"marines" poems
Ruddy's was the place to be on Wednesday nights, cheap drinks, free hotdogs and the graceful presence of Times Square hookers late at night, what a wonderful scene, marines hookers and the best jazz juke box inn manhattan, rowdy and something almost always happened, better than life. I was a young man in a strange country, had my fists tested in FLA and Brooklyn for stupid prejudices on my behalf and others, words hurt only those who do not know their meaning and root. There was a black man sitting next to me, quiet and still, a true barfly, he turned and said;
- you are not from round here-
- no - I said -I am from Mexico -
- you don't look Mexican, but let's go with it, I don't look African American either-
- r you from the south?-
-Georgia, as they call it -
-well, I've worked in FLA and met some rednecks, Cubans, blacks, but almost no Chinese-
-you mean yellow-
-or *******
- or **** you know men, I prefer racism down south, over there the distinction is cut loose clear, we don't like each other, but here, men I tell you, you wannanother beer?-
-sure men-
-Girls just wanna **** you cause I'm black, you know, to be cool and ****
-yeah, Jewish girls wanna **** white Gentiles, different reasons same goal-
-I hear you, here it's all about being fashionable, but deep in the pit it's all fake as a 10 dollar coin-
We kept at it until Beth started a fight with another ****** they were calling each other **** I've never heard.
Aug 28, 2014
Aug 28, 2014 at 10:43 PM UTC
(for Cyril Connolly)
The piers are pummelled by the waves;
In a lonely field the rain
Lashes an abandoned train;
Outlaws fill the mountain caves.
Fantastic grow the evening gowns;
Agents of the Fisc pursue
Absconding tax-defaulters through
The sewers of provincial towns.
Private rites of magic send
The temple prostitutes to sleep;
All the literati keep
An imaginary friend.
Cerebrotonic Cato may
Extol the Ancient Disciplines,
But the muscle-bound Marines
Mutiny for food and pay.
Caesar's double-bed is warm
As an unimportant clerk
Writes I DO NOT LIKE MY WORK
On a pink official form.
Unendowed with wealth or pity,
Little birds with scarlet legs,
Sitting on their speckled eggs,
Eye each flu-infected city.
Altogether elsewhere, vast
Herds of reindeer move across
Miles and miles of golden moss,
Silently and very fast.
4.8k
Through grain fields with bayonets fixed,
from Belleau Woods the Germans came.
The sixth Marines in shallow pits
unleashed a deadly metal rain.
The French collapsed upon the left
Their flank exposed by craven fear
The Marines held fast when urged to flee:
"Retreat?, Monsieur? We just got here."
By June the sixth, it fell to them
to take a Hill to save the French.
A German company with machine guns
waited for them, well entrenched.
Their tactics from another war,
Audacious yes, but not too clever
"Come on, you ******** Dan Daly roared,
"Do you really want to live forever?"
With casualties high, so many dead
The Marine Corps held the hill by night.
Counter attacks were fended off
some times with fists and K bar knife.
Now the cannon of both sides
rained steel where the combatants stood:
A once beautiful preserve of princes
was turned into a shattered wood.
Through mustard gas and cannon fire
The Marines advanced into the Wood.
Silenced machine guns and cut bared wire
till the enemy fled, this time for good.
Before the flag at Iwo flew,
Before the Canal's jungle squalor
Marines were nicknamed "Devil Dogs"
by the Germans who admired valor.
Jan 14, 2012
Jan 14, 2012 at 3:37 PM UTC
If you know the tale of El Chapo,
You know then what will befall
Even the person who's known as
The most famous drug lord of all.
Exporting more drugs to America
Than anyone else in the past,
El Chapo lived like a king
On the millions of dollars he amassed.
You didn't mess with El Chapo.
Woe betide you if you did!
Not only would you suffer,
So would your spouse or your kid.
Back in the 90s El Chapo
Found himself in a scrape
And landed in a Mexican prison,
But he found a way to escape.
A protracted stay in the slammer
For him was not in the cards:
He bought his way to freedom
By bribing the prison guards.
For thirteen years El Chapo
Evaded capture and hid.
He kept up his shady dealings
While trying to stay off the grid.
Authorities in Chicago
Gave this man on the run
Notoriety as Public
Enemy Number One.
In 2015 the drug lord
Was back in prison again.
This time he fled through a tunnel
Dug by some of his men.
