Short Skirmish Poems

Candidates debate
Thrust and parry, and thrust
  ~ Waterloo's blind date...

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Caucasus mountains,

     another trade route threatened

          rude,crude oil's pipeline.......

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A tussle
A fray
A skirmish
A soiree

A fracas
A fight
A scuffle
A blight

A scrap
A brawl
A melee
A free for all

A quarrel
A clash
A donnybrook
A birthday bash...

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Hit Head On After Starting To Skirmish

Had hit head on after starting to skirmish;
Destroyed objective when did extinguish;
Waited;
Dissipated;
Control not needed so it would relinquish.

Jim Horn...

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splintered fractures
screaming light telling tales of once being
Hallowed sand that skirmish
our skins release
as cancered waves
blow their dying breath

entwined in our writhing's
kisses softer than shadows touch
and tongues that grip
in turmoil...

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A scoundrel slithering all about.
Touting your own horn.
Immoral eccentricity.
Through prisms of false bravado.
A shallow soul.
Skeletons with no depth.
Humanitarian rights violations.
A skirmish of power.
Strong arming the weak.
Wrecked souls landing on the beach....

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We have to fight 
Stand for the right 
Speak with the mind 
Moving towards the height

Lynching gets easy 
It's harder to get a better sight 
The place has forgotten humanity 
Trying further to abate 

First we are human 
Then anyone else
Skirmish in the name of religion 
The constitution is facing threats...

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All was quiet on the eastern front, and the southern front too.
We faeries were lying in wait, hoping the elves would be back soon.
A troop of brownies wandered by, drunk on sunflower seed oil.
Hush! The queen cautioned us. We transmogrified into flowers.
We certainly do not need a brownie skirmish before an elf battle....

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You'd embroidered the Inferno
sewn with the thread
of supple beauty,
endowed Ganguria
with philosophical
profundity and great altitude
of enlightenment.
You'd reconciled
an old skirmish
between disdain
and phobia.
O God, you made
Ganguria an ultimate abode
decked with platonic ideal
of love and mosaic complexion...

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On the wind and sun
there's a message to convey
of hope and rebirth
of chances to play
Shorn of the need 
we stand attention to plate
and skirmish all our yesterdays
Where were you
when we were being ourselves
The August people sneered
we longed for the west
where colours turn to gold



















...

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It was the war of the cookies, battle lines were fiercely drawn
Dipped versus no dip, diagonal frosting turned on
Sprinkles versus non-sprinkles, arguments about a treat
Dipped cookies bringing in generals, all kinds of heat.
Pure breads adamantly denying that icing was any good.
Causing a huge daily skirmish in our confectionary neighborhood....

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Skirmish 
 
                            It turns so fast
from happiness to sadness, 
yesterday
was a warm spring day,
then without warning
Cold.
Winter beddings
packed away
we fought 
over a blanket
I lost
she is blaming illness.
Today is miserable
a clumsy time
doesn`t know whether 
to cry or shine.
No internet
that`s a bloody shame....

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daedal delight dangling
saucy skirmish smoldering
dainty dark drooling
nauseating punctured puking
of salient smirk
la-de-da limbs lurched

buckled bills boasting
lanky lust lustrating
felon feast fondling

eyes etched'n fear
hoisted hankerings' shear
taunted thrill tears

punctured parley pulses
wielded wild whooshing.
        20:01:13:00:16...

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Life can recognise
Caste, religion and colour-
A disease of three symptoms:
Caste is engaged with skirmish,
Religion flares up with sudden
Intensity of furiousness, and
Colour creates dissociation.

None but DEATH is constant:
He never plays the role of an actor,
He never does judge on caste, religion And colour:
He believes that there is no gap
Between the palace and the hut....

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a thunderstorm passing over -
gun turrets flash
gray hulls rumble and roll
above tumultuous clouds

evening commences to weep -
a damp emotive capsizing
that barely touches upturned faces

as seafaring battles go
it was a sky-skirmish
of near misses

a backwash of electric fizz
the distant sound 
of sailors shouting for rum

light blinks 
shipping damp echoes
that drip
into a salty bucket
of silence...

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Tinted colors of old
Debauched, dubious mysteries
Finagled corrupt's gold
A glorious, poignant history

An empty throne,
And tales of skirmish
Standing draped in gold, all alone
A war cry and a death wish

Glorious structures,
Secluded with pride
Curtained with greed and power
A broken ruling mind

Sky turning grey
Chains broken for freedom
Nobility burned like hay
End of the golden demon.
© Rohan Suresh...

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There are some who think thoughts profound
but fail to pen it, 't'write it down
Word’s ‘a’spoken disspipate
but those a’written will test even fate
it's battles with wit , we ought to fight
brains busy, Pen’s in sight.
A skirmish, he’d rather, fool engage,
 than use his trusty, God-given brain.
True it is, what is said, that mightier not, 
is Sword, than Pen. 
To leave a legacy is Man’s lot, 
don’t fail, record it, complete the plot....

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