#taliban
There are clocks turning backwards
there are rights being lost,
you might think you’re unaffected
but things are worse than you thought.
For your wives and your daughters
are now property of the state;
they’ll be tracking their cycles
and they better not be late.
For your women are now watched
by the militarized state;
The old laws have been eradicated,
cause it’s freedom
the republican fundamentalists hate,
and like the Taliban, your freedoms they’re taking.
You better vote soon, before it’s too late,
cause your rights are disintegrating.
Come fathers and husbands
throughout the land
let’s give them an electoral beating
that they’ll understand
your vote is your voice
so please take a stand.
If the freedom of privacy's worth saving,
you better vote soon, before it’s too late,
cause your rights they’re eliminating.
Aug 29, 2023
Aug 29, 2023 at 9:37 PM UTC
A land fought over from antiquity,
It's fertile plains and mountains steep,
Coveted and plundered with iniquity,
It's people slaughtered as helpless sheep.
From Alexander, through Genghis Khan,
Invading hordes without respite
Killing all to the last man,
Sowing misery and plight.
They in turn spawned ruling lords,
But the circle didn't cease,
Yet more came with thrusting swords,
No nobler reason than to fleece.
Empires came then empires went,
Their legacy imprinted on its people,
A motley quilt of rich descent,
Sullen faces altered by each sequel.
So what now this time of gloom,
As darkness spreads once more,
Freedom quashed, for thought no room,
Supplanted only by misery and war.
And yet a shard of light may still exist,
Despite their new Master’s crushing hand,
If these hardy people can persist,
They may well in time reclaim their land.
Aug 14, 2021
Aug 14, 2021 at 11:06 AM UTC
1
The sun was maliciously hot that day in June.
The heat swelled his dusty wounds
Still raw from crawling-
He circumvented the Taliban
Dragging his rifle through the grass:
*Who’s the soldier now my son,
Who is carrying a gun?
Don’t be afraid, the war has just begun.
Go out there and have fun!*
From where the river ran
Closer to the camp the insurgents crawled
Lugging their layered forms over rock in the gristle-dry
Moon-dry landscape,
****** on by goats.
The sun’s grinding rays
Scraped his eyes like brillo-pads
Week-old grease.
Pulling his hat down, he settled behind the tumbledown scree.
He adjusted the sights.
Across his outstretched legs lizards scurried.
The mortars fell like hiccups exploding from the gut.
The mortars tore up bodies throwing them before the wind.
The mortars cried burrowing through the air.
*Who’s the soldier now my son,
Who has a gun?
**** beneath the leering sun-
Get out there and have some fun.*
Darkness before midday-
Of mind and intent.
The mountains hold their own soulless
Secrets that only religion can shape-
The soldier who murders for religion
Is crueller than the soldier who murders for money.
He knew who to ****
Not why. He knew how to ****
Not the reasons for refusing!
He slowly, quietly, pulled the trigger,
The bullet burst out whining across the crumbling landscape, its course pre-ordained, its end
As complete as death. Death was its end
In a soft cry of expiration.
No heaven met, no god examined, no concluding prayer, no final evaluation, no joy, no experience!
A dead man in the dust!
A dead man-dust to dust!
By dinner Dave had reached the camp again
Without much trouble.
He’d been spotted once by a woman washing clothes in a mountain stream, her eyes fixed upon him
For a moment, full of contempt.
*A gun, my son, a gun
Have some fun,
With the gun, my son, the gun.
Pop, pop. Yet another gone!*
“Got him with one shot. Well done,
Old son. Got him with a single shot.”
The colonel was full of praise. Downing a ***** he
Picked at the pineapple cube on his dish,
And crushed it between his busy fingers.
An intelligent man, but a soldier too,
A poet at times whose words clawed at his memories, paying pale homage.
“You are a marvel, young man.
Four this week. Well done.”
The overhead fan twirled noisily,
Clashing with his redundant pride,
Giving meaning to a pointless war
In a torrid land full of becalmed ideas and underlying prayer.
“I’ll write a commendation for you,
Young man. You deserve it.”
The colonel continued, basking on olives.
“Your skill with the gun
Is astonishing. You deal death like
Other’s write poems. You destroy
With a well-balanced phrase. There is beauty
In your honed and natural talent.”
Others slapped his back as he passed
Beaming with approval, lavish with praise,
Expressive with congratulation. At that point,
In that shell-tight room, he felt himself a hero
An Achilles, an Odysseus, a haunted Vietnam veteran.
When the wind broke, rivers sidled up the canyon walls
Immersed in the valley. The sun glowered
Scorching lungs.
2.
Scattered around the shattered jeeps
Expelled their contents-
Broken and dismembered.
Triggered mines exploded one by one
In hellish sequence,
Flames of cooked air
Tearing wantonly into flesh.
His rifle lay embedded in his hand.
*Time, my son, time for fun
So pick up your gun
Pick up your gun and run
Time for fun!*
The colonel wrote sadly
Of an incident sparing all ugly details,
Of those who died that day
In a minute of ****** confusion.
He spared the ugly details
Vividly describing heroic deaths in the wadi
Of men he’d known well.
The Officer’s Mess was silent-
No jokes were cracked, no backs,
Slapped, no congratulations expressed.
In contemplation the soldiers read, studied form, thought about their families,
Trying, even in solitude, not to die.
Outside the camp walls, demolished by the heat,
Caricatured by flies,
The child’s motionless body lay
The child dispatched by a sniper’s clean bullet, slumbering
In the dirt.
*Leave the gun, my son, leave the gun,
You’ve had your fun!
Leave the gun, my son, leave the gun
Your short life’s work is done!*
Oct 10, 2016
Oct 10, 2016 at 4:08 PM UTC
Was it worth it?
Or was it a load of blip?
Who is now in Afghanistan?
Why, of course, the Taliban,
Each week, we lost some fine young man,
Or, indeed, maimed a lovely woman,
Now there's reprisals galore,
But wait, there's even more,
The refugees are still waiting,
For discrimination to be abating,
Thoughts emanate, like an aside,
Was your trip worth the ride?
No doubt, great feats in Afghanistan,
Thank you, every fine young girl and man.....
Sep 10, 2016
Sep 10, 2016 at 5:55 AM UTC
An Aussie digger
killed in battle
but disinclined to die
returns to the front line
as a spectre
wearing a slouch hat
and a larrikin grin.
Draped in a tattered flag
he yells
'Remember Korea, lads
and Vietnam
and how we went
all the way
with Menzies and L.B.J.'
'Don't forget Gallipoli
men
or the fight for peace
with George
in Iraq and Afghanistan
against Al Qaeda
and the Taliban.
'Defeat the enemy
mates
to secure the future
as our heritage
of service
patriotism and pride
in U. S foreign policies.'
Jan 7, 2015
Jan 7, 2015 at 5:11 AM UTC
The dying
The dead
The forgotten
The unlived dreams.
She was 12
He was 8
They trailed west
But just became meat
One ***** beaten, ***** and ate
The other just ate.
Shaved memories of something
Something said by somebody
Oh, a little girl
Said the sun would whirl
And the moon would bow
Means nothing to a dead and cooked cow.
They make concentric circles
In and out
The Taliban
Spreading goodness wherever they go...
Just after eating
A little boy and girl.
Apr 26, 2014
Apr 26, 2014 at 3:55 PM UTC