Return To Ramadi

Frustration and anger burns slow,
As the times seem out of joint,
The bad guys have taken Ramadi...
And so what was the fucking point
Of us fighting so desperately
In 2006, and eventually we won,
Or so we thought, sent home
Before the war was really done,
Makes us want to reenlist, resume
The man-hunt war games, once
Again dealing firepower and doom...

  

   

 

My Love For You

My love for you is a rare jewel,
Formed by a mystic lapidary,
Using elements which spool
Diamond-incandescent from dreams,
Feverish dreams caused by your
Kiss, eyes, face, it all seems
So miraculous and magical,
My love for you, which gleams,
Like a rare gem, finest jade,
A precious thing our hearts have made.

Sahara Moonlight

Abandoned by the caravan,
I wake up in a desert night,
And look at some desolate
Dune scenery, which might
As well be Mars, so void
Of life, all silicon blight,
The Sun, all else, destroyed...

    

Carbon, Oxygen, Hydrogen

Caipirinha and Mojito, purchased
Easily, at a "convenience" store,
Consumed to alter consciousness,
Because that's what they're for,
The government-approved way
To get high, tied to ancient lore
Of cave-men making moonshine,
Alcohol dulling the angst and
Ennui, leaving all warm and fine...

How It Happens

Creative juices flowing, I suppose that's one
Way to describe what happens late at night,
The surge of ideas, perhaps spurred by an
Atmosphere of shadows, an absence of light,
Which allows pale subtleties to emerge,
And converge, into the verses I write...

Astronaut

I rely on a moment's thought
Or maybe it's a feeling,
Floating like an astronaut,
In an emotional space,
All ethereal and fraught
With fear, and I admit,
Hiding is the last resort,
I know, I know, until my
Feelings calm, perhaps assort...

Dylan Thomas

Dylan Thomas, Welshman and poet,
Died because of too much drinking,
The force that through the green fuse
Drove, then caused, his liver's sinking,
Gone, too soon, the beautiful voice,
Shouting, singing, vice thinking...

= = = = = = = = = =

-- THE FORCE THAT THROUGH THE GREEN FUSE DRIVES THE FLOWER

(By Dylan Thomas, 1914 - 1953)

The force that through the green fuse drives the flower
Drives my green age; that blasts the roots of trees
Is my destroyer.
And I am dumb to tell the crooked rose
My youth is bent by the same wintry fever.

The force that drives the water through the rocks
Drives my red blood; that dries the mouthing streams
Turns mine to wax.
And I am dumb to mouth unto my veins
How at the mountain spring the same mouth sucks.

The hand that whirls the water in the pool
Stirs the quicksand; that ropes the blowing wind
Hauls my shroud sail.
And I am dumb to tell the hanging man
How of my clay is made the hangman’s lime.

The lips of time leech to the fountain head;
Love drips and gathers, but the fallen blood
Shall calm her sores.
And I am dumb to tell a weather’s wind
How time has ticked a heaven round the stars.

And I am dumb to tell the lover’s tomb
How at my sheet goes the same crooked worm.

No Thanks

I'm an atheist, not so much because
I don't believe in god, but rather
That I don't believe in god-people
And all their religious rants & blather.

The worst are those who seem gentle,
But if you don't buy what they sell,
Or put in hours at their social club,
You're told about burning in Hell...

Product Placement

Humans share an odd reality
Watching the same things,
But differently, on T.V.,
Colors, pixels making gods
Worshiped incidentally,
As part of their video
Culture, humans seem free,
As they gaze, open-mouthed,
At reruns, yet unable to see,
It was produced to sell
Products for you, and me...

Somewhere South Of Camp Leatherneck

We go outside the wire, step by step,
Head on a swivel, we carry out a plan,
In the gray-brown mountains, we will
Search, discover, and kill the Taliban,
Before they kill us, young dudes, in
Way over our heads in Afghanistan,
Veterans of suburban Malls, we play
This killing game, the best we can...

Divine, And All Is Fine

The gods decide to play, have some fun,
And below on Earth, thereafter things
Complicate, and become a bit undone,
The gods' intent sort of misconstrued
By those who couldn't know anyway,
They pray, as things become unglued...

Pilgrim's Progress

Growing up, does not happen
In a straight and narrow line,
Life is curves, and despite the
Time & detours, all is fine...

  
  

Atmospherics

Bedazzled, on a beach,
Where I stand and view,
A good day's end, in
Orange, pink, and blue...

The Edge Of Deep Sleep, Number 7

So tired, that I find myself
On the edge of the known,
Under the star dust which
Cosmic winds have blown
I wait for sleep to arrive
In the dark blue twilight,
But it's so hard to surrender
To slumber, try as I might...

To Nurture

Women fix and remake
The myriad things that
Men bruise and break

Adrenaline Cowboys

Each new generation
Must have its war,
Never mind the pain
Which happened before,
Each new generation
Of bored young men,
Will seek the thrill of
Combat hunting again,
Killing for religion,
Revenge, or victory,
They relearn old lessons,
The heartbreak and PTSD...

Freedom

Grown up and out through
The ornamental hedge,
From some random seed,
Sprouts a lush and leafy
Magnificent weed,
Standing tall, unnamed,
Green quiet evidence
Of Nature untamed...

Omaha, 1971, Mowing The Lawn

Push, push, cut the blades that stick-up,
Sticking-up being some sort of violation
Of an unwritten suburban expectation
That all will be blue-green and flat,
So, I'm out, under a hot Nebraska sun,
Mowing grass, there's no guarantee that
This act of gas-fed cutting, once begun,
Will ever deliver the result desired,
An end-state of green lawn perfection,
Which only leaves me burnt and tired.

OMG TMI LOL

Millennial attention spans,
Always changing, never dwell,

That's just as well.

Always There, Your Choice

One way to be totally free,
Is to go straight, at speed.
When you come a "T"

What follows, will follow,
Momentarily...

First Love At Summer Camp

Half awake, I lay by a dying camp fire,
Trying to remember her face, her name,
Her touch, fading into illusion as I tire,
The taste of her kiss all gone too soon,
Quietly, under the light of the moon...

Quick, Before It's Lost...

My thoughts outrace
My fingers' tapping
Man-machine interface
Inspiration lapping
Letters in a dream race