Military Poetry

I wrote a poem over the weekend that deals with military issues, and I wanted to share it with you. The poem shares what I sometimes experience as a psychologist treating soldiers who have returned from deployment. Please know that not every session is this intense, but many are. The poem addresses some of the combat traumas I hear, and is not a verbatim experience from any particular soldier.

Inside the Numbers

Fourteen seconds to see your world from
Four inches above sand
Stinking of sewage and cordite.
Eighty meters to your eleven o’clock is the
Birthplace of an ambush where 155mm rounds
Shook and shoved vehicles into ditches and chaos.
Thirty-five words shouted at blast-deafened ears to
Take out the sniper three stories up where a mother and
Her four children huddle unseen
Clutching each other, wide-eyed as random, angry bullets
Slowly find them.
Twenty-eight ragged, scorching breaths (and a thousand years)
To drag your best friend behind a brown, pocked wall
On a meaningless street three hundred years older
Than you’ll ever be.
One continuous scream into a faceless radio mike for medevac
While five pints of blood pump slower from a single throat shot
As your two hands try to stop the crimson flow of broken promises to
Drink more beer than you
Marry your kid sister
Get you back home safe
You stop talking as your hands form fists
Trying to conquer what is rising up in you.
(I wait three minutes in silence)
As you distill two years of guilt and grief
Into tears that collect on my office floor
Defying any attempt to make sense
Of such madness.

__________________________________________________

This second poem is also from my experience of being a therapist for soldiers. In many ways, it is perhaps more revealing of how it feels to do what I do. Sometimes all you can do is bear witness to how these incredibly noble men and women brave everything to get better. I suppose that writing about this is therapeutic for myself. Is so, then thank you for being a witness.

Therapy

As witness
I felt dumbstruck.
Such old tears from
So young a man.
So much loss
So soon.
So much ahead

We laugh our tears.
We dance with death.
We hold our fears
We hold our breath.

“Good work, today”.

Only you and your world have not known good
For some time.

Staring at the floor
Embarrassed by your own emotions
You apologize for tears still fighting
You for expression.

You are not weak.
Only younger
(and)
Older than me
Forever.

________________________________________________

Let me know your thoughts and reactions. Next week, I write about love.

Faith and Religion

Well...few things get more reaction than thoughts about religion and faith. I'm going to share four poems with you, since I will be on vacation next weekend and won't be able to do the blog. These poems were written as I struggled (and still struggle) to understand faith, religion, and hope. I placed the poems in chronological order, and it seems that maybe I've changed. So, here we go.

This first poem I wrote many years ago, when I was young, angry and unsure of what it all meant. I was not a fan of mankind then (still not much of a fan, now).

Dinosaurs of Christ

we live and worship
burning empty barns
like Dresden’s children.
TURN THE OTHER CHEEK I’LL SLASH YOUR THROAT
TAKE MY HAND YOU’LL RAPE ME
we are LAUGHING HATE AND LOVING VOMIT
we are what we despise and cannot accept
WE LIVE AND WORSHIP
WE LIVE AND WORSHIP
we are dinosaurs.
giants killing for the right to
fill in the blanks.
leaving shadow prints in forgotten rocks.
so curious that
memories named christ are significant to us.
murdered to show peace and love
how like a god to mock us
just when we need him most.
fat man in red/bunny with eggs
how like us to mock a brave man
who would wash our feet,
turn the other cheek.
who loved his dinosaurs.

(how like a god)
to love us
knowing we would never understand.
_________________________________________
I've always been disturbed by Easter, can you tell?

Easter Thought

And so
Without answers to his questions.
No toast for his cup of Maddog 20/20,
J.C. hung with the best of them.
Left but a corpse and a memory.
Bled love into the ground.
So we kill in his name.
Blood into the ground.

It defeats his intent.
But I’m not a god and wouldn’t know.
Perhaps this is good.
He’s never around to say.

with silent cries a man-god dies
we bleed his legend pale.
on plastic grass let’s sing a mass
with peter cottontail.

I question his method
not his madness.
I should be so mad
but am not.
Perhaps this is good.

