1.
He lights another mortar
and the dog runs after it
barking and trying to bite it
he grabs it's back leg as the sky lights up
since he had barely thought to look over
and the words around here don't reach his mind
his ears defective as they are.
He says something with his hands
something foreign to me
but six people watching laugh
and so do I.


2.
His wife sits with her sons
her stomach wide with their third
another boy
she's gotten so used to talking with her hands
that her voice is rusty
and her vocabulary limited
but she's here as much as the rest
sitting and laughing and having a good time.


3.
The owner of the house sits off the side in the nicest lawn chair here
a cup in her hand
we've quit counting how many drinks she's had
but she only drinks a couple days a year
and nobody is giving her any problems
and she seems to be able to be her normal self.
She had been questioning me earlier today
seeing if I was really a good guy
testing whether she'd have to sit at the table with a shotgun
every time I spent any time with her niece.


4.
Her husband is launching his own collection of mortars off
with his brother
while her brother-in-law hands the teens the novelties
I launch off a dozen flowers
and a few spinny things.
She occasionally breaks her fingers away from mine
to launch off a flower, smokebomb or firecracker
and occasionally runs over to poke-chop her uncle
who keeps talking to the fireworks.
She always comes back and we'll wander by her mom and stepdad
(the latter always throws in some sort of comment
so we act careful around him)
and over to her cousins
or toward her aunt and roommate.
Occasionally we'll have to get something from the house
and we sneak three kisses
but we mostly just stay in each others arms
keeping each other warm in the almost warm 4th of July night
our hands both entwined
one of our heads always on the others shoulder
and in all the craziness
all the family drama
everything is perfect and she's smiling so hard her cheeks keep hurting
and she keeps telling me how little sleep she's gonna get
and I tell her I ain't gonna be able to sleep at all

Liturgy in Time of War

I will go to the altar of God
To God who gives joy to my youth

ENTRANCE ANTIPHON

The dawn (evening) is coming, another hot, filthy, wet dawn (evening).  Let us arise, soaked in sweat, exhausted, to speak with sour, saliva-caked mouths, to meet the deaths of this day (night).

GREETING

In the name of Peace in Our Time,
For the Hearts and Minds of The People,
For the Land of the Big PX
For round eye and white (black) (brown) thigh,
I greet you, brothers.

PENITENTIAL RITE

All:

I confess to almighty God
And to you my brothers
That I have sinned through my fault
In my thoughts and in my words
In what I have done
And in what I have failed to do,
And I ask Blessed Mary…

But how can I ask Her anything now?

My brothers,
Pray for me to…

But how?
Priest: (But there is no priest)

KYRIE

Lord, have mercy
Christ, have mercy
Lord, Lord, have mercy on us now

Have mercy, Lord, on a generation
That sits smugly in college lecture halls
And protests endlessly in coffee shops
The war they hear, see, on T.V., for free
Justice and peace by the semester hour
Like, y’know, peace, love, Amerika sux
Play the guitar, ****, apply to law school

Have mercy on us
Who crouch behind sand bags
And clean our weapons
And protest nothing
And **** in the heat
And die in the hear
And throw ham and lima beans away

GLORIA

Glory to God in the highest
how many bodies yesterday?
And peace to His people on earth
Vietnamese? Or us?
Lord God, heavenly King, almighty God and Father
ham and lima beans?
We worship you, we give you thanks, we praise you for your glory
Doc, I can’t go home to my wife with this clap
Lord Jesus Christ, only Son of the Father
cigarette, canteen cup of instant coffee
Lord God, Lamb of God, you take away the sins of the world
******* magazine
Have mercy on us
relief behind the sand bags
You are seated at the right hand of the Father
i rot
Receive our prayer
i want to be clean and dry
For You alone are the Holy One
clean and dry.  just once.
You alone are the Lord
why do they chew that?
You alone are the most high
you mean the betel nut?
Jesus Christ, with the Holy Spirit, in the glory of God the Father
incoming!
Amen


PRAYER

A

Father, you make this day holy.
Let us be thankful for
The many little joys of
This day, for life, for
The chance to worship
You.  In the end, bring
Us to you, so that we
May be cleansed of mud
And sweat and filth and
Guilt, and live with you
In peace forever.

B

Father, just get me through
Another day of this mess.

LITURGY OF THE WORD –

FIRST READING

From the Intensive Care Unit, NSA DaNang

A twilight world
Of neither peace nor battle
And of both

A man world
Embracing life and the grim death
Both

Peering into infected wounds
Night building shiver
Down from the black sky flares float

Broken bodies from the war somewhere
Eyes of a shattered nineteen-year-old Marine
Staring at the door to Yokosuka

PSALM

A Song of Descents

I cast down my eyes
Into the mud
Into the blood
It seems cleaner than death and drugs and casual ***
Drink Coca-Cola

I turned my eyes away from you, O Lord
And made this
Build this
Came to this
Samantha and Darren on Bewitched

Have mercy on…but how can we ask?  How dare we ask?

SECOND READING

Old Man, Viet Nam

Old man, a dog is barking at your heels
Old man, with the tired, weathered face
Are you afraid to turn around and deal
This dog a kick, to put him in his place?

Or is it, old man, that you’re just too tired?
Just too tired to turn and show anger
Just too tired to have your temper fired
Beaten by years of contempt and danger

Where are you going, trudging so slowly?
What are you thinking, behind those tired eyes?

Probably not about ham and lima beans

GOSPEL

In the Cold White Mist

After an all-night run on the river
Our boats arrive in the village at dawn
Dawn is never cold along that rive
Along that steaming, green, hell-hot river
But the mist is cold, the grey-green dawn mist
And after the engines are cut – stillness
Foul brown water laps at the mudding bank
Sloshing softly with fertile, smelly death

In the cold white mist

The boats are secured, and watches posted
We step off the boats and onto wet land
And follow the track into the deep mist
It becomes the street of a little town
A dairy lane along which cows slopped home
And where dogs and chickens and children
      played
Bounded by carefully swept little yards
And little wooden houses with tin roofs

In the cold white mist

But some of the houses are burnt.  The smoke
Still hangs heavily in the whitening mist
The lane is littered with debris.  A lump
Resolves itself into a torn, dead child
Across a smaller lump, a smaller child
Their pup has been flung against the fence, its
Guts early morning breakfast for the morning
      flies
We smoke cigarettes against the death-smells

In the cold white mist

Beneath a farm tractor rots a dead man.
When they – they – had come at sunset
He had hidden there.  And they shot him there
A man with bare feet and work-calloused
      hands
His hair is black; his teeth need cleaning
They shot him beneath the village tractor
His blackening blood clots into the mud
And our lungs choke in the white mist of death

In the cold white mist

White mist.  The path disappears into it
Smoky skeletons of little houses
In which there will be no tea this morning
No breakfasts of hot tea and steaming rice
No old widows to smile in betel-nut
No children to mock-march alongside us
Pointing at our ******* boots, and laughing
At us, for wearing shoes in the summer

In the cold white mist

They are dead and rotting in the white mist
On the edge of the jungle on the edge
Of the world, here along the Vam Co Tay
And the people pour out of their houses
To greet us on the fine summer morning
A corpse across a doorway, another
******-doubled across a window sill
Still another strewn down the garden path

In the cold white mist

The other patrol doubles back to us
And they tell us that the Ruff-Puff outpost
Must have been overrun the night before
He had heard their radioed pleas, and had
Run the river at night to get to them
And the ARVNs had fled through the village
And the VC had stormed in behind them
And it was knife-and-gun-club night in town

In the cold white mist

A little girl is the lone survivor
She looks may six.  Cute, except for the
Bubbling, *******, bayoneted chest wound
We patch her, and tube her, and use suction
Sort of like fixing a bicycle tire
And in the wet, gasping heat take her back
With us downriver, where a charity
Hospital leaves her on the steps to die

In the cold white mist

It will be our turn again tomorrow
Not a one of us died today.  Today.
But a village is gone, burnt and rotting,
Soon to disappear into the jungle
Along the green Cambodian border
Up some obscure river.  Up there.  Somewhere.
A few hundred people.  Their ancestors’ graves
Will fade with them untended, forgotten

In the cold white mist

Radio Hanoi might blame it on us.
But maybe not.  We made our report and
Nobody really noticed; no one cared
The talk is of the VC battalion
And where it has gone, and where it might go –
Maybe into death under an air strike
“And you guys better get in some sack time,”
Says the C.O. as he turns to his maps.

