The Distilled Essence of Daphne: war

Showing posts with label war. Show all posts

Tuesday, June 21, 2011

The Crusades Cycle

The Crusades Cycle

Incendiary planes captive missiles
Revengeful hate's bloody epistles,
Received betrayals, exploitative lies,
Perceived redemption in bitter guise...

The innocent get to pay;
The innocent get to cry;
The innocent, who had no say,
Are the first to get to die.

Holy lands, holy wars,
Fundamentalist ignores
All is sacred--all not part,
A living being--each beating heart.

The innocent get to pay;
The innocent get to cry;
The innocent, who had no say,
Are the first to get to die.

How many Crusades to get on top?
The murderer's game will not stop
Until the world is fully dead--
Then the silence rules instead...

The innocent get to pay;
The innocent get to cry;
The innocent, who had no say,
Are the first to get to die.

The blood cries out
From the grounds where spent...
Now silent shout
To loved ones sent....

The innocent made to pay;
The innocent made to cry;
The innocent, who had no say,
Were the first who got to die.

Copyright 2001, Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw. All rights reserved.

Saturday, June 4, 2011

Hard Facts Harder Faced

Hard Facts Harder Faced

Who said our soldiers could not be psychos?

Who said we always are saints?

Where is it written we do the right thing

And never show evil or taint?

War is hell, lest we forget it,

And crimes of war even much more…

Can we train a human to kill, not to feel,

Without evil allowed in that door?

Rape is a tool and an agent of war.

So is massacre, torture, mayhem.

Even a good man can snap to a monster

And live only to slay ‘em.

None of us are guiltless, much to our pain,

But we are trapped in this way,

If ever we forget the humanity of victims

From Coshocton to Mai Lai.

And Still the Channel to Cross

And Still the Channel to Cross

Looking around,

Nerves stretched taut,

The winds and waters churning.

All are pale.

None will return.

Deep terror in us burning.

Normandy,

Damn those cliffs,

A beach changed to bloody swampland…

Though thousands die

To win that beach

From Hell’s elitist command.

Friday, June 3, 2011

Those Orange Poppies

Those Orange Poppies

I remember the old men standing in front of Kresges

Selling small paper poppies…

Small orange flowers on a wire

That we hooked onto ourselves with pride—

‘Though some hooked them on to show they’d paid their buck,

But me, with a mix bittersweet, mostly sad—

Were always the skies gray those days,

Threatening rain?

Or, was it my heart would burst

Seeing those men whose smiles…

Smiles that never quite hid

Deeply wounded,

Woefully sad eyes?

She Never Married

She Never Married

For Vivian Taylor, A Friend and Landlady

(*loosely based on her story)

“Sweet lover, be safe as you fly from this place

To your missions in the Pacific.

I will await your return for then do we wed

After Guam, Midway, and ‘Unspecific.’”

Many letters she wrote, many pictures she sent,

Care packages when she was able…

While meanwhile she worked as a nurse and an aide

Though times were very unstable.

Sometimes he would write when he had the time

For combat, of time, was commanding.

Assuring him forever she would be true

Even though he was not so demanding.

This gave them both hope and a measure of joy

In the face of great fearful unknowing

Of where he would be, or if he would be

A part of a blood crop then sowing.

A year thereabout after he flew

Away from his love at the airport,

Two soldiers in blue came to her home

With the most regrettable report.

She took it quite well until they were gone

Then she collapsed on the sunroom divan,

Crying, “Sweet lover, be safe as you fly from this place

Until I join you in your mission in heaven.”

The Korean War

The Korean War

For John Lewis Bradshaw, My Father

That blue square with the white letters

When sited target makes

Upon helmet or upon uniform,

Coppery, salty red lakes.

It’s not our war, but we are there

To save a peninsula from Red Peril,

We carry the war, to our dismay,

Like fish caught in a barrel.

