#combat - Hello Poetry

#combat

The afterburner tears the air's hard mass, The concrete shakes with frequency so high, Supersonic boom bends down trees and grass, As Number Five ascends into the sky. And now the wingman, callsign Number Nine, Roars on the runway, following the Five. Then blurry shapes of "Rooks" go flashing by, First one, another — a pair starts to fly. The concrete burns beneath the midday sun. The shimmering hot air can now be seen, With popping drag-chutes, all the Rooks touch down, Despite the bullet scars, they land routine. They prep the foam-lined strip to bring him home, A trail of angry smoke grows less and less, Then the Five clumsily slams in the foam, He limps to tarmac. Halts. In pure distress. The canopy thrown back, the helmet on, The fire still reflects upon the tint, Concealing tears for him, who now is gone — For Vanya — became fire in final feint.

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May 17

May 17, 2026 at 9:10 PM UTC

The afterburner tears the air's hard mass, The concrete shakes with frequency so high, Supersonic boom bends down trees and grass, As Number Five ascends into the sky. And now the wingman, callsign Number Nine, Roars on the runway, following the Five. Then blurry shapes of "Rooks" go flashing by, First one, another — a pair starts to fly. The concrete burns beneath the midday sun. The shimmering hot air can now be seen, With popping drag-chutes, all the Rooks touch down, Despite the bullet scars, they land routine. They prep the foam-lined strip to bring him home, A trail of angry smoke grows less and less, Then the Five clumsily slams in the foam, He limps to tarmac. Halts. In pure distress. The canopy thrown back, the helmet on, The fire still reflects upon the tint, Concealing tears for him, who now is gone — For Vanya — became fire in final feint.

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One more ship. Another hulking piece of steel rocking on black water like the world has not had enough of this yet. One more takedown. Climb the wet ladder, taste rust and salt on your teeth, feel your knees complain against the salt. Somewhere in the back of my head a small voice keeps asking, can I go home now, like a kid tugging at a sleeve. When is this tour over? When is this tab paid? How long can a man keep pulling the trigger before the trigger owns him. Jimmy is in front of me again, like always, broad back, helmet, that little tilt of his head that means move. I am at the end of the line, new enough to still listen, not one of the frogman legends, just the demo guy they handed a rifle to so the roster would look complete. The stack drifts forward like a single animal with too many legs. Left, right, down the metal throat of the corridor, rooms kicked open, corners burned out with light, space after space cleared, nothing but sweat and breathing and the taste of your own tongue until there is only the engine room left, the hot iron heart of the ship. We slide in toward it, and everything in me whispers almost done, almost done. From the right side a gun appears, just a hand and a muzzle, not even a full man yet. One shot. We have heard thousands of them, but this one reaches in and rewrites Jimmy. His shoulder is there, then gone, erased in a burst of meat and noise. It opens like a butchered thing, red everywhere, white tendons hanging like snapped wires, pieces of him thrown across the bulkhead like the room changed its mind about him. There is nowhere to put a tourniquet. You cannot cinch down on a missing piece. You cannot wrap a bandage around nothing. The corridor fills with shouting, all the standard-issue phrases we were trained to bark so we do not have to invent honest ones. And under all that noise a smaller question keeps knocking: Why can I not go home? Why am I still here? Jimmy has a family. He has a little girl who will never feel that ruined arm around her again, never get lifted out of a chair, never get spun in the air for the pure, stupid joy of it. Those moments are leaking out of him onto the floor of a foreign ship that will never know his name. Later there is the helo, the endless engine roar, the wind clawing at us, Jimmy strapped down, eyes wide, waiting for somebody to say this means something. I sit with my rifle between my knees like a tired apology and wait with him, for the corpsman to mutter comfort, for the radio to cough out purpose, for whatever god is on shift to step up and explain the math. For what do we do this? For which flag, which story, which old man in a suit, do we trade shoulders and daughters and sleep. The rotors pound the night into fragments, the ship shrinks behind us into the dark, and the question stays, heavy, unfinished, like a sentence no one here has the courage to write all the way to the end.

