Politics Magazine

The Not Rifle – Verse Us (Poems by Me)

By Andrew Furst @a_furst

Unloaded of all its poetry
My rifle,
Safety on,
Threatens no salvation, liberation, or cash prizes.
Its skin is not dry, moist, or smooth.
Only reminiscent of soft summer carnages.

Carefully neglecting the care
Of this sacred rifle,
Reminds me of the unanswered prayers to the gods

My rifle doesn’t dream or pray
It has no discernable preferences.

No craving for a cloudburst
To break through the stolid humidity.
No fear of the bitter cold.
Absent desire for sweets,
Comfort or embrace.

From this Winchester,
Buddha nature exudes.
Raising the muzzle,
I squeeze out a few rounds of Mudita.
Grit my teeth,
And survey the bodies gone over to the other side.

Verse Us - Poems I write: haiku, senryu, mesostics, free verse, random word constructions, I might even use rhyme or meter once and a while. Get Each Week's Poems In Your Email Box

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