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Staff Sgt. Joseph D'Augustine
a proud Jersey son
whom Thou hast blessed
laid in St. Luke’s ground
for his heavenly rest
April 4, 2012

1.

in a far off province of
God forsaken Helmand,
our dear son Joey
met his untimely end

an explosive crack
a most terrible sound
felled a beloved Jersey son
to the cold cruel ground

working the live wires
of a well placed IED
a deathly burst killed him
it was awful to see  

Staff Sgt. Joseph D’Augustine
in solemn duty fell
fellow brothers in arms
will forever reverently tell

of courage and character
of a dear fallen friend
and how the valiant warrior
met with death at his end

for he was always faithful
to his beloved corps
comrades couldn't ask
a valiant marine for more


2.

details of his death
are not the real story
selflessness and bravery
are but part of his glory

is it brash to
question why he fell?
in a useless bitter war
an embroiled senseless hell

a generation mustered
to fight in the war on terror
serving four tours of duty
in a lost decade of errors

two tours in Afghanistan and Iraq
could a nation ask a man for more?
for he was always faithful to the call
upholding pledges he hath sworn

3.

the burden of war
to a  few confined
it rarely crosses
an American’s mind

incessant war machine
drones on apace
the horror of conflict
so cleverly displaced

with afternoon baseball
and super bowl parties
big disco paychecks
and other selfish priorities

pay hollow tribute
to dear weary troops
when valor is mentioned
we gather in groups

we’ll raise the flag
sing stirring anthems
than its back to the party
pay it no more attention

self styled patriots
wave handfuls of flags
but ask them to contribute
the zeal soon lags

its left to the few
to shoulder burdens of many
fairness is lost
its a democratic calamity

four tours in a decade
an inhumane task
burdens require sharing
its only fair to ask

Joey was always faithful
to the task at hand
willing to step forward
to serve his homeland


4.

in the wake of 9/11
a nation deeply shaken
young patriots stirred
liberty’s call not forsaken

a call to serve answered
to quell the rise of terror
a clear clarion alarm
marks the nature of the era

Joey boldly came forward
to train and learn
the art of warriors
his bright patriotism burned

deployed to Afghanistan
to capture Osama
routing the Taliban
without much problem

but a pacified Afghan
not enough for Bush
he invaded Iraq
another military push

we rolled into Baghdad
adorned with victors garlands
Saddam’s statue toppled
our troops were honored

deposing a dictators
soon turned to occupation
a ****** mission transformed
to build the Iraqi and Afghan nations

once honored liberators
now a conquering force
bestriding broken nations
on a civil war course

military industrialists
stood to profit most
sweet protracted conflict
record earnings to boast

lives bartered for lucre
a region held hostage
the conflict deepened
hostilities hardened

America dipped into
a great recession
the war machine
bled money and
kept on ticking

scooping up contracts
rewarding investors
the dividends of war
heaven sent treasure

continuation of hostilities
preys on a nation's youth
as casualties mount
ill portents forsoothed

a fraction of citizens
bare heartaches of war
gulping measures of despair
to guard a nations door

a nation always faithful
to the holy pursuit of profit
a highest citizens calling
put money into your pocket


5.

our beloved Jersey son
gave a full measure of devotion
in dress blues they shipped him
back across the ocean

on the Dover tarmac
they received his remains
for a last ride northward
to his hometown terrain

repatriated body
bereft of soul saluted
solemn escort knelt
hearts trembled, tears muted

a hearse for a gallant man
flanked by state troop cruisers
to escort the funeral train
assure an honored movement

one last trip up
old thunder road
the storied highway
Joey often trod

the last detail legged up 17
reverent firefighters saluted  
from overpasses
to honor  the woeful scene

as the motorcade passed
the Garden State Malls
frenzied consumers
failed to notice at all

busy window shoppers
didn't to turn an eye
as Joey rolled home
to the sweet by and by

vets interred at the
Old Paramus Church
gently stirred in their graves
reasons for war they search

Channel 12 Chopper
circled its eye in the sky
televised the sad parade
captured many teary eyes

the early spring blooms
colorful petals displayed
maples and forsythias
a royal carpet laid

spring remains always faithful
as the new season turns
offer sunshine and glory
as our sinking hearts burn

6.