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Nov 21, 2025

Nov 21, 2025 at 7:36 PM UTC

PoetryIsCheating

One more ship. Another hulking piece of steel rocking on black water like the world has not had enough of this yet. One more takedown. Climb the wet ladder, taste rust and salt on your teeth, feel your knees complain against the salt. Somewhere in the back of my head a small voice keeps asking, can I go home now, like a kid tugging at a sleeve. When is this tour over? When is this tab paid? How long can a man keep pulling the trigger before the trigger owns him. Jimmy is in front of me again, like always, broad back, helmet, that little tilt of his head that means move. I am at the end of the line, new enough to still listen, not one of the frogman legends, just the demo guy they handed a rifle to so the roster would look complete. The stack drifts forward like a single animal with too many legs. Left, right, down the metal throat of the corridor, rooms kicked open, corners burned out with light, space after space cleared, nothing but sweat and breathing and the taste of your own tongue until there is only the engine room left, the hot iron heart of the ship. We slide in toward it, and everything in me whispers almost done, almost done. From the right side a gun appears, just a hand and a muzzle, not even a full man yet. One shot. We have heard thousands of them, but this one reaches in and rewrites Jimmy. His shoulder is there, then gone, erased in a burst of meat and noise. It opens like a butchered thing, red everywhere, white tendons hanging like snapped wires, pieces of him thrown across the bulkhead like the room changed its mind about him. There is nowhere to put a tourniquet. You cannot cinch down on a missing piece. You cannot wrap a bandage around nothing. The corridor fills with shouting, all the standard-issue phrases we were trained to bark so we do not have to invent honest ones. And under all that noise a smaller question keeps knocking: Why can I not go home? Why am I still here? Jimmy has a family. He has a little girl who will never feel that ruined arm around her again, never get lifted out of a chair, never get spun in the air for the pure, stupid joy of it. Those moments are leaking out of him onto the floor of a foreign ship that will never know his name. Later there is the helo, the endless engine roar, the wind clawing at us, Jimmy strapped down, eyes wide, waiting for somebody to say this means something. I sit with my rifle between my knees like a tired apology and wait with him, for the corpsman to mutter comfort, for the radio to cough out purpose, for whatever god is on shift to step up and explain the math. For what do we do this? For which flag, which story, which old man in a suit, do we trade shoulders and daughters and sleep. The rotors pound the night into fragments, the ship shrinks behind us into the dark, and the question stays, heavy, unfinished, like a sentence no one here has the courage to write all the way to the end.

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on a Milky Way chase i'm close to the center now i'm pulled in sooner than expected as if i am being ushered on approach to Sagittarius A* light striations straighten out like a two-point perspective starting and ending with me and starting and ending with a point i cannot see in a flash of chrome light i am taken to a large room there are walls that look staggered and painted in Vantablack they twist in and out of each other into patterns i can't track into patterns i can't into patterns i can into patterns STOP LOOKING! i turn away i spot a figure phasing in like sheets of tracer paper stacking up on each other I say, angrily, "you!" "had trouble finding me? how? i'm everywhere!" "nah this is an origin module. you're at least partially here. i can affect you" "oh yeah? i dare-" before they can finish i send a symphony of mockingbirds it pushes them into a wall of spiraling fractals "how dare you! i was at your start. i can give you an end!" they float forward violently raising a hand and before they can drop it i call a ****** of crows to hold it up and a pack of rabid wolves to bind their legs shouting "i am your machinations risen to meet you!" i lift my hands and an ocean rises around us i twist the weeds around their throat and beckon whales to scream in their ears they shake it all off "you're pathetic. so are the rest of you." and with a single flip of their finger i get blown back into a wall i can't pull free i'm done but with a final rebellious effort i raise a finger to them "what's that?" "everything you didn't think of" i say, unloading the round there is a sound of the rush of a trillion forsaken souls finding their own way making their fates meeting their destinies despite being made to be a reflection of nothing they understand the round hits exits as a rabble of butterflies and the figure shatters i watch the pieces fall they sound like glass i'm pulled into many parts each of them twisting into the wall

