This is the new blog...CONFESSION ZERO
Showing posts with label casualties. Show all posts
Showing posts with label casualties. Show all posts

FOUR THOUSAND



(A Poetic Justice Photomontage)
(click photomontage to enlarge)


BAGHDAD - U.S. officials said Monday they will press forward in the fight against extremists in Iraq a day after the overall U.S. death toll in the five-year conflict rose to 4,000.

The White House called the grim milestone “a sober moment” and said President Bush spends time every day thinking about those who have lost their lives in battle.

“He bears the responsibility for the decisions that he made,” White House press secretary Dana Perino said. “He also bears the responsibility to continue to focus on succeeding.”
(...U.S. death toll in Iraq reaches 4,000...Bush says outcome of war will 'merit the sacrifice')

FOUR THOUSAND
(a poem by thepoetryman)


Four thousand rolled away,
Warriors striding on home.
Four thousand rolled away,
Packed down beneath the loam.

Blind are the men of warring.
Deaf are the men of policy.
Dumb are imperial leaders,
Crippled of a thirst for music.

Four thousand rolled away,
Warriors striding on home.
Four thousand rolled away,
Packed down beneath the loam.

Songs go unsung among bones;
No ears heed the joyous choir,
No eyes observe the living score,
No blood left within their delight.

Four thousand rolled away,
Warriors striding on home.
Four thousand rolled away,
Packed down beneath the loam.

Leaders, blind and wicked are those
With no wings painted upon them;
Only hoisting their wretched talons
Should the music ever change.



© 2008 mrp/thepoetryman

Rolling along "U"...

un blogger SCEPTIK - UnAmerican Revolution - uncomfortably numb - Urban Unrest



AT THE PLEASURE OF THE PRESIDENT



It is easy enough to kill a mouse
Even to wound or maim or squish;
Crush with a shoe. I have seen it done. I have seen this,

The outcome; petite legs broadened,
Turned awkwardly outward

Like some unsuspecting possum on the road,
Like a newly wet canvas of an enraged serial killer,

And how afterward the sole of the shoe seems different,
As if invincible, carrying now the influence of death.

Yes. It is easy enough to kill a mouse,
Even to wound or maim or squish,
Crush with a shoe. I have seen it done. I have seen this.

It is not, I suppose, like crushing a child.
It is not, I suppose, like flattening the human frame,

Unless you’re a monster marching through the village
Stomping the least of the insignificant clutching at giants.



© 2007 mrp/thepoetryman

DEAD MAN MARCHING

READ THE POEM +/-
WASHINGTON (AP) -- The Army said Friday it would apologize to the families of about 275 officers killed or wounded in action who were mistakenly sent letters urging them to return to active duty.
The letters were sent a few days after Christmas to more than 5,100 Army officers who had recently left the service. Included were letters to about 75 officers killed in action and about 200 wounded in
action.

"Army personnel officials are contacting those officers' families now to personally apologise for erroneously sending the letters," the army said in a statement.
It said the database normally used for such correspondence with former officers had been "thoroughly reviewed" to remove the names of dead and wounded soldiers.
"But an earlier list was used inadvertently for the December mailings,"
it added.

It is astounding, senseless, and reprehensible.
Dispatched lifeless things. Painful expressions
landing impassive upon the gaping face of loss.

Words teetering drunkenly, hand to hand to eye
newly dampened with woe and numbing queries
of how, what, when, where, why…

Wounds reopened to the fresh pinch of grief
and the smoldering task of remembrance;
tracing the whispering shape of their face,
recalling the laughter spill forth their red lips.

Slowly now in immense shuddering, like a gale
reaching under the rafters, it lifts them,
forcing love to its knees once again.

It is astounding, indefensible, and rather dreadful,
and there is a terrible irony woven within it;
the fact that the regrettable letters were sent
to those already dead... isn't the real tragedy.