In the cold white mist

HOMILY

I’m scared, and I want to go home.  I don’t care any more about justice or fighting Communism or winning the hearts and minds of the people.  I can’t think about all that right now, because I’m scared, and I want to go home.
I don’t care about truth or loyalty or bravery or honor.  If Miss March were here she wouldn’t get cold, but she sure would get sunburnt.  And in a few days her skin would start rotting.  Then nobody would want to see her in the **** anymore.  
I’m scared, and I want to go home.
Up the Vam Co Tay, everyone is scared, everyone is tired, everyone is sick, everyone could die: sailor, soldier, officer, priest, farmer, fisherman.  Everyone rots in the wet heat.  The skin bubbles and flakes and peels, and is pink again, to bubble and flake and peel again.  
I’m scared, and I want to go home.
I’m Doc.  I’m a scared, stupid kid with an aid bag and a few months’ training.  But I’m Doc.  I’ve got to fake it.  I’ve got to be cool and calm because this other kid with his guts hanging out will probably make it if I don’t ***** up and if the dust-off from Saigon can get out here now.
I have an old dog at home, and my folks write and tell me she sleeps outside my window at night, waiting for me to come home.  Someday we’re going to run and play in the woods and fields again.  She’ll bark and run wide circles, and dare me to catch her.  I will laugh under the autumn leaves.  But now my nights are glaring darkness, fits of sweat-soaked half-sleep, then sirens and falling glares and falling mortars, and then the Godawful racket of all our engines of destruction.  There isn’t any use in all this.
I’m scared, and I want to go home.

And I don’t want any ham and lima beans.

CREED

We believe in the Land of the Big PX
In presidents in suits, and generals,
In makers of economic strategies
We believe in flak jackets and .45s and peace

We believe in swing ships and dust-offs, yes
In the dark, green omnipresent Huey
Eternally begotten of technology
Blades to rotor, windscreen to machine guns
Made, not begotten, one in being with us
Through it all things are transported to us
For us men and our hunger and our hope
It comes down from the skies
By the high power of technology
It was born of the long assembly line

For whose sake are we crucified today?
Who suffers, and who dies and is baggied?
And on the third will arrive back home
To be neatly packaged in stainless steel

But not in ham and lima beans

LITURGY OF THE EUCHARIST

Preparation of the Gifts

Celebrant:

Blessed are you, Lord, God of all creation.
Through your goodness we have this cheap Algerian wine to offer,
Fruit of the vine and work of human hands.
It will become anaesthesia for our souls.

People:

Blessed be…we just don’t know

Celebrant:

Pray, brothers, that our sacrifice may be acceptable to God, the almighty Father, to somebody.  Maybe.

People:

May the Lord, or the baggies, accept the sacrifice we offer with
our own burnt hands
For the praise and glory of…of what?
For our good, and the good of all His Church.

PRAYER OVER THE GITS

Little green cans, and I don’t care
Little green cans, and I don’t care
Little green cans, and I don’t care
Air cover’s gone away.

EUCHARISTIC PRAYER

Preface for the Monsoon Season:

Father, all-powerful
And ever-living God,
We do well always and everywhere
To give You thanks
Through Jesus God our Lord
Even with diarrhea
thanks
When the mail doesn’t come
thanks
When we rot
thanks
When the heat ***** at our brains
thanks
When the mud ***** at our boots
thanks
When the horror ***** at our souls
thanks
We’re alive
thanks

SANCTUS

Holy, holy, holy, Lord, God of power and might
The bunkers are full of blood and death.
Hosanna in the mud.  Blessed is he who comes with the mail.  Hosanna in the mud.

EUCHARISTIC PRAYER

The Kien Tuong Province Canon:

A sailor is silhouetted against the dawn
Along a steamy river
Mostly helmet and flak jacket
Above dark plastic gunwales

The sailor has lost his New Testament
But there’s a ******* around somewhere
Naked, willing women –
Miss March wants to be an actress

He also carries an old plastic Rosary
To touch occasionally
While whispering a hurried Hail Mary
He hopes She understands

Those who in bell-bottoms and head-bands
Fight Fascism
In Sociology 201
Will never forgive him

A sailor is silhouetted against the dawn
This day he is to be elevated
His body broken and his blood shed
For you and for all men

OUR FATHER

Our Father, who art in Heaven
this ain’t it
Hallowed be thy name
Thy kingdom come
this ain’t it
On earth as it is in Heaven.
Give us this day…
not ham and lima beans
And forgive us our trespasses
as we shoot them that trespass against us
And lead us not into ambush
But deliver us from evil

SIGN OF PEACE

Peace on you.

AGNUS DEI

Lamb of God, you take away the sins of the world: have mercy on us.

Lamb of God, you take away the sins of the world: have mercy….

Lamb of God, you take away the sins of the world: grant us peace.

Priest:

(But there is no priest)

People:  

Lord, I am not worthy to receive you,
But only say the word and I shall be killed.

COMMUNION ANTIPHON

They ate, and were not satisfied
They killed, and were not without fear.

PRAYER AFTER COMMUNION

Lord,
If we do not get out of this
Make some sense of it to those who remain
May we go home.  Home.  Or if not,
Take us unto you, in mercy.
Home.  Where you reign, for you are Lord
Forever and ever.  Amen

BLESSING

May you walk on grass that does not explode
May you sleep without rot
Without fear
May you never see or smell ham and lima beans again.
May you live
May you play with puppies
May you find forgetfulness
May you find peace
In the Name of Him who took your death for you

DISMISSAL

This is to certify that____is Honorably Discharged from the____on theday of____.  This certificate is awarded as a testimonial of Honest and Faithful Service.

CLOSING HYMN

Old men, smoking in the sunshine
Exiled outside the doors of life
Old uniforms, old pajamas
The chrome of wheelchairs, shiny, bright

Inside, polished wooden handrails
Line the hot, polished passages
Something to cling to on the way
To the lab, to x-ray, to death

And more old men, shuffling along
In a querulous route-step march
From Normandy, from The Cho-sen,
From the Vam Co Tay, from the deserts,
Past the A.I.D.S. ward and the union signs
On waxed floors to eternity

Portions previous published:

“Closing Hymn” is from “Outpatient Surgery – Veterans’ Hospital,” Juried Award, Houston Poetry Fest 1993

“In the Cold White Mist” is a Juried Award, Houston Poetry Fest 1991

“Old Man, Viet-Nam,” was published in Pulse, Lamar University, 1982

iHonor the history of my ancestors
And their ***** love songs: Nyabinghi
Crossing the Atlantic  with their creative minds
Rooted into their backbones was creative; Black men and women of today
A generation of;  
Bobo Shanti!
Baganda
Niger Congo
Sierra Leone
Bushmen
Kings and Queens of Africa

iHonor my history
But, my history is in Him
The King of Kings

Dreams hanging on a tree!
Kings and Queens hanging form a  rope nailed to a tree!
They were auctioned off a d sold in corner stores like Bodegas!
Please don’t forget about your ancestors when you speak about History!
He was rejected in the time of earthly kings and Queens
He was rejected in the time of Exodus
He was rejected in the time of redemption songs/ Babylon!

He was rejected at birth
He was rejected for calling Himself
"I am thee I am"
His purpose killed Him
He was rejected, but his purpose lives.

iHonor the King of Kings for being the sacrificial lamb of all Mortars
iHonor Him

Some kings rule their kingdoms surrounded by luxury
this king held a Bible in his hand
stood tall before Nations
with a single dream!
No luxuries!

This king was rejected!
He was shot!
Here comes the dream killers
A voice of a black Panther cried
“what their; guns, bats & smoke bums”
Have mothers clenching their young's
Running down to avenues unknown
To street that are paved with hopeless dreams and  goals

Because of  Dr. Martin Luther King and His Dream
Mothers were crying, digging graves with their finger nails.
Bering their dreams and aspiration into graves!
grave yards became over populated
With creative minds and dreams!

iHonor  Dr Martin Luther King Jr, for dreaming & believing
That whites & blacks will  become  one Nation under the King of Kings
iHonor Him

To my generation and to generation to come,
Where is creativity today!
Creativity was lost, unable to find!
So different things start to shape the mind
Creativity is something we watch on TV
Creativity has become an illusion
what a poor substitution

The mind is a beautiful thing to waste!
Creativity is in the wave pool of our minds
Mothers read to your young  from the womb
Bring creativity and dreams back to life

Doctor Seuss was creating a world of creativity in the minds of our  generation!
I think I can, I think I can was another book that brought creativity to life!

