Poetry competition CLOSED 29th January 2013 6:52am
WINNER
rayheinrich (Death Plane for Teddy)
rayheinrich (Death Plane for Teddy)
Military
Anonymous
“Have Mercy on US for Saving Oilville”
http://deepundergroundpoetry.com/images/uploads/poemimages/83789.jpg
Middle Eastern chess games
are a continual thing.
Bedouin feuds,
Western dudes,
monarchies and tyrannies,
politics and religions,
untold riches from oil
helped spoil a culture
rich in historical pedigree.
Like chameleons,
centuries old disputes
change with the winds of time.
This bloody instance, it was
a natural resource thing.
Invading Arab brothers had broken
through sovereign soil
to the Persian Gulf,
disputing slant-drilling
into the Fields of Rumelia.
These soldiers had come to stay,
dug in tight, would make Kuwait pay.
We couldn’t wait to save them-
the Kuwaitis, not the Iraqis.
A Call-to-Arms quickly whisked
us to solitary desert lands,
far away in the middle of nowhere,
sterile uninhabited wasteland
atop oil, oil, and even more oil,
some of the richest reserves
found on the entire planet.
For what it’s worth,
we had good intentions.
God Dammit, my comrades and I
toiled there a while without smiles.
But, who gives a shit these days and
does it really matter anyways?
If we’re not dead, we’ve all scattered
trying to forget economic mysteries,
the cost of human life.
Fourth Eye-Dee of the Storm,
steadfast and loyal we were,
waiting patiently in our hooches,
watching endless firebomb kaleidoscopes.
The shock waves felt like Richter twitches
perched atop our sandbagged outposts,
strewn on endless sandy horizons.
Warthogs and Eagles screamed overhead
twenty-four seven and then some.
While Spooky did it’s 105 thing,
we played backgammon, cranked Metallica,
smoked Camels, blew rings into the cool night air,
the constant explosions sounded like distant thunder.
Nobody wondered if we were right or wrong.
Manning a sixty is the shit.
It’s big and bad with heavy belts of shiny zip-zip.
With proper aim, it can rip apart anything.
Though, I wanted to light it up
at ghostly things in the night,
I never got the chance to use it.
Not a single f-ing fire fight.
Shucks, that sucked.
I had Night Vision.
The glitter-flyboys got most of the action,
guaranteed satisfaction from
gyroscope pin-point coordinates
radioed in on secure AWAC freqs.
What a wacky way to fight a war,
just moving flaps and pushing buttons.
But it worked, the beauty of modern technology
to kill en masse, done surgically clean,
neatly and so sickly sweet.
You never see the faces.
The whistle finally blew for us to scoot,
we rolled like steel thunder leaving
clouds of heavy dust in our wake,
vicious snakes on the move with venom.
What the hell, we tooted our horn,
this was for freedom’s sake,
we were a rock and roll army
of death, manmade earthquakes,
wanting to shake and bake.
Some enemy engagement we had--
twenty minutes of incoming
suppressed in thirty seconds.
It was lightning quick, all dead
no friendly casualties.
In short order, we were on them
like wind scorpions on termites.
No match for us, the invading liberators,
the lines of wide-eyed shell-shocked
un-armed Republicans seemed endless,
prisoners coming to the victors in droves.
Some dropped to their shaky knees,
begged to be spared before
evaporating into pitch billows,
tar smoke kissing the blue sky black,
it looked like we had entered hell itself.
No angels were seen anywhere.
Incredibly surreal,
a different kind of world,
one of in-human chaos.
We were far from Kansas,
Toto didn’t make it,
neither did Dorothy,
only the Tin Men.
We celebrated days of sad burials,
mass graves of enemy slaves
in unknown graves
by the thousands.
I still cry today,
knowing flowers
don’t grow in that place.
Desolate arid lands filled with dead sons
who had mothers somewhere crying just like me.
If it’s some consolation, they put the rig fires out.
After all, the money had to flow again.
Dear God, have mercy on US for saving Oilville.
http://deepundergroundpoetry.com/images/uploads/poemimages/83789.jpg
Middle Eastern chess games
are a continual thing.
Bedouin feuds,
Western dudes,
monarchies and tyrannies,
politics and religions,
untold riches from oil
helped spoil a culture
rich in historical pedigree.
Like chameleons,
centuries old disputes
change with the winds of time.
This bloody instance, it was
a natural resource thing.
Invading Arab brothers had broken
through sovereign soil
to the Persian Gulf,
disputing slant-drilling
into the Fields of Rumelia.
These soldiers had come to stay,
dug in tight, would make Kuwait pay.
We couldn’t wait to save them-
the Kuwaitis, not the Iraqis.
A Call-to-Arms quickly whisked
us to solitary desert lands,
far away in the middle of nowhere,
sterile uninhabited wasteland
atop oil, oil, and even more oil,
some of the richest reserves
found on the entire planet.
For what it’s worth,
we had good intentions.
God Dammit, my comrades and I
toiled there a while without smiles.
But, who gives a shit these days and
does it really matter anyways?
If we’re not dead, we’ve all scattered
trying to forget economic mysteries,
the cost of human life.
Fourth Eye-Dee of the Storm,
steadfast and loyal we were,
waiting patiently in our hooches,
watching endless firebomb kaleidoscopes.
The shock waves felt like Richter twitches
perched atop our sandbagged outposts,
strewn on endless sandy horizons.
Warthogs and Eagles screamed overhead
twenty-four seven and then some.
While Spooky did it’s 105 thing,
we played backgammon, cranked Metallica,
smoked Camels, blew rings into the cool night air,
the constant explosions sounded like distant thunder.
Nobody wondered if we were right or wrong.
Manning a sixty is the shit.
It’s big and bad with heavy belts of shiny zip-zip.
With proper aim, it can rip apart anything.
Though, I wanted to light it up
at ghostly things in the night,
I never got the chance to use it.
Not a single f-ing fire fight.
Shucks, that sucked.
I had Night Vision.
The glitter-flyboys got most of the action,
guaranteed satisfaction from
gyroscope pin-point coordinates
radioed in on secure AWAC freqs.
