A Transitional tale

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.  

                              Mama by Godsmack

Lady I Defend

Star Spangled, Etch point eyes,

cross hair to the cranium,

from both side,

tomorrows welcome,

fore tonight I die,

A philosopher and a peasant,

sat beneath a crumbling home,

next to the spot where mail once would go,

the wisdom transferred in that hour,

devoured all the knowledge

that boy had known,

My country, I honor you amidst the showers,

I devote my every hour,

my bountiful, I sacrifice my youthful days,

blessed I am to have seen lime coloring in this life,

tonight and for forever,

in dying I survive,

Beautiful lady, I confide,

my queen of liberty, in which I cry

I do not question, yet in this final moment,

left for me to honor you, I request your ear one last time,

I am dearly scared of what shall greet me on the other side




For this week at Open Link Monday at Imaginary Gardens with Real Toads, Kerry mentioned the idea of revisiting a poem that's gone forgotten, which was one of many options to consider this week.  So, because it is Memorial Day here in the States, I thought I'd look back through the archives and see about finding a piece that hopefully fit the Soldier theme I wanted, plus did go relatively forgotten.  This piece was one I originally posted in March of 2011, about a soldier's return.  Make sure you stop on over at Real Toads, check out all the great poetry on display at Open Link Monday, and while you're there, link up a poem of your own.

Mortar Fire and the Sound of Independence (Soldier Chronicle Volume Three)

Mortar fire and the sound of independence

Sky lit in brilliance

Reminds me of our endeavor,

As if I would ever convince myself otherwise

I forgot the names by now,

I wish I would have paid attention

Gave camaraderie a try,

Yet then, well I would also

The beaches coveted the brush,

This jungle from all sides,

Thick entanglements of plants, trees, vines,

And bugs, so many bugs,

Footmarks led pathways I would fear to see,

Who, and what would they steer towards me,

Estranged, weeks perhaps,

How the body changes when left unattended,

My escape was a stumble upon,

Some lucky hacks hidden in the brush,

Tree supporting their covert lifestyle,

Scared kids with ink long gone,

Waiting for a bus to fly them home,

At that point, then,

I offered nothing but a plea to join their crusade,

Most accepting those writers were,

Having me around set them at ease,

Guess they felt safer with a man like me, around,

Appearances cast deeper images than our words suggest,

And the weapon,

I enjoyed their spirits, albeit reminding them it really was myself against,

But their spirits were higher than when I arrived, therefore I didn’t have the

Heart to tell them I was out,

I met them by luck,

But luck is not what got me to them,

It was disobedience that saved my life,

The lieutenant announced we’d be coming in from atop,

Surprise that morning, glory all night,

I explained my ears were keen,

And I know familiar sounds over the hill,

My gut instructed me to disobey what I knew was right,

What I was trained to do,

And so I dropped below as they rose above,

Seconds later I heard the firefight,

I heard the enemy swarm past me, as I hid myself away,

I returned and buried the dead, all of them but myself,

I heard it then I hear it now,

If only I’d listened, the families claim I could have saved them all,

I know better, which is not to say obeying was the wrong command to follow,

Each day now, since then, I see their excitement in their eyes,

For by their hands some unnamed assailants would die,

I tried to explain, I told them, but again I say they were close to one another,

I was merely a clinging shadow, they didn’t care to know, one they avoided

If only I made an attempt perhaps a different ending there would be

To this horrible tale I live to tell.

Cleaning Crew (Soldier Chronicle Volume Two)

Validation

Rise, be quiet but rise, rise soon

The sun is cradling the hairline

Of the wheat fields and moments we must prepare

Radio crackles and sky ignites

No fleshless crop survives the fight

Cleaning crew

Common courtesy to allow living clean the fields of their dead

Spriteful eyes commandeering from above

Yet they cannot see what is not shown

Apparently it takes a special kind of soldier

To walk among his friends, or those dressed like you

Who one day could have been close to you,

And push aside the items of least concern,

Scoop up bone, typically barren and cold, results not from

Cannibals to my knowledge, but carrion circling the sky-line

Searching for its next meal

Collect, do best to identify,

This duty seems without merit, but families need to bury family, yet that alone cannot compensate for the desensitizing you’ve endured, you hate your position, nothing could they say, and then you find, amongst the chipped bony processes, the dangled, mangled remains of a best of friend, you see a chest rise and fall, bloodshot and outlook not good, but if it weren’t for you and your crew, chance for this soldier would not ever be in play.   Days like this I thank God for this position, this role I play.

Relics of the war past lost (Soldier Chronicles Volume I)

Relics of the war past lost

Lives worn, erode like caustic

Dream, a reality polar opposite

Vision is not an option

Limb to limb,

Man to a Man

Devaluation, perhaps

The collateral

Snake skinned and venom-less,

Our opposition deposed of pride,

Crown, Throne and a possible

Side effect most takes away as the only

Benefit to the thrust forced upon the sons

And daughters of the now childless, or less children

To coddle by hand,

Death was, is, the only salve to a wound never heals

Death pictured in voluminous detail

Replaying again and again, between

The rainy procession down the lot and in through

Stained glass,

The vision haunts, as the body is yet returned

To this matter the parent holds responsible the president,

Chief armament to a desperate many

Master motivator, manipulator, ignorant entirely of the fact

This highest honored American had no part in your child’s fall,

The previous did no such propaganda either, perhaps you see things

Different, difficult to paint a proper portrait when you only see in a solitary color,

It is your prudence to allow your mind it’s time to heal,

It needs coddling itself at this, the grimmest hour,

Not to taint my stream of conscience, with a viewpoint so personal,

But for those enabled skill sets aware, in whichever place your eyes meet word,

Read between the linear, obtain the non colored space and the shade it colors the spine,

Their position, their telescopic lens, periscope into and out of, will reveal

And what it reveals to you, the individual reader, inclined toward poetics,

Yet will not feign eyes from truth, what you feel, however you see it, those and more are my positions

But I shall induce one last transmittal

Soldiers are a special breed

Selfless, martyring if I should paint in such theology

They deserve more than they have earned

Celebrations should be on display, outside

The pat on the back, glad to have you home parade,

Each owes them, whether visual or not, look long enough come will the thought