There is no time for madness, J.C.
No more market for martyrs.
So lets ride, J.C.
You and me, J.C.
In the belly of the magical bunny.

How’s that for madness?
_______________________________________
I was starting to mellow with this poem. Still holding mankind to a high standard, and feeling that we fell short, but realizing there was meaning.

A Fragrance of Tired Roses

IT HAD ALL HAPPENED SO FAST WHAT WITH HIM BEING IN CHARGE OF THE MEN AND ALL THE SPEECHES AND THE TROUBLE WITH THE COPS AND THEM BEING FROM OUT OF TOWN AND STUFF AND WELL THINGS GOT Y’KNOW CRAZY AND NO ONE HAD THE COURAGE TO STOP AND FUNNY HOW THINGS CAN GET CRAZY TOO FAST SOMETIMES
The Crowd, fickle as hell, wanted blood.
As was their right.
It was said the critics crucified him.
POOR CHOICE OF WORDS
TOO SYMBOLIC IF YOU ASK ME
HE HAD IT COMIN’ IF YA WANNA KNOW THE TRUTH OF THE MATTER
MAKE AN EXAMPLE OF ONE OF ‘EM AND THE REST WILL TOE THE LINE
NOT ONE OF ‘EM WORTH A DAMN ANYWAY
So why the fear?
Beauty had yet to take one life.
Peace to cause one war.
If God came down to love us just once, say next Tuesday
He’d be dead by Friday.
And if more than one came to call
There’d be hell to pay.
BUT DON’T WORRY, LIL’ DARLIN’
THEY WON’T CAUSE NO TROUBLE NOWADAYS
WE SEEN TO THAT
CRUCIFY MY ASS, WE KICKED BUTT, LIL’ DARLIN’.
And
Beauty died without a whimper
Beneath a blind sky of sunshine.
Leaving but a fragrance
Of tired roses.
____________________________________
This was written as a gift for a friend of mine. She likes hummingbirds.

a miracle amongst the flowers

giving was so very easy.
for heaven it always was.
a child a star it never seemed quite enough.

so an angel
(the most delicate of heaven) was chosen to
teach mankind of hope.
perhaps ...beauty.
dressed in the fires of autumn,
the laughter of the greenest springs,
blessed with the voice of love,
the angel taught the child and mankind the
songs of hope.

the child grew with the world
then died from it.
in grief, heaven took back its gifts of
birth, eternity , and hope.
the angel, who learned to love man from watching the child,
asked to stay.
so heaven returned its last gift
(as only heaven could.)

the angel transformed into a bird of rainbow beauty
with a song that only the wind could know
or the flowers to hear.

it was by this gift
that the world knew the hummingbird.
silent as a child’s wish on a distant star,
quick as a clever thought upon waking.
the hummingbird is a sign of hope.
a miracle to be glimpsed amongst the flowers
_________________________________

Let me know your thoughts about these poems or your own experiences with faith. Take care.
b

Relationships and loss

As much as we don't talk about loss of relationships in our lives, loss is a part of the human experience. I want to address this issue carefully. I don't wish to be maudlin, but I want to present two poems about loss. I hope that these poems resonate with you. That you will appreciate the relationships you cherish now, and realize the wisdom you've gained from those lost.

This first poem I wrote for my sister, after her cat died. I think those of us who have spent much of our lives with our pets can relate.

so little a thing


feathersteps follow me room by room
enter as i exit. watch me with a quiet kind of love.
i know you aren’t there. i drift into the kitchen
(it is cold and confusing)

i grieve too much.

i know death and can see him/it/they/her
coming down long lit hallways (where i work).
Pillaging in that drawn out way of his/hers/its/theirs.
Leaving the living dumb in its/theirs/hers/his wake.
It/she/they/he leaves and i am sometimes
too busy to notice.

THE SUFFERING IS OVER!
WE TELL OURSELVES THAT DEATH WAS PERHAPS FOR THE BEST.
THAT PROLONGING THE PAIN (in ourselves)
WOULD BE CRUEL.
And i could never be cruel ...not to the shy,
happy cat that loved butterfly hunts.

