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The Iraqi desert was blowing wind
The bullet tore into my heart
My Commander, she had but one arm
She pulled me to the ground
Holding me tight she saw
I would not make the night
So she did what any lover would
She held me tight
Whispered, "soldier I am with you till the end"
My last thought
Was I died in her arm
As her tears drops mixed with mine
Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2015
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Before you read this poem, I would like to invite you in reading about the great American sniper hero. I am also dedicating this to the fallen sniper because he is a true Patriotic Hero. Thank you.
Chris Kyle was and still is loved by many, this to be true I say
I always believe him to be, a great sniper to this undying day.
Why must things happen to people, that are always so kind
Life would be better keeping some, alive alongside mankind.
Why don’t I tell you a story, about this very kind honest fellow
He was and is an U.S. Navy Seal, but along that chill and mellow.
The most lethal sniper known of, in American military history
With a very high percentage confirmed kills, quite the victory.
At the young age of eight, his father taught him how to shoot
A great father teaching a son, instead of giving him the boot.
A bronco rider for the rodeo, sadly gave it up for a serious injury
It was to his arm although he still lived, with very great dignity.
Being a great sniper had an effect, putting souls to their bed
Eventually somewhat famous, an increasing bounty upon his head.
Undoubtedly dubbed the “Devil of Ramadi”, by non-other than Iraqi
An increasing bounty shot twice, but his body and will still intact.
After a while serving his country, he retired heading home graciously
Taking back some long spent time, spending it with his family.
Chris Kyle a loved husband, a friend to many and a beloved son
His homeland now saddened, for America has lost a patriotic one.
A great warrior indeed, in my opinion our greatest honorable hero
He put his life on the line, instead of becoming the common zero.
The greatest treasure of all, came from within himself to prove
That all humans aren’t wrongful, but that we all can improve.
Copyright © Dalton A. J. Hunkler | Year Posted 2013
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(Maverick Free Verse about a true life Maverick)
hey, Mr. Editor, you got it wrong
labeling Allen West as Congress’s “Most Vulnerable”
misnomer
insult to his character
ambush of American troops planned
Colonel West fired shots near an Iraqi prisoner’s head
information obtained, ambush prevented
no blood shed, not even the prisoner’s
thankless military bureaucracy
forced him to retire
Colonel West proclaimed,
“The battlefield’s no place for political correctness”
“Don’t blow sunshine up my butt,”
Maverick West warned, standing his ground
refused to march
to a “Machiavellian Kumbaya”
had he been a West Point grad
West would have been promoted
adorned with medals
accolades for soldiers saved
soldier’s mother spoke out; see it her way
“I hope my son’s commanders protect him as Allen did”
behind a shield of political ties
Allen never hides
in a Democratic district this Tea Partier rose
disenfranchised Americans cheered
do you think West deserves
beatings from the press
watch your “Most Vulnerable”
rise to prominence
if this hero hasn’t earned his seat in Congress
Mr. Editor, tell me who has
* Allen West represents the Tampa area of Florida in the U.S. Congress.
In 2003, when West was a battalion commander in Taji, Iraq, he fired his weapon
near the head of a prisoner to frighten the detainee into divulging information about
a planned ambush. The detainee started providing information and the ambush of
American soldiers was prevented. West was removed from command and the Army
considered a court martial. West argued he acted to save his troops, was fined
$5,000, but was allowed to retire with full honors and benefits.
Copyright © Carolyn Devonshire | Year Posted 2011
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I glanced upon a picture today…
a missionary giving water to a young
African boy far away,
sharing a simple smile, hand reaching out –
and I thought to myself, how nice.
Then..the clouds parted just enough for sunlight
to shine down on me, touching my heart
and a miracle occurred – not the kind others see –
this miracle happened inside me.
I looked again at the picture and saw creation –
unity, humanity, love, kindness without thought
of race or creed.
I saw the face of God…
I caught a glimpse of a show today…
a young African American woman teaching
an Iraqi woman how to read,
sharing a simple smile, hand reaching out –
and I thought to myself, how nice.
