"vets" poems
**** this civilized **** I am set, like an object. So don't object. My eyes on the prize like my future subjects. All these haters is suspect, I pay them no respect. That's how a King treats his subjects. I blow minds like lare jets-- then take marks and get set. It could be the bad or the ugly, l'm as good as it gets. I'm raising the bar like I'm working my pecs, working hard, baring arms like I'm funk master flex. I'm laughing so hard it's hurting my chest. instead of getting money I'm enjoying my wealth, weight a couple rounds, then rise up in belts. My Dawgs underdogs, like we training vets. I weigh the pros agasint cons, then Shakakon like I'm K. West. Extend my arm and drop a bomb when this mic turn on. My future brighter than prospects, standing on Prospect while the Sunset waiting to get it on
Jan 4, 2015
Jan 4, 2015 at 8:45 AM UTC
Fresh from the kennels. A whole world away.
Companion conversion for a young castaway.
A darling of distraction with irrational fears.
The clumsiest canine with ever aware ears.
Guardian of gourmet. Suspect of all sounds.
He'll catch himself someday, spinning around.
A tug of war here. A muddy mess there.
A lick to the face of the humans in his care.
How thrilled his tail and tremendous his teeth.
How dug up the planet from paw underneath.
The running for fun. The claiming of trees.
The car window ride along - face full of breeze.
--------------------------------------------------------
But now he's a master of "Stay!".
His eagle ears succumbing to gravity's sway.
Napping much more, barking much less.
Now rarer the cuddle, the clean, the caress.
Patch protector. Owner of no debts.
A veteran of various villainous vets.
Birds as trivial as the tennis ball is far.
Eyes now as hazy as the indistinguishable stars.
A howl at the moon. A loosening tooth.
An ode to memories of a modest youth.
They still love this pup. He still loves them back.
May he long be remembered as he faces the black.
Mar 1, 2016
Mar 1, 2016 at 12:03 AM UTC
My hamster has asthma
it's so well not ****** cool
he sits there just looking at me
when I put him in his ball
The wheel I bought him to run inside
does sit in his cage redundant
for he has no want to play
my poor short of breath rodent
I took him to the vets
this coughing spluttering pet
I told of my malady
hoping he'd make him breath better for me
The vet looked at me astounded
and very confounded
as this condition he had never seen
a hamster with asthma looking cute and serene
By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris
Apr 11, 2014
Apr 11, 2014 at 7:07 PM UTC
It was about fifteen years ago
No romantic notions
No grand stories
Just another part of my strange journey
For a high school dropout
It was a wooden bed
In a blue storage trailer
One and a half month long
Sleep deprived
Long drive
From site to site
One week
Per city
Doing my laundry
At laundry matts
With strange pretty girls
Hanging at a bar
Playing slutty slot machines
No drinking
Cause I was only nineteen
It was two vets
From different wars
Smoking *** in the morning
It was my first *** buzz
Staring stupidly up
At the ceiling
The strangest set of strangers
Bathing in the back of a semi
Getting lunch with a lemon punch
Using carny credit
It was sketching for a distraction
No artistic satisfaction
Very few journal entries
And those journals are now lost
Searching for myself
As all young men do
In the end it was just another job
Apr 10, 2015
Apr 10, 2015 at 6:38 AM UTC
There is a man
who writes signs
for the homeless,
puts different lives
on display,
spends his time
night and day
over squares of cardboard
or triangles of vinyl,
he turns them into
war vets
or leukemia survivors,
he slaves away
so that they'll get
people to listen,
he wants people
to hear the heart
of the world murmuring
as it cries,
because we have left
them,
their lack of a place
to reside,
is our society's dark side,
so he is not a man
of the people
he is a man for the people,
he wants that spare
nickel,
dime,
or dollar
as much for them
as his words
are for himself
and his own sense
of redemption,
because this world
has gone cold on the surface
but it's heart
still burns,
still makes you uncomfortable,
when you see his signs
in the hands
of men and women
in the grassy medians.
Feb 25, 2012
Feb 25, 2012 at 7:28 PM UTC
I killed myself today.
