Special love colours my life with beauty,
A faithful partner paints my home with peace;
Marriage has led me on its tour of duty—
Therein my existential joys increase.
If not for wine bottles draining too fast,
Sweet success’ smiles would have glowed far brighter;
But life is lived vexed, troubled, and aghast
As influence shapes one into a blighter.
Yet through this gloom, the future keeps its cheer—
A worthy praise for destiny’s bright writ;
Clear to my eyes, ringing loud in my ear,
A luscious glow even the blind admit.
Miles past the nightstand
over the plastic water bottle.
the Ambien pill dispenser
and the soul-bruised eye shades.
An arrhythmic clock
knits needles of silence together.
Turning on the lampshade,
its circle of yellow light
attaches itself to my night-blanked face.
a damp mattress
molding heavy thoughts
that struggle to climb
dream-tossed blankets.
On its four arthritic legs,
the nightstand's
tour of duty continues
patrolling
one old man's conflict
with doubt and faith.
I lie in this bed,
That resembles a coffin.
Hearing sounds from the,
Box on the stand.
Glancing down at this mangled body,
Thinking I've given everything,
That was asked of me.
Yet, many gave the ultimate sacrifice,
They were the lucky ones.
I remember those days of yesteryear.
I remember my brother's and sisters,
No longer here as I see them,
Dying in my arms.
I pay tribute to the fallen,
As I continue to have nightmares at night.
I see a shadow come thru my door.
A smile I haven't seen for years.
More shadows, more faces and more smiles.
He tells me, "Come on Sarge,
It's time to go home."
I get up out of bed disappearing,
As if we were never there.
I hear the slight humming,
Of the Alarm in the distant.
Yet, all I see are my brothers and sisters,
At the end of the tunnel,
Waiting for me.
I hear, " Sarge, your Tour Of Duty is over.
Were going home."
Miles past the nightstand
over the plastic water bottle.
the Ambien pill dispenser
and the soul-bruised eye shades,
an arrhythmic clock
ticks like a bombed-out tank.
Of course there is the lampshade
(that lighthouse for the luminescent krill
of submerged consciousness)
that seems attached to my skin
whenever body parts want to cut ties
with a mattresses concave reality.
Secreted like a drugged shark
in the shallow recesses of a snaring drawer
a snubby barrel with six mad prayers
snugs up against a snoring bible.
The raven iridescence
of night-cats prowl a life leaking bed;
occasionally they look up
their eyes shining
as they search for an alien presence.
On its four arthritic legs the nightstand
watches;
its tour of duty still patrolling a far off
conflict of doubt and faith.
Time to turn over the hull of being,
upright any surface
with a legibly printed label,
then haul that address back in
from the far side of an arm’s reach.
Time to shuck whatever shell
still rolls unopened in the surf
of the tossed and blanketed.
Mending holes in time
Healing rifts in space
Moving always moving
Place to threatened place
Disasters averted
Mostly
Mistakes can prove
So very costly
Here an entity slips through
And is only just caught
Its unplanned birth
Could have brought to naught
Eons of planning
In that great scheme
Carefully monitored
From the Halls of Dreams
The Great Whales are moving
Singing as they glide
Through the Whole Cosmos
In their endless ride
Effortlessly waltzing
To the music of the spheres
Their eternal duets
So beautiful to hear
Concentration lapses
So very easy to make
In a nano second
A Catastrophic mistake
But the Watchers are watched
Gently eased back to plan
Observing observing observing
Through a duty span
Mending holes in time
Healing rifts in space
Moving always moving
Place to threatened place
To see forever
I left the ship at the industrial part of the island
my tour of duty was over and took a taxi to the other side
to take a ferry to town.
At the café near the ferry landing, I drank a few beers glad
my work was done thought about what to do in the coming
days of freedom from the confinement of life at sea.
Since I had hours to wait, I bought a fishing line, hook and
a sinker, as bait, I used banana skin (it was all I had)
The water was so glass clear it appeared limitless I could
see the fishes swimming about and the seagrass slowly
waved with the mild current.
Bending forward, so fascinating looking down into a watery
world, with water so pure, it was as if the fish was swimming
in the clouds, thought of the Maori fable when the sky and
water was one, and life had yet to be born.
Somehow in my dreaming trance, I fell into the sea, people
came running, falsely commiserating over my mishap.
In the backroom of the café, I changed into dry clothes.
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.
A beginning of a new chapter is what we all looked forward to
With peace, a still mind and a soul that is brand new
Not giving it up to fate but knowing God has your back There is no more pressure or fear on the things you may lack
A new watch on your wrist to remind you I got your six There is no more stress over the things we needed to fix Our combat boots are to remind us of the steps we took We can continue with passion in our lives knowing we are off the hook
Just a few steps further, the smoke will settle and start to clear
You have not failed your brothers and sisters, there is no need to fear
We are the few that gave it all, I hold this proudly in my heart
You are a soldier, a warrior, a fighter... I knew that from the start
Remember my words when you feel it is coming to an end
No matter how close I came to breaking… I continue to bend
May your sleepless nights and nightmares become sweet dreams
After this I think we can agree, everything is not always what it seems
Keep the flag in your heart and the stars in your eyes
My brothers and sisters, your tour of duty is through Thank you for your service… from the Red, White & Blue!