Then…the dark sky brightened with enough starlight
to shine down on me, touching my heart
and a miracle occurred – not the kind others flock to see –
this miracle happened inside me.
I looked again and saw their souls –
unity, humanity, love, kindness without thought
of race or creed or gender…
I saw the face of God…
I took a peek at a webcast today…
a group of students from many nations
building a home for a poor, Latin family,
sharing simple smiles, hands reaching out –
and I thought to myself, again, how nice.
Then…the smiles turned to laughter joyous enough
to shine around me, touching my heart
and a miracle occurred – not the news making kind –
this miracle happened inside me.
I looked again and saw heaven –
unity, humanity, love, kindness, without thought
of race or creed or gender or wealth…
I saw the face of God…smiling,
and I knew change was possible.
Copyright © Rhonda Johnson-Saunders | Year Posted 2014
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The world after thousand dawns
(To an Isis fighter )
A poem by :Ali Riyadh (Iraqi Poet)
Translated by: Laith Seher
O who woke up after thousand dawn ago,
The dawns burned ,the ashes became a night .
Stand up ,close your eyes .
Seek the newborn baby at this new dawn
behind his eyelids, there lies light
Touch him , your fingers get anesthesia.
He warms your frozen blood .
Open your eyes , gaze at him ,
You will see how the world becomes colourful after thousand dawn ago without you .
Copyright © Laith Seher | Year Posted 2014
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One or two of us
Were home on leave;
For the rest of us,
Christmas came by mail.
Our callsign: Gunslingers.
Our Military Transition Team
Was embedded with
The "Triple Deuce" Iraqi Infantry,
For a year our home
Was LSA Diamondback
Mosul, Nineveh province,
In northern Iraq
A Team member's wife
Gave us all Santa hats.
I have an old photo
Of us standing on top
Of an old Iraqi bunker,
Bearing pistols, rifles,
And those Santa hats.
My wife sent a small
Plastic Christmas tree,
Which was decorated
In the Gunslingers' office.
My mom sent a warm quilt.
When you're acclimatized
To wearing battle armor
In the high 90s and 100s,
80-something feels cold!
I remember the nights--
Dark, but full of stars,
With Orion's belt
On the horizon.
Soldiers made bonfires
In the oddest places:
By a concrete shelter,
Or in classified burn pits.
Once exiting my office,
I saw a fire in the sky.
Soldiers were on top of a bunker
Drinking near-beer, singing.
Another night, I stood
Just outside of the light
Looking at some troops,
And the chiaroscuro image.
I went back to my "choo",
And penciled the scene.
To complete the masterpiece,
I inserted myself
Roasting marshmallos.
I went back to visit them,
Showed them the drawing,
Then completed the picture
By searing a marshmallow.
Christmas was what we made of it.
Copyright © Mark J. Halliday | Year Posted 2014
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A child with one leg ,
a child with one arm,
a child with one eye
and a child with one lever were gathering there ,
near their organs
Which became the fifth child underground .
________________________________
The poem by : Qasim Saoodi(An Iraqi Poet) , translated by :Laith Seher
Copyright © Laith Seher | Year Posted 2015
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The dead
The dead are refugees
To an immortal caves,
Hidden in the pockets of the earth,
They are escaping from sins
Exhausting by the pain .
We are the dead
But we are walking.
A poem by : Saad Mohammed Al-Husseen (Iraqi Poet)
Translated by :Laith Seher
Copyright © Laith Seher | Year Posted 2013
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There once was a leader called Blair
To the Iraqi war he declared
Like little lost sheep
None of his party did weep
Not one was found dead lying there
Copyright © James Fraser | Year Posted 2010
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A Dove
We said :What are all those feathers ?
When we walked for the funeral of the kid .
His father raised his hand ,
picked up a feather
and cried :This is the word "a dove"
He learned to say since two days.
we forget to take it out of his mouth .
.........................................
The poem by :Maithem Radhi (Iraqi Poet )
Translated by : Laith Seher
Copyright © Laith Seher | Year Posted 2013
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This year, at the holidays
of course, I miss home,
surrounded by sand dunes,
and Iraqi mosque-domes.
