Posts from the ‘Poetry’ Category

A Soldier’s Story

by Lucille Reyna

Far from home and all alone,
in this different world, unknown.
Not quite sure of what to do
or how I found this mood of gloom.
Could it be…?
From the extreme cold to blistering heat,
and don’t forget my stinky feet. But,
I’m so hungry, what’s to eat? Ugh!
What is this canned, mystery meat? Oh,
the animals are mangy, the bugs are bad, I
can’t remember the last good shower I had.

Each day that passes, I hope is the last,
when I will have to hear a rocket’s blast.
My buddies stand ready to join the fight,
the Sarn’t tells us, “No sleep tonight.”
We’ve trained for this and ready we are,
with all the courage that comes from afar.

God Bless the U.S. forces and all the brave souls,
who’d give their life for liberty’s bell tolls.
The Stars & Stripes, Red, White & Blue.
I do it for me, I do it for you.
So, say a prayer when you go to sleep,
that all the valiant soldiers the Lord will keep.

Here I am in this strange new place,
asking for God’s saving grace,
remembering to be cool, be smart,
and always to listen to my head and heart.

Alas, my spirits are lifted now, the light
is shown, the right path I’ve found.
It’s all for Freedom and Independence too,
I fight for all; I’d die for you,
‘cause I’m a Soldier the whole way through.

It’s over now; we’re safe and sound,
fear not from nothin’ all around.
A Soldier’s Story is full of love,
and the angels that guard ‘em,
Both on earth and above.

SSgt Lucille Reyna is currently serving in the Air Force Reserves in the 434th OG at Grissom ARB as a command support specialist pending reclass assignment as a paralegal. She has prior service in the Army as a military police officer, and she deployed to Iraq in 2003 for a year and then again as a contractor in 2006 for strategic debriefing. Lucy has a Master’s degree in Criminal Justice and a second Master’s degree in International law, Human Rights. She and her family were featured in the July/August issue of Woman’s Day Magazine.

Robbed

by Gigi Tharpe

Innocence ripped away like one peeling off an unwanted mask.
Uncertainty of what steps lead to this hidden crime scene.
Night sweats, portions of nightmares, crying followed by sleepless nights.
A scream daily, hoping to take someone to task.
Frozen in time gripped with fear, it seems so surreal.
Inside I felt like dying, I built a strong wall.
Victimized, broken, battered, frustrated and tired of military lies, anger lingers.
Abused to the point of pregnancy, entangled I cried to God.
Robbed of my military career, robbed of my newlywed marriage,
Robbed of acceptance among my family back home,
Robbed of seeing my child as me and not the abusive supervisor,
Robbed of nearly everything over the years of time,
Thirty-four years later, still awaiting justice from the VA system,
Robbed of peace!

Gigi Tharpe served in the USAF as a AGE mechanic. She is a mother of and grandma of 10. Rape robbed her in 1980, but today she currently works at a Women and Children’s Shelter helping others. Gigi has continued to fight for justice for all MST survivors as well as for herself.

Matthew Replies at 17:20

by Maggs Vibo

She dives headfirst into mustard seeds.
Heaps of matted hues piled up high
Steadfast imagery, but she says to me,
“I wholeheartedly dream I die.”

She climbs ladders and knows not the matter,
Or the potential for danger below.
A fateful spring appears
She knows not to fear
Diving into tears
Screams out…“Why?”

“Translate what it means,”
She asks pleadingly.
I speak parables
She will know,
“You leapt headfirst into mustard seeds—
Swept up faithful love piled sky high.”

Maggs Vibo served in the Army from 2000-2004 as a Brigade Supply Sergeant. She considers providing toilet paper to buddies, burning waste, and pulling security her most important missions at Tallil Air Base in Iraq. In 2011, she earned a Graduate Certificate in Online Teaching and MA in Liberal Studies. Maggs Vibo has first person images featured at the philosophy website for Douglas Harding @Headlessway.org. Her other pieces on Harding’s method of self-inquiry, are collaborations with French writer, José Le Roy. As the granddaughter of a Native American, Vibo believes storytelling through art continues the oral traditions of her Sac and Fox Nation ancestors. She currently teaches science and cultural history as a docent at Bernice Pauahi Bishop Museum in Hawaii.

Battle Command

By Victoria Hudson

During execution of an operation, submit changes to previous instructions as fragmentary orders.
As a grade officer with capabilities, select interpreters of potential.
Choose those individuals who possess the best mix of qualities.
Select fluency.
Choose security.
Choose who know loyalty.
Ensure each individual knows he must repeat his own thoughts or opinions.

Source: “Battle Command: Select Interpreters.” Officer Foundation Standards II Civil Affairs (38) Company Grade Officer’s Manual. Vol. STP 41-38II-OFS. Washington: Headquarters, Department of the Army, 1995. 2-345. Print.

Vicki Hudson earned her Master of Fine Arts Degree from Saint Mary’s College of California in 2008. Her poetry and essays have been published in a variety of online and print literary journals, and anthologies. Each month on her website, she highlights an emerging author, artist, or interesting person (and is always looking for someone to interview). Annually, she sponsors a registration scholarship to attend the San Francisco Writers Conference via the Victoria A. Hudson Emerging Writer Prize. She is an urban farmer, voracious reader and photographer. She coaches women’s and youth rugby and is a mom and wife.

