Rules remain unwritten
They're known but left unsaid
You don't speak ill will of someone
Especially the dead

Keep off the grass
don't dare go there
Don't touch
and put that down
are nothing when you
hold them to
the people in the ground

You never ask a soldier
If he's seen somebody die
You will not get an answer
But, you see it in their eyes

They live with this deep secret
It burns a hole inside their heart
So, don't ever ask this question
Don't put the horse before the cart

Your grandad, earned our freedom
As did many others too
They fought for future generations
that means they fought for me and  you
Freedom is a concept
One that many do not get
It's a thing taken for granted
And that should make us all upset

The battles that they went through
both in real time and their mind
For a concept such as freedom
To which so many remain blind

You never ask a soldier
If he's seen somebody die
You will not get an answer
But, you see it in their eyes

Be grateful and respectful
To show they did not die in vain
don't ever ask a soldier
Don't make him show his pain

Sitting, in the living room
my old granddad and me
another soldier dying
On our sixty inch tv

I didn't understand it
But granddad looked at me
his eyes were full and teary
he said , because of him we're free

Freedom comes in many forms
Where soldiers have to die
They're hero's after they are gone
Not before, and I ask WHY?

Grandad, wiped his tears away
He got up, and left the room
He was back a moment later
His smile in full bloom

Son, he said, just look at this
He had a scrapbook in his hands
It's full of those who fought for us
And they all died in different lands

I shed a tear each time I see
Another hero made
They fight to keep our freedom
And now to rest are laid

I sat and watched with granddad
On another night and cried
I understood the meaning
when another soldier died

Freedom comes in many forms
Where soldiers have to die
They're hero's after they are gone
Not before, and I ask WHY?

Olive suits born red-dripped sagas,
Sing Mao’s song atop an oracle, “state.”
So parade smiles smeared sneer
And the lips kissed only one night prior.
Thus enticed the lady-soldier, the, “enemy,”
Liminal and it leads me to revive
The one time I’d hollered,
The one time I’d vanished
And the last time I’d ever love.
You can’t forgive me, I understand;

But please know you’re the only one
Who’d ever made me pause,
If only to swelter amidst the swans of a pond’s
Serenity, unbeknownst the encircling chaos,
So waited, atop the altar with only one question,
The one I’d never answer;
“Could you leave it all for me?”
I think, I really think and still fail to solve,
The equation wrought, if only plus lonely,
And’d offer the only answer I’d ever known –

“No.”

Seven men gunned down
Two taken captive at the foot of the hills
One cooling off in the belly of the beast
Seven more buried in unmarked graves

Alpha tango, alpha tango
Black hawk is down
Do you read me
Black hawk is down

We are neck deep in enemy's line
Chances of survival are slim
More men will be bury unceremoniously
To retreat is not an option

Alpha tango, alpha tango
This is the last man standing
In the pool of his own blood
Confirm you read me

Enemy forces are advancing fast
There are few choices to make
Except to do the unthinkable
And die with the enemies

Alpha tango, alpha tango
My daughter will be one in two weeks
I wouldn't be there to buy her gifts
Grant me but this wish to give her a bundle of flowers

Tell my wife I'll die
Thinking warmly of her
Send roses to my mother
Tell her I love her till the end

Alpha tango, alpha tango
This soldier is asking your permission
To die for a just cause
Over and out!

Remember me?
I was the one always there.
I was the light when
reality rained showers
of shadow.
Remember me?
You said we would be inseparable,
yet somehow we have drifted so far.
It hurts to know we used to be so close,
like brothers.
Times change I get that,
seasons wither the great oak,
but it still returns to its strongest.
We were strongest together,
yet you never came back.
You went away,
but did not return.
How selfish.
To give your life for everyone else
when I would wish to just have you.
I am alone now,
I just hope you are with me,
in spirit.

The Jewish brothers in Defiance were definitely tough.
One wanted to **** many Germans, the other to save many Jews.
The German soldiers were expendable, unmarried, unremarkable.
Each little death was very little, a little spittle in a big wind.

Fast forward to my friend's son's bar mitzvah or daughter's
coming of age ceremony. Food is abundant, the music frenetic,
the rabbi paid. Gifts generous but not obvious.
Wealth does not obviate death and we know it.

Here too we have natural leaders. Youth basketball coaches,
school principals and, again, interpreters of prayers. When
violence comes to the neighborhood they are who we'll first look to
for governance and guns. Unless have you read The Admirable
      Crichton?

