"medic" poems
Turn the corner
Hand tenses
Looking down the iron sights I see an object fall
"Tango down" I call over the radio
what was his name? Tango, Threat, Terrorist, doesn't matter.
Explosion
Mud brick wall vaporized into dust
Keep going
Out of breathe
Keep going
Hand tenses
"Tango down"
Does it have kids? A Family? Threat eliminated
Round the corner
Hand tenses
"Three tangos on west building roof top"
Bullets from my brothers **** by my helmet
Return fire
"Take Cover!"
Sweat drenched face fogs up my goggles
Explosion
Brick pieces pummel my back
Ears ringing, faintly hearing
"Alpha down, Medic!"
Blurred vision, equilibrium thrown off
Raise my rifle
Hand tenses
Silhouette falls
"Medic!" heard faintly
Hand tenses
"Are you okay?" sounds distant
Hand tenses
"babe?" getting louder
Hand tenses
Hand tenses
Wake up
Sheets heavy with sweat
"Babe, are you ok?"
Throwing the blankets I jump back to the edge of the bed
Her frightened face
I've seen before
I look down
Hands tense
Same look, no tangos
No threats
Just Ghosts
May 23, 2014
May 23, 2014 at 12:01 AM UTC
Check back soon to resume and consume
every tight-lipped, slack-jawed fool in the room.
See, it's all what you know
as the fires start to grow
and the future burns slow.
Keep your eyes on the ceiling,
and your antenna feelers feelin',
for when your senses stop reeling,
you will finally start believing.
Kick-back to the basics,
not too far from the basement,
and close enough to show
that **** really isn't basic.
It's another mid-west, ******
******** freak show.
Another evening drinking whiskey
with the seedling's peep-show.
So, it's time to relax and relapse
into acidified broken synapse.
The lights keep flickering
and the couples keep bickering:
***** I am not above homicidal snickering.”
I steer clear of these diversions,
and wander past the sermons,
just to chew up all the crooked talk
and spittle out inversions.
I shovel mockery to hypocrisy,
pin-prick the empty *****
whose passions lack predicates,
and in the background, I'll be complexifying my medic-kit:
ketamine, morphine, ecstasy;
marijuana, mushrooms, LSD.
Watch those ******* jitter-bug college *****
procreate while sloppy drunk,
but keep an honest eye
on the flies that will rise above –
then fall back down in existential angst, like:
“Dear God, why must I be free?
Oh, God! Why is every universal eye on me?
I'm just another acid war veteran,
sneakin' through these gutters
with pestilence and bitter sin.
When they reach the promised land
of golden clouds and holding hands,
I'll be underground with the slugs and the spider band.”
Yet here I sit, sick of sippin' poisons with illiterates.
So, let the skies fall and the buildings crash,
as you stand on the wall with a fist full of cash.
I'll be on the front lawn,
picketing for dawn,
while the night around me slowly ambles on.
Aug 21, 2012
Aug 21, 2012 at 12:23 AM UTC
In a fit of pique truths were written.
In a moment of reflection all was deleted.
Platitudes were written back instead.
Who am I to speak of the dead?
A wife was ungrateful with truth.
Did a pen pal want
what the sacred vows of marriage
Make unacceptable realities?
For whom would I have written? Who would it have pleased?
Staring at a fresh e-mail in humbled wonderment
that someone would give decent pretense to care
I -safely back from war- now ask: what do you want to know?
Do you really want to know?
Is it my place to tell
of seeing a man's insides
on the outside
of a vehicle who's occupants he unwittingly saved
by stepping on the landmine instead?
The mine splattered the survivors' vehicle in red.
Is it my place to tell
Of listening to the medic's confession?
Hearing him speak of tasting the blood in the air
like pennies on his tongue.
There's a tale I haven't heard sung!
I met my Shadow
I embraced him so deeply that I
As I had existed before
Ceased to be.
