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Give them no ribbons. My dear friend who was following orders in Vietnam
was blown to bits when he tripped a wire. Give him no ribbons. Ribbons and medals will not bring him back to his wife who is now in her mid-70s, whose two sons and one daughter each have families of their own, but have no Grandpa whose knee to sit on and play games with and just have fun and laugh with. Michael Dillinger went to Iraq to fight because W told him to. Unfortunately, his amored truck hit a road mine and killed Michael instantly.
Ribbons? They gave ribbons to Michael's mother before they buried Michael in Arlington? Ribbons, for God's sake! Did those ribbons and medals really help console Michael's mother? Did Cheney ever call her to see how she was doing? No, he was in charge of creating what he called "enhanced interrogation," a gross euphemism for unspeakable torture and terror that went on at countless, secret camps in the countries of our allies, and still goes on at Guantanamo even today. Give them no ribbons. Take all the ribbons and medals you can find that were given to those soldiers who gave their very lives for lies, for all those soldiers now lying in all the VA hospitals throughout our country, their bodies permanently disfigured, their minds completely lost, and dump that pile of ribbons and medals in the front yard of wherever W lives in the suburbs of Dallas.

Copyright 2020 Tod Howard Hawks
A graduate of Andover and Columbia College, Columbia University, Tod Howard Hawks has been a poet, a novelist, and a human-rights advocate his entire adult life.
InsertPenName Nov 2018
Is hard to sleep when the mind keeps screaming
Instead of dreaming it's choosing to blur the reality a little more
Brimming with shoulds and should nots
Couldn't and could've been
But we would not succumb
Replaying the same memory of the second defeat so we don't morph into an headless hero
Ones and zeroes bounce restless in relentless persuite of the truth
You're a hero even if your greatest feat is not flinging yourself off the cliff
Everyone wants to fly but once in sky
You'll be dying to land and you land too hard you die
You're trying too hard you're not trying hard enough
Which one is it, do we take the next step of giveup
The next step is breathing
So vote maybe?
But it isn't so bad if you look closely
We're not alone but a bit lonely
In a crowd going about discredited the happening
Cutting off the threads, we can't move we're just dangling
The one thing, out if pills of sanity
Spring from attachment
We now have chose between two addictions
We'd rather be free and starve than be behind bars
So we let go
We exist at extremes
They exist in middle
We meet twice everytime
Graze by each other
A bit of refill of regret
A living reminder
We can't sleep
Can't shake the fright
The voices are back in the house
They're looking for a fight
We might let them win this time
Blake Jun 2018
When your danger was mistaken as adventure,
Causing frostbites to grow on my cementing heart,
It seemed my dull eyes developed disfiguring ulcers which tarnished my vision,
Because your lust was thought to be love.

While your manipulation was crowned as kindness,
My skin was being roughly tattooed with bruises and wounds,
It seemed my aura formatted from a cloud to a frigid speck of pathetic dust,
Because my submission was thought to be devotion.

While your destructive words seemed to be a gentle push,
I became trapped and forced,
While decaying poison was being injected within my fragile soul,
Because they labelled your control as being protective.

And now they call me cruel,
Inhumane and a monster,
When I don’t weep for their own ordeals,
When I don’t care about the pain they have experienced,
When I remain indifferent.

But I don’t mind,
Call me savage...ruined...changed...broken...nasty...
A monster?
Because I won’t and I don’t and I can’t
Feel one bit anymore.
Just a quick but meaningful poem x
Alberto Jun 2018
Nights like these
Who’s right? Who’s wrong?
Am I living or have I been missing?
Will I wake from a dream
Find myself 80 years old stuck in the past
Nothing but questions,
No answers to report
Nights like these had painful days
Unrecognizable from others
In the way brutally disfigured corpses
Failed to be identified by the authorities
Another cold case
Nights like these
You are distant but your memory
Brings me back to my youth
Andy Sep 2016
Today I spotted
a disfigured man
by the lake.
His right hand
in a soiled
bandage loosely tied.
Left eye missing -
I dared not
uproot his repose.
I feared for
him so frail,
Beside black water.

Today I spotted
a disfigured man
aboard a train.
Earphone hung from
melted plastic ear,
does he listen?
He smells foul
and looks unblinking -
a commuting ghoul.
What station can
such a man
find his home?

Today I spotted
a disfigured man
at dinner alone.
His teeth rotten
with gums bleeding -
drinking soup slowly.
Waxy red blood
staining cheap napkins
He doesn't care.
An omnipresent reminder
that no man
survived a week.
Pauline Morris May 2016
I'm tired of feeling this way
No matter what the day
Tired of feeling disjointed, disfigured
With my missing parts scattered on the ground
Knowing not all the parts are there to be found
I am only deconstructed, not reconstructed
I can never again be whole
I'll never be myself of old
Someone tell me why I should go on
Only a piece of a person, most of me gone
I just want to lay the rest of me down, how can that be wrong
Andrea Vasquez May 2016
You say you see it
The monster that lies beneath
The bruised skin of hers
The nightmare that is deadly
Particularly hateful

Her eyes threaten life
Her smile can lure and destroy
They claim she's crazy
She survives her fear of death
But not her fear of people

She runs until tired
She may never come back home
Cries until dawn
She waits for night to come again
She is framed as a killer
Jasmin Mishele Jul 2014
her heart,
disfigured and cold
with a burning hole
dead center.

empty and dark,
was her fragile heart
no hope, no fix
dead forever.
Daylight 4U2C May 2014
"Grow up tall,
little kid,"
said grandpa Joe.
And so I did.

The watermelon grow tall too.
The sunflowers look to the sky,
keeping their chins up,
raised real high.

So maybe it's silly,
watching grass grow,
but if you never try,
how could you ever know?

So maybe it's crazy,
chanting for the rain,
but if it never comes,
how could I grow the grain?

I'd prefer to stare at clouds,
than sleep forever like a rock,
skidding by life.
Why, that would just ****!

So, if you ask me to leave this here place,
you better shove it,
before you wake up
in an unknown space,
******* with lace,
with a disfigured face,
completely full of mace,
and a strange case
of something poisonous.

— The End —