poetry notebook

Description:wars, are they meaningful or pointless? should we honor the victories despite the lives we took? or the lives we lost? A lot of people die during wars and it makes us question wether it is worth it or not. Is there any other way to settle things?

Synopsis: these are a few poems about war or battles that i enjoy


George Washington a war poem by James Russell Lowell
The Recruit a war poem by A. E. Housman
The Song of the Soldiers a war poem by Charles G. Halpine
The Unknown Soldier by Angela Morgan
The Dying Veteran, by Walt Whitman
Ready to Kill, by Carl Sandburg

free verse poem

they spear us
they clip us
they hold us
they injure us
they won the game
they beat us down
they wore us out
they played unfair

iceland volcano found poem

Volcano
Eruption
Lava flow
Halted flights
Plumes of lava
Cataclysmic
Steaming-hot stones
1,200 degrees
Mother natures bad side

tonka poem

dexteriods he says
thats what he loves to call me
he thinks he is cool
by making up names for me
mikkel needs to grow up soon

Practice

Practically torture
Rain fuels the fire
Allways repetitive
Covered in blood
Tired and worn
Innocent young men they
Claim to be
Except we were sent here for a reason

Full Back

Five yards off the center
Underestimated value
Lined up behind the halfbacks
Like the quarterbacks personal bodyguard

Blindside blocker
Attack the gap
Cover the outside linebacker
Kill the defensive

I worry about him

“Back off, you don’t have to try and sit on my lap,” I say to him almost every day followed by the most annoying noise: the sound of his chair scooting closer. The same thing happens almost every day. I worry about him.

A lonely boy he must be, feeling the need to get close to another guy. I worry about him

Laps, he must be obsessed with my lap. It’s constant and even after he moves away he comes right back. I worry about him.

Boys, he must be obsessed with boys. He never does this to girls. I worry about him.

Only me, he must be obsessed with me. I don’t know why he does this to me. I worry about him.

Ah poor moises, is he confused about himself? Or is he just freakishly attracted to me like a magnet. Oh how I worry about him.