What a wacky way to fight a war,
just moving flaps and pushing buttons.
But it worked, the beauty of modern technology
to kill en masse, done surgically clean,
neatly and so sickly sweet.
You never see the faces.
The whistle finally blew for us to scoot,
we rolled like steel thunder leaving
clouds of heavy dust in our wake,
vicious snakes on the move with venom.
What the hell, we tooted our horn,
this was for freedom’s sake,
we were a rock and roll army
of death, manmade earthquakes,
wanting to shake and bake.
Some enemy engagement we had--
twenty minutes of incoming
suppressed in thirty seconds.
It was lightning quick, all dead
no friendly casualties.
In short order, we were on them
like wind scorpions on termites.
No match for us, the invading liberators,
the lines of wide-eyed shell-shocked
un-armed Republicans seemed endless,
prisoners coming to the victors in droves.
Some dropped to their shaky knees,
begged to be spared before
evaporating into pitch billows,
tar smoke kissing the blue sky black,
it looked like we had entered hell itself.
No angels were seen anywhere.
Incredibly surreal,
a different kind of world,
one of in-human chaos.
We were far from Kansas,
Toto didn’t make it,
neither did Dorothy,
only the Tin Men.
We celebrated days of sad burials,
mass graves of enemy slaves
in unknown graves
by the thousands.
I still cry today,
knowing flowers
don’t grow in that place.
Desolate arid lands filled with dead sons
who had mothers somewhere crying just like me.
If it’s some consolation, they put the rig fires out.
After all, the money had to flow again.
Dear God, have mercy on US for saving Oilville.
Strider said:“Have Mercy on US for Saving Oilville”
Middle Eastern chess games
are a continual thing.
Bedouin feuds,
Western dudes,
monarchies and tyrannies,
politics and religions,
untold riches from oil
helped spoil a culture
rich in historical pedigree.
Like chameleons,
centuries old disputes
change with the winds of time.
This bloody instance, it was
a natural resource thing.
Invading Arab brothers had broken
through sovereign soil
to the Persian Gulf,
disputing slant-drilling
into the Fields of Rumelia.
These soldiers had come to stay,
dug in tight, would make Kuwait pay.
We couldn’t wait to save them-
the Kuwaitis, not the Iraqis.
A Call-to-Arms quickly whisked
us to solitary desert lands,
far away in the middle of nowhere,
sterile uninhabited wasteland
atop oil, oil, and even more oil,
some of the richest reserves
found on the entire planet.
For what it’s worth,
we had good intentions.
God Dammit, my comrades and I
toiled there a while without smiles.
But, who gives a shit these days and
does it really matter anyways?
If we’re not dead, we’ve all scattered
trying to forget economic mysteries,
the cost of human life.
Fourth Eye-Dee of the Storm,
steadfast and loyal we were,
waiting patiently in our hooches,
watching endless firebomb kaleidoscopes.
The shock waves felt like Richter twitches
perched atop our sandbagged outposts,
strewn on endless sandy horizons.
Warthogs and Eagles screamed overhead
twenty-four seven and then some.
While Spooky did it’s 105 thing,
we played backgammon, cranked Metallica,
smoked Camels, blew rings into the cool night air,
the constant explosions sounded like distant thunder.
Nobody wondered if we were right or wrong.
Manning a sixty is the shit.
It’s big and bad with heavy belts of shiny zip-zip.
With proper aim, it can rip apart anything.
Though, I wanted to light it up
at ghostly things in the night,
I never got the chance to use it.
Not a single f-ing fire fight.
Shucks, that sucked.
I had Night Vision.
The glitter-flyboys got most of the action,
guaranteed satisfaction from
gyroscope pin-point coordinates
radioed in on secure AWAC freqs.
What a wacky way to fight a war,
just moving flaps and pushing buttons.
But it worked, the beauty of modern technology
to kill en masse, done surgically clean,
neatly and so sickly sweet.
You never see the faces.
The whistle finally blew for us to scoot,
we rolled like steel thunder leaving
clouds of heavy dust in our wake,
vicious snakes on the move with venom.
What the hell, we tooted our horn,
this was for freedom’s sake,
we were a rock and roll army
of death, manmade earthquakes,
wanting to shake and bake.
Some enemy engagement we had--
twenty minutes of incoming
suppressed in thirty seconds.
It was lightning quick, all dead
no friendly casualties.
In short order, we were on them
like wind scorpions on termites.
No match for us, the invading liberators,
the lines of wide-eyed shell-shocked
un-armed Republicans seemed endless,
prisoners coming to the victors in droves.
Some dropped to their shaky knees,
begged to be spared before
evaporating into pitch billows,
tar smoke kissing the blue sky black,
it looked like we had entered hell itself.
No angels were seen anywhere.
Incredibly surreal,
a different kind of world,
one of in-human chaos.
We were far from Kansas,
Toto didn’t make it,
neither did Dorothy,
only the Tin Men.
We celebrated days of sad burials,
mass graves of enemy slaves
in unknown graves
by the thousands.
I still cry today,
knowing flowers
don’t grow in that place.
Desolate arid lands filled with dead sons
who had mothers somewhere crying just like me.
If it’s some consolation, they put the rig fires out.
After all, the money had to flow again.
Dear God, have mercy on US for saving Oilville.
The 4th I.D. indeed
Hooah ! Uley went to war with them twice, and I couldn't have felt less worried. Good People !
I like your last line... *smirks* Yeah... we are the only ones who benefited from that, right ?
Middle Eastern chess games
are a continual thing.
Bedouin feuds,
Western dudes,
monarchies and tyrannies,
politics and religions,
untold riches from oil
helped spoil a culture
rich in historical pedigree.
Like chameleons,
centuries old disputes
change with the winds of time.
This bloody instance, it was
a natural resource thing.
Invading Arab brothers had broken
through sovereign soil
to the Persian Gulf,
disputing slant-drilling
into the Fields of Rumelia.
These soldiers had come to stay,
dug in tight, would make Kuwait pay.
We couldn’t wait to save them-
the Kuwaitis, not the Iraqis.