The naive child thinking it was Light
The Predatory Survivor others (cowards!) may judge as Dark
Were forged together
Stronger perhaps
Time will tell
As the alloy of two selves is unified by a personal hell
Cheering at outgoing steel rain
Laughing after the whizzing of bullets is a memory
Running, racing to donate more blood
Mourning the fallen while bathed in the dim red glow of chem lights
Watching honored corpses loaded in near darkness for their last helicopter flights
Is this what you wanted to hear?
Perhaps you knew.
Perhaps you imagined you knew.
Regardless
For your consideration
Thank you
For your innocent
Well-intentioned
Beautifully petty
Gloriously naive
And honest letters
Thank you.
Truly
Sep 19, 2013
Sep 19, 2013 at 6:18 PM UTC
I looked at the body sprawled out on the ground.
I saw people run from all directions as soon as it happened.
As soon as the car crashed, and the driver landed.
People screamed, people cried, People gasped.
I looked at the body sprawled out on the floor.
Someone was calling for a doctor, someone was calling for a medic.
Everything was hectic after that brief few minutes when everything slowed.
At first, all people could do was stand in disbelief.
I looked at the body sprawled out on road.
The ****** corpse with a distant look in it's eyes.
Made me remember what had happened.
Just the look it the eyes gave me the memory.
Before I was carried away to Heaven.
Mar 7, 2015
Mar 7, 2015 at 1:12 PM UTC
Always in danger, his life on the line
Death being ever present in this land
They sent him here to defend his country
Thus is the life of a US soldier
The native peoples in this dying land
despise his presence; his merciless work
Thus is the life of a US soldier
His woman leaves him lying frozen, and
forgotten on an Afghani mountain
Thus is the life of these US soldiers
Bullets unleashed by the Mujahideen
cause American blood to mix with the mud;
the same blood that covers the young medic’s hands
Thus is the life of a US soldier
The mortar lands only a few feet away
and the boy becomes apart from his legs
Thus is the life of a US soldier
While the sergeant is screaming
Return Fire!
A private cries out for his distant mother
Thus is the life of a US soldier
Eventually their tour comes to an end, and
they board the plane that is pointed towards home
yet fifteen seats are empty; no soldiers
will use these seats to return home this day.
Thus is the life of a US soldier
Having done their job, they can rest for now;
rest until they are sent back to the land
they have so rightly named “the nation of death”
Thus is the life of a US soldier
The plane soon lands; the men will stand, anxious
to lay eyes on their forgotten homeland
Thus is the life of a US soldier
He will exit the plane and she is waiting
but she won’t be able to recognize him
because the scars on his face disguise him;
his sunken eyes betray his identity
Thus is the life of a US soldier
Another warrior weeps as he hugs his wife
and she hands his daughter into his arms;
he holds his infant for the very first time
Thus is the life of a US soldier
Twelve months later the men will board that plane again
and leave the land they have sworn to defend
Thus is the life of a U.S. Army Soldier.
Feb 14, 2011
Feb 14, 2011 at 11:31 AM UTC
I remember when I was at the concert.
I could feel the tsunami of the crowd
As the headliner started.
Nothing to hear but screaming and music.
Electricity shot through the veins of all,
Some intoxicated, some not
we all feel the same musical passion.
The time of excitement was now.
Pit after pit of swarms engulf the crowd.
******* in the unexpected but willing.
But to protect a friend,
I was a fortress against the mob.
Listening to the music, the lights flashed.
and from nowhere known,
A natural weapon struck my face.
Turning around, feeling no pain,
But assured of the severity
by the river of blood I unwillingly donated.
Into the washroom, I stumbled.
Blood mixing with the nectar of life.
Outside to the medic I casually waltzed.
Swollen eyes, nose, and disappointment.
Hearing the music from outside the hall,
my heart dropped, I blew the plans of fun.
But never fear, new friends are made.
The blood stops its own current,
and memories are established.
Stories to tell in the future.
Dec 10, 2013
Dec 10, 2013 at 12:52 AM UTC
Army, Navy, Air Force, Marine,
Air, space, land and sea;
Sailor, Corpman, Airman, Soldier,
Pilot, Ranger, Medic, SEAL,
or Merchant Mariner;
Barbary, 1812, American Revolution,
Civil, Spanish, Texan and Mexican,
WWI, WWII,
Korea, Vietnam,
Gulf, Iraq and Afghanistan.
