The First Texian Macabre Arena Ballad (The extended free-fallen edition)
In another life, is where I first saw your face!
Summer, afternoon, lying wounded, next to the dead
Unopened gun powder, mass destruction in a land of disgrace
A blood thirsty battlefield, is where I first saw your face
The sound of war, hidden behind my hands that bled
Crawlers, rendering their lives upon the open space
Jaws of steel, broken, embracing the warm feeling
Summer rain, lungs of blood, their last dying post
Glorious by numbers, every blade was screaming
Gemstone losing touch, in touch with the Holy Ghost
Soldiers come in a little closer, as if they were only dreaming
Crawling, missing limbs, twisted nightmare with no ending
Macabre reminder, retracing the aroma of eternal life
Secrets buried like a treasure under the walls of sudden death
Revolutionary tears found on a rusted Bowie knife
Lanterns, crackling against every last dying breath,
Dirty piles of crashing wind pipes, and sudden death
Rummage like garbage, the dead Texian
A Falling Alamo Star, taking one last twinkle and dying breath
The Forgotten Patriots, I can't remember the names
Written on the wall, I can't remember the names
A folktale arena is where I first saw your face
The fairness of stuttered surrender slicing through iron brace
Crawling, with the hunger to live, a clean finish with grace
Exposing, scars needing mother's hands, and face
Across infested meadows, the aroma of burning skin.
Distant, before Texas and her annexation,
Gruesome, before I lived, Texas and her mortal sin
I pledge, my love, the honor, a legion, I'm a full blown Texian
To Every Forgotten Texian Patriot----- We Win!
Well, GI Jack is welcome back, he left his legs in 'Nam.
He wakes at night in sweat and fright, then drinks another dram.
He doesn't know quite where to go, so seeks his uncle, Sam.
One can't ignore - his ma was poor, and life was sometimes cruel,
yet Jack was brave and well behaved and surely no one's fool
so joined the ranks that man the tanks, as soon as he left school
He learned to kill our foes at will (ordained a sacred rite),
and packed his bag and wrapped his flag and went away to fight.
And yes, the tide was on our side (for, clearly, might makes right)
Through tangled days in jungles' maze, he sought the enemy
behind the trees where, ill at ease, he fought the Yellow sea -
Upon the waves of sunken graves he sailed a killing Spree
The napalm dropped and cooked the crops, burnt huts along the way
and tanks, with ease, mowed down the trees and villages of clay.
Yes, turret guns were loads of fun with roaring roundelays
While on the hunt with other grunts, he burned some babes alive
and wondered why frail things must die, while evil's phantoms thrive -
When folly ends, he'll make amends if only he'll survive
With booby traps (sticks dipped in crap)... yes, Charlie fought unfair.
He hid in holes like snakes and voles and snuck up everywhere
and like a mite beneath the night, caught Jackie unaware
At battle's end, Jack sought his friends - their souls were washed away
and only he and destiny were left in disarray -
With bed and pan, just half a man, the man of yesterday
When Jackie woke, beyond the smoke, his frame no longer whole,
he found instead a medalled thread, some wraps to hide the hole,
and realized another prize: a chair on wheels to roll
Across his chest (you've surely guessed) his medals shone, arrayed.
His head felt light, as well it might, at Victory Day Parade
for when he rolled, while others strolled, his boots no longer weighed
Well, Jack stayed home (no roads to Rome) to start his life anew
receiving dole (that took its toll) which fell in Sam's purview,
but soon enough, when times got tough, his uncle, Sam, withdrew
To walk the streets with fine elites (or someone else who begs)
or find a job (or even rob) requires both your legs,
and those that don't and those that won't are those we call the dregs
For getting by he tried to ply and mine his medals' worth -
A tinny cup, a hungry pup near loamy pits of earth,
and best of all, per protocol, beneath a bridge, a berth
He clutched a sign 'A dime to dine?', if anybody cared,
but soon he found, as time unwound, that victors seldom shared.