A Call-to-Arms quickly whisked
us to solitary desert lands,
far away in the middle of nowhere,
sterile uninhabited wasteland
atop oil, oil, and even more oil,
some of the richest reserves
found on the entire planet.
For what it’s worth,
we had good intentions.
God Dammit, my comrades and I
toiled there a while without smiles.
But, who gives a shit these days and
does it really matter anyways?
If we’re not dead, we’ve all scattered
trying to forget economic mysteries,
the cost of human life.
Fourth Eye-Dee of the Storm,
steadfast and loyal we were,
waiting patiently in our hooches,
watching endless firebomb kaleidoscopes.
The shock waves felt like Richter twitches
perched atop our sandbagged outposts,
strewn on endless sandy horizons.
Warthogs and Eagles screamed overhead
twenty-four seven and then some.
While Spooky did it’s 105 thing,
we played backgammon, cranked Metallica,
smoked Camels, blew rings into the cool night air,
the constant explosions sounded like distant thunder.
Nobody wondered if we were right or wrong.
Manning a sixty is the shit.
It’s big and bad with heavy belts of shiny zip-zip.
With proper aim, it can rip apart anything.
Though, I wanted to light it up
at ghostly things in the night,
I never got the chance to use it.
Not a single f-ing fire fight.
Shucks, that sucked.
I had Night Vision.
The glitter-flyboys got most of the action,
guaranteed satisfaction from
gyroscope pin-point coordinates
radioed in on secure AWAC freqs.
What a wacky way to fight a war,
just moving flaps and pushing buttons.
But it worked, the beauty of modern technology
to kill en masse, done surgically clean,
neatly and so sickly sweet.
You never see the faces.
The whistle finally blew for us to scoot,
we rolled like steel thunder leaving
clouds of heavy dust in our wake,
vicious snakes on the move with venom.
What the hell, we tooted our horn,
this was for freedom’s sake,
we were a rock and roll army
of death, manmade earthquakes,
wanting to shake and bake.
Some enemy engagement we had--
twenty minutes of incoming
suppressed in thirty seconds.
It was lightning quick, all dead
no friendly casualties.
In short order, we were on them
like wind scorpions on termites.
No match for us, the invading liberators,
the lines of wide-eyed shell-shocked
un-armed Republicans seemed endless,
prisoners coming to the victors in droves.
Some dropped to their shaky knees,
begged to be spared before
evaporating into pitch billows,
tar smoke kissing the blue sky black,
it looked like we had entered hell itself.
No angels were seen anywhere.
Incredibly surreal,
a different kind of world,
one of in-human chaos.
We were far from Kansas,
Toto didn’t make it,
neither did Dorothy,
only the Tin Men.
We celebrated days of sad burials,
mass graves of enemy slaves
in unknown graves
by the thousands.
I still cry today,
knowing flowers
don’t grow in that place.
Desolate arid lands filled with dead sons
who had mothers somewhere crying just like me.
If it’s some consolation, they put the rig fires out.
After all, the money had to flow again.
Dear God, have mercy on US for saving Oilville.
The 4th I.D. indeed
Hooah ! Uley went to war with them twice, and I couldn't have felt less worried. Good People ! I like your last line... *smirks* Yeah... we are the only ones who benefited from that, right ?
at 22
you probably couldnt imagine some of the things i've been through
with this uniform i wear
comes great responsibility
i'll always be
all that i can be
its made an adult out of me
from germany to the middle east
i've seen war
and i've seen peace
i've seen gods children all over the world
from folks just like you and me
to those hungry little boys and girls
i've danced with the enemy
and stood shoulder to shoulder
with the greastest friends you'll ever meet
we've all got each others backs
and because of that
i'm damn proud to wear this uniform
i've been shot at
and people have tried to blow me up
but we stayed tough
and pushed through
i've lost some real good friends to this cause
but they died for your rights
some people just dont get to make it back from the fight
from germany to the middle east
i've seen war
and i've seen peace
i've seen gods children all over the world
from folks just like you and me
to those hungry little boys and girls
i've danced with the enemy
and stood shoulder to shoulder
with the greastest friends you'll ever meet
we've all got each others backs
and because of that
i'm damn proud to wear this uniform
i'll fly a flag in my yard till the day i die
after where i've been
i'm damn glad to be alive
from germany to the middle east
i've seen war
and i've seen peace
i've seen gods children all over the world
from folks just like you and me
to those hungry little boys and girls
i've danced with the enemy
and stood shoulder to shoulder
with the greastest friends you'll ever meet
we've all got each others backs
and because of that
i'm damn proud to wear this uniform
you probably couldnt imagine some of the things i've been through
with this uniform i wear
comes great responsibility
i'll always be
all that i can be
its made an adult out of me
from germany to the middle east
i've seen war
and i've seen peace
i've seen gods children all over the world
from folks just like you and me
to those hungry little boys and girls
i've danced with the enemy
and stood shoulder to shoulder
with the greastest friends you'll ever meet
we've all got each others backs
and because of that
i'm damn proud to wear this uniform
i've been shot at
and people have tried to blow me up
but we stayed tough
and pushed through
i've lost some real good friends to this cause
but they died for your rights
some people just dont get to make it back from the fight
from germany to the middle east
i've seen war
and i've seen peace
i've seen gods children all over the world
from folks just like you and me
to those hungry little boys and girls
i've danced with the enemy
and stood shoulder to shoulder
with the greastest friends you'll ever meet
we've all got each others backs
and because of that
i'm damn proud to wear this uniform
i'll fly a flag in my yard till the day i die
after where i've been
i'm damn glad to be alive
from germany to the middle east
i've seen war
and i've seen peace
i've seen gods children all over the world
from folks just like you and me
to those hungry little boys and girls
i've danced with the enemy
and stood shoulder to shoulder
with the greastest friends you'll ever meet
we've all got each others backs
and because of that
i'm damn proud to wear this uniform
Under A Blood Red Moon
We was caught in hysteria
Feeling ever so humble
As the ground shook
With rage and with a sinister rumble
We chose our stance
Our chance to fight
We received concussions
and severe fright
As we charge through infinite valleys
of eternal death
In hope of catching a bullet between the teeth,
or bullet proof mesh.