Boredom, boredom conflated with loneliness, may be a sign
of good luck. To live a good length or light year away from man's
bad breath, allergenic perfumes, sickening flatulence and shed hair.
But you are drawn back into the debate about perfection by your own
      *******.

While teaching at the old city jail I have learned this: only meditation
upon the periodic table can save your soul. From itself.
Imagining the world without the self will make you whole.
What else is there to say. Do less until one thing's done well.

After the war the brothers started a small trucking company
in the Bronx. Grateful for such peace, the accounting
was relaxing. They thought back to how they met their wives, naked
before the bombs and bullets. How they lost and found themselves in
      what happened.

It was a woodcut in our high school history text, Unit 4
      Beginnings of the Modern World, that so disturbed,
from the Nuremburg Chronicles depicting the burning of the
      Jews, flat perspective,
faces of the victims among flames, in no particular agony, not
      especially Jewish,
during the Black Death 1/3 of Europe died 1347-1351 alone.
      Although
you die together you die alone.
Earlier that week, I had attended our 6th grade's performance of Fiddler       on the Roof, thinking
Coltrane should have recorded Matchmaker as a bookend to
      My Favorite Things
but as the play darkened
with the town's absorption into the diaspora, democracy
yet unthought of and rule of law a fig leaf for authority
Jasper, who played Zero Mostel, delivered his line well to
      the effect
you're just doing your jobs while wrecking our lives.

Anyway, nothing like that is happening here, is it?
The gardener planting tomatoes, the gravedigger finding skulls,
there is so much life a little death won't matter.
Jasper
was a beautiful ham,
big as Zero.
A friend posed
this question: must all states be melting pots like the United States?
I said yes
not because they should but since
it's inevitable. Let labor flow like capital!
America was the last word of the play and brought a tear of pride
      to my eye.

Immigration, exasperating argument re the Other.
How many's more than enough? 9 billion, a rational,
real number that exceeds or we're convinced
is within the carrying capacity of the planet.
Climate change is the new Black Death.
I like the Amerindian body type and face mixed in with the
      European, African.
The irrepressible economy rolls out reams of logs, ores of
      elements, bags of ice, fields of rice.
Embargo. The moon stares, bare, full of interstellar space.
Better a cold shoulder than a visit from our military.
The crazy Nazis must have felt themselves extraordinarily
      compassionate toward the mother, earth, the goddess,
      history, or some such abstraction and, thus, acted on a
      fraction of all they did not know.
Selfless soldiers just doing their jobs guarding the border or,
on the other hand, collecting ****** for the burning of the Jews.

It takes some courage to eat a legume's fruit
knowing what is known of each poisonous part
of the locust (although the flowers may be frittered).

What's pushing up through the leaf litter
before the canopy is out, past the stone fence?
Wild lily-of-the-valley is my guess.

Of 140,000 soldiers, less than 1% have considered
the fruit of the desert surprisingly good and varied.
They have stayed and married women who are crows.

My own land is a land of wetlands but we too
have crows. We have waited and waited for this election
and now we're divided into just two factions.

If everyone votes and every vote's counted there will be
nothing for either faction to crow about. All will be
well with the republic and in the world what will be will be.

What responsibility does a citizen bear
for participating in a war, blowing the roofs
off houses, exposing the beds and clean-swept floors?

Warriors at the gate, you will not run,
you will not bargain. Dig in deep, feet
overhanging the abyss, protect your children.

I poured water into the dry vase of garden cultivars -
snapdragon, phlox, bigonia, bluebell, mint -
and have they not rewarded me with their collective scent?

I remember leaving
I'll not forget the in between
There's nothing in the world
Can erase the things I've seen

But, today I got my papers
got a call upon my phone
My duty now is over
and I am coming home

I've missed a lot
since I've been gone
I've never seen my son
I've never held him in my arms
I missed seeing him turn one

coming home my time is over
coming home my time is through
coming home to be a father
and a husband dear, to you
coming home a tired soldier
coming home but, not the same
coming home to be a person
I'm not a rank and a last name


I missed his second birthday too
But, I won't miss any more
I wasn't there when he turned three years old
But, I'll be there when he turns four

Things have changed
Things will be new
I know this will be tough
I can only promise that I'll try
And hope that  it will be enough

I've thought about you every day
You're in my heart and soul
I'm coming home to you my love
And then together, we'll be whole

coming home my time is over
coming home my time is through
coming home to be a father
and a husband dear, to you
coming home a tired soldier
coming home but, not the same
coming home to be a person
I'm not a rank and a last name

young men
dance with bullets -
spill blood and fight in war;
sent to their deaths on the whims of
old men