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Nov 22, 2025

Nov 22, 2025 at 11:41 PM UTC

on a Milky Way chase i'm close to the center now i'm pulled in sooner than expected as if i am being ushered on approach to Sagittarius A* light striations straighten out like a two-point perspective starting and ending with me and starting and ending with a point i cannot see in a flash of chrome light i am taken to a large room there are walls that look staggered and painted in Vantablack they twist in and out of each other into patterns i can't track into patterns i can't into patterns i can into patterns STOP LOOKING! i turn away i spot a figure phasing in like sheets of tracer paper stacking up on each other I say, angrily, "you!" "had trouble finding me? how? i'm everywhere!" "nah this is an origin module. you're at least partially here. i can affect you" "oh yeah? i dare-" before they can finish i send a symphony of mockingbirds it pushes them into a wall of spiraling fractals "how dare you! i was at your start. i can give you an end!" they float forward violently raising a hand and before they can drop it i call a ****** of crows to hold it up and a pack of rabid wolves to bind their legs shouting "i am your machinations risen to meet you!" i lift my hands and an ocean rises around us i twist the weeds around their throat and beckon whales to scream in their ears they shake it all off "you're pathetic. so are the rest of you." and with a single flip of their finger i get blown back into a wall i can't pull free i'm done but with a final rebellious effort i raise a finger to them "what's that?" "everything you didn't think of" i say, unloading the round there is a sound of the rush of a trillion forsaken souls finding their own way making their fates meeting their destinies despite being made to be a reflection of nothing they understand the round hits exits as a rabble of butterflies and the figure shatters i watch the pieces fall they sound like glass i'm pulled into many parts each of them twisting into the wall

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S-eternally pounding swearing wheel grips Narrowing vision Blurring white and yellow lines Smooshing my face against the lexan On the drivers side Imagining artillery On the shoulder of Cruel suburbia unbothered America is at the mall

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Nov 21, 2025

Nov 21, 2025 at 7:20 PM UTC

America is at the Mall

S-eternally pounding swearing wheel grips Narrowing vision Blurring white and yellow lines Smooshing my face against the lexan On the drivers side Imagining artillery On the shoulder of Cruel suburbia unbothered America is at the mall

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Anxiety tears at my heart, it sickens my gut, I leave this apart. Bright picture in my mind, it crept into my ears so perfectly designed to blend into the fears. My teeth are gnashed in wrath curse words are ringing loud can't irreverse this path but this is way I'm proud. Breath in and out anxiety just fades feel softest ground and all these darkest shades. Through optics greet my target, transform it’s brain to slush, thick grass is like a carpet I don't need all the rush. Trajectory is known I crawl away to dark my scent's already blown I leave no sign, no mark. My shots between the heartbeat I mix my breath to wind reward for this is not sweet they made me be that skilled. I crawl, the plants are shaking - assist from helping ghosts You'll pay for what you're making you'll never be the host. One bullet, breath, ballista, the vultures will have feast They'll say that you resisted. but who believes to beasts? The peace throughout my body it's way to fall asleep. I have to work that stoutly for freedom that we keep.

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Jun 17, 2025

Jun 17, 2025 at 1:33 PM UTC

Anxiety tears at my heart, it sickens my gut, I leave this apart. Bright picture in my mind, it crept into my ears so perfectly designed to blend into the fears. My teeth are gnashed in wrath curse words are ringing loud can't irreverse this path but this is way I'm proud. Breath in and out anxiety just fades feel softest ground and all these darkest shades. Through optics greet my target, transform it’s brain to slush, thick grass is like a carpet I don't need all the rush. Trajectory is known I crawl away to dark my scent's already blown I leave no sign, no mark. My shots between the heartbeat I mix my breath to wind reward for this is not sweet they made me be that skilled. I crawl, the plants are shaking - assist from helping ghosts You'll pay for what you're making you'll never be the host. One bullet, breath, ballista, the vultures will have feast They'll say that you resisted. but who believes to beasts? The peace throughout my body it's way to fall asleep. I have to work that stoutly for freedom that we keep.

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... if i were to speak out in a freak out and let loose amplifying my truth most would label it rage would vote that i continue to keep it in it's cage no one cares enough to see that it's pain because then they'd have to study every molecule of rain and take some accountability for every stain and so far i've never been worth that so i lay down my defense in combat you get the win apparently life is so broken that love and devotion isn't enough to consider a win in order for me to be wanted i must accept their sin but untill i reach perfection no one finds me enough to put any effort in so what i'm working towards is impossible for me to personally imagine my dream is now a has been must be flipped upside down to see my grin someone please say when if somehow i missed it, please say it again ...

