Short Body Bags Poems

soldiers roam in rags
      dead ones put in body bags
        charcoal ~ get dog tags 

By
David Kavanagh...

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Listen to poem:

How do we save the children who get high?
With each passing day they slowly die.
Huddled in corners with balloons and rags.
Breathing in futures containing body bags.
These are our children, who we love and hold.
Its their pain and confusion that has made them so bold....

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A snaking mouth sloughs two spines;
the rattle of vertebrae.

A woman learns to ride them, feels
the trombone slide of a dragon’s tail.

A man lifts on tip-toe
not wanting to fumble.

They knit lusts to opening prayers,
cadavers to body bags, 
close a gnash of gaping space -

block a cold throat
from an exposed face....

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Trying to remember what it was like these eyes of a child....
A tad bit troubling once innocece be lost ? Watching body bags
Come and go day in, day out; black and white, the oval tube; their
Profit line; tis not the childrens fault; another lost generation as perhaps
Mother jezabel father hell's, very last; We want you ? They only get what they, give....

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will end when and where
have been many lives to spare
be kind and take care

many overwrought
by hamas they had been shot
so much sin was sought

lying and beguile
blew up buildings mile by mile
killed a little child

list of sins surpass
many body bags amass
where will it all end

will read this weekend
solve problems do intend
many minds must mend...

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Each year Memorial Day causes much lament,
and today will be viewed as another life recap.
A day we honor heroes whose lives were spent,
who, for freedom, willingly stood in the gap.

Too many families are attached to someone,
who served country and didn’t return intact.
Body bags, their ticket home to a loved one,
today, they remember that door knock’s impact.
...

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I close my eyes,
and yet I see a flag draped casket,
And as if there, I hear the synchronic
report of rifles,
and the echo of taps that rides the
morning zephyrs.
Perhaps no image portrays the cost of
my freedom,
such as these mental souvenirs gathered
from each war.
They have allowed me, in thought,
to separate fallen heroes from body bags,
while forcing me to review
Another debt,
which also, I can never repay....

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Silver-haired generals
gather to tell us why;
yet they skip questions – salute
into the TV camera.

Mother askes:
“Who are these silver-haired gentlemen
wearing a uniform similar to your brothers?

“They are the Country Mom”, I say,
they are the men that appropriate
the exact number of body bags
so that there is never any waste,
for that would be a waste wouldn’t it mom”?

Mother nods then shakes her head,
as if trying to understand....

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when we would ignore
not see around anymore
had gone out the door

below and under
were worse off than each other
fire out smother

once was the life blood
killed our flowers and each bud
body bags went thud

much trouble and strain
bodies blown up and blood stain
in Ukraine did remain

either will amend
or we did have to rescind
is what we intend

started bright new dawn
are building on White House lawn
huge crowd they had drawn

These are my latest Horn Haiku....

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