It was too much.
The debt,
The expectations,
The hippies,
The stonefaced
Unsympathetic Vietnam vets asking me if I was a *****
To tell you the truth, Gus,
You've got to be pretty **** ******** to slit that throat,
To pull that trigger,
To hang that corpse from a rafter high.
But I did it classy.
Yeah.
I died like a Roman who had plotted against great Caesar.
I went home,
Slipped into the tub wearing a suit I pieced together from Uptown Thrift.
As the scorching water flowed,
I sipped wine and read the bible.
King James Version only, mind you.
As the water approached my neck I shut it off.
I laughed at the hypocrisy:
A suicide scene with a bible strewn about.
I muttered,
Then took the knife and opened up my veins.
I bled out.
My thoughts drifted to depressing things:
My 2 year old brother working a night shift at Walmart holding back his tears while being yelled at by a balding middle aged man who never did anything with his life,
A dog corpse ***** and mutilated by some *******
A banker smoking a cigarette and laughing in an infant's face,
And the world turning on.
As it always does.
As it always will.
Jan 15, 2014
Jan 15, 2014 at 6:11 PM UTC
You're my heroes
you showed me that I'm strong
even when put down,
or when I'm hurt or wrong
You're brave,
risking your life in order to save
13 weeks of hell
blood, horror and flack jackets
an honored purple heart
you helped me come out of my shell
I'm proud to call you my family
my relatives, my blood.
going through a calamity
from Paris Island Soldiers to Vietnam Vets
You're Marines.
One day I'll stand in my dress blues
proudly walk through the door
fresh out the corp
I'll have stories for my children,
and I'll watch the military channel with my dad
but first I'll disregard death staring me in the face
and the sudden urge run
and I'll put up gun
and aim for the dream
of being an American Marine.
Jan 8, 2014
Jan 8, 2014 at 8:38 AM UTC
You don't give a ****
About us vets
You pay us lip service
And leave us in debt
Cancel our appointments
But when we call
To reschedule you act
Like WE dropped the ball
I've been waiting 2 years
For my ****** up shoulder
You keep handing me pills
And my will grows colder
Now three of my battles
Have taken their life
Today one shot himself
In front of his kids and wife
Oh, NOW you care?
**** OFF VA, SCREW YOU!!!**
Just hand me my pills
Like you usually do
Oh, why are you angry?
You must not like to hear
What most of us vets
Have heard from you for years
**** you too, VA
Oct 23, 2014
Oct 23, 2014 at 9:23 PM UTC
everything reminds me of you
every freaking little thing
and I hate you, I really do
but hatred is still an emotion, an invested emotion
even those fireworks
those God **** fireworks
not even the same ones
but now even fireworks are tainted
its like the vets with ptsd syndrome
boom, gun shot
boom, another crack in my heart
theres no healing after something like that
it brings me back and it reminds me of you
everything reminds me of you
and I hate it because I hate you
even fireworks have been tainted by you
Jul 4, 2013
Jul 4, 2013 at 4:12 AM UTC
The Marines
The Few, The Proud
The Brave, the Courageous
Disciplined, Proper
From Paris Island Soldiers to Vietnam Vets
Its a position for freedom
a job for the fearless
Protecting our country day in and day out
1992 to 1994
Dads unit secured naval ships
sweat, tears and will power
guns blazing with 875 rounds a minute
1966 to 1968
His dad served in Vietnam
blood, gore and gunshots
flack jackets, an honored purple heart
learn to **** and not get killed
and never proffer anything less than the best
you’re there to out stand and defend
to honor, to provide
One day I’ll be standing here, in my dress blues
with my hair neatly slicked back, tight in a bun
I’ll have stories to tell my children
and I’ll watch the Military channel with my father
but first
I’ll learn to disregard the fear
of death staring you in the face
or the sudden urge to run
then I’ll wonder,
putting up my gun, aiming, and shooting for my dreams
of being an American Marine
Nov 15, 2013
Nov 15, 2013 at 10:01 AM UTC
Taketh the weapon's
Out of the young
Poor man's hand's;
And replace the gun
In the palm's
Of the old, rich beastly men;
Send the young boy's
Home
Who art but eighteen;
Let the greedy
Fight their own war
For their oil, gold, and papery green.
