From a distance,
on the deep worn trail,
sun-baked and
thick-tongued with thirst,
I saw you by the waters,
in deep, protective shade.
Some of you were drinking,
soaking tired bones,
restoring energy.
Others, bellies full,
sat as if reflecting deeply,
on the journey behind
and the journey ahead.
Then I heard your voices,
eager in fellowship
rising, falling,
in cadenced, civil tones,
easy on ears still ringing
with the stridency of war.
I wanted to be with you.
So I came closer
and you saw me, drew me in,
embraced me with your talk
that sounded so much like
the thoughts locked in my head.
As I drank the cool waters
I heard stories;
how the soft bodies of our youth
were battered on the anvils of war
into mindless engines of survival;
how hardness became refuge
from guilt,
how despair fed rage,
how rage fed depression
how I came to be so alone
in the midst of so many
when I came home
and they made me a hero.
But then I saw you smiling,
and aloud I wondered why;
"First," you said, "There are no heroes here."
-- and I felt the first knot go.
Then you told me,
"Don't bother going home.
It isn't there any more."
I cried for that,
but you were right
and you helped me build
a new home,
from the supple strength
of a new understanding
of all I had feared and hated.
Finally,
you handed me a kit of tools;
knowledge, insight, hope,
patient persistence - and
faith in the goodness remaining
at the core of our lives.
With these, you said
I could re-build a neighborhood,
if I wanted,
perhaps renew a world,
-- now that I am not alone.
Woody Powell, 8/19/07
Veterans
For Peace
Descending into this declivity
dug into our nation' s capitol
by the cloven hoof
of yet another one of our country' s
tropical wars
Slipping past the names of those
whose wounds
refuse to heal
Slipping past the panel where
my name would have been
could have been
perhaps should have been
Down to The Wall' s greatest depth
where the beginning meets the end
I kneel
Staring through my own reflection
beyond the names of those
who died so young
Knowing now that The Wall
has finally found me \endash
58,000 thousand-yard stares
have fixed on me
as if I were their Pole Star
as if I could guide their mute testimony
back into the world
as if I could connect all those dots
in the nighttime sky
As if I
could tell them
the reason why
Doug Rawlings
1986
BACK TO TOP
Corporate America
be forewarned:
We are your karma
We are your Orion
rising in the night sky
We are the scorpion
in your jackboot
Corporate America
be forewarned:
We will not buy
your bloody parades anymore
We refuse your worthless praise
We reject
your war memorials
Corporate America
be forewarned:
We will not feed you
our bodies
our minds
our children
anymore
Corporate America
be forewarned:
If we have our way
(and we will)
the real war memorials
will rise
from your ashes
Doug Rawlings
Doug Rawlings
1980
BACK TO TOP
My daughter Jennifer
Is two now
And can talk
Why, if this were
Seven years ago,
And she Vietnamese,
She'd almost be old enough
To sell her mother
Doug Rawlings
1976
BACK TO TOP
On this October day in 2003
on this day of bright sky blue
of tree lines splattered in red yellow orange and green
I am as old as my father was in 1969
caught between dread and a morbid curiosity
taking in the six o' clock news
Now I see what he must have seen
of soldiers dying two by two three by three
always alone
watching the ticker tape scrolling across the bottom
of his hopeless little screen
keeping half an eye open for his youngest son
Now I wonder what I wondered
thirty-four years ago, and I wonder
what they wonder what we think
or pretend to know
of their suffering of their pain
their fear of not coming home completely whole
Though of course I know
that is an impossibility -- coming home all of one piece \endash
knowing now what they know of what
I knew of war
and its hold on your balls
on your sanity
Doug Rawlings
2003
BACK TO TOP
How satiated they are,
sunk deep in soft leather chairs
Myopic eyes, emotionless stares.
Polished voices say on the air,
"Beasts on the loose, everywhere."
Cameras roll, sound bites end
Time for the daily photos they send,
Screen of young, oh so young, faces
fill otherwise blank spaces.
Boy and girl soldiers murdered that day,
"Guerrilla warfare" generals say.
The man in the White House, without reason,
said the war was over. Isn't it treason
that he lied and lied while his men died?
Now, in a brief flash to honor the dead
a footnote on the News Hour, we are fed.
But poets will keep their plea
"Remember me."
Sacred in sad memory
Betty Edelman
2004
Southern Vermont VFP Chapter 88
BACK TO TOP
Off Mt. Equinox, the down slope wind
whips the "Veteran's for Peace" banner
that flies alongside the
Stars and Stripes.
And, we are here, Middle American patriots,
from all walks of life, standing Sunday Vigil
at the town's heavy-traffic intersection.
Our protest is in the written word.
Carrying his sign, wiry body shivering,
Twelve-year-old Craig says,
"I want to make a statement,
No War With Iraq."
There are other signs:
Drop Bread, not Bombs.
Peace is Patriotic.
We are a Globe, not an Empire.
Words vary, the message remains the same.
Horns honk, people wave - thumbs up.
"Thank you, bless you, we're with you."
Women stop, offer coffee, hot chocolate.
One applauds while her driverless car
Obediently moves ahead
Fifteen minutes pass when, engine roaring,
Three young men, of fighting age,
shout "F...y..." One among us says,
"Probably the only words they know."
Then, anger from a middleaged man challenging,
"Shame, don't you people remember 911?"
I am thinking, how anyone mourning 911
could support the tragedy that war would bring?
"Forgive them for they know not what they do."
The hour ends; People are smiling. We shall return.
Epilogue
In Iraq, a lone little girl stands
staring at a camera, focused on the desolate street behind her.
In America, a little boy stands in the bitter winter wind
making a statement.
Betty Edelman
2003
Southern Vermont VFP Chapter 88
BACK TO TOP
Far from the crowd
The wind whispers in my ear,
A lullaby that consoles,
The hurt in my soul.
Such tragedy and horror
That others scarcely can
Imagine or care.
They want to believe in Good.
My humanity is shattered,
By eyes that have beheld,
Senseless injustice,
Grievous wounds bleeding.
I want to scream,
Truth to the world. But
The earth's peoples are asleep.
Not ready to listen.
