"humvee" poems
Somewhere along the line
it feels like I lost my poetry.
But I've always had a deep affinity of childhood curious-gaze with the light of a passing car slicing through a slumped drapery in the dead of a powerless October night
like a fumbling mouse with night-vision, glassy eyed, walk, walk, walk
run, run, run
scurry-rubber like an imperial humvee of red-carpet glamor.
Somewhere along the line
the freeze of a less-than-bourgeoise temperature never felt close to Antarctic
until the ring of a cell-phone became my national anthem
and the complacent all-eternity-and-everything-we-are-and-more reflective one-eye of a laptop became my national flag
I waived it with surrender calling to all nation states that 'I don't give a sweet ****
entertain me.'
watching politics like sports and sports like politics I couldn't help but hear the old Native inside of me scream in suffocated final breaths so I turned up the volume to drown him out
and when I wished to return to his comforting embrace, I found he had drown to death
so all I could do was stand over his wading body in the river of my mind and lax my shoulders in defeat.
I rang the midnight church bell of 'send new message' to tell the world that didn't care
the shaman is dead.
all they said was
'finally, the shaman is dead.'
I nodded, laughed, locked the bathroom door
and cried until the river ran dry
the shamans body so far down creek I could pretend to forget he had ever existed
the ache inside became a masked anonymity with the glare of Dorian Gray
I shrugged and said, 'I could never make time anyways'
and fell right back into my sleepy routine with another cup of coffee.
Nov 8, 2012
Nov 8, 2012 at 10:06 PM UTC
i look out into dark, savoring the quiet, the stillness of new dawn, wondering who die today, whose life will end and whose will change forever, sending a shock of wave of pain and grief from an epicenter of a dead soldier
who will die today, whose mother wife daughter will cry today, whose father son brother will fall today
the sun has risen, reality has set in, its time to ride, its time for some to die, we roll the dice, who will land snake eyes
to sit in the humvee, knowing you are playing russian roulette, you can’t have hope, no inkling of a dream, lose the desire, it is the only way to survive, knowing you may die, give up all hope, consider yourself dead, be grateful at the end of the day when you are not. the drive down suicide alley, like the walk up gallow’s stairs. now i know how they felt. you surrender to fate. you stop thinking, you stop feeling, you go numb.
no longer in control, my life is no longer mine to live or die
i don’t believe in You, not since i was a boy, but i pray, that if we hit an IED, that i die instantaneously. i don’t want to lay on the ground, feeling the horror of dying, crying that i want to live, screaming out for my mother like i’ve seen happen to other guys
there are things worse than death, the living hell of coming home in pieces, physically damaged, emotionally traumatized, spiritually disillusioned, which slowly erodes and destroys your life. a new war, another battle, this time at home, fought in your head. the cycle of trauma 6-9-12, addiction, depression, how long do you let yourself free fall till you hit rock bottom
i am a man, i am not suppose to be afraid, but i am, i can’t show or say, not to them, especially not to you. i am not allowed to show fear, be vulnerable, you will lose respect, stop loving me, tell me to man up, in some subtle way
when everyone has left, everything lost, when the pain is greater than the fear. you must, you will, reach out, or die in combat, killed in action, in the war fought in your mind.
Jun 27, 2019
Jun 27, 2019 at 5:13 PM UTC
I'm twenty seven years old
Not, old by any standard
But, in my world...I'm seven
Seven years removed from an IED
Seven years away from the day that changed me
Seven years into my new life
We were on a routine mission
If you can call anything in Khandahar
routine
Convoy escort, some press folks
A country singer and his band
And us....always us
We were Military Police
Bringing 'em in, taking 'em home
there we were,
Same trip, same road
same barren landscape
same potholes
same, same, same
Until November 4th, 2005
Nothing has been the same since then
I'm a Sargeant, Military Police
William Blankenship
Fort Hood, Texas...just a kid...until
We were on Operation Squire
routine....all routine
The first humvee hit an IED
flipped right in front of us
the bus of civilians, stopped
radio chatter like mad
Rocket fire took out the Stryker LAV
Blew it to bits
No survivors
We were pinned down
We didn't return fire
Couldn't....didn't know where to
And had to get the civilians to safety
We were only 2 miles from base
LAVs were on the road immediately
I don't remember much about it
Just, that it was routine
Started with the headaches
took about a month
Then, the nightmares
Sent me back home to get over it
To a Veterans Hospital in Texas
Still saw the humvee flip
Heard the screams
Saw the fire, and watched the explosion behind
And I wasn't sleeping anymore
Couldn't handle bright lights for a time
Still can't, but not as bad
Doctors said it was PTSD
I said, "you think?"