©Brandon Nagley
©Lonesome poets poetry
Nov 11, 2015
Nov 11, 2015 at 11:10 AM UTC
Eyes that flash the soul of civilization
And warm the heart in observation.
Love that whispers with a gentle touch
And surrounds with hugs that seem so much.
Cry Beloved!
Water that caresses with a thousand tongues
Sunshine that coos all the birds’ songs
Teachers and vets, pronouns and clowns
Croissants, marmalade, coffee and new lawns.
Cry Beloved!
Breezes and sneezes, walks by the shore
Seashells that capture all the sea’s roar
Powdery sand and laconic lagoons
Daydreams and naps in the afternoons
Cry Beloved!
Smiles, museums, carriages in the park
Salads with friends and chocolates too dark
Rowing among lily pads and turtles and frogs
Hiking and crossing the streams on new logs.
Cry Beloved!
Flowers and bees buzzing in the sun
Hummingbirds hovering, dogs on the run
Children running, giggles and wiggles
Caring, learning, reading and snuggles
Cry Beloved!
Snowy mountains, valleys green
Faith proclaimed, faith unseen
Wonder and ponder, awe and reverence
Invitations from God to join in the dance
Cry beloved!
Hands held together in prayer and in love
Eyes raised to heaven on the wings of a dove
Caring so deep, affection so real
Feel the love and start to heal
Cry My Beloved!
Sep 6, 2010
Sep 6, 2010 at 8:40 PM UTC
The Marines
The Few, The Proud
The Brave, the Courageous
Disciplined, Proper
From Paris Island Soldiers to Vietnam Vets
Its a position for freedom
a job for the fearless
Protecting our country day in and day out
1992 to 1994
Dads unit secured naval ships
sweat, tears and will power
guns blazing with 875 rounds a minute
1966 to 1968
His dad served in Vietnam
blood, gore and gunshots
flack jackets, an honored purple heart
learn to **** and not get killed
and never proffer anything less than the best
you’re there to out stand and defend
to honor, to provide
One day I’ll be standing here, in my dress blues
with my hair neatly slicked back, tight in a bun
I’ll have stories to tell my children
and I’ll watch the Military channel with my father
but first
I’ll learn to disregard the fear
of death staring you in the face
or the sudden urge to run
then I’ll wonder,
putting up my gun, aiming, and shooting for my dreams
of being an American Marine
Dec 5, 2013
Dec 5, 2013 at 7:15 PM UTC
The young boy wrote his Christmas Cards
Wrote his name as neatly as he knew
He put the ones aside to take to school
And in his bedroom he hid two
These cards were special for the boy
One was for his Uncle, one was for his dad
The cards just had to reach them
And here's the plan he had..
He knew that mail to Santa Claus
Made it up to the North Pole
But, he wasn't sure just how his card
Would reach his fathers soul
You see, the boys dad and his Uncle
were taken by an IED
They'd both been gone two years now
Since the boy was only three
He visited the cenotaph
In the park, most every day
He'd stop and he'd salute it
And then he'd go and play
It was a gentle hi to both of them
For he knew that at this place
He could feel them staring down on him
Though he'd forgotten his dad's face
He took the cards down to the park
And he left them by a wreath
Left over from November
He laid his two cards underneath
A man was walking past the boy
And he saw the boy salute
But, he also saw the Christmas cards
And he thought the whole thing cute
He waited for the boy to leave
And he opened one to read
It said "Merry Christmas" , "Thank You"
"I miss you, yes indeed"
The man went to the nearest school
to ask about the lad
To find out if this one young boy
Was a student that they had
A teacher overheard his tale
And called the man in for a talk
At the end she sat there crying
She had to go out for a walk
She went to find his teacher
Told the tale of this young man
Then between them they sat down and
They both devised a plan
The next day when the class began
Christmas Cards they would write
Each one was for a soldier
And to them this just seemed right
They would set up a class field trip
To see the vets up on the hill
In the special Veterans Hospital
to the kids, this was a thrill
The hospital was telephoned
And the vets were set to meet
Miss Johnson and Miss Watson's class
To get their Christmas treat
The kids were dressed in sunday best
Like they were a month ago
But, this time it was different
This time there would be snow
Each card said "Merry Christmas"
All said thank you, some were sad
To think this project started with
A card left for a dad
After all was done and dusted
The kids continued on
They went down to the cenotaph
To give more cards to those now gone
The story made it through the school
And each day another class
Wrote Christmas cards to soldiers
And they delivered them en-masse
By the action of a little boy
who wasn't locked to a computer
He started a tradition
this young boy, the saluter.