motorcycle escort
northbound lane clear
rolling homeward
Waldwick was near

leaves exploding
green shoots budding
****** white maple blooms
natures accolades stunning

the oaks yet bare
just waking from slumber
winters death passing
a sad day put asunder

the motorcade passed
Joey’s home on Prospect Ave
few  envision lifes endings
this woefully sad

red chevy pickup idles
in hoop crowned driveway
never to drain jumpers again
departed children can’t play

the eye in the sky
framed neighbors in mourning
welcoming back a fallen hero
unsettled emotions dawning

neighbors waved Old Glory
from painted stoops and curbs
unsure how this tragedy
visits this blessed suburb

green grass of home
always flush with spirit
tears welled in the eyes
most difficult to bear it

last cruise of the town
sad neighbors stand witness
paying final due respects
and ponder from a distance

what purpose is served
by this man’s passing?
the dead cannot speak
rationale is for the living

the terrible herse
death circles our town
moves through our day
hope of spring drowned

murderer of sunshine
killer of young flowers
budding trees breaking
our hearts an ashen pallor

we remember the beauty
of Joey’s stout face
as it looked on your finest day
exuding pure honor and grace

old vets gather
donning caps and pins
boasting semper fi jackets
jutting tear dripping chins

shaking hands, giving hugs
bearing tattered banners
the hearse ambles onward
we head home in solemn manner

good folks are always faithful
where beloved ones grew
the death of our children
we sadly cannot undo


7.

the bells of St. Lukes
called out from the sky
platoons of limping vets
marched in with pride

pomp and circumstance
requisite dress blues
family, friends, townsfolk
overflowed the pews

doleful bells resound
tolling a mournful reckon
the cost of war mounts
a family’s loss beckons

the casualties of war
falls upon a nation's youth
a seasons page not  turned
a flowing wound not soothed

the wistful cornet calling
floats on the fluted air
the bereaved ***** gently sounds
a congregations somber despair

an unsettling dirge
the parish grows uneasy
nationalist bravado wanes
in the forlorn sanctuary

both church and flag
draped in colors of war
mock stain glass windows
communicants adore

is it a betrayal of the flag
to offer enemies
psalms of reconciliation?
where does true loyalty lay
with God or a warring nation?

afterall this is a sanctuary
where peace and harmony reigns
are we not called to beat swords
into ploughshares as the highest
calling of our Lord?

we are always faithful
to the pathways to war
when the practice of peace
is what we should adore

8.

coughing and whispers
incessant low murmur
a baby cries out
we sit and remember

the crucifers process
in solemnity to greet
subtle ***** notes salute
a coffin draped in Old Glory sheets

the beloved child welcomed
to his eternal repose
priests splash holy water
within the sacred dome

an amazing grace revealed
lifted by marine pallbearers
dearly departed body presented
gently placed at the altar

a grief struck sister
lovingly eulogizes
recalls tonka trucks,
GI Joe’s and cool transformers

a punch in the nose
an approaching wedding
beckoning Eastertide
vacation plans left begging

my second grade class sent
Christmas cookies and cards
to dear Joey and warrior friends
he said it warmed stark winter hearts

he was raised in this church
taught trust and reconciliation
the comfort of the Lords peace
may it surely go with him

for he was always faithful
to sisters, family and faith
his resurrection service
imbues sacredness
to this space

9.

sharp in dress blues
Eddie T USMC Gunny
big 50 caliber smile
offers his eulogy

Bada Bing Jersey Humvee
we called him Joey Calzones
good mood, loved sausages
he tickled the funny bone

always willing to sacrifice
loved the Patriots Tom Brady
a women dominated household
gave him a way with the ladies

his calling explosive ordinances
he said he was livin the dream
March 6th last time we met
knocking frost off cold ones
man whatta scream

a gallant marine,
beloved brother,
a sure friend
he was always faithful
I’m deeply wounded
by his untimely end


10.

the gospel read
the homily offered
Ecclesiastes wisdom
a time for everything
proffered

God never turns
an eye from the beloved
though seasons change
we are not forsaken
never unloved

as loss arrives
surely grief grows
turn away not
wisdom knows

in resignation
love lay dead
diligent intention
banishes dread

our rekindled hope
we rend and sow
our beloved Joey
knew this was so

our favorite son’s
example taught us
now rises on eagle’s wings
to claim his divine justice