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Apr 22, 2025

Apr 22, 2025 at 4:04 PM UTC

~•§•~ Pain ~•§•~

... if i were to speak out in a freak out and let loose amplifying my truth most would label it rage would vote that i continue to keep it in it's cage no one cares enough to see that it's pain because then they'd have to study every molecule of rain and take some accountability for every stain and so far i've never been worth that so i lay down my defense in combat you get the win apparently life is so broken that love and devotion isn't enough to consider a win in order for me to be wanted i must accept their sin but untill i reach perfection no one finds me enough to put any effort in so what i'm working towards is impossible for me to personally imagine my dream is now a has been must be flipped upside down to see my grin someone please say when if somehow i missed it, please say it again ...

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The battle's done the coast is clear gone now are those we once stood near we walk alone and so to say some that once slept now lie awake and only memories fill their home. So grit the teeth and dance in pain and find a light, so you may never lose their names.

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Mar 17, 2025

Mar 17, 2025 at 7:41 AM UTC

Paperweightgames

The battle's done the coast is clear gone now are those we once stood near we walk alone and so to say some that once slept now lie awake and only memories fill their home. So grit the teeth and dance in pain and find a light, so you may never lose their names.

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One notch and straight, decided fate. Then loose and look, another's took. A visor up, one on the floor the naive put it up to four. The boulder crash and rip of leather the quiver's gone but not too slow comes back the bow and arrow tip, and tearing through a savage eye that's number five that he decides. But now another's tagged his throat and down he goes, and so he knows, that its not smart to mess about with sticks and stones and long bows.

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Mar 17, 2025

Mar 17, 2025 at 7:27 AM UTC

Paperweightgames

One notch and straight, decided fate. Then loose and look, another's took. A visor up, one on the floor the naive put it up to four. The boulder crash and rip of leather the quiver's gone but not too slow comes back the bow and arrow tip, and tearing through a savage eye that's number five that he decides. But now another's tagged his throat and down he goes, and so he knows, that its not smart to mess about with sticks and stones and long bows.

Continue reading...

Who is the man weilding my gun when time stops and holds its breath? Cold hate runs in his veins— steady, unflinching death. Engines roar, radios chatter— Silent! Vision, sharp and thin. All existence is ending the threat closing in. Thumb pushes the safety— click Center mass. Steady. Hold breath. Squeeze. Who wore my skin? Foe? Friend? Truly me? Will I ever see him again— Bold stranger, powerful-- fear free?

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Mar 11, 2025

Mar 11, 2025 at 7:03 AM UTC

Who is the man weilding my gun when time stops and holds its breath? Cold hate runs in his veins— steady, unflinching death. Engines roar, radios chatter— Silent! Vision, sharp and thin. All existence is ending the threat closing in. Thumb pushes the safety— click Center mass. Steady. Hold breath. Squeeze. Who wore my skin? Foe? Friend? Truly me? Will I ever see him again— Bold stranger, powerful-- fear free?

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The stars will not align Everything That has ever meant anything Is taken and I'm left with the rind You can't combat loss It will touch you Change you and destroy you There will never be enough fingers to cross Didn't expect it to be easy But this is too much How do I go on? The one thing my failures have in common is me Life can always be worse But that means it can be better I'm not that trend setter The is starting to feel like a curse ©2024

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Oct 27, 2024

Oct 27, 2024 at 8:35 PM UTC

~•§•~ Better or Worse ~•§•~

The stars will not align Everything That has ever meant anything Is taken and I'm left with the rind You can't combat loss It will touch you Change you and destroy you There will never be enough fingers to cross Didn't expect it to be easy But this is too much How do I go on? The one thing my failures have in common is me Life can always be worse But that means it can be better I'm not that trend setter The is starting to feel like a curse ©2024

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While you advance in front of me I’m already a step ahead studying your moves from behind While you may rule over me I’m only holding you up for your fall While you ignore me you’ll forget to listen and fail to hear when I come

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Feb 20, 2024

Feb 20, 2024 at 6:54 PM UTC

The Zen of Warfare

While you advance in front of me I’m already a step ahead studying your moves from behind While you may rule over me I’m only holding you up for your fall While you ignore me you’ll forget to listen and fail to hear when I come