Dec 19, 2012
Dec 19, 2012 at 3:14 PM UTC
I came home late from work today
My wife was hopping mad
She said "we've got to put him somewhere"
"I've had it with your dad"
I asked what was the problem
She said "The second you left home"
"He was out back in the garden"
"Sitting, talking to a gnome"
"I see", I said, that isn't good
"Then the war games in the trees"
"The next time I looked out he was"
"Crawling on his hands and knees'
"I went out to go and get him"
"He threw me down and slapped my ***
He said "you have to get down low dear"
"Or you'll be spotted by the ***
I suggested that we look about
For a nice old country home
He could play his war games in the woods
And I would let him take the gnome
My wife said "Make it happen"
And I heard through the back door
"It better happen quickly"
"Because I can not take much more!"
I called and found a nice spot
Princess Patricia's Old Vets Place
It was cheap and fit our budget
And it sure had lots of space
We went up for a visit
Before we put my dad in there
I mean, if it was not to his liking
Then it would not be quite fair
The head nurse gave us info
About the hours and the fees
And we told her of how Daddy
Liked to play war games in the trees
She said "He's going to love it"
"It sounds like he's a real good sport"
"The vets here have a Navy"
"Out on the tennis court"
"They strap bed pans to their feet"
"And they go skating down the hall"
"Some unhook their catheters"
"And have duels upon the wall"
"They see who shoots the highest"
"Which one can write their name"
"And every time we show a war film"
"It all ends up the same"
"He'll fit right in, no problem"
"I can sign him in today"
My wife just stood and smiled
Pulled out the cheque,with which to pay
Dad, not really caring
Watched the woods for an attack
I don't think that he cared much
If we ever did come back
He's happy at the moment
Giving orders to the gnome
Out deep in the country
At Princess Pat's Old Vets Home
Life is back to normal
All is well for her and me
Although lately I've seen soldiers
Hiding, watching in the trees.....
Nov 4, 2013
Nov 4, 2013 at 11:32 PM UTC
Flag of my fathers
When will the winds of equality
lift you from your languid prison?
When will your 12,000,000
illegals be given shelter
beneath your furled stars?
Flag of my fathers
When will you be worthy
of your returning veterans?
I'm tired of them washing
my windows for spare change
beneath the overpass
Flag of my fathers
When will your gays and lesbians
be more than fodder for bible
thumping patriots?
I was a bible thumping patriot
once but I never hated the gays
I'm tired and broke Flag of my fathers
The bank wants my house
and the Chinaman wants my job
He's welcome to it if he can get
the Indian to give it up
The doctor wants my money
but it's all been squandered
on promises and broken dreams
I call for equality Flag of my fathers
and they call me a communist
I'm not a communist but if communists
believe in equality, was Jefferson
a communist?
Flag of my fathers
They tell me to leave if I don't like
the way things are but where will I go?
Mexico's crowded and Canada's cold
The government tells me 'get a job'
but the corporation says 'get an education'
The University hands me a bill
and when I can't pay
they tell me 'get a job'
It's all ****** up Flag of my fathers
It doesn't make any sense
I've got a headache, leave me
alone
I'm so tired
Watching shadows crawl across
the wall is dull even for a slow
witted fool like me
Flag of my fathers
Why are we at war?
