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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 )

wargames in the sun

Contributed by poeticjestix on Saturday, 18th June 2016 @ 09:04:42 AM in AEST
Topic: war

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

Copyright © poeticjestix ... [ 2016-06-18 09:04:42]
(Date/Time posted on site)

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Re: wargames in the sun (User Rating: 1 )
by Harsh on Monday, 20th June 2016 @ 02:30:14 AM AEST
(User Info | Send a Message)

beautifully written

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