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From day one, from the moment I was given one, my compass has had a faulty magnet Why was that written into my script? And why didn't I get a say in any of it? Shouldn't I have been given a manuscript? Explaining, for one thing, why I have to combat life and everything that comes with it? How would you go about it? Can't I just shrug it off, maybe let some shiit slip? My path doesn't always need to be backlit Certainly not by the ember of my burnout that fell from orbit The punishment never fit the crime but I still submit that most of the claims are, in themselves, counterfeit But I didn't quit in a panic Not every life is a good investment So I made the corporate decision to forfeit Call it an early retirement The more fitting term is a forced exit ©2024

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Jan 17, 2024

Jan 17, 2024 at 3:15 PM UTC

~•§•~ The Glowing Ember of My Burnout ~•§•~

From day one, from the moment I was given one, my compass has had a faulty magnet Why was that written into my script? And why didn't I get a say in any of it? Shouldn't I have been given a manuscript? Explaining, for one thing, why I have to combat life and everything that comes with it? How would you go about it? Can't I just shrug it off, maybe let some shiit slip? My path doesn't always need to be backlit Certainly not by the ember of my burnout that fell from orbit The punishment never fit the crime but I still submit that most of the claims are, in themselves, counterfeit But I didn't quit in a panic Not every life is a good investment So I made the corporate decision to forfeit Call it an early retirement The more fitting term is a forced exit ©2024

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Box Off The black box that tells of approaching enemy missiles is turned off The black box that jams enemy missiles it turned off The black box that dispenses radar jamming chaff is turned off The black box that launches infra-red flares is turned off The black box that gives out false position locations is turned off The black box that plots enemy defence locations is turned off The black box that steers a course round enemy radars is turned off The black box that sees enemy anti-aircraft guns is turned off The black box that should save our jet and our lives is turned off We are now dead and our warplane is now destroyed The black box should’ve been turned on

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May 7, 2023

May 7, 2023 at 10:56 PM UTC

Box Off The black box that tells of approaching enemy missiles is turned off The black box that jams enemy missiles it turned off The black box that dispenses radar jamming chaff is turned off The black box that launches infra-red flares is turned off The black box that gives out false position locations is turned off The black box that plots enemy defence locations is turned off The black box that steers a course round enemy radars is turned off The black box that sees enemy anti-aircraft guns is turned off The black box that should save our jet and our lives is turned off We are now dead and our warplane is now destroyed The black box should’ve been turned on

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Race 2 Same old **** going down Graves of men now silent Nowt much happening here Just dead bodies buried After being riddled blasted Russians killed by Ukrainians Prisoners mostly of Wagner Sentences cut lives now cut Politicians bathe in blood They had quite a run Still race in Part 2 Race 1 was a loss No victory only death Plus injuries and ruin Battlefield injuries extreme It's fine there's time So much time here Satan has all the time In the world Wait and see

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May 7, 2023

May 7, 2023 at 10:35 PM UTC

Race 2 Same old **** going down Graves of men now silent Nowt much happening here Just dead bodies buried After being riddled blasted Russians killed by Ukrainians Prisoners mostly of Wagner Sentences cut lives now cut Politicians bathe in blood They had quite a run Still race in Part 2 Race 1 was a loss No victory only death Plus injuries and ruin Battlefield injuries extreme It's fine there's time So much time here Satan has all the time In the world Wait and see

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combat battered dandelions

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Aug 3, 2020

Aug 3, 2020 at 9:36 PM UTC

combatteredandelions - a minimal haiku or ku

combat battered dandelions

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Heave ** Your cry astounds Flummoxing your enemies ashore Debonaire you brandish pistol and sword Cutting down resistant scallywags Thy treasure shall be mine! You dash haphazardly between slashes Excitement and *** course through Fueling you to victory Imposing is thy stance! Booted foot on stack of cannon ***** Actioned-packed adventure As you reave and raid the seas Your adventure keeps me alert But my ship's an iron beast of land I think of daring combat And your exploits give me hope I load my rifle in hot anticipation Prepared to write my own adventure The giant steel hatch lowers And hot iron rips through me My adventure ends prematurely My *** is without excitement and masks pain A hospital bed now serves as my galleon Your book by my bedside, untouched

