this hustle

we hope to see Jesus in the streets
when the boys in khaki suits ambush us
take us to central station and label us vagabonds....

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Winding south
Between the tree's
Noting colours
Greens an blacks
Fawn an khaki
If it wasn't for the distance
I would walk its long path
Just to hear witjweri.            ( sound of wind in the trees )
Shhhhhhhhhhhh
As I walk between
The kwel                                 ( She-oak tree )
Whispers of old ladies
That keep
The path safe...

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I googled peace 

to get the feel of how 

she fared 

and

found her fight her

roughened way into 

men's bosoms and 

fortresses

and shuttle back

and forth 

between heaven 

and 

heavy hearts 

 
* * *

and then…

and then I browsed 

for war 

and with a gaping eye 

I watched 

the endless edging of a khaki  

garb 

and Oh the omnipresence...

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The echo was unmistakable, her arrival was imminent,
        that spike heeled stride through the back alley leading up to my door.
Already a striking beauty, her black patent leather high heels only enhanced her stature.  In her khaki trench coat, cinched at the waist, her sage green silk scarf loosely caressed her blonde curls as she blew me a kiss....

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The old man's khaki shorts
Still hangs on a string fastened 
to the back of his rocking chair
On the veranda

As the wind blows
The chair rocks noiselessly 
I remember poignantly 
As the hour drew near

He wore his khaki shorts
Sat on the rocking chair
Gazed upwards 
Like one counting the clouds

He mumbled:
Lord, is it it?
Receive my poor soul,
I tried....

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Once upon happily ever after,
it’s the power that the storyline has;
Khaki pants red shirts selling novelty, 
brown hair a montage passes in a blur 
ending in a field of wildflower grass;
Every scene filled with possibility;
You believe that anything can happen,
two lovers meeting on an overpass;
Copper sunsets if we were a movie,
Chocolate moments melt into forgotten 
                       candy....

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There are some you’ll never know
In your life as you come and go
And others who are true friends
Who will be with you to the end

They all wore the blue
In shades of black and khaki too
All members of the sacred trust
Mate-ship was for us a must

Near and dear we will remember them
Each stood with us until the end
Branded forever wearing the blue
Nothing less would ever do.

© Paul Warren Poetry...

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Boulders glisten in snowy mounts
Roving ravens circle over the valley
Employing intuition to snatch prey
Amuck is their fear of starvation
Tall peaks don't offer anything
Hemlocks hide the Alpine swifts
Tucked in branches for survival
Above clouds shiver in mid noon
Khaki sun still has a faded shine 
Indicative is the mood of eagles
Nurturing hope in nippy February 
Grand is the vision of early spring...

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The dead don’t care 
what colour poppy 
you wear -
if it’s knitted
or a diamante stud
for dead men stare
with blinded eyes
and their despair
is the colour of
the khaki in the mud

The dead don’t care
what colour poppy
you wear -
white for peace
or purple, red for blood
they gave their lives
that you should have one
their despair
is the colour of
the khaki in the mud

© Gail Foster 30th October 2018...

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What price for country now
Is it what money takes a bow
To attack another is such a deed
Peace the sacrifice for diplomatic speed

Flights of black crows cover the sky
Gone are the white doves who fall and die
And khaki drills fashion the day
No more bright colours is the way

When you can’t lie safe in bed
In this lost peace will you be the grateful dead
With the only dance being macabre
Who will win no-one will stir.

© Paul Warren Poetry...

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Past umphle and some scatter beans
Past tickly cough we pass.
A grumble through the chorley wood
To breed a better rash.

Past arsewiffe with a whopper club
Past bramble burt and bibby.
A farple for old fortitude
To sing the Doo-Wah-Diddy!

Crave not for little Jeremy
A blister on his soresight.
Go butter up the khaki tin
And wave for Queen and kite.

Re-muse the giddy pumpkin.
A smile turned upside down,
For better bread and smutter
We chortle like a clown....

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