Send the kids to school to be shot
Or church to become a sex pot
With COVID-19
Becoming a teen
May be the slimmest chance they've got!
n.b. Texans believe life is only sacred
until the breath of life is inhaled
after which everyone is fair game!
Categories:
targets, culture,
Form: Limerick
We heard of the ambush
And we remembered George Bush:
A Radio-Announced Ambush
And we made for some bush,
The man in my front continually push …
One hell of a Lazing Runner
While my heart was Bunsen Burner.
Quick was I to condemn his speed,
Ready to it with fuel feed,
Sure survival was The Rare,
Whenever it became Guerrilla Warfare,
Smart shooters picking off their targets
While The pursued chiefly his teeth grits,
Doing the thing like a Mad March Hare
And choosing to not a lot care.
The man in my front was A Lousy Escapee,
Running and you’d think An Amputee.
Categories:
targets, anxiety, death, fear, violence,
Form: Rhyme
Congestions
Occur in the brain
Pressures and tensions
Workloads and targets
Competitions and expectations
Time limits and deadlines
All contribute to
A serious spiritual traffic jam
With
No by-pass
No overhead bridge
As life is not as simple
As a traffic jam on the road
We have to pay for every bit of prosperity
Categories:
targets, emotions, time, work,
Form: Free verse
Make it as bad as it really ing was
The Nazi’s most lethal fighter plane
With a load of guns and bombs
Killing Allied and Soviet forces
Like they were tin soldiers paper planes
Categories:
targets, flying, military, war,
Form: Free verse
A target set by a politician
may stand for an inflated ambition,
for when it's not met
he'll be most upset
for it gives to his foes ammunition.
Categories:
targets, political,
Form: Limerick
MISSION ACCOMPLISHED
We dance, mutate and celebrate: another perfect host.
The old make easy prey, we watch them gasp
and slip away. And our kind are not averse
to the odd doctor or nurse, regardless of their ages.
But while the populace weeps and rages, the death
toll turns, a thousand pages .We catch the young
while on the run , target bathers soaking sun.
Here’s to a babe in its mother’s arms. He takes no solace
from our charms. We proliferate in lungs, leak bodily
juices, giving neither apology nor excuses. It’s strike,
strike and strike again. Attacking gaps in mask, gown
or gloves, we seize our chances.
The target’s cells weep blood, and slowly die.
Our deadly dancers sigh and shrivel, too. But that’s what
we were born to do. Others soon will take
our places, embracing all the creeds and races.
Decima Wraxall
Categories:
targets, 8th grade, analogy, body,
Form: Free verse
I wasn’t seeing when my eyes were open
I never understood the song What if God was one of us, I always thought the point was that he was
I observe that I self-monitor by constantly checking my originality
I felt bad and the darkness coming so I went with them
I observe that Thoughts usually seem to be the targets for invasion disruption disordering
I’m at the high fidelity audio store Uncle John’s Band playing in a vacuum tube and it’s so pure I feel swaddled by the sound
I might be lying to myself
I think it must be the most beautiful thing anyone has ever said that we glow in the morning and in the evening we glow again
I try to think about how emotional pain feels in my body
I can slow down this thought and climb inside and strip to its marrow to feel its meaning
I experience a revelation that the more players at the table the better hand you have to have and then realize what a pathetic epiphany this is
May 1, 2020
Categories:
targets, emotions, memory,
Form: Free verse
You shoot at people as if they were paper targets
Not caring who you kill, maim or injure
Your outrage has been well planned
Not a single bit went wrong
You serviced your guns
Collected hundreds of bullets
Dressed the part in boots, fatigues and body armour
Then made your way down the main street
Calmly walking with guns in hand
Carefully aiming and firing at random targets
One round here, another there
Aiming at chests, necks, heads, legs
But reveling when you shot them in the back
Are you fecking crazy?
What the feck made you do this?
from New Dawn 2971
Nick Armbrister and other authors/poets/writers
Categories:
targets, anger, hurt, murder,
Form: Prose Poetry
a voyage
of life
for love
memories
of bliss
point to
the particular
time
becomes
reality
autonomy
an illusion
of contradictions:
injustice
takes
hold of us
in
a riddle
of restless
measures
sensations
stand
portrayed:
perception
resists
the
stimulus
of
kinship's
flame
rivalry
a stigma
in
the shade
Categories:
targets, life,
Form: Verse
life is the two targets;
side of the palm
whether white or black; get warm
for side to stretch; side to relax a target
conceive concomitant combinations calm
black target; white target.
the mind to the side of the sound
availing the spacial in the profound
focus and averred
to all, and for all defend
it has no meaning; get ready.
A.A.A.H Ndokeji ShimbolyoNshimbe
(2017) Life is The Dying Sun.
Categories:
targets, life,
Form: I do not know?