If a Cat can wear a hat
A fox can wear  socks
A boy by the name of Sam I Am, love green eggs and ham!
He can eat it in a box, with a fox!
In a house with a mouse!
With a goat on a boat!
So, who are you to tell me I'm not a "who"
Doctor Seuss created the Who's and the Who Ville!
Therefore I am a Who!
Who are you!

iHonor black mothers and fathers for being
present and never absent/ for being super heroes of monsters in closets.

iHonor my black people for uniting together from the 1960's to 2013
iHonor Mrs. King
iHonor Dr. Martin Luther King
iHonor the King of kings
iHonor all those individuals that made it possible for us to vote today
iHonor you all!
iHonor!

I hate the beach
I'm eighty six and I hate the beach
Hate the sand, not a fan of the surf
Face it, I hate the beach
Last time I went there
I had just turned 18 years old
June sixth, Nineteen Hundred Forty Four
God, I hate the beach
I was in the 5th Regiment
Régiment de Maisonneuve
and I've never been to a beach since
I'm from Verdun, Quebec, Canada
Not many beaches around there
Thank the lord for that I say
We'd been training for six months
Operation Overlord it was called
We were coming in on troop carriers
It was to be a beach head landing
I'd never seen a beach before
At least not for real
Never want to see another
We arrived early June 6, 1944
I think I said that already
You must forgive me,
I'm 86 years old and I hate the beach
fourteen thousand Canadian Troops
Bursting out of armoured troop ships
Like, the young, virile, brahma bulls we were
Coming in, all I could hear was the waves
I was in front, well...close to the front
I remember, there were no birds
who ever heard of that?
A beach with no birds
At least not at this beach
I could smell the salt in the air
And I knew I could hear the surf
And my heart, I could **** well hear that
But, no birds, I couldn't hear the birds
Gunfire, nope...cannons and mortars
But birds and guns, not a sound
Weird huh?
I remember running forward
Always forward, past blocks
Wood barricades and barbed wire
And bodies, lots of bodies
I knew that I knew some of them
I just didn't have time to stop
And say goodbye,
I just ran
Emptied my weapon at least once
I only know this, because it was empty
when I hit the beach
God, I hate the beach
You know in the movies
or in those flowery books
where they talk about someone being shot
and how "there was a bloom or
they're chest flowered red where they were hit"
I never saw that, never looked back
Just ran forward, saw the "bloom" in their backs
Don't like red, or flowers or the beach
I don't remember much after that
Could still hear my heart
That's a good thing, I guess
I got tore up good with the wire
but I never got shot
Never, "bloomed" for anyone
A few of my buddies were lost
I toast them every year
Never at the beach though
I hate the beach
Wife and kids used to go
I never did, never will
I remember the 50th anniversary though
Wife and kids went back
Not me,
Went into Montreal to see a ball game
Montreal Expos 10, Houston Astros 5
I remember Will Cordero hitting a homer
It was the sixth inning, I toasted the hit
I thought about that day 50 years before
And went back to watching the game
I hate the beach
My name is Gilles Roquefort
I'm eight six years old
And I can still feel the sand and taste the salt
On a bad day.

for all the names on that granite wall and many others...

I  Prelude

Vietnam broke my mind.
Now it runs like a cheap watch
always leaping about in time.
It pulls me backward into
strange visions of a world gone mad.
My life is time borrowed from corpses.
It is hard to lead your life
while you are stuck in another.
Time, the great healer,
only seems to make this worse.
Self-medication, legal meditation,
nothing seems strong enough
to stop the pounding of the rotors,
the screams of the men and the monkeys.
I have never been able to **** the demons
hidden in the tree lines of my mind.
Forty-three years later I'm still hiding
nauseous and naked in the napalmed jungle.
But my high mileage body clings to life:
the quest for immortality knows no shame.
Now I am a poet drunk on words,
stumbling over the illusion of art.
The more I know of language,
the less I understand life and loss.
And still the mortars rain down
in an eternal, inescapable monsoon.


II Place

Imagine a land that smells entirely of ****.
Only 70 miles wide in some places.
I flew above the abandoned bases of a war
that had been abandoned as well.
Places given up to the jungle
where 60,000 Americans died for nothing.
An implacable enemy that had fought
the Japanese and French before us
and had no doubt they would prevail.
A very beautiful place seen from the air
if no one was trying to eradicate you.
Skinny children, old women, many ******.
A place where real tigers might well
leap from ambush and eat you alive
and snakes so deadly that once bitten
you only got two steps before death.
Breathtaking sunsets and sunrises.
And the possibility of doom everywhere.
Rice paddies, mountains, triple canopy jungle.
Gorgeous beaches and an ocean laden
with sharks and sea snakes for company.
A place where death picked his teeth and smiled.


III Action

Stark terror is the mother of combat;
the rage of Peleus son Achilles
drives the soldier into the filed teeth
of impossibly horrible situations.
Not for America or the Stars and Stripes
but for the man next to you
whom you probably didn't even know.
Never ask why one man dies
and the one beside him lives on.
I shot an NVA regular from 20 feet
with a Colt Model 1911 45 automatic.
Got him exactly in the chest.
He looked very surprised to be dead.
I was surprised I didn't miss.
At An Loc a Huey 20 yards from mine
loaded with 18 hopeful human beings
took a rocket up the *** and
disintegrated into a debris cloud
of metal fragments and pink mist.
No bodies to be bothered with,
no pieces large enough to identify.
A CIA officer executing the wounded.
A tame **** torturing his countryman.
The exquisitely horrific moment when
you know you are falling, not flying.
The partner cut in half by a machine gun
five feet from where I stood.
Do not try to make any sense of this.
Fall back on the mantra: *don't mean nothing.
Cling to that and you may stay sane.
Apparently, God was busy for ten years
and never bothered to visit Vietnam.

IV Comrades

Forget that band of brothers *******,
we were more like a desperate rabble
with no one to count on but each other.
Sometimes a brother shares the blood
in your veins; sometimes you know him
by the blood that flows from his.
You scream, you curse, you try so hard
and he dies like a huge baby in your arms.
Vietnam was a club you could only join
by being there deep in the ****.
Now we are old men but our memberships
will never expire until we do.
And who will remember us then.

V Aftermath

Treated like lepers, we slunk home,
each to do the best he could.
Many died in the denouement of
drugs, alcohol, homelessness, suicide.
When I got home I wanted to be alone,
to be with people, lots of *****,
but only with no emotion attached,
an ocean of Jack Daniels, lines of coke,
mountains of ***, electro-shock therapy,
calm sleep without nightmares
and sometimes the comfort of a quick death.
Not much different than most I think.
Saigon fell. Don't mean ******* nothing.
Only some of us remember and want you to know
so you won't be fooled again.

Unzip,
new skin quick
neutralised Freudian slips
A spy game
so slick
well placed mortars sinking battleships

new suit
cover skin ill-suited to do business with life

find a life that suits your business
before you cover your life with a business suit.

King America,
my King,
King America,
whom i live under,
King America,
who freed me of tryanny,
replaced only with illusions of security,
King America,
you tell me I'm free,
but all that can be seen,
you and me,
suffering with no means,
King America,
to no avail,
King America,
you abolished slaves,
but with your dictionaries,
created a word,
King America,
this is the wage im suppose to make?
come on my back hurts and I'm feeling the pain,
King America,
I'll feed and support you,
sew the clothes on your back,
make the beds you sleep in,
and even scratch your ***,
but as soon as the sun sets,
your nowhere to be found,
King America,
your a royal pain in the behind,
King America,
I'll give you this,
your good with your lies,
you talk with your mouth,
making me believe your eyes,
your face might even think its telling the truth,
but all along i can see your hands,
slidding the pawns,
your think your sneaky,
King America,
you use your religions and fears,
mark the masses,
I hope they easily scare,
King America,
you think your god,
King America,
if anythings the truth,
we shouldn't question,
we wouldn't search,
we couldn't know the answer,
it's all buried beneath the earth,
King America,
I'm sick of your ****,
you **** me off,
and you know what *******,
King America,
your looking to fight,
pawns,
batallions,
war heroes and crimes,
black hawks night vision goggles,
might as well throw in a b2,
tanks,
mortars,
and soldiers,
a few million,
why not?
King America,
as you stand there behind your game,
King America,
im just one man,
holding tight my hands,
King America,
look down your sights,
King America,
he's just one man,
who cares about his views?
King America,
I won't tell you "not" to shoot,
thats up to you,
King America,
I'd be your friend but your a bit of a ******,
King America,
you say your so great,
but look at the people who have no food,
King America,
the thirty plus percent,
that have no shoes,
King America,
look at the poor and tell me,
your happy with your thrown,
playboys  and penthouses,
yachts and jets,
5 irons and 3 woods,
business deals and synergy,
banks and loans,
monopoly and mafia,
but besides that mrs. lincoln how was the show?
King America,
you make me laugh,
or at least the fact,
that so many would rather see black,
King America,
you've colored your flag,
white for purity and innocence,
red for the valor of war,
blue for the chief,
had to get fancier and had a star,
a symbol of the heavens,
the divine goal to which man,
hath aspired from time immemorial,
dont forget the stripe,
symbolic of the rays of light,
King America,
too bad thats a lie.