Now I have only
My loneliness and
The zephyr past my ears,
Consoling my soul.
Joe Cernac
2003
Chapter 101 San Jose
BACK TO TOP
After high school I followed the plan
I was off to college like a fine young man
But once I made my break from parental control
I was majorin in girls, beer, and rock and roll
Took my leave before they threw me out
No idea what life was about
To my mom I know it was a disgrace
And my dad wouldn' t even look me in the face.
I wanted to prove myself a man
So I came up with a foolish plan
I joined the army like my Dad had done
Back about 1941\'85
But this was \lquote 67, the Summer of Love
When I went off to see what I was made of\'85
Fort Benning, Georgia, 110 degrees
Learned about grits and black-eyed peas
Broke a lotta sweat but I had my fun
Got to toss grenades\'85 and fire a gun
Enjoyed tradin punches without takin offense
Not even expectin my life to make sense
Then it was off to Fort Sam, by the Alamo
Where they was gonna teach me all I' d need to know
About patchin men up when they been shot down
In ten weeks I was to be duty-bound
When I got there it occurred to me
that I could be the champ of the MTC
Boxing Tournament (I wanted to find out
If there was anybody bad enough to knock me out).
Well you know I didn' t have to wait too long
My final bout was about as long as this song
In round one I gave the guy a bloody nose
My corner said in round two stay on your toes
But he hit me with a right that knocked me down
I jumped to my feet cause I felt like a clown
Then he caught me with a shot I never even saw
I hit the canvas again, with a broken jaw.
So they wired me up and laid down the law
For the next ten weeks I' d suck my food through a straw
On TV I watched Porter and Dolly
Had time to myself to ponder my folly
Well, I thought 10 weeks training was all well and good
But in case I needed more, like I knew I would
I got myself into a school that offered 40 more
Weeks to feed my head before I went to war
Valley Forge Hospital was a fine retreat
The natives were friendly, warm and sweet
On and off campuses, trippin, hot
Hard to tell what was real and what was not
January 1968
Tet Offensive made us all vocabulate
As blood poured out from the TV screen,
And covered the pages of Time Magazine
So numb I hardly felt a thing
When they killed Bobby Kennedy and Martin Luther King
I finished school in September, got a promotion
And my orders sent me off across the ocean.
We assembled at Long Bin and stood in line
Cause they was gonna tell us where we' d been assigned
With all my training I was pretty sure
That a hospital was where I' d spend my tour
But Uncle Sam had a different plan,
Re-establishin a base the VC overran, yeah
A small outpost was the place for me
In a mechanized unit of the 9th Infantry
Battalion aid station looked like a shack
But I had no time to unpack
Cause the word came down from a line company
"Senior Aidman killed!", to be replaced by me
On my first mission we shared the occasion
With a unit of the army of our host nation
As we came upon a so-called "VC" village
Them ARVNs opened up like they planned to pillage
Man, I couldn' t believe it, and when the smoke cleared
I found the very first patient of my young career
A little baby girl, shot in the head
Though I tried my best to save her, soon the child was dead
I choked up, fightin back a sob
A low voice said "Doc, it just comes with the job"
He said "You know you done everything you could do."
I looked up to see my medic from platoon number two
A conscientious objector but willin to serve,
He carried no weapon, the boy had nerve
Strapped to my side was a .45
Come to face-to-face, I wanted to survive
Said "We just got to stay strong in front of the men"
To myself I swore I' d never drop my guard again
I learned a hard lesson that served me well
But I knew right then I' d been sent to hell
Chorus1:
War is not good for children
It' s they who pay the price for the arrogance of men
Might be a bullet to the head that kill them
Or the sorrow and fear that fill them\'85
Fear begets hatred... as sorrow gives way to despair
One more generation comin up without a prayer.
Company Commander was Captain Storm
True to his name, gung-ho was the norm
But he respected his men, and we all knew
When push come to shove he would know what to do.
We had APCs, I think we called em "tracks"
Like big wide horses we rode on their backs,
Flew in hueys and chinooks, humped it and boated
Through rain-soaked paddies we paddled and floated
We sent out our ambush patrols at night
Set up listening posts, and stayed out of sight
On one such night as we were beddin down
With our tracks in a circle, miles from a town
All hell broke loose! I grabbed my gear
Cracklin AK-47s was all I could hear
Then our M-16s, along with the cry
Of a man who' d been hit, prayin not to die
I found him in the mud down beside his track
He was shot through the groin and out the back
I lifted and dragged him up out of the mud
I had to move fast, he was gushin blood
Sandwiched him with bandages and wrapped em tight
Called in a chopper, sent him on his flight
To a hospital, like where I thought I' d be
Before I got invited to the infantry\'85
But these were brave men, that' s for sure
We relied on one another, and I felt secure
Sometimes we got lucky and nobody died
Though the rounds filled the air like a deadly tide
I remember one night I was sound asleep
Somebody shook me awake and I had to keep
It together as he gave the news to me
That a guy had shot his buddy accidentally
When I reached that boy he was flat on his face
Drowning in a flood of guilt and disgrace
His buddy was dead, he' d cut him in two
There wasn' t a damn thing I could do
"Friendly fire" took two victims that day
One dead and one sorry he was walkin away
Often wondered whatever became of that guy
Prob' ly spent a lot of time just hopin to die
Chorus2:
War is not good for soldiers
They who pay the price for the arrogance of governments
Might be a bullet to the head that kill them
Or the pain and regret that fill them\'85
Things once seen cannot be unseen
Always one more performance on that mental movie screen.
Al Gore served in Viet Nam
Not that y' all should give a damn
The man had his chance to show what he' s got
Leadership skills? I think not...
The man' s such a wuss people wanted to fight him
So they elected George W, just to spite him
Commander-in-Chief, it ain' t funny no more!
Retaliation ain' t enough, he wants to START a war!
