Archive for May, 2011

Memorial Day Poems by DB Cox, Donal Mahoney, Len Kuntz, Joesph Farley & Michelle Pond

Posted in Uncategorized on May 27, 2011 by Scot

attrition by DB Cox

Posted in DB Cox with tags on May 27, 2011 by Scot

last night i dreamed
you walked
out of the faceless
city hum
crazy bluebird tattoo
across your neck—Tu Do street, 1968
but somehow still the same
you looked happy
to be alive again
as if an angel
had rolled back the stone
& pulled you out clean—
your face triggered
something i couldn’t locate
like an old address book
with a missing page
a vital name
lost forever—
you’ve been dead
more than forty years
& i’m still here
flat on my back
in a dirty little bed
in a dirty little room
addicted to this weakness
relaxed by the fact
of never having
to be strong again
that all the dope
in the world
will never make me well
trying—one more time
to stamp some meaning
on that old war game
we used to play—body count
you used to laugh & say:
“the only difference
between the winners & losers
is who gets the grease”
but for you & me
that turned out to be
no difference at all

One Veteran’s Prayer by Donal Mahoney

Posted in Donal Mahoney with tags on May 27, 2011 by Scot

Memorial Day, 2011

I think Jesus knows I’m nuts
so why would he arraign me
in front of all those saints on high

so sane they’ll never see me
skipping down the road  at dawn
and not a soul behind me.

Funnel clouds may tear through hell
but not the ones inside me.
They come and go all on their own

as if  they can’t abide me.
Today they’re off to New Orleans
so batten down the hatches.

When they return they’ll churn again
whirligigs inside me.
Yet every day when I get up

I know this much for certain:
I think Jesus knows I’m nuts
so why would he arraign me?

Two Poems by Len Kuntz

Posted in Len Kuntz with tags on May 27, 2011 by Scot

The Wall

We went as brothers
from different towns to this one,
meeting at the memorial,
our pasts broken down by
slab after slab of gray granite.

People moved like solemn shapes
no one speaking.
Black rain pecked our skins
but those were tears on Charlie’s face.
There might have been a million names.
There might have been but one.
War is an unscrupulous host.

A young boy my son’s age
Dragged his fingers across rows of engraved letters
I thought my brothers might be angered by the child’s act
but instead my eldest grinned and said,
“That’s why I went.
For him.”

For Those

For those born later
they would only know it as the bad war
the mistake
the one they made so many movies about.
At the time, protesters received more attention
and history may never right that wrong
or the ignorance of a new generation
but to the men
to the women
to the souls who went there,
I bow down
and I say,
“God bless you.”

The Resting Place By Michelle Pond

Posted in Michelle Pond with tags on May 27, 2011 by Scot

They speak to me.
Row upon row
of white stones
from the Civil War
to the present
marking the same sorrow
as if time stood still.
It does for those laid to rest
and for those who love them.
Throughout the years, the voices cry:
“Goodbye son, daughter, sister, brother,
husband, wife, mommy, daddy.
We love you and miss you.”
The souls whisper:
“Our wars are over.
We are at peace.
We wish the same for you.”

July 27, 2009

the sure thing by Joseph Farley

Posted in Joseph Farley with tags on May 27, 2011 by Scot

the sure thing is
to throw down the pen,
toss away the legal pad
and pick up a book
by a poet
you know and admire,
one who has already
fought and died
in battle with words,
or lives on,
a wounded veteran,
if not proud,
accepting of his scars.

So what? by Harry Calhoun

Posted in Harry Calhoun with tags on May 23, 2011 by Scot

So fuck Bob Kaufman and Charles Bukowski
and all those cats, I’m tired of writing about what was,
give me something to live for now, just let me sleep
and wake up the next day

I rode the bus of obscurity and I don’t want
to ride the greasy rails of fame.

But you know what matters? The other night,
Johnny Depp came on stage
at the People’s Choice Awards
and the crowd stood up like a chorus.

I wept, and somewhere, I’m certain,
Jesus did too.