Russia outproduced the U.S. in artillery, in industry for war
The targets were in Ukraine, deaths that we deplore
The Russians haven't used nukes, Putin didn't allow
The missiles hit in another hemisphere:
for now.
China fortifies its island chains across the southern sea,
Building silos where nuke missiles will be.
It demands Taiwan, it hopes we will kowtow.
A buildup like we've never seen:
for now.
Jihadis rule Afghanistan and Syria too
Imposing in Africa a different world view
Nobody to stop them, will West Africa bow?
I might as well plant begonias:
for now.
Jews have been killed for being Zionist
I have to hope I'm not on some list
I see violence on TV, no sword into a plow
And the raging ocean laps my toes:
For now:
I try to maintain balance on a rope
It's not that I have a false hope
There are bills to pay, paths to wander
Limited time that I don't want to squander
I dread "now" when it finally becomes "then"?
When the storm front faces, when the bear leaves the den.
When we have to fight, but I don't know how
When what we hoped to avoid, becomes imminent now.
The invasion has begun.
In the distance,I hear the rattle of heavy artillery.
Silage trailers,as they thunder along pock-marked country roads.
Young conscripts,barely legal,battling with the controls of a modern day,
monster tractor.
Happy as the day is long,
they tick tok around the clock,
Posting updates and images of the work in progress
to their army of followers.
They'll be starving by lunch time.
Putins' long white table would seat a platoon of men,
In for the dinner,
On a break from gathering potatoes, building a stack of hay or toiling at a dusty thrasher.
But my mother would barely have a table cloth long enough
for Putins' table.
To cover the blood stains, from the flesh
dripping slowly from the the meat grinder.
Amid silence filled
with tranquil fervor,
the Weeper stands
blotting the earth
green and yellow keen
against the echoes
of artillery and
dead men
damned to the
muddy wounds of war
I want to let you in on a secret.
It's a very
close,
sensitive
secret,
so you can't tell anyone.
I am not the person in my reflection.
I should clarify.
The image you see before you may have
bounced off my skin and
wandered through the dark tunnels of your pupils,
but it only presents my thinnest layer.
You catch my strands of cedar hair,
and though you may
press it,
twist it,
or tie it in a knot,
it is only a muddy veil for my inner thoughts
which boil deep within.
And though you hear my singing voice sweet
yet quiet as a canary in her glass cage,
you could never know the artillery of
my raging heart that goes:
BOOM
BOOM
BAH-BOOM
just under my chest. Or
the crimson jets which race
past titanium bones.
No, although you greet my eye
with each set and rise,
admiring what you know to be
bright mocha moons,
You could never truly imagine what
lies behind the dark side
of my hickory eyes.
In savage streets it’s hand to hand
once shrapnel rips the air that’s damned,
no sin of ego in this land.
Baptismal bloodshed echoes
through rust and rebar ghettoes.
There’s bullet swarms and rocket rain
but infantry must hit terrain,
forget I’m sane and rupture veins
with melee-trench-knife flashing,
the bane of peace doves, slashing.
I wear their red of death and drive
my blade abuzz in hellish hive
to stay alive! Yes stay alive!
The apathy of killing,
and twisting morals willing.
My heartbeat kept, a victory,
it pounds just like artillery
but prized, despite the misery.
A witness to destruction
and holy soul’s corruption
and christened by the selfishness
of presidents with negligence,
we soldiers march with evilness.
The narcissistic leaders,
the preachers and the breeders
of rhythmic spates in drumbeat hate
unfurl their nation flags and fate
in bloodlust war… while heads of state
stay combat clean in bunkers.
I witness gurgling utters
your last and bloody gasp for “mama”.
I grasp with greed my breath in chest.
Thought ricochets inside my skull;
I’m still alive! I'm still alive! I'm still alive . . .
"I am great. I'm an elephant in strength.
I'm a lion, tiger, bear, and beaver.
I can measure things by their breadth and length.
Am I not the globe's greatest achiever?"
Thus, the ruler said and proclaimed a war.
Things turned into a hustle and bustle.
Terror and tension lurked in each one's core.
Nature, with an anguish, seemed to rustle.
Artillery and anti-tank missiles
With naval and air-based weaponry clashed.
Amidst thunderous blasts, roars, and whistles
Unquenched egos, into shells, crashed.
Blood, from the wounds of the soldiers, bubbled.
Deaths and decays of the humans doubled.
Gaza Sonnet
A doctor`s house with two daughters came under artillery fire
while he who worked at the hospital in Gaza
Trying to save life after yet another Israeli attack, lost both
His children, the military late apologized.