One day marines closed in.
They thought they'd caught their man.
El Chapo held a child
In his arms as he ran.
Soon El Chapo got sloppy.
No one could catch him, he thought.
Alas, the marines tracked him down.
Back to a cell he was brought.
Now the Americans want him.
Extradite him, they say.
El Chapo will be an example
To show that crime doesn't pay.
So, say good-bye, El Chapo,
As you sadly wipe your tears.
We hope you like your new home;
You're going to be there for years.
Yes, say good-bye, El Chapo,
To your Sinaloa Cartel.
A maximum security prison
Will be your new citadel.
- by Bob B
Oct 2, 2016
Oct 2, 2016 at 10:41 AM UTC
A dozen fellows draped in threadbare tread densely,
Profligating goons in obsidian gowns
gathered under rainbow
moonshine shaking bronze hands,
howling and ****** in the shambles of the moon,
rap'n and nod'n to the notes of midnight.
The mellow marines mourned over malice,
lionizing over lost ones,
many howled venerated, exalted in wonder
in favor of their thrilling grace, and delight,
and brilliance, and might!
but some neighboring sticklers,
behaved haughty and in disdain,
of the crowdy Cavaliers bellowing echoes
signaling out
to the seers of the sea,
singing to the wands overwatching the wedding,
and ravens listened,
roving like noble patrolsmen.
Traveleres and trainees at sea
humble and bright
niave, and frieghtened
in traverse,
volatile and toiling,
tireless,
Lunatics, (laughing, laughing, laughhing,)
Rumaging through rain,
fireciely,
rallying and rableroused,
through towering halls of mohogony,
hefty and wholesome were their hearts
though, beast of the woodsy edifice
were foul and benumb
scowling with contempt,
haste to devide and devised to hindrance.
Hence the heroes heed
to the valleys of rose, and violet,
and strawberry fields of forever,
seeking Saint Nicholas,
in the bustling Byzantium,
in the murky shadows of doubt.
Sep 18, 2018
Sep 18, 2018 at 10:08 AM UTC
It started hot and passionate and blinding.
Then it ran,
ran from me
faster than the alpine highway or
an Afro over your cute lisp.
And a bus leaves for 13 colonies and 14 days and
pictures are all I have.
Colorful but in
50 shades of grey.
Then never a breath from you
on the home front.
And disappointment marks my eyes.
Running all over town with eyes
like video cameras and
minds like a metal detector.
We wish we could be a fly on the wall or a plant in the earth or a new hair on your chin.
All moments,
every moment,
we know.
My fiend.
Detect this on your police detector.
Little blue Honda that looks tan in the sun.
White Camry.
Up the street then back down.
Serpentine through the neighborhoods
hoping to see a familiar body,
but not be seen ourselves.
Every day
till July 15.
Then waving goodbye to an empty house I once knew.
Where I stayed too long and talked too much about nothing.
Too many memories to remember and flash before my heart.
Then I blink and they're gone and we've passed it.
And finally I've mimicked Taylor Swift
and wrote a song about Paris.
And boys in Montreal.
Late hours. Early hours.
All hours.
Spent engulfed in our own music from our minds.
Military men. Marines that cheat and break hearts.
not enough sleep.
Lots of tire on asphalt.
Up and down and up and down and back again.
Not enough French
and a brand new white iPhone.
And the sun sets on another day
and still the one thing I want
doesn't go my way.
Jul 21, 2013
Jul 21, 2013 at 11:57 PM UTC
You swell some strain on me,
You, middle kingdom!
Eradicating small detachments,
Of both sailors and marines.
They were ranked on islets and reefs,
With an integer of nine –
There in the island next to me,
I’m sure, you know who Spratly is.
Always wanting such detachment
To be eradicated by your own;
Now stationed
On a World War II era landing ship.
Your toy-ships came near me,
With 9-kilometer of the LST.
“It’s there illegally,”
How adamant that be!
I’ve tipped you off already,
Surely will I stand firm!
Then, you’ve countered me on! –
Opting for the ******** of more skyscrapers;
Those that are on stilts;
Now nearby two Reefs & a Bank? –
Nearby my darling Palawan Island!
“There is no room at all,”
For the negotiation on some point,
You’ve declared.
Oh, here’s my friend, U.S.
Left us with course of action to try;
Everyone calm down,
Be less provocative.
