"krauts" poems
Marines call to say hello,
impress. I'm over 35 but my boys
19. They could go: Hide!
One moment spent tying a shoe,
another dying, gunshot wound or poisoned food.
Events in their mere chronology
make no sense.
And the details of yr dad's life don't either.
Late night
quiet cigarette smoker. But next day,
the butts cleaned into the can. Who does that?
Lady in a skirt or overalls rolled up - cigarette smoke.
Now it's yr dad.
Yr dad who
watches for war.
Even if Uncle Sam disbands, dissolves
we the people will still be here and stay involved
with North America. The purple mountains majesty
and shining seas
little people, big people, brown, red, and white. Addicted
to action movies.
Perhaps there is no choice. One must sit, sitting still
as a buddha, sitting bull.
I can imagine myself and all others - drivers, voters, runners -
little fetal muscles
at first. Metastasizing. What's it called when the cell
at the tip of the *****
or organism, divides, and the ***** grows? It's called
girl on a bicycle.
I find I make no sense. Her **** a practicality to her, is
delicious to me
a miraculous sea lettuce or snapdragon. You've heard it before.
A moral dilemma
wrapped in robes and silks and odors. Yet, come close,
and business beckons
work gets done, life goes on, hair grows in, we go on
vacation
the Marine Corps calls, desperate for new fetuses to teach
purposeful workmanlike killing
I'll do my own killing, thanks, when violence comes to the
neighborhood
if I've got your back
your back's gotten and if I'm on point, the point's taken.
One world under God invisible with liberty and justice for all who
Art in heaven
what the hell's his name.
Nemesis.
Hysterical.
The small war of an especially inept empire. The world's too big
to swallow as the Krauts and Nips found out. Empire
is self-correcting. Them dark-skinned mustachioed *********
who can't fix their own electricity seem to be kicking our *****
pert good. As did the ***** before them. All to the good. A
good lesson to know and then we all become friends following
the brawl. We apparently cannot skip the fight. It must
be fought, and **** the girls.
Aug 10, 2015
Aug 10, 2015 at 8:24 PM UTC
Brexit. Exit. There ain’t no turning back
Tear down the flag of Europe and hoist the Union Jack.
Throw out all the migrants, lock the borders down
Fill in the channel tunnel and watch the desperate drown
Brexit. Exit. We don’t need the EU
Krauts & Frogs & Belgians, telling us what to do.
Boris & his cronies are planning out our fate
You know that we can trust them to make our country great
Brexit. Exit what was that you say?
The interest rates are rising and you’ve had a cut in pay?
No-one wants to buy our goods the Pound falls through the floor
Boris has gone missing & Nigel’s locked his door
Brexit. Exit. Is this not what you planned?
Fighting with each other for this green and pleasant land?
Well there’s nothing left to fight for, our country’s turned to *****
As the last one leaves ‘Great Britain’ will you please turn off the light..
May 24, 2020
May 24, 2020 at 5:58 AM UTC
The warmth of the cigarette, as its smoke thaws my chest.
The cool winter breeze, as the icy bristles clout my eyes.
The thick, lingering smoke, fading as my conscience lies unrest.
The sound of their laughter, as it’s quickly devoured by cries.
The smell of burning, as their bodies fade to ash.
The ending footsteps, as I stand at the end of my path.
The life I once had, all my dreams they had smashed.
The hatred within my soul, as my heart is filled with wrath.
The exhausted cigarette, for it’s light has gone out.
The melted snow flakes, putting out the dying flare.
The job is finished, they’re now truly lifeless krauts.
I light another cigarette, enjoying it without a care.
Feb 21, 2010
Feb 21, 2010 at 4:44 PM UTC
At dinner, Zach asks
about our nation's history, wars.
I say We're taking on everyone, one at a time.
First Britain, then Britain again: "He was the surly English pluck, and
there is no tougher or truer, and never was, and never will be."
Next Mexico: "Death is indifferent to what hide he tans; life crushes
men like flies."
The War Between the States: "Well done, Mr. Cromartie. Time now
for rest."
Most of Latin America: "Not only humans longed for liberation. All
ecology groaned for it too. The revolution is also one of lakes,
rivers, trees, animals."
Then Southeast Asia: "The slight bump the mortars make as they kiss
the tube goodbye. Then the furious rain, a fist driving home the
message: Boy, you don't belong here."
Now the Middle East: "A land to be admired like all lands. Harsh
mountains and deserts, indigenous plants and people, adapted
ungulates, carnivorous mammals."
Can't forget the Krauts & Nips: "Then I heard the bomber call me in:
Little Friend, Little Friend, I got two engines on fire. Can you see
me, Little Friend?"
Nor the Commies: "You mixed up farewell to an epoch with the
beginning of a new one. I put this book here for you, who once
lived, so that you should visit us no more."
