I lie here on this beach
     starring up at the clouds above me
while an infinite volume of sound
surrounds me.
I cannot help but think
    that my life should’ve ended more peacefully
but we can’t always receive every wish
we plea for.
Yet,
    2 years ago
       I wouldn’t have thought this
is where I’d be:
     dying slowly
        on the forsaken beaches of Normandy.

The ramp drops
    splashing the sea water high above us,
and already
       four lives are lost.
Captain Morrell moves to the front of the landing craft
    and yells:
HIT THE BEACH!
        only moments before he is incinerated
by an artillery shell.
    that lovin’ 88!

I close my eyes and rush forward,
    screaming as I do,
praying the bullets won’t become lodged
       in my skull
as they **** by we few from 3rd platoon
who survived the landing.

Congregating behind these steel tank traps
         almost a dozen men seek the shelter
from cover that is almost non-existent.
But the German mortar rounds neglect our cover
     and begin showering our position with
                     molten, lead shrapnel
and **** both men and boys.
    so many boys.

The deutsch machine guns spray our position
        with their hypothermic needles
and as more men are landing on this deadly shoreline
     the water turns red from the blood
     of the youthful dead.

Another explosion
    sends the sand showering on top of us again
and my only response
       is to fire my drenched rifle
carelessly at the large, fortified seawall
    that stands between
us and victory.

Sergeant Feretti runs to our position
    and screams at us,
telling us to advance;
ordering us to leave these skinny steel bars of safety
      and the overwhelming comfort they provide us
and take the fight to the ***,
whom so ardently oppose us this day.

I’m frozen from the fear
      surging through my veins
as I stare at all the dead boys from New York,
Wisconsin,
                Michigan,
Florida,
        and Texas,
lying face first
    in the French sand.
I’m convinced that I crouch here alone
    on a beach in France;
God left this place long before the first ramp dropped.

Finally, after what felt like hours,
I muster the strength
    to begin sprinting towards
the German line,
    and it seems as if every **** gun is now focused on me;
setting their sight picture on my center mass.

With only twenty five meters between myself and the first seawall,
        I have hope that I’ll survive this cruel crusade,
but all that hope dissipates
      as four bullets pass through my right lung;
             stopping me in my tracks
like the cold channel water behind me
     as it is repelled by the European land mass
that will consume my body soon.
I slowly fall forward
    landing on my left shoulder,
my hands clutching my wounds.

It’s fascinating in a sense;
      this slow collapse of my lungs,
and how I can feel every single second that my soul has left on this Earth.
Suddenly,
    death becomes more real
than the gunpowder and smoke that is still stinging my nostrils.

I lie here on this beach
     starring up at the clouds above me
while an infinite volume of sound
surrounds me.
I cannot help but think
    that my life should’ve ended more peacefully
but we can’t always receive every wish
we plea for.

it was a strange and fragile Kombination--
a desperate, lonely Hunger,
frenetic Thrill to sate--
we didn't speak each other's native Tongues
but Tongues we shared
in what we found, of random Meals,
and Pocket Lexika to taste
hidden Idioms we strove to understand..
our Bodies splashing Wasser
in the murky Spree, ******* Fountain by Berliner Dom
licking Lips of Bier und Eis a ways away from Reichstag Bullet Holes
below the steel Spirale encased in Glas
transparent Government--a Show for Tourist Stroll..
our Smiles glinting, coated international, that Week agreed

"eine schwester-bruder liebe.."
temptation--and propriety--preserved--
pale lotion, paler skin to honey in the sun
aloft in hostel bunks we shared--
a cush historic castle, touristische nook
of maps and candy pockets, so geil..
gleeful us, to melt from moscau and new york
we shared the deutsch between us,
ein bisschen englisch,
a bit of russisch too for fun...
our soulwise checkpoint charlie held the lust at bay
despite lustgarten romps
and walks beneath the lindens, lane of sighs..
an awkward bridge of question-words we built to muse about the stars
and what we see with only strangers never seen again.
we named ourselves an instant familie...so you could snore on me,
and let me stroke your hair
without the guilt of infidelity
the freedom from, we traded in our blatant,
goodbye tears you shed, i kept inside to craft mnemonic gems
i share and savor in again












'

Hail to Caesar now, Zeig Heil
Noble Eagle Standard flies,
Schutzstaffel in midnight legion
Disciplined long stabbing knives.
Heil to goose stepped march precision
Noble Eagle Standard soars,
Centurian’s in closed division
Screaming stukas strafe azores.
Fist to leather armour snapping
Stiff arms high in thronged salute,
Hail to Caesar sing the Legions
Zeig Heil Waffen SS brute.
Discipline of Shield defences
Stabbing lances follow swords
Clouds of arrows fill the heaven
Dachau’s ovens roast the hoards.
Winged Aquila flies the column
Wielded high as Roman’s would,
Black and white with red blood running
Swastikas where Jews once stood.
Europe caste in corpses rotting
Women screaming in the land,
Deutsch and Roman locked forever
Destroyers both, in history’s hand.*


Marshalg
In response to Anselm’s “Two Translations”
25 March 2013
On a cool and dry Autumn afternoon.

We bebopped
along the Straße,
full of the finest hops,
higher than kites,
enamored with
everything Deutsch.

Everywhere we went,
the deejays
spun the Beatles & Stones,
as if  we were Brits,
when we were actually
Yanks & nein GI's,
Ich bin students!

In eine laufende Mühe mein Deutsch zu üben und verbessern,
werde ich hierauf auf Deutsch mehr schreiben.
Normalerweise werde ich versuchen Übersetzungen hinzufügen,
aber werde das natürlich nicht immer das Fall sein. ;)
-
Wenn du Deutsch kennst, sollst du bitte mir helfen, mein Deutsch zu verbessern.
Es ist nicht leicht auf eine fremde Sprache zu schreiben, geschweige gut.
Geschweige wann es von so viele Leute so öffentlich kritisiert sein kann.