Jesus faithfully tramped
the path to an awful death
Joey too fought the good fight
a warrior now gratefully at rest

The Lord holds him close
to the ***** of sure love
a cantors beatific voice incants
Joey’s spirit that forever enchants

The Lord is always faithful
to the bereaved and  beloved
no one ever forsaken
all unconditionally loved

11.

the Holy Eucharistic cup
affirms everlasting giving
tasted to nourish evermore
a libation for the living

singing the Beatitudes
praising peace makers
mercy filled voice and song  
pallbearers lift Joey’s coffin

off to seek his final peace
an earthly occupation ended
he’ll suffer worldly hate no more
down the aisle his coffin wended

the family closely followed
a mother haltingly sobbing
faithful marines came forth
to steady her wobbling

there is no sudden waking
from this terrible dream
the pungent incense rose
to the chapels sacred beams

the stained glass murals depict
the passion of Jesus’s story
illuming a consuming sorrow
in all its grace filled glory

the ***** of death slinks on again
we search for consolation
the recompense of honor blest
leaves a hollow heart wanting
no answers offered to quell the dark
of these terrible life’s moments
only the desperate need to hold onto
beleaguered treasure that sustains us

for we are always faithful
to the things we know
always faithful to the
things we refuse to let go

12.

the color guard and funeral detail
assembled in front of St. Luke’s
the cemetery right next door
the procession a short troop

the living will stumble through
the darkness of separation
seeking elusive answers
of poignant uncertainty;
all gave some, Joey gave all
nothing more required for his
journey through eternity

Joey will always be with us
his stories forever retold
as long as the machinery of
great nations engage
the gears of wasteful war

Joey’s spirit lives
in a peoples desire
for freedom, only if
our hope of peace
is greater than the
need for conflict

Joey’s lifes work
is sure to bear fruit
if those remaining
fight the good fight
by taking up the
task to protect and
expand the values
of liberty we
hold most dear

like our good
friend Jesus
Joey wears a crown
bejeweled with
a ring of thorns
hoisted on a
terrible cross
the sweet
incense of you
meets our nose
we inhale your
earthly presence
beholding beautifully
adorned crucifix,
a reminder of
unjust persecution
and a perfect
resurrection
yet this wretched
coffin remains

pledging allegiance
we rationalize our
stories, articulating
our small parts
in  heroic sagas,
reciting myths of
ourselves, recording
the grim history of
a young marine
surrounded by
a smart color guard,
feasting on todays
eucharist, this
days sweet taste
of  the daily bread
of human sorrow

The priest finishes
his graveside
commendation
of Joey D

Taps conclude
a wind rises
crows take flight
winging over
a stand of budding
Sugar Maples
exploding in white
blooms, reveling
in the glorious
sunshine of this
magnificent day

St. Luke’s stairway to
God Country and Home
smiling portrait of you
forever young

we surround your grave
to bless the earth
you've returned home
to your place of birth

our flowing pride
and salty tears bless
the anointed ground
that you loved best

a proud Jersey son
whom Thou hast blest
laid in St. Luke’s ground
for his heavenly rest

for he was always faithful
to the blessed land
forever at peace
in the soils sure hands

Charles Ives
The Unanswered Question

Oakland
11/10/13
jbm
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....
cable news video brilliantly captures
the blood washing Parisian gutters
glittering in City of Lights sparkle

images of carnage coagulate in my mind
clotting my heart with searing resent

in desperate need for release
from the abject scorn
that boils within my veins

I flip the channel to
watch a Predator marathon
but light entertainment
fails to satiate my restive soul

I turn down the volume
and click back to News

My iPod is audio ready
to soothe the savage beast
with some righteous death metal
I blast my earbuds,
Culture of Death's new CD
prepares me for real action
  
ever at the ready
digital recreation
has me *******
my controller
mustering up my
Call of Duty
comrades

I am a recognized
high score battlefield hero
taking out godless apostates
in the global war on terrorism