Previous Post - THE WAR DRUMS



THREE THOUSAND MARCHING

READ THE POEM +/-




The marching numbers are a tomb of shattered years
and on the sand and marsh they hunt soldiers down and cut
them and mangle them where they stand. One. Two. Three.
They wait and wait, and rapidly they pounce, opening fire,
closing doors, swinging death to and fro! And the laughter…
The laughter of marching numbers calls out for the next
and the next and the next and the next and the laughter
so politicians can sleep amid the screech of striding tombs,
so the subsequent-crazy-sonofabitch can cackle liberty
or some such malarkey. Fourteen. Eighty. One hundred!

What of the fallen, the voiceless, the bludgeoned, the duped,
if only they could now see the numbers amusement they’d be so
goddamned envious, wouldn’t they? Goddamned green with it!
Bulletproof vests are for the living! Three hundred. Four hundred.
Armored hummers are for the red cheeked fortunate and breathing.
One thousand thirty four. The dancing. They wait and wait and wait.
Rapidly they pounce! Sniper, IED, RPG, swinging death to and fro…
And the laughter! My God! The laughter! Two thousand forty-seven
so some crazy-lazy-sonofabitch can curl up next to his pale existence,
slither up against his black liquefied imaginings and self-abhorrence.

There must be more time, more hope, more love, not more numbers, right?
They march as we turn our twisted faces away and peace is murdered;
Shot through the goddamned mouth while bloody calling out for help!
Tortured while we wait for God to blow the whistle or throw in the towel.
Shrieking peace against two-thousand and six obedient numbers waiting,
waiting, waiting for the rapid pounce of tombs to stuff them under.
And the goddamned laughter! That motherfucker won’t stop laughing!
Jesus Christ! Three thousand slain only amuses this cockeyed Caesar!
The numbers continue to march by on their way to the sullied gallows
So some slothful-no-good-sonofabitch can snuggle up against tyranny…
And the laughter... O! The Goddamned laughter!



Copyright © 2007 mrp / thepoetryman


3,000th U.S. soldier killed in Iraq

16,273 Deaths Reported in Iraq in 2006

U.S. Toll In Iraq Reaches 3,000

Updated Military Fatalities: By Time Period




PREVIOUS POST - Esther Sparks (Peace)

THRUSTING AMERICA'S LOVE OUTWARD

I compel you to love your country.

To draw her into your arms ever so tenderly,
To embrace her softly, dearly to your heart,
To huddle close, near together her masses,
And sense her least sustained yearning.

I compel you to love your country.

A nation that lifted the breast of humanity
Caressing it tenderly toward equality’s rapture
With gentle fingers of selfless, searing desire
Exploring over her ever toward paradise.

I compel you to love your country.

Freedom lovers damp in stiff-limbed writhing
Stumbling kisses upon red-barreled bravery,
Softly probing her robust and supple liberty,
Heed now her cries of woeful sovereignty!

I compel you to love your country.

Between her Trail of Tears and Mount Misery
She still waits upon the coupled plains of affection
Ready for our design and mastery of this worlds love
Panting heavy expectation upon her shape.

I compel you to love your country.

Perched upon the shore of Rolles Creek she waits
With Mount Pleasant in reach of her willing fingers.
With expectant sounds of closure now within her folds
She lunges forth with an expectant mouth!

I compel you to love your country.

O! Gentle sleep now beckons to her languid pink flesh
As the rogues tongue laps at her ebbing shores of joy
And beckons her let go of her valuable love’s embrace
Lunging forth behind her eager lips!

She counters not… for she is the boiling hunger we seek.

What a devoted worship we’ve had with the motherland.
Many a great poet has written their songs upon her flesh;
Their bright and shimmering waters lapping her shores
In ardent freedom’s want of hopes howling, dripping heat.

I compel you to love the world!