This battlefield we just want to leave
With a final push, we heave.
The enemy’s relentless
They will find our side
far from defenceless
Out of ammo and out of luck
We just want to get out of this sea of muck
We want to go home
to our loved ones and friends
We want to go home
so our minds can mend.
Under a blood red moon,
and a crimson typhoon
I know I’ll see my family soon!
We was caught in hysteria
Feeling ever so humble
As the ground shook
With rage and with a sinister rumble
We chose our stance
Our chance to fight
We received concussions
and severe fright
As we charge through infinite valleys
of eternal death
In hope of catching a bullet between the teeth,
or bullet proof mesh.
This battlefield we just want to leave
With a final push, we heave.
The enemy’s relentless
They will find our side
far from defenceless
Out of ammo and out of luck
We just want to get out of this sea of muck
We want to go home
to our loved ones and friends
We want to go home
so our minds can mend.
Under a blood red moon,
and a crimson typhoon
I know I’ll see my family soon!
Anonymous
MaggieG said:[quote-163406-Strider]“Have Mercy on US for Saving Oilville”
Middle Eastern chess games
are a continual thing.
Bedouin feuds,
Western dudes,
monarchies and tyrannies,
politics and religions,
untold riches from oil
helped spoil a culture
rich in historical pedigree.
Like chameleons,
centuries old disputes
change with the winds of time.
This bloody instance, it was
a natural resource thing.
Invading Arab brothers had broken
through sovereign soil
to the Persian Gulf,
disputing slant-drilling
into the Fields of Rumelia.
These soldiers had come to stay,
dug in tight, would make Kuwait pay.
We couldn’t wait to save them-
the Kuwaitis, not the Iraqis.
A Call-to-Arms quickly whisked
us to solitary desert lands,
far away in the middle of nowhere,
sterile uninhabited wasteland
atop oil, oil, and even more oil,
some of the richest reserves
found on the entire planet.
For what it’s worth,
we had good intentions.
God Dammit, my comrades and I
toiled there a while without smiles.
But, who gives a shit these days and
does it really matter anyways?
If we’re not dead, we’ve all scattered
trying to forget economic mysteries,
the cost of human life.
Fourth Eye-Dee of the Storm,
steadfast and loyal we were,
waiting patiently in our hooches,
watching endless firebomb kaleidoscopes.
The shock waves felt like Richter twitches
perched atop our sandbagged outposts,
strewn on endless sandy horizons.
Warthogs and Eagles screamed overhead
twenty-four seven and then some.
While Spooky did it’s 105 thing,
we played backgammon, cranked Metallica,
smoked Camels, blew rings into the cool night air,
the constant explosions sounded like distant thunder.
Nobody wondered if we were right or wrong.
Manning a sixty is the shit.
It’s big and bad with heavy belts of shiny zip-zip.
With proper aim, it can rip apart anything.
Though, I wanted to light it up
at ghostly things in the night,
I never got the chance to use it.
Not a single f-ing fire fight.
Shucks, that sucked.
I had Night Vision.
The glitter-flyboys got most of the action,
guaranteed satisfaction from
gyroscope pin-point coordinates
radioed in on secure AWAC freqs.
What a wacky way to fight a war,
just moving flaps and pushing buttons.
But it worked, the beauty of modern technology
to kill en masse, done surgically clean,
neatly and so sickly sweet.
You never see the faces.
The whistle finally blew for us to scoot,
we rolled like steel thunder leaving
clouds of heavy dust in our wake,
vicious snakes on the move with venom.
What the hell, we tooted our horn,
this was for freedoms sake,
we were a rock and roll army
of death, man-made earthquakes,
wanting to shake and bake.
Some enemy engagement we had--
twenty minutes of incoming
suppressed in thirty seconds.
It was lightning quick, all dead
no friendly casualties.
In short order, we were on them
like wind scorpions on termites.
No match for us, the invading liberators,
the lines of wide-eyed shell-shocked
un-armed Republicans seemed endless,
prisoners coming to the victors in droves.
Some dropped to their shaky knees,
begged to be spared before
evaporating into pitch billows,
tar smoke kissing the blue sky black,
it looked like we had entered hell itself.
No angels were seen anywhere.
Incredibly surreal,
a different kind of world,
one of in-human chaos.
We were far from Kansas,
Toto did not make it,
neither did Dorothy,
only the Tin Men.
We celebrated days of sad burials,
mass graves of enemy slaves
in unknown graves
by the thousands.
I still cry today,
knowing flowers
do not grow in that place.
Desolate arid lands filled with dead sons
who had mothers somewhere crying just like me.
If its some consolation, they put the rig fires out.
After all, the money had to flow again.
Dear God, have mercy on US for saving Oilville.
The 4th I.D. indeed Hooah ! Uley went to war with them twice, and I couldn't have felt less worried. Good People !
I like your last line... *smirks* Yeah... we are the only ones who benefited from that, right ? [/quote]
Thanks uley and maggieg...steadfast and loyal here strider!
Middle Eastern chess games
are a continual thing.
Bedouin feuds,
Western dudes,
monarchies and tyrannies,
politics and religions,
untold riches from oil
helped spoil a culture
rich in historical pedigree.
Like chameleons,
centuries old disputes
change with the winds of time.
This bloody instance, it was
a natural resource thing.
Invading Arab brothers had broken
through sovereign soil
to the Persian Gulf,
disputing slant-drilling
into the Fields of Rumelia.
These soldiers had come to stay,
dug in tight, would make Kuwait pay.
We couldn’t wait to save them-
the Kuwaitis, not the Iraqis.
A Call-to-Arms quickly whisked
us to solitary desert lands,
far away in the middle of nowhere,
sterile uninhabited wasteland
atop oil, oil, and even more oil,
some of the richest reserves
found on the entire planet.
For what it’s worth,
we had good intentions.
God Dammit, my comrades and I
toiled there a while without smiles.
But, who gives a shit these days and
does it really matter anyways?