A human wave poured out upon

The Father against the Son…

Divide them up and let them have

Demilitarized zone, not won…

Then let our soldiers coming out

Find a Red Cross no friend…

Not only give blood to pay blood

But also their own coins they spend.

Monday, May 30, 2011

What Fought For

What Fought For

Soldier, consider why you fight,

Why you march into the endless night

That could fall on you even if you live?

Soldier, what to you seems right

With war within your sight

That calls you your life and all to give?

The price paid is not just from you,

Those left behind and love you, too,

Pay your sacrificial price.

Is it for glory or what you think true?

Is it to protect that defends what you do…

And alone…will it suffice?

Unbelieved? Or Feared?

Unbelieved? Or Feared?

From each war healthy men and women

Return newly ill:

Sickness unknown,

Unbelieved

By VA, doctors,

Government.

Thousands after each war told

It’s all in your head;

IT does not exist:

What you said happened

Did not happen—

And that’s an order!

No, we would not drop Agent Orange,

Napalm, or any other weapon

On our men.

No, we would not bomb a known

Biological warfare storage center or lab

Upwind of our people.

No, we would not use our soldiers

Or our civilians

In large scale experiments on the sly.

And, no,

We will not believe you

When we are caught in our lie.

We will deny…

And try to discredit you.

You Never Existed

You Never Existed

Highly trained, dangerous pet Seal.

Go where you are sent.

Do what we bid you do

As our ears, eyes, and hands.

But, of you, we never knew

And if trouble does pursue you,

We will try to help you…

But if caught or killed,

We will act shocked—

He’s not one of us.

Do not learn from history

That we will not clear your name—

History lies; we lie…

But you go anyway.

We need what you can do.

And, remember,

Go or don’t go…

We will destroy you—

But we will be grateful.

Should you do all

And live…

Heavy awards

In silence we will give.

So, do well.

Swim, Steel Fish

Swim, Steel Fish

For Joe Wiseman, a Cousin

Deep the steel fish swims

Sometimes in waters hostile

Where other steel fish also swim…

Deep, surface, afloat.

Any wrong move,

The Deep herself unmerciful…

At bottom too long,

Or rising too fast,

Or swimming not silent enough—

Fish gone.

Close quarters,

Some go mad—it’s too close,

Too tight;

To others,

A steel second skin

That bites.

Nothing prepares for that first dive…

The pops, creaking sighs

As the Deep presses into

Claim her fish…

And will continue to squeeze

And rock her baby

As Deep and exploding other fish

Meet…

Swim, steel fish,

Swim silently, deeply and fast…

May you not be hooked

Behind that hostile line

For no one will find you there.

Ground Observer Ward Leader

Ground Observer Ward Leader

For Grandpa Leroy Bridges

Atop Cronacher Hill amidst the trees,

An observatory lookout…

He led the volunteers there to see

Which aircraft were about.

Wanting to help the war effort

But disability did forbid it,

He the home front to comfort;

Disappointed to join? He hid it.

Hitler threatened to take the Brits

And then to us he’d come.

The ground observer must keep his wits

And keep the vigil not numb.

If Brits fall and Hitler come

To us, we’d be third

To be hit with a mighty sum

Of bombings dropped from steel bird.

‘Though some laugh now

Thinking bombs imaginary, unreal…

But little realize Hitler…how

A world to rule—first kill.

Oops!

Oops!

A hot-headed Marine answered the phone

And shouted in vulgar obscenities.

On the other end, now angry too,

“Do you know who you are talking to?”

“No.”

A general.

“Sir, do you know who you are talking to?”

“No, sir.”

“Good.”

Click.

And the Marine made a rapid retreat.

The Fly Overs

The Fly Overs

For Edna Boggs, My Fourth Grade Teacher,

And Mike Justice, An Uncle

She would teach us patriotism,

Also to open our ears and our eyes…

Although atom bombs could be dropping,

Just look to the skies…

We heard that first supersonic boom

As the fighters flew over, protecting our town…

Though still in formation as they flew the round,

One tipped his wings just like a clown.

A Hippy or Two

A Hippy or Two

Our area had protestors of the Nam war.

We even had a hippy or two.

A riot at Marshall got pretty hot—

I think they marched just over a block

And broke a furniture store window…

Well, some chairs can be pretty offensive!

The Agony Here Too

The Agony Here Too

My young heart screamed “NO!”

Everyone was so angry;

Everyone was in shock…

Things were spinning out of control…

Or so it seemed.

Lies are a part of war,

But youth said no—

As youth often will…

Four shots.

Students dead in Kent.

Racial riots

Burning in Columbus.

Nowhere felt safe.

My heart wept for I could not understand then

What I still don’t understand now—

Hate the war; Hate the lies;

But why hate our girls and our guys?

A Matter of Policy

A Matter of Policy

On matters of whether we’re going to war

America thinks like Capone—

You get so much more with a smile and a gun

Than ever with smile alone.

Mmm Hmmm…Good Thinking

Mmm Hmmm…Good Thinking

For Mark Swede

He joined the army to avoid joining band.

He said there was one thing that he couldn’t stand:

“The band I left, to the army I went,

For there I know less time would be spent

Doing what makes me think my feet are to parch…

I joined the army ‘cause I hated to march.”

The Third Target

The Third Target

After Washington, D.C. and New York City,

We would be the third to destroy…

From Huntington To Portsmouth,

The Ohio River passes…

The busiest stretch of river in the world

And all that it encompasses—

Oil refinery, coal, and coke,

Chemicals, nuclear, railroader folk,

Pig iron and steel, some technology too…

The Ohio Valley holds a powerful brew.

“Macam Tiae Lembu!”

(Malay for “Sounds Like a Cow Shitting!”)

For My Husband Avalon Ajang Ledong—

Royal Malaysian Army, Sarawak Rangers

Army training can be a chore;

In boot camp, abuse is piled on more.

You can train both days and nights

And don’t you worry about your rights…

For you have none.

Drill sergeant will bark if you are wrong.

Sometimes he’ll make you bark along.

You’ll not be left to be long idled.

You’ll find to what you’re entitled…

If you live long.

Marching here, marching there;

You’ll go marching everywhere.

You’ll go marching in the rain.

You’ll be marching while insane.

You’ll go marching up a hill.

Oh, you’ll like the marching drill.

When marching sergeant says you stop,

Don’t you let your feet ker-plop.

Just one POP he wants to hear

Or he’ll shout straight in your ear…

“Macam tiae lembu!”

Dog Tags

Dog Tags

Name, Address, and Phone Number,

And the letters J, P, or C…

Stainless steel necklace as daily wear

To show your identity.

“This is a test, Class…”

The air raid siren would scream,

And under the desk we’d go…

Faces away from the window.

Remember the signs of the air raid shelters

And remember to take iodine...

Radioactivity got into our milk…

Must protect your thyroid from decline!

We never questioned that our desks

Would protect us from nuclear blasts,

That iodized salt fought radiation sickness…

Or those dog tags would be there after we weren’t.

Decoration Day

Decoration Day

The week before Decoration Day

To each veteran’s plot we’d go

To mow and clean up,

To plant flags to fly,

And sow some seeds to grow.

To be there.

To remember.

To honor.

The ancestors would somehow know.

So to each cemetery we’d go—

Woodland, The Bradshaw Cemetery,

Some on hilltops behind farmhouses,

Some in the woods or along

John’s Creek, Elkin’s Creek, and more…

Some easy access,

Some quite a climb.

Did the spirits see us there?

Were they comforted that the dead were not forgotten?

That their sacrifices were honored?

Then we’d go home.

Fly the flag.

Fix a family feast to be eaten after

The Parade…

The traditions are the same now

Even though they changed the name.

Memorial or Decoration…

The ancestors somehow would know.