But I willingly came
to guard against fear—
not let terrorist conquer
everything I hold dear.
I know my mom worries
about me over here
away from family,
and good Christmas cheer.
And while I do miss
the fun and the fare,
I know I am fighting
for reasons most share—
For Freedom, for Justice,
for our forefather’s plan,
for choices—God-given,
to every man.
And for all you protester
in the streets of your city,
looking upon me
with hatred and pity,
I’m fighting for you
to have that skewed right
to act like a fool—
burn our flag in plain sight,
For our children to prosper
without boot in their back,
and patriots guiding them,
to stay on the right track!
It’s not just our training,
but a true state of mind—
to be honest and faithful,
and love all mankind.
I’d gladly lay down
all I can give—
my life and my soul
so that others may live.
And to let every man pray
to the God he sees fit,
tho, I may not agree,
he’s entitled to it.
My sons and my daughters
may not know it yet,
but I fight for their future,
and have no regret.
So celebrate Christmas
in your own merry way,
and please send a prayer
we’ll come home one day—
When this war is over,
we’ve finally won,
we’ve conquered the terrorists—
sent ‘em all on the run.
Americas worth it—
all this sacrifice,
and, Mom, don’t you worry
‘cause I wouldn’t think twice.
I’d do it again—
even die in the sand
for Freedom and Liberty,
for we MUST take a stand.
“Merry Christmas—Blessed New Year,”
to all, I now say,
and, “Thank you, dear Jesus—
have a Happy Birthday!”
Tamara Hillman
©2010
Copyright © Tamara Hillman | Year Posted 2011
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The American Calvary slaughtered native
Americans almost wiping them into
extinction. They took their land away and
put them on reservations. How come in the
movies, the old stories have the native
Americans as the savages. I ask you, who
were the real Savages? Most of us are as
my brother brought to my attention Gullible.
Did you know that George Bush's grandfather
funded the Nazi empire through banking? He
was never prosecuted.
That George Bush lied about missiles of
mass destruction and got us involved in the
Iraqi war for his hidden Agenda of controlling
the Oil in the Middle east. He was never
prosecuted for lying to the American people.
Now because of this war this is what this
illuminati member has caused in Iraq!
Some facts. In the 1970's Iraq was one of
the best countries in the middle East and
north Africa to be living as a child.
Since Bush's war. It has become one of the
worst. Here are the facts.
They calculate 946,000 to 1.3 million Iraqi
people including children have been killed!
At least 4.5 million children have lost one
or more parents, 600,000 CHILDREN ARE
LIVING IN THE STREETS! Three million
widows living in poverty. Thirty five thousand
infants die before they reach their first
birthday! 1.5 million under the age of 5 are
under nourished! 700,000 Children are not
enrolled in primary school! 2,5 million
children do not have access to clean water!
3.5 million don't have sanitation facilities!
At least 8000 children between the ages of
5-14 are working. Forget about medical or
dental for these poor souls. This is what
some of us have been responsible for when
our government does what ever the hell it
wants with no accountability. We had no
business being in Iraq it is because of Bush
that this is occurring at this moment! We as
a nation should take responsibility for the
terror we have caused abroad!!!
We did the same to Lybia and now we are
in Syria. Wake Up America it is the oil
they are after! They don't care how many
and who they kill to get their oil!
They want to control all the oil, they have
lied to the American people and have they
themselves been the bad guys and created
destruction to get a nation into more wars!
Enough is Enough!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Sources (Child Victims Of War)
(Opinion Research Business a
British polling firm in conjunction
with Iraqs Independent Institute
Civil Society Studies.)
All lives matter, especially children.
"Make War No More"
Michael Tor
Copyright © michael tor | Year Posted 2015
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The Ancient Mariner of the parliament square
Like the mariner he was, a scrawny, skin unfair
A loner with a glittering eyes, possibly a bit touched
A Clint Eastwood impersonator look, he seemed to bear
But a powerful speaker than professional speakers.
Urging world to live a more Christian life cleaner
Lived and slept outside the parliament for a decade
In his hand holding, with broad thrust, a loudhailer.