You partied hard when you could
Gold mini skirt and heels
But underneath the glamour
Were guts and nerves of steel

Home was fun and jolly japes
A lively social whirl
But work was war zones, scary scrapes
For our brave reporter girl

You found yourself in Libya
Met the mad dog's stare
He liked you, it was a feather in your cap
You made your name out there

Sri Lanka's where you lost an eye
To shrapnel flying in the dark
They thought you were a Tamil Tiger
Hiding in the grass

Back home someone told you off for smoking
Quick came your reply
Don't concern yourself, I promise you
That's not how I'll die

In Chechnya you made it out
Escaping with your life
As mortars fell you legged it
Eight days over mountain snow and ice

East Timor was your finest hour
Fifteen hundred people protected by too few
You refused to leave, they were saved
That was down to you

Luck ran out in Syria
You feared another massacre, tried to warn the world
So the shells once more homed in on you
And killed our brave reporter girl

uh strippin' ya titles n fame
Ya got no game shame I had to show up in flame
burn every last one of y'all til a single grain
snorts of ******* to rush into my brain
gives me crazy pump
like kriss kross I'll make ya jump
got ya body arched like camel humps smokin' punks like a smoke blunts pull stunts more than steevo straight evil
ya can peep me on underground radios
**** mainstream and pipe dreams
make this ***** jalel sings
more than crows gathered around for the wicked sound
body molded to th ground for tryna step to Htown fools drown
with no water slaughter
Like shots from a thousand mortars
got bids on the Satan's daughter's
ya need to get smarter y'all fallen like denzel welcome to yosef cell no bail no fairytales as I silence ya yell
from my lyrical gat that goes through ya medulla oblungata
got more ranks than shabba mister lover lover undercover like brother as I smother
ya baby mama and ya mother like no other duck her with no rubbers
cut into ya head piece like cookie cutters
see ya in sta sta sta studder
yosef be hoppin' like hoes like mudd rudders
straight from the gutters
I got rhymes for days that's was displayed before even my rhymes was said
plus **** what ya said
I'll  leave ya dome open like a Sun roof
catch. spoof off my tactics
my lyrics be more controversial than the gulf tonka make ya wonder magnificent blunders sound the thunders
once yosef grabs the Mic enticing brawls under heat lights
sweatin' cuz I'm a threat ending ya fate and might uh

Just like i told ya ya can't stop the reign
as i bring the pain more than major playa hatas
move over theres a new sheriff in town puff by the pound
its goin' down in htown time to ****** crowns
off unknown clowns whos rounds
ain't hittin' nothin' but air as i heir
the rhymes from my hip hop ancestry
like i said who spit it better than me
****** is what i write
check the obituary even burn ya cemetery
while enemies stay worried i stay buried
with rhymes that pull like tech 9s through ya mind
as ya touch the flat line
give em pump up so he get the adrenaline up
only to get knocked the ****** up
by the mister evil sinister preach lyrics as a minister
this ain't the last inning
we goin' all out til we fall out got guns that clear the skies out
nuclear blast spin around emceez like taz hit ya with jazz razzamatazz
that's the sounds of gats bustin' that ***
left ya body soakin' breath chokin' hopin'
to make it but can't shake it as i mold it then break it
like my last drip a *** i shake it
til its nothing left cook up these lyrics like a chef
even make ears open of the deaf
cuz my lyrics be so powerful irresistible hard for ya know to go
and bob ya head to my **** i hit like rockets outta space
loose ya paper chase for tryna step into yosefs face
with that disgrace that ******* you call hip hop?
i got heat tha'tll make ya lip lock hip go hippy to the hop
naw talkin' sugar hill deliver more dead than clothes to Goodwill
we ***** as the Goodfellas knockin' tailfeathers money come like atm tellers
no pin toxic rhymes poisonous as donna,bella

A pack of hyenas, we howl in a frenzy.
Set off by naught,
A twitter or flick and all is lost
To laughter in the night,
Engulfing us all.
Sides aching, my body keeps quaking
Free as a warbler, Screeching and Heaving
As the fire dies, I open my eyes
In a tent, we lay sprawled
Worship almighty Party Mix
Now ravenous lions, or kindergarten children
We claw and shove and dig into the loot
Faces full, stomachs pounding, eyes heavy,
Fingers sticky with snacky crumbs,
A sugary tantalizing coating.
Hounds we are, gluttonous fiends
Living for twenty dollars of sweetly goods
Bought from an otter.
All is forgotten as we sit down to feast
"Spare the jerky, we'll need it later!"
"You devil, its all gone!"
Oh well, no worries of food now
Sufficiently satiated we snuggle into sleeping sacks
Shadows play on the walls
Dancing as jubilantly as shadows may to the music we play
****** stories, crude jokes now met with sheepish sniggers
A fifth giggle is heard from our party of four
Unseen, yet someone is there
A screaming spirit, a lost loner,
A wily wizard, a carnivorous ******,
A balefully babbling banshee,
A sambaing Spanish sandman,
A dopaminergic, diamond-eyed dragon?!
Dare we ask what he be
As his wisdom calmed our carousing
We journeyed through eternity
Visions of it all so overwhelming
Our minds explode
Great kaleidoscopal mortars on a warm eve in july
Visions of dank alleyways, bums and drums
Pastoral sights with floral delights
Emaciated emigrants, there faces so slum
Whimsical unicorns cavort through clouds
Young boys in green turned pincushions by hot flashing iron
Jovial faces devour whole hams by candlelight
Hopeless faces cry and starve by moonlight
Weary we are as the rooster caw-caws for dawn
Wet with dew and naked we slip out
Crazed and dazed we walk in a haze
To witness diurnal beginnings
Pink tinges and orange singes
Streaming above the horize
Time now to sleep
In the crystalline shimmering meadow
Short morning naps
To ease madness since midnight
Dreams foggily drift in and out
Sun's rays fry the flesh
As we awaken to sickening reality
Had it all been psychedlic delusions
Surely it'd just been us four

We need to find a new space of revolution,
Beyond this place of pollution.
Democracy’s dying - the chambers of brick and bone can no longer hone the power effectively,
And besides, the mortars crumbling.
Grumbles echo between screens until the rumbles bubble then burst and tumble onto the streets,
but cries are few and weak.
The masses are meek.
‘To question the system is extreme’ media teams scream while they profit from the chaos and hide behind headlines.
The bourgeoisie sit comfortably as their bunkers are fortified,
Happy to capitalise on destruction and dramatise death.
Their crimes are discreet,
And steeped in deceit,
Yet they remain unburdened by the bodies that pile at their feet.
Why bother searching for answers when science is censored and senses are dulled?
They want us senseless,
Immune and desensitised to the countless lies and ecocide.
“Not our species, not our problem”
But it’s both and more.
Our streets,
Our future,
Our planet.
When will the lesson sink in?
When pollution is skin deep and soil bares only the spoils of war?
The climate crisis takes no prisoners, favours neither rich nor poor.
Your wealth can’t save you.

In learning we don't have to always share a bed with fear,
it's those flashes of chance that bring out our poetry:
when we abruptly trip over the words we hastily collect
to sound off a feeling so explosive, that
even when it's mumbled with restraint,
it still sounds like fireworks.
and I wish I knew just how your stare looked
when you'd find the moment to strike your match,
and ignite whatever you've readied yourself to say,
but smothered the flame out of worry that you never could.
Just so you could know that you don't have to sleep tonight
with the fear that I'd never want to hear your poetry—
I love the sound of fireworks
when they're coming from your mouth.