For often, he flies over;
Probing some stuffs.
You are the biggest offender, my friend;
In this dispute, you show no sign of slowing;
Or backing, down.
But hey, I won’t give up!
(9/9/13)
May 27, 2014
May 27, 2014 at 10:03 PM UTC
While we were here watching and waiting
Brave soldiers were out there fighting
Fighting for our country
Fighting for the citizens
Fighting for their own lives
Every day there are people who give life and limb for the sake of others
Every day there are people who left everything behind to ensure that we have a good future in this country
Many days we forget who gave us the life that we have now
Many days we forget about the Army, the Marines, The Air Force, The Navy, The Coast Guard
Men and Women are out there fighting
While we are here watching and waiting
Nov 5, 2018
Nov 5, 2018 at 12:17 PM UTC
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
*The man with green hair and green hands.
A long long time ago
When army’s wore uniforms.
We were khaki they were grey.
My grandfather was fire warden
In WW2 he had seven sons
And three daughters .
You could say he was
a bit of a pacifist.
Make love not war
Was his mantra.
He married my Grandma
when she was seventeen.
They were to stay married
for over sixty five years.
And produce tribe of ten children.
He had spent his whole life
Working as a coppersmith
For the same company.
His hair and hands tinted green
From the metals Verdigris.
My father was a baby just born
In the middle of the war.
We lived in Manchester.
Money was always tight.
But we were happy.
Just as Herr ****** invaded Poland
My grandad bought our first house.
We always rented until then.
It was a large town home.
The six older boys
All joined the marines
At the outbreak of the war.
They did one act of preparation
That ultimately saved the family.
They took down an old barn for a farmer
And used the beams to shore up the stone cellar
of the house.
When the air raids came later.
We would all huddle under the stair well
Until the all clear sirens sounded.
When the bad raid came
It was the early hours of the night.
Grandad was out on fire watch.
Six of the sons were on ships
In Europe and the far east.
My aunty told me much later.
When the war was long over.
She heard the bomb falling
It screamed as it fell.
Exploding just outside our house
the house caved in and they
were all buried under the rubble
in total darkness.
She said grandma was
breastfeeding the baby my dad.
Grandad was busy the raid was a hard one.
A friend said Frank your house has been hit
It’s bad.
He dropped everything and ran and ran
Breathless he reached the fallen house.
In his heart he thought we were all dead.
It took ten neighbors four hours to reach us.
They pulled the girls out first
Then the baby my dad.
And finally the dimutive figure of my grandma.
She was weeping.
She said Frank we’ve lost everything.
There’s nothing left.
He held her in his big arms
Tears flowing from the eyes of a man
Who had had a hard life.
Who never cried.
He kisses her full on her lips
A single sign of public affection
That was out of his character.
He whispered to grandma.
That odd Mary
Because I just found
Everything I ever wanted or needed.*
Oct 30, 2015
Oct 30, 2015 at 12:36 AM UTC
I hate the way you treat me,you make me want to yell at the top of my lungs and scream!
Is this the way a home is supposed to be, I thought we were all supposed be in peace and harmony.
I tear these walls down and destroy this house that we all share,
Revealing all the "love and care" you where supposed to bare.
I'm sick and tired of all the fighting and all of the manipulation, you say we're all family, I call it humiliation.
Your such a 2 faced person your like a dime, you say one thing and then say another you can never make up your mind.
I'm glad I'm moving out, joining the marines was best decision with out a doubt.
You say your tired of everyone's **** yet we're tired of it all maybe it's time we call it quits.
Don't get me wrong I love you all, but sometimes I honestly wana break down these walls.
May 7, 2014
May 7, 2014 at 11:10 PM UTC
No one saw it coming,
that warm September day-
Not the workers at the pudding shack
Who mixed sweet treats for pay.
Not the Rookie at the pressure valves
Not the people in the town
It was the Rookies’ rank incompetence
That set in motion what went down.
Nine vats of Snack Time pudding
Exploded with a roar
Nine hundred thousand gallons
Went oozing out the door
The workers never had a chance
On this, their final day
Ending up like Easter bunnies
For a giant’s holiday
That mighty wave of chocolate.
Like a Tsunami hit the town.
Sweet creamy death swept over them
Deliciously, they drowned.
Others turned and tried to flee.
They ran for all their worth.