Against Western groups killing thousands Iraqi people
He fought and spoke for 3,600 days like an eagle.
Of traffic, clock bangs and the hordes of visitors.
When Haw at his mouthpiece, all the voices disabled
Haw had a remarkably insistent, irritating voice
And Mr. David Blunkett was irked and annoyed
Reacting to 2005 organized crime And Police Act
It was “using a maul to crack a nut” to destroy.
The More Brian noise caused with his loudhailer
The more MPS demanded to remove the bother
But the word “Bother” sounded too weak
Compared to warmongering by Blaire & B-liars.
With an Antipodean woman Haw shared war choirs
With his trademark cries of “ Tony B-liar, Tony B.I.A.R”
When another woman started up, public was grateful
Sharp as seamstress’s needle was Sheila’ s crisp voice.
Despite his Left-wing favor, he was a Right-wing figure
A man, standing up to the state, never thought to disfigure
Brian Haw had plenty more fuel for all his protests
The war in Afghanistan and the war in Iraq to configure.
When Milosevic was tried at the Hague for war crimes
He said, “why not to try Blair and Bush’s Crimes?”
Like Coleridge’s haunted mariner: long, lank & brown
He had one vice: tobacco, he died of lung cancer prime.
+++
March 12, 2014
Dr. Ram Mehta
Form: Rubaiyat
Contest: One Against Many by Joe Maverick
Copyright © Dr.Ram Mehta | Year Posted 2014
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It appeared on the doorpost as a Cyclops' smiley face
For some Cyclops WhatsApp icon, but red-themed application
Yes gruesome red, in contrast to the expectation
You would get from a smiley face, even for a Cyclops.
It quizzed my curiosity and I dug further on Google’s interface.
It appeared on the search page as the queen Isis,
Long told in Hieroglyphics, Cyrillic and Roman alphabet,
Patroness, mother, queen, blessings with love met,
But unlike these grim Arabic script in an ominous logo,
And tales of death, pain littered with deeper crises
It told of “nuun”, 14th letter of a blessed script
In which many beautiful and wise thoughts found life,
A letter which told of blessing and not of strife
Being in a position multiple of seven, a number blessed
By God Himself when he Earth and Heaven in 7 breaths whipped
It told of the Magen David, a shining star, which should be a good thing
Only that it brings memories of gaunt bodies piled in trucks
And human experimentation, and as history at our door knocks
And Isis or Isil opens to let in what we dread most
“Nuun” is stuck in my iris with pain and scary sting.
For I have seen the blank stare of heads painting in red drips the pickets
And Leonidas’ 300-style gore re-enacted in modern city streets
As heads are divorced from bodies and all around are scared heartbeats
For even bloodied child clothes cover head-less bodies,
As Christians are beheaded like one would roast crickets.
It brings back memories of my ancestors up in the Samba regions,
Fleeing the harsh choice given to them by the jihadists:
To adorn the village picket or join the cause of the Islamist,
Forced to create a third choice, which was to leave their homes,
Friends and family to pseudo-Islam or lurid lethal lesions.
Is it that time again for Iraqi Christians?
Shall the world once again watch the Red Indians’,Tutsis’, and Jews’
Story take gruesome form and hack through human sinews?
How many litres of innocent blood, and kilogrammes of hacked Christian flesh
Are needed to realise the vanity in the life of Homo sapiens?
(c) Nyonglema
Copyright © Nyonglema Pisoh | Year Posted 2014
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There you are
face to face with me on Skype
thousands of miles away.
A grown man, but still my son,
Lieutenant Colonel, US Army;
Iraq War, February 2004...
You are there.
You tell me you are safe–
after all, you are an officer and
Brigade Commander...an engineer.
You have guards, and interpreters...
You are trained so well for survival...
But still...things can happen...
and they have...even to officers.*
I wait for your return...your Dad waits too...
sixteen long months...first tour of duty.
Your wife and children –our grandchildren–
your sisters, we all wait...but thankful
that halfway you get a short leave to spend
with your wife and children in Germany.
