In my country,
Seeing smoky sky
But Killing kids kills
Me everyday, every minute
No matter with
Or lightening rockets;
It is being our daily habit
No more choices:
To die or but to die
Silently without even a whispered Cry,
Or a small bit of a registered grave;
It is happening now just in my country!
I stood on a hill and screamed for peace...
Lost in the noise were friends that teased...
A mask that hides what's wrong and right...
Too many stones thrown that blinded my sight...
Wolves that prowled with a sheeps face and a devils soul...
Crept slowly in the dark where the truth was never told...
My cape is wrinkled and torn and bloodied from the day...
A battle well fought where being right lost its way...
Then left with a heart with blood still there to drain...
No need to ask the question, I'd do it all over again...
I don't write stories, I don't write make believe... I write what's in Me.... Michael
Don’t judge that kid with her arms all scarred
Don’t brand that kid as bad
You never would have survived
If you had the life she had
So say a prayer and show you care
She’s paid more than her share of dues
Don’t put her down or say bad things
Until you’ve walked that mile in her shoes
Those who suffered in war earn respect
They are greeted like super stars
She came from a war you wouldn’t understand
On her arms, the battle scars
Her own home was the battle zone
The desperation, feeling all alone
A situation she felt no escape from
Then late at night the urges come
Innocence lost like a bad dream
No self respect, no self esteem
It is an ongoing battle to feel whole
You can see the beauty within her soul
Sometimes I pray for a Judgement day
You have no heart if you look away
Flashbacks come and the anger stirs
The guilt she carries isn’t hers
There is a need for justice long past due
A need for acceptance from me and you
With anger, despair and fear demanding
The child needs some understanding
In spite of all the tears she cried
There are still battle scars deep inside
Hello friend, Do you see that man on the corner by the street?
He is holding the cardboard saying "homeless and I need to eat."
If you're not too busy, come with me on a journey back to 1969.
It will help you to look past his appearence and beyond his homemade sign.
This is the 1960's, where they thrived on the American Dream.
The women were real ladies, or at least in public thats what it seems.
Today is High School graduation, So much happiness is in the air,
But, These young men have recieved papers, and Uncle Sam expects them there.
Do you recognize the bone structure of this boy standing on our right?
He is the one from the future corner, he was Valedictorian tonight.
So well dressed, and raised up right, his sweetheart by his side.
He has no reason to be fearful of the draft, he is filled with American Pride.
Fast foward, Just a few weeks, to him and his young new wife,
Kissing so passionately, pressing pause on their future, and their life.
He is dropped down in the jungle, amist the sounds of live fire.
He sees injured men being lifted out, as the SGT's on the wire.
Just a young boy of 19, he is scared beyond his witts,
Yet, he completes every mission he is given, he never quits.
He holds the hands of friends, who was cut down in their prime.
Yes, this is the same man, the one you wouldn't give a dime.
He arrives back home, in the year of 1972.
His tour earned him a purple heart, he took bullets for you.
once at home, he is expecting affection from his lover,
but, he has been gone for so long she already found another.
So at 21 years old, this veteran is now a man,
He drinks his memories away, everynight if he can.
He gave an eye, and two of the best friends he has ever known.
He never was told "thank you", and he has nothing to call his own.
If you pay close attention to the newspapers of '72
you will see in the protest, they blamed the drafted soilders too.
so here is this man, young, and broken, yet, still not ashamed.
He proudly answered the call, when the draft listed his name.
Only a fellow Veteran, could even try to understand,
That there are no surviving Vets, a part of them died in Vietnam.
When they returned they expected welcome parties and smiles.
Instead they were placed in a new war, but, it was their uniform on trial.
If you still feel the same as you did before our walk.
Go on about your day, forget about our talk.
But, if you have decided, you can look beyond his sign.
Maybe understand his pain, and give our hero a dime.
The sweetest sounds of burning trees
A gentle stroking in the breeze
The calm has lasted past the storm
Cloudy visions, Satan’s roar
Too many sights have passed my way
A time found only in the haze
The softest screams are running bare
My aching bones creak as I stare
You walk a distance towards me
The fall’s eternal, can’t you see?
I’m a memory in your heart
I whisper to you in the dark
The battle’s started at the end
No one is coming to repent
The sinners grab their wine from prey
No judgment calling here to stay
The sport is reckless to be told
The one is laughing at his souls
It falters nowhere to be sure
The power grows forevermore
Like a spirit in the wind
I have no say in where you’ve been
But cross the line to come to me
And pay the price for ecstasy
You walk a distance towards me
The fall’s eternal, can’t you see?
I’m a memory in your heart
I whisper to you in the dark.
In a modern setup,
Vibrant visions evaporates
To emptiness, nothingness and waywardness.
Leaving the people in stark darkness,
Leading to nowhere,
As penury is declared "king",
Hunger succeeds the throne
As blind leaders hardened the
Economy like bone.