And Jackie's pride was slowly fried by vacant eyes that stared
He took to drink to break the link with thoughts of what he'd done,
though threads of doubt began to flout the yarns Big Brother spun
of freedom's ring and other things like what it was we'd won
He told the breeze his vague unease; his words infused the air
and like the fogs above the bogs, soon floated through the square
where people sat at tea to chat, and thought 'How could he dare'
But freedom's price is never nice: like storms before the flood
the Daily Rag was on a jag, was looking out for blood,
deemed Jackie's thoughts untamed and fraught, then dragged him through the mud
By snooping clues, they plucked his views like grapes upon the vine.
Big Brother came, blamed Jackie's name for thinking out of line,
shut Jack away from light of day while letting freedom shine
The Junta Brass, with eyes of glass, were dressed in fine array
to hear the words (though slightly slurred) the witness gasped to say,
while Justice snored (the water board awash with Perrier)
Well, Jack was charged with laws enlarged in secret dossiers
within the guise of spreading lies and leading thoughts astray -
The Jury's out... the rabble shout 'well someone's gotta pay'
The Judge (who fears the mind’s frontiers), he turned his head to yawn
while making haste through courtroom waste, though slightly pale and wan -
The voodoo Lune withdrew as soon as Night condemned the Dawn
While in his cell, the verdict fell - the sighs of Silence, rife
While in his cell, the verdict fell - the Reaper played a fife
While in his cell, the verdict fell - the price was Jackie's life
While censor’s cooks are roasting books (and truth) on stakes ablaze,
well, Jackie's head (though chopped and shed) still thinks about the praise
for deeds once done in victories won when cruising in a craze,
and then again about the sin of thinking, nowadays,
where, absently, humanity is served in urns on trays -
And, reconciled, it simply smiles at fortune's funny ways
A mind was caught while thinking thoughts neath Sammy’s prying gaze
and forced to stop by concept cops, else join the castaways.
For now it's law to hold in awe the brave new world's malaise
and dance like mimes to rigid rhymes (which no one disobeys)
and celebrate with white-washed pate, adorned with dead bouquets -
With freedom’s death, time holds its breath, and waits for better days...
and the minor wars
sipped as the steams rises
as ancient offerings,
watching as seers from old towers,
the image rises in detailed clouds
silver linings, but not for God nor man,
we lay down the spoons,
clinking against porcelain,
in less refined trajectories.
Mangled jungle-gyms and swings,
bleeding stretchers adorning siren walls,
declare, some thirst,
(though it will never be satiated)
At home for now, in our assuming tower,
We hear the spiraling death whistles,
turn from crimson bandages,
and watch the excavation from rubble
of tea cups.
The first time I beheld your being, I felt that creation helded, its breath.
Without peace of mind you are in a constant state of war within.
With your tongue, you murder your brothers, sisters,, complete strangers,
And then the innocent, as you allow the guilty to go free.
You go to war with your own heart! Yet we pursue love, or and lust,
with a tenacity and then we declare a cease-fire, that has only one truth.
It blinds us to such a depth, that the cease-fire fails.
This is the ballad of the black slave,
Who has been beaten and disgraced,
Who has been called the n word,
Who has recieved no pay.
This is the ballad of the black slave,
Who prays for freedom every night,
Who is going to rebel,
For what he think is right.
Now this is the ballad of the freed slave,
Who has seen much blood shed,
Who has fought for equal rights,
And who has won his freedom.
There’s one truth that comes through me
For those who’d stop and listen
If you can’t handle misery
And you hate those tears to glisten
Then here’s some really good advice
Don’t have those expectations
Expectation be the thing
That causes war twixt nations.
Expectations are the beast
That sweeps throughout our land
Everyone has many of them
Though they don’t understand
It’s because of expectations
That friendships rip to shreds
It causes many hearts to bleed
And torture in the head.