Every day...we wonder...
Are you flying on a helicopter–
those frequent enemy targets?
Or directing military engineering projects,
for sure near the war zones?
Will there be roadside bombs on your path?
Too many scenarios...too many worries.
Too many stories in the news.
As an officer, you have to send out
those sad letters about your men, your soldiers...
to their families, now with broken hearts...
too many sons...who are not coming home.
My heart aches for them...their waiting is over.
I wait...your father waits...your family waits.
The months go very slow.
Missed Thanksgivings, Christmases,
birthdays...and just ordinary family days...
but still...a miracle to see your face on Skype.
Then...one day you are here! Back in the USA–
back home to your family...back home to us!
Prayers answered...You are home safe!
Not on Skype...you are here for real.
However...not for long...
Second tour coming up...fifteen more months...
Many more sleepless nights...more worries,
many, many more days missing you–
and many, many more days waiting...
praying...and waiting.
Finally, months go by...prayers answered...
safely, you come home from the war...
September 2006...
two and one-half long years of waiting.
You serve our country well...another four years
here in our dear USA, at the Pentagon.
You retire as Colonel, July 2010–
after twenty-nine years of service.
Of all those twenty-nine years,
I, your mother, will always remember
those longest two and one-half years...
those years of worry...those years of waiting.
But still, dear son, I am
so very proud and thankful for your service.
Sandra M. Haight
~3rd Place~
Contest: Waiting
Sponsor: James Rogers
Judged: 09/20/2015
*Operation Iraqi Freedom (OIF)
Military Deaths and Wounded
Officers Killed In Action: 427
Officers Wounded: 1,880
http://www.shastalibraries.org/images/pdfs/shasta/RL32492.pdf
.
Copyright © Sandra Haight | Year Posted 2015
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My light doesn’t tell the truth"
except in the darkness"
This is my song ,
during the republic of your night .
………………………………………………
This Poem written by : Salman Dawood Mohammed (Iraqi Poet )
Translated by : Laith Seher
Copyright © Laith Seher | Year Posted 2013
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The Pistol of the Priest
When the world resurrected
from a hanging hole between the thighs.
The body brought out with all his animals ,
The priest brought out ,
carrying a pistol,
surrounded by the corpses of the roses,
and the lamentation of the angels .
--------------------------------------------------------
A poem by : Khaled Kheshan (Iraqi Poet)
Translated by : Laith Seher
Copyright © Laith Seher | Year Posted 2013
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To whom the sea will complain
his sorrow?
If the gulls emigrate.
...........................................
Written by : Hussein Al-Dayani (Iraqi Poet )
Translated by :Laith Seher
Copyright © Laith Seher | Year Posted 2013
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The Martyr Girl
Arabic Poem by: Jasem Al-Khafaji*
Translated into English by:
Inaam Al-Hashimi (Gold_N_Silk)
===========================
In your absence,
Dreariness, in every class,
Has been the prayer of the break..
Every teacher calls your name,
His voice falls slaughtered, in pain, on his lips..
In every standing and every sitting,
Your class condoles with your desk..
Without you there, the schoolyard feels empty
The bell sounds strangled as it tolls for you..
Oh, grief of all schools!
Oh, weariness of all lessons!
Too young to be gone..
Your mother wished to see you a bride..
Vacant was your stand in the lines and rows
For the flag ceremony
And, silently,
The flag was raised..
The blackboard is missing your words
Saddened with no words to spell
“Dar” … “Door”
Oh, grief!
When your braid caught fire,
The kids tried to put it off with your bookcase
Their hands were too small to carry water..
May God help your mother..
Your mother, who, in her grief, turned white,
Like daylight upon your coffin
Your mother, who, with slaps of grief,
Drew skipping squares on her cheeks
Your mother, who raised your hand in prayer to God
Your mother, who used to come to get you,
At the end of the school day
Your mother, who, not even once,
Received a teacher’s note complaining about you
Your mother, who is wrapping ribbons
Around your pictures
In madness after you
God help your mother, who, in her grief,
Turned white like daylight upon your coffin..
