Landmine
When the Buffel troop-carrier detonates a landmine
we see dark dots moving in the bush
and I break loose with the light machinegun
that the empty burning-hot caps hit against me
and as long as there is movement
on the other side of the dry riverbed
our fire is drawn
until everything is motionless.
With the smell of gunpowder hanging around us,
a skimpy goat-herdsman
crawls out from behind a giant ant hill
and cries about his dead goats.
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Gunpowder
I asked my mother why do you cry
She said your brother had... he just died
Well I told him not to go outside
He said he had to fight for his countrys right
But dont you know that mo-mother
Dont you know that we cant stop the violence, no
Because the war is not over
Until you can feel love, peace, and hear silence
But I smell gunpowder (pow)
My brothers been dead ever since
I didnt beleive it, but when I saw him I was convinced
Two shots to the head he was already dead lord,
I headed for revenge in the city of port au prince
Screaming bro-brother
Dont you know that we cant stop the violence, no
Because the war is not over
Until you can feel love, peace, and hear silence
But I smell gunpowder (pow)
Zions gunpowder (pow)
L.a.s gunpowder (pow)
I wanna know why
Christians pray for a new day
We dont need no, we dont need no, we dont need no
But its still the same way
I wanna know why
Ghetto people pray for a new day
Hey, hey, heeey
And its still the same way
But the preacher man told me
Good things come to those who wait
Do good things come to those who wait?
I wanna know tell me
Good things come to those who wait
Do good things come to those who wait?
We wanna know, we wanna know, we wanna know [pause]
Pe-people
Dont you know that we cant stop the violence, no
Because the war is not over
Until you can feel love, peace, and hear the silence
But I smell gunpowder (gunpowder)
Brooklyns gunpowder (gunpowder)
Shaolins gunpowder (gunpowder)
Uptowns gunpowder (gunpowder)
Jerseys gunpowder (gunpowder)
Even new zealands gunpowder (gunpowder)
Australias gunpowder (gunpowder)
Brixtons gunpowder (gunpowder)
Even new havens gunpowder
song performed by by Wyclef Jean
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Christmas Day At The Bunkhouse (Fun Poem 47)
It was Christmas day at the bunkhouse
everyone had sat down for a meal
when through the door walked a goat.
He stood and looked around,
then continued to eat an artichoke.
When he finished he sat and asked for a drink,
someone got up and gave him a bowel of water.
The goat looked at the offering with disgust.
Ain’t you got anything stronger that that?
Of course, we have, came the reply.
Well pour me out some the goats said,
and put some mud in my eye.
Someone had some scotch whiskey
and took the bottle out,
then gave the goat a dram.
The goat sniffed it, and then downed it
all in one swallow.
He then asked for more
saying his legs were still hollow.
Another dram was poured
and everyone was amazed to see,
an upside down goat
drinking a bottle of scotch whiskey.
The goat drank all day
and it drank all night.
The lights went out
and the old goat went to sleep.
He dreamed of himself
floating out the door
and all the way to heaven,
but when he got there,
St Peter wouldn’t let him in.
He said God will not tolerate
any drunken old goats here,
so you had better go back
and sleep it off, Billy.
Then put up a sign on the door.
No drunken old goats allowed,
signed by you know who.
You could always try
beneath the basement floor
he’ll greet you with a smile
and a shovel,
even make you hot and warm.
The moral of this story
whether you’re a goat or a man.
Don’t drink too much;
you could end up
jumping from the frying pan
and straight into the fire,
the one that they keep burning
permanently beneath the basement floor.
poem by David Harris
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Enemy skirmish (sonnet)
They come sneaking in the tambookie,
in the buffalo grass, past acacia trees
and linger for moments at the swampy marsh,
the birds suddenly get silent and even the insects,
when they relax, light cigarettes and smoke,
as they linger for long moments laughing
and I can smell the stinking sour of their sweat,
when my heart beats anxiously,
brown ibises fly up scolding,
impalas in a herd burst away
and they walk straight into our ambush
with AK-47 rifles hanging as without importance,
somewhere a long green snake rustles
and when my LMG comes alive I loose all of my fear.
[Reference: LMG = light machinegun.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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While Johnny and his section is on patrol
An artist paints a bushy landscape,
paints colours of a setting sun
with fleecy clouds hanging in the blue sky
while Johnny and his section is on patrol.