What else could it be
Two years they kept me in there
Two years I saw them die
Then...they hooked me up with a service dog
New program they said
He'd keep me relaxed
I couldn't take care of myself
And now, they want me to have a dog
I said, I'd try it...but no guarantees
Said his name was Squire
funny....I knew that name from somewhere
But, couldn't remember where
Big, oafish, Newf he was
Like a small fridge with hair
And big, brown eyes
Squire....
First day he just sat and looked at me
Waited until I started to move
And he moved with me
Came over, and pushed his head under my hand
It's been that way ever since
I move, he moves
I eat, he eats three times as much
We bonded pretty quick
I still get the dreams,
but, Squire knows and he's there
Under my hand, calming me down
That's all he does, calms me down
He doesn't take away the dreams
But, he helps
I don't know how
But, he helps
They still die, and I still scream
But, not as often
Just routine....
Nov 7, 2012
Nov 7, 2012 at 4:29 PM UTC
We'll never move forward as a society as long as our children are left to die from abuse , sold for *** like a piece of meat , bullied by their peers and killed on our streets ..
Depression misdiagnosed by primary physicians and medicines that only help half of the affected , high suicide rates amongst our young civilians and soldiers alike , addiction rates that continue to spike .. When the nails rain down again we'll most certainly be caught off guard , zealots hung by their thumbs and water boarded will lead the charge .
Martyrs in shackles will fan the flames at the base of the tower once again ..
Woefully few ambulances will be available to minister to the dying , not enough heroes to answer their cries , political parties will begin their denial , those that remain will swear revenge against "the Cowards .."
A faith will be declared illegal and guilty , this time the Eagle will have zero pity ..
She will pursue the same mistakes of previous nations , attempt to firebomb the very soul of a civilization . The Crescent Moon has endured many military occupations , defended a long list of potential aggressors , their bones lie in antiquity , across her deserts and within her cities while the Lion , Eagle and the Bear scar another generation who will in turn castigate her enemies silver cities with relentless terroristic abominations ..
I witnessed the carnage in a dream , hate bursting at the seams , flowing like a river down city streets , sweeping the innocents into the storm sewer , oblivious to their screams .
We worry so much about nuclear weapons as we wipe each other out with pipe bombs and pistols , we fear chemical weapons while drugs are destroying our nation ..
I wonder how far the funds for one missile would go towards treating children with cancer ? The cost of one grenade could feed a homeless man freezing on the street .. The price of one Humvee could provide shelter for the forgotten society tonight in this misguided nation of ours ..
Dec 10, 2015
Dec 10, 2015 at 3:08 PM UTC
Ganjgal, September 8, 2009
They had a job to do that day
in the Valley of Ganjgal.
Afghani and Americans
walked into a metal hail.
An ambush had been laid for them
as they approached the town
Every light was darkened
Taliban held the high ground.
One squad was pinned
Behind a wall and
was taking Casualties.
The gunny Sergeant
for sure was dead
and perhaps the other three.
Corporal Meyer on the radio
called for suppressive fire
but was denied because brass feared
to rouse the natives ire.
With no air support available
and the situation looking grim
Corporal Meyer told his Sergeant
They should take the Humvee in.
They drove into the ambush zone
time and time again
Engaging with the enemy
and rescuing their friends.
Corporal Meyer killed one enemy
at close range with his M-4
He then engaged with a machine gun
and killed or wounded several more.
When air support, at last, arrived
and held the foe at bay
Corporal Meyer entered the killing zone
to take the dead away.
He came across four bodies
that had been stripped of guns and gear
All four had been shot at close range
the postmortems make that clear..
On his broad shoulders he bore a friend
Who’d paid the price of war.
He ran between the bullets
until he had retrieved all four.
Disregarding his own safety
and heedless of his Shrapnel wound
He displayed great personal bravery
without which our cause is doomed.
Corporal Meyer wears an honor now
that few men living bear
The Medal of Honor on his chest
for conspicuous Gallantry there.
He will tell you he’s no hero.
He just had a job to do.
A proud United States Marine
to their motto ever true.