The swift were lucky to escape
This scrumptious hell on earth
The survivors of the snack slide
Lost all they owned in town
It was a diabetics’ wet dream
Everything was chocolate brown.
It was the worst snacktastrophe
Our land had ever seen.
Obama sent marines with spoons
The air force dropped whipped cream
Nov 26, 2011
Nov 26, 2011 at 10:50 PM UTC
You're my heroes
you showed me that I'm strong
even when put down,
or when I'm hurt or wrong
You're brave,
risking your life in order to save
13 weeks of hell
blood, horror and flack jackets
an honored purple heart
you helped me come out of my shell
I'm proud to call you my family
my relatives, my blood.
going through a calamity
from Paris Island Soldiers to Vietnam Vets
You're Marines.
One day I'll stand in my dress blues
proudly walk through the door
fresh out the corp
I'll have stories for my children,
and I'll watch the military channel with my dad
but first I'll disregard death staring me in the face
and the sudden urge run
and I'll put up gun
and aim for the dream
of being an American Marine.
Jan 8, 2014
Jan 8, 2014 at 8:38 AM UTC
"Soldiers Heart"
Two brothers on their way
one wore blue
and
one wore gray
one came home
one stayed behind
one mother mourns
on a November's day.
212,938
bled and died
on
American soil.
"Irritable Heart"
14 years in the Philippines
far too many days
4200 died
so many miles away.
"Shell Shock"
Johnny got his gun
alive in the tomb
of his mind
no eyes
no ears
no arms
no legs
a beating heart
an active mind
alive
with memories and sensations
Paths of Glory
leads
the way
and 53,402 stay
while one came home.
"Battle Fatigue"
291,557
perished.
Nagasaki got its bomb
six million died
before our fathers and grandfathers
liberated them.
To the 38th Parallel
we did go
where old soldiers
never die
they just fade away
with
time.
33,746 died.
"Stress Response Syndrome"
Apocalypse Now
Jacob had his ladder
in
the jungles of Vietnam
Full Metal Jacket
Born in the USA
homeless veterans
now aged still pay today
while 47,424
lay in their graves.
"Post Traumatic Stress Disorder"
My daughter
my son-in-law
bring it all
back home to me
Navy Medics
seven years
they traveled with the Marines
picking up the pieces
as they went their way
many too many trips
for all those young
troops
now we are
seeing
their heroism
proceeding
despite being afraid
a price
dearly
we all pay.
5,282 and still counting.
Nov 11, 2014
Nov 11, 2014 at 11:09 AM UTC
The Real Poets Here
are small craft
sailing between the narrows of crack'd lines,
employ the spyglass and luck to you,
for them to find
their voyages do not widen the chasm of waste,
yawning greater now by propped up boasts of
ugly shipowners who sin by commission,
national ***** crowing of the greatest length of their prow,
thinking that is a measure of prowess,
their tubs,
all but empty wordy new container ships,
that are forever lost at sea,
even before leaving port
they,
the real poets,
are the quiet lost lot,
a troop of forgettable ordinary Marines,
the sailors in the engine room toiling,
exploring cartographers ***** from the ****** crafting struggle,
looking to discover unmapped,
invisible poles,
East and West
opening up new passages,
within us,
with new passages
when called to arms,
the real poets
spill fresh ***** fluids from within the heart and mind borne,
upon the blank spaces,
they stain us with the grasping gasps of their sight insided
fertile are the pastures
where they lay low modest lay thinking,
amidst the splendor in the grass
of them
I
proudly will ever boast,
hold them close and ever nameless,
but deep inscribed inside of me
*Ah,
the real poets keep me
whole within the
ever smaller white purity of this narrow space
that has lost the struggle
to contains the
unceasing ever spawning black letter'd oceans and navies of
repetitive sad, sadly repetitive,
puerile singsong cant
that never sings,
can't never please,
but trends to the masses madly
dewdrops of tears,
are my own trees felled,
an acknowledgement that
when I read their unintended homages to humankind,
that when realized,
they speak with great respect,
all quietly scream this whisper...
all this,
that I have written,
and will yet to write,
this is all,
to give
greater glory to all human ability
whose
sole purposed to fill us,
wrench us from our lackadaisical comfort,
or urgently comfort us when none else can,
these are my friends,
the real poets here*
god keep you well
my trite words insufficient
so I gift you
some words worthy from
Wordsworth
Jun 12, 2014
Jun 12, 2014 at 3:29 AM UTC
If you take away the ticker-tape barriers
and the scattered signs for luggage,
vending machines and airport
senior leadership teams,
all you’ll have is a hall of
travel.