The canvass has a river where shots rang out,
an angry crocodile that tries to catch him,
black coots fly up and Johnny feels afraid,
when a trooper detonates a landmine,
three riflemen cover his position,
the enemy shoot with tracer bullets that draw lines,
they are caught unexpectedly by Johnny's return fire,
and flee from the very start of the fire-fight
with a wounded comrade that longs for God,
Johnny's men are brave and capable,
a soldier is shot to smithereens, lies droopy like a doll,
some distance away a hissing snake slithers,
to vomit is an unstoppable urge;
down at the marsh a long-tailed widow-bird flies.
poem by Gert Strydom
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He was lucky
The BTR-152 lowers its heavy machinegun
and starts firing,
before the 90mm shell
knocks the hell out of it.
The BTR stand motionless
and white smoke rises
from it like steam
and there’s an acrid smell
in the air.
I jump down from Ratel’s dome
and through the smoke
a Cuban appears,
with hands above his head
and there’s a man unscarred
that should have been dead.
poem by Gert Strydom
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The Cooking Pot!
tastes like....
rainwater on my tongue,
blood drawn from unclaimed bodies....
the wind lapping at my curtain,
the candle flickering in the dark.
gunpowder, and bourbon!
the baby's bloom opening,
rose petals 'neath my tongue.
pepper spray, and human rights....
the damp chill of the small cell.
the burning bush, the last refrain,
yesterday's nails long driven....
food scavanged from dumpsters,
the back seat on the bus....
the old woman dying on the floor!
life thrown together in the cooking pot,
left to simmer unattended....
shared in bowls made of flesh,
and dreams now long forgotten!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Goat Hill
Goat Hill
Walking out the door that man told me to go to hell
My son asked mommy where’s Goat Hill
I said I don’t know son it must be through the valley
My son said mommy lets go there
Up to goat hill
I bet it’s on top of the mountain
I bet there is waterfalls, birds, trees, pretty flowers for all the butterflies and honey bees
I said son if we could I’m sure we would
Most definitely go up to goat hill
I’m not ever going to take you where that man said to go
That place is an internal melting pot
And its way to hot
There’s no mountains with snow on top
No waterfalls trees birds butterflies or honey bees in the place that man said to go
Son I know you are good
Some day together I believe we will find the place called Goat Hill
You found somewhere in your mind
Where life is gentle and Kind
Everyday and every night all the time
Son I bet up on Goat Hill we will only see Gods will being done by the Father and the Son
poem by E.Marie AldrichCreasy
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Angel Fire
When you hear a sound
And see a star
Then take your love to me
Cause I love you
You lit the fire of an angel
Angel fire it is called
Angel fire it will remain
You are the angel that had came and lite my fire
You came to my life
When you see the moon go to sleep
And you hear the day break
Then you will see me by your side
And in the sun u see a light
Brighter than anything
It's my fire burning
The fire of an angel with burning love
Just angel fire in my heart.
poem by Hanko Poolman
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My Fire Angel
When you hear a sound
And see a star
Then take your love to me
Cause I love you
You lit the fire of an angel
Angel fire it is called
Angel fire it will remain
You are the angel that had came and lite my fire
You came to my life
When you see the moon go to sleep
And you hear the day break
Then you will see me by your side
And in the sun u see a light
Brighter than anything
It's my fire burning
The fire of an angel with burning love
Just angel fire in my heart.
