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the ground you walk
the pictures i send you
half burnt, fragmented, distant; without a smile
are mementoes of the life i lead as a soldier
season after season
the words in my mails
heavy, urgent, obtuse and delusionary
are nightmares; issues i chew alone
but cannot swallow whole
the songs you hear
scratching hauntingly underneath your backdoors
are echoes and broken chords i gather
for those that fell before independence
the quilt over your head
colorful, unique, and disjointly blended
is a sad story the hands that made it
could not tell by mouth alone
the ground you walk and protest upon
solid and fertile as it is
is nourished by blood
of ordinary men and women like you
cpt. durr, kennett (camp castle, korea)
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kosovo
here, kids line the fence
lost in their dreams
hungrily looking into camp bondsteel
they wish they were at the other side of the divide
in their own land
they see the stars and stripes of freedom
fly high freely in the sky
and wondered why they could not
fly a kosova flag in kosovo, and wept
tears, as peace keepers, we could not wipe away
in towers and tanks, we stood guard and watched
wondering what it felt like
to be them; pristine and primary
to walk the earth, sunrise to sunset with nature
and not tire; to survive and triumph without hope
sometimes, we met, divided still by the fence
and exchanged smiles furtively with candies of love
language reduces our eager chatter to silence
but we connect in spirit and bow with shame
to deep hurt inside of us all
embarrassed, we nodded in silence
shook hands too quickly
turned around and went our ways
and cried in our private worlds
of conflicts
ssg aroh, paul e (camp bondsteel, kosovo)
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blood stains
bad blood like oil
spreads like kerosine until the soul is contaminated
else, how can you shoot a man a mile away
and wake up with his blood on your hands
bad blood like hatred
spreads like cancer until we are consumed by its heat
else, how can a ten year old hug a soldier, but strapped
with enough dynamite to hack a train in two
bad blood is too hard to wipe off
we wash and scrub and scratch
with sponge, sand and stone, only to draw more blood
with which to ease and cleanse the mind
whose blood i wipe and scrub
i cannot tell
as i mourn and cry and grieve
blood stained with bad blood in iraq
sfc aaron, t. (fallujah, iraq)
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this land.this sand
this place gives you a nervous feeling
you have lived this life before
you recognize each day before it comes
constant. predictable. you are sucked into its limbo
and drift through time like a nomad
it leaves you with memories you never witnessed
underneath your feet are exotic pebbles
stones. smooth. rugged. different shapes and colors
evidence you cannot deny
that once this land, this sand was sea
walking, you have a sinking feeling inside
that you are thrusting through the bottom of an ocean
against a powerful current...of sand
it rushes relentlessly at you as if to fell you
and cover you like the remains of past life here
like civilizations before us
we stand in the wilderness pelted
wandering with wonder at nature and man
with little hope we try with our lives
to leave footprints of democracy that sand cannot
shall not cover again
sgt rita, f. (mosul, iraq)
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promise me
...that if i make it back
you will be there
waiting for me
...that you will never forget
the fear in our hearts today; each day
least this be it, and we never see again
promise you won't argue, fight
raise your hand nor voice above your cry today
nor let the sun set on our long faces
...that you will find mercy in your heart for me
to hear each while we struggle with words
promise to remember these moments
protect our hearts. walk my soul
as we heal through the sorrows of our tribulations
to pull through together
promise God. promise me. promise yourself
that if i make it and come home
you will never give up on me
as for me
what more can i give
than to hold you till the end of my days...
