The Cost of War

Posted on May 14, 2010 by CitizenPoet
 
The cost of war is getting costlier in Afghanistan. According to USA Today, based on the February figures, the monthly cost of fighting the war in Afghanistan has surpassed that of fighting in Iraq–$6.7 billion in Afghanistan, compared with $5.5 billion in Iraq. I know we had to expand our efforts in that country, but the question is, are we doing enough or too little. I heard today that the generals are saying no one is winning there. No one is winning.
 
No one ever wins in war. Unless the enemy is either assimilated or destroyed. The question then is really quite simple. What are we prepared to do? Since there is no answer from those in command who are much smarter than me, I found myself writing a poem–another war poem. Damn,  I hate war. And I hate the human tragedy of war, the sad stories that are never told because they’re so small, so meaningless in the grand scheme of history.
 
Men are dying in Afghanistan. Soldiers. Insurgents. Idiots. But so are women. Dying. Has nothing to do with the war. The number one cause of death for Afghanistan women is pregnancy. Pregnancy. Maternal mortality. One of the most beautiful, if not essential, aspects of life–pregnancy and birth. Killing women.
 
 

The Last Soldier Out

I stood there on the highway that day

Watching my best friend’s life drain away

In the bright red blood—God, it was red

Like I’ve never seen blood not yet quite dead,

Or figured out that parts of us live

Longer than other parts—God forgive

Me for praying that my dick don’t die

Before I do. Still yet, I don’t know why

Bobby got tagged. I mean, he’s the one

Who was up on top manning the gun

Shucked his battle rattle1 in the heat

Watching out for Jinglies2 rocking the street

Only roadside bombs don’t carry signs

Where teenage Taliban have designs

Where locals say go pound salt3 like that’s that

But it’s Bobby’s guts that are in my lap.

So my friend’s an angel4 now, Barack,

Sucking down his chow at God’s DFAC5.

Folks back home talk war attrition.

Tuesday is market day in Camp Bastion7

Little oasis by the NAAFI

Sit at picnic tables, drink coffee

Tell lies that everyone’s heard before.

Will the last soldier out, turn off the war?

 

 

1battle rattle – full dress battle gear, 50 pounds of flak vest, Kevlar helmet, gas mask, weapons and other military hardware. AKA “play clothes” and “mommy comforts.”

2 Jinglies – GI slang for Afghans, based on the drivers of “jingle trucks” a local truck usually adorned with colorful stickers, chimes and decorative metal tassels that jingle when the trucks move. None of these trucks would be allowed on any American road.

3 go pound salt. An Afghan expression meaning “go f* yourself

4 Angel – a soldier killed in combat

5 DFAC – Dining FACility. Pronounced dee-Fak. Where soldiers eat.

6 Originally built by the British with 4,000 troops but swollen dramattically with the arrival of American troops.

7 NAAFI-The Navy, Army and Air Force Institutes operate retail stores and leisure facilities for the British Armed Forces.—It’s Bastion One’s only coffee shop—a little oasis in the desert. Outside there are picnic tables where soldiers gather to chat about everything apart from the war.

Notes:

Tuesday is market day in Camp Bastion and you can buy everything from plastic encased scorpion key rings, Afghan flags to the “Sex and the City” DVD box set. It is a hive of activity with soldiers from all over the massive base making the trip across to pick up some goodies. The “jingly” market, as it is known by the military, is set up beside the NAAFI—Bastion One’s only coffee shop—a little oasis in the desert. Outside there are picnic tables where soldiers gather to chat about everything apart from the war. [English Afghanistan Military] [full cite] (Jul. 25, 2008)

night letter n. “[The teacher] had a letter—what’s known as a night letter—posted on the outside of his house that pretty much said: ‘This is a message from the Taliban, you’re teaching infidel work and all their hedonistic information, if you don’t stop now, you’re going to be dealt with,’” recalled Hodgson. “So, he signed it and pretty much told them to pound salt, which is like go screw yourselves. ‘I’m going to go on teaching these kids,’ [he said,] and posted it back outside his house.” “The next night he was dragged from his house, beaten and executed. Seriously, if anyone is willing to do that to teach children, I would be more than happy to take a bullet for them.” [English Afghanistan] [full cite] (Mar. 12, 2007)

 
 
 
 
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It’s Whatcha Don’t Do That Shows Whatch Do Do

Posted on May 13, 2010 by CitizenPoet
 
Sometimes what people and organization do not do is as informative as what they do do.
 
The RepubliCant National Committee on Wednesday chose Florida over Arizona for its 2012 national convention. Arizona lost out because of the  furor over illegal immigration. And the GOP is afraid that Hispanic voters will abandon the party in droves.

Read more: http://www.azcentral.com/news/articles/2010/05/12/20100512GOP-convention-2012-host-city12-ON.html#ixzz0nrL3vmir

 
Phonix is now on track to lose $90 million in convention business.
 
Sarah Palin speaks before a sump pump convention but refuses to do an interview with real news and especially with MSNBC. Turns out she has neither intelligence nor courage. She was invited, but didn’t show up.
 