I WANTED TO TELL DEATH TO BE GENTLE WITH YOU
THAT YOU WERE SPECIAL
THAT YOU SHOULD BE WITH SUNSHINE AND BUTTERFLIES
THAT HE/SHE/IT/THEY SHOULD GO AWAY AND LEAVE ME UNSHATTERED
(over so little a thing
as the death of a cat).
WANTED TO MAKE YOU UNDERSTAND
THAT IT IS SO HARD FOR ME TO LOSE YOU
THAT DEATH WAS ALL I HAD LEFT TO EASE YOUR PAIN.

I miss you
look for you in lofts of sunshine
and watch butterflies now
with a quiet kind of love.
______________________________________________

This next poem was hard to write. I tried to place myself in a room where loss is front and center. What happens when someone is face to face with the death of one's soul mate? Unable to do anything but witness it. I said that loss is part of the human experience, but must it be so damned devastating to us?

In Rooms Empty of Miracles


Tracked with tear sand
Old trails on such young cheeks.
“Talk to me just once. Pleasegodplease just say my name”.
Just squeeze my hand. Please don’t go.”
So the prayer/chant/beg/curse
Whispered hope continues.
Hold hands but not too tight
Remember the tubes
And the nurse
And the Doctor
And the BEEP..BEEP..BEEP...
BEEEE...

Hate/Love sound of life in balance
Death with foothold.
Hold back the tears as if courage will open
Those beautiful sad eyes of blue
Sorry ...So Sorry.
Beg/Chant/Bargain/Prayer.
“I love you so
We love you so much
Please God, just this once
Please.”

She is led away by silent nurses.
Looks of knowing burn her.
Callused sympathy from the ward
Having seen so many tears with no end in sight.
“Its for the best”, breaks through her numbing grief.
She clutches a sofa of dingy vinyl orange
Losing herself in a world of emptiness and pain.
Trickle streams of love dry slow
In rooms empty of miracles.

________________________________________________


From time to time I will share my thoughts about loss. But not too often. Please give me your thoughts. If you have trouble posting on this blog, try registering as a Follower. If that doesn't help, email me and if you give me permission, I will cut and paste your thoughts into the blog for you.. Thankfor reading.

b

Newborns

Taking a chance this week. I've never given birth. I've never been a father. However, the two poems I submit for your consideration deal with the experience and feelings mothers' have towards their newborn children. To mothers reading these poems, please let me know if I'm close. If I'm not, let me know that, too.

Both poems are written from through the eyes (and hearts) of the mother.


While You Cried Life Into My World

You cling to me.
Clever eyes needing in a way
I never thought possible.
Your tiny sighs accenting my tears.
You will not remember this moment
When I bathed you in my happiness,
While you cried life into my world.
Your father touches your cheek
Shiny-eyed he kisses you.
He is silent.
You are love and he respects this.
My hands, his eyes/face all intermingled.
We are one, the three of us.
I know (as Mothers know)
I would give my life for you.
You sweeten my life as only a miracle can.
Holding you I dream of roses in a rainstorm
Touched by a ray of morning sun.

_________________________________

Melodies Learned From the Same Heart

Sing your life’s song, my little one.
So close are we that
I weep for joy, for both of us.
Your song/my song sweetens the sun’s smile,
Highlights the beauty of your
Tiny, perfect hands.
Holding you is more than I could have dreamed.
(Safe...so safe...Shush now)
There.

Your breath colors the flowers in my heart
Radiant warm,
Silky soft.
Little one, how I love you.
My eyes close with yours
As we sing/sigh melodies learned
From the same heart.
When your songs are your own,
I shall listen with silent tears,
Recalling when we shared the same soul.

___________________________________

Let me know your thoughts by leaving a comment at the bottom of this post. Take care.
b

Relationships: To the land and to memories

Today I want to start the subject of relationships. This first poem I wrote for my uncle who farmed all his life. This poem isn't about just him, but about how I see all farmers and their relationship to the land. So unique, so silent.. special and intense.