George Bush Senior got a bird's-eye-view
As a young fighter pilot in World War II
Dubyuh wants Daddy to think he' s man
Pickin up where a lotta Dad' s troubles began
I guess rescuing oil wells wasn' t enough
He gonna show his daddy that he' s really tough
'Course back in the day, when he got his draft card
He didn' t even show up for the National Guard
Well, ya know by then I' d been off to war
Like a lotta men since and a million before
But I don' t think it has to be this way
We don' t need to be the cops of the world today
There is such a thing as a time to kill
As a last resort, but not until
You get past the propaganda and think for yourself
Are we killin for justice or for corporate wealth?
Now since September 11th of 20-ought one
An agenda' s being served, yarns are getting spun
To distract us from seein that we' re being led
By ones who rape the companies they take to bed
They want us to believe our Bill of Rights is flawed
Demanding absolute power, as if ordained by God
As the smirking fool keeps tryin to fake it
Hear the children say "The emperor is naked!"
They wasn' t Iraquis who hijacked those planes
But mostly Saudis (like Bin Laden) but no one lays blame
On the pusher that supplies us with that oil we crave
Enough to send a lot of people to an early grave
You might say my war was a long time ago
Things are different today, so what do I know
But the struggle continues, you' ve got to realize
That "homeland security" covers up a pack of lies
The thing about having been "over there"
Sure don' t make you better, just makes you aware
I offer this thought, then I' ll save my breath
They say "collateral damage"\'85 I call it "wrongful death"
Chorus3:
War is not good for humanity
We all pay the price for arrogance... it makes no sense
If the leaders who preach this insanity
Had to back their own play, they might watch what they say\'85
(Why doesn't Bush just challenge Saddam to a fight
Maybe Caesar' s at Tahoe, on a Saturday night
Or a cage bout, my house, no holds barred
Loser buys the beer and has to clean up the yard\'85)
Todd Bloom
2003
BACK TO TOP
Whistling Death from above
Dropping not knowing where it fell
But fall and drop murder did
Roar, fire, smoke and screams
Hissing, smoldering, silence.
Null were the screams that never were
Void was the dwelling that never was
Never to have been
Never to be
Never was
Never
Ever
Not Ever
Not Never
Not even not ever
Not even not never
Null is; Null is not
Null is never, ever
Not never, not ever but always
Null
Voided to those that did drop
Dropping not knowing where it did fall
Nulled are the screams that never are
Voided is the home that never was
Voided is the Null that never, ever, not ever, not never is.
Eric Edward Johansson
2003
Veterans for Peace, Chapter 69 - San Francisco
BACK TO TOP
The sky is empty,
quiet here,
no moving cloud,
no sound to disturb
the breathing, here
in the wing
where this Emperor with no clothes,
dozes, dreams.
No one to pry,
no one to spy
on his
well-kept
secret-malaise;
he, so sound-proofed,
protected
from his
(manufactured-inside-hawk-brained)
"enemies";
they, trapped on sand-stormed homeland,
behind
hastily-fortified
barriers, the waiting victims.
this drugged one,
so smugly-distant
from
the terror
beyond,
slept well,
he said,
(they said);
but in those
mad periods of
wakefulness,
gave pre-ordained orders;
all obeyed.
He was Divinely right,
he said,
ignoring with arrogance
the Churchman's admonition;
anticipated with relish
the imminent drum-sounds
fire-works,
bomb-dropping silent-sounds,
rocket-bursts,
shrapnel-piercing "toys"-sounds,
while the children--
the children?
he swept aside his once-mouthed myth:
"No child shall be left behind".
(he lied).
Those alien children
did not have the tools
to fashion
the small concavities,
pathetically-deemed
"safe spaces"
against the expected
immanent invasion,
nor the strength to do so,
having subsisted
on sanction-rationed portions,
since that edict
issued earlier by
the father.
(left behind, they died),
while the feckless one
slept, and
had dreams
of delusion,
of flower-strewn
paths on that
stolen earth,
its hapless citizens
"welcoming",
(so he thought)
the uninvited militia,
(to whom he also lied),
while pretending
to sleep.
Janet C. Re'
2003
Veteran, WW2, USCG - Boston, MA. area. Please contact, if desired, via e-mail at JrecFem@aol.com
BACK TO TOP
The lessons unlearned, the hard truth come late, too late to matter, since it was the fate
One of many young soldiers who died a thousand deaths of fear (and complete mediocrity).
After the dust settles, who wins? Is it not a downward spiral to hell?
The faces, the faces! I cannot forget the faces pleading for help and compassion.
The smell, the smell! I can't get it off my clothes, out of my nostrils.
The heat, the sweat, the noise, the last gurgle from a dying man's throat.
Is this the price of freedom? Say it isn't so.
I thought we defended something else, a personal sense of space, freedom, and worth.
No, we defended the master's interests, no more, no less.
Perhaps, but not likely, will it ever equal the giving of a simple loaf of bread To change the world!
Lee Vander Laan
2003
BACK TO TOP
The very first of October and your mother called...
Sad to remember that as a child this was your favorite season.
You would have begun creating the costume you would wear for Halloween already.
Christmas, Easter, birthdays...
They were all so useless to you.
Ah, but to you, hiding behind a mask, on a day where everyone else would as well, it was pure joy.
It must have been a little bit of a relief to you.
I cannot be sure if this was still your joy in those last couple of years before you...
I am dying to ask.
But who?
And would they really know anyway?
You hid too well those last couple of years...
From me, from them...
I still knew you better.
Strange that it all brought you to where I had been and am once again.
Just a different circle, I suppose.
But I miss you all the same.
And I search for the magic you came with.
I wonder what you would be hiding behind this year?
I mean, if the choice was yours?
You're just a ghost now...
To me, to them...
Everyone remembers you.
Even those I never knew.
You hid too well.
From me, from them...
I knew you.
They knew him.
But I die wanting to know who he was.
Who did you become, the thinking man destroyed by knowing...
... too much?
I miss you...
... too much. Amanda Vossler 1998
Please see: William - An Unfinished Portrait and Amanda Lynn Vossler
BACK TO TOP
I wonder, if I was to wait for an apology, how long would I have to wait?
And I wonder, could it be that they know how very great the devastation
left behind is and pride keeps their thoughts silent?
Or would you believe the latter:
That they truly are ignorant to the damage done, that they could possibly
believe it has all changed you for the better?