The Flak hits the wings and body of the plane
506th Easy Company
Of the 101st Airborne

The leg bag
Tore right off
They jumped lower than they should have been

Tracer bullets burning holes through the parachute
Tracers spraying around in the air
Firing in every direction

Paul "Buck" Rogers
Lands in a tree

Some worked their way down
Through a farm area
To a hedge row

Easy Company captured and destroyed
The guns at Brecourt Manor
Saving countless lives on Utah Beach

They helped to liberate the Dutch
Angels from the sky

The black and white footage is amazing
The gratitude and love the people show
To the men is wonderful

Finally free after four years
Of Occupation by the Germans

Battling from village to village
Along "Hell's Highway,"
Easy Company crossed Holland to the Rhine River

Nine men of Easy Company
Lost their lives
Battling in Holland

By the End of the Holland campaign,
Easy Company had been on the frontline
For more than 70 days

On Dec. 16, 1944
****** launched his offensive into the Ardennes

The Battle of the Bulge would become
The largest engagement
In the history
Of the U.S. Army
600,000 soldiers would fight in the battle

Easy Company was told to hold the perimeter of Bastogne
Surrounded by Germans
Branches knocked off of trees
Holes in the ground

Artillery attack
88s, mortars, rockets
They jumped into foxholes
He could see all the shells hitting from the foxhole

The wounded got relief from battle
Maybe a ticket home
If they died they were at peace

At Berchtesgaden
They uncovered artwork

In Zell Am Zee, Austria
Easy Company helped secure
The surrender of 25,000 German troops

On November 30, 1945
The 101st Airborne Division
Was inactivated

Day after Day
They fought together
Fought for each other
Knowing some would not return

This veteran said,
"I cherish the memories
Of a question my grandson asked me the other day.

'Grandpa, Were you a hero in the war?'
Grandpa said no
But I served in a company of heroes."

Privilege
by Michael R. Burch

This poem is dedicated to Harvey Stanbrough, an ex-marine who has written eloquently about the horror and absurdity of war in "Lessons for a Barren Population."

No, I will never know
what you saw or what you felt,
****** into the maw of Eternity,

watching the mortars nightly
greedily making their rounds,
hearing the soft damp hiss

of men’s souls like helium escaping
their collapsing torn bodies,
or lying alone, feeling the great roar

of your own heart.
But I know:
there is a bitter knowledge

of death I have not achieved,
and in thankful ignorance,
and especially for my son

and for all who benefit so easily
at so unthinkable a price,
I thank you.

Published by Romantics Quarterly, Poetic Reflections and Poetry SuperHighway. Keywords/Tags: Vietnam War, maw, mortars, rounds, souls, escaping, bodies, corpses, death, heart, roar, bitter, knowledge, thanks, thank you, service, honor, duty, courage, bravery, heroism, patriotism

.. Awake oh world..awake 2015.. This is not a dream, a public announcement!!An endorsement of fiery destruction will reign upon earthly cities. A crossing of no pity. For twas predicted long ago...
Thy lands will be cleansed as snow. Howl and moan/ for trees will be scorched a twist! Thy eye sockets wilt be ripped and headache wilt be a molehill for thou!!!
Banks wilst crumble, babies shalt mumble as in Noah's day!!!what's wrong? No loving songs, to the devil you'll make a parade!!!!
Thou clown of display, skies will grey and stars shalt be fiercesome and almighty as thy green greedied dollar!!!
Here's thy collar, oh don't forget thy new world chip, for all younger days and innocence you'll wish thou couldst return!!!! Return to thy own dust oh man!!!for its lives thou took, now thy life to be given!!! No feast of thanksgiving! Can't thou read the scribes writing?
Blind thou hath been for over 2000 years, stack thy gold corrupted by moss in thy underground cellar!!!fighter, yeller!
Cop brutality shalt get much worse! Violence will between thou sister and brother! Canst thou not changeth thine own way? Mummified curse indeed! Pigfeed you've become to ones who blow the horns! Watch out/move.....don't get burned!!!!volcanic destruction will match quakes to rattle thy mortars, for climatic borders will be bound by new order charisma!!!!hope!!hope!!the crowd yells to their thorned crown king!!!2015 the year of the blood moon! The year of thine own final sting!!!!

Somewhere,
drones are dropping mortars on top of sleeping men. All the while the trusted corrupt are telling their truths to people grabbing what's left. Snow storms and summer droughts are no longer an event. While the world is changing in ways we already predicted, we choose to focus on why we're not the bad guys in this story. All of this, reinforced by the woke who are telling me nothing really matters anymore.

But right here,
I'm sitting alone on a winter night. I look across the street to watch a scruffy tabby knock over a dusty jar left on someone's window sill. Glass shatters across the lawn held tight by a blanket of untouched snow. I watch the shards cast miniature shadows, glistening as the porch light turns on. It was only for a moment, though, before I continue my attempt at writing about the beautiful things in life. Attempting - because these days it's difficult; because it matters. It matters to me oh so much.

October 11, 1944
mission Mt. Cauala
deep in the Appennines
veils of midnight
curtains of torrential rain
her rivers rise to block our way
the Vezza roaring like thunder
brilliant, blinding lightning baffling
stealing all sense of proportion
torn up roads like chasms tripping
dropped equipment lost in mud
visibility at absolute zero
feeling forward for each step
the man in front of you disappears in darkness
as each man to the rear gets lost
this blackness of night had not been foreseen
lightning flashes strobe the mountains above
thunder explodes like artillery fire
completely soaked soldiers stumble around
some find an abandoned shack
shelter near the Sera
rest until daybreak

as we enter Seravezza
our regimental commander cautions
the entire town under enemy eyes
scoping our every move
enemy machine guns sweep streets
heavy artillery regularly rakes buildings
some of our men already wounded
reconnaissance and plan of attack
Company I right, L center, K left
by 2310 the last man slips
into Sera’s icy waters
then climbs necessity’s ladders
built to negotiate the steep Rocky Ridge
jagged, knife-like edges rip clothing and tear flesh
as men try to find footing in blackness
chaos in the ranks
platoons and squads scattering
leaders have no way of knowing
if men are turning back
getting spattered by enemy machine guns
or losing their footing and lives
to the rocks below
calling out to each other
pinpoints our positions to enemy ears
drawing more accurate fire
by 0730 we are all atop the mountain
the German counter attack begins the day
fanatically, despite our heavy fire
they keep coming from three directions
expected flank from 1st Battalion does not arrive
still, German mortar fire and grenades
cannot dislodge our men
despite dwindling ammunition
we hold our position
BAR’s, Silver Stars and concussion grenades

a dozen volunteer for ammunition supply detail
as we approach the hill
a machine gun rakes our position
manned by two, our fire takes out one
the other carries him away
onward to hill’s base
progress paused by tremendous barrage
we crouch for a time before continuing
half way up we’re met
with more mortars and machine guns
shrapnel flying hot
burning into clothes and skin
the smell of gunpowder and cordite
burning into memory
our ammunition mission fails
forcing return to base of hill
with men from rifle companies following
at 1600 our own heavy artillery barrage falls short
striking entrenched remnants of companies K and L
this friendly fire is too much for tired men to take
they withdraw at opportunity’s first chance

darkness falls
soldiers roaming aimlessly
battle’s horror in shocked eyes
efforts made to gather wounded
seventy casualties in just one day
scores with battle shock and fatigue
but numbers never quantify
suffering, broken spirit and loss of life
trained men and officers killed
unhappy AWOLs and disciplinaries
find themselves as front line replacements
inexperienced men growling greatly
morale tanks

The battle of Seravezza crushed 3rd Battalion
despite several efforts
we were never able to take control
the Germans repelled every attack
soldiers were angered by impossible tasks
seemingly sent on suicide situations
we knew they knew where we were
we knew we were to face heavy bombardment
we knew we were without sufficient firepower or manpower
command knew we were out gunned
in the end
the Germans controlled the mountain

Another Day In Paradise,
The sun still below the trees,
Morning insects in full brigade
Buzz and bite our ears and face.
Walking a staggered formation,
Our eyes every where.
No one talks, we only stare,
Grim faced and scared.

"198 days and a wake up",
Keeps running through my head.
The air always, so thick and damp,
Lays like a wet blanket on my lungs,
Every breath takes more effort.
The Corpsman assures me,
"take some aspirin" I'd be fine.
Man, I hate this ******* place!