Laura Bush comes out in favor of gay marriage. George Bush comes out in favor of . . . nothing.
 
The teabaggers held a massive rally at North Carolina’s state capitol. About 50 showed up. They called a mass rally at BOA in Charlotte. Seven showed up.
 
Sometimes what we are is really what we are not.
 
 
I saw a poem the other day
A flock of geese flying away
Scattered words from children playing
An empty church ceased from praying.
A siren wailed relentlessly
An ambulance not after me.
What was not was what was not me
What was gone was what was not me
What was was what I could not see
I am alone with what is me
Nothing more than a poem I be
The poem I saw I thought was me.
 
 
 
 
 
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It Isn’t Blame, It’s Responsibility

Posted on May 12, 2010 by CitizenPoet
 

Congress continues to investigate the both the absence and failure of safety devices to prevent the oil spill threatening the Gulf of Mexico and BP continues to diffuse the blame for the disaster between its partners, Transocean Ltd and Halliburton Co.


The evidence is growing that there was both significant negligence and a lack of governmental oversight. There is already little question that this is an accident that did not need to happen and could well have been prevented.


One can only hope that the guilty will be held accountable, that those responsible will be made to pay, and that our government will enact regulations that will prevent this from ever occurring in the future.


But in the meantime . . .

Came word, a fish died

Dolphins washed up on beaches

Blame denied. They lied.

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The Spreading Spill

Posted on May 11, 2010 by CitizenPoet
 
I am watching Chris Matthews on MSNBC discussing Dick Cheney’s secret meetings with the oil companies, the accommodations for those companies, including Cheney’s Haliburton. It’s becoming more and more apparent that the companies doing the drilling took short cuts, did not have enough safety measures in place, and did not follow safety managerment procedures that are well known in the industry.
 
This was no accident. I believe that it was an inevitable consequence of greed. It is also a consequence of electing George W. Bush and Dick Cheney. They were oil men. These men were elected as part of an oil economy and maintained that policy throughout their administration. They did not serve the American public, they served the interests of the oil companies — and yes, Dick Cheney earned 24 million dollars from these machinations.
 
I wish we had the courage to investigate, prosecute, and administer retribution.
 
Today, in response to an essay, BP – Too Big to Lose, at http://mariopiperni.com/environment/bp-too-big-to-lose.phpI, I wrote and posted another short poem on the consequence of this oil spill. Here is what I wrote, with a bit of revision:
 
Writhing slimey slick snakes of oil
Around the Gulf of Greed now crawl
What we sought will consume us all.
What we sought was venerated
Our pristine world penetrated,
Virgin bodies violated,
Writhing slimey slick snakes of oil.
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A Teabagger “Victory”

Posted on May 10, 2010 by CitizenPoet
 
Senator Bennett of Utah lost because he wasn’t conservative enough for those who embrace the righteous indignation that substitutes for knowledge.
 

Freedom at all cost.

You sing songs of liberty—

Free? Or merely lost?

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Thank you, readers. Your appreciation is my applause.

Posted on May 9, 2010 by CitizenPoet
 A number of the people have responded to yesterday’s poem (Take My Face. I Don’t Need It Anymore) on The Poetry Blog with moving and heartfelt comments.
 
janine says:

Dan Speers,

you’ve outdone yourself this time. Wonderful poem.. I cried when I read it. Speaks to every man/woman and how it feels to have everything one minute and nothing the next due to greedy folks on wall street and government relaxing regs….

My goodness Dan….I started as a retail clerk on the overnight shift, and worked my way to manager. That poem was simply outstanding!

Frances says:

Great Article Michael. Great poem Dan.

I owe a special debt to Mario Piperni who allowed me to first publish it on his site: http://mariopiperni.com/economy/the-economy-unspinning-spin.php#comment-16801

To everyone who responded on Mario’s site and those who sent me both emails and Twits, I offer this thank you, both on Mario’s blog and here:
 
Thank you, everyone. But it isn’t me.
It’s all of us who wake up each day
Remembering we care, that we
Do believe in equality
That we all hope to live someday
In a world of true equity.
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Take My Face. I Don’t Need It Anymore.

Posted on May 8, 2010 by CitizenPoet
 
I awakened this morning to an incredibly insightful blog on the economy. Mario Piperni posted blogger Michael Chase’s ( http://www.rationalmiddle.blogspot.com/ ) essay on the economy at http://mariopiperni.com/economy/the-economy-unspinning-spin.php#comment-16801. It was so compelling, I had to write a poem that captured the face of those abandoned in the economic downturn, those who suffer and are left alone. Here (with a nod to Mario who allowed me to publish it on his site first- and where there has been a lot of comments) is what I wrote:
 
Take My Face. I Don’t Need It Anymore.
 