O God, May all bombs be paralyzed,
And all blasts be blinded!
----------------------------------------
* Jasem Al-Khafaji is a poet from Iraq,
The poem is in Iraqi folks spoken dialect
Copyright © Inaam Al-Hashimi | Year Posted 2014
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Closed
Arabic Poem by: Hammoodi Al-Kinani*
Translated From Arabic
By: Inaam Al-Hashimi (Gold_n_silk)
=======================
Closed, so said the first door
Dead End, so said the second door
Don't Worry,
Sayeth all the doors!
Destitution! Destitution! Destitution!
So shouts the beggar in my face.
Drought! Drought! Drought!
So speaks the river to me.
Me ....?
I am still dancing in ecstasy,
Searching for leftover from a loaf
My mother baked in the first year of the last century;
I carry my portfolio of official documents
Containing,
A fake birth certificate,
Certificate of citizenship bearing odd digits,
Green housing card
Disclosing that I am still a Bedouin
Searching for a lost camel!
Our ration card
Does not contain, yet,
Materials quota;
It bears my name, my third, grandfather's name,
And the doubtful surname;
What else is there in my papers portfolio?
My permanent address
And house number
One, slash, One
District Number One
Not inhabited with people like me
Street, haunted by mud
And side-walks walking barefoot
Over pedestrians walkways.
Still wearing my father's shabby cloths,
I touched my belly to learn
How to broil hunger patties on it;
A policeman saw me,
He waved his whip to my face,
"Exposing your private parts and defects is prohibited!
Your belly is a defect,
Your unusual appearance is
A defect,
All these papers in your portfolio are defects;
We are charged with watching
Those who expose their defects in public."
Standing in line to receive
Laundry detergent is a defect,
Even scratching one's back
Falls within the Forbidden section;
When I felt frightened,
I went to visit my father's grave;
My mother was lying in his flank.
I prayed for my mother
And asked God his forgiveness
For my father
For repeatedly rubbing his belly
Because of bug bites.
------
Translated by; EM. prof. inaam Al-Hasjimi
USA
September 23, 2009
--------------------
* Hammoodi Al-Kinani is an Iraqi writer
Copyright © Inaam Al-Hashimi | Year Posted 2013
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The dead woman hugs a dead child,
The dead child hugs a toy ,
Which has two lives.
Written by : Amenah Mahmood , Iraqi Poet
Translated by : Laith Seher
Copyright © Laith Seher | Year Posted 2013
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Iraqi Poem |
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The coat
At the time before daybreak,
I didn’t know,
Why did I remember Gogol?
It was my body oozed females .
The poem by :Nabeel Al-Jabri (Iraqi Poet)
Translated by : Laith Seher
Copyright © Laith Seher | Year Posted 2013
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WESSON
GIVES A LESSON
WITH A .357
DAVID SLINGS A ROCK
COP HOLSTERS A GLOCK
LIZZY BORDEN PACKS AN AXE
MAC HE PACKS THE KNIFE
BILLY BATTLES WITH A CLUB
TOMMY’S GUN IS A SUB
KELLY’S GOT ONE TOO
BAZOOKA JOE IS GUM
PETER GUNN IS NOT
COLT .45 IS NOT MALT
NOR IS IT A HORSE
HORSESHOES AND
HAND GRENADES
CANONS HAVE BIG BALLS
DOC HOLIDAY HAD TB
ROCK HUDSON HAD HIV
NATILIE WOOD DON’T FLOAT
NATILIE HOLLAWAY DON'T FLOAT
THE TITANIC BOAT DON'T FLOAT
JAMES DEAN CRASHED HIS CAR
HANK WILLIAMS CRASHED HIS BAR
DIRTY HARRY HAD THE BIGGEST
THE DERRINGER IS SMALLEST
CAIN MURDERED HIS BROTHER
JULIETTE DRANK POISON FOR HER LOVER
JIM JONES KILLED WITH COOL-AID
SLASHING WRISTS WITH A BLADE
BOW AND ARROW KILLS THE SAME
AS BONNIE OR CLYDE BARROW
CHARLES MANSON IS ALIVE
MICHAEL JACKSON IS NOT
IRAQI RULER WITH A ROPE
JOHN BELUSHI TOO MUCH DOPE
SATURDAY NIGHT SPECIAL IS ORDINARY
FAST AND FURIOUS IS THE CRIME
PIRATE VICTIMS WALK THE PLANK
THINK! NEXT TIME I”LL BRING A TANK
HEAR THE WHISTLE OF MY MISSILE?