They made you men in a time for the meek, gave you the skills to get
through life?
Could they believe you didn't bring it home with you, perhaps you left it
behind you, buried in the sand amongst the guns, tanks, chemicals, and
the dead?
Could they believe you are stronger due to the events inspired by their
choices?
Maybe they honestly don't know that they owe me an apology.
Either way an apology I'll never get.
I will never be told "I am so sorry ma'am, we made the wrong choice.
Our greed and our pride cost you his life. I am sorry ma'am, that we
did nothing to heal and console those we caused to become ill, that we
denied this plague even existed, swore it wasn't real.
I am sorry ma'am that we lied straight to their faces, we knew that they
knew we were lying and still, we lied even more.
I am so sorry ma'am that we insist on appearing on our self made pedestal,
but we always have and always will put this hierarchy's image first.
What would we do if this nation was thought to be weak? Lives could be lost.
I am sorry ma'am, that we had no respect for his life, that we used and
abused him for our own needs to be fulfillled. Our need to look superior
in the face of all others.
Again ma'am, and from the heart, as repressed as it may be, I am terribly
sorry ma'am, that the cold shoulder we gave him after he gave us his soul
cost everyone else his beating, breathing life."
Amanda Vossler 1998 BACK TO TOP
A Letter to the Iraqis
(to be interchangeably used with every war after war)
I want to explain
that I'm not the one
That I don't agree with what's going on
That this isn't in my name
that they're killing you.
But how would you understand that?
I want to reason with you
to tell you that we're not all
blood thirsty savages
on the hunt for crude
laced with flesh
but why would you believe me?
I want to tell your neighbors
that when they hear the air raid siren
when they run for their lives
and when they're praying that one of the hundreds
of cruise missiles flying over
the clear night sky won't have their name on it
that I'm crying, too.
I want you to believe me.
I want you to believe that.
That I don't want this to happen
and that it kills me knowing
it's coming and I can't stop it.
That all I can do is write
a poem that you won't see
and that it's not enough to stop them from killing you.
That they're killing me when they kill you
and nothing I do will be enough to stop it.
Scott Satterwhite
2003
BACK TO TOP
Records play with war news
As flags wave proudly
And giant steel airplanes are brought to Earth by the invisible hand of gravity
And those that kill so many tell us again and again
They will pay
They will pay
They will pay
First signs of Autumn are here
Leaves are falling
The garden is dying
Everything we planted is dying on the vine
War news is repeated
A cold wind is blowing
Outside the sun is setting
The sky is a shadier hue of red
Than I've seen in 10 years
I want to scream into my pillow
As I lay my head to sleep
Gently dreaming of war
And the maelstroms that surround
The land where Elvis died.
II
Cause and Effect
My bills are late.
I will pay
I will try harder next time.
How many poets will die before we figure this out?
Outside the Pensacola public library, a sparrow is perched on a
Dying tree by the library as the sun sets
And the left side of the water tower is orange
In Afghanistan, people will soon be on fire.
Iraq, too.
I remember the Wobblies in 20
The commies in 50
And the Rosenbergs
Never forget those 2.
I remember Sacco and Vanzetti
And Joe Hill
Do you remember John Sinclair?
Do you remember Bobby Seal?
Fred Hampton?
Peltier and Mumia are still locked away.
Do you remember them?
Remember September! The pundits say
How about Dresden?
Remember Pearl Harbor!
How about Hiroshima?
Remember the Maine!
How about Kosovo?
I saw Punks holding targets on bridges waiting for the US bombs to fall.
I hated Bill Clinton for trying to kill the Punks
Still do.
I know poets die in war
Even Kipling was shot
Lorca, too I guess.
Where's Kenneth Patchen when you need him.
Where's Langston? I ask.
"I can't stick around forever, Scott."
Wish you could. Man, I really wish you could.
How many times do we have to say the same thing
over and over again?
Standing in line with signs is fine in my book
But sooner or later
We're gonna have to try something harder.
III
Do you remember when things grew from this soil?
Our hands were sore from tearing out weeds
To save the food that would make us live.
I want to scream into my hands
And bury my head
So I don't have to hear
The constant drone
Of recorded news
Leftover bits and pieces from the last war
Telling about how I want a
Crusade of retribution
I want nothing of the sort.
I try to wash my hands this time
But they come back dirtier
Than I have ever seen them.
And what of the dead?
When businessmen in fine tailored suits
Walk out of windows
And the dead mountain in Frank's town
Keeps rising.
Start spreading the news
Meanwhile, no 50's balladeers
are singing songs for Mohammed's kids.
I've paid for more hit men on April 15th than Al Capone could have dreamed of.
A cold win blows
I try to protect my ears
And wish I were deaf so I could fel again
I wish I were blind so I wouldn't have to constatntly
Be reminded how dirty
My hands are
As cowboys wait in ecstacy
And generals gnaw at the Earth and the heart of man
And cars keep driving
Waving flags in the air
Beating in the wind
Causing tornadoes
Of cold silence to setlle the dying grass
What can I say to stop this?
God, if there was a time
to prove yourself...
Can I write a poem to stop a war?
Can I write a poem to stop a flood?
A hurricane?
An earthquake?
Is it all really that futiled?
Scott Satterwhite
2003
BACK TO TOP
What frenzied angel dug this pit
and stirred it with flesh and bone
deep into its crater, to the center of it,
where the hearts that were have no home?
Was it the tank that whined and screeched
down the street fearing fire of both sorts
which then outreached and breached
its purpose to kill men, not childish cohorts
playing ball. Not all who saw this believe
what the truth of it is, how the tank, reprieved
from fiery death, proceeded , unrelieved,
to kill children playing in the brickish field.
When it was done, the crew emerged from inside
And stretched and smoked in the sun taking their ease.
Peter Schoffstall
2003
Southern Vermont VFP Chapter 88
BACK TO TOP
Orgasmic Tribute to Imperial Violence
Paveway pounding poor people potholes protruding
2000 pounds pouncing palaces pocking plenty.
Walleye wailing wondrous wreckage wacking
whatever, wherever, within warmongers will.
Maverick moving, making matters morose,
meting murder, maximizing moribund mayhem.