He Would Touch His Oceans

He would touch his oceans,
Recall the seeding of it’s life.
The graceful dignity of it’s death.
See the long, perfect rows of
Deep tasseled green carry the wind
In whispering waves,
Play with the rain,
Stretch slowly to the daylight
As if heaven bound.
It would smooth his brow for a moment
Then fade like memories of childhood.
Shadow-dreams to long for
When the rain stays at home
And the wind rapes the soil like an angry stranger.
His face shows the storms and droughts of life.
Lost friends,
Bitter sweat,
Self doubt.
Still he works the springtime pastures until harvest.
He is one with the earth,
His soul is rich with the spirit of life.
Planter of seas, can you smell the sweet summer
Rain couched in the twilight?
Hear the rustle of your life’s joy
Waiting for you like a windswept, silent lover?
Soft as moonlight it sings
For the grower of oceans.
Waits for daybreak’s first kiss,
And dreams of the care borne
In your touch.
__________________________________________

This next one is about my uncle specifically. It's about the occasional summer weekends spent on his farm. A little kid who gets to follow a busy farmer doing his chores in the early morning. My memories of a hero and he never knew it. I wrote this poem a few days after he died.


Shadow of a Hero

My uncle returns with a jacket
(made for a giant I pull it around me/adjust the sleeves).
Try to match his strides and end up running just a bit.
Watch him hoist mountains of corn onto his shoulder.

Sunlight tickles the morning’s toes.

Move from chore to chore.
His dog gives my face a licking.
Says I didn’t wash supper off from last night.
(first words he has spoken to me all morning, his whole face smiles).
We stop to have a cup of well water.

It will never taste as sweet as that day when I
Walked inside the shadow of a hero to milk the cows.
Grasshoppers make way for the farmer and his helper.
We check our shoes and go inside for a breakfast banquet.

I must leave the next day.
Stare out the closed car window,
Gravel tapping at the tires.
I wave goodbye
And grow old.
Replace dreams with practicality.
Watch the (bigger than life) shadows of experience
Fade with the growing day,
Until the sun overhead makes them disappear.

What I’m trying to say
Is that if I can catch the morning just right,
I can feel his silent laughter.
Recall the sweet taste of well water,
And for a moment, understand the contentment
He possessed.

_________________________________________________

Give me your thoughts about farmers and farming... and perhaps a memory or two.
Take care and we'll talk next week.

b

Going to Combat and Coming Home

Welcome to week three of my blog.

My dissertation for my psychological doctorate was on the experience of soldiers preparing to deploy from their homes to a combat zone. I interviewed 4 former soldiers for hours and wrote the dissertation. Two requirements of the dissertation methodology was to include the details of my own predeployment experiences into the dissertation, and to synthesize the collected experiences into something creative. So I wrote a poem.

Up-Armor

The leaves of our love
Go softly brown.
Fall silently.
I will no longer water us,
I am leaving soon - may not come back.
Touch you from my (self-imposed) distance.
Shadow my love with final meanings.
Armor with silence our precious mornings.
Lie awake (away from you)
As I hold you in the dark.
In my eyes, you find goodbye.
The need to be gone and come back.
I look away. My armor stays in place.
You look away (sometimes) when I look at you.
We smile (strangely) at those moments
As intentions litter the ground around my boots.
Our children (their laughter in the kitchen)
Do not understand why I am awkward around them.
They sense I am away when I am home.
In loneliness I will not share with you (or anyone)
I push away thoughts of death.
I will be tough – no weakness here.
There is so much to do before I go.
With so many depending on me to bring them home.
I fear failing more than my own death.
Last goodbye.
May be the last time I see, feel, hear, touch
You, our kids (my world as it was).
Promise to return/Take care of my family/Kisses for everyone/Hugs all around.
Hold you forever - then let you (everything I knew) walk out the gym door.
Its metal finality shuts you away from
My last “I love you”.
I join rows of up-armored trees. Steadfast.
A forest battling winter,
While dreaming of (tender/opening) leaves.
____________________________________________

The second poem for your consideration was written for my wife, when I was flying home after the end of Desert Storm. Deploying and coming home from combat is all about relationships. I didn't know it as a soldier, but I know it now. If you have loved ones who are serving or who have served, know that all the training in the world cannot shield the heart as easily as an understanding touch. Thank you Janet, for allowing me to share this poem and for being there.

eloquence

when i miss you so much that
i cannot stop the tears
i think of all the ways
you make me happy.
the tickle your laughter brings to my heart
the thrill of touching you as i wake
the way you keep my soul alive
when all the world is intent on its own self-destruction.

the tears stop.
my mind fills with you alone.
words then have no place
to hang their hats.
only my passion, burning silent, white-hot
has eloquence enough to say how i feel.

when i see you next
i’ll fill my heart/your arms
with my quiet speech of love.
talk to your lips
i’ve dreamt of for so long
and swear to an uncertain future
that i will love you
forever.