Khaki, green, white and blue,
Ship, tank, plane... all boots.
Knife, pistol, bomb or rifle,
Weapon, bandage, or Bible instead,
Each one’s veins filled with red.
Hostage rescue, protect and shield,
Capture, conquer, overcome, never yield;
Freedom, heartbreak, loss and grief,
Foreign, home, border, sky,
Ocean, desert, mountain, plain,
Water side, hillside, bedside, grave.
Parent, child, father, mother,
Auntie, uncle, niece or nephew,
Sister, brother, spouse and lover.
May your sweat on furtive brow,
Rouse our tribute, take knee and bow.
Buried, missing... wounded all,
Respect, endure, honor, release,
Forever may you rest in peace.
*To each of you
Who’s paid a price,
With years, with limb,
With blood, with life,
For each of these,
Oh, warrior ferocious,
Wrapped around
A heart that’s precious;
My voice it sings,
Let freedom ring;
My heart, it bleeds,
My eyes, they weep;
My hand, it rises in salute;
And my soul is filled
This day for you
With pride that swells,
With love that beats,
A song of deepest,
Heartfelt
Gratitude!*
Oh Warrior, you this day I salute!!!
Nov 9, 2013
Nov 9, 2013 at 3:37 PM UTC
scratched walls,
horrifying screams,
of dreams,
electric chair stupor,
in the boudoir,
breathing lunar air,
it’s a psychotic affair.
dilated pupil,
the brain was being a cupel,
men in white coats,
injecting drugs,
in bodies like slugs.
soaked bodies in bath tub,
gazing on the ceiling reading what’s written up.
loonies conspiring against the medic,
through the power of psychedelic.
eyeing each doctor from the corner of their eye,
sitting on their chairs high.
burning with desire,
cold as a wire.
the breakout began at noon,
headed by a loon.
followed by a goon,
in the end of june.
the loons,
wanted to escape to the desert dunes,
running away from the chemical fumes,
dodging exhume.
electrocuted,
injected,
infected,
discarded and rejected.
the loons had taken over,
the goons had won.
they were stun.
terrible turn of events,
it was all in their mind tents,
still sulking on the beds and their wheel chairs,
dreaming of the answers of their prayers.
Jan 27, 2015
Jan 27, 2015 at 8:39 AM UTC
Letters come & go.
Messages from home: love lost.
Jefferson Davis
& “Honest” Abe Lincoln’s war…
…nothing more than flexing strength.
The sun rises up
above the barren Culp’s Hill
as Ewell kept them
back, & Jackson’s wishes were
lost on Cemetery Hill.
Gettysburg was filled
with mudpits, puddlepits, shitpits
& every kind of
pit. Not any kind that they
wished to see as guns moved up.
The barrage of shells
from the artillery was
never ending, not
unlike this cursed war, all
while brothers & sons were lost.
The second day came
with no signs of stopping, he
packed his gear, grabbed his
rifle, & marched out to the
sound of Charon’s ferrying.
The medic rushes
out onto the battlefield
hesitating not.
His crude instruments flailing
about in his pack, he works.
Medicine, horror,
they were synonyms to him
as he braced the man;
scraping against flesh, he screamed.
This Civil War--hell on Earth.
Sawing off a leg
was much harder than once thought,
the medic then knew.
In the thick of battle, screams
drowned out screams, & drowned out screams.
Bullets whizzed by him
as he cleaned up his patient.
Or was it victim?
These days it all seemed the same:
North, South, free, slave, dead, living.
What once was blue ‘n gray
was now brown & black & red.
Explosions tore up
the land around him as he
cleared his vision & finished.
Out of the brush, fear
overtook the medic as
a man in blue clashed
with a man in gray; blood ‘n sweat
drenched both as life was on balance.
The medic was stunned
& failed to bring himself to
act at first. He shook
himself awake, & grabbed his
knife, & leapt into the fray.