Harpoon homing hapless horror, harrowing
hell, haunting hinder, hollowing hiding heads.
Tomahawk teaching truthless tales, telling treachery
tots totally tranced, tutored titillatingly, tripe tenured.
Bunker busters button brandished bursting brains,
busting Baghdad, Bechtel bravado branded.
Desert Fox, Desert Strike, Desert Storm, Desert Shield
Desert Oil, Desert Diesel, Desert Gas, Desert Propane.
Jozef Hand-Boniakowski
2003
BACK TO TOP The Gift
All the faces turned to him.
at the mention of his name.
He stood no longer straight and trim,
for age had bent his frame.
His nod was somewhat quick and short
when the teacher said, \ldblquote We' re here
to honor this man and the others who fought,
to preserve our freedoms dear.\rdblquote
He felt reverent in their presence,
fresh beings not yet tried;
yet gripped by an old remembrance,
of other faces; young, but not alive;
Gone before they ever could know
their battle had been futile;
gone before the chance to grow,
to taste the bitter bile,
That rose from his tortured bowel,
when finally he found out,
that democracy and freedom
was not what the fight was about.
One child, at the teacher' s prompting
asked, \ldblquote Mr. Veteran, what can we give you?\rdblquote
He was silent a long time, thinking
of all he' d like to say,
about the truth of combat, the stink
that wouldn' t go away.
And how his war had led to another,
a giant, running sore,
that later killed his brother,
Who once had sat with eyes a' glisten,
all worship, like these kids;
and wouldn' t even listen
when he tried to put the skids,
Beneath all that false-front glory
they had built around his war;
bugles and drums drowning his story,
green turf and white crosses concealing the gore.
What could he say,
that they might understand?
What could he say,
that they might make the stand
he had failed to \endash
when they put a rifle in his hand,
told him killing was a good thing;
guaranteeing freedom in the land,
------\ldblquote of thee I sing.\rdblquote
His voice was a distant rumble
from somewhere deep within:
\ldblquote When they come and say it' s your turn,
don' t simply take their word,
but look into the eyes of each other,
ask the question:
\lquote Do we really need to learn
how to kill our sisters and brothers?'
\ldblquote And if the answer is \lquote No' ,
then you will live in the land of the free;
\ldblquote And if the answer is \lquote No' ,
then that is the gift you have given to me.\rdblquote
Woody Powell
2002
BACK TO TOP
If hope needed a reason it came to visit,
It might never come.
If a passport were required or some proof of its substantiality
Were needed before hope be-bopped across
Our heavily defended, benighted borders,
What customs official would let it through?
Fortunately, it slips across,
Unjustified, unreasonable, but unstoppable..
As fragile as the first ice on a puddle that splinters
At the touch into a million pieces,
But comes back lovely as ever the next day.
1993
Jane Newton
Southern Vermont VFP Chapter 88
BACK TO TOP We, Veterans of our Nations' Wars, Come
We come to our Nation' s Capitol to speak for peace.
We come to tell the truth about war.
We come to reveal the truth about this illegal, immoral war.
We come to speak of deception, manipulation, secret agendas and fascist doctrines.
We come in peace to support our troops by demanding they be brought home out of harms way NOW.
We come in outrage to support our troops by demanding Congress restore the billions of dollars for Veterans they cut from the Veterans Administration budgets, and to increase it to meet the actual needs.
We come in peace to support our troops by demanding the Veterans Administration process backlogged claims.
We come in peace to support our troops by demanding that our government stand responsible and make good on their promises of support to all our veterans of all wars and military service and their families.
We come as elders to act as the conscience of our nation.
We come out of honor and respect for all life.
We come out of compassion born of suffering.
We come to mourn all victims of war.
We mourn our fallen soldiers.
We mourn our missing in action.
We mourn our prisoners of war.
We mourn our wounded.
We mourn our lost innocence.
We mourn that we have killed and wounded others.
We mourn what we experienced, saw, heard, smelled, did, during war.
We mourn our brothers and sisters who have taken their own lives because they could no longer live with the memories.
We mourn those solders we have killed.
We mourn those soldiers we have wounded.
We mourn the innocent women and children and men who have died.
We mourn all innocent women and children and men who have been maimed, injured, traumatized and lost their homes.
We mourn all who are still suffering from radiation and toxic chemicals used by our government to perpetrate violence.
We mourn our Mother Earth for the toxins we have strewn and left that still pollute, land, water, and air.
We mourn the birth defects of our children and their children and all of nature from these toxins.
We mourn that human beings have not learned to co-create rather than control and destroy.
We mourn our country in these dark hours, days, weeks, months and hopefully not years.
We mourn the loss of our constitutional and civil rights to an illegally installed executive branch.
We mourn the loss of true patriotism, which has degenerated to nationalism and militarism.
We mourn the loss of truth.
We come in peace to lobby our representatives in Congress.
We come in peace to take back our freedom to dissent and restore our Bill of Rights.
We come in peace to uphold our oath... \ldblquote to protect and defend the Constitution of the United States of America
from all enemies, foreign and domestic.\rdblquote
We come in peace to reclaim our government: Of the People, For the People and By the People.
We come in peace as those who love their country enough to question and say \ldblquote NO MORE WAR, ever.\rdblquote
Sharon Kufeldt
2003
BACK TO TOP
I stood in the sun, the rain
through chill nights
holding banners, pumping placards,
arms aching, feet on fire,
joints locked in protest rigor,
enduring silence, averted eyes,
cravenly grateful for a smile,
a high five, a friendly honk.
I knew my subject,
I had read the e-mails,
visited zones of conflict,
recorded testimony, viewed carnage
and destruction,
tested truth until I was ready
for the moment a reporter finally asked,
\ldblquote What can you say about this?\rdblquote
And it flooded from me, succinct,
passionate, truth-laden phrases,
polished and well-rounded
by the tumbler that is my mind,
until it was all there;
a gleaming heap of enlightenment
for the curious to gather
and become enriched, perhaps enraged.
