Posts from the ‘Poetry’ Category

The Other War

by Liam Corley

i
Uncertain whether we expire
lolling in a bucket seat,
single-file on a path, or upright
in a briefing room

as walls roll back like curtains
furling on a smoking stage, we undertake
each duty in a brother’s place,
ill-equipped to sort civilians from the actors
trying merely to survive.

ii
Black sap crusts to a mirror
in a bowl of stars gathered
on a child’s death-day, a weary
sorting through of scrap to start
the house anew.

iii
Causeless in their wire coils,
surveyors push devices into lines
strung below a plank where feet will fall
decisive as a trigger squeeze before
the earth erupts.

iv
The sleepless know the soul’s jihad, fought within
or out as times demand, approaching death
as murder or just consequence,
solid only to the bones
we mend, break, love.

Liam Corley is an OEF veteran. He teaches American literature at California State Polytechnic University in Pomona. His poetry is influenced by the authors he teaches as much as by his time in Afghanistan.

Disgruntled Vet

by Nathan Hruska

I think about my generation a lot.
As my old classmates were protesting rising
Tuition costs and sipping their lattes and espressos
I was fighting in Fallujah, twice.

I helo’d to combat zones, walked long
patrols in oppressive heat, took fire, moved to
and through contact, and my boot soles
are still stained in a dark crimson.

My brothers and I signed up for country,
And asked what we could do.
Only 2 % of my generation swore in,
we damn few, who

put our asses on the line, watched
our brothers bleed out in front of us, watched
children die by the hands of the enemy
and were blamed for it, pissed

ourselves out of fear for our lives, or
the fear for our brothers’ lives.
No, my countrymen would rather
regurgitate their professor rhetoric,

upgrade to the newest smartphone,
complain to their overpaid therapist,
blog about their first world problems,
while my friends are dead, or still dying.

How can I love my flag so dearly
and hate my country so deeply?

Nathan Allen Hruska enlisted in the Marine Corps in 2003 and served with 3rd Reconnaissance Battalion. Nathan has done two combat tours in Fallujah, Iraq, serving as Alpha Co., 2nd Platoon, Team 2’s radio operator and martial arts instructor. He now is serving with the 169th ASOS as a TACP operator. He lives in Wisconsin with his lovely wife, Andrea and his dog, Wilson.

The Calm

by Andrew Jones

Amidst the calm
The sky is clear
Clouds moved on
But the storm rages on
Rages on amidst the calm

Amidst the calm
The rubble smokes
Heat is gone
But the fire rages on
Rages on amidst the calm

Amidst the calm
The air is still
Howling is gone
But the wind rages on
Rages on amidst the calm

Amidst the calm
The waves glide in
Caressing the sand along
But the water rages on
Rages on amidst the calm

Amidst the calm
The grass is soft
Mountains are strong
But the Earth rages on
Rages on amidst the calm

Amidst the calm
The explosions silence
Men’s lives are gone
But the battle rages on
Rages on amidst the calm

Amidst the calm
All is well
We are where we belong
But the anger rages on
Rages on amidst the calm

Andrew R. Jones is a Marine Corps combat veteran who endures the struggles of Post-Traumatic Stress and a mild Traumatic Brain Injury incurred in a blast in the Battle of Baghdad, 2003. He uses writing as a therapeutic tool, hopes to find peace within his heart, and prays for the ability to motivate others to heal as well. He is published in a number of literary journals and magazines, and will be releasing an anthology in the summer of 2013 titled Healing the Warrior Heart, focused on the struggles of post-war life. He currently resides in Phoenix with his fiancée and two sons.

The War Effort

By Marie Colligan

The chrome bumper of the old Ford,
no more rusted and pitted than its counterpart,
the Caddy, parked across the street,
their gas tanks empty.
Both icons of the war effort.

War rationing
Applied to food, tires, gasoline, and nylon stockings.
Its presence sapping the brightest bit of life from every known thing.
“Do Without!” Became the mantra of the war effort.

During this dismal hour,
the absence of happiness
bowed to the tensions of tomorrows
pervading ordinary life
with a gray-water down pour.

“Doing without”
The curse of the war effort.
A country wrapped in a cloak of patriotism—“Do without. Do without.”
Use ration coupons!
We did. We did.
And every pink depression-glass dish
found in soap-powder boxes,
gave hope and color to our gray existence.
Irving Berlin music helped,
but his needle was stuck in a war song groove,
while the Andrew Sisters crooned
to soothe our land
waving banners like magic wands
“Buy U.S. Bonds. U.S. Bonds.”

Marie Colligan, a New Jersey native, currently resides in Lynchburg, Va. She is the oldest niece of 4 veterans who saw active duty in WW2. Her novel, Marcel’s Gift, and her 1st Place award-winning short stories, may be found in her collection, Hurry Up, Charlie, all available on Amazon. She is currently working on a collection of WW2 short stories and poems.

Collateral Damage

by Richard Epstein

I am disturbed,
distraught,
distressed,
depressed.

I am saddened,
sickened,
enraged,
engaged.

Collateral damage,
acceptable losses
how clean,
how sterile it seems.

Bodies without limbs.
Bodies with red, pink
and blackened skin.