Why are we closing our museums
and demolishing our libraries?
Why are we feeding our military
and starving our vets?
It's too much to take
Flag of my fathers
It's too **** much to take...
Apr 7, 2013
Apr 7, 2013 at 10:56 AM UTC
Winter nomads
Reclined in a Maytag box
One after another, like Legos
Discarded “Hungry, Please Help” signs
Defines this squalor
Young or old, it shows no discriminating
Countless families, countless vets, countless children
Are lost to this
I am afraid to stare on their plight
Afraid of self-fulfilled prophecy
Feb 25, 2015
Feb 25, 2015 at 3:43 PM UTC
Flag of my fathers
When will the winds of equality
lift you from your languid prison?
When will your 12,000,000
immigrants get a fair shake
beneath your furled stars?
Flag of my fathers
When will you be worthy
of your returning veterans?
I'm tired of them washing
my windows for spare change
beneath the overpass
Flag of my fathers
When will your gays and lesbians
be more than fodder for bible
thumping patriots?
I was a bible thumping patriot
once but I never hated the gays
I'm tired and broke Flag of my fathers
The bank wants my house
and the Chinaman wants my job
He's welcome to it if he can get
the Indian to give it up
The doctor wants my money
but it's all been squandered
on promises and broken dreams
I call for equality Flag of my fathers
and they call me a communist
I'm not a communist but if communists
believe in equality, was Jefferson
a communist?
Flag of my fathers
They tell me to leave if I don't like
the way things are but where will I go?
Mexico's crowded and Canada's cold
The righties tell me 'get a job'
but the jobies say 'get an education'
The Universities hand me a bill
and when I can't pay
they tell me 'get a job'
It's all ****** up Flag of my fathers
and doesn't make any sense
I've got a headache, leave me
alone
I'm so tired
Watching shadows crawl across
the walls is dull even for a slow
witted fool like me
Flag of my fathers
Why are we at war?
Why are we closing our museums
and demolishing our libraries?
Why are we feeding our military
and starving our vets?
It's too much to take
Flag of my fathers
It's too **** much to take...
Jan 23, 2013
Jan 23, 2013 at 10:53 AM UTC
The vets that fought for the Boston tea party
native impostors of tea tossing
or the vets that were slaves and fought for freedom
the vets that go to other countries to **** non white people
all of the care vets have or not
and funding and compassion
should go to freed slaves
the vets that killed slave masters
and saved their children from **** and torture
the independence that declaring freedom with broken chains
dead slave masters
beautiful songs and music
the blues
jazz
art and technology
affords
or the independence declared from being free of being taxed
The independence declared when a slave felt
knowing that in Britain the emancipation has already been declared
seeing the desperation in the slave profiteers
seeing the desperation of whiteness
and the independence declared when experiencing the freedom
of Escaping liberty
proving that a human being is not a resource to exploit
Independence day
Jul 4, 2016
Jul 4, 2016 at 11:29 AM UTC
Liberty and FREEDOM?
For SOME, but not for ALL.
For most the clock is ticking,
And it's slowing to a crawl.
The graphitti is in neon.
A luminous great scrawl.
The finger is a'pointing.
The writing's on the wall.
Can't afford our army corps
Let alone our vets.
Alone our heros wander streets
As mean as it gets.
Their chances of survival?
Don't take any bets.
What happened to the middle class?
Are THEY free anymore?
Yep. They push the shopping carts
At the Wal-Mart store.
It's one of their MANY menial jobs
They have three or four
Even the kids must work for pay
That mortgage is a bore
They feel like exploding.
It rocks them to the core.
They see all their neighbors
Are simply getting poor.
The liberty bell's cracked open
Can't you hear the sound?
All the freedom fighters left.
They've gone underground.
Look for the founding fathers.
They are not around.
Where are the stars and stripes?
Nowhere to be found.
SoulSurvivor
(C) 9/30/2015
Oct 1, 2015
Oct 1, 2015 at 12:49 AM UTC
Friday, 1211h
A man collapses at lunch
and his vitals spin away like
marbles: pulse, breath, pallor
rolling about on the floor
out of reach of the heroes who
shout his name, flash their pagers
like the batman symbol.