Dec 16, 2011
Dec 16, 2011 at 11:42 PM UTC
A young man with a family back home
A wife and a little girl back home
No one cares who he is now
No one will remember him when he is gone
Whether he was a grade “A” student or not
He will be replaced if he falls
He is a solider of America
His unit drives strait into an ambush
His friends killed by his side
Death everywhere he looks
Someone starts to yell fall back
But is stopped in mid-sentence
By a bullet through the heart
Someone manages to spit the words out
Once they finally fall back,
He looks at the ragtag group around him
A man from Georgia
A couple from Tennessee
Their leader didn’t make it
Nor the man who finally yelled fall back
He is the last of the officers
Nothing in his training could have prepared him,
For this
Now not only is his life in his hands
But those around him
He breaks down and cries
An aged man with a family back home
A wife and a little girl back home
Now he is all that stands between home and death
His next move could be his last or his best
He has a choice between life or death
He has a choice between waiting or fighting his way out
Waiting they could be ambushed again and all die
Fighting their way out they could all die
Only seventeen remain
He chooses to fight his way out
They break out the back entrance
Only to find more enemies
After a brief scrimmage they continue adrenalized
They see a Humvee and a troop-transport that look unscathed
He sprints followed closely by his men
Halfway he hears gunfire
His only target is the 50 caliber on the Humvee
Running through bullets and crossfire he makes it
His men low on ammo
His enemies coming by the thousands
He yells to get in as soon as he is shooting
They escape barely losing only one guy
But as their code says,
No man left behind even his body comes
He continues shooting over a hundred yards away
Even though there are no pursuers
He finally climbs back in
He looks over his men checking for wounds
Only to see the color drained from their faces
He begins to see black
He wonders if this is what death feels like
A dying man with a family back home
A wife and a little girl back home
A Purple Heart recipient
A Medal of Honor recipient
A Medal of Valor recipient
A man now decorated with honors
An army veteran with a family back home
A wife and a little girl back home
A survivor of Afghanistan with a family back home
A wife and a little girl
Apr 14, 2014
Apr 14, 2014 at 7:57 PM UTC
I have bad dreams.
They come, unbidden, into my room at night.
They pass through the maze of my alcoholic daze;
They take me back,
Back to a dusty desert road;
Our convoy is headed towards Mosul.
But we never make it there:
The Humvee is upended by an eardrum shattering blast.
I am falling.
I see you are screaming but there is no sound..
Blackness.
I died three times on the medivac copter
But the Corpsman kept bringing me back.
I have bad dreams
In them I see the faces of the dead,
They are the faces of my friends;
My friends, for whom I mourn
Until this heart becomes a stone.
Jul 21, 2015
Jul 21, 2015 at 9:43 AM UTC
I drop my pack on the desert sand for a seat, resting my rifle across my knees.
Wiping the sand and sweat from my forehead I see you.
I don't know if we've met yet, but you're all I think about.
I take a drink from my hydration pack
The hot water cools my mouth.
I can still smell the smoke from the Humvee.
I can still see the flames but at least the burnt bodies have
disappeared
in the distance.
Stretching my shoulders I go over the mission again in my head.
If I complete the mission I might live another day
unlike my brothers.
Live another day, complete another mission.
Live another day, complete another mission.
Live another day, until what?
The cooling, resting idea of death is gripping
I take another sip of water.
Holding up my rifle I peer through the scope for a quick perimeter check.
Nothing in site.
If I complete this mission, I might see you.
I won't see my friends
I won't see my brothers
They're dead.
I might see you tho
Are you real?
Complete the mission for
Fear?
Revenge?
Honor?
Duty?
Conceptual.
So are you.
Death is Tangible,
I can already feel it.
Death ceases the
explosions
Fires
Gun shots
Dead brothers
Blood
So much blood
I can start to see your silhouetted figure in the hot desert air.
Just a mirage,
Making something so illusive look tangible.
I don't know your
hair color
height
favorite movie
or even your name
Still you consume my vision
I may or may not have even met you
And yet I keep fighting for you
I swing my pack across my shoulders and my muscles wince.
I pick up my gun, and checking my GPS I start walking again.
I don't know if I'll make it to you
I'll probably suffer the fate of my brothers
But only then will fate have stopped me
So I carry on the mission, with only your mirage as a companion
Jun 1, 2014
Jun 1, 2014 at 3:04 AM UTC
You collapsed―
on the stairs in frenzy
falling into a debt trap.
The moon was asking back his pain.
This was a naked aggression.
Kitchen was not ready for roots
and flowers and footprints
of staggering price of being alive.
Riding in a Humvee, the
rhetoric fails. The lies become
spiteful. Your arms holding
a wavering testament.
Religion of sending
a young legate of death, to veiled
untouchables, to spread
the glitter of bones and red meat.
A gift of asking to become
blind, nothing less.
