Closing Thought–24Dec19
’twas the day before Christmas
and all through the blog
no one was reading
time for lots of nog.
visions of popularity dance in my head
But stats were something to dread
For little has been read
and I fret
while lying in bed.
That small voice in my head
I heard it say
maybe those readers will return another day
until they do
it must be said
Merry Christmas to all
and to all a good day
Peace Out….my friends.
So begins another weekend of silent meditation and relaxation…..I do enjoy my weekends……
In my younger years I was somewhat a poet…..nothing famous….just a way to express life as it went by…….so I have a love for poetry even though I am not very good at it……
I want to give you a poem written by a Palestinian, Remi Kanazi……
Until It Isn’t
death becomes exciting
tolls, pictures, videos
tweeting carnage
instagramming collapse
hearts racing to break
24-hour entertainment
every glimpse, splinter
and particle of pain
jammed into torsos
and cheekbones
loved ones
want to sit
for a minute
and cry quietly
no words, no poetry
before Internet and
dialed-up emotions
before black and
white ideologies
before a person
I called friend
defended massacres
before the victims
were laid to rest
before chemical weapons
ravaged insides
before refugee
meant grandmother
suffering 2.0
keyboard clicks
like bombs so effortlessly
dropping
all damage collateral
never personal
voyeurs hop on and off
like carnival rides
death becomes
exciting
until it isn’t
until boredom sets in
and desensitization begins
until the next ride emerges
somewhere else
more captivating
This poem is from a book of poetry…….
Disclaimer: If you decide to buy Remi’s book please be informed that I will in NO way get any of the money from that sale. I will in NO way profit from the sale of this book in any way or form. There will be NO compensation. (Sorry for the redundancy but I want there to be NO confusion about the poetry)……
This will be my last poem……since it has not generated much interest or discussion….there is no need to continue…I do hope that my followers enjoy this brief look into my past…….
This poem is my reaction to the news of a fellow recon guy that I had served with in my first tour…..his death on the streets of San Francisco…he was homeless and addicted to drugs and had violent bouts of combat flashbacks……..he needed help and no one cared.
(Untitled)
Come on down to the sea
For you will see
All the beauty
Of a beach of debris.
On this day a young man cries
The pain forces tears into his eyes
And speak softly before he dies
“Thank You”
Then slowly closes his eyes.
A long haired “creep” has died
But none of the “straight” sighed
The men from homicide
Laughed it off as suicide.
If you are a freak
And reality you seek
Look into the eyes of a homeless vet
Possibly one could find the true meaning of “regret”.
CHUQ 25Apr1969
I cannot recall the date of this poem…..it was while I sat in the airport waiting on the flight to be called out to return to Oakland Army Terminal, the jump off point for the military going to Asia…..
The Wait
As I sit here
During the long wait,
I think of Mary, my dear,
And listen for flight and gate.
This is not the usual wait,
As you might think,
But a wait into hate
of dirt and stink.
You may say you understand
This is hard to see.
How can you understand man?
That is the difference between you and me.
The wait is long
This is true
But all must be strong
And the wait unto you.
CHUQ ?/?/1969
BTW, the reference to Mary….have NO idea who that was suppose to be…….
The 2012 election is history…..in more ways than one……and since there is not much news I will return to posting the poems from my youth…..and since a couple of my regular readers and commenters are weary of the whole political thingy…..I will try some more poetry…..
The year is 1969 and I am on my second tour in Vietnam….only thing new is the unit to which I was assigned…..Studies & Observation Group….at this time I am working in the Parrot’s Beak area of South Vietnam…..on the border with Cambodia…..not much time for lying around doing little….but I do find time from now and then to write a poem or two……..
The Happy Few
Why must we fight
A war of fright?
People fear,
neighbors far and near.
People don’t understand
That to be a man
We don’t have to kill.
It is better still
To give all you can.
If things are getting better
And this is true
Why are the happy
Only a few?
If things keep going this way
It won’t be long to judement day.
I don’t have the answers
Do you?
If not, maybe we should
Ask the happy few.
CHUQ
21Apr69
And so it goes!