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Feb 21, 2020

Feb 21, 2020 at 7:23 PM UTC

Heave ** Your cry astounds Flummoxing your enemies ashore Debonaire you brandish pistol and sword Cutting down resistant scallywags Thy treasure shall be mine! You dash haphazardly between slashes Excitement and *** course through Fueling you to victory Imposing is thy stance! Booted foot on stack of cannon ***** Actioned-packed adventure As you reave and raid the seas Your adventure keeps me alert But my ship's an iron beast of land I think of daring combat And your exploits give me hope I load my rifle in hot anticipation Prepared to write my own adventure The giant steel hatch lowers And hot iron rips through me My adventure ends prematurely My *** is without excitement and masks pain A hospital bed now serves as my galleon Your book by my bedside, untouched

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Am I ever awake anymore Or do I ever dream at all This war-torn landscape that is my mind finds no rest I watch the clock tick by A scout in infinite cubicle farms One thousand, four hundred and forty Instances of repetition My numbed sense of excitement tingles as the clock reaches five Ticking by each second turned to minute turned to gray What happiness do I derive from completion of work I sit sullenly watching sitcoms through red-rimmed eyes I don't think I'll sleep again I don't know if I have ever woken up My reality is fading out to textured grays Maybe I will fade out too But night turns to day turns to ash As I slowly count away One thousand, four hundred and forty minutes left of consciousness

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Feb 19, 2020

Feb 19, 2020 at 6:38 PM UTC

Am I ever awake anymore Or do I ever dream at all This war-torn landscape that is my mind finds no rest I watch the clock tick by A scout in infinite cubicle farms One thousand, four hundred and forty Instances of repetition My numbed sense of excitement tingles as the clock reaches five Ticking by each second turned to minute turned to gray What happiness do I derive from completion of work I sit sullenly watching sitcoms through red-rimmed eyes I don't think I'll sleep again I don't know if I have ever woken up My reality is fading out to textured grays Maybe I will fade out too But night turns to day turns to ash As I slowly count away One thousand, four hundred and forty minutes left of consciousness

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The metal floor is slicky Desert heat amplifies The odor of ***** and blood Mostly empty IV bags hang on their stands Packaging from numerous medical supplies Litter the ground Quickly and carefully I clean and spray and sweep and scrub I sort and pack and refit and reorganize Preparing the chopper for the next call Lives were saved But I don’t know what will become of them Some will leave the Army Some will come back here Some will do the job the enemy couldn’t do And take their own lives I can’t think about that This is hard enough

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Feb 10, 2020

Feb 10, 2020 at 11:02 AM UTC

The metal floor is slicky Desert heat amplifies The odor of ***** and blood Mostly empty IV bags hang on their stands Packaging from numerous medical supplies Litter the ground Quickly and carefully I clean and spray and sweep and scrub I sort and pack and refit and reorganize Preparing the chopper for the next call Lives were saved But I don’t know what will become of them Some will leave the Army Some will come back here Some will do the job the enemy couldn’t do And take their own lives I can’t think about that This is hard enough

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Turning Burning Learning Yearning Blackhawk turning, HIT, cockpit burning Troops learning of war, yearning for home

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Feb 7, 2020

Feb 7, 2020 at 10:16 AM UTC

Turning Burning Learning Yearning Blackhawk turning, HIT, cockpit burning Troops learning of war, yearning for home

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I can’t feel my legs Stay with us, Buddy The chopper’s inbound I need some O-Positive Stay with us, Buddy Apply direct pressure I need some O-Positive Put that one over here Apply direct pressure I’ve lost the pulse Put that one over here Where’s the Chaplain? I’ve lost the pulse The chopper’s inbound Where’s the Chaplain I can’t feel my legs

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Feb 5, 2020

Feb 5, 2020 at 1:03 PM UTC

I can’t feel my legs Stay with us, Buddy The chopper’s inbound I need some O-Positive Stay with us, Buddy Apply direct pressure I need some O-Positive Put that one over here Apply direct pressure I’ve lost the pulse Put that one over here Where’s the Chaplain? I’ve lost the pulse The chopper’s inbound Where’s the Chaplain I can’t feel my legs

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Even war is crowned with solemn peace That crown passed on from reign to reign And from king to king even the gold does fade So does the glory in the sword that's stained The sword was silenced and then was heard no more The blood stained veil tore before my closing eye Thus it is the dethronement of peace that's the coronation of war Yet could ever a higher cause such a darkness dignify