The original indigenous people say: "In time we'll become prosperous,
or else we'll become martyrs. The force that placed us here cannot
be trusted."
Aug 11, 2015
Aug 11, 2015 at 6:19 PM UTC
Kempton showed Benedict
his collection of knives,
long, short, sharp and blunt.
That’s a German one my Dad
bought back from the War,
he said, taking one out
and showing with pride.
I expect it plunged a few bodies
before he choked it.
Benedict took the knife
and ran a finger
along the blade.
Sharp and coming to a point.
His own collection of knives
was small (dangerous things
his mother had said)
and kept in a drawer.
Dad took it
from this dead German’s belt,
took other things as well,
a photograph of some German girl
or so Dad said, pretty and smiling.
Benedict gave back the knife
and looked at others,
all sizes and lengths.
This one’s Russian,
Kempton said,
plunged a few Krauts I guess
before the Russian caught it
in the back, he added,
his dad having informed
some time before.
Benedict liked the Yank knife best,
took it into his hands
and sensed the holds
of yesteryears, the fingers
having touched, the bodies
entered, the blood sensed,
the fears felt.
After a while Kempton
put them away,
feeling content,
proud of his collection.
Benedict thought it swell,
his own small collection
of knives would be
no one’s envy, tucked
in the drawer
with his vest, pants
and handkerchiefs
and that tie his auntie
had bought of red and grey.
Kempton and he left
the Kempton household
and went across the Square
to begin their wars in play.
Jun 28, 2013
Jun 28, 2013 at 2:51 AM UTC
Cookie Lucky
There goes a cookie
I'm feeling lucky!
Observed the RAF aircrew
When the huge bomb blew
An explosive filled dustbin
Made of little more than tin
Killing more ****** Germans
The blame was all Herman's
Sending the Krauts to Hell
Sound of the final bell
Dead in their beds at night
What an awful Satanic fright
We gave them a real blitz
Enough to make the Nazis schitz
For here comes the RAF!
Who don't give an eff
About carpet bombing the ***
At the time of no sun
Lancaster bombers flying high
Destroying without a sigh
Taking the battle far away
Determination knows no sway
They started this this ruck
We'd win with skill and luck
English and Empire men of skill
Who'd defend their sacred hill
Jun 25, 2018
Jun 25, 2018 at 11:52 AM UTC
Innes was a short
tubby kid
with black greasy hair
who rode to school
and back
on a blue bicycle.
Some lunchtimes
he would come
into the playground
sweating
and sweat would
run down his forehead
and his black hair
would glow.
What did
your dad do
in the War?
he said
one lunchtime
as we stood
by the fence.
He was in Egypt
I said.
What did he
do there?
He was something
to do with tanks
I said.
He gazed at me
my dad was one
of those who landed
on D-day
he said.
Got wounded
on the beach
but afterwards
went through France
and into Germany.
I looked at him
and wondered if
his old man
was short and tubby
and made
an easy target
for the Krauts.
What rank
was your dad?
he said.
No idea
I said
he never said.
Mine was a sergeant
and has medals.
I nodded
the sky
was a bright blue
the Downs
were behind us
green and vast.
I have an uncle
who was wounded
at Dunkirk
I said.
He looked past me
at the girls' playground.
My uncle Ralph
was a prisoner of the ****
he said
came back thin
and ill looking
so my mother said.
I looked back
at the girls' playground
Lizbeth was looking over.
I liked the red hair
and her slim figure.
She waved
I waved back.
Innes stood looking
and continued
with his yak.
Jun 23, 2017
Jun 23, 2017 at 3:29 AM UTC
Innes said
want a boiled sweet
I have bag full?
Yes sure
I said.
He opened up
the bag
with his
plump fingers.
I took out
a boiled sweet
and unwrapped
the paper
and put the sweet
in my mouth.
Did your dad
ever **** anyone
in the War?
he said.
Don't know
he never said
I replied.
Mine did
he killed Krauts
either shot them
or bayoneted them
Innes said
in a satisfied tone.
He brought back knives
and gave me one
Innes added
a SS knife
he took off
a dead SS soldier
he saw
at the side
of a road.
I see
I said
rolling the sweet
around my mouth.
From the boys' playground
I could see girls
in their playground
some were skipping
or playing hopscotch
or standing talking.
Your dad met
the Queen?
He said.
No not so far
I said.
He took another sweet
from his bag
with two plump fingers
and unwrapped it
carefully then
plopped it
in his mouth.
Mine did
when he got
a special medal
at the Palace
he said.
Did you go?
I said.
No I was too young
just a baby
he replied.
Lizbeth was in
the girls' playground
I saw her red hair
over her shoulders
and remembered how
she tried to have me
in her room
that time
but I didn't.
You ever
kiss a girl?
I said.
Me? God no
he said
looking down
at his small
plump feet
going red.
Jul 7, 2017
Jul 7, 2017 at 3:58 AM UTC