I'm usually eager to
baptize Iraqi jihadis in a
Holy Ghosting
bloodbath
but tonight
Black Ops kills
fails to thrill
my controller and I
stand down

opening the gun case
I cradle my Bushmaster
the smooth barrel and rugged stock
feels so right in my hand

it pleasures me to know
I am one of the good guys with a gun
I relish the fear and respect
I garner during open carry
troops to McDonalds
the hairs on the back of my neck
sometimes titillatingly rise

one day I hope to
take out an active shooter
at a movie or the supermarket
that would be way cool

I place my Bushmaster
back into the cabinet
and carefully rearrange
one of my Glocks

yet even with this
considerable armory
I still feel insecure
it may be time
for a trip to Walmart
to secure another Glock
*** more ammo

my heart recovers a bit when
I think about tomorrows recon trip
to my tree stand in the Jersey Highlands

Bear season starts soon
for the past few weeks
I've baited the area with
Dunkin Donuts and bacon grease
I've detected lots of bear ****
can't wait to drop one of those suckers
I visualize one in my gun sights
should be easy pickens

my CD ends with
some real raucous ****
removing my earbuds
I turn up the volume
on the News

footage from last summer's
Black Lives Matter demonstration
runs in continuous loop
members of the
New Black Panther Party
are yelling into the camera
a woman in a black burka
her eyes squinting angrily at me
from underneath her cover
sends shivers up my spine

when we take our country back
they will be served some
Second Amendment justice

News flashes Ted Cruz
condemning Muslim
refugee resettlement,
in a Christian Nation
only Christians should be
allowed in...

News breaks back to footage
from the concert venue
highlighting the
blood stained mosh pit

News flashes ISIS Jihadis
riding in Humvee's
routing the fleeing
Iraqi army once again

News highlights a smiling Putin
firing off Caspian Sea cruise missiles
into the bleeding Levant
examples of decisive leadership,
if only Obama could grow a pair

News flashes to a Rose Garden Obama
bragging about killing Jihad Johnny

the drone strikes and
active bombing campaigns in:
Syria
Iraq
Libya
Somalia
Nigeria
Mali
Yemen
Sinai
Afghanistan
Kenya
Congo
and other unspecified locations
are working says the Muslim Prez

By the looks of Paris
any real American Patriot
would think not

we need to send a message
a quick strike fix
some major shock and awe
to placate a nations troubled soul

if that offends any Christian
turn the other cheek
wimp, so be it

I say go
Old Timey Testament on their ***
let our vengeance is mine God
**** them all
**** them all
**** them all

Culture of Death:
Cystic Dysentery

Barry McGuire:
Eve of Destruction

The Doors:
The End


jbm
11/17/15
Newark
lots of hate going round since the murderous tragedy in Paris....
let cooler heads prevail.....
be still and know that I am God....
Bryan J Powers Nov 2010
Another day seems to pass by in the desert as it has for hundreds if not thousand of years,
Except the crunch of gravel and sand as a 2 ton frag 4 tuned up humvee races down another street in Iraq,
no surprise to see this in Iraq since the US led invasion in 2003,
same **** different day, otherwise known to soldiers as SSDD syndrome,
only this day would forever change lives,
the flash was white hot and the melting metal was proof enough of the sheer explosivness of the improvised explosive device,
the blast enough to let Iraqis living miles away look up to see the smoke,
they never heard the screaming though,
but the soldiers did as they raced to what was left of the humvee,
three dead upon impact,
a fourth lay screaming on the ground with what was left of the rest of his legs still in the passenger seat,
medics on  the ground did good and saved the poor soul,
his screams would fill the Iraqi night for for hours,
a short chopper ride to Baghdad Hospital,
they docs put his feet on ice, quite literally,
more than ten hours of surgery and the legs were sewn back on, but this soldiers fight was over,
a flight on the first plane to Ramstein Air Base Germany,
but the doctors cant do anything for this man,
he needs propers medical care,
send him home to Fort Bragg,
Womack Army Hospital,
doctors are optimistic as they tell this hero he will live but his days in the Army are over,
the tears are unexplainable as he pleads with the doctors to **** him
he doesnt want to live,
he may never walk again, he is a freak, his fiancee wants nothing to do with a *******,
over a week the soldier tries everything he can,
pulling out IVs,
injecting his blood stream with air filled needles,
his screams keep the other patients awake during the cold nights,
his crying during the day a constant reminder of the hell that only those who have lived it can ever know,
a week passes by, at least one suicide attempt a day,
then the soldiers fiancee arrives,
the crying becomes unstoppable as he pleads for her to leave him, not to look at his crippled body, that he wishes to die,'
why? she asks,
the question stops his tears,
why? she repeats,
because I am a ******* I may never walk again,
so? she asks, calling in the doctor,
the doctor arrives to find the soldier in tears and the meanest scowl ever seen on a woman,
doctor she asks, so he may never walk correct?
thats correct the doctor replies,
can he still have ***? she asks,
the doctor is stumped by the question and stumbles as he replies, well....yea its only his legs not his *****,
the fiancee looks at her soldier,
well then why the hell are you crying? as long as we can still have *** I am not leaving you!
the soldier sobs uncontrolably as his future wife holds him dearly,
the smiles on the other patients outwardly happy for the both of them,
then dinner arrives, the fiancee freaks out,
throwing the food across the room and storming from the hospital,
the soldier believing she had finally realized he was a *******, sobs once more,
the patients, doctors and nurses stumped,
another suicide attempt made,
thrity minutes pass,
the fiancee arrives, carrying a Dominos pizaa,
she holds him closely as she says he cant eat hospital food anymore,
he needs to eat right so that he can walk again,
and so comes a miracle through pain.

