forget the stake…

fear grips
many people
at
death
but
not
sgt. brown
as
others
frantically call out
to
god
or
repeat
their
military mantra
he
quite casually
loads
his last round
of
ammo
thinking
afghanistan
was
a rather dreary
place
to die
but
since
he
had died before
this was merely
a repeat performance
his previous death
in
southern ohio
a much greener
environment
was
certainly
as
emotionally
and
socially
as
dreary
he recalled
being
one
of
the unseen
you know
you go into a store
and
no one
has time
to wait
on
you
as if
you’re dead
and
already
buried beneath
the
dung heap
of
societal racism
his
university degree
only brought him
further
jealousy
so
realizing he was
already dead
he
decided
he
might as well
go fight
for
for
that’s the part
he could never answer
but
it was
something
to do
and
the dead
have very little
to do
otherwise

 

so why ain’t they pissed off…

so why ain't they pissed off

the brown bag prophet
was watching
al jazeera news
on the bar room tv
as our
after-work drinks
came to an end
he said
our children
are dying in iraq
afghanistan
and
lord knows
where else
to defend
freedom
which has become
a proxy term
for
corporate interest
but
that aside
what about
defending
freedom
of the press
and
those who’ve
provided perspective
on today’s issues
like those reporters
who were raped
and
those held in egyptian jails
or just
shot
by some
freedom fighting
group of thugs
where’s
the national
indignation
about that
oh
wait
i forgot
about the nsa
and
the pursuit
of
that
dud

snowden

do i have some goat testicles for you …

do i have some goat testicles for you

male
egos
syria
afghanistan
putin’s crimea
g w’s iraq war
the same old story retold
here’s one thing i’m really sure of
brinkley could have sold them some new parts

and you thought wall street was cold…

watercolor based on AP Photo/Rahmat Gul

watercolor based on AP Photo/Rahmat Gul

the brown bag prophet
set his flask down firmly
on the park bench
and said
did you know
or
care to know
over
two thousand
young souls
have had obits
written for them
while
defending
the afghan government
seems
that government
is as callous
as ours
cuz’
they’d planned on
taxing
the gear
being sent home
to wind down
the war
would’ve been
billions of dollars
damn
good thing
they
didn’t tax us
on
the body bags
we shipped
to wives
and
parents
or
did they…

a mark of respect…

a mark of respect

the weight
of my sadness
is so heavy
i cannot breathe
over two thousand
soldiers
have died
already
in afghanistan
it is difficult
to imagine
the dead
who were
just
the collateral damage
of warring parties
and while
we mourn
the loss
of nineteen
brave men
it seems
to me
that flags
have been
or
should have been
at half-mast
since
my birth

class reunion…

the steering committee
is pleased to announce
that this year’s reunion
will be held at the danish inn
dinner will be
aebleskiver and sausage
musical entertainment
will be provided by
the walnut all-star polka band
the gift shop has agreed
to stay open until 6:30
so if you want something
please show up prior to dinner
the list of attendees has changed
mark, paul and david
were killed
while serving in iraq
margret, betty and ben
were killed
when the hospital transport
they were in
hit an incendiary device
in afghanistan
so they will not be attending
this year either
oh and frank was
the victim of a drive-by-shooting
while vacationing in la
so he should be taken off
your list
given how things are going
next year’s roster of attendees
may be even smaller than this year
however the senator
will be discussing
after dinner
 the importance
of military deployment
as a step towards
world
peace

dark chapters #2…

 

blood sacrifices
uninterrupted
since the birth of man
offered daily
to mammon
from afghanistan
to la
a simple offering
of human blood
to appease
the greed
of a given few
and so it was
the second day
of satan

Mammon is a term, derived from the Christian Bible, used to describe material wealth or greed, most often personified as a deity, and sometimes included in the seven princes of Hell.

acquiesce…

when do we
become our enemy
how many lives
must be taken
before we
are
them
or
is it
not
a number
but
when
we
accept
their
rules
of behavior
and
we
kill
to purify
our
nation
as
they
did

spring ritual….

oh how spring
brings forth from poets
a multitude of verses
a never-ending array
of love lost
and then regained
friendship betrayed
and then forgiven
like an army of prodigal sons
birth and rebirth
more flowers than in a monet painting
colorful rituals of every sort
say but one
removal of the christmas training wheels
although not practiced everywhere
it is one which these poets have forgotten
and like all rituals it has its steps
first to ride upon the softest grass
assuring no injury to the child
leaving only injured ants in its wake
no unexploded ordinances here
unlike the fields in vietnam
next moving to the cruel street
father racing beside his child
legs pumping and out of breath
protecting his child from his past pain
like a parent in beirut, afghanistan, iran
or east la
where learning to ride is not an option
finally at the child’s insistence
the father is banned to the bay window
watching his child challenge the world alone
with coffee cup in hand
still running beside his child
and with his first fall
the first scars upon his heart
as the child continues to confront the world
the father cannot end his virtual race
and with each fall
another scar

Poem inspired by comments from Mirella McCraken http://mirellamccracken.wordpress.com/