There are moments,
When beauty can be seen,
When the population
Viewed from a distance,
Seems less threatening.

If only their sing song high pitched
speech did not grate on my ears,
Like ******* finger nails raked,
Repeatedly cross a black board,
In forward and reverse!

The kids are kind of cute,
But always with a
Hand in your pocket.
Hell, even they got to live,
It's merely their Rice Bowl
Needing a fix.

I often wonder what this place,
might be like without the war.
How different it would be.
Maybe some kind of Paradise.
What the **** are we even doing here?
It's a complete ******* mystery to me.
No one ever bothered to ask my opinion,
I'm only a lowly grunt, not entitled to one.
A ground pounder with a *******.
Counting the days 'till I ******' split.

Emerging from the trees and tall grass,
Steps down into warm water and mud.
Another ******* rice paddy!
My feet are ****, always wet and sore.
My thighs and crotch forever in rash.
****, I do so hate this place.
"Hundred ninety eight days and a wake up,
On the Freedom Bird, back to the world."
Forever a mantra in my brain.

The ******* bordom is almost as
bad as the fear of being in the ****.
Those times are fleeting, over quick.
The rest is routine, a grind to endure.
Seems endless 'cause it ******* is!

Like the sharp crack of a whip,
One snaps past my ear!
Coming then like a swarm of Bees,
Announced by that God awful,
Chatter those A-Ks put out.
*** holes and elbows dispersed,
All of us on the run, looking for cover.
They got us boxed in cross fire,
No place to run, no spot to hide.
Hunker down in the mud,
Throw out some rounds,
And kiss your *** goodbye!

Return fire as best we can,
Spray the trees where we reckoned they be.
Mortars' now, crash and splash!
Earth erupts and mud explodes.
Some guy down the line screams in pain.
Dear God I hate this ******* place!

Do you ******* hear me God?
198 days and a wake up call,
And I'm out of here!
**** I'm only 19,
I ain't no martyr and don't wanna' be!

                    END


Jungles, deserts it's all the same,
kids pulling triggers and dying in vain.
When will we ever learn?

Sorry for all the usage of "That F word" but
that is the real deal among young Marines
in the field. Profanity is their punctuation.
Part of the swagger needed to pull the trigger.

Your voice is like sweet ether
On a ***** kitchen rag
It calms me down
It knocks me out
Knocks me up
I am pregnant with the sound
That 6 strings produce
And the beauty of your words
The fire walkers in you
Your fingers always knew
Know?
Have known?
How to pick the smiles
From my insides
Pluck the kisses from my lips
Draw the nectar
Sweetness?
Sugar?
Out
50 Ways to turn me upside down
50 ways to be knock-the-wind-out-of-me
Put-me-back-on-my-feet
Incredible
In the beginning it was dark
And you said
"Let there be colors
Let me have a guitar"
In the beginning
God colored me
Full of red blood cells
And vitriol
Carefully
Steady hands
Inside the lines
But with shaky hands
There's so many more shades
Blooming
Cascading
Lightning strikes
And this is the last time
I swear it's the last time
I will weather these storms
My daddy said there'd be boys like you
Boys who could make it rain
You know when I'm with you
I lose my mind a little
Who is this kid?
And how is he under my skin?
He's a tattoo I don't remember getting
Maybe I was drunk
Maybe I'm in love
Whatever that is.
Dog hair on duvet covers
Avocado-flavored lollipops
Antique shops
Every song about a different girl
Like 32
24
36
Bursting at the seams till I
Can't take no more
Jackie
Madeline
Taylor
Adrienne
And probably
Certainly
Girls I've never met before
What you do to me doesn't make sense
My intestines turned up at the corners
Pelvic thrusting on the couch
A little bit louder now
A little bit louder now
The mortars are screaming
Down
I'm quickly losing the war with myself
Jericho's walls
Are crumbling
And I'm told we have nothing to fear
But fear itself
Nothing to fear but ourselves
And a boy with glasses
Writing checks that I'm afraid will bounce
Singing softly to me
On the couch

Nha Trang, Vietnam, 1972

Darkened portal. Room of shadows. A haze of ***.
Hard vision of *** and combat. Mixed up. Dream.
Young girl smiles outside a Nha Trang bordello.
Smile of innocence in a land of evil. Unreal.
Whose need rejects this process? Transaction of lust.
She removes her *ao dai like lifting fog. Naked.
Mortars fall as we writhe. Danger is my business.
Harder and faster like a rocket barrage. Deep.
Kick of a 12 gauge pump. Flesh explosions.
****** ***** out your breath. So does this.
War and *******. Extinction and lust. The same.
****** a moment from the blood and tears.
All is burning. Cling to any possible refuge.
     Bound together in this instant of life;
     Completing ourselves in this world of death.

The Thames rides high in the city's red wheel!
the indigenous birds of one country are moored no longer
the night is worth its ride, and castrates each reason
to not sell: the freshest cut mind: its only state: its only guest  

Babes milked by dunes, growing giants from their anima palm
low nebulae of sea anklets, by the cooling of patience
by the stored morning of vittalic kin, usherette grasps
shatter spite, at the risk of all peaceful vibrations in humour
where the roads connect to all amor fati, amor fati, Amor fati!
la chimère d’amour; where rhythms are shared by all animals,
unflexed in the skull by denizen skull: the populace melts

So passed the point of brinking-worlds, there are only elements
so no rapier can slice through dream like the scent of day,
and we scream in melodious waves of diving accident;
which brings notions back of extending fire sighs so opaquely,
happiness cherishes the chaotic mirror of booming children
the figureless dance of the last disgrace, which has no pity
and is the travelling word for success against liberty

We are no longer life, or its blushing ripped condescension
only my shadow and yours are the freeing muscle
where man has shattered space into the thousandless voice
of solitudinal stars in the androgyny of light-
hemisphere of binary pleasure; jealous boys and girls drink smoke
we the haphazard twin of darkness and light forget, wilfully
as if destiny is a circular pleasure, of both stomach and sky

By the watering mortars of the watchmen from Soho dancing again
and to this city the agile mouth of a field is awake
where the sad winds entwine with the yeasts of the hare
the smallness of light balancing on your cheek, gargantuan
to everything through the hymns of a car choking, to spirit
two moments transmit all there is, by the third, death emigrates
or it does when we dress each other by the charm of time

I have no idea where this music begins, and perhaps our DNA laughs
as do my fathers, your mothers, in the emergence of reversing gods
the birthing of make-up, the evening day mobbed by innocence
where purity is less magnetic than a sliver of fish, dead in a dog's heart
even that now, même que maintenant, even this now
même ce maintenant, is a better howling blood of choice
where a little fatter and choicer- rage is the sonata of calmness

And much dusk where the glimmer is, the ****** drool of half
heartedness is your soft wolf walking in, the silk of your bating voice
my only vice, and the point of all tantric scent
the murals of our past are now the sculptures of changing grip
like early and significant horses enduring the guilt of eating
all tribes in all ice and fire, the fastest cars cannot beat the tram
the tram and old bust marriages of constant grace

Fundament, infallible, mercurial, wholesome in lie
there being no flea with enough backs to carry us all
no poem in hell can survive without being saliva
too much **** and not enough road makes a dull car of us all
but, there is only one liver waiting on the ground
what is the perfect song to let it breathe? Tonight
you are my attire, and I am yours

We soak the ribbons with massacred blood, we say
to the absolute: no, I choose my partners carefully
I am yours, you are mine, our habitual skin
blowing leviathans training the wind
and chokes as we stroll releasing our hands upon its neck
but let ours fly together and apart, nothing holding the world
in the divinity of wood, your translucent perfume, our body

The dogs have blown into darkness
The moors create hybrids from themselves
Wild garlic ferments in fields of skin
Texas leans into Vertigo’s kiss
An ape is born smelling of you
My sweat is your blue June
Armed only by light.