His knife plunged precise
into the blue man’s heart. No
soldier, but knew his
stuff. The gray man thanked him, &
the South fought another day.
All for naught, for on
that third day, Lee ran with his
tail betwixt his legs
all the way to Virginia.
Two years later, all for naught.
July fourth, eighteen
sixty-three, no cheers, no love,
no wins for us folk.
Only them **** Yanks get their love
from home: letters come & go.
Sherman’s March left him
quaking in his boots; gone was
his love. Gone was his
home. Gone were his letters. All
of it gone. Gone with the wind.
Jan 14, 2014
Jan 14, 2014 at 2:10 PM UTC
In memoriam Asher and Franklin
Farmers flocked to Blossburg's mines
willing their abandoned plows
to perpetual dust and rain.
Burrowing into the Tioga hills
with Keagle picks and sledges,
they filled their trams with rough cut coal.
Black diamonds - carved for waiting boilers
of New England mills and trains
and Pennsylvania's winter stoves.
Brothers, Frank and Asher swung their picks
in tunnels deep beneath the hills
and brushed away the clouds of soot.
Their coughs at first seemed harmless
enough as from nagging colds or flus -
but deepened as their lungs turned black.
Pain and choking drove them to their beds
where no medic's art could aid them.
Then the coroner came to seal their eyes.
A stonecutter's chisel marks their brevity
on an marble graveyard obelisk
that pays no homage to their sacrifice.
September, 2007
Aug 22, 2013
Aug 22, 2013 at 3:57 PM UTC
(Corpus Christi, Texas-circa 1947)
It's a short block, a cul-de-sac,
total of sixteen houses lining the street.
No sidewalks, the grass ends
where the curb begins.
A lone palm tree stands in the southwest corner of the front yard.
There were no fences separating the properties
Driveways, leading to the separated garages were the markers.
That didn't stop us, however-
The neighborhood was a continuous playground.
Many families were military-
in the U S Navy,
Or civil service employees
at the Corpus Christi Naval Air Station
From those sixteen homes were twenty-three children-
some families had multiple children-
ranging from four to twelve..............I was six years old-
For the parents, finding peace and quiet
was only a dream
I learned to ride a bike on that street-
although learning how to stop it
was another issue.........
Had it not been for that lone palm tree.
I became very adept at timing-
knowing when to jump off that bike-
moments before impact-
Eventually, I learned what dad meant with
"USE THE BRAKES!"
A few bruises
some scrapes(arm or knee)
Nothing serious-
I survived!
As our parents aged, they often would reminisce about those days. Dad had two major philosophies about growing up: "Yards were made for kids to play in", and "If we can hear them, at least we know where they are!" Most of the time they were in our backyard playing on our swing and trapeze set that a family friend built for me and my brother. That yard was, basically, a "miniature park."
Our mother was, what is termed now, a "stay at home mom." She was the "overseer, watchdog, and resident medic." At least two or three times a day, she answered the phone, only to hear another mother's voice asking if their kid was over there, and if so, tell him, or her, to go home.
While reminiscing, the one thing that our father, mother, and my brother agreed on is, "That was one hell of a sturdy bike!" I never will forget that palm tree. It saved my a_ _ more than once!!
Society has changed, Donna, you're absolutely right!!
copyright: richard riddle July 20, 2015
revised: July 21, 2015
Jul 20, 2015
Jul 20, 2015 at 2:06 PM UTC
prepare for the high gates to fall.
for the great bowl of us
to submerge under stolen soul waves
& atomic guts.
the seven year tribes; or
fissure of statehoods and broods and brother against brother.
end drenched in whisky blood,
& desperado cheese.
fungus.
