The local girls are Asian, South Korean, Japanese,
Chinese, Vietnamese.
A few runaway Muslim chicks.
War is a man-shaped demon.
War is booze and guns, fistfights,
Humvees and frying, flying limbs.
What's a young man to do?
He does it, then lives to die later.
Madam Butterfly has a missile launcher.
Flower-drum songs and whistling bombs,
'agent orange' sing-alongs.
It’s all an edge of the grave rave.
Rosie the riveter has got herself a flamethrower.
Napalm blooms in the garden of sin.
What's a young man to do
to save you?
If he makes it, if he comes through,
treat him gently
while he holds his head and screams
or more likely, he goes quiet
way too quiet.
then he just might be the next explosion
in your new foxhole.
Local girls go and come home also,
she that stayed,
her long tour of duty has just begun.
I still feel the breeze by the river I used to amble by
With you I roamed the town down the ways,
I still smell the aroma when you used to paddle by
With you I lived my most memorable bicycle days.
I still hear the bell tinkling behind me
With you I had clustered all my priorities,
I still count the number of spokes those are rust
With you I learnt to live with modesties.
I still remember the alleys where we made secret love
With you I even rode to the faraway clouds,
I still see the midnight moon and hear the dogs barking
Withal I surprised you with a fresh rose before the dawn wakens.
I still admire the time when we went on with little fistfights
With you I even smiled most to the joyous abandon,
I still wonder what went wrong and the town still speak our story
With you I had a dream to live and I miss my bicycle maiden.
extracted from the quarry
soapstones, alabasters, limestones &
marbles,
all products of someone else’s choices
culminating in our
accidental, uneventful, mistake of
birth---
the silky faces begin without blemish &
through the early youth begin to gain
the scars of early adolescence,
the teasing at school, the fistfights, the
pulling of hair, the catfights, the ridicule &
flat out insults which end up forming the
base of the cast---
if at home the insults continue, beating ensues,
psychological abuse, religious oppression &/or
just plain old ignorance of the child
takes place,
then the digging carving knife makes its way in---
by the time the carving has
developed into something recognizable
as a full fledged adult,
its character is so warped
that one cannot look it in its
whittled out eyes.
HOLLOW MAN
from silence spoke the hollow sound
of rushing tears, the back of my sleeve
damp
waving goodbye to the darkness one more
time, my mind screaming for it to just stop
a room filled with India rubber bouncing balls
ricocheting madly from when I was a young
boy
pledging allegiance, then gaily marching against
the war, chanting peace now! peace now!
as fistfights broke out in my head
the cooling murmur of a spring creek,
deep in the forest, where no one could find me
counting the flashing trout, unaware of life before
the blue star, now a welcome sight to everyone
who agrees
......everyone
who agrees