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."

this place is silence
roaring silence
helicopter blades chopping through
the whine of incoming mortars
silence deafening over the
shuffle of boots kicking gravel
barely holding together the grit
that covers the ground
the grit
that covers the toyota hiluxes
the radios the windows the lights
the beds
the grit that fills our mouths
as we whisper in the dark
rustling silence as we whisper
dark secrets
movements and code names and equipment and
just how long were those explosives buried
this place is blood
a decade's worth of
my brother's blood pouring
through the wadis in the desert in the dark
ten years of my brother's blood
dripping from our fingers
every death a stain on our fingertips
as if we pulled the trigger ourselves
a millennium of blood
dried on these mountains
the geography screaming secrets of its past
begging us to go

my fingers are scarred with the snap
of war's bitter teeth; they have
sunken in and dragged, sunken in
and dragged me out until i have
touched my heart's heels to every
battlefield-- made me a canopy to
encompass every blood-embezzled
decade. i have made myself a
hideous phantasm of Vietnam,
a tattered, frayed mountain-scape of
blue-belled America, a depthless
sea in which my brothers boiled.
i still hear bombs when i walk
sometimes, in the dripping black
of the nighttime sky i see the way the
mortars ripple and burn. but i have
never found another stretched-thin
soldier, with artillery rounds cradled
in their chests like i. i have been stumbling
and crying across the earth's crust,
screaming,
DRAFT ME
FIND ME
DRAFT ME--
finally the draft plucked me up and
brought me to you.
in you i have found the brother i lost
at sea, the lover boy of 19th century,
and the one i held close to my chest in
Vietnam. let me touch my hand to
yours and remember; i know i
will feel all our old words course through me,
all our ****** teeth and
crying eyes and
all the times we touched
brought back to
this moment.

What Will It Take
By Song Bird

(Verse 1) How many must we refuse and deny
Before you and I realize our shame
How many eyes gotta cry in vain
Before we take away their pain
How many lives must we claim
Before we decide to make a change
So what will it take for us
To put down our arms
And make our stand
Stop bringing harm
To our fellow man

(Chorus) What will it take to make a stand
What will it take to take someone’s hand
What will it take to make our stance
What will it take to take a chance
What will it take to say we have had enough
What will it take to give away our love
What will it take

(Verse 2) Because of the way we disregard
And close our doors and our hearts to others
There are those sleeping on cardboard
On concrete floors, who are our brothers
And our sisters, who can’t afford to eat
Or have the clothing to stay warm
Have no shoes for their feet
And are left tattered and torn
No homes just the streets they roam
So don’t talk change, because talk is cheap
If you and I ain’t gonna make a change
(Chorus repeats 1)

(Verse 3) Because of the way we disregard,  
Soldiers bombard poor countries
With mortars, while children starve
Go hungry and get our cold shoulder
As our wars pillage and burn their village
Turn their underprivileged places
Into our coliseums, giving them no relief
Just sad faces that have seen too much carnage
Strife and defeat as we take away their very freedoms
And tarnish their dreams, so don’t talk change
Because talk is cheap, if you and I ain’t gonna make a change
(Chorus repeats 1)

(Verse 4) Because of the way we disregard
Our earth is scarred by our many demands
Left hurt and discarded by our own hands
As we disgorge our resources
Leaving our shores and sky to surely weep
Our rainforests torched, our lands scorched
Our oceans, rivers and seas are forced to bleed
Nowhere for you or me to retreat
So don’t talk change, because talk is cheap
If you and I ain’t gonna make a change
(Chorus repeats 2)

(Outro) Isn’t it time we become the prayer
Show the world that we care
Loving we can spare, loving we can share
So help the ones who are in despair
What will it take for you to be there?

Bennus crossing- by me... Awake oh world..awake 2015.. This is not a dream, a public announcement!!
An endorsement of fiery destruction will reign upon earhtly cities. A crossing of no pity. For twas predicted long ago...
Thy lands will be cleansed as snow. Howl and moan/ for trees will be scorched a twist! Thy eye sockets wilt be ripped and headache wilt be a molehill for thou!!!
Banks wilst crumble, babies shalt mumble as in Noah's day!!!what's wrong? No loving songs, to the devil you'll make a parade!!!!
You clown of display, skies will grey and stars shalt be fiercesome and almighty as thy green greedied dollar!!!
Here's thy collar, oh don't forget thy new world chip, for all younger days and innocence you'll wish thou couldst return!!!! Return to thy own dust oh man!!!for its lives thou took, now thy life to be given!!! No feast of thanksgiving! Can't thou read the scribes writing?
Blind thou hath been for over 2000 years, stack thy gold corrupted by moss in thy underground cellar!!!fighter, yeller!
Cop brutality shalt get much worse! Violence will between thou sister and brother! Can thou not changeth thine own way? Mummified curse indeed! Pigfeed you've become to ones who blow the horns! Watch out/move.....don't get burned!!!!volcanic destruction will match quakes to rattle thy mortars, for climatic borders will be bound by new order charisma!!!!hope!!hope!!the crowd yells to their thorned crown king!!!2015 the year of the blood moon! The year of thine own final sting!

The sun still below the trees,
Morning insects in full brigade
Buzz and bite our ears and face.
Walking a staggered formation,
Our eyes every where.
No one talks, we only stare,
Grim faced and scared.

"198 days and a wake up",
Keeps running through my head.
The air always, so thick and damp,
Lays like a wet blanket on my lungs,
Every breath takes more effort.
The Corpsman assures me,
"take some aspirin" I'd be fine.
Man, I hate this ******* place!

There are moments,
When beauty can be seen,
When the population
Viewed from a distance,
Seems less threatening.

If only their sing song high pitched
speech did not grate on my ears,
Like ******* finger nails raked,
Repeatedly cross a black board,
In forward and reverse!

The kids are kind of cute,
But always with a
Hand in your pocket.
Hell, even they got to live,
It's merely their Rice Bowl
Needing a fix.

I often wonder what this place,
might be like without the war.
How different it would be.
Maybe some kind of Paradise.
What the **** are we even doing here?
It's a complete ******* mystery to me.
No one ever bothered to ask my opinion,
I'm only a lowly grunt, not entitled to one.
A ground pounder with a *******.
Counting the days 'till I ******' split.

Emerging from the trees and tall grass,
Steps down into warm water and mud.
Another ******* rice paddy!
My feet are ****, always wet and sore.
My thighs and crotch forever in rash.
****, I do so hate this place.
"Hundred ninety eight days and a wake up,
On the Freedom Bird, back to the world."
Forever a mantra in my brain.

The ******* bordom is almost as
bad as the fear of being in the ****.
Those times are fleeting, over quick.
The rest is routine, a grind to endure.
Seems endless 'cause it ******* is!

Like the sharp crack of a whip,
One snaps past my ear!
Coming then like a swarm of Bees,
Announced by that God awful,
Chatter those A-Ks put out.
*** holes and elbows dispersed,
All of us on the run, looking for cover.
They got us boxed in cross fire,
No place to run, no spot to hide.
Hunker down in the mud,
Throw out some rounds,
And kiss your *** goodbye!

Return fire as best we can,
Spray the trees where we reckoned they be.
Mortars' now, crash and splash!
Earth erupts and mud explodes.
Some guy down the line screams in pain.
Dear God I hate this ******* place!

Do you ******* hear me God?
198 days and a wake up call,
And I'm out of here!
**** I'm only 19,
I ain't no martyr and don't wanna' be!

My darling please don't whisper
I don't want to miss a line
But this vet is hard at hearing
Been blown up to many times
Please watch what you put on for us
My flashbacks aren't a good thing
One sound just one round
The memorial of emotions they can bring
I fired for you

See I didn't leave it all with the service
I still carry weight in my shoulders
Yes I made it back, but not the same
Somethings they knew but hadnt told us
I was forced to draw scars
On the skin of men with bravery not unlike my own
taught to fight, ammo with ammo
To stand for their people, fight for their homes
I fired for you

So forgive me if I shiver when you hold me
I'm told comfort always comes before the storm
I've lost so many friends to complacency
When death came knocking at the door
Many times disguised in the body of a young man
He only just learned to tie his shoes
And now he's killing in this waste land
A bullet aimed with intentions, I fired for you

A good soldier doesn't ask questions
Without a pause He follows orders
He does not sleep on beds of pillows
He rests his head on enemy mortars
You remember a man with hazel eyes
This soldiers pupils stained in crimson
I could tell you tales of freedom given
At the price of lives lost if you would listen
I fired for you
So no I'm not the same
As when I left so many months ago
I run from times of commitment
Find familiarity on beds of broken bones
I run from the unfamiliar feeling of my own home
How could this be where I am
Your kiss so close to mine
There was a day, id contemplate
How I could ever reach it in a lifetime
I fired to get back to you

I forgot how to be a lover
while I was out there fighting
A light lit for love long ago
Blew out with battle, its not shining
But I'm trying
To taste the fruits of my sacrifice
To enjoy
Cause I still have a life
I fired so I could come back to you

But the cries of my fallen brothers
Haunt even my day dreams
I find no comfort
In the illumination day brings
Its you that saves me
That gives me an inch of hope
To stow my heart on
In a river of regrets that runs a mile long
I fired for you

Legs rusting in cement
re-barb poles of anchoring
but no foundation suffice
for the feelings of neglect in childhood
the bricks arise
the mortars set
but in a misshapen pattern of mangled misanthropy
and charred remains of humanity

a family is for one thing,
comfort in an odd place.
holding to conformity,
telling you who you are, when you are not.

when it all goes awry, the suns still in your eyes,
eyelashes cant curl enough to make you pretty in asides,
poems monologues that you speak don’t take time to preach,
pain and hiding that you try to flee from during human touch or human speech.