promise me as i leave for iraq
spc jones, burnett (sar city, iraq)
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greetings from saudi arabia
the sand dunes of arabia
might not be as grand as the canyons
but they are breathtakingly awesome and dangerous too
extremely complex in their formation
yet, delicate, fine and teasing to behold
half hills of succulent sand with nipples of gold
with tops that dance in the winds like excited lovers
patches of land wait unattended, but strangely
shielded from the elements and tormenting sun
the only fertile ground for life in the desert
sprouting stunted shrubs: yet, giants in the emptiness
behind sands, the sun rises; the sun sets
behind sand dunes, rainbows arch
awash with fiery flames of things unseen
watching what we do
with her blessings
saying nothing, yet in a hurry
ssg matthew a. (saudi arabia)
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politicians and wars
the privileged sit in palaces; their kids, in ivory towers
far removed from the drums of war; they swear heaven and earth
with rhetoric pointing fingers; with drama pounding their chests
challenging fellow maniacs to battle on glass tables
only to unleash their young men and women to war
non, their own; nor of blue blood
kids, by law, who cannot buy beer, nor a cigarette
but empowered at whim to shoulder the course of nations
enticed with carrots cleverly denied them
college, health care, travel, freedom
benefits that should come with equity and justice
kids without hope, nor a credit card to their names
over, they emerge to take credits; the spoils of war
with choreographed photo shoots on top of tanks
waving, smiling hard for the camera
surrounded by a sea of soldiers
forced to attend to make politicians look good
pvt churchill, a. (royal navy, london)
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where are they now?
buddies
whose frostbitten feets
we tucked underneath our shivering bodies
to warm
friends
whose tobacco infested mouths
we latched unto; mouth to mouth, heaving hopefully
to bring round
soldiers
we gave our blood for iv
who we gave an eye; a leg
who we carried, crying and running from the front
brothers
we dug trenches with in dark lonley nights
and shared mails by moonlight
when all hopes were lost
patriots
who stood up
and stood proudly still
at the last minute
heroes
who drew fire, holding the flag
that the rest of us might inch forward and live
where are they all now
sgt a. kelleher (us.army/saigon; 1968)
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files in iraq
flies in iraq are vicious and extremely annoying
in mad hunt for water and shade
attack with adapted proboscis
gluing vengefully unto succulent corners
of the mouth, eye lid, running nose, and sometimes
jump into patched angry throats
back home flies are cool; laid back
obese and evolving; they know their place
far away from suburbs, they circle downtowns
settling amongst the poor
knowing how accommodating
the hopeless amongst mean have become
not here in iraq
every eye is green
every hand welds a curved sword
nothing is settled, not even the winds
nor the shifting sands
man and elements duel constantly
cpl phillip, armstrong (royal air force, basra, iraq)
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your letters
we look up to mails here like prisoners in for life
pretend all you can, each mail is like wind to our sail
an albatross in the sky when all hope is lost
we gather round each recipient to celebrate his fortune
just to know; to connect with the other side
we ask, do folks support us, what does the polls say
when are we going home, local gossip and football
until night comes and lights out
we sleep and wait for tomorrow, for another mail call
unlike to get a phone call
it means only one thing: red cross. come home. signed
you feel like noah amongst felow sailors against their sail
you go; teary eyed to bury those who could not wait
to see tomorrow with you
for the return of their messengers
we gather round the bereaved; pray and console him/her
holding hands and our breaths the while
until another phone call comes
to receive a package, untampered and timely is heaven
everyone sings to your name
as items inside are shared our hungrily
pictures, magazines, perfumed letters colored with kisses
turn our crumbling tents into mini carnivals
many wait in line to drink in such contrabands
we later share a smoke outside
silent underneath giant stars
each wishing his day to come
letters from home...
pvt steven, k. (us navy/ fob anaconda, iraq)
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in-coming (mortar)
imagine lightning and thunder were co-joined twins
angry, and coming at you with vengeance
carrying a payload of meteors toward your door
seconds separates you
between the time you hear it and impact
silence. then cries for help and death
under cover, you wait, listening for others
that follow their mother in to clean out left overs
shrapnels whistle past; clang and fall around you
you pray and thank God for this one
but wonder about the next as you dust yourself
and rise to the challenge against fear and anger
knowing another mortar, another rocket is on its way
and coming at you with a prayer
you shiver, but do not run. you wait and waste
1lt clapton, b. (mosul, iraq)
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after awhile
after awhile living in hopelessness
adrenaline drains
anger regresses
energy descipates...
