Short Rifles Poems

assault rifles
america's tale
how many have to die?...

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Guns, Guns, Who Loves Guns
Oops, We Shot Our Own Loved Ones
Guns, Guns, Tons Of Guns
Shoot You In Your Flabby Buns....

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Cries for peace heard loud 
War mongers, rifles lifted 
Silence established! 


© Demetrios Trifiatis
  06 NOVEMBER 2014...

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Wandering through vile wars
           between shocks and rifles
           my pen is a weapon
           and my chimera...!...

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Peace on Earth, Oh, We Will Not Comply
Days of Mirth, No, We Will Not Comply
Raise Our Rifles, Help the People Die
Laws Are Trifles, We Will Not Comply....

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Assault rifles.
We all need them.
For protection.

Let’s all get them.
Shooting each other like crazy.
Fun times!

Right NRA?
We all need them.
For protection…....

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Rifles rattle,
Armies battle
On the plain,
Getting glory,
Grief, or gory
Colored pain.

Conscripts giving
Up their living 
For a patriotic bed
That is bag-shaped,
Shrouded, flag-draped:
Blue, white, red....

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Sleek beauty
Silently bounding
On velvet padded paws
Gold against the setting sun
In a shimmer of heat


A jeep out of nowhere
Men with rifles
Take aim in the haze
There lies the lifeless body 
Of Queen of the Savannah...

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the assault rifles help whom exactly
fraternity of gunmen
silence from nra

the killing of innocents continues
as schools practice lockdowns
nra rules

senators vote for nra
yes yes hip hip hooray
lining their pockets with blood money...

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Little boys wield soldiers' toys
      plastic rifles, guns and tanks
   Grown men with MK-47s
      join the soldiers' ranks

   It's kill or be killed
      when you're in harm's way
   Your side's cause is just
      ~ or so you pray...

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The tulips and the marigolds were in a gun battle today.
Queen of Tulips was mad for her latest slave Charlie had run away.
She started the battle with hatchets, battle axes, and hammers too.
Queen of Marigolds ended it with assault rifles, painted periwinkle blue....

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For lovers fighters and wild bronc riders
 heres to the boys from new mexico
we have no trifles 
we hang our balls upon the walls and shoot  'em down with rifles 
when sex rare we'll rape a bear and sleep in dirty ditches 
we'll show them texan boys we're some bad  sons of god...

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Silence so loud.
At times, deafening.
Vacant stare,
Exposed, exploited.
Muzzled, mocked.
Engaged in the war
Fighting a losing battle.
Rifles out, ready.
One, two, fire.
Man down.
Mayday!
Yes, send help.
Stay calm,
Escape reality,
Lost again.
Fragile soul.

1/13/2017...

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It's call unique,the Elk
dissolves the morning calm
seeking its mate and new charge
all living at large
in winters woods.

Hunters hungry, saw the cow
the wind blew her way, she knew
stared, stressing, ushering
as her calf came
all lowered their rifles. 

"We will find other days and ways,"...

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Snuggling in the covers
Chilly hands and feet
Frisky cats playing in the cool air.
Highschool football team in the homecoming parade.

Pickup trucks pulling trailers with four wheelers and 
deer stands, congest the weekend byways.
What's that? Ping-Pow-Bang!! Oh! The rifles!
Look out, destructive pea eaters....

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Prophetically sorrowful
A nightmare of a dream
247 passengers inside
No survivors
Broken Wings of a 747
One sad night


Powerfully Invasive
The night the faeries died
Assault rifles issued to the brownies
Who decimated their broken wings
Taking their powers, and then taking them hostage
Sad faeries, hostage wives...

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A scrimmage
A scrummage
A squeamage
A dirvage

A political tryst
Dividing up sides
Slapping too easy
Assault rifles on

The reds
The blues
The greens
The yellows

A scrimmage
A scrummage
A squeamage
A dirvage

We laugh at our diversity
Knowing our sameness 
Is what really matters

The media wins.
And we sit by
And let them....

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Rifles cracked
A bugle played
I stood in the grass
Beside your grave

My eyes were dry
I couldn’t cry
My lack of grief
Was justified

In your presence
I treaded soft
Never knowing
What’d set you off

A life free of frolic
A life melancholic
Life living with
An alcoholic

Why am I here?
Why did I bother?
Simple really
You’re still my father...

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I look at the photos of yesteryear,
Gazing at the faces of people,
I once knew.
With our rifles and our gear,
Crowded together were we,
Under the winter sky.
Those haggard faces all so drear,
Still stare out at me in voices I once knew,
Calling my name.
I look still at the photos of yesteryear,
Time has passed, the voices are gone,
And the photo will one day fade....

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The jury is out!
Something bad happened
and something good has to pay.
We wait, anticipate til late.
Outside, concrete mine fields multiply.
We don't need more sticks and stones,
send the rifles home for now
for everything is getting too heavy to carry.
When the snow falls
we will huddle in a muddle
count the beans until something adds up.
No matter what, nobody wins....

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The world is not perfect.
People are killing each other.
I love my life anyway.

Peace is not coming.
People have assault rifles.
I paint my feelings away.

The world acts crazy.
People have mental illnesses.
I focus on the things that I love.

Hopelessness and despair
Are two things I see in the eyes of five-year-olds
I come home and write poetry, to forgive the world....

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THE KILLING NIGHT IN KENYA

Lush green fields cushion diamond skies--
Cattle rustlers burst through night
Machetes swinging like a game 
Mid spring blooms whose scent delights

Rifles slung like children’s packs
Hug shoulders that should lie abed
Blood trails flow moonlit from stealth feet
Leaving sixty sleeping people dead

Victoria Anderson-Throop
12/30/12 ©

Death week of 12/22/12...

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Sophie dog is bark-crying, howling in consternation
As if robbers with machetes are in the closets
As if home invaders have slept under our beds.
As if sixteen escaped convicts are eating her bologna.
As if someone is approaching with two assault rifles.
As if a SWAT team is getting ready to break down our windows.
Someone knocks on the front door and I jump straight up to the ceiling.
Amazon delivery....

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(Tribute to Holocaust victims)

Why do I still hear 
crying of lost children?
Why do I see fear 
in the eyes of parents?

Why do I feel coldness 
of hearts and rifles?
Why do I smell smoke
and foul stench of hatred?

What could I have done?
It wasn’t my time!
YOU chose my being 
and YOU closed me in it!

Do matters of spirit
imprison the body?
Or does the body 
imprison the spirit?...

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This was a raw thing.
A paranoid template for AK-47 rifles. The
homemade bombs were planted on the roadside.
A very explosive blend of a fedayeen. You
cannot take it anymore this jihad. In everyday
life inside comes out in the graveyard. It drizzles,
the fake beliefs.

A bleak panaroma. Pansexual desire. Black
boulders, reddish cheeks,
moon falling on so many of stars !
I want a burntout sun.

Satish Verma...

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