By this time, 20Dec1968, I had been back in the states for a month or so……reassigned to Ft. Hood, 2nd Armored Division, “Hell On Wheels”…….I had gone from combat situations almost daily to painting rocks and re-lettering jeeps to pass the time…..and about this time is when the nightly visits started……..
This was my last poem for the year, 1968…..
Going Home
Every lived inside your head?
All the dread,
All the memories,
Trying to keep busy.
Night after night
Faces take flight
Enter into your dreams
Cold sweats and screams.
People look
But do not know
The agony that lives
Deep inside
They just don’t know.
The pull is strong
For the realization
That the only peace
From the vision
To cease
Is to return
To the place I belong.
CHUQ 20Dec1968
This was my last poem for the year, 1968……Next year all will be clear…..
Tonite is the nite……another big debate…..but as usual it is all about optics, not substance. Who will win? People hear what they want to hear and see what they want to see…..so whoever you guy is…..He will win. And the “undecideds”…..if there are people that have not made up their minds then they are the same ones that stroke out over the question……paper or plastic?
More poems that helped me cope………..The year is drawing to a close and I am stuck in Hell….most notably Ft. Hood, Texas. Yes, Hell! The civilian population does not give a shit about us….the new guys in the 2nd Armored Division can not relate….they still think war is some romantic bullshit starring Errol Flynn…this is when I started asking the question….over and over……
Why The Fuck?
Why the fuck
Did I come home?
The Land where no one cares’
I a crowd
I feel alone.
People stop and stare
But no one dare
Speak a word
Just a turn
And a whisper.
You have that 1000 meter stare
Flinching at every noise loud
Freaking when it rains
Waiting
For that adrenalin rush
That never comes
Just the same question,
Why the fuck?
CHUQ Nov1969
But first, The VP debate was last nite……who won? Who cares? The Right will say Ryan…he could have fallen asleep and they would have given him the win….the Left will point to Biden….and I would rather relive sad memories from Vietnam than watch another optical illusion known as presidential debates……the lousy polls will indicate who took the night.
I had just started corresponding with the sister of a fellow grunt who had died….she was very special and I had a number of fantasies about her……..
Miss Jackson
Light from the sea
Adds a glow of beauty,
To your body,
And does wonders for the psyche.
Your hair is auburn,
Your skin is fair.
Your body the sun did burn,
But not your hair.
You are all that has beauty.
You are all that matters to me.
Hand in hand,
We walk in the sand,
And when we will kiss,
I shall hear the Band.
Damn!
This poem is dumb, My fingers are numb.
I had too much to think
Which is far worse
Than too much to drink.
CHUQ 17Aug1969
This poem was one I wrote after hearing, “Just dropped in to see what condition my conditions was in”…..let us say that war is not as romantic as movies portray and this was when another coping mechanism was being employed…EXPERIMENTATION.
(No Title)
Turn on to real life,
Have some brownies baked by Alice.
Leave your family and wife,
And go chasing red mice.
Pink people laughing in the park.
Printed taxis floating by.
Noah’s having a bad trip in his ark,
Laughing, God’s plasticine eye.
On the hill is a warped cross,
With thorns at the top.
On the ground the boss,
Talks of the coming crop.
You talk about living,
But yours is dying.
We are the majority;
So keep on lying.
Use your head for a hat rack,
And we will rule the world.
CHUQ (No date other than 1968)
So take your best shot…what was I talking about?
When in war, young men ask questions and try to deal with what they see……this was written after an engagement where myself and Jay Stearn were the only two that came out of it unscathed……..2 outta 12.
Destiny
What is this unknown thing which calls us?
Is it known what is our future?
How can we know?
It is never left up to us.
Cold, black uncertain…..
Is it like the Iron Curtain?
No, it’s the soft faith,
Beckoning us,
Is it believed as thus?
How do we decide what our paths shall be?
Do we determine it by a single good deed?
Is it meant to be,
That there is a place for me?
Who really knows,
How our future goes?
Is it right to change it?
Do we dare attempt to beat it?
Is life meant to be pre-ordained?
Is this planned before………?
CHUQ 16March1968
Just question that I felt needed to be asked…….thoughts?
In Saner Thought 