you settle into the normalcy of the present
and live in acceptance to your new fate
after awhile time takes away the sting and shame of pain
it polishes edges off our sufferings
until thry blunt into smoothness
sometimes, with nothing to compare
they shine
almost beautiful
after awhile; a very long while
all else seizes to matter nor hurt
we focus on the constants
on hope and tomorrow
we lose ourselves in the reality of now
into what has become of our lives
after awhile, we can take anything
anything life throws at us
by squeezing and inflating our egos
into perfect balance
to make us happy and drive on
contrary to intelligence and reason
after awhile..
we all adapt
we evolve for the better
here,
you realise how great we are made
and rejoice
cpt jonathan greene (royal air force, basra, iraq)
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before you rest
distinguish yourself before you die
create. make. do something different and original
fight. sing. write. play. paint. change life as you know it
leave a mark of your breath alive forever on a milestone.
grow
pursue knowledge with all your might
until you can tell the limits of your ignorance
then decide on a piece to master
to understand and apply the products of human mind.
rise
climb a mountain. go deep sea diving. jump.
float ahead of death by choice. be free
look into the eyes of infinity and experience
the ultimate rush of exhilaration; of power, ecstasy
untold fear in one sudden act that lasts eternity.
let go
travel. see places that match only your imagination
wrestle the familiars. meet strangers unannounced
follow new leads. listen to the drums of an earth beyond your horizon.
partake in the history that made thee.
be complete
explore until you know thyself. better thyself
court opposite extremes of your personality
until you master that which influences your being
live your dreams. let your life mirror your name.
chose life
find God. know God in relation to other gods
examine the depths of spirituality with maturity and truth
challenge the tall shadows in the closets of your religion
put to test your beliefs against those you help persecute
convinced. satisfied. practice that which fulfills you and gives you peace
before you rest...
ssg aroh (baqoubah, iraq)
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as a soldier
I have voyaged in all seasons
bearing the stars and stripes of freedom
to the ends of earth like the Olympic torch
reconned her beauty shortly before
it was turned to a huge ball of fire
into empty wastelands
not even T.S. Elliot can describe in words, nor
Michelangelo on a thousand canvasses
heard voices of pain before death
the joy of survival and reunion
all that nature can stir-up in one soul
lying still waiting before sunrise for my enemies
been too lonely, distanced and forsaken
to trust faith, but rely on my gear
the clemency of the elements around me
and almost proud being me, but for
the pain inside; the blood in my eyes-unwashed still
like deep questions yet unresolved
now, just want to walk
to keep walking
until
I
fade
away…
ssg. aroh, paul e.
baquoba, Iraq.
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going home
sunset over the remains of Iraq casts a long shadow over Persia
it reminds one of the demise of Sodom and Gomorrah
those not afraid of turning into a pillar of salt look back with chagrin
they stand still in awe, taking pictures they hope would capture her soul
city after city, women part their veils to dazzle us with the beauty within
war kids, with blond hair and blue eyes, dot the highways of baghdad
waving, with hope and emptiness to see daddy's face before darkness falls
shut out, puppies circle tanks that once were their homes. and cry with their tails
we hear, we see, we feel the bond, but block each surge of emotion
with a stoic salute, and firm handshake that erases connectivity with discipline
because we have baggage in our conscience to bear
without words; a silence much more than tears would reveal
silhouettes of convoys across the horizon move southwards
like trains from world war 11
inside, all is silent. each weary with worry of the challenges ahead
some, sleep and sweat, others, cry and pray,
while the trains drag along towards home
the look in the eyes of those we leave behind haunt the joy in our hearts
new to ghost combatants, they wrestle with a faint courage and loud fears of death
wondering how we made it this far, holding unto our hands for advice
waiting for sunrise we follow the sunset home. silent....
ssg. aroh, paul e.
f.o.b. thunder, iraq
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love not trust
those whom we trust are victims of too high expectations
fallen, we hasten to canonize any other with a flash of goodness and challenge
pilling tributes on wooden gods until they inevitably broke
blessed with acquiescing aura, deft tongue, grace and looks
we trust others with our lives; absolutely,
setting each other up for failure
betting the heart on hope. a thing we cannot control
trust fences one in against one's wishes
an unwelcome burden we use to box in those we prey on
eventually they grow and divorce out of this cage to freedom
trust is a desperate emotional affliction against reason
a blackmail toward controlling those we love dearly
kindly punishing, choking, a self deceit that contradicts our nature
oh, how we love to hurt, and diminish itself pity with blame
when those we trust become themselves, and rebel; changing colors
tired, they fly and fall/rest their wings on branches of temptations
let s/he who has no sin, and perfect, trust
but let us accept mortals for what they are: human
because we cannot love by control
God loves you, but
does HE trust you
love, not trust
ssg. aroh, paul e.
f.o.b. warhorse, iraq.