If we’re not dead, we’ve all scattered
trying to forget economic mysteries,
the cost of human life.
Fourth Eye-Dee of the Storm,
steadfast and loyal we were,
waiting patiently in our hooches,
watching endless firebomb kaleidoscopes.
The shock waves felt like Richter twitches
perched atop our sandbagged outposts,
strewn on endless sandy horizons.
Warthogs and Eagles screamed overhead
twenty-four seven and then some.
While Spooky did it’s 105 thing,
we played backgammon, cranked Metallica,
smoked Camels, blew rings into the cool night air,
the constant explosions sounded like distant thunder.
Nobody wondered if we were right or wrong.
Manning a sixty is the shit.
It’s big and bad with heavy belts of shiny zip-zip.
With proper aim, it can rip apart anything.
Though, I wanted to light it up
at ghostly things in the night,
I never got the chance to use it.
Not a single f-ing fire fight.
Shucks, that sucked.
I had Night Vision.
The glitter-flyboys got most of the action,
guaranteed satisfaction from
gyroscope pin-point coordinates
radioed in on secure AWAC freqs.
What a wacky way to fight a war,
just moving flaps and pushing buttons.
But it worked, the beauty of modern technology
to kill en masse, done surgically clean,
neatly and so sickly sweet.
You never see the faces.
The whistle finally blew for us to scoot,
we rolled like steel thunder leaving
clouds of heavy dust in our wake,
vicious snakes on the move with venom.
What the hell, we tooted our horn,
this was for freedoms sake,
we were a rock and roll army
of death, man-made earthquakes,
wanting to shake and bake.
Some enemy engagement we had--
twenty minutes of incoming
suppressed in thirty seconds.
It was lightning quick, all dead
no friendly casualties.
In short order, we were on them
like wind scorpions on termites.
No match for us, the invading liberators,
the lines of wide-eyed shell-shocked
un-armed Republicans seemed endless,
prisoners coming to the victors in droves.
Some dropped to their shaky knees,
begged to be spared before
evaporating into pitch billows,
tar smoke kissing the blue sky black,
it looked like we had entered hell itself.
No angels were seen anywhere.
Incredibly surreal,
a different kind of world,
one of in-human chaos.
We were far from Kansas,
Toto did not make it,
neither did Dorothy,
only the Tin Men.
We celebrated days of sad burials,
mass graves of enemy slaves
in unknown graves
by the thousands.
I still cry today,
knowing flowers
do not grow in that place.
Desolate arid lands filled with dead sons
who had mothers somewhere crying just like me.
If its some consolation, they put the rig fires out.
After all, the money had to flow again.
Dear God, have mercy on US for saving Oilville.
The 4th I.D. indeed
Hooah ! Uley went to war with them twice, and I couldn't have felt less worried. Good People ! I like your last line... *smirks* Yeah... we are the only ones who benefited from that, right ?
[/quote] Thanks uley and maggieg...steadfast and loyal here strider!
Freedom of Choice
Lucky are those who were born free,
but senseless--forcing others to take it
Our very own cognizance of Freedom
may differ from those we want to impose.
While we clamor for gay and abortion rights,
and other human rights so many to mention,
do you really think other people care
when all their concern is the right to exist?
Do you believe we're truly an advocate for Freedom
when we encroach on foreign lands to satisfy our craving?
We just feed the needs of everyone's lust
for absolute power and total control.
We look dashing when we arrived on sheep's cloaks
and very eloquent spreading words about Democracy,
yet, don't you think we are trampling upon someone's rights
when we leave them no choice to embrace ours?
Those who accept our Trade with open arms
and support our ideologies, are friendly Allies...
But how do we treat and call those people
who are innocent and peaceful before we give them a living Hell?
Have we not learned from History?
From time immemorial to present generation
nobody wins a War--except for battles fought,
but the war mongers and entrepreneurs standing tall.
From the dense jungles to the rugged mountains,
down by the raging rivers and valleys of Death--
our young soldiers bravely marched and fought
losing their limbs and precious lives for naught.
As long as we are engaged in galactic StarWars
and our greedy hearts don't fail to sustain,
then my dream of Peace and freedom to choose,
drifts with the wind, and buried in the abyss.
Lucky are those who were born free,
but senseless--forcing others to take it
Our very own cognizance of Freedom
may differ from those we want to impose.
While we clamor for gay and abortion rights,
and other human rights so many to mention,
do you really think other people care
when all their concern is the right to exist?
Do you believe we're truly an advocate for Freedom
when we encroach on foreign lands to satisfy our craving?
We just feed the needs of everyone's lust
for absolute power and total control.
We look dashing when we arrived on sheep's cloaks
and very eloquent spreading words about Democracy,
yet, don't you think we are trampling upon someone's rights
when we leave them no choice to embrace ours?
Those who accept our Trade with open arms
and support our ideologies, are friendly Allies...
But how do we treat and call those people
who are innocent and peaceful before we give them a living Hell?
Have we not learned from History?
From time immemorial to present generation
nobody wins a War--except for battles fought,
but the war mongers and entrepreneurs standing tall.
From the dense jungles to the rugged mountains,
down by the raging rivers and valleys of Death--
our young soldiers bravely marched and fought
losing their limbs and precious lives for naught.
As long as we are engaged in galactic StarWars
and our greedy hearts don't fail to sustain,
then my dream of Peace and freedom to choose,
drifts with the wind, and buried in the abyss.
I really enjoyed this ravenwing. It reminds me so much of USAF boot camp. Life after that in the AF was awesome though!
By Ravenwing
"Military Girls
Almost four am in cold and drafty quiet;
a fold of eight in separate comfy bunks
arrayed in peaceful silence. Gentle nests
in twin dorm rooms at rest on either side
of a bathroom, a single solitary throne,
in comfortless utility, the shower space
maybe four by four and not much more,
in the ladies Navy barracks on the base.
They all at once communally succumb
beyond their slumbers deep and numb
to bleeps and squeaks and ringing bells;
undeniable sounds of noise envelopes,
raucous bellowed voices rise to waken
sleeping babes, as music fills the place
with hip-hop, classical and rock ‘n roll
in syncopated rhythm section cadence.