poem by Ricky Baker
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37
A dance in the dark Is a nude dance
Two forms Fuse as one
Shades in the Dark with some Specks of light
A dance of Coming and going
One that tells me Out you go And yet takes Me by her hand
And without a Word the two Forms kiss
and Lose themselves In an empty space
Where the specks Of light may Turn into fire
a wild fire A burning dance A wild dance
And it stops only As the Two Lovely Forms
Become the dark And an empty space.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Dance In The Dark
A dance in the dark Is a nude dance
Two forms Fuse as one
Shades in the Dark with some Specks of light
A dance of Coming and going
One that tells me Out you go And yet takes Me by her hand
And without a Word the two Forms kiss
and Lose themselves In an empty space
Where the specks Of light may Turn into fire
a wild fire A burning dance A wild dance
And it stops only As the Two Lovely Forms
Become the dark And an empty space.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Never Said It
Wish I would never have said it
But if only admit it
And I will tell you the truth cause that's all I know
So pathetic, you can't ignore how he bought you
He sat you down and he taught you
And you'll obey every rule that he made
Cause he bought you, now he owns you
So don't go away, don't go away
I got something to say about the dark side of me
Dead side of me, light side of me
Dark side of me, dead side of me
I lied to you and you caught me
I shoulda learned what you taught me
And the truth cuts just like a knife,
When you cut me
And I'll do all that I told you
I loved you and I would hold you
But those are just things that I said in my head
But she told you, shoulda told you
I said don't go away, don't go away
Got something to say about the dark side of me
Dead side of me, light side of me
Dark side of me, dead side of me
Just let me be, what I want to be
I said I haven't told you anything
I hold it all inside in vain
I think of you and I think of pain
Now I've told you everything
I said don't go away, don't go away
I got something to say about the dark side of me
(I said I haven't told you anything)
Dead side of me
(I hold it all inside in vain)
Light side of me
(I think of you and I think of pain)
Dark side of me
(Now I've told you everything)
Dead side of me
I said I haven't told you anything
I hold it all inside in vain
I think of you and I think of pain
I never tell you anything
I said I haven't told you anything
I hold it all inside in vain
I think of you and I think of pain
Never said it, so forget it-
song performed by by Papa Roach
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Inferno (An Analysis Of The Goddess Of Fire)
A big fire
Devoured our house yesterday
And it sounded loud like a bomb
Vulcan the god of fire
Must have been loud and angry at us
A big fire
Devoured our house yesterday
And it sounded like a bomb
The fire we use to cook our food
And then i spoke to the fire
And it said to me
“ I was formed when men were in caves
And i was used to cook their raw meat
In the days of long ago and the dinosaurs”
Thou goddess of fire
You bleached the earth on creation day
Producing the human race
You give light to mankind
You fly high
In the netherworlds of the Universe
Naked humanity in thine sight
Burning like an inferno in the human heart
Now is the time to stand and stare
Every bush bows and burns before your might
Your arms reaches outstretched
Thou purifier of thoughts and metals
Thine incandescent light fascinates and scares me
Thou goddess of fire
Dancing in the midst of charcoals and matchsticks
Lighting upon men anew
You are in my sitting room today
Burning men and me to carbon dust
You came from the bush centuries ago
To set upon the ideas of men
On the dawn of civilization
When we were nothing
But cavemen without learning or thinking
And the men ran helter skelter
For they were afraid of thee
Men thought you will go
But you did stay
Men thought you will go
But you fell from heaven again
Burning every bush fire
I run out of thoughts for thee
Thou goddess of fire.
poem by larry Philosopher
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Fire Burning
See your face everywhere,
Giving you all my life,
All I own is for you.
Theres a fire, a fire burning in my heart,
Cant deny it, a fire burning in my heart for you.
A fire burning in my heart.
It only goes to show,
The world is full of miracles,
I thought Id never know.
Touch my soul with your light,
Freeing me of all doubt,
Of all fear, here in me.
Theres a fire, a fire burning in my heart,
Cant deny it, a fire burning in my heart for you.
Fire, a fire burning in my heart,
A fire burning in my heart for you.
Theres a fire, a fire burning in my heart.
song performed by by Kinks
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Under a African sky
The sun burns furious
and the harsh reality,
of a live in the semi desert
of the Kalahari
is set in my mind.
There are some bushes
growing in this arid land,
with red sand
stretching as far
as the eye can see,
but they are riddled
with large white thorns.
A Group of bushmen trackers
are gathered round a fire
and are drinking tea,
near to the huts
where they live.
It’s time to go and we set out
into the bush,
with two trackers
running in the lead.
One is carrying my R5 rifle
and we follow
in a fighting formation,
with armoured fighting vehicles
and armoured cars.
The LMG becomes heavy
in my hands
and sweat are running
down my cheeks.
Every hour or so
the trackers are changed
and we keep following the tracks,
for hours without end
and then reality is frozen.
Rpg-7 rockets whistle past
and the sound of enemy
AK-47 rifles and mortars,
are almost everywhere.
We return fire at dark dots
and every moving thing
becomes prostrate
and the dead enemy are gathered
and I feel like puking;
and some troops are smoking
and it’s just another day
under a African sky.
[LMG=> Light Machine Gun]
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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War Games
Did you buy your tickets for the war game?
Arent you glad that your sitting in the back?