[the rebellion kids] with their drums and sling-shots,
get their throats cut in the open street sweet heat
& blitzkrieg.
all first-born hearts plucked
from atop the great pyramid, preserved, and in
frosted time-capsules.
yet the leopards remain healthy.
while cities plunge into putrefaction &/or
radioactive ****
from **** to corner to tomahawk
in skull death note.
beaten back to the parking-lot of a best western;
in the battle of sacramento;
is an ammo-less infantry drummer,
& a bleeding medic.
they laugh and snap morphine tips
in the revelry of their final formations.
moon crescent
slows and all the woods liven with flocks of small children.
they live on plant sugars, wild
mushroom and boiled water.
they hide in caves of ancient etch;
old time-gone man & woman & buffalo.
they hunt owls with homemade crossbows
& cook the meat on holy spits.
grinding the little bones
into tincture rubbed beneath their eyes.
this, to exhume an astral essence.
Jul 17, 2014
Jul 17, 2014 at 4:56 AM UTC
A family man, running spandexed and puffing
reaches into the stroller at the crest of the hill
as the day sighs away the last of its dusk
hands a three year old a flashlight
and makes her a secret-wink promise.
*You'll move so quickly on your path,
it's your duty to carry a light with you
to keep you and others safe.*
A stern man and a hot scratchy washcloth
removing a Spice Girls bubblegum tattoo from
the nose of a seven year old, molecule by molecule.
*As soon as you get caught up in superficiality,
that's when you'll make mistakes. Don't make
mistakes that will last.*
A medic man returns from a surgery
from a rural village with more kindness than money.
Lays a basket of apples and a banana loaf on the table
in lieu of a cheque and says:
*There will be opportunities in your life for
your actions to define the kind of person you are-
always take them-
and never forget your common humanity.*
An animal man bursts into the room
with a puppy as new as a sparrow
gamboling, loving, seeking faces and laps.
*When choosing your first dog, look for
one that has more loyalty than shrewdness.
Choose your friends that way, too.*
A tired man breathes deeply instead of shouting
at the quivering teen and the confession of the bumper
and the scratch that shouldn't have happened.
Hurt softly with the truth.... but never with lies.
A romantic man recounts his history
raising his eyebrows at the score of his frolics
and makes me swear to fall madly in like
with every soul who my heart should kiss-
*but Love, reserve Love as the most sacred
of words, deeds, beings. When you Love,
you and he shall become one another,
and be one life.*
A sentimental man wears a silver crown
at the head of his dinner table meditating in
silence after the laughs and mayhem of his
family clan have subsided to the fireplace.
He looks at his daughter.
She looks at her father.
The fullness of her adult face
and Polish eyes reflect in his irises
blue inside blue inside blue inside blue-
making any separation between them
redundant, intangible, like-
mirrors facing mirrors-
as the roots of the
Tree run as deep as soul itself
and he murmurs:
*The day you hear the cry of your firstborn child
is the day you discover the meaning of your life-
and nothing will ever, ever be the same.*
Jan 15, 2013
Jan 15, 2013 at 6:34 PM UTC
I went to a party Mom,
I remembered what you said.
You told me not to drink,
Mom, so I drank soda instead.
I really felt proud inside, Mom,
The way you said I would.
I didn't drink and drive, Mom,
Even though the others said I should.
I know I did the right thing, Mom,
I know you are always right.
Now the party is finally ending, Mom,
As everyone is driving out of sight.
As I got into my car, Mom,
I knew I'd get home in one piece.
Because of the way you raised me,
So responsible and sweet.
I started to drive away, Mom,
But as I pulled out into the road,
The other car didn't see me, Mom,
And hit me like a load.
As I lay there on the pavement, Mom,
I hear the policeman say,
"The other guy is drunk," Mom,
And now I'm the one who will pay.
I'm lying here dying, Mom....
I wish you'd get here soon.
How could this happen to me, Mom?
My life just burst like a balloon.
There is blood all around me, Mom,
And most of it is mine.
I hear the medic say, Mom,
I'll die in a short time.
I just wanted to tell you, Mom,
I swear I didn't drink.
It was the others, Mom,
The others didn't think.
He was probably at the same party as I.
The only difference is, he drank,
And I will die.
Why do people drink, Mom?
It can ruin your whole life.
I'm feeling sharp pains now,
Pains just like a knife.
The guy who hit me is walking, Mom,
And I don't think it's fair.
I'm lying here dying,
And all he can do is stare.