0

Nov 22, 2019

Nov 22, 2019 at 2:27 PM UTC

Even war is crowned with solemn peace That crown passed on from reign to reign And from king to king even the gold does fade So does the glory in the sword that's stained The sword was silenced and then was heard no more The blood stained veil tore before my closing eye Thus it is the dethronement of peace that's the coronation of war Yet could ever a higher cause such a darkness dignify

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They wear their bodies inside-out, some are ashes but few are dust. Vacant orbits, oblivious to the incoming tide and the percussive artillery from the heavily fortified positions on Rue de la Mort, view the world with equanimity. Their bloodied stillness at odds with the surrounding tumult. It’s at times like these - pinned down behind a burnt-out vehicle, the sand skipping around me with the phut-phut-phut of spent rounds - that I envy them their final freedom. Not that all deaths are as elegant and instantaneous as a well aimed bullet to the head. It is a fleeting thought, hardly even that, a whispering somewhere in the background of my consciousness, like listening to a low-tuned wireless. And with victory as with defeat - with the ear-ringing silence - the whisperings become louder and more persistent. Right, left; up, down; stop, wait; walk, run; sink, swim; live, die. Some pray to survive, other’s yearn for the sweetspot, the one shot **** Regardless, there is no doubt that we who remain will fight on for weeks, for years, for decades and continue to live the uncertainty of the living - sweating bullets until kingdom ****** come.

0

Jun 9, 2019

Jun 9, 2019 at 9:57 PM UTC

They wear their bodies inside-out, some are ashes but few are dust. Vacant orbits, oblivious to the incoming tide and the percussive artillery from the heavily fortified positions on Rue de la Mort, view the world with equanimity. Their bloodied stillness at odds with the surrounding tumult. It’s at times like these - pinned down behind a burnt-out vehicle, the sand skipping around me with the phut-phut-phut of spent rounds - that I envy them their final freedom. Not that all deaths are as elegant and instantaneous as a well aimed bullet to the head. It is a fleeting thought, hardly even that, a whispering somewhere in the background of my consciousness, like listening to a low-tuned wireless. And with victory as with defeat - with the ear-ringing silence - the whisperings become louder and more persistent. Right, left; up, down; stop, wait; walk, run; sink, swim; live, die. Some pray to survive, other’s yearn for the sweetspot, the one shot **** Regardless, there is no doubt that we who remain will fight on for weeks, for years, for decades and continue to live the uncertainty of the living - sweating bullets until kingdom ****** come.

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It was a hot summer Georgia morning. The fresh smell of pine The sounds of marching solders Reveille played over the loud speakers As cooks, we started our day early Everything seemed normal Normal for Army life, that is Life that I got used to I put on my uniform Polished my boots Walked over to the dining facility Expecting to fail inspection, again "Report to HHC Immediately!" 24th Infantry Division (mechanized) "First to Fight" This was serious What was going on? Confusion afoot Kuwait was ambushed Sadam must be stopped We marched over to the gymnasium There were stations set up Line up for innoculations Fill out your Last Will and Testament March over to the barraks Pack up your gear Only what you can carry Sneak in some comfort items What about the rest of my stuff? Someone will look after it Don't worry, it's safe Soldiers are a bunch of thieves March over to the National Guard barraks They look like the did in WWII 50 double bunks in a row they smelled moldy This was our new home until further notice I haven't slept in 48 hours No communication to your family or firends I snuck out to the pay phone Not sure what to say other than don't worry I love you goodbye I am one of the first one hundred soldiers to depart Single, no close family We board the ship It is massive! USNS Capella (T-AKR 293) In the Savannah Harbour Tanks, helecopters Trucks, supplies One hundred ARMY soldiers Ready to disembark We stand along port side at parade rest A tear rolls Down my face Thousands of civilians Waving flags Cheers of goodbyes Crying children and wives The ship leaves port slowly pulls away the cheers fade into the ocean depths First day afloat The ship rocks slowly Hard to get used to Motion Sickness kicks in I worked in the galley T-Ration for breakfast MRE for lunch T-Ration for dinner I ate with the Marines A-Ration meals Privilege of being a Food Service Specialist Trash accumulated Throw it overboard Alongside the bow Death to the oceans Many days pass I read a book Hyperion (Dan Simmons) The only book I had I sit on the deck the sea in all directions mystifies the soul we are alone I wake up to discover Another ship next to us USNS American Explorer (T-AOT-165) Refueling ship We reach the Suez Canal Egypt looks beautiful To the east: lush greenscape to the west: barren wasteland Egyptian Militants watching intensely along the shoreline they saw my camera Merchants come aboard "Good deals for you, American G. I." I bought some batteries I get to phone home satellite communication ten dollars a minute worth every penny We reach our destination Twelve day journey ended time to unload organized chaos All hands on deck mechanized disembark crash course on driving a tank Transported to my unit in the tent city they got there first flown by commercial airliner time to roll out loaded my gear WRONG TRUCK! Ruck sack gone forever Lost my walkman lost my camera lost my book was in the ruck sack to be continued.........