In the morning, on an inside page,
I read, \ldblquote A small group of protesters
gathered at the corner of Broadway and Main
to exercise their right of free speech
by opposing \'85\'85.\rdblquote
Woody Powell
2002
BACK TO TOP
"You have delivered me to the abyss
You have delivered me to the ants and sand"
Muhammad Sulayman-Solomon Rex
five thousand child corpses
this month
piled silently from the street below
to the third floor balcony
this one hundredth month
the large grey and white bird
in the dusty eucalyptus across the way
crows
rusting orange and white cars
move up and down as though not noticing the bodies
honking "I am here"
one honk
two quick honks
CNN Live two miles away
at the al-Rasheed hotel
Dan Rather look-alike in tennis shorts
by the pool
looking for a story
the brown clad boy soldier
walks along the road
one hand in a tailored pocket
the other clutching his AK-47
black draped woman with a water can
to draw slow death
from the Tigris
for her two children
Secretary of War Cheney says
I'd do it all again
Madeleine says
it's worth the price
Larry Kerschner
2002
BACK TO TOP
Sweet is war to those who do not know it-Erasmus
the stench that rises from the bowel
of the beast
fetid odor of the bodies of the children
mixed with the vapors of petroleum
sold as sweet perfume
as the bodies rot and the bones soften
they can be useful
to lubricate the wheels
of Empire
death is said to be life
and the price
is said to be small
the small cry for peace
from this frail woman
in the black dress
in the desert
is to be sand and grit
in the machine
Larry Kerschner
2002
BACK TO TOP
a black granite wall to rest against
each name an act calling for a re-write
50,000 times rendered unto Caesar
50,000 rendered like hot fat on the stove
Larry Kerschner
2002
BACK TO TOP
the war was black and white
at first but then
in living color red and yellow and khaki green
brought into your living room but what was always missing
was the smell of war
my war smelled
of dying vegetation eau de agent orange
burnt gunpowder and burnt people
dark blood sweet and warm
piss shit sweat
testosterone
the same smell is found in what's left of a pizza shop
in Jerusalem amid Israeli rage
now the smell of war is in Jenin and Ramallah
piss and shit and blood
mixes with the frustrated cries
of the Palestinian people
Helen Caldicott holds up
a picture of an Arab baby with his head blown off
the smell of his head seeps up through the
concrete rubble after the tanks roll on
the same smell of piss and shit and blood
rose into the hot desert
some days after American soldiers
buried Iraqi soldiers
alive
the same smell at Waco when the embers died and the smoke cleared
the same smell of
more anguished piss and shit and blood
was found by heroic firefighters
and police digging below the twin tower's space
the same smell more piss more shit
more blood
was found near Kabul raised with the dust
by bombs from 40,000 feet
next we'll find that smell in Colombia or will it be Baghdad
the smell added to the smell of oil added to the smell of the 5,000 children
who die each month or in the Philippines
or Somalia or Iran or some other new axis of evil
the putrescent odor of piss and shit and blood
of war and death
should gag us all
however as Erasmus said five hundred years ago
war is sweet
to those who know it not
Larry Kerschner
2002
BACK TO TOP Like A Pile of Shoes
I look at my hand
my arm
freckles
melanin speckles
brown splashes and clumps
among thin tundra growth
of straight hairs;
brown Rorschach blots of
genetic legacy.
my vision blurs with
ancestral imaginings
collective underconsciousness,
and the brown islands grow,
mesh,
mat;
the pale pink patches dissolve;
my entire forearm is brown
and ends
abrupt
without a hand,
because I could not carry gold dust
to the forts of the conquistad\'f3res
they chopped off my hands
by order of Admir\'e1l Col\'f3n,
and I can no longer carry
anything--
not my food
not my babies.
Around me in my hallucination
I see
generations of,
centuries of
handless brown people.
We are massed in an empty place,
guests at a displaced cocktail party,
we are circulating,
we are
networking,
trading names and tales
but not business cards;
we have no hands left
to dip into inner breast pocket
and extract those thin engraved
icons of power;
we have no hands
and no business suits
and no pockets at all.
So we dip into
our inner breast
itself,
and look into each others eyes,
and share what we can still carry:
our stories.
Here are the tales
of handless people:
In Espa\'f1\'f3la,
the evil admiral
of the Ni\'f1a, Pinta, Santa Mar\'eda
was so in love with gold
that he demanded it as tribute;
and those who did not deliver
lost their hands
whom had already lost
their home,
their health,
to the invaders;
some were able to keep their hands\emdash
slaves lose value without the
manual tools;
some were executed\emdash
as examples,
as threats\emdash
in bunches of 13
as the admiral' s tribute
to his god.
In the Congo
Leopold' s well-appointed thugs
chopped off hands
in another conquest for gold,
stripping and mining
the earth and the soul
of a culture so sophisticated
that white Belgian eyes
chose not to even see;
and for 80 years they
chopped off hands,
until a slim
bespectacled
young black man,
Patrice Lamumba,
was elected
by many thousand
black hands
dropping stones in baskets.
For this insubordination
for this symbolic slap
on the white face of colonialism,
for these black democratic hands
slapping\emdash
so gently in the face of long terrorism!\emdash
slapping away
the white hand of imperialism,
like a long-suffering
too-patient
parent
insisting at last
on some civility
of her offspring;
for this
the forgetful,
memoriless,
tragic tyrant children
committed patricide--
Patrice-cide--
and elevated the postal worker
with the morphing name;
a new trend:
feel-good imperialism:
"Look! We gave them back their names,
Authenticit\'e9;
even Mobuto himself
has a fancy new African name,
but don' t worry he' s still our G.I. Joseph."
Vietnamese hands
chopped off by French guards
at the rubber plantations.
Iranian hands
chopped off by holy soldiers
of the ayatollahs.
Irish hands
chopped off by the monarch' s minions
for playing the harp;
prescient of Pinochet' s police
chopping off the guitarist' s fingers,
and still the poet sang
"Vientos del Pueblo"
until they killed Victor Jara
por nueva canciones.
Women' s hands
and tongues
and genitals
chopped off
by endless elements of divinely inspired patriarchs.
Transgender women
with their fingers broken
by transphobes enraged at their own confusion
offended by the long painted nails
on the strong capable hands
that look too much like
their own bloody paws.
