Thursday, September 20, 2012

Army of One

      She and her war-torn undergirl
wriggled restless-
intrepid, the way
'round the battlefield.
In the flushing aftertide,
sizzle, said the grass before the gloam.
In her feet, she stood
her calico feet
on her argyle legs
with a straight-brimmed hand
to shade the slipping sun.
But the way was fraught with battle scars
itching for an arm.
She swizzled her stirring stick
with sweaty fingers, 
antsy hands.
The scourge of sweet baby skins
be damned.
With her stomping boots and stick
skull-n-crossbones shells and shot
a lone patrol, she marches on.
The Hills of Hymenoptera
shall burn this night.  


dVerse Poet's Pub-
MeetingTheBar- Beautiful Solitude


  1. smiles...i like your description of her in her stomping boots and skull & crossbone shells and shot...i almost know her in sent me off to google hymenoptera....intrigiuing...nice response

  2. More cowbell - too funny. Sorry, to the poem, I like the imagery and tone.

  3. now she def. knows what she's doing and where she's images in this...have to google Hymenoptera as well

  4. This is great, it crackles with energy.