For the game is deadly having all the players
Arent you glad its a spectator sport
Cant you hear the cries?
It isnt over
Cant you smell the fear?
Its all over
If you want to play the game, you must have playmates
Choose your side play guitar (? ? ? ) but play to win
Dont be sad if you loose it itsnt over
Pick your side and begin the game agianit isnt over
Cant you hear the cries?
It isnt over
Cant you smell the fear?
Its all over
You dont have to play the game if you dont want to
You can sit at home and hear it on the news
They will show you colored pictures of the killings
They want you to feel that youre part of it too.
Cant you hear the cries?
It isnt over
Dont you smell the fear?
Its all over
Its all over
song performed by by Monkees
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Coolun
Come with me, under my coat,
And we will drink our fill
Of the milk of the white goat,
Or wine, if it be thy will;
And we will talk until
Talk is a truble, too,
Out in the side of the hill,
And nothing is left to do,
But an eye to look into an eye
And a hand in a hand to slip,
And a sigh to answer a sigh,
And a lip to find out a lip:
What if the night be black
And the air on the mountain chill,
Where the goat lies down in her track
And all but the fern is still!
Stay with me under my coat,
And we will drink our fill
Of the milk of the white goat
Out on the side of the hill.
poem by James Stephens
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Which Side Do You Belong To?
i hear the cry of the hawk and the rabbit,
i feel the talons tearing flesh.
i smell gunpowder, and bodies burning,
i hear the sound of boots on the road.
the groan of the tanks turning without faces,
the buzz of the drones flying above.
the mechanical order, as life is destroyed,
the cry of babies on their mother's dead breasts.
the mourning sisters who bury their brothers.
light making shadows on all the colors of skin.
the shout of the flags, the bowls left empty.
the bolt of the rifle, the knife slid from the sheath,
the sound of the falling just before impact.
the cry for freedom on the lips of the martyr.
the pages of the holy book turned down forever.
the prayer of justice over equality's grave.
the soldiers of poverty who fought against all odds.
the sound of dead elders drawing in their breath.
the wind named liberty howling and lost.
the fingers of the child touching dead lips.
the song of the bruise, the scar, and the dream.
the smell of flesh bartered for hope.
the last drink of daylight, the dark night unending.
the face of eternity in slivers of moonlight.
the star of humanity falling from the sky.
the presence of god, and the absence of presence.
the mountains crumbling, the rivers gone dry.
the last trees walking into the distance.
the sound of the chisel carving in stone,
the last tear wept by the shadow called being.
and i turn and i stand in the name of dignity,
holding in my hands the pages of history.
the moment lost to vast infinity...
saying, tis now, or never,
truth counts the cost...
which side do you belong to?
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Burnin' Bush
What does it take to show an illustration
Of the hurt and the pain of a nation.
One glowing look upon a ragged canvas
Tells the story of our past and present situation
That old bush just keeps on burning
Nobody seems to show they're learning
That old bush just keeps on burning.
I wonder will we ever feel the flame.
Our way of life on total exhibition
Shows the way in which we live of an
I'mperfect nation.
This tree of life so far from perfeciton
Share a little love to improve our situation.
That old bush just keeps on burning
Share the hope for future learning
I wonder will we ever feel the flame
Flow of light could really stand a listen
Bring the dark to the light
song performed by by Earth Wind & Fire
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Three Men Walking
Three men walking
Along the roadside
One after another
Wearing weird caps
In the dark
The town asleep
Some traffic
Street lights
And cold
Silhouettes
Trees
Roots whirling
Some visible others hiding
Some past events
The three men
Talking to themselves
And to each other too
Smell of hey
Some old friends
The three men
Still walking
One after another
A young boy
Runs past
All covered up
Without socks
A cat with long tail
And a dog
Waiting for something to eat
Common cause
The boy
Collects rotten fruit
In a bag
Whose cause?
The three men walking
A young girl
Beaten
Cries
Selling flowers
A man with a gun
A watchman
Destroys her flowers
Water
Red colored
And black too
Going down a small stream
Blood is red
And water black
The three men
Further, into the darkness of the streets
Their caps
Water enters the shoes
Cold water
And black water
And then into the restaurant
The three men
With weird caps
Some people in the restaurant
Long faced small faced
Tired and worried
The three men
Looking from above a cabin
Some boys
And burgers
Water and tea
A common cause
poem by Sadiqullah Khan
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