After the funeral, the good doctor did not seek help for his
Immense suffering , but carried on working while
grief unburdened was eating him up.
One day he went to the beach the sea was calm and blue
He undressed and began swimming he had to get away
A strong swimmer he swam long before an Israeli gunboat
blew him out of the water, red turned to pink and then
ack to calming azure as the warped thinking of the occupiers
said go he should have sought psychological help
For sorrow so deep that no well-meaning words suffice
after “Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening”, by Robert Frost
This bridge meant something in some war,
some yarn of man and God and law:
but I think more of her and me:
what were those others fighting for?
There’s so much here to feel and see,
and yet it’s rubbernecker-free!
I love to watch the fishes jump:
they sense the serendipity!
Lads do the love, dames do the dump.
I can’t imagine now the crump
of primitive artillery,
but I remember Forrest Gump!
The theater, ideally,
was dark and deep: and, as for me,
I’ll linger in the reverie …
I’ll linger in the reverie.
War is like a battle of serpents
evil slithering from all directions
Poison comes from their fangs
in the form of bombs and artillery
The snakes surround and strangle
like tanks in the middle of the night
But can you see them, smell them
as they cause death and destruction
Multi-colored and camouflaged
they seek to kill and maim
So let me take this sword and dagger
and cut off the two headed snakes
Let them bleed out
so freedom can reign
Until strife became the rule
You fled your World
Was it easy to break away
in your ward of questioners
Nobody seemed to care
This tag of war
I've seen your artillery
why cant you understand
Im leaving the World of detractors
In the morning
open your eyes
Snowbright
keep a secret
tell us no lies
Face of an Angel
I hear the distant rumblings
of artillery shells
I hear the singing sound
of stray bullets
I lift my head to look
around and see the toll
Bodies scattered like
leaves on a fall day.
Some with limbs torn from
them like a barren tree.
Some with their entrails exposed
like a lion’s prey.
I feel no pain, just a
sense of floating
Of being outside my
body.
Of looking at myself
with a red river flowing
from my leg.
I hear a distant cry, “medic”
I sense a shadow above me
and see a helmeted head
with a red cross painted on it.
I see the face of care and
compassion.
I see the face of an angel
No certain places nor time. Neither here nor there. Dug a ditch and here I sit, listening for the other side. I hear the sound of War. Sounds like whistles flying by. I hear the sound of dying men, wondering if I'll be one of them. We can't question our authority. We keep track of artillery. We must move forward without retreat. We must defeat. In hopes cause for this war has good reason, like keeping our freedom, in our prayers we hope to prevail. Not fall and fail, left in No Mans Land would mean we failed. We must pray God will bring us home.
It is Christmas in a pine grove
Holding vigil in a foxhole
Not an atheist to be found
As artillery shakes the ground
The pines adorned with crystal flecks
And pinecones as ornaments
A cardinal in all its red
Sits atop Tannenbaum's crest
A piece of fruitcake would taste great
(The regifted and given treat)
Sgt. Kilmer's words to this novice
(As I take in this conus coppice)
"Poems are made by fools like me
But only God can make a tree"
A semblance of a Gospel decree
And the "evergreen" nature of the greenery
With these Christmas trees, alone
I open my "C-rats" in my foxhole
Then pen a letter home from Bastogne
Sugar-coated tongue sway the sea,
Like lilacs and roses allure the spree.
Barbs dim one's worth, leaving scars to accrue,
Stripping away dignity, leaving only rue.
Choose thy verbal artillery with grace,
For they hold the power to create or erase.
Johnny was a teenage boy,
Young and bright, so excited.
Playing in the grass and mud,
Shining smiles, so delighted.
As he went to school that day,
Something broke, the world descended.
Countries tore each others land,
like wars in playgrounds, just pretending.
The year was 1939,
Europe fell, into chaos.
Johnny turned 15 that year,
Eyes so bright, dreams contagious.
He turned up to recruitment branch,
Passion high, determination.
Training started that same week,
Shining eyes, dedication.
Johnny wanted to be a tin soldier,
Johnnys gun was in his holster,
As he lied, on the grass,
Army of children.
Golden canes of ember light,
Shooting stars, through the night.
Fire from artillery,
Golden orbs, dazzling light.
A thousand footprints filled the mud,
Gaping holes, filled the soldiers.
Johnny’s dream was fading out,
Piercing eyes, hands get colder.
Dreams of playing in the grass,
Safe and warm, daddy’s shoulder,
Now he sits, he kneels and prays,
Covering, by a boulder.
Johnny wanted to be a tin soldier,
Johnnys gun was in his holster,
As he lied, on the grass,
Army of children.
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