Tell my brother not to cry, Mom,
Tell Daddy to be brave.
And when I go to heaven, Mom,
Put "GOOD BOY " on my grave.
Someone should have told him, Mom,
Not to drink and drive.
If only they had told him, Mom,
I would still be alive.
My breath is getting shorter, Mom,
I'm becoming very scared.
Please don't cry for me, Mom.
When I needed you, you were always there.
I have one last question, Mom.
Before I say good bye.
I didn't drink and drive,
So why am I the one to die?
Mar 8, 2013
Mar 8, 2013 at 6:37 PM UTC
My father a medic in Vietnam
for many years refused to wear
his wedding ring because he said
of countless times he had to handle
the aftermath of soldiers jumping
out of helicopters at the exact
moment their wedding rings caught
on protruding bolts or couplings,
leaving their fingers and rings
aboard Hueys while they fell
caterwauling in air below crimson
contrails dissolving in rotor wash
only to land, godforsaken,
in flooded rice paddies,
shocked and shaken, disjointed
but alive, forever joined in holy
matrimony to far-flung wives.
Nov 1, 2016
Nov 1, 2016 at 9:48 AM UTC
He was alone
Far from home
Isolated by bullets
As he bled on sand and stone
The explosion triggering the attack
Crushed vertebrae in a brother's back
A bullet tore through another's arm
The wound left a prominent scar
Through the radio, the lone voice of the isolated soldier:
"I've been shot...and it's bad."
Upon reaching the fallen, the medic knew from ****** experience
That his friend was a living corpse, dying is a process
Doc prayed he was wrong
He wasn't
Next week, next firefight
Their blood paid for our blood
Pray it meant something in the end
May 26, 2014
May 26, 2014 at 2:25 PM UTC
The headlights are coming at me,
I thought that they might stop,
but suddenly it hits me,
truly like a rock.
Down I go, lights are out,
here I lay, what was that about?
When I regain my senses & ask around,
the medic informs me
someone tried to warn me.
Now here i lay, all drugged up,
whole body hurts, waiting for the nurse.
I ask her to help, this is just my luck.
Guess you shouldn't play chicken with a Chevy truck.
"He will never **** you, but he will save your life if you allow him to."
Feb 13, 2011
Feb 13, 2011 at 4:55 PM UTC
She deserves recognition
For her work as a technician
Who's expertise is ball bustin
Who majors in ********
Excelling in the field of advance
Hot air production
A profession heckler who
Composes an orchestra conductin
A firework show eruptin
With colorful rants red, and purples
She's acclaimed for rhetorical
Questions that repeats in circles
An elite linguistics scholar
Who's sarcasm is an accomplishment
Very talented...no gifted at making
An insult sound like a compliment
And Her stamina to do so
Is like an Olympian who's pleased
Only when her track and field
Meet of slander makes ur ears bleed
A masters degree in belittling
A graduated philosopher for the bitter
Must be a psychologist the way
She attacks my sanity to litter
Insecurities, and doubts and I
Heard she has a phd in hypnosis
Until u start to believe her ********
And this psychosomatic is ur psychosis
A world class magician who's
Tricks leave u perplexed in thought
A novelist who narrates to taunt
Controlling all characters and plot
She wrote the book on torturing
A man and emasculating him so
He may never move forward and
She was in the military I'm told
Historically known for her
intellectual Warfare
Manipulating soilders and utilizing
The grounds to ambush u there
A social tyrant who's brilliant
Political ties help her achieve
Her plan like constituents are
Biased so they're all after me
A paralegal who's unfair and lethal
And to her it's titalation
Unfair is her terms but like a
Perm ull get burned in litagation
A degree in early childhood
Education so she acts like a rebel
Perfecting being childish and
Unaffected by ur feelings on levels
Only a schoolyard bully could
Match, she's my jailhouse warden
Who's power is focused on me
Relentlessly constructing like a foreman
With Her future blueprints to
See what the hell she builds for me
Will look like, and she's also a director
In the *********** industry
So she tells in great detail
Just how I'll be ******
She must have been taught by
Peter pan how to never grow up
Trained as medic who specializes
In one area over them all
Nudering human males
So surgically she removes my *****
After she breaks them and
So I am the constant fool
This exceptional jack of trades
Makes me wish that I stayed in school
Sep 13, 2014
Sep 13, 2014 at 7:54 PM UTC
I have the 'flu and it's Wednesday morning and my bones are groaning,but am I moaning?