Giving peanuts to the peasants
But gold for the wealthy,
Oh! what a chess game in the midst
Of blind spectators.....
Mothers swaying in tattered rags,
Struggling with drying breasts which
Produces the hopeful milk of the skinny infants...
Children strolling with empty plates
Searching for who to wet their throats.
Fathers planting courage and assurance,
Hoping the land will be milky someday,
Yet the center is not holding
For heads are plenty but the brains are few...
Therefore turning weakening hearts
To marauding crooks,
Staining their whites,
Be litling their lives,
Insulting their hands
Making the land stink,
While Africa bears the smell,
To the detriment of her virtue.
Our agricultural and peaceful
"green white green", they've turned to
A dark and bloody "red black red".
Now who leads who in this
Criminal war front, corrupt justice
And indecisive generation?
Things fall apart when truth step aside,
Evil takes the lead when black minds
Score the goal...
Things fall apart when the people can't merge.
One Toy Soldier
Little toy soldiers are all put away
Training is over for this time of day.
Where do these little boys go now to play?
Away from their home to die in the fray.
Little toy weapons are no longer there
But boxed in attics by mothers with care--
Where keepsakes still hold a lock of his hair--
While rockets and missles challenge his fare.
Little toy bad guys and little toy good
Haze in the distance when misunderstood.
Where fall the lilies on long crates of wood
And each gave their all--as good soldiers should...
Little toy soldiers are coming back home...
Mothers are weeping, laments all alone
Where flags lie folded--the gift of Shalom...
As the long box is lowered...'neath the loam
One little toy soldier is placed on the top
Remembering All--so that None be Forgot.
"My dear Hannah: We're camped nigh a town called Gettysburg tonight.
I take pen in hand to write to you, my love, by the flickerin' candlelight.
From afar I hear the beat of Rebel drums preparin' fer battle on the 'morrow.
Oh, my darlin' Hannah! I ain't never knowed such loneliness and sorrow!"
"How I long to be with you and the children 'round our family hearth.
Ya'all mean the world to me, more than anything else on God's earth!
I recall so many times biddin' a sad farewell at our humble cabin door,
And marchin' off with my home brigade as we faced the cruel war!"
"I'm a-thankin' ye fer the chicken and apple pie you sent last week.
I shared it with my friends - it brightened our day which elsewise was so bleak.
This evenin' I read from my tattered Bible the Twenty-third Psalm.
We shared it many times at our family altar - it gives me such great calm!"
"I 'spect to be comin' home to help bring in the crops later on this fall,
And sit 'round the board to enjoy a bountiful Thanksgivin' with ya'all!
So fatten up old Tom Turkey, make some dressin' and sweet pertaters,
A couple of yer famous punkin pies and serve some fresh termaters!"
"I reckon I'd better close this letter 'cause its a-gittin' purty late.
Pray fer me, Hannah! I'll leave ever'thing in God's hands as to my fate!
Hug and kiss the children fer me tonight as you tuck them in their bed.
I'll see you soon, dear one. 'Til then, I remain your lovin' husband, Jed."
Alas, the Scythe of Death reaped Jed's soul upon that ghastly field of strife.
The hopes expressed in his poignant letter would ne'er be shared with his wife..
It was found in his tunic pocket as he was lowered in his hallowed grave,
As his comrades honored him for his service and the life he freely gave.
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) All Rights Reserved
sent to the slaughter
caught between levels of hell...
neither one he chose
he lay amidst death
destiny arrived on time
alive…it chose him
For "Senryu Movie Scene" Contest
The greatest holiday gift I ever received
Goes back so many, many years
Before my life became turmoiled
And before my tears for fears
I was a child like many out there
Torn, strewn and split of kin
Mother and father in differences
Confused at seven, wearing their same skin
For I was one of the lucky ones
To a Highland Estate I would go
It's on the west coast of Scotland
Where my holidays desired me so
Secretly I internally smiled
For a whisper of where I was heading
To live with a movie star hero
No longer my life was in dreading
We were picked up by a man so fine
His manners were an absolute joy
Regimental he was in his approach
To me, just a seven year old boy
We travelled through the village of Plockton
Crystal clear waters edged to it's shore
I knew from this very moment
Being here ebbed previous family sores
On entering his house I was in awe
Movie pictures came to my view
They were images of James Bond
At seven I was totally through
A voice called to me
Hey James! sit down and I'll tell you me
Still in circles in walking awe
This is what he told thee
My name is Patrick Dalzel Job
In the Second World War I served
But this recognition I bestow
Humbles me to it's deserve
This honour that's been given
Was blessed by a colleague in war
What desired Ian Fleming to be so striven
Possibly, what we were fighting for
We served on the same destroyer
Fighting to make the future free
His tribute, in his novels I became
James Bond, it's incredibly me
Not many seven year olds have stayed with James Bond.
This seven year old Scot's boy has, maybe I learnt?