Around the World, Unseen

by Matthew Mobley

Protected, in each other
In the waste of livestock
Sleeping softly; sweetly
Smelling the bitter saccharine
of livestock shit

Side by side; wet, cold? yes, yet
Still feigning more frigidity than necessary
In order to, with homoerotic jocularity, settle in

“Put your arm around me”
“Get under this blanket”
“Rest your head here
On the shoulder that braces
the recoil of my rifle”

Not disgusted by this waste of livestock
Complete, again sweet

Dreaming myriad dreams, living different lives
In the sweet shit of the world’s livestock

Matthew Mobley is a career U.S. Army Infantry Soldier/Officer, Ranger-qualified paratrooper, and former drill instructor with multiple combat tours. He currently teaches military science at the University of Tampa, though he considers the military more art than science. His previous work has appeared in McSweeney’s.

Your (sanity) has arrived…please sign here

by Christopher Wilson

The endless juggle shall continue
Maybe It’ll end before you turn blue
Patiently waiting (you’ll be here a while)

Your mind is so far gone
Never to return
All you can do is hope

Endless penetration, fuck your mind
How’s about I break your spine?
So divine

How long must I wait?
How much time shall I dedicate?
Just for the same result…

Please sign here, sir
This is a controlled substance, you see
Don’t be mad, I’m just doing my job

Now I’ve become a slob
My sanity is here and ready…
Take these pills…

Be steady

Christophe Wilson served in the Army as a 19D cavalry scout from 2006-2015. He has served in Iraq once, and Afghanistan twice. He was recently medically retired for PTSD. His ultimate goal is to share his writing with fellow veterans in order to reach others battling with PTSD.

Two Years Later

by James Smith

In the first days of my destiny,
during a downpour, illuminated by lightning,
sheltered by a cheap plastic tarpaulin,
I lay beside the redhead Anna Salamone,
pretending to be a hippie
(to the dismay of my father).
We were encouraged “do your thing”
and freaks did a snake dance across the hill,
crazed by fiddles, guitars, and banjos,
in a farmer’s field at the ’67 Folk Festival.

In a rice paddy within the Iron Triangle,
armed with rifles, grenades, and claymores,
we watched for the enemy across the hill,
doing what we were ordered to do
(silently cursing our fathers).
We pretended to be soldiers,
me and my closest friend Jim Szczur,
huddled under a camouflaged blanket
during a downpour, unnerved by lightning,
in the last days of my delusion.

James Smith served as a grunt with the 25th Infantry Division in Vietnam in 1969. He retired from the U.S. Bureau of Labor Statistics in 2010, and now spends much of his time working with veterans. After writing this piece, he decided to find Jim Szczur, and they met for the first time in 44 years.

Mornings in Helmand

by Matthew Borczon

After 12
Hr shifts
emptying wound
vacs and
bandaging stumps
and changing
bloody sheets
I would
return to
my tent
and a
bunk
no wider
than my
shoulders
no room
to turn
to roll
to dream
I learned
to sleep
like I
was dead
which was
easy
considering how
I lived

Matthew Borczon is a nurse and Navy Reserve corpsman. He has four children and has been published in a variety of venues. His work is about his time in Afghanistan and his readjustment since he has been home.

Dead Letter Days

by S. L. Northey

War a defeat those dead letter days
Miles of death lie on the sand
I guess I should be somehow grateful
This is not the day of my passing hour

Letters to respond, messages from home
What on earth do I say to them?
I walk among bodies still in the sand
People and that something they die for

I sit in my tent and think what to write
This day is not what I asked for
Miles of people still in the sand
As I try to defeat those dead letter days

S. L. Northey is a graduate of Saint Francis University. She enlisted in the Army and served for three years in the Emergency Department at Madigan Army Medical Center. She remained in the Army Reserve until 1996. Her book Good Grieving is forthcoming in January 2016.

Valor

by Cameron Filas

I once knew a man who wanted to enlist
And left for training with a goodbye kiss
It was a stern finger that convinced him to join
He was promised adventure and fame and coin
And once he was in there were fingers still
Pointing at people he was ordered to kill
Some were old and some were meek
It’s far too easy to slay the weak
Medals were pinned for these acts of valor
He shot them dead as they prayed and cowered
When he came home on Christmas leave
I asked what it is was he wore on his sleeve
It was a patch for fighting terror
He shipped back to battle and I said a prayer
I prayed to God as his enemies did
And hoped he’d come back to his little kid
And come back he did in a casket for one
Leaving behind his only son
And after the war when all dust has settled
Will it have mattered that he earned some medals
There is them
And there is us
Ashes to ashes
Dust to dust

Cameron Filas enlisted as an infantryman in the U.S. Army after graduating high school. His hopes of a military career were cut short by a serious back injury which resulted in an honorable medical discharge. Despite this setback, he has gone on to college with the hopes of one day teaching history. You can visit his corner of the web at www.cameronfilas.wordpress.com.