NO **** people this is a true story i witnessed myself in the Womack Army Hosptial roughly early 2006. It was a beautiful sight to see, and any man would consider himself blessed to be with what I can only describe as a miracle and the truest woman alive. That soldier deserved nothing less, oh, and he did walk again.
tread Nov 2012
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.
written mid-October, 2012
ghost queen Jun 2019
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.
Vice D Krashdif Apr 2014
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
suggestions are welcome
John F McCullagh Dec 2011
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.
Marine Corporal Dakota Meyer was awarded the Medal of Honor for his conspicuous Gallantry in battle against the Taliban on September 8, 2009. Due to the fog of war there are some discrepancies between the official Marine account and the reports of an embedded newspaper reporter.  This narrative account of the action is my interpretation of the events that took place on that day. Living medal of Honor winners are rare individuals. This is my personal salute to Corporal Meyer who unquestionably risked his life to go to the aide of his fellow marines and Afghani provincial soldiers.
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 ..
Copyright December 6 , 2015 by Randolph L Wilson * All Rights Reserved
John F McCullagh Jul 2015
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.
A tale about post traumatic stress disorder, part of the price paid by soldiers in the cause of freedom. These are the wounds you do not see.
Caleb Reeves Jun 2014
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
Satsih Verma Jan 2017
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.
Mike Essig Oct 2015
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
Jonny Angel Feb 2014
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.
Jonny Angel Apr 2015
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.
*Not his real name.
Jonny Angel Aug 2014
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.
Jonny Angel Sep 2014
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.
Inspired by Mr T for Texas.....
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* ..
Copyright April 14 , 2017 by Randolph L Wilson * All Rights Reserved
Ellis Reyes Dec 2021
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.
Pennilessness disallows me
     luxury tubby globe trekker
hence, my imagination
     takes me random places minus
     the hassles of
     any rubber necker
gawkers always staring
     at major or minor

     crash test dummy
     vehicular accident,
     (now strictly, squarely,
     and specifically,
     for poetic license purposes
     of this reasonably
     rhyming adversity
     I dreamt up, while

     driving Miss Daisy, this
     "FAKE" serious, albeit
     totally tubularly
     fictitious **...
     **...humvee wrecker
involving holiday passengers
     seated in luxury
     of double decker

self driving bus,
     which collided with a sleigh
     carelessly manned by Santa Clause
(though no animals i.e. reindeer
     harmed in the writing
     of this video script)
     donned in his
     New England Patriot

     Scottish Tartan checker,
thus the aforementioned,
     non fatal narrow brush you
need rest assured, sans
     make believe death - whew
fortunately miraculously,
     and unbelievably true
lee delivered angels

     intervened clear
     out of the blue
mainly conjured from
     me matt chew,
hoping ye dear reader enjoy
     what I figuratively drew
merely to distract thee

     dearly especial fan
     to sidetrack vital tasks and brew
up a mug of warm
     spirits from a moo moo
kosher bovine amazingly
     able to understand Hebrew.

— The End —