YESSSS..
it's what men do when they get the 'flu and the world as they knew it comes to an end.
Please send for the medic,make it quick 'cause I am sick and while you're about it can you make me some soup.
Sep 25, 2013
Sep 25, 2013 at 2:06 AM UTC
Load the cannons, set the mines,
come on soldiers, not so slow.
In formation, form some lines.
Come on soldiers, go go go!
Medic! Medic! I’ve lost my leg.
Please come help me, I might just beg.
Bind it, sow it, just fix it quick
this waiting is making me completely sick.
Son, you are under a lot of pain
there is no way that I can block this vane.
Sooner than later you’re going to bleed to death,
if you want to say something, this may be your last breath.
I only wanted to make a change,
to do some good for the human race
and now, my efforts meant nothing
and still I was put through all this suffering.
But you did make a change,
you offered your life for your nation,
from training to the shooting range,
boot camp and the war sensation.
The pain, the sorrow of that one soul,
mortified by the hardship of war,
for all these soldiers have just one goal
and that is to sacrifice a life on the line
of a soldier being drenched in blood, divine.
To **** to die, to lie to thy,
a soldier sigh, and asks us why,
a woman cry, for her husband lie
in a trench… never did he say goodbye.
Jun 9, 2013
Jun 9, 2013 at 12:16 PM UTC
We post, tweet, google and skype
We re, fwd, edit and code
We have so much access, to so much tripe.
We log in, connect, update, download
Instant information,
endless exploration
constant zombification
Our wireless Nation
Pale electric shadows,
cast on the walls.
Unable to break from
the gripping siren's call
Camping the bodies
pwning the noobs
sniping their medic
just for the luls
Mining down deeply, into the nether
Waiting for spawns that follow the weather
Collecting the pets, weapons, mounts
Getting achievements that cross all accounts
So much to amaze, mesmerize, and entertain
All the things to look up, argue about, explain
A race with access to knowledge galore
and still we demand faster, better, MORE!
Mar 25, 2013
Mar 25, 2013 at 1:13 PM UTC
There is a man walking slowly in me
And he’s going through each room, one by one,
Turning on all the lights while passing by
Stripping the scenes with silver dollar eyes.
With a flick of his chicken bone finger
The kitchen lights violently flare up
To reveal tomato stains, upset
Stomachs, windows and broken table legs.
“Call the medic now!”– In the living room
The lights just found choked up throats and down town
Sticky red wine stains that bleat beat up
Little lambs for little peeps and little
Mistakes that become big scabs and big scams
That swallows the shallowest of waters.
Now the man who certainly loves the light
Is in the bathroom where the peeping brights
Gouge and grind the snuffed and lying young man
Till he is but the pulp and rind and juice.
“Where’s the medic?” Screams the mad running blood
“Where’s the ******* medic?” They cry again.
Now he tricks the porch light into being
Forcing it to leer upon this **** scene
Of a man barely living, most likely
Sleeping, with a garden hose stuffed down his
Gorgon throat seeping– weeping – all at once.
Where is he now? The man who loves the lights?
He’s walking to the impressive bedroom.
The lights wrestle and work the shadows down
Looking for the living, the last one home
Hiding away just in his underwear.
The man of lights opens the closet door
Just takes a look at the creature’s features
When he has finished, when he has remarked
He marks the skin with light, then tears it off.
He takes each muscle each tendon and bone
And throws them, crashing the walls as each falls!
Boom boom! Goes the muscle through the bathroom
Boom boom! Goes the bone through the kitchen
Boom boom! Goes the tendon through the bedroom.
Boom boom! Goes the heart through the rooftop
Boom Boom! Goes the head through the frondoor.