Some seats remain
for the elderly to reside in,
they’re checking holiday books
and pamphlet guides.
Floor space has curdled
into a mess of white-deodorant-
stained teens who want a
good night’s sleep like
the marines across the way.
They, the marines, joke about
the weather, the women, the
watered down beverages from broken
vending machines and shit-cafe-
expensive-coffee down the strip.
De Gaulle is but a roof now:
drains and curving stretches of
eyebrow iron,
not the general France
once relied upon.
Mar 28, 2013
Mar 28, 2013 at 1:54 PM UTC
AMERICA, THE BEAUTIFUL?
Were you aware that our nation opposed Haiti's revolution for democracy in the early 1800s; that our nation's war against Mexico that began in 1846 resulted in our taking half of Mexico for ourselves; that our nation defeated Spain ostensibly to liberate Cuba, but actually established a military base on the island and furtively gained de facto control of its puppet government; that our nation seized Puerto Rico, Hawaii, and Guam; that our nation had fought a brutal war to subjugate the Phillipines; that our nation had opened Japan for trade with us with threats and gunboats; that our nation created an "Open Door" policy with China to exploit it economically; that our nation engineered a revolution against Colombia to create the nation of Panama so we could build the canal through it; that our nation sent 5,000 Marines in 1926 to Nicaragua to counter their democratic revolution; that our nation in 1916 intervened in the Dominican Republic for the fourth time; that our nation in 1915 intervened in Haiti for the second time, and so on. Imperialism, not democracy, steered our nation's decisions and movements.
Did any of you learn about, let alone study extensively, any of these flagitious Ameican acts and policies as you sat and squirmed in your high school American history class? My surmise is that you did not. But I bet you were required in at least one of your classrooms sometime between 1st and 12th grade to stand at attention, as it were, and recite the Pledge of Allegiance as you saluted the flag in the corner. My riposte: What does it matter if our flags are waving, if our spirits are flagging?
Epilogue: Most importantly, never forget that it was the two evils of slavery and genocide that propelled our nation into what once was the most influential nation on Earth.
Copyright 2020 Tod Howard Hawks
Jun 26, 2020
Jun 26, 2020 at 8:52 PM UTC
"Soldiers Heart"
Two brothers on their way
one wore blue
and
one wore gray
one came home
one stayed behind
one mother mourns
on a November's day.
212,938
bled and died
on
American soil.
"Irritable Heart"
14 years in the Philippines
far too many days
4200 died
so many miles away.
"Shell Shock"
Johnny got his gun
alive in the tomb
of his mind
no eyes
no ears
no arms
no legs
a beating heart
an active mind
alive
with memories and sensations
Paths of Glory
leads
the way
and 53,402 stay
while one came home.
"Battle Fatigue"
291,557
perished.
Nagasaki got its bomb
six million died
before our fathers and grandfathers
liberated them.
To the 38th Parallel
we did go
where old soldiers
never die
they just fade away
with
time.
33,746 died.
"Stress Response Syndrome"
Apocalypse Now
Jacob had his ladder
in
the jungles of Vietnam
Full Metal Jacket
Born in the USA
homeless veterans
now aged still pay today
while 47,424
lay in their graves.
"Post Traumatic Stress Disorder"
My daughter
my son-in-law
bring it all
back home to me
Navy Medics
seven years
they traveled with the Marines
picking up the pieces
as they went their way
many too many trips
for all those young
troops
now we are
seeing
their heroism
proceeding
despite being afraid
a price
dearly
we all pay.
5,282 and still counting.
For all those who have walked in the horrors of war
and the grief too countless to tell.
Let us all pray in our way,
work in our days
for the end of war.