_____________________________________________

Well, next week I want to talk about relationships some more. I'm leaving the military theme for a little while and will talk about friendships, love, and loss. We have so many types of relationships and how they impact our lives. Please give me your thoughts about the topic this week and take care.

b

Military Poetry

Welcome to by blog. This is round 2 for my military poetry. Today I want to talk about how the power that military weapons and training can have on how and individual sees self and others. The two poems I want to share today are older, but I think just as relevant today. Please share your thoughts about the poems and what thoughts you have about this topic. There are a few of you that are having difficulty accessing the blog to post your thoughts. If you will let me know by email, and give me permission, I will cut and paste your ideas onto the blogsite post.

This first poem I wrote when I was a captain. I was helping a unit conduct a company level (a company is about 100 soldiers) live fire exercise at night (known as a CALFEX: Company LiveFire Exercise). This is when every soldier fires his weapon and the unit fires its larger weapon systems. We use real ammunition. It is incredibly loud. My job that night was to toss artillery simulators into a pit. Artillery simulators have the explosive power of about 1/4 stick of dynamite. It adds to the realism of the exercise. The excitement of being around that much destructive power can be thrilling, even intoxicating. It is easy to lose oneself, as I did that night.


CALFEX

Hell was beautiful last night.
Rage upon rage upon ruined ground.
Serenely watched by heaven and myself.
So like ...ruptured Christmas.
Red tracers Green clusters
White floating angels aflame.
Death rode the range
And won my admiration.
Giggling from my hilltop view
I rocked with each explosion
Rolled with man-made thunder.
Delighting in the effect,
I ignored its implications
And left my hilltop in darkness.

________________________________________________________________

This second poem is a little more difficult to share. During Desert Storm, there was a friendly fire incident in which 4 American soldiers were killed. It is known as the Hale Fratricide Incident. The Attack Helicopter Battalion (AHB) involved was a unit in the Brigade I was part of. I was on duty as a Brigade TOC (Tactical Operations Center) officer and was monitoring the mission on the radio when it happened. In short, it was pitch dark out, in the middle of a sandstorm, and the AHB Commander (LTC Hale) was in an Apache gunship with one of his attack helicopter companies. The wind was blowing so hard that the helicopter was literally turned sideways. What LTC Hale thought was to his front (Iraqi Armor) was actually to his side (American Armor in a skirmish line). He fired one TOW missile and destroyed a US Army vehicle and killed some of its occupants. There was a standing order prior to that night that no Commander was to engage enemy, and Hale violated that order. Hearing all this on the radio as it was happening was chilling and horrific, as I knew LTC Hale and it happened in one of my units. Hale, a rising star in the Division, was relieved of comamand and sent home within the week.


Absolution

On a laser light high
Screaming firebright,
The target hit was easy as pie
“Cause we own the night,
Do it to them before they do it to you,
And hey, be careful out there”.

We couldn't hear the night whisper,
“I cannot give back the dead,
Once they’re mine.”

Radios broke their trance with
Stunned uncertainty.
Squelched dread and gave voice
To numbed understanding:

“Oh God, I think I’ve hit friendlies”.

So we asked for absolution
For a sin within a sin.
Found penance too high.
Cut our losses,
Held high our hero’s head
For all to see
Before the fallen were cold to the touch.

We forgot that only gods are infallible,
That machines have no soul,

And the night belongs to no one
but itself.


___________________________________________________________


So give me your thoughts.

Next week I want to share about preparing for deployment to combat and returning home. Take care and have a good week.

b