I dream it was silence. War poetry.
I dreamed it was silence. So damn quiet. Yesterday man became the forgotten man. He followed his father, his grandfather footsteps. Sought war, drink and unknown places. Old soldiers don’t tell you. That was a good war, men who saw the blood of war. They will tell you. You learn nothing from war. Only fat men and fat women in Washington D.C will tell you. We need war. War contractors profit over life. Today with the Coronavira killing and touching the four corners of our world. The bad leaders are talking nuclear war and killing today. I pray the old world is gone and we don’t teach the children, the blood song, the war song. Please listen carefully. Our leader are wealthy and shall open up the world. Not for the concern of us, for the concern of profit.
The whore bath.
Large shining teeth telling me the way to heaven. I will find my way to paradise by a gift to his good christian cause. His teeth shine brighter. His mumbling of a thousand words left me feeling dirty. I get a damp cloth. I wept the words away of another greedy man. Another whore bath in a life of too many useless words.
The Captain tells me. I own you. You will do what I say, even to death. I’m in-charge. I try to wander away but he keep speaking. I’m feeling dirty. I go to the latrine and 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 United States citizens, would I? I tell him I would kill the officer who gave me the order. But my words become weaker with each second the instructor shower me with his blood song. I began to understand. The sweat poured down my face and I go to the backroom. Damp some paper towel and wept my face. One more whore bath for a man drowning in words, he is 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 there is nothing as bad as a cheap whore.
(We must think. Every decision is important. We live in a land where 18-21 year old learn to kill before they learn to love and enjoy life.)
Poem one— My brother, my friend. We need you, Soldier. Alive and well.
A Poem by Coyote Poetry
Blood of father flowed in my vein and I can see his face.
I look in the mirror.
What do I see?
Have I become what I despised all my life?
I have my father’s eyes.
Now I know my father’s pain.
Have my eyes become cold?
Is violence and anger my strength?
Each day I learned loss.
Loss of dreams and desires.
Kindness and gentleness forgotten.
I follow my father’s path to war and
I did what he had done.
Now I talk to dead friends lost to war in a self-made hell.
Will I become like my father?
Showing passion and emotion when I’m in violence or aroused.
Can I stop my journey to adulthood?
Can I find the path to gentleness and love?
Have I traveled too far?
Is the blood too strong?
Am I destined to hurt everyone I have loved?
My father’s hatred.
Is it my anger too?
Am I free to choose my journey?If I choose my own road.
Why did I follow my father sadness.
A Story by Coyote Poetry
A sad poem. We need more friends. More kindness.
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 directly and
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 ensure I’m alright. And I remember your face and what you gave me. You gave mercy to a man in need.”
Killer on the road
A Poem by Coyote Poetry
What good and bad we do in a life. The scars will always stay with us.
A Iraqi man sipping his coffee and
he watched the military trucks drive by.
He look to the sky and murmur a pray.
I will miss you my wife, my children.
He caressed his chest and
he feel the bomb wrapped tightly against his body.
His eyes are sad and he knows he has no choice.
They killed his brothers,
they came to his country and torn it down to rubble.
He believed in a eye for a eye,
he will be in paradise soon.
Tears fall from his eyes as he think of his wife sleeping alone.
Soldier with M-16 locked, loaded and ready.
He told his buddy going to be a good night.
Going to kill a few of them damn terrorist.
His buddy with a bible in his hand.
Pray to survive the night without firing his guns.
He whispered, I pray I make it through the night.
Please lord keep me safe and let me go home soon.
The city is quiet and the soldier are on alert.
The gunner pass the coffee to his friends and
he told him my eyes are seeing ghosts again.
He watched the morning light began to appear.
He thinks of a mother and father waiting and hoping to see him,
he makes a mental note to call them tomorrow.
A middle age Iraqi man walked down the street in the early morning.
His hands are sweating and
he see two soldiers guarding a government building.
The gunner asked his buddy was the man a ghost in the distance?
He put the bible down and he told him he is real.
The soldier looked at his bible.
Pointed his weapon at the man and
he raised his hand to halt the Iraqi Man.
The Iraqi man screamed out his daughter name and Allah.
Ran toward the soldiers.
The soldier aimed his M-16 and shoot three rounds into the man chest.
The Iraqi man falls dead.
The soldier went to him.
Fall and asked god to forgive him.
He opened up and see the bomb and some photos.
It still don’t bring comfort to the soldier.
The soldier sat on his cot.
He hold pictures of a man’s wife with two children.
He wondered why he has to kill this man?
He should of been home tossing a football with his brother or something.
He cries for the Iraqi he killed.
Old Sargent said he was a hero.
Those terrorist are just killers on the road.
Waiting for us to end their misery.
He bring his bible to his heart and tried to sleep.
The gunner wake him up and
he told him we are on again tonight.
He puts the bible on the table.
Dressed into battle gear and walk out of his tent.
He leave the bible tonight on the table.
He had bad dreams,
he dreams he was the killer on the road.
He would do his duty and go home.
He don’t talk of God or Jesus anymore.
He just wishes for the blood to leave his hands.
The gunner smiled and
he yelled, maybe we can kill a few tonight.
His buddy smiled and stared at the road.