Someone get a doctor in here, now.
The old Vets shuffle out of the room
comment blearily on the poor guy
I guess after the War things do not phase you the same
but perhaps they didn't notice the hue of his lips.
And then he stabilizes, and I fall apart
aghast, aback, there is still tuna sandwich in my mouth
ground by my teeth into a diamond to monument the recovery.
The gurney rolls by, I know him.
My stomach falls to Ground Floor
in relief and despair.
That's the thing about long term care
these men are clever, they teach you so well how to live
that you forget they're supposed to die.
Mar 8, 2013
Mar 8, 2013 at 5:38 PM UTC
This week has been very long so far
Maybe because I mashed my head on Saturday,
But Joe turned up to surprise his Ma,
Would have bin rude not to share the MDMA.
But what goes up has to come down,
We had our fun, our chats, our tunes.
On Sunday he was Nottingham bound
Monday a pin-pricked balloon.
Overcompensation followed
I Frontlined the pets, took the cat to the vets, did the weekly shop, used the hoover and mop.......watched "The Waltons"........I made pies and mash, grieved for spent cash, looked for a job, tried not to open my gob..........watched "The Waltons"......I sorted the cupboards, mixed up my words, misheard repeatedly, had great thoughts ...fleetingly........watched "The Waltons"
Finally Friday beckons invitedly, a time of unwinding.
I can't believe that in the past I would have bin planning
More pill taking excitedly.More fun and lights blinding
But thank god I'm too old to be young ..... Must be soon Spring.
Feb 7, 2013
Feb 7, 2013 at 6:51 PM UTC
Refrain:
Oh Mr. Obama its your war now
war profits are up and so is the Dow
we've carried the gun and dropped the plough
these wars must end so end them now
Osama bin Laden hit us hard
he knocked down our buildings
in a murderous barrage
then President Bushie
atop a rubble heap
vowed to **** Osama
bury em for keeps
Refrain:
Oh Mr. Obama its your war now
war profits are up and so is the Dow
we've carried the gun and dropped the plough
these wars must end so end them now
W and Dickie invaded Afghan
soon thereafter disposed of Saddam
seven years later casualties swell
these wars are nightmares a living hell
Bombs destroy civilian homes
missiles strike by killer drones
collateral damage a cardinal sin
hearts and minds we'll never win
Oh Mr. Obama
this is your war now
we don't care who started it
it don't matter no how
sign the peace papers
make the hard call
bring the troops home
before one more falls
to build our country
we need global friends
fightin for oil
is war without end
You must think it over
give it some thought
the lives you ended
the horror wrought
Refrain:
Oh Mr. Obama its your war now
war profits are up and so is the Dow
we've carried the gun and dropped the plough
these wars must end so end them now
Our country needs fixin
there's much to do
jobs, health n schoolin
and homeless vets too
you got a Nobel
a prize for peace
you said war was hell
is too hard to cease
to continue the course
to bomb and bash
hate grows against us
we risk a great crash
a hope we can believe in
you would oft say
you win election
we don't change our ways
these wars are pointless
don't make no sense
bring the troops home
let the war machine rest
Refrain:
Oh Mr. Obama its your war now
war profits are up and so is the Dow
we've carried the gun and dropped the plough
these wars must end so end them now
Afghans are dying
they take up arms
to **** young Yanks
and do us harm
so think of moms,
lovers and friends
of young dead soldiers
we'll never hold again
how are you sleeping?
do you toss and turn?
do the faces of dead ones
make your conscience burn?
So Mr. Obama
just bring them home now
the Good Lord will bless you
beat swords into ploughs
Refrain:
Oh Mr. Obama its your war now
war profits are up and so is the Dow
we've carried the gun and dropped the plough
these wars must end so end them now
Music Selection:
Country Joe and the Fish: Feel Like I'm Fixing to Die Rag
jbm
NYC
3/15/10
Mar 18, 2013
Mar 18, 2013 at 6:30 AM UTC