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my prayer
there, where roads meet, communicate and start again
where broken pots sit waiting
bearing our sacrifices
mixed in red oil
there, i pray
take this
a tear drop of acid brew- as libation
splashed upon cursed stones
that sprout suddenly
to witness this prayer in secret
and this
a lobe of kola nut
red, dry and succulent
unrobed at dawn
the warrior's chewing stick
ssg. aroh,paul e.
f.o.b. gabe, baqouba, iraq
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all sorts of love
doused in rich fumes we combust upon a sudden spark with infatuation
fixated at a part of a whole we burn with desire to conquer, and love
spent, blackened and bare with chagrin, we diminish with hate and regrets
Freudian; we seek our mother; our father in others to love
a sick fantasy that becomes a dream we fulfill in our partners
to celebrate, revenge, debase to sustain a invisible cycle
pity love. martyrs take a hand whose love they have outgrown
like heroines that prefer the aches and longing in long distance relationships
leaning on memories, they cling unto wishes; the sweet side of a lost hope
material love, like art: a common piece made priceless by time and fickleness of society
placed so high, greed consumes her admirer with insatiable want, and love
a desire so sharp and blind neither gold nor chivalry can win, but crime
politics and economics draw unlikely hearts to pair
for good rating and standing, perfect picture and sires; such marry
only to live their true lives in closets, darkness and tears
religious affection! the primal need to worship something better and higher
propel us toward spiritual search to embrace those we deem divine
love becomes a holy act worthy of intense pain and great sacrifice
in all we burn, some like candles that glow only in confined, romantic setting
others, spark is to much for it to explode with un-quenching fire without degrees
done, we do not regret its ashes, for it was made as such; to die with a passion
ssg. aroh, paul e.
f.o.b. gabe, iraq
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we are home
we are home; one leg out of a very dark forest
shielding our eyes from sharp differences like flashes in a deep well
the cheers are welcome, but frightening to our senses
sudden sounds and movement contort reflexes used to detonations
some freeze, others hit the ground. all, terribly expectant least death call
though home, our memories are dark, active; still in the past
home, we study familiar faces like children rising from slumber
feeling for trust with watery eyes; for love and hope with animal distrust
wothout words, without reference; unsure, each on his own
we navigate new realities like nightmares
with hope no ones sees the morph while we act out the truth inside
slowly, we learn to unlearn jungle habits; to speak without shouting
we are home, but fearful of the stares
judgement and pity; because sometimes we forget to brush or comb our hair
for walking in the shadows; driving on the middle of the road
running red lights to avoid panic attacks and road rage
for searching and feeling for weapons not there anymore
for silence; unexplained tears, for just coiling up to rock to think
home; one hand out like blind orphans
we suffer uncertainty. numb
some deaf; some, mute; others, scorched beyond repair
but patched up and dressed in colors
we rush out to smiles and embrace amidst loud drums and praise
to drown the cries for help within
ssg. aroh, paul e.
frankfurt, germany.
