It's Tuesday, and in a little over an hour, Claudia will open the doors to the D'Verse pub, manning the taps all night long, listening to the tunes, err. poems that are linked for Open Link Night tonight. So head on over, take in the poetry and share one of your own.
Fallen
from utopian pools of aquamarine
into
the outstretched arms of hazel green
A
society of drones,
cut
in symmetrical frames,
out
of identically chosen casts and molds
The
skies bleed the Heavens of ethereality,
songs
matriculate from summits to cirrus bands,
fortifying
the oxygen with inorganically formed bass and treble led compositions of
unidentifiable sounds
I thought I'd give the Triplet form that Roger's made famous over at his blog, Chasing Tao, a go of it today. Please visit Roger's site for a much more profound use of the form and see all the wonderful examples he has on display. This piece is intended to be looked at three-fold, photograph, Verse, Video. Thanks.
I
wanted to try
I
wanted to make
This
world a better place
Yes, I understood, to do that, I would
have to travel dark and terrible tunnels
Of course, I knew, that to succeed,
others must fail, others would surely fall.
“Life
changing,” is what the recruiter spelled in that initial meeting...
and I bought the bait…excited to do so at that, to be a hero, to change the world, to let freedom ring, through the valleys of atrocity, to
the shores of oppression…we cheered when each flag fell, when power was
returned
but,
no one ever said how life changing this all would be
Pulsing
Throbs of
Stabbing
Distraught
Each and every morning—when loud sounds stir-
Unsure
of surroundings—of mission—of faces of family and friends-
Unaware—the
war’s been won—finding fist formed, trembling, in a half-sleeping hand, staring down at a woman that loves you unrequited…
Snapping,
at pin-tinged words—that provoke a bouquet of chastising gleams, from those who
always told others how well they knew who you are and what kind of man rests inside—yet that was a
different lifetime entirely—and now, all you want, is
For
someone to save you
From
those seeds planted
Deep
within…seeds that continue to green, despite all the psychological weedkillers stirred about...
All you need is to see the
flag, unfurled and proudly traveling it’s fabric’s length—spanning much, much further distances than a mere cloth could possibly transmit- and you salute, every time, regardless of where or when...
Honor
and duty, you plod along, until you get your next directive, hoped for, under
the guise of a civilian blanket, one that cannot keep your turning body warm
at night—
you pray that a new assignment will take you far from this strangest
land of all—
you’ve always done what’s been told—
As
all good soldiers do—
But at
ease, is something you fear you no longer can do
Obviously
not a celebratory piece, just not how my minds wired lately, but still wanted
to take part in the Memorial Day celebration over at D’Verse, and thought an artistically, I hope, filtered informational piece about the tragedies of our nation’s heroes suffer upon
their return home, how they leave their family as Person A but if they are so lucky
to come back at all, they almost always return as Person Z, whether they speak
of the differences or not, they see it, and in some way or another, they know
things are not how they vaguely remember things, that something has changed.
I
know several people, that have served and they’ve all been very candid about
their re-acclamation.Each of them speaks
as to how the world does seem reshaped, yet they just don’t know how or
why.They all seem to be transitioning
adequately, yet do speak of having to seek counseling, wake up in cold sweats,
unknowing where they are, and yes, nightmares always seem to part of the
conversation.
The
one that has the hardest time is one that’s just returned home this past year
after 10 years of deployment, and he’s told me that while the beer tastes much
better being back home, he does feel like he’s still having to look over his
shoulder at all times, amongst many other tragic aftertastes.The worst though, has to be his 12 year old
son, treating him as if he’s just another stranger, polite, yet distanced.He says how he would look forward to getting
new photos, and how he’d use them to help stay grounded while away, but when he
first reached out to hug him, the child merely said hello and went to shake his
hand.His doctor says it might take some
time, for all parties to readjust. And they all are fine with that, or so they
say.But I believe them, yet I wonder,
should transitioning adequately be okay at all.
My
personal feeling is that the Governments of this world truly need to get their
priorities in shape.They need to come
up with better solutions than simply sending their youth out into combat, where
whether a single shot is ever fired or not, they become altered.
Protecting
one’s greatest assets, life and freedom, should always be the main priority,
and obviously military operations will be a part in this defense, yet it would
be nice if the system at hand is altered somewhat more than it already is, to
help our brave heroes transition as seamlessly as possible, without fear of
what may be next.
Obviously
you tread into neuroscience, and the mind is a funny beast, very difficult to
pin down in entirety, but more science, more research, as I’ve heard it is,
should continuously to be, done.
The
families of those who do not return, as well as of those of wounded veterans,
which I use the term wounded in it’s broadest scope, need to be taken care of
better than perhaps they already are.The heroes should be remembered and praised for their courage and their
unselfish acts of sacrifice, for it all is a sacrifice, is it not?
Obviously
I didn’t do this conversation justice, as there’s just so much more territory
to go down. Yet I feel I got down the gist of the message I wanted to get out,
and only hope it has been adequately displayed.So, this is just something a bit heavier to mull over as we all eat our
fruit salads and barbeque this afternoon.As Decoration Day, as this holiday was originally named, is supposed to
be for remembering those servicemen and women that have died.But death, is that not such a subjective
term, and in such, I think our definitions should be expanded somewhat.
In
and out of pubs, scrubbing bubbles next to a quartet of jacked-up
amphetamine
smoking ducks, of the rubber persuasion, spitting bathwater, as high as the eyeglasses
can see. Free…generational
guesswork…popping the quark and nine.(False Adieu)