My name is desperation. My name.
Spent forty years working. Forty years.
Started as a clerk. Retail sales my game.
Forty years. Worked my way up. Hard work.
A manager I became. Employee of the year.
Once. Pension. Top of my game. High up.
Sold the chain, they did. Some folks
from Dubai, they said. No changes, they said.
No changes. Forty years, no changes.
Neighbor lost his job, the plant closed.
His house foreclosed. Boarded up. Closed.
Closed the store, they did. Sales down.
Stock down. Buck up, my wife said.
Forty years. On top I was. A pension.
Sorry, they said. While you were up
the stocks went down. Down they said. Down.
Gone, they said. The pension. Forty years.
I’m sixtyfive. Sending out resumes that
Disappear like yesterdays, like forty years.
Gone. And no one responds. No one.
No one needs a sixtyfive-year-old man.
Except maybe a sixtyfour-year-old woman
Who cries at night because we have to go.
We have to go. The bank foreclosed. Gone.
When you’re down, you’re down. Forty years.
Yep. Gone. Snap, like that. Man on TV said
Economy doesn’t have a face. No face. Said
It was the banker’s fault. Sounds right.
Wasn’t mine. Like my job. Like my house.
Wasn’t mine. Forty years. Gone.
Don’t know anything about the economy.
Or finance. Except mine. Or faces. Except mine.
Economy needs a face. Here. It can use mine.
I don’t need it anymore. Forty years. Gone.
My name is desperation. My name.

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The Last Dancer

Posted on May 7, 2010 by CitizenPoet
 I have just watched the Dorothy Coonan Wellman Memorial-The Last Busby Berkley Dancer http://vimeo.com/6660885, a moving tribute to both Dorothy and one of my heroes, Busby Berkley.
 
This may be a bit dated, but here a poem I wrote in 1976 when Busby Berkley died:
 
 

Busby Berkeley

29 November 1895 – 14 March 1976

You were, they said, only five when you won

Your debut. On stage. With your family. Only 21

in the field artillery, the big one, the war to end

all wars, a lieutenant then. Organizing, men.

Still, you were directing then. Drills and discipline.

It had to end. Internment.

And begin. Entertainment.

From Yankee on Broadway to talkies out west,

Goldwyn’s Cantor and faces on parade

launched the rest, from 42nd Street, the feet,

dancing in the Footlight Parade, a charade.

And more. Fashions of 1934. Geometric. Replete

In Kaleidoscopic frames

And rotating stars in Dames.

From whoopee to scandals Roman and real

From two weeks to Ziegfeld, a campy appeal

those palmy days of flying so high,

from Caliente to Paris, a cabin in the sky

And how many wives? And now the style survives.

In life’s zeal, so flamboyant

Real to reel enjoyment.

 

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Plumbing the Depths

Posted on May 6, 2010 by CitizenPoet
 
  I love reading and occasionally responding to political blogs and one of the best is that of Mario Piperni at www.MarioPiperni.com who is both an incredibly talented artist and a keen observer of the social scene. Given his talents, it is no surprise that many of his readers are equally insightful and totally involved in the issues of the day.
 
  Mario posted a piece yesterday on Joe the Plumber. Yes, that Joe, and yes, that Joe is still with us, and yes, that Joe is as ridiculous as ever. Mario reported the news that Joe (or Samuel “Joe the Plumber” Wurzelbacher) ran for and won a seat on the Republican Party Central Committee from his precinct in Springfield Township. Naturally, I had to do my usual Political PunDitty, a two-line satircal verse. It went like this:
 
 
On this tale, a crack I could make,
But another drip I can’t take.
 
 
  Apparently, one of Mario’s regular readers thought I was a bit, shall we say, short?
 
  Michael Chase wrote:

 

"Come on Dan….hearing this guy’s name again is bringing on a case of nausea.
You have to do better than a two-liner for this…."

 

  This challenge could not go unaswered and I immediately dashed off a satircal poem that marks a poetic milestone not to be achieved again in  a millenium. You have to read both my poem and the replies, but I do beg you to keep in mind the absolute futility of entertaining either murder or suicide. As it happens, time itself can accomplish that homicide. Here’s the link:

 

http://mariopiperni.com/republican-dicks/joe-the-politician.php#comment-16723

 

  Let me know what you think.

 

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Beachcomber

Posted on May 5, 2010 by CitizenPoet
 

What will you give me this morning, Ocean?

What discarded corner of civilization

will you choke from your bowels

and spit at my feet as I stroll

along the island headboard of your bed?

Will it be a cork, a crate, a bottle, or a bit of shell

wrapped in debris and weeds from the sea,

a genial expression of affection from you to me?



Don’t think for a moment you have me fooled, Ocean.

I know you yearn for my return, a lover spurned,

in desperation tendering pandering gifts at my feet.

I suspect you expect to lull me into complacency

with promises of peace you cannot keep.

You squish the sand with tickling kisses between my toes,

tossing a frothy foam of seawater in the throes

and embraces of exaggerated orgasmic ecstasy.



How oddly subservient you are, Ocean.

As if to await my pleasure, yet I know

you would sweetly drown me

if you had but half a chance and oh,

how sadly you would cry in remorse,

For me and all the countless dead awaiting redress,

and rebirth in your womb. You have no choice

my sweet, mysterious, murderous mothering mistress.

Posted in Nature | 2 Comments