I cannot handle myself much less others.

I cannot speak with anyone so I have to speak with you.
Or I have to hold back a heart mired in loving glue.
horses died to allow me to roam, trees die still to make my home.
I still cant fashion pictures true of a family of five with six that are real
alive alive
I jig and strive to dance away my hate for life
it waltz's its way upon my ears and kills my familiarity fear
I want life in its sake
I want death timely
we all want things that just feel right,
feel just fair.
I want Disney land to not hurt when I get to the entrance
because it all turns out right
suburbia is not a Moasist country frilled with soulless black eyes
no sparkles.
all the glitter is very much silver and also the gold of the joys of souls

the way I feel is that if these wrought iron fencing’s could help to divide me any more
I could be one with them. Solitary atom.
They could be my home. They could coincide with differential turnings in my brain and eventually destruct me into molecules that would inherently be of their own. Be singular

but in the current state of matters.
I must depend upon all matter to be the one thing that holds me together

what life is this?

this makes me brittle
makes me short
controls me into any contortion that is to them beautiful
for now
I must be beautiful.
**** that.
To contort and retort, when we only wish to wobble and pulse with Brownian motion. My own happiness should not derive from people; I wish to not be near nor around in any small sequence,
they are merely dead to me.
Non-animate.
this is the platonic family we create.
This is life that we see from dead, dank, and sorrowful eyes.
Pity.
Forced.
Relations.
Consummate. Indelibly.
You people should be ashamed of yourselves for forcing love. By any means.

Afflicted he sways. 
He tells me this. 
Then his ears bleed. 

Again, she's coming. 

He too is there. 

Under the cover of tequila I slipped and moved into your shoes. 
The burning sensation and the multiple *******. 

So, alone I will move. 

This is proving difficult. 
To take this heart and find the metrics necessary. 
This liquid has no geometry. 
These coughs are nothing syptomatic. 

My throat it will bleed. 
And then I will sleep. 

Again the fluid makes its own level. 
So when the pens are counted and the ounce is shortened, feel comforted. 

This gesture. 
Pointing towards a technology. 

Become the theater. 
Be the vessel of integrity. 

Oh 
we see 
your stitches bursting

and

we hear you mumble unholy lamentations. 

I offer myself discipline. 
And to you I portray daffodils. 
Or a primrose if this act does not resonate. 

Applaud yourself. 
For asking is cause ways for approval. 

This is all wiped away. 

The storms so angry and fully misunderstanding their torment blew rebirth. 


And now the trains stop too frequently. 
The continental steel divide is voiceless. 
The more powerful elements;

Clicking of tongues. 
Wagging of yellowed fingers and floppy tails. 

Open your ballot so they may steer your children's fate. 

All I wrote of now belongs to you. 
My every step covers me in unapproachable clouds. 

Silvery leaves in the forest. 
All laying down, nestling my head. 

As depressed waters. 

Discipline here. 
On this barrier of shadow, light and shadow. 

I meant to change the tapes. 
Giving this entity a broader palette. 

The classics, they just screech when inspected. 
My gazes of the house divert down to my feet. 
Its contents remained. 
Holding still and lingering with hares be. 

But I have changed. 

I kept myself with company and forgot the stories and lessons. 

So you see, your raising is now just a sad story left to burn. 

I move my feet over, not onto the tarmac. 
Gliding into the private jet and spreading my legs for these buttery levers and cartons. 
Behold the cranes and doves toiling and rising in my heart. 

Soon to drown in the acidic memories your voice is offering. 
With the push of a button I destroy your misdirection. 

The afterwards is nothing. 


Searing pain from his shadow!
How wholely I am burned by this flare from across the river. 
A touch on my shoulder and there are not enough concubines to drown my anguish. 

Display your show of strength. 
Sit with me and listen. 
It is best for us both. 


Cotton picking. 
Leathered eyes searching for currency. 
The wait outweighs the risk. 
Be honest. 
They are lying and you knew. 
Shake my hand. 
Make it mine and learn the importance of minutes. 

Trip over me as I capture this moment with your flailing aperture. 

Your head straight and your spine back to normal strength. 

Masters. 

The old emperors in comfortable clothes full of invigorating erections. 

Be tasteful with your removing a. 
Leave the droppings and soak in as much as you can. 

Who am I, young skinwalker?

Remove this part and hear his sufferings no more. 

Some lady sheds for the rest.

Southern mortars and northern pestilence. 

You should do something today. 
And stray from the strange. 


Bring your mountain stick and walk. And this is the third of your final lines. 
This, the second. 
And this is the last of you.

Check every treeline,
the enemy lurks there.
Get used to people acting
like you are tainted.
Scan the rooftops when you walk;
examine the bushes.
When entering a public space,
look for an alternative exit.
Notice every face you see;
especially children, you never know.
Self-medicate. Whatever it takes.
Whiskey for breakfast, speed for lunch,
****** for dinner. **** their opinions.
Spend endless hours talking
with clueless shrinks and doctors.
Spin violently when anyone
taps you on the shoulder.
Strain your ears for the sound
of long silent mortars.
Never sit with your back to a door.
Remember Wild Bill.
Keep a weapon nearby when you sleep,
if you do.
Cringe like a beaten dog
at every loud noise.
Worry about everything because
you know the world wants to **** you,
because you know what expendable means.
Repeat all of this and more for 45 years
until your brain feels
like sloppy scrambled eggs.
And, of course,
don't forget to love your country.

  ~mce

as the women grind grain in their mortars
i kneel nearby.
watching them scrub the grain sand smooth
my organs feel too hot
burning hot
so hot and it hurts and
i want to perform harikari
just to let out the heat
just a quick slice across my belly
just to cool off my steaming intestines

I carried you
through a minefield, past ***** traps;
though the mortars lobbed their lethal loads
and the rifles spat speeding streams of death,
all was silent, until we reached the end of the field,
and I lay you on the grass

you thanked me, and asked me
to hold you--you were so cold, you said
I put my arms around you, and looked back
across the field--a stretch of fire now, blazing
the night sky, casting eternal light on you and me,
two young brothers I spied, prostrate,
still, on the other side of the field
we had crossed…still

on the other side

The World looks different at  60 feet,
standing on the Huey skids, gritting my teeth.
Birds coming in fast and smoke rising slow,
drop into the tall grass not knowing which way to go.
Ears trying to hear and eyes not believing,
mortars and ******, men screaming and bleeding.
Yes the World looks different at 60 feet,
now hovering above me  where I'd rather be.
It's been  years now , the sights and sounds have gone to fade,
still look to the skies when I hear those blades.
Men faced walls of steel in that tall ****** grass,
at 60 feet my Brothers I raise this glass.
Gone but not forgotten.

I am 20 1st Avenue
Just as I am also St. Albans Drive
Old Stamford Road
Whitney Avenue
and a little Albermarle

But 20 1st Avenue is where I learned
How to make snow forts, big ones
and pillow forts that filled a living room

It's where I saw that if you plant a little tree
and hang around long enough
that you will have a great big tree
that drops black walnuts
So that you can caution your kids kids
that the walnuts can turn your skin black if you're not careful

It's where I learned what a Woolworths was
and that they sold plastic army men
with mortars, radios and M16s
by the bag for a dollar
nobody wanted the mortar or radio guy

Its where I learned what a honest to God toy store was
and because of that,
who Mr. Potato Head was.

It's where I learned about nuts
still in shells
and how to open them
with a crank nutcracker
or a little hammer
and how to get the meat out
with a lobster pick.

But most of all I learned
what a grandma was
that old people could be great fun
that they knew cool stuff
that they might allow you to do things your parents wouldn't
and that they could keep secrets
then finally
that they weren't forever
but their shadows in your life
were.