Keep The Army On The Run

Posted on by ndspencer

Keep the army on the run
Rather chasing or not
Rather fleeing from or facing
Keep the army on the run

It is said “Divide and conquer”
How dost thee divide?
Cause the host scatter
Keep the army on the run

For when a gang sprints it’s rarely single file
The quicker get ahead, the fatter behind
Further, due to craze, some run right others left
Keep the army on the run

Now I don’t believe this a poem
Nah it must be peachy sweet prose
It uses no poetic devises such as rhyme or alliteration
Putting something in the poetic style does not make it such
Nevertheless I blogged it for the beauty of it
I just did not list it as poetry

The Ship and the Submarine (Poem)

Posted on by ndspencer

Splash goes the crash
Her feet hit the water
In my heart grows anticipation
In my head is a fixation on this memory

Skin a dark steel
Eyes a light in the dark
Stern shows through life
Under the waves is my delight

I hide deep in the H2O
Staring up her towards her in fear to be found
Yet I am comforted that she is well aware
I’m comforted by the sweet sound of feet splashing and crashing along

The song in it
The hope of it
Her face smiling for it
The ship, I cower from it

Zwodder (Poem)

Posted on by ndspencer

Am I always stuck in zwodder
Cause I try, but I can’t think
And will you always love me
Cause it’s easy to just give up, on others then to standout

I try  and try to just do
Maybe just believe you
And I might just be in this thoughtless bout.

Truth be, I hate zwodder
Never a thought, a mental sink to drain inspiration
Oh the way I see
Softly sweetly kills my brain train’s route

The Infant Greater Than Me

Posted on by ndspencer

A infant is better than me,
For it’s in heaven me the dirt
A death is more profitable
For I only destroy we

A slave labors more than I
A slave more diligent
Thus even a slave will reach a greater height

A miscarriage is better than me
For it suffers and dies to gain eternal life,
This I’m forced to face to
Dead is what we all will be

How innocent is one?
How pure?
How tender?
How love?
Is a done son?