Do rise and shine my precious darlings,
for it’s just another cheerful Navy day
in service to your country on this base.
So they must take their stumbling stroll
amid the maze of sleepy, sluggish girls
all sharing paradise. Who must perform
a tricky dance of waltz and twinkle toes
to shower on display; toothpaste march
in bras with skimpy drawers and thongs,
in their customary close quarters crush.
Mirrors weep and vanish in a hazy mist
rising off the shower; as florid fragrance
fills the air eight hair dryers roar to power.
Drifting hair spray reeks and floats about
and to every weeping eye is then applied
mascara, for fashion’s feminine disguise.
Then dressed in dungarees of dingy blue
and those polished shoes of boy’s repute
while shiny girly tresses are tucked into
undistinguished nests of uniform unrest.
Grunts or groans and high pitched verbs
while powdered velvet shoulders merge
with flailing arms; elbows brush a cheek
in congenial unarmed combat to compete
to exchange this carnival of camaraderie
for inhumanity in the galley. Breakfast,
and the coffee; stand in line to get it first.
Six am comes faster than a sailor’s curse."
By Ravenwing
"Military Girls
Almost four am in cold and drafty quiet;
a fold of eight in separate comfy bunks
arrayed in peaceful silence. Gentle nests
in twin dorm rooms at rest on either side
of a bathroom, a single solitary throne,
in comfortless utility, the shower space
maybe four by four and not much more,
in the ladies Navy barracks on the base.
They all at once communally succumb
beyond their slumbers deep and numb
to bleeps and squeaks and ringing bells;
undeniable sounds of noise envelopes,
raucous bellowed voices rise to waken
sleeping babes, as music fills the place
with hip-hop, classical and rock ‘n roll
in syncopated rhythm section cadence.
Do rise and shine my precious darlings,
for it’s just another cheerful Navy day
in service to your country on this base.
So they must take their stumbling stroll
amid the maze of sleepy, sluggish girls
all sharing paradise. Who must perform
a tricky dance of waltz and twinkle toes
to shower on display; toothpaste march
in bras with skimpy drawers and thongs,
in their customary close quarters crush.
Mirrors weep and vanish in a hazy mist
rising off the shower; as florid fragrance
fills the air eight hair dryers roar to power.
Drifting hair spray reeks and floats about
and to every weeping eye is then applied
mascara, for fashion’s feminine disguise.
Then dressed in dungarees of dingy blue
and those polished shoes of boy’s repute
while shiny girly tresses are tucked into
undistinguished nests of uniform unrest.
Grunts or groans and high pitched verbs
while powdered velvet shoulders merge
with flailing arms; elbows brush a cheek
in congenial unarmed combat to compete
to exchange this carnival of camaraderie
for inhumanity in the galley. Breakfast,
and the coffee; stand in line to get it first.
Six am comes faster than a sailor’s curse."
Strider said:[quote-163421-MaggieG][quote-163406-Strider]“Have Mercy on US for Saving Oilville”
Middle Eastern chess games
are a continual thing.
Bedouin feuds,
Western dudes,
monarchies and tyrannies,
politics and religions,
untold riches from oil
helped spoil a culture
rich in historical pedigree.
Like chameleons,
centuries old disputes
change with the winds of time.
This bloody instance, it was
a natural resource thing.
Invading Arab brothers had broken
through sovereign soil
to the Persian Gulf,
disputing slant-drilling
into the Fields of Rumelia.
These soldiers had come to stay,
dug in tight, would make Kuwait pay.
We couldn’t wait to save them-
the Kuwaitis, not the Iraqis.
A Call-to-Arms quickly whisked
us to solitary desert lands,
far away in the middle of nowhere,
sterile uninhabited wasteland
atop oil, oil, and even more oil,
some of the richest reserves
found on the entire planet.
For what it’s worth,
we had good intentions.
God Dammit, my comrades and I
toiled there a while without smiles.
But, who gives a shit these days and
does it really matter anyways?
If we’re not dead, we’ve all scattered
trying to forget economic mysteries,
the cost of human life.
Fourth Eye-Dee of the Storm,
steadfast and loyal we were,
waiting patiently in our hooches,
watching endless firebomb kaleidoscopes.
The shock waves felt like Richter twitches
perched atop our sandbagged outposts,
strewn on endless sandy horizons.
Warthogs and Eagles screamed overhead
twenty-four seven and then some.
While Spooky did it’s 105 thing,
we played backgammon, cranked Metallica,
smoked Camels, blew rings into the cool night air,
the constant explosions sounded like distant thunder.
Nobody wondered if we were right or wrong.
Manning a sixty is the shit.
It’s big and bad with heavy belts of shiny zip-zip.
With proper aim, it can rip apart anything.
Though, I wanted to light it up
at ghostly things in the night,
I never got the chance to use it.
Not a single f-ing fire fight.
Shucks, that sucked.
I had Night Vision.
The glitter-flyboys got most of the action,
guaranteed satisfaction from
gyroscope pin-point coordinates
radioed in on secure AWAC freqs.
What a wacky way to fight a war,
just moving flaps and pushing buttons.
But it worked, the beauty of modern technology
to kill en masse, done surgically clean,
neatly and so sickly sweet.
You never see the faces.
The whistle finally blew for us to scoot,
we rolled like steel thunder leaving
clouds of heavy dust in our wake,
vicious snakes on the move with venom.
What the hell, we tooted our horn,
this was for freedoms sake,
we were a rock and roll army
of death, man-made earthquakes,
wanting to shake and bake.
Some enemy engagement we had--
twenty minutes of incoming
suppressed in thirty seconds.
It was lightning quick, all dead
no friendly casualties.
In short order, we were on them
like wind scorpions on termites.
No match for us, the invading liberators,
the lines of wide-eyed shell-shocked
un-armed Republicans seemed endless,
prisoners coming to the victors in droves.
Some dropped to their shaky knees,
begged to be spared before
evaporating into pitch billows,
tar smoke kissing the blue sky black,
it looked like we had entered hell itself.