Children' s hands
blown off
by leftover landmines
while U.S. taxes
line the many pockets
of the business suits
of Honeywell executives
who shake clean white
manicured hands
to close their sanitized satanic deals.
A pile of hands
curved in useless grasp
empty
except where in seeming clasp.
A pile of brown hands
like 19th century tourist souvenirs:
good luck charms
unlucky monkey' s paws:
a pile of hands
like a pile of shoes
at Auschwitz..
And here we gather
in this dream
generations of,
centuries of
handless brown people
carrying no artifacts\emdash
tool nor weapon nor art\emdash
looking into each others eyes
and sharing what we can still carry:
our stories
our songs
our diverse voices and melodies
in miracle complex harmony
flow,
a strong river,
life and power,
and we sing the riversongs:
Peace Like a River
Down by the Riverside
No Nos Moveran;
and like the ancient subversive folktale
carried in so many cultures,
like the handless maiden,
we thrust our arms into the river
to rescue our drowning child
and come up
whole
with our future in our hands!
JeanneE Hand-Boniakowski
2000
BACK TO TOP
U.S. Military Diplomacy - From Wounded Knee to Afghanistan
1890 Wounded Knee South Dakota Lakota Sioux massacred by U.S. Army
a blue-coated motorcycle gang
armed with rifles and pistols
rolled into this peaceful
residential neighborhood at dawn today
community members were herded
together and shot down
unarmed men, women and children were
pulled from their homes
commenting on reports that
those trying to flee were run down and
shot in the back
one biker is quoted as saying
it was great sport
like fish in a barrel
reports of the number killed
range from 150 to 370
1890 Buenos Aires Argentina - U.S. troops intervene to protect U.S. business interests
1891 U.S. troops battle with nationalists in Chile
walking backward
my hidden face
does not go before me
I cannot see
the dogs of war
I hear
salt
blood and tears
dripping down
I hear
children become gravediggers
howling
boy soldiers flung into the dark
I hear
the knife
tearing cartilage between
the ribs
I hear
two lovers
one is walking backward
1891 U.S. Navy in Rio de Janeiro, Brazil to protect American commerce
1892 U.S. Army kills 12 railroad workers on strike in Chicago
1893 U.S. Marines help overthrow the Kingdom of Hawaii
1894 U.S. Army occupies Bluefield in Nicaragua
1894-95 U.S. Marines land in China during the Sino-Japanese war
1894-96 U.S. Marines present in Seoul Korea
1895 U.S. Navy and Marines land in the Colombian Province which is now Panama
1896 U.S. Marines show the colors in Corinto, Nicaragua during political unrest
1897 U.S. troops suppress a silver miners strike in Idaho
Fathers. Sons.
dig the earth
stand up
we are men
twelve hundred imprisoned
we are men
shot down
we are men
1898-1901 U.S. Navy and Army seized Philippines from Spain killing 600,000 Filipinos
1898 U.S. Navy and Army seized Cuba from Spain, we still have base at Guantanamo Bay
1898 U.S. Navy and Army seized Puerto Rico from Spain; our occupation continues
1898 U.S. Navy and Army seized Guam from Spain; we still have bases there
1898 U.S. Marines land at San Juan del Sur, Nicaragua
1899 U.S Army battle Chippewa Indians at Leech Lake, Minnesota
1900 U.S. troops fight to help put down Boxer Rebellion in China
1900 U.S. Marines and Army again at Bluefield, Nicaragua
bluefield
eastern Nicaragua
tropical homeland
of Miskito, Rama, and Sumu
Spanish seeking gold and souls for God
British with their slavish ways
Afro-caribbean music
Palo de Mayo fertility dance
American commercial interests
afraid the people's revolution
will inhibit
their Manifest Destiny
on this Caribbean shore
1900 U.S. Army occupies Coeur d'Alene, Idaho silver mining region
1901 U.S. Army fights Creek Indians in Oklahoma
1902 U.S. Army and Navy support the province (now Panama) seceding from Colombia
1903 U.S. Marines intervene in revolution Honduras
1903 U.S. Marines land in Abyssinia
1903-04 U.S. Army intrudes in the Dominican Republic to protect U.S. business interests
1904 U.S. Marines land in Morocco
1904-05 U.S. Marines land in Korea during the Russo-Japanese War
1906 U.S. Marines move into Cuba during their elections
my enemies eat children
my enemies want mine
my enemies double park
my enemies don't speak American
my enemies cheat on their wives
my enemies are less
my enemies don't appreciate art
my enemies wear plaids with stripes
my enemies want to kill me
I must kill my enemy first
1907 U.S. Army sets up a protectorate in Nicaragua
1908 U.S. Marines land in Honduras during war with Nicaragua
1909 U.S. Marines intervene in elections in Panama
1910 U.S. Marines land again in Bluefield and Corinto Nicaragua
1911 U.S. Army goes into Honduras during a civil war to protect U.S. business interests
1911-41 30 year continuous occupation of parts of China by U.S. Navy and Army
min-tsu
nationalism is a government of the people
min-chuan
democracy is a government by the people
min-sheng
socialism is a government for the people
these three principles
of the people
are not approved
in America
1912 U.S. Army in Havana, Cuba to protect U.S. business interests
1912 U.S. Marines land in Honduras to protect U.S. economic interests
1912-33 U.S. Army 20 year occupation and war with guerillas in Nicaragua
1913 U.S. Navy intervenes to evacuate Americans from Mexico during revolution
1913 U.S. Marines land during election in Panama
1914-99 U.S. troops annex and occupy Panama Canal zone
1914 U.S. Navy fights with rebels over Santo Domingo in Dominican Republic
after we are the ones to survive
after the chill
after the heat
after we have killed but
before we have loved
we sing a manly song
martial and stirring
not low and blue
we sing
when and because
we are distanced from the front
a reminder to remember
to forget what we want forgotten
we sing our loud song of silence
we sing again
and again
until it is done
until it is gone
1914 U.S Army break miners strike Colorado
1914-18 U.S. Army and Navy in a series of interventions against Mexican nationalists
1915-34 U.S. Army 19 year occupation of Haiti
1916-24 U.S. Marines in 8 year occupation of Dominican Republic
1917-33 U.S. Army 16 year occupation of Cuba
1917-18 U.S. Army, Navy and Marines World War I
the war to end war
confusion to end confusion
hunger to end hunger
death to end death
hope to end hope
1918-20 U.S. Army and Navy land in Russia to fight against Bolsheviks
1918-20 U.S. troops in "police duty" after elections in Panama
1918 U.S. Army enters Mexico chasing 'banditos'
1919 U.S. Marines intervene in Yugoslavia for Italy against Serbs in Dalmatia
1920 U.S. Marines land in Honduras during election campaign
1920-21 U.S. Army intervenes against mine workers in West Virginia
it's one world war
ended
Coal Operators lay off miners
reduce the digging man's wages
actually jazz has
the Man's money
in the Sheriff's pocket
beatin'
harrassin'
arrestin'
those interested in the Union
evictin' from the Company's houses
Baldwin-Felts detectives on Money's side
when the Governor
called in the U.S. Army
three times
we can say that
war existed in Logan County
1921 U.S. Army in 2 week intervention in Guatemala against union organizers
1922 U.S. Army fought against nationalists in Smyrna, Turkey
1922-27 U.S. Navy and Army deployed in China during nationalist revolt
1924-25 U.S. Army landed twice in Honduras during elections
1925 U.S. Marines suppress a general strike in Panama
1926-33 U.S. Marines occupy Nicaragua
I have deemed it my duty to use the powers
committed to me to ensure the adequate protection of all American
interests in Nicaragua, whether they be endangered by internal
strife or by outside interference in the affairs of that republic.