AFTER THAT WHAT DO YOU BET?
I’LL COME FLYING IN A FIGHTER JET
SMOKEY BEAR’S RIGHT TO “BEAR” ARMS
OR DID WE JUST ARM BEARS?
NEVER STIFLE MY RIFLE
THIS IS MY RIFLE THIS IS MY GUN
ONE FOR FIGHTING ONE FOR FUN
CADENCE…
BANG - BANG - BANG - BANG - BANG - BANG
RELOAD
MOLON LABE
COME AND TAKE THEM
THE ONLY WAY FREEDOM OF SPEECH WORKS
IS BECAUSE THE 1st AMENDMENT
IS BACKED BY THE 2nd AMENDMENT
Copyright © Warner Baxter | Year Posted 2014
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This one goes out to you, Mr. President
This one goes out to you, and your wonderful regime of terror spread
enthusiastically around the world. Policing the entire planet is a tough job,
Mistah
President,
and there is no doubt in my mind that you enjoy your job and the
rewards of virtue you receive after killing millions of innocent civilians. Bursting
with honor at the tax breaks to the top
2%
of the richest and plunging the poverty
stricken into darkness. Oh, the integrity of looking the other way while your friends
eradicate the true meaning of Global Warming.
It must be hard on the conscience to profiteer off your nation, Mr. President, you
have such an
admirable, strong resolve.
I especially enjoy your philosophy of treating your administration like a blanket.
Soothing the world to a vegetable like drone, oblivious to the surroundings. Like
an eiderdown quilt, don’t forget to tuck in the corners, for fear that Israel might
catch a cold. Singing Saddam lullabies and then smothering Iraqi babies in their
sleep.
Like a petroleum induced reverie, you spill
America’s blood for oil, dousing the infidels.
Slicing freedom of speech to slivers and hiding the dirty laundry. Fighting
off hate with more hate and thus utterly eliminating any source of salvation to our
state and situation. What a wonderful world you have created. And for your hard
work and determination to drive America to it’s knees, I dedicate this one to you.
To you and your determination to infiltrate America's existance with blunders,
corruption, and deceit.
To you and your serial betrayals of the people hand in hand with credit card, drug,
banking, and energy industries.
To you and your cynical manipulation of all that is American, to your lacking
administration, to you and your Big Companies.
This one, goes out to you, Mr. President.
God Bless America.
Copyright © Bella Cardenas | Year Posted 2007
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Details |
Iraqi Poem |
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Scripted
Euphuism
and "I decrees"
High school
dropout~
six degrees.
the slight
deviation
of parted
lips laced
with lipstick
tasting temptation
trailing off on collars
painting necks
and sensitive subjects
the way LSD
creates psychedelic
sightings
I feel feelings
all over me.
Snapping fingers
trying to remember a
word, what word,
what word
-what word?
Her kiss created
jazz, Ignited
Ursa Minor
reflecting light
off the moon
and like a wolf
I wanted to
consume
the morsels she laid
along a hallway
to the bedroom door.
Hearts race
dive in
disaster.
she controls my
commander's
override
and squeezes
the trigger,
ever so gently
a fatted calf slit
viewed through
smoke.
an Iraqi
baking bread
before prayer
Crosses
adorn mosques.
Sniper's scope,
a throat, gulp.
In blood I wrote:
heaven must'n
have means
to erect
war memorials;
no angel feuds,
No gold or silver,
oil or riches,
just a place
flowing with
green pastures
going no place
particular, well,
maybe one,
~~a kiss~~
that births a son
another war begun.
Copyright © TS Lewis | Year Posted 2015
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