No angels were seen anywhere.
Incredibly surreal,
a different kind of world,
one of in-human chaos.
We were far from Kansas,
Toto did not make it,
neither did Dorothy,
only the Tin Men.
We celebrated days of sad burials,
mass graves of enemy slaves
in unknown graves
by the thousands.
I still cry today,
knowing flowers
do not grow in that place.
Desolate arid lands filled with dead sons
who had mothers somewhere crying just like me.
If its some consolation, they put the rig fires out.
After all, the money had to flow again.
Dear God, have mercy on US for saving Oilville.
The 4th I.D. indeed Hooah ! Uley went to war with them twice, and I couldn't have felt less worried. Good People !
I like your last line... *smirks* Yeah... we are the only ones who benefited from that, right ? [/quote]
Thanks uley and maggieg...steadfast and loyal here strider![/quote]
4th id hoah!!!
Middle Eastern chess games
are a continual thing.
Bedouin feuds,
Western dudes,
monarchies and tyrannies,
politics and religions,
untold riches from oil
helped spoil a culture
rich in historical pedigree.
Like chameleons,
centuries old disputes
change with the winds of time.
This bloody instance, it was
a natural resource thing.
Invading Arab brothers had broken
through sovereign soil
to the Persian Gulf,
disputing slant-drilling
into the Fields of Rumelia.
These soldiers had come to stay,
dug in tight, would make Kuwait pay.
We couldn’t wait to save them-
the Kuwaitis, not the Iraqis.
A Call-to-Arms quickly whisked
us to solitary desert lands,
far away in the middle of nowhere,
sterile uninhabited wasteland
atop oil, oil, and even more oil,
some of the richest reserves
found on the entire planet.
For what it’s worth,
we had good intentions.
God Dammit, my comrades and I
toiled there a while without smiles.
But, who gives a shit these days and
does it really matter anyways?
If we’re not dead, we’ve all scattered
trying to forget economic mysteries,
the cost of human life.
Fourth Eye-Dee of the Storm,
steadfast and loyal we were,
waiting patiently in our hooches,
watching endless firebomb kaleidoscopes.
The shock waves felt like Richter twitches
perched atop our sandbagged outposts,
strewn on endless sandy horizons.
Warthogs and Eagles screamed overhead
twenty-four seven and then some.
While Spooky did it’s 105 thing,
we played backgammon, cranked Metallica,
smoked Camels, blew rings into the cool night air,
the constant explosions sounded like distant thunder.
Nobody wondered if we were right or wrong.
Manning a sixty is the shit.
It’s big and bad with heavy belts of shiny zip-zip.
With proper aim, it can rip apart anything.
Though, I wanted to light it up
at ghostly things in the night,
I never got the chance to use it.
Not a single f-ing fire fight.
Shucks, that sucked.
I had Night Vision.
The glitter-flyboys got most of the action,
guaranteed satisfaction from
gyroscope pin-point coordinates
radioed in on secure AWAC freqs.
What a wacky way to fight a war,
just moving flaps and pushing buttons.
But it worked, the beauty of modern technology
to kill en masse, done surgically clean,
neatly and so sickly sweet.
You never see the faces.
The whistle finally blew for us to scoot,
we rolled like steel thunder leaving
clouds of heavy dust in our wake,
vicious snakes on the move with venom.
What the hell, we tooted our horn,
this was for freedoms sake,
we were a rock and roll army
of death, man-made earthquakes,
wanting to shake and bake.
Some enemy engagement we had--
twenty minutes of incoming
suppressed in thirty seconds.
It was lightning quick, all dead
no friendly casualties.
In short order, we were on them
like wind scorpions on termites.
No match for us, the invading liberators,
the lines of wide-eyed shell-shocked
un-armed Republicans seemed endless,
prisoners coming to the victors in droves.
Some dropped to their shaky knees,
begged to be spared before
evaporating into pitch billows,
tar smoke kissing the blue sky black,
it looked like we had entered hell itself.
No angels were seen anywhere.
Incredibly surreal,
a different kind of world,
one of in-human chaos.
We were far from Kansas,
Toto did not make it,
neither did Dorothy,
only the Tin Men.
We celebrated days of sad burials,
mass graves of enemy slaves
in unknown graves
by the thousands.
I still cry today,
knowing flowers
do not grow in that place.
Desolate arid lands filled with dead sons
who had mothers somewhere crying just like me.
If its some consolation, they put the rig fires out.
After all, the money had to flow again.
Dear God, have mercy on US for saving Oilville.
The 4th I.D. indeed
Hooah ! Uley went to war with them twice, and I couldn't have felt less worried. Good People ! I like your last line... *smirks* Yeah... we are the only ones who benefited from that, right ?
[/quote] Thanks uley and maggieg...steadfast and loyal here strider![/quote]
4th id hoah!!!
