like the good old days…

ain’t nothing new
‘bout
the way
we’re treating vets
after
the
so-called
revolutionary war
our
first civil war
profiteers
thanked vets
by stealing
the land they had
defended
with
their lives
leaving them
penniless
and
homeless
been that way
with profiteers
every since
oh some
people have
stepped up
recently
to help
but
those corporations
and
individuals
who’ve really profited
from
their service
and
lives lost
haven’t done
a damn thing
‘cept to say
thank you for your service
and
congress
only does
what they’re
forced to do
so many vets
are right where
the first
patriot soldiers were
with
no place to sleep
no meals to eat
and
no meds to suppress
the nightmares
of
blood and body parts
all they get
is an overdose
of
police
those
desk jockeys
that didn’t see
combat
so
do keep
your sorry ass
thank you for your service
till some
real help
is offered

a dream we had…

for a brief
moment in time
we believed
the
dream
could come true
that
our words
could save lives
and
change
the course
of history
but
after all these years
we are still
counting bodies
from
war
and
seeing
women
denied
the rights
to
their own bodies
love
one another
is still
really
just
the lyrics
of
a song
sang
by
a few folks
sipping martinis
at
the club house
a sentimental relic
of
college days
days
when
some of us
watched
our friends
being dragged off
by
the police
some
never
the same person
once returned
from
captivity
some souls
are
perishable
war
rape
and
police batons
can do that they say
just as bullets
can end
life
and when
the white sheets
are replaced
by
dark uniforms
of
blue
or
black
the murders
are
made justifiable
lynchings
without
ropes
nothing has changed
but once
we had
dreams

 

 

2020 reconnaissance…

empty champagne bottles
in
the bin
new beginnings
for
some
for
others
the nightmares
continue
during
evening festivities
few
found
the
fireworks
frightening
except
for
that
old man
under the highway bridge
who
always wears
worn
army fatigues
when
the sky
roared
last night
he
scurried
into
the soggy culvert
at
the base
of the hill
dragging
his sleeping bag
as if
it were
the body
of
a wounded comrade
a comrade
he
refused to leave
to
die alone
in
the morning
as
i drove home
from
the party
i
saw him again
covered in mud
carefully
surveying the terrain
before
repositioning himself
and
friend
beneath
the bridge
to
continue
life’s
battle

 

all rise…

encamped
near
the i 5 freeway
beneath
an on-ramp
you’ll find
the honorable
former
sergeant major
veteran
of
three
official wars
and
two or three
military
conflicts
tours
of
duty
have
left him
missing in action
in
his own life
and
deserted
by
the nation
he
proudly served
now
his body
is embedded
with
human shrapnel
fragments
of
memories
of
those
bloodied bodies
the smells
and
sounds
of
death
that
pierce
deep
into his soul
so now
he staggers
on
a new battlefield
an
ignored warrior
reclassified
by
society
as
a vagrant
someone
unwilling
to
participate
meaningfully
in
society
in a society
that
has given him
their disdain
while
praising
a commander and chief
that
slithered
beneath the slime
of lies
to avoid
even
the slightest sight
of
blood
especially
his own

 

veterans day free meals and deals…

it’s that time of year
honoring those who have served
but just for a day
then back to ignoring them
and the true needs that they have

live in infamy…

and
when
the battle
was done
only
kali
truly stood tall
as victors
marched home
hunched over
with heavy bags
of death’s stench
upon
their shoulders
like atlas
doomed
to endure
war’s immoral weight
until
their last days
and
for those
who died
their bodies
contorted
and
fragmented
upon the earth
were like seeds
dragged
from the furrows
of life
by crows
human crows
cloaked
in the darkness
of greed
and
wonted
disregard
for anything
other than
personal
profit

bereavement kit…

sitting
alone
her
eyes
darkened
lines of
too many memories
beneath them
chain smoking
as if such clouds
could bring her
closer to god
she
a one-time soldier
now draped
in a tattered flag
blood stained
the stench of death
lingering in every fiber
so
another drink
to kill war’s nighmares
another cigarette
to mask the stench
living
only
to wait
for
the next
drink
while wondering
who really
died
that
day

my aunt bea…

aunt bea
sometimes gets
confused
so when
i stopped by
to see if she’d planted
the seeds we brought home
i wasn’t surprised
that they were sitting
on a table in the kitchen
but i asked
aunt bea
don’t you know
that those seeds need
to be taken care of
you just can’t bring them home
and let them sit around
without doing something
more for them
she said
i know
so
why haven’t you
well
she said
i’m treating them
like
soldiers