I have long enjoyed writing my thoughts in a form that only a very generous person
would label as "Poetry". Nevertheless, I have included some of these pieces for
your review and enjoyment. Let me know your
thoughts and responses. If you have writings that you would like to share or have a page
that you would like to have linked to this one, this also can easily be done..
I will be adding new pieces periodically, so check back to see what is new.
Johnny
JOHNNY
From the start they laughed,
at his red hair, at his big nose.
They laughed at his pimples, his smooth, hairless face.
Yes, they all laughed at Johnny, the joke of their platoon.
New to the war, a misfit anywhere he went,
poor Johnny would try, and try, and try.
He took all their jokes,
laughed with them he did.
Cried to his pillow on long nights alone.
Day was spent digging ditches, scrubbing pans, filling sandbags,
the brunt of all jokes.
But still Johnny would smile, and try so hard,
but he was clumsy and slow,
so very damned slow.
Then there was a day, ole Charlie came to play.
He over ran their camp, killing as he went.
Among the dying Johnny was seen,
fighting so fierce, crying so hard.
He was everywhere, helping the wounded, fighting the attack.
He found a machine gun, set it right up.
Started firing, not once did he stop.
His comrades regrouped, Johnny gave them their chance.
But the joke was on him.
As the firing stopped, one last bullet ole Charlie did fling,
and there lay Johnny--red hair covered with blood.
The men stood 'round as he looked up to them,
"I'm sorry I'm hurt, could never do anything right.
Now I will go and bother you no more.
You were my friends, I failed you all."
All heads were bowed, tears choked them all.
And Johnny died right there, for them,
and no words could be said,
Johnny was gone.
God Damn Us All
A BLACK MARBLE WALL
A black marble wall, names etched into its face
reaching up to heaven, plummeting to hell
names, names, names
Flash bulbs pop,
someone laughs at a joke,
laughs at this place where laughter should never be heard.
A half eaten candy bar melts on a corner of the wall,
Cpl Edw is all that can be read,
an American son whose blood was spilled,
whose memory is obscured by an unnoticed blob of chocolate.
A disheveled man, red eyed, stubbled cheeks
observes the society of the wall,
he is unable to understand, unable to comprehend
the behavