Your Poetry Dot Com - wargames in the sun

Array ( [sid] => 183266 [catid] => 1 [aid] => mick [title] => wargames in the sun [time] => 2016-06-18 09:04:42 [hometext] => [bodytext] => welded dreams and broken spears
sodden thoughts exempt from fear
standards born into the light
new recruits to join the fight
here, the man in shield and spray
at the square, a wall of grey
patios of resin cracked
enemies whose odds are stacked
enemies who come prepared
to smite the drunken, older herd.

the flag is torn as spoils of war
as if its not been done before
and Weymouth boys will rue the day
those bastards took their flag away
The bastards gladiator gear
tight shorts & trainers, speed; no beer
knuckles covered, training done
a thwack, there falls another one.
he won/'/t kiss his kids goodnight
to think. He didn/'/t want a fight.

The tiny army leave the scene
of broken bottles, spit and spleen
actions spoken never loud
in dribs and drabs into the crowd
those fat men dying in the sun
wasn/'/t it a lot of fun?
weren/'/t we solid, weren/'/t we great?
no velvet glove, this hand of fate

[comments] => 1 [counter] => 106 [topic] => 57 [informant] => poeticjestix [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 0 [ratings] => 0 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => war ) Your Poetry Dot Com - wargames in the sun

wargames in the sun
Date: Saturday, 18th June 2016 @ 09:04:42 AM AEST
Topic: Sad Poetry

Contributed By: poeticjestix

welded dreams and broken spears
sodden thoughts exempt from fear
standards born into the light
new recruits to join the fight
here, the man in shield and spray
at the square, a wall of grey
patios of resin cracked
enemies whose odds are stacked
enemies who come prepared
to smite the drunken, older herd.

the flag is torn as spoils of war
as if its not been done before
and Weymouth boys will rue the day
those bastards took their flag away
The bastards gladiator gear
tight shorts & trainers, speed; no beer
knuckles covered, training done
a thwack, there falls another one.
he won/'/t kiss his kids goodnight
to think. He didn/'/t want a fight.

The tiny army leave the scene
of broken bottles, spit and spleen
actions spoken never loud
in dribs and drabs into the crowd
those fat men dying in the sun
wasn/'/t it a lot of fun?
weren/'/t we solid, weren/'/t we great?
no velvet glove, this hand of fate

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