Browned bodies bloated
by decay and when
it’s over and time has passed,

firefights, medevacs
replay in their heads,
triggered by a baby’s cry,
a pungent odor,
too much green or red,
a sudden breeze,
a hard stare.

Collateral damage!
Ask the mother who sees
her daughter withdraw
from family and friends.
Ask the childless mother!

Ask the father who sees
his once fun-loving son
disengaged, lost,
and short tempered.
Ask the fatherless son!

Ask the returning soldier
who wakes to recheck
locked doors each night.

Ask the veteran
who avoids crowds
and always sits
near an exit or
with back to a wall.

Richard Epstein served in the Signal Corps as a Microwave Radio Repairman, an Instructor at Ft. Monmouth, New Jersey and Field Engineer attached to the 1st Signal Brigade, Vietnam. He currently participates in the Veterans Writing Project poetry workshop at Walter Reed. Bethesda, MD.

The Caregiver

By S.M. Puska

You are not to blame; it is not your fault.
You are doing your best to help them through.

You cannot fix this with a few calls and visits.
You cannot Google the cure or demand correction.

They are afraid, too. They do not hate you.
They do not seek to drive you crazy or make you sad.

Their days are patchworks of light and dark.
Be stubbornly patient in your love for them.

Comfort and reassure them; help them feel safe.
Fight like a mother tiger for their care and rights.

They may criticize you, or fail to thank you,
They may not remember you, or try to hurt you.

Don’t take it personal; it’s the body, not the person.
Stay strong and faithful to your love for them.

Care for yourself, too; get the help you need to
Persevere through the uncharted way ahead.

And don’t forget the other people in your life;
Ones who are well and need your love and time.

Don’t assume it will always be, things change in a flash.
Make time to thank, and love, and listen and laugh.

Susan Puska enlisted in the Women’s Army Corps in 1975 and was commissioned in 1977. She served as the U.S. Army attache in Beijing, China from 2001 to 2003, and retired in 2005. She is an avid traveler and photographer.

Don’t Cheat Him at Cards

By Casey Collier

Terp erred only for himselfish wayed.
He toiledin faraway spots, in homelands where this business had grownup.
We called to him somename, or whether he was thereatall.
No armor for ol’ Terp.
He walksin like it’s onlyonce.
See if it ain’t foragingfor assassination.
Maybe concord with the localitariate.
No pushing for Terp.
He likes he canwear his homescarf correctly.
“We want to go,” says Terp.
Indeed, it smacks of easierthings than original sin.
That’s whatthey’ll put on him, ol’ Terp.
The violation.
They’ll hangit onhim like his scarf for himto wrap around his face.
“USA-OK”
Pommegranitrees don’tmake what the monsters do.
Arghandab Terp canbe trusted in everyway.
Not tobe confused with- although mostly of allofus, is Terp.
No guns for Terp, theshame ofit.
Just words for Terp, heknows how they’ll be met.
We follow incase, unless hesays, “wait.”
Sometimes Terp needsto bealone.
Don’t cheathim atcards. He ain’t toogood yet.

Casey A. Collier is an Active Duty military Servicemember, stationed out of Fort Bragg, North Carolina. He served for one year in Southern Afghanistan from 2009-2010, where he wrote poetry and short fiction. He is an avid fan of cooking, reading, and listening to music.

Ignorant Men

By William Burkholder

Ignorant men speak of war as though it were a necessity.
Exclusivity waved under biased banners.
Power, the watchword of the hordes.

Ploughshares banished, smelted into swords,
Instead of humanity,
Hateful searing words.

With broken wing, The Dove of peace lingers,
Providing solace and hope, in place of down-trodden despair.

Lack of Peace…
It begins with the mindset of approved diatribes.
And grows to violence, under billows of cordite wisps.
And end at the graves of the guilty and innocent alike.

William Burkholder joined the U.S. Coast Guard in 1980 and spent the next 17 years proudly serving his country. Inspired by the fields and streams of his boyhood home along Lake Erie, William has been writing, poetry mainly, for the better part of his life. He now resides in Detroit, Michigan with his wife, Nancy.

Hey-U: Murder Prevented

By Elihu Carranza

Hey-U eyes look like giant light
at the sight
of one finger on the trigger
down the barrel
his eyes follow
the barrel into the flash suppressor,
hearing then
he is going to kill him
because
the one drunk soldier called chief,
Chief!
Chief!
The words smoking with provocations of war.

Hey-U eyes shoot back down the barrel
to the chamber of the M-14
7.62mm
ready to enter the temple of a fellow soldier
when hey-u moves the rifle away.

A Journey

By Eric Hobson

Cam Rahn Bay, Long Binh
Nah Be and Saigon
Thank you Vietnam

Phu Loi, Bien Hoa
Lai Khe, and the Parrot’s Beak
Thank you Vietnam

Nui Ba Den (Black Virgin Mountain)
Tay Minh, Tet offensive
Thank you Vietnam

One oh fives, one five fives
The shelling of Saigon
Thank you Vietnam

Diabetes, Hypertension
Kidneys failing
Thank you AGENT ORANGE

Eric Hobson was in-country Vietnam from the Tet Offensive until January ’69. On his return to ‘the world’ he returned to university and completed teaching and counseling degrees. Eric is currently retired and an active member of VVA who writes poetry to help handle his PTSD.