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Aug 29, 2018

Aug 29, 2018 at 3:24 PM UTC

Desert Shield - Part One

It was a hot summer Georgia morning. The fresh smell of pine The sounds of marching solders Reveille played over the loud speakers As cooks, we started our day early Everything seemed normal Normal for Army life, that is Life that I got used to I put on my uniform Polished my boots Walked over to the dining facility Expecting to fail inspection, again "Report to HHC Immediately!" 24th Infantry Division (mechanized) "First to Fight" This was serious What was going on? Confusion afoot Kuwait was ambushed Sadam must be stopped We marched over to the gymnasium There were stations set up Line up for innoculations Fill out your Last Will and Testament March over to the barraks Pack up your gear Only what you can carry Sneak in some comfort items What about the rest of my stuff? Someone will look after it Don't worry, it's safe Soldiers are a bunch of thieves March over to the National Guard barraks They look like the did in WWII 50 double bunks in a row they smelled moldy This was our new home until further notice I haven't slept in 48 hours No communication to your family or firends I snuck out to the pay phone Not sure what to say other than don't worry I love you goodbye I am one of the first one hundred soldiers to depart Single, no close family We board the ship It is massive! USNS Capella (T-AKR 293) In the Savannah Harbour Tanks, helecopters Trucks, supplies One hundred ARMY soldiers Ready to disembark We stand along port side at parade rest A tear rolls Down my face Thousands of civilians Waving flags Cheers of goodbyes Crying children and wives The ship leaves port slowly pulls away the cheers fade into the ocean depths First day afloat The ship rocks slowly Hard to get used to Motion Sickness kicks in I worked in the galley T-Ration for breakfast MRE for lunch T-Ration for dinner I ate with the Marines A-Ration meals Privilege of being a Food Service Specialist Trash accumulated Throw it overboard Alongside the bow Death to the oceans Many days pass I read a book Hyperion (Dan Simmons) The only book I had I sit on the deck the sea in all directions mystifies the soul we are alone I wake up to discover Another ship next to us USNS American Explorer (T-AOT-165) Refueling ship We reach the Suez Canal Egypt looks beautiful To the east: lush greenscape to the west: barren wasteland Egyptian Militants watching intensely along the shoreline they saw my camera Merchants come aboard "Good deals for you, American G. I." I bought some batteries I get to phone home satellite communication ten dollars a minute worth every penny We reach our destination Twelve day journey ended time to unload organized chaos All hands on deck mechanized disembark crash course on driving a tank Transported to my unit in the tent city they got there first flown by commercial airliner time to roll out loaded my gear WRONG TRUCK! Ruck sack gone forever Lost my walkman lost my camera lost my book was in the ruck sack to be continued.........

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Scabs crusting; Feet wrinkle with an unrelenting wetness in cold socks. The soldier walks reaching the point of contact, a swift interlude of gorilla combat. After the gun fight he collects small bullet casings. Then when silence finally comes at night he takes them out, rolling them through and around his fingers. Various colored casings of memories chasing each potential point of pain; He imagines the cycle of sorrow that each projectile might have injected into this world. Then the soldier buries the bullet casings and finally, leaves the battlefield.

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Mar 5, 2018

Mar 5, 2018 at 10:27 AM UTC

Scabs crusting; Feet wrinkle with an unrelenting wetness in cold socks. The soldier walks reaching the point of contact, a swift interlude of gorilla combat. After the gun fight he collects small bullet casings. Then when silence finally comes at night he takes them out, rolling them through and around his fingers. Various colored casings of memories chasing each potential point of pain; He imagines the cycle of sorrow that each projectile might have injected into this world. Then the soldier buries the bullet casings and finally, leaves the battlefield.

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