The New York city lights-the night

The New York city lights-the night—Chapter five

A Chapter by Coyote Poetry


Another chapter.


                                   The New York city lights-the night

I held Dorthy tightly. My face in her hair,  her hair smelled of the Spring flowers.  I felt her sadness as she grasp my hands tightly near her stomach. She was hiding pain and tried to be strong for herself and her brother. I knew her sadness. I buried two brothers who committed suicide and I joined a war to find the good death. I learn when wrapping the Iraq soldiers in body bags after Death Valley. Every second of life is worthwhile. These frozen bodies would celebrate another day of life with family and friends. Dorthy was in peaceful sleep and I arose from the bed and I went to the living room and wrote some poetry.

(Internet photo)
Men do shameful things.

No excuse for torture in war or peace.

The horrid of war should leave us weak.

Sacrifice of people and cities is acceptable?

Are we shackles and blinded?

We have Iranians, Iraq and Koreans people living in the USA.

Just men and woman trying to exist in the craziness.

Now internal problem in the world.

In Iran killing men and woman demonstrating.

Being killed for their view and wanting change.

No sanity anywhere.

We live in a world.

Where human shields are necessary in Palestine.

Africa need aid of food and medicine.

Interference and humanitarian are necessary.

Need to quit selling guns to rabid leaders.

Time to cry out.
Enough of the useless bloodshed.
Gather the leaders of this world.
Create a plan and do it.

Soldiers are killing for leaders.
Who are
Impotent and hostile toward peace.
Inflamed with hate.
Blinded with self goals.

What can we do?

Doing nothing is not the answer.
Being entrenched and malinger in a cave.

We may wake up one morning.
Your child will ask you.

What happen?

Call your Congressman and Senator.
E-mail the president.
Create friendship with other people in other countries.

What men do?

For deceitful and cold-hearten men.
Must stop.

Just and human leaders are needed.

Humble and sensible men are needed.

Pray for peace.

Pray for freedom.

Pray our children can have a fair chance.

Pray the Wars and hate can fade away to children
scary stories.

The whore bath

Large shining teeth.
Telling me the way to heaven.

I will find my way to paradise by the gift to his christian cause.
His teeth seem to shine brighter.

His mumbling of a thousand words.
Leave me feeling dirty.

I get a damp cloth and wipe away the words of a greedy man.

The captain tells me.
” I own you. ”

“You do what I say.
Even  to death.
I’m in-charge.”

I try to wander away.
But he keeps speaking.

I feel dirty and go to the latrine.
I get a damp cloth.

Another whore bath in a life where the words are eating away at my soul.

I sit in a classroom.
The instructor asked me?

If I was ordered to kill.
Would I?

I tell him I would kill him first.
But my words become weaker with each second the instructor speaks.

He shower me with his blood song and I began to understand.

The sweat pours down my face and I go to the bathroom.

One more whore bath for a man drowning in useless words.
Forced to accept for a few pennies.

Beliefs only a mercenary could believe.

Maybe if I was a high paid whore.

I could live with the things I must do.

But nothing as bad as a cheap whore.


My sister told me. “You  have changed.
She told me. “You saw too much shit and your mind and eyes are cold..

I told her,.
“War isn’t personal.
You do what you are told. Try to forget and move on

 I kissed her forehead.
I told her. “War was easy.
This world falling apart around me.
I don’t know what to do.?
That the crazy shit I don’t understand.”

Up in the morning before five.
We don’t need no sunshine.
 Organization, discipline, three  square meals a day.
 Old SGT. say. “It will be all OK.

Young boss at work asked me too many questions.
 I told  him it is not for him to understand.

When you stand tall at attention. Salute a M-16, boots and helmet of a dead soldier.
You join a club.
The soldiers that lived must carry on with their buddies stories and memories.
Drink a beer on the day of their friends death. Can’t allow them to be forgotten.

Lying on cold ground.
 Waiting for a hidden enemies.
 You slapped your magazine to insure it is loaded right.
 You light up a cigarette and hope all things will be alright.

Going to Iraq with my gun.
Going to kill some Iraqi sons.

 Generals sent Division of soldiers.
Names don’t matter.
Reaching for more stars.