Noble Soldiers: Rise of the Patriot
By
Chaos_Collector
9/19/12
Prepared the best he can, he says goodbye to all he loves back at home
An immense will to serve his country lies within his dauntless one
He yearns to fight with honor in the wake of our valiant fathers and sons
So we may see our flag wave another day in the blazing sun
With peerless effort, he eradicates fear in his heart
The perilous battlefield is a stochastic place, so you must forever be on guard
He fights with valor alongside his brothers in arms
Thus liberty in our country shines afar
His heart is stained with the stigma of fallen heroes yet he presses on
Continuing with determination in the glory of those lost
So that we may live as one nation, under God
Off to the battlefields, is a spirit of steel fighting for a new dawn
He wears his ACU in combat proudly
Upholding pride and honor in every endeavor of selfless service hourly
In hopes to one day return home to his family
This soldier fights with the hopes and dreams of this epic nation happily
A wife attends the funeral of her husband, who died
So that his fellow comrades may still walk this terra
Those very soldiers stand at the position of attention in their dress blues
The National Anthem plays and she knows her husband died for a greater cause in this era
And so she said “God bless America”…
By
Chaos_Collector
9/19/12
Prepared the best he can, he says goodbye to all he loves back at home
An immense will to serve his country lies within his dauntless one
He yearns to fight with honor in the wake of our valiant fathers and sons
So we may see our flag wave another day in the blazing sun
With peerless effort, he eradicates fear in his heart
The perilous battlefield is a stochastic place, so you must forever be on guard
He fights with valor alongside his brothers in arms
Thus liberty in our country shines afar
His heart is stained with the stigma of fallen heroes yet he presses on
Continuing with determination in the glory of those lost
So that we may live as one nation, under God
Off to the battlefields, is a spirit of steel fighting for a new dawn
He wears his ACU in combat proudly
Upholding pride and honor in every endeavor of selfless service hourly
In hopes to one day return home to his family
This soldier fights with the hopes and dreams of this epic nation happily
A wife attends the funeral of her husband, who died
So that his fellow comrades may still walk this terra
Those very soldiers stand at the position of attention in their dress blues
The National Anthem plays and she knows her husband died for a greater cause in this era
And so she said “God bless America”…
old poem:
http://deepundergroundpoetry.com/images/uploads/poemimages/9568.jpg
< heroin >
watching Mike
late at night
Fort Bliss
our barracks
the vacant sergeant's room
his face in the light from his candle
(a Virgin Mary votive from
a little shop in Jaurez)
holding his tiny Pyrex beaker over it
"majored in chemistry", he says
dissolving his heroin
Jeff and i bum a little
roll it into our joint
(the grass we get down here is so poor)
the brown powder makes the joint sputter
(but it works just fine)
the vacant sergeant's room...
i come here to sit, to write
to fuck some guy i met at the PX
to come down from acid
to listen to Jeff play his guitar
(his hands, his fingers as they move)
to watch Mike
slowly
carefully
dissolving his heroin
- - -
Steely faces on the battle line
nervous looks as we wait for the sign
just pawns in a sick man's game
you want to leave,Ha, Too late.
A cold wind blows across the field
in the air you can smell the fear
ask yourself why must we die
to appease some twisted pride
our faces change every day
in bags we are taken away
nervous looks as we wait for the sign
just pawns in a sick man's game
you want to leave,Ha, Too late.
A cold wind blows across the field
in the air you can smell the fear
ask yourself why must we die
to appease some twisted pride
our faces change every day
in bags we are taken away
Battle hardened and steadfast,
the soldier clenches his teeth.
On the advance against the enemy,
in a foreign country
He has never seen,
until now.
He is afraid, but also proud
death will have him today.
Belief in his government
holds a duty to his country,
on he walks
against the enemy.
Head first into the line of fire,
as his skull catches a bullet.
Lain out on the desert sand
blood etched
pieces of his skull metres away,
and death take him.
the soldier clenches his teeth.
On the advance against the enemy,
in a foreign country
He has never seen,
until now.
He is afraid, but also proud
death will have him today.
Belief in his government
holds a duty to his country,
on he walks
against the enemy.
Head first into the line of fire,
as his skull catches a bullet.
Lain out on the desert sand
blood etched
pieces of his skull metres away,
and death take him.
My condolences
-------------
It was a letter
government stamped
given to her
in no real
compassionate fashion
as the soldier
who stood there
in indifferent sadness
to a comrade he hardly knew
walked away faster
then he approached
and she opened it
and read
the inscription
that he was a great man
who was apart of a great fight
but had died
trying to save a child
from friendly fire
-------------
It was a letter
government stamped
given to her
in no real
compassionate fashion
as the soldier
who stood there
in indifferent sadness
to a comrade he hardly knew
walked away faster
then he approached
and she opened it
and read
the inscription
that he was a great man
who was apart of a great fight
but had died
trying to save a child
from friendly fire
Women: Are They in Binders?
http://theaviationist.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/03/122794690_31n.jpg
Gentle is the touch of a woman's hand,
as she glides expertly in the abyss of perpetual darkness
emerging from the sea of tumultuous clouds,
and spraying the rows of thirsty palms
along the blazing desert of inferno
with a deep bass and chattered sound,
like an old sewing machine, stitching to the ground.
If the hand that pulls a trigger and kills without empathy
belongs to a Woman...
Does it make any difference?
Women have greater compassion and sensitivity
according to some clinical study
Taking lives-- not giving, sustaining and nurturing;
is it a cultural shift not in the right direction?
Women in society, are they in binders?
They give Life,
sustain Life,
nurture Life...
Somebody claimed he had a binder full of women;
it makes me wonder what they can do--
For as long as they are just in binders,
they will remain in oblivion and forever voiceless.
Women who demand equal pay and equal rights
send the unexpecting into a whirlwind of confusion;
those who are gender-biased and narcissistic,
find it hard to swallow and comprehend.
Don't women deserve anything greater,
for sometimes they could led better
in combat or office settings, and many more?
Let's ask Lilly, for she knew it's now or never.
_______________________________________________
(A tribute to women fighter pilots and to Lilly)
Photo credit: theaviationist.com
http://theaviationist.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/03/122794690_31n.jpg
Gentle is the touch of a woman's hand,
as she glides expertly in the abyss of perpetual darkness
emerging from the sea of tumultuous clouds,
and spraying the rows of thirsty palms
along the blazing desert of inferno
with a deep bass and chattered sound,
like an old sewing machine, stitching to the ground.
If the hand that pulls a trigger and kills without empathy
belongs to a Woman...
Does it make any difference?
Women have greater compassion and sensitivity
according to some clinical study
Taking lives-- not giving, sustaining and nurturing;
is it a cultural shift not in the right direction?
Women in society, are they in binders?
They give Life,
sustain Life,
nurture Life...
Somebody claimed he had a binder full of women;
it makes me wonder what they can do--
For as long as they are just in binders,
they will remain in oblivion and forever voiceless.
Women who demand equal pay and equal rights
send the unexpecting into a whirlwind of confusion;
those who are gender-biased and narcissistic,
find it hard to swallow and comprehend.
Don't women deserve anything greater,
for sometimes they could led better
in combat or office settings, and many more?
Let's ask Lilly, for she knew it's now or never.
_______________________________________________
(A tribute to women fighter pilots and to Lilly)
Photo credit: theaviationist.com