A couple years after earning a G.E.D.
He came home from a tour of duty.
Sporting a tattoo and a pair of war eyes.
(2 black jellybeans where there once were stars).
One day the shine in those stars was displaced.
When his closest grunt friend got blown away via an I.E.D.
Rigged by a teenage Asp, slithering in a blistered land.
Dreaming only in the colors of death.
Moon night!
Full quarter, half-moon snow bright;
Mid-day, mid noon, such a boom;
a Moon lit Knight;
Son of a Jewish Rabbi;
Birth given name Marc Spector;
Was a professional boxer?
Did a tour of duty, fought as a Marin;
Leaves them to join ops. In CIA!
Later in the parlay
Becomes a vigilante;
A gravity anti-hero;
Mercenary;
Killed by an Egyptian Bushman;
The Egyptian god of Konshu resurrects;
Marc Spector mercenary rich socialite;
Now transformed by this god into;
Moon Knight;
Vigil unto battle mode;
Ready to deal with any ordinary criminals;
Crime fighter dressed in WHITE;
With the crest of the quarter moon on his chest;
Moon night;
Full quarter, half-moon;
Mid-day, mid noon;
A Moon Knight!
8/6/21
10/3/2022 revision©2021, 2022©
"From anthology Marvel Comics Poetry BIOS"
For Moon Knight Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Robert James Liguori
Remember, remember,
the 11th of September,
the Bush administration's conspiracy and plot.
I know of no reason,
why the Bush administration's treason,
should ever be forgot.
I have never served a tour of duty in the military,
but to this very day I struggle with PTSD.
I was one of the first responders during the 9/11 tragedy.
The horrid images in my mind I will never be able to un see.
I look forward to the chatter of the day
Sounds like soap opera
Who fought who
Who cried
Who made friends
Who drank gin
Who became engaged
Who flew into a rage
Someone died after eating Apple pie
Who kicked the hornets hive
They slapped five talking jive
Look alive look alive
That old Ken Cave never fades
He has no shame
And some one started a fire
We found a hose and drenched the flames
Whose to blame
Who got game
Wonderful to see everybody living and
Listening to hear neighborhood CHATTER
Rickby spit shined his boots preparing for
Another tour of duty Afghanistan or Pakistan
We're hoping he comes home alive, unlike
Stewart's son. Rickby is only 23
He's going on his second tour of duty
Now with complete compliance there was
Laughter in the air gossip entertained
The atmosphere Times were good times were bad
There was plenty of living to DELVE into bathe your
Self in who went to JAIL
Who paid bail
Things to be done on the run
Having fun having fun
Indulge indulge
it's all good
A glass, a sip
A chardonnay
Winding down after the long day
Leave it behind
All forgotten
Retiring soon
One day coming
Passing the baton, the madness
Years of abuse
About to end
Put up with it
For years and years
Now’s my time to heal and recoup
Let others deal
As best they can
Turn a blind eye
And a deaf ear
Someone else’s turn to perform
Feats of magic
Miracles, pouf!
A smile with that
Cherry on top
My tour of duty is over
Thanks for the laughs
It’s been a blast
AP: Honorable Mention 2020, Honorable Mention 2021
THE PUNISHER
Caught in a war
His miss duty
A Marine serving his country
A husband and father first
Yes he fought over seas for this AMERICA
Frank Cashtiglione
Also known as now
A tour of duty in Vietnam
One time off, off duty
When home to visit
The wife and children
While on a picnic in the park
They witness a mob killing
The mob came after, and killed Frank's wife and children
Frank Castle now a vigilante
sort of a negative hero
Only killing the baddies...
Captain in the Marines
A one man killing machine
Also a member of CIA
Now stationed as a citizen
A private ordinary citizen
Now out to git REVENGE
So every mobster, gangster, bad politician, evil doer
Killer or just a Bad person
No mercy, no gain
just a whole lotta pain
Better watch out and if you think you wanna do wrong and your unsure
Repenting won't help cause your under the cross hairs of .......
the
PUNISHER
11/17/17
by James Edward Lee Sr.
In honor of Remembrance Day and those that serve.
Tour of Duty©
I awaken from a fitful sleep
One where slumber was not very deep
The night before after counting many a sheep
My eyes closed and they did meet
A dream was had that made me sneep
You and I were there in a jeep
As I mentioned another tour you said nary a peep
But in your eyes I capture “what the bleep”
We both know the long stay at an outkeep
The enemy would be nearby and they are prone to creep
The sacrifice again would require a big leap
Is this a mistake or am I being wheep
Once again into our love my duty does seep
For a promise I knew I could not keep
Is the price for going to war really this cheap
The returns not guaranteed and the climb out steep
Or maybe we need to stop and make a clean sweep
And throw our relationship onto the scrapheap
Hearing those words make us both weep
For a promise I knew I could not keep
Andreas Simic©
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