Marching,
Foots strangling every strand of grass,
Arms breaking through the wind,
Hands changed into fists,
Eye sockets only fixed on a skull,
A barricade of unseen lines demarcates each group,
Sweat creates a path on their mundane skins
And their ‘Kaki’ sucks it up and having no hope
Of getting back to their wardrobe,
For it is heading to the battle ground
With its owner,
To live,
To die
With him,
Whether he conquers,
Whether he suffers defeat,
Whether the innocent blood

A Soldier’s legacy

The silence of the enemy
who made my blood run cold
is aging me quite rapidly
yes, I am growing old

Electric blues and jungle shoes
have preyed upon my youth
and stranded me in fantasy
unrecognized by truth

I know you are not here.
I can not see you
or hear you
or talk to you.

I live my life
same old ways.
It still runs on those tracks you laid down
so quietly.

I laugh, smile,
sigh and frown,
getting on with the everyday.
Then, from nowhere
it comes,
that crushing blow
leaving me numb
with grief.

I can not move or speak.
Mind locks on the
small, frail man
in the hospital bed.
That room,
those last minutes.
We were all there
time suspended.

O! poet you
are you the Mississippi
the Nile
the Amazon
the Ganges
Thames may be
or
the entire Thesaurus
flows from thee

your poetry is
marvelly
sweet as jelly
and
like a pineapple
it is so metaphorical
like my friend
says

vanilla

he loves
it
for its vast
exhibitionisctic delivery

pulp and juices
an auusie he!
What kind of a guy
he
juss guess
will ye!