Jan 24, 2017
Jan 24, 2017 at 11:41 PM UTC
My day was spent Here
reading, writing,
meditating and practicing
kung fu forms,
quite content Here in my
aging baby boomer bubble.
I know that Somewhere
a surgeon struggles
to save the legs of a child
blown off by a landmine
from some forgotten war
and Somewhere
a startled soldier
who never knew what hit him
slowly burns to death
in his mangled humvee
and Somewhere
a shy small Muslim woman
trips the timer on
her suicide vest
and walks into
a marketplace prepared
to die for her god,
but I have lived those lives.
Here and now,
I am no longer a man
of this century
or even this
dying digital world;
no longer
in the Somewhere,
Now content to
play out my hand,
to just be
in the Here.
~mce
Oct 17, 2015
Oct 17, 2015 at 10:18 AM UTC
I can disassemble
an automatic weapon
in the dark,
pull a pin on a grenade,
set a claymore mine,
drive a twelve-ton tracked
& Humvee vehicle.
I can also use my hands
to ****
Thanks Mister Government
for these great life skills,
unnecessary things
I'll never use
on the outside
to make a clean living.
Feb 2, 2014
Feb 2, 2014 at 11:53 AM UTC
I will always remember him
& that it could have been me
stepping on
that horrible explosion
on that fateful
scorching day.
Carter* went up suddenly
in a pinkish-mist,
all the camels nearby
scrambled,
as he slumped in
excruciating agony.
It wasn't pretty,
seeing him lying like that,
exposed,
in a pool of blood
with no *******
boots untied.
They hauled him out
screaming he wanted to die,
blood-curdling,
hollering ****** Jesus
(and for his Mother)
in a beefed-up Humvee.
It wasn't funny.
I wanted to walk point
that
morning,
but he insisted
on struttin' his big *****
which tragically
he lost
forever
in Babylon.
That sizzling
hot
*******
Babylon.
Apr 29, 2015
Apr 29, 2015 at 9:00 AM UTC
We drove up in the middle of chaos,
acrid smoke hung heavily in the air
as flames licked the Humvee,
black and crimson
crispy-humans
still sat inside.
The epicenter of the blast had created
a four foot hole,
destroyed roughly seven other vehicles
& as we secured the crime scene,
I wondered if the dumb ***** who did this
deadly deed had thought about the three
dead children I saw near the curb,
two still holding hands.
I will never forget
the wailing of the woman
draped over them.
Shame on all of us.
Aug 5, 2014
Aug 5, 2014 at 5:56 AM UTC
*For the forgotten and the sold
The ***** , societies lepers , the commanded
Refugee and combatant
Slaughtered in the name of -
words , the Kurds , the Armenians ,
American Indian an Syrian
Chocolate bunnies , HUMVEE's , dinner
at Nana's , tied to a tree , saturating
fire into encampments , jelly beans
Death courtesy of Jew , Christian , Muslim , Hindu ,
Agnostic
Mother of all bombs
Two million warriors on call* ..
Apr 14, 2017
Apr 14, 2017 at 8:01 PM UTC
His head is acrylic now
with a glass eye,
some became half-bodies,
but most who didn't make it
ended up ******
organic
microscopic pieces,
remnants of DNA,
stains on plastic
componentry
& Humvee armor.
My eardrums still hurt
& I get headaches.
Other than that,
I think,
I think,
I'm intact.
Sep 2, 2014
Sep 2, 2014 at 2:32 PM UTC
In a caravan
Driving a beaten up Humvee
Down the road we go
pulling security (Pow, Pow, Pow)
See the villagers
hiding behind donkeys
Now it’s time to hit the gas cause
they’re shooting right at me
Oh, 7-6-2, 7-6-2,
bullets flying my way
Oh it ***** to have to drive
through Afghanistan today (Hey!)
7-6-2, 7-6-2,
bullets flying my way,
Oh it ***** to have to drive
through Afghanistan today.
Driving down the road
On a routine resupply
Did the bomb squad
clear this route
cause I don’t want to die (Hi, Hi, Hi)
Checking with HQ
to make sure it is clear
The 2nd Lieutenant in the TOC
says, “There’s nothing to fear.”
Oh, 7-6-2, 7-6-2,
bullets flying my way
Oh it ***** to have to drive
through Afghanistan today (Hey!)
7-6-2, 7-6-2,
bullets flying my way,
Oh, it ***** to have to drive
through Afghanistan today.
Dec 21, 2021
Dec 21, 2021 at 8:21 AM UTC