happening at a riot near you

Rosemary at Poets & Storytellers United would like us to be inspired by the phrase, ‘broken glass crunching under the boot steps', and write a poem or story about it.

digital montage by dsnake1 with GIMP



happening at a riot near you


             Juan get back into the house!

but Juan watch the sergeant raise his baton
a row of riot guns raise like palisades
the arcs of the smoke actually graceful
the cartridges snaking, rolling
between cars
                sneakers
                 trash bins
       barricades
and
    run ning feet
and courage is not a word to say
when the air wants to tear out your eyes
your lungs.

the soldiers raise their shields and batons
their boots in step
                 in step
the phalanx rolls on
metal teeth of a meat grinder

swish cruch crunch bish craack

Juan wants to be a man
but Juan is still a boy

I am a boy! I AM A BOY!

even the blackbirds rise like shrapnel and flee

broken glass crunching under the boot steps
blood faithfully follows the cracks in the asphalt.



06/07/2023
**********

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Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young - Ohio

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© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2023

my old sergeant

I am too tired to write anything new this week. So, bear with another old post.

This is about a chance meeting between old comrades.

photo by click, image from morguefile.com






my old sergeant


my old sergeant
calls to me
from a bus stop.
he still remembers me
maybe i am the nerdy one
or
i don't give him trouble.

we talk
and laugh.

we are old men now
how time has aged a soldier,
he walks with a cane today.

was it not long ago
i saw him dismount
from an armoured carrier
carbine slung across
his chest
walking through a haze
of red dust
churned up
by battle vehicles?

we talk
about the old days.
we laugh
cough a bit

and then
go about our
separate ways.


19/10/07
********

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“On the way down the hill we walked three abreast in the cobblestone street, drunk and laughing and talking like men who knew they would separate at dawn and travel to the far corners of the earth.”
― Hunter S. Thompson, The Rum Diary


Shared on Poetry Pantry #200 at Poets United.

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© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2014

in the night the weeds

This poem was written for NaPoWriMo 2011. Some recollections from my army days. It did not attract a single comment back then. Let's see if it can do better now. :)





photo by carygrant
image from morguefile.com




in the night the weeds



in the night the weeds, the ferns were
all black amorphous shadows that
rustled and creaked and we sat
among them listening to
the quarrels of
the frogs,
the toads,
as we broke regulations
lighting up a smoke, cupping
the cigarettes in our hands to hide
the glow of burning tips, waiting, rifles
cold on skin, for the next detail to relieve us.




11/04/2011
**********

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Shared on Poetry Pantry #143 at Poets United.

---

©cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2013

a mercenary's tale

It has been another busy week, and I have to dig up some old stuff again. I have posted this piece before, very early on in this blog. I must have read too many fantasy stories when I wrote this.

I wrote this poem about a soldier telling his love about his adventures. It is an imaginary tale but it could have happened in any civilization, any war.

I will try to get back to my normal rants soon. :)





you sat by the steppe's fire
absently stirring the flaming embers
as sparks crackled
in the cold wintry night
you sat listening , intently
to my tales of slaughter
i and my horse-sword
how i rode with the devil's forces
i knew you did not blame me
why i sold my sword for money

the Central Plains i rode
are bleak and barren
vultures & wild hounds picked on
diseased bones
a hundred years of war
the reasons long murky
as the ashes that swirled
between the fiefdoms
kings and dukes and serfs
fell like scythed hay
ragged troops plundered
flaming arrows torched
ravaged villages
the dead left as they fell
amid ruined harvests..

you sat listening intently
the light of the fire bouncing off
your liquid eyes
the glow on your face
more beautiful than dawn's light.

June 1991
revised 08.03.2008
*********





images and poem © cheong lee san ( dsnake1 )

my old sergeant

Hi folks, back from my break!

I met a person from my old days, and the following poem is the result of that meeting. Hope it's good. ( I kind of like it, but maybe I am biased.) :)



photo by clarita
more images from morguefile



my old sergeant



my old sergeant
calls to me
from a bus stop.
he still remembers me
maybe i am the nerdy one
or
i don't give him trouble.

we talk
and laugh.

we are old men now
how time has aged a soldier,
he walks with a cane today.

was it not long ago
i saw him dismount
from an armoured carrier
carbine slung across
his chest
walking through a haze
of red dust
churned up
by battle vehicles?

we talk
about the old days.
we laugh
cough a bit

and then
go about our
separate ways.


19/10/07
********

mood of the day