There was once a man that walked within me
And he has left the lights to burn on and on
Feb 24, 2011
Feb 24, 2011 at 2:00 PM UTC
The pilgrim's pull ashore....
Strange glass waves smash their feeble ships...
In the meanwhile upon land
In the distant abyss.....
The wildmen dance in song singing....
Ya ha ha-way!
Ya ha ha-way!
Ya ha ha-way!
Ha ha ** ha ha ha-way
Ha ha ** ha ha ha-way...........
Connecting to the creator
Hellion's to sojourner men
Outlandish semblance
Blush maroon colored skin...
Pinna's stitched into costume
As bead's wrap their neck
Efflorescence garbs their smiles
As sage smokes their chest's
Trace bouquet Smell's as oak
As the Willow's they do gather
Pinecones and nut's the both
Are used, eaten, and slathered
Tis
Their friends with the forest
Watchmen of Cimmerian adumbration
Not thy average native
Not found on t.v stations
They follow not the world
Nor the things of material crud
They gallop exposed
All unclothed painted in by the mud
Their mundunugu's and isangoma's
Their healer's of sickened loma's
Their future reader's
And old time Greeter's
They hash up balm pharmaceuticals
And mix in remedy anesthetics
Antibiotic doctors
Believer's in angelic medic
The pioneers come in
Scratching their heads
Bearing babies of far distance
Bringing disease with no end
They park their Vessels on edge
Of those wild men they call beasts
They plant their flag of hatred
And the redskin's are forgiving treat's
The ivory men draws gun
Whilst the natives draw their god
The pale man doth run
This is native land didst the whitened did trod
The natal men's Architect was stronger
Against the real true brutes
As the shaman sent home those foreigners
Back to England and Europe's coupé
As when the bleached beau's had left them
They went into different song
It goes like this
Please don't miss
These are the original's of the law!!!!
They Carol in fire hot dance...
Wee hee nah wee hee nah hee nah
Wee hee nah hee nah
Wee hee nah
Wee hee nah hee nah
Wee hee nah hee nah
Hey **
Jun 6, 2015
Jun 6, 2015 at 8:51 AM UTC
No way,
Not you,
I know you,
You're not a gangster,
We grew up on the same street
Sure it was not the best place to lay our heads or sleep,
But we were alive,
We played together,
I know you
No way you're one of them now,
You're never home now
You're 15,
You're too grown now,
10 years ago we sat on the same curb,
Now
You're mind is gone,
You got into some dirt,
Those your new friends?
They're way older than us,
We've run up and down the same hill for years,
But its them you can trust,
I guess I don't you
You're a Ganster
Those plastic guns became real,
How could you
We're one in the same still
Do I know you?
I'm so confused,
Now we're on the same street,
But you don't know me
No more riding bikes
No more corner store trips,
No more walking home from school,
Besides you never go,
Shots alarm the neighbors,
Not you,
You never know,
It's true,
The sirens and the lights flash through the windows,
I saw laying there on the cement cold,
I don't know you,
Until its clear to me,
I can't believe,
How loud your Mom could weep,
Held back by yellow tapes and a couple of police,
As the medic covers you in a sheet,
The same old curb ,
The same old street,
I stare until I realized,
And accept defeat,
I know you
Mar 19, 2015
Mar 19, 2015 at 10:18 PM UTC
I spoke to a man today
with kind eyes and contagious laughter
his passport identified him as Israeli, mine american
but for a moment, we were both just human
He told me he was a combat medic for the IDF
as we began our descent into a discussion of politics
he spoke of giving medical care to victims
of a suicide bombing, just weeks earlier
Life is fragile in places like his hometown of Tel Aviv
He showed me an app on his iPhone that
notifies him of places that were just bombed
or when to take shelter, in case of an incoming missile strike
How people must savor life in war zones like his
friends and family become temporary oases
bringing happiness and fulfillment for a moment
then gone the next
For once
there were no borders between us, or
cultural divides, just two men
discussing life, or something like it
Jul 7, 2014
Jul 7, 2014 at 12:16 PM UTC