--Calvin Coolidge, 1926
1932 U.S. Navy warships sent to El Salvador during Faribundo Marti revolt
1932 U.S. Army stops WWI veterans bonus protest in Washington D.C.
1933 U.S. Marines land in China at Foochow
1941 Greenland and Iceland taken under U.S. protection
1941-45 WWII; first nuclear strikes; U.S. Army guards camps for Japanese-American citizens
I have known war as few men now living know it. Its very
destructiveness on both friend and foe has rendered it useless
as a means of settling international disputes. Gen. Douglas MacArthur
1943 U.S. Army puts down Black rebellion in Detroit
1945 50,000 U.S. Marines sent to Northern China
1946 U.S. threatened Soviet troops in Iranian Azerbaijan with nuclear weapons
1946 U.S. Navy responded to shooting down of U.S. plane over Yugoslavia
1947 U.S. nuclear bombers deployed over Uruguay in show of strength
1948 U.S. Marines evacuate Americans from mainland China
cardinals and bishops call it a just war
just because the president said so
just because they hurt us
just because we can
just because no poet said no
just because the snow falls and the shadows grow longer every day
just because we see it on CNN
just because after the bomb falls there is no one left to hear
just because
1948-- U.S. nuclear bombers guard Berlin Airlift
1948 U.S. Marines to Palestine
1950-53 U.S. troops fought China and North Korea in Korea; nuclear threat against China; still have bases in South Korea
1953 Gen. Norman Schwartzkopf Sr. helps overthrow democracy and installs Shah of Iran
Every gun that is made, every warship launched, every rocket fired,
signifies, in the final sense, a theft from those who hunger and are not
fed, those who are cold and are not clo
The silent sentry stands tall,alone
a single tree whose leaves are brown
but refuse to deposit themselves
upon the sacred ground.
Not today, no not today.
For today, their attention is for you.
The flag staff nearby at half of staff this day
gently flapping in the wind
most gently red, then white, then blue.
The silent sentry he does mourn,
due to a war most far away, and
for another Michigan service man,
you have died
and will soon be softly lowered to the ground.
Your casket draped
most gently red, then white, then blue.
Your mother's or your spouse's tears or both,
but not the sentry's leaves,
will fall most gently on top of you.
And only then will the sentry's leaves
release the love standing guard for you.
Robert L. Burgess member Episcopal Peace Fellowship and Veteran's for Peace Vietnam Era U.S. Navy Veteran active duty 1974-1978
Teen Boys
When we were teen boys
They taught us to kill
Real guns – not toys
Will take back a hill.
Liberty’s at stake
Democracy too
So a war we will make
Use a teen boy like you.
In camouflaged gear
We sailed off to war
Showing no one our fear
Cause we were hard to the core.
We believed every lie
There were poor and enslaved
For their freedom we’d die
The oppressed would be saved.
Our friendships were sealed
By the times’ unique date
With rifles we’d yield
To a war all would hate.
Best buddies we were
In a world gone amok
We answered, “Yes Sir”
As we trudged through the muck.
Then one day a blast
Wrenched the life from my friend
A day sure to last
Till my own life will end.
His life had been snuffed
In an instant – just gone
We all had been bluffed
Just used as their pawn.
When some of us died
And the best of us too
Some teen boys cried
For the worst was now true.
And all of the years
That have gone by the way
Do not stop the tears
I have shed since that day.
Men now in their graves
But who lived out their years
Who sailed not the waves
Nor knew teen boy fears.
Who sent us away
To fight by their laws
For freedom some say
But to die for their cause.
No reason, no rhyme
For all that destruction
A shame and a crime
To dupe by seduction.
Four decades have passed
And still I ask why
Our leaders held fast
More teen boys to die
I will never forget
How they treated us then
And the friends I had met
Were just teen boys – not men.
And one never knew
What a man would enjoy
Cause his life was all through
Back then -- when a teen boy.
js ©Gerald J. Seminary
August 3, 2006
Albany, New York
Rev. August 21, 2006
Notes: I wrote this poem in memory and in honor of my buddy Bernard J. Burns, Jr., who was killed in action in Vietnam on February 6, 1968. My intent is to read it to him at his grave in Gettysburg National Cemetery, hopefully sometime in November 2006.
Ripples in the Pond
By Sharon Lee Kufeldt
I drop a pebble into the vast pond
Ripples spread in all directions
Wrap around rocks
Twigs
Remnants reach the farthest shore
What ripples am I spreading today
With my intentions
Actions,
Words
Seeking peace for our world