sijo - The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse : War

The Red Horse.

image by dsnake1,
generated on a game console with SoulCalibur V



sijo - The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse : War


you ask how many battles i have fought?
Masada, Nagashino, Inchon

soon the names will mean nothing,
it is all senseless slaughter

weary will be me, my blood-stained blade
goes to another battle.


2014
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SoulCalibur V is a copyrighted video game published by Namco Bandai Games.

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Ride of the Valkyries (Apocalypse Now version)

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© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2023

when angels fall

do we understand one's inhumanity to another, because of race, religion or beliefs?

photo by Comfreak at pixabay



when angels fall



If the rain that fall
are the tears of heaven
then it falls on the grasses
in the ravine at Babi Yar
on the ashes and bones that are
the herded naked
men women children
to the abattoir
and it falls on the barbed wires
and light towers at Auschwitz
on the pleas and screams
from locked chambers
the choking and
the gassed
and it splatters
on the blood-stained walls
at Tuol Sleng
screams in the corridors
as fingernails are pulled out
then the abused bodies hung on walls
where now row upon rows of
portraits of the dead stare back
their dead eyes
dead
mournful
and the rain
it is falling
on the hobnail boots of the demons
that are trampling on
the corpses of the angels...


21/04/2018
**********

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"If you want a picture of the future, imagine a boot stamping on a human face - forever."

-George Orwell

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© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2020

nine eleven

i am sorry if it opens old wounds.

photo by lauramusikanski
image from morguefile.com



nine eleven


i
up above
in a canvas
of sun-laced clouds
a jetliner trailing thunder

ii
my neighbour
sounded almost apologetic
the towers had fallen he said
collapsed
to a heap of dust

iii
maybe he wanted
to tell me that
it was not him
or his religion
that pulled
the trigger

iv
we waited for the lift
smoked our cigarettes
wondering if a tragedy
half a world away
will change our lives

v
up above
a black dome of sky
the strobe lights of a jetliner
chasing the stars

vi
jetliners will never look the same again.



various dates, sept 2008
a wee editing, sept 2019
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[] []

      us
__________

     them


-- dsnake1, The Height of Haiku Challenge - Day 11, i write too.

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© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2019

the trenches, somewhere in the future

Science fiction is one genre of literature that I like, and read widely. So it is only natural that I do a science fiction poem. This was written originally for a prompt at dVerse, a poetry community, the theme being "Where in the World?" and it asked the reader to "write a poem that creates or evokes another world". Then it squatted in my hard drive, like an Alien egg waiting to hatch. I wonder how many more "sci-fi poems" are still lurking there. :)




photo by chelle

image from morguefile.com

the trenches, somewhere in the future


we watch
the deadly arcs
of the ICBMs
curving over
the clouds
like a scimitar
on their way
to pulverise
a city

then get back
to the grisly task
at hand
tossing
the enemy wounded
into the ditches

no crosses
for the fallen
we sweep
a flamethrower
over them
for good measure

the black oily clouds
from their plastic
and metals
cling to the trenches
like a dark shroud.

and then

we sit in our
assault vehicles
check our weapons
send out
the spy drones
and wait
patiently
for the next wave
of enemy androids.

war was never the same again
since the humans sent us out

robots

     against

robots.




written 25/08/08
revised 09/06/12
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“I think the development of full artificial intelligence could spell the end of the human race. Once humans develop artificial intelligence, it will take off on its own and redesign itself at an ever-increasing rate. Humans, who are limited by slow biological evolution, couldn’t compete and would be superseded.”

-- Stephen Hawking, in an interview with the BBC


Shared on Poetry Pantry #417 at Poets United.

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©cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2018

Little Boy

"The world is a very different one now. For man holds in his mortal hands the power to abolish all forms of human poverty, and all forms of human life." 

-- John F. Kennedy

ink/pencil sketch by dsnake1

Little Boy

the day
it dropped off
the enola gay over a city
with a white flash instantly
frying 80,000 poor humans
the day
will be
etched in
coagulated
blood. we
have the
means to
extinct our species.
we live in fear of the
black mushroom cloud delivering
evil evil evil evil evil evil evil

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"A bright light filled the plane.We turned back to look at Hiroshima. The city was hidden by that awful cloud ... boiling up, mushrooming."
-- LTC Paul Tibbets

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© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2018

what do you know

Sometimes the giants are amongst the most ordinary...

photo by Free-Photos at pixabay



what do you know


she kept silent,
the old lady, bent with the years,
bags of groceries in one hand,
an agitated grandson on the other.

most probably she had seen it all,
her flight from China to escape poverty,
to another hard life in a foreign land,
to the darker ages, a World War,
surviving on tapioca roots,
evaded Sook Ching, and the massacres,
staying plain,
hoping not to get raped,
staying sane,
squalid huts to call home,
soon the terrors of Konfrontasi,
the uncertanties of Merger,
and Independence,
the horrors of racial riots,
then blissful marriage,
giving birth to sons, daughters,
raising them, nurturing them
saving the coins to build
a business
a home
a country

and
the little boy, indignant,
cellphone-ipad-game console generation,
muttered
"what do you know, grandma?
what do you really know?"



written 19/04/2009
revised 19/07/2018
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This was intended for Wednesday's Midweek Motif prompt for "Greatness" at Poets United. ☹️

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“A great man is always willing to be little.”