On this day of days let us remember her youthful glow,
Her ripe fruit of wonder, her drowsy ache of emancipation,
Her most alluring burnish upon our exploring of her skin.
(The burden of immense throbbing now falls upon her heart!)

I compel you to love the world!

America, carry your waves to all shores. Hope, not savagery,
In your goodness, not in impudent desire to control destiny.
Leave not the naked child, but your desire alone on the road.
Shelter not your intentions, but those most needful and hungry.

I compel you to love the world!

We have been witness to our dove, crippled and flailing in terror!
We’ve been onlookers to our expectations emerging fruitless.
Watching unmoved while our oily desire bleeds into the waters
And the cold white eyes of death tread progressively before us.

I compel you to love the world!

Come now, peace. Come now, warriors, lay down your guns
To witness the beauty at your hands as she lays down your sword
And with dripping red lips envelops your craving to possess her.
Do you not hear the night voices calling you with an angels whisper?

I compel you to love the world!

To open the door and step out into the bright sun, desire can wait.
Take notice of the many tender, breathing, soul-caked living.
Gaze upon the world’s most unbendable faith in humanity.
Gently touch her skin, delicately massage her furious soil.

I compel you to love the world!

Enter her sculpting space and weave a covering made of lifeless war.
Paint upon her face a gentle art made of your temples sweat.
Scribe a love song upon her back with the eagle’s most willing blood.
Erect in her a tower of light for all to see that they might weep.

I compel you to love the world!

The masses of age lie here and we should not be so ready to die
Like confused animal’s hooved in selfishness, deficient and artless.
The world is full of freedom lovers damp in stiff-limbed writhing
Stumbling kisses upon red-barreled bravery, tenderly probing liberty.

I compel you to love the world!

Amid her supple lands and majestic mountains she waits our affection,
Ready for our desire and design embracing her most ready warmth
Needing our hot hope upon her shape, wanton as wide-eyed first love.
(Heed now the world’s hot desire for freedom pulling us in.)

With hopeful whisper's within her waters, she leans forth, expectant.




Copyright © 2006 mrp / thepoetryman

DEAD IS DEAD



Rory said:

“Dead is dead whether you are killed in a civil war or not. Broken and ruined is the same whether it resulted from "torture" or "intensive interrogation methods." Incineration by phosphorous feels the same whether you call it willie pete or w. bush.”

Rory, this one is for you my friend…


_________________________

O! How white-hot and dead are these times
We still have some you know
Time
They still have a little
The center of life still throbs within us
seamless
Like a finely woven cloth masking our winter
10, 20, 100,
180 thousand

These others
Broken shells of breath maligned in rage
Soldiers standing in stunned reverie
Protecting their friends from fire
Ingesting the barbs of their own
torturous slaughter there

Phosphorous showering them in shrieking
For a king without a throne
a nation without a leader
a soul
a heart
a prayer

Rifles and tanks
RPG
IED
Tramping wet ground caked in the sap
Of existence and solemnity
Their reckoning-a-rata-tat-tat harmony
Heaps on
with each skull
Each gut
Each leg
Each arm
Each soul

Dead
is
dead




mrp

White Phosphorous Grenade

IraqBodyCount

Rocket Propelled Grenade



GUT KICKED



Damn hard to espy all this madness,
e’en be sobbing, trembling, tomorrow...
Horror, anger, hatred, sheer sadness;
complicitness, and loathsome sorrow!
Sights and sounds! Death and dying!
Gut kicked, head split, protruding eye!
Round and round inside my mind!
Stop it! Turn it away! Continue lying!
Tell me what I fancy hearing! Tell me!
Hell! I can be bought! I can be swayed!
But just stop this, my trembling, today!
Christ! Tell me I’m dreaming, I’ll believe!
I can no longer this grim madness discern,
nor can I gaze upon the vigor of sweet life
drained needlessly for a goddamned profit!
So do it! Murder them! Just make it quick!


The Madness of Empire

War Propoganda

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