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friends (for you)
adversity sieves friends
it separates pretenders of their mascaras of love
friends who butterflied on the nectars of your blessings
it leaves you with a soul mate worthy of worship
…go to war, lose your job, file for bankruptcy or divorce
friends flee not looking back lest you become their burden
they switch beds; run into the soft arms of safety: the stay at home
they forget you went to fight because you loved them more
absence dries memories. distance withers pictures
to quiet their conscience they attack you with complaints of guilt
they drain your will to battle their deceit
before they broke up with you and take sides with the enemy
but one stays with you
quietly, as you struggle blindly with the tides of your lonely sail
she rolls in mails into bottles and cast them with love into the sea
faith always bring them to you at the darkest moment
i know. i lost all but one. it is dark here, but i see
because of the candles she lit for me in her soul
urging the winds to yield to her hope. i hear her cry and row harder
one storm, one bad wave at a time toward home. to my friend
sgt anita Blackmon (tikrit, iraq)
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your son is dead
i do not remember days here, but event
close calls that leave marks at the edges of my eyes
they twitch each time i look sideways, and about to lose focus
then, darkness falls
sometimes, it is a word. a familiar cry for help. a sound…distant
men we searched for all night but could not find, nor help
the echoes of their cries regurgitate memories that tangle with the
struggles in my soul
i sweat. i breathe faster, hoping this too shall pass
sometimes, it is a look; that last look to say good-bye
it blinds me with sadness; takes me back to eyes i will never see again
eyes my hands closed for the last time; eyes i see even though gone
i do not remember days, events remind me of the day
or when i must write a letter from here and date it
i tremble with past fears; a reminder to others like this to loved ones
to tell them of the death of a loved one; of a beloved son
alone, under a dim lamp, i struggle to find the right words to say your son
is dead
if ever there is one
cpl rufus Austin (baqouba, iraq)
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cherubs with haunting eyes…
there are birds here, in iraq
seagulls that berth on sea to rest their wings
they fly in-between gas-flares like sparrows amongst poplars
true, this land is desert
but i have walked the softness of her banks; euphrates and tigris
my eyes lost dreamily over her deep blue waters longing for home
sunrise here is better experienced than penned
close; so within reach you wish you belonged here
sunset is only a walking distance away. celestially aglow
when the storms tire to play and the sands asleep
the winds flirt with us dressed in oriental costumes
belly dancing. scented. silky. few resist her lure to sleep
the language is absolutely exotic; an art sweeter than french, but gets in
your face at first
their kids are like cherubs with haunting eyes. so brown
until one crooks his thumb, running it across his throat, at you; smiling
there are schools here, you know; mesopotamian citadels
divided. hooded. roaring with chants, punctuated by beads
you don't learn here, you memorize, and froth with vengeance like lava
waiting to erupt
there are lambs here too, at every turn
once, whose blood atoned for sin but no more
here, the blood of man is preferred
sgt anita blackmon (tikrit, iraq)
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we are blessed
sometimes, misfortune becomes blessing
as fate intervenes with a whip to stop us from falling any further
checkmated in hospital, jail, asylum, divorce; recovery begins
painful, long and hard, until self is rediscovered, to continue
hardship penetrates illusions and facades
times comes when we must wear her garb with ash and cry
as widow/er, orphan, soldier in despire and loneliness
to break out and rise to a new life with depth and courage
bringing us up, God let us try to catch curve balls
like eagles would their young to strengthen their wings
letting us struggle with shame, mistakes, rejection and penury like prodigal
to better us tough; to strengthen our faith with growth
families fail us. friends deny us in dare times of need. we lose everything
and carry the cross alone while they watch in safety with new friends
but life is a cirlcle, rotating fortunes with seasons
to cleanse us of dirt, shadows and inconsequence
we are blessed even in tribulations
happy thanks giving...
sfc gloria riddell (kuwait)
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without you (in the desert)
you used to ask me for a hug and i will brush past
for a kiss and i will blow you one hurriedly at the door
each time i caught you looking at me, i retorted, what?