― Ralph Waldo Emerson

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© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2018

only the dead have seen the end of war

I wrote this during the Chinese 7th month, otherwise also known as the Ghost Month in the Chinese calendar. My mind can act in funny ways, it wanders. Like those spirits.

Or maybe I have watched too many wuxia or Sengoku period movies.

image from imageafter.com



only the dead have seen the end of war



when i returned in the dead of night
to our little house
you were sleeping, holding our child
your eyelids trembled, just slightly
that cold draft of air
that ruffled your hair
is the howl from my throat
as an arrow pierces my breast.

you rose in the smoke-filled dawn
when the sun had not yet risen
over the rice fields,
the tiled roofs of the town.
you went to the Wall with our child
scanned the stone towers
with your eyes still red with pain.
you read every weary face
every returning warrior
and with each passing day
the smoke rose higher from the rains.

only the dead have seen the end of war.
only the dead see what your tears are for.



written : 26/08/2010
revised : 16/04/2014
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The title is a quote often attributed to Plato, but possibly written by George Santayana.

Shared on Poetry Pantry #319 at Poets United.

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© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2016

rick mobbs' image prompt (4)

This is a painting by Rick Mobbs. Way back in 2008, Rick offered on his blog a weekly image prompt for us wannabe writers to ponder over it. He calls it The Storybook Collaborative. Those images are paintings that he has done, and out of the project are some interesting and excellent poems.

Back to the painting below. What does it tells you? A war machine! Look at all those guns firing, that clenched fist! Of course it could be about the military industrial complex, but war is easier to write.




painting by Rick Mobbs




bleed



and since the first
smash of a neolithic
axe
blood still runs red
and bones pile on
      bones
on forgotten
battlegrounds
rust bleeds
on
spear tips in museums
this arrowhead
could have pierced
a skull
at Hastings

and
what have been
learned
from the
blood letting?
   nothing
   nothing
but
the mounting
body count
and more
ingenious ways
of maiming and
   terrorizing

and so
metal tanks
    entangled
in barbed wire
at Flanders
    armoured choppers
       spitting metal
    rain from
miniguns
whirling blades
    over roof tops
vapour trail
of a
    stratofortress

ICBMs
riding
on a
tail
of

f
 i
  r
   e




written 11/11/2008
revised 01/06/2009
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"My brother's dreams once here did soar
Until he died at the hand of needless war."

― Uriah Heep, The Park.



If you want to read my other poems that were inspired by Mr. Mobbs's paintings, click on the links below :

image prompt (1) : on Icarus' wings
image prompt (2) : the lights of my heart
image prompt (3) : i see a raven in the sky

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© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2015

cenotaph

This poem was first published in this blog in October 2010 in response to a prompt. It is a poem about love, and also about loss.

It is also an exercise in writing a Tetractys poem.

photo by ericpruis

image from morguefile.com



cenotaph

once
it was
and still is
a monument
to the brave fallen of the two great wars.
we used to sit on its cold granite steps
just the night sky
the stars and
only
us.

and
heroes
die, she too.
left me alone
to talk to the dead of the two great wars.



01/Oct/10
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"How I wish, how I wish you were here."

-- Pink Floyd, Wish You Were Here



This is for Poetry Pantry Week #126.

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© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ), 2012

A Mercenary's Tale

The theme for Poetry Picnic Week 12 at the Gooseberry Garden is Feathers, Fidelity, Figment and Fables. Umm, not sure if the following poem qualifies, but i think fable is quite close...

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




scan by dsnake1




a mercenary's tale



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
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Thank you, Ava, for the Perfect Poet Award for Week 55. This is also the acceptance post for the award. Thanks again!

© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2011

image prompt by rick mobbs

I want to do this image prompt. It's an awesome painting by Rick Mobbs. So I will just let my imagination run a bit wild.

What Mr. Mobbs has on his masthead there are 4 in this poetic attempt. "poetry, love, death, war.". :)


painting by Rick Mobbs



on Icarus' wings


i know that
when the wings
of this fighter
are shattered

this airplane
this metal carcass
trailing
smoke flame debris

carrying
munitions, a life
and a forsaken
love

i know
i will have
to love you again
in another life

as i turn
the nose
of the plane
towards the sun

for a final

kiss.


21.06.08
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© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 )

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 )

i am the grass

I thought I would write something nice for the first post of the new year, but wrote nothing but a couple of pieces on war & the military. Maybe it's the bad week in the office.


image by dsnake1


i am the grass



i am the grass
the hard boots
of the troopers
trampled upon
going on recon
on ambush
on patrol

but today

i feed on their blood
and brass cartridges
as they left
in alarm
calling for choppers
for medic
for God.

i am the grass
i do not take sides.


03.01.07
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