Mama and Papa sit by the phones.
Wife and family pray for the day their soldier come home safe and sound.

Soldiers talk about kids and woman.
Takes up most of our time.

No-one talks of dying.
 Ain’t no race or religion.
 Protect your friend back and he watched your back.

Soldier do right and wrong things.
A lucky man can walk away from  all the shit and forget.

The shadow of war find you one day.

 I stood with  a mother of my friend killed in Iraq.
  She  held me up.
 I saluted her son’s gravestone.

I go to the corner bar with other Veterans.
Drink to friends not here and missed.

Maybe baby sister is right.
The shadows are always with me.


Young black man.
22 year old.
He sat alone and ate alone in the mess hall for many days.
I watched him and wondered why?

I knew great pain and understood his face and eyes.

I started to sit with him.
He said nothing for many meals.
Other Soldiers said he was crazy.

One morning at breakfast.
He looked at my eyes direct.
He told me.
“Some of the poor men were still alive at Death valley. They were still breathing.
Pieces of bodies speaking in a foreign language. I held so many of them. All I could do is listen.”

His eyes filled with tears. He asked me.
“Was there any purpose for this war?”

I looked at his sad eyes. I told him.
“You did all you could. Mercy of someone hearing your last words allow the poor men to move to the next place with the vision a kind heart. Not the bloody shit of war.”

He got very quiet for a time. He whispered.
“All I see is death and blood in my dreams. I can’t see any good in my life now. What can I do?'”

I took him to Virginia beach. Not many people in the late months of winter.
I made him drink many long Island ice teas.
We drank till we could barely see anymore.

We wandered down to the Virginia shoreline.
He watched the Atlantic dance on the shore.

He turned to me. Asked me? “What the fuck are you trying to do to me?
Why don’t you leave me alone?

I passed the whiskey to him.
I told him. “We have been lied to. No-body care if people live or die. We were just mercenaries for money and oil. Let’s scream to the Gods. Lets scream into the wind. Tell the world to f-off. Then maybe we can find the mercy to forgive ourselves.”

He gave me a big smile. Told me. “You are damn crazy.”

He stood up and started to run down the ghostly night beach.
Screaming and crying.
He ran into the sea.
Yelling ‘kill me, end my bloody life.”

I swear I saw someone with him.
I tossed my wallet to the sand.
I went into the cold sea to get him.
He was waiting for me.

I wrapped my arms around him.
He smiles and told me. “I’m Okay.
I know I must forgive myself.

He turned and looked me in the eyes.
He whispered. “Thank you for the mercy of your friendship. No-one came when I was alone and afraid. I prayed for forgiveness. You forced me to face my life.”

He looked at the morning sun rising from the east. Told me. “I’m done with the Army. I won’t touch a gun or hurt another person.”

A month later at the Greyhound bus station he was going home. I went to shake his hand. He grabbed me and gave me a bear hug. Kissed my forehead. He told me.
“Mama will heal me with her love. Baby sister will insure I’m alright. And I remember your face and what you gave me.  You gave mercy to a man in need.”
I finished writing the last poem and I looked up and Dorthy was watching me. Standing near and quiet. She took my journal and read the words. She fell into my lap and begin to cry. I cried with her. She told me. “I’m scare to see my brother. He told me to leave him alone the last time I saw him. I hope he will see me? I whispered. Dear Dorthy. Your brother need you. You must fight for love. We will love and die for the need of love, my love. People who had swim in shit need kindness and words of concern. Loneliness is the true killer. I’m thankful for you Dorthy. You have helped me and I will try to help you. She kissed me and she rose-up and took my hands. We wandered back to her warm bed.

At breakfast. Dorthy told me. “Today I have great plans for us. We are going to the Nuyorican Poet cafe and we will dance at the Copacabana. In the daylight. We will roam the Central park and find you taverns. Drink Irish beer and whiskey. Today I want to laugh and dance. Tomorrow very early. We will take the train to Albany. I feel it will be okay my Johnnie. As long as you are with me.” I kissed her many times. I kissed her neck and cupped her breasts. I whispered. Your wish is my command.
John Castellenas/Coyote