Nov 11, 2015
Nov 11, 2015 at 9:42 AM UTC
The Marines
The Few, The Proud
The Brave, the Courageous
Disciplined, Proper
From Paris Island Soldiers to Vietnam Vets
Its a position for freedom
a job for the fearless
Protecting our country day in and day out
1992 to 1994
Dads unit secured naval ships
sweat, tears and will power
guns blazing with 875 rounds a minute
1966 to 1968
His dad served in Vietnam
blood, gore and gunshots
flack jackets, an honored purple heart
learn to **** and not get killed
and never proffer anything less than the best
you’re there to out stand and defend
to honor, to provide
One day I’ll be standing here, in my dress blues
with my hair neatly slicked back, tight in a bun
I’ll have stories to tell my children
and I’ll watch the Military channel with my father
but first
I’ll learn to disregard the fear
of death staring you in the face
or the sudden urge to run
then I’ll wonder,
putting up my gun, aiming, and shooting for my dreams
of being an American Marine
Nov 15, 2013
Nov 15, 2013 at 10:01 AM UTC
Whenever I'm in pain
I just whisper
"I'm a Marine I'm a Marine I'm a Marine"
Because Marines are the strongest
The first to fight
The few, the proud
I can't wait until I claim the title
And live up to my name
But before that, I believe
I am a Marine
And the pain always lessens
Feb 6, 2016
Feb 6, 2016 at 6:26 PM UTC
watching you walk away
tore my insides to bits,
i know you'll come home,
but my fears are irrational.
when you love someone so much
that it hurts badly when they leave
for an extended period of time,
you know that you'd die
if they ever truly left you.
his green eyes watered
as he departed for the marines,
and i knew that this would change
everything.
i have a ring on my finger
telling him that i'll keep loving him
no matter how long he's gone,
letting him have that faith.
but
i don't know how long
i can keep my sanity
i cannot live without him here.
Nov 17, 2013
Nov 17, 2013 at 3:15 PM UTC
Timmy Ray, poor boy from Kentucky.
Football scholarship.
Degree in Business Administration.
Respectable job, bored.
Enlists with best friend in Marines as a macho trip.
Vietnam, what a crock.
This ain’t football. And it ain’t fair.
Schemes to get out,
ignores an order to go out on patrol,
******** mission, but the friend goes,
gets shot up bad.
Timmy Ray runs out to help the friend, is shot.
It’s all blood and mud, man, blood and mud.
Friend paralyzed, Timmy Ray okay.
Court-martial for Timmy Ray, discharge.
The friend takes an overdose.
“No moral here,” Timmy Ray says. “My
war story. That’s all.”
Timmy Ray makes sculptures, big metal things.
No people.
“The human body’s been done,” he says.
Downtown Detroit in front of an office
he welds a pile of globes,
names it “Love” so he’ll get paid
but he says it’s really “Moose Brain.”
These days, Timmy Ray’s hand
trembles. He volunteers at a suicide
hot line. No moral there,
either. Moose brain.
Jun 25, 2015
Jun 25, 2015 at 12:23 PM UTC
In less than a year
you will be gone
into the Marines
off to fight a war that someone else made
off to go
"kick some ***
and god **** it
I know you'll kick ***
but i will miss you.
just don't die, okay?
i'll miss you
and i'll always love you
just please keep being okay
keep kicking ***
Aug 30, 2013
Aug 30, 2013 at 11:09 PM UTC
I know paradise
has never been lost
and so it can never be regained
like the moon, a one-eyed girl
in sandles running from the Marines
and the stars are her sisters
hiding in the dark bamboo,
only sixteen dressed in black
falling out of a tree at midnight
a rifle in her hands, a bullet in her heart.
Jul 3, 2016
Jul 3, 2016 at 7:42 AM UTC
The Marines
The Few, The Proud
The Brave, the Courageous
Disciplined, Proper
From Paris Island Soldiers to Vietnam Vets
Its a position for freedom
a job for the fearless
Protecting our country day in and day out
1992 to 1994
Dads unit secured naval ships
sweat, tears and will power
guns blazing with 875 rounds a minute
1966 to 1968
His dad served in Vietnam
blood, gore and gunshots
flack jackets, an honored purple heart
learn to **** and not get killed
and never proffer anything less than the best
you’re there to out stand and defend
to honor, to provide
One day I’ll be standing here, in my dress blues
with my hair neatly slicked back, tight in a bun
I’ll have stories to tell my children
and I’ll watch the Military channel with my father
but first
I’ll learn to disregard the fear
of death staring you in the face
or the sudden urge to run
then I’ll wonder,
putting up my gun, aiming, and shooting for my dreams
of being an American Marine
Dec 5, 2013
Dec 5, 2013 at 7:15 PM UTC