I’m dropping expectations
It’s pretty hard to do
And yet it’s worth the effort
I know that this be true
Sometimes I might slip a bit
But this don’t mean a thing
Cause it’s all within the trying
That makes the warm heart sing
14 January 2014 1007hrs.
The sensitive soldier
A boy like him, how could he think?
That a soldier he could be?
He was soft, poetic, sensitive
And yet this lad, did he
Join the army for to fight
To keep his country free
The lad he was adventurous
So he joined up happily.
Then he learned the very hard way
That war is for the strong
There’s no place there for heart and soul
The boy did not belong
All the stuff he saw, it broke him down
And made a mess of him
He had a breakdown, fell apart
His each day felt so grim.
They discharged him, and he became
A kind of nowhere man
He did not fit in anywhere
And now this man called Dan
He lives alone, and writes his stuff
And drinks a lot of beer
Cause what his life is all about
He really is not clear.
30 January 2014 @ 0645hrs.
What I gave
This is what I gave to you
Australia, I came brand new
To live here, in your lovely land
I thought your country was so grand
So I joined up to fight your war
In Vietnam [what was it for????]
I offered you my life, did I
Though still I’m here, I did not die.
I spent a year as medic there
And saw such horror everywhere
Young men dying painfully
Australia, as I gave you me
I nearly lost my soul, did I
Though as I said, I did not die
Something in me went away
No more was I so young and gay.
Australia, you’ve looked after me
You pay my bills so generously
But can you give my spirit back?
Or all the things that now I lack
Because I fought your foolish war
Australia, I gave you more
Than you could ever, ever know
I gave to you my youthful glow.
22 June 2014 @
For Sheri's contest 'What I gave'
To love your country,
you must commit yourself indefinetly;
there are no doubts, or fears
when it comes to defend it fervently..
do it for the sake of your family,
or your countrymen who wish for peace!
They will send you to distant lands,
away from your loved ones...
to uphold freedom and its sanctity,
and you'll shine with bravery!
Anytime peace is threatened,
you'll retaliate and engage in combat,
true soldiers always fight with self-confidence,
never retreat in any circumstance!
There'll be days of fright , of darkness and despair,
and nights to shed tears on cold pillows;
no tender eyes to glance into or arms to embrace,
but surrendering distorts your honor!
As the mission comes to its end suddenly,
and you are one of the surviivors to declare victory,
although you'll also grieve for the fallen ones:
you'll wave your flag to the calmest skies!
To love your country,
you must avail yourself of dignity
and protect its borders vigilantly;
be aware of its tremendous cost:
risk your own life,or allow
the enemy to toast!
Bert was cooking in a bucket,
Knew his hide at any rate
Pock marks on his thighs an biceps,
Shot that day by a sniper, mate,
Sniper chopped by Aussie Bren gun,
Fell from palm in many pieces,
Driven back by charging soldiers,
Jonno’s mates were ‘ridge e didge’,
Next day they drove off the Japanese,
Checked the cooking pots for tucker,
Fermenting rice, not much chop,
Starving Jap’s, not any luckier,
Two armies starved, no tucker,
in these green mountains, grim,
slaughter at point blank range,
shoot first boy, or get done in,
Evidence at the war crime hearing,
Jonno and the Doctor gave,
Several cases were reported,
Of Kokoda’s missing brave’s.
Don Johnson…true story…16-aug-11
This Aussie war in New Guinea, was concurrent
with Gaudacanal's desperate U.S.fight with around 20,000 Japanese
...We only had 13,000 armed Japanese bent on coming over Kokoda
mountains, and then on to Australia, they had the Japanese
10 shilling note occupation money in their pockets. The Japanese
say they were ordered back over the mountains to Gona and Buna,
it saves face hey. The reality was they were dying slowly from starvation,
malaria 2 types, plus Dengue fever was killing many,
and the 2500 fresh Aussie blooded veterans drove them back
from Irobiawa mountain top with fixed bayonets.
After a day or so of our 25 pounders blasting them. Time to leave.