the few times i did the dishes, you lay your hands on mine
i always edged you off, feigning, i was busy
you never used 'headache' on me, nor 'too tired'
never bought you a candle, but our home swim with flowers
you know my heart, my stomach. my flesh with kindness
bathing, you ask for whatever that will trap me in with you
there was always a program on tv to pull me away
each time you cornered me to talk to heal our hearts
i acted up, turned the tables and asked for space
i heard your cries late into the nights, but afraid to hold you
least you see my weakness and take advantage of the love
that has battered my soul. l let you be, kicking myself in deep sorrow
i know better now, without you in the desert for so long
death so close. hope so far. edgy with fear
i will give anything to hear you 'bitch' as i would say
bathe you, hug you, kiss thy feet just to be with you
to hold you and make up tenfold for all the nights you cried for love, for
me…
sgt freeman olsen (kuwait)
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my finest hours
…in the army
are memories now
they were rough days; tough times
when call for duty tested and pushed
the limits of discipline to recoiling point
moments pain outweighed fear, shame and tears
seconds we relied on intuition
to react, respond and triumph; or, reason and die
those rare times blackwhitehispanicjews…
huddled together; exhausted and shivering in silence
praying, waiting for news
or,
times we lay listless on rocks, in trenches; deep in rice paddies, in
mojave mountains, in kuwaiti deserts,
in Korean plains…just starring heavenwards at the stars
speechless
wishing all our worries and sorrows away
living only for faint hopes and memories
of yesterday and the promise of our sacrifice for tomorrow
and when each mission was over!
how we leaped with joy
hugging even our enemies
all, butt-stinking, rake thin and infested
but holding hands, dancing and singing home
to our loved ones, even with tears in our eyes
for the heroes now in body bags
ssg Raphael gonzales (bosnia)
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without chains
all i have
is the color of my skin
that pits you against me
set your teeth on edge
sharpens and hardens my resolve
to be me
my back
bent, branded and waiting
plastered with history
branches of pain nothing can assuage
memories that 'crush' our babies in the womb
yet lifted my beloveth into action
my heart, my hands, my legs
appendages to the will inside
following motions for survival
until
we see
the light
without chains we excel
without chains our sweat reigns
but
they chain our dreams with legalese
and tie our men and votes away
in penitentiaries
spc isreal hargro (kosovo)
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art
art is…
not chance,
nor does it just happen.
art is…
it becomes.
made. brewed. distilled. hewed out of emptiness.
art is…
a materialized dream- beyond beauty, beyond sweetness.
while frozen, to what can it be compared?
art is…
living: eternal.
an embryo its creator hides essence.
art lives forever
like God
in you. in me.
art IS.
ssg aroh paul (frankfurt)
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daydreams before death
sometimes
i run out of the bathroom
dripping with joy
bubbles posses me inside
so i grab a drum
sometimes, a piano
or just stop midway and dance in front of my woman
gently at first
so fingers/toes and feelings sync
then faster and faster with excitement
as the music ceases to be the sound heard or played
but the dance, the chemistry that drum the beats
for whom and why…
wait
just wait until you meet Katie
hopefully she will recognize you
even as new unforgiving tumors
envelop the remaining days of her life
and parts the curtains
to her soul open!
i cry but i'm happy
ssg garfield morrison (basra, iraq)
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her picture (inside my head)
her picture, the one i carry in my wallet, inside my kevlar
until a bullet or two takes me down
was a surprise shot
that caught her mid-way
between stillness and motion
her back on me
two solid ridges that flow down toward quick moulds
struggling to be seen underneath her briefs
her eyes were on her eyes
transfixed, locked in the mirror, hoping to find herself
between her and the reflection that stared at her
she was naked
she was crying with hands on her aching face
baby was in pains
speechless, i pressed the shutter
let her fall into my arms
and waited for the storm; her spasms roll over us
ssg aroh paul (fob thunder, iraq)
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a date with hope
waiting for tomorrow
sweating
the heart skips beats
throbbing
the eyes refuses to sleep
blinking
watching and praying
hoping
in reminiscence
dreaming
the world spins, and rolls by
revolving
the hour comes
stealthily, and
passes by
in silence
with little
or
no difference
sgt anita blackmon (tikrit, iraq)
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my prayer (against road side bombs)
there, where roads meet, communicate and start again
where broken pots of deceit sit and wait
bearing sacrifices
mixed in red oil
for there, i pray; i fear
take this
a tear drop of acid brew- as libation
splashed upon cursed stones and red hot shrapnels
that sprout suddenly
to witness another failed prayer
and this
a lobe of kolanut
red, dry and succulent
unrobed at dawn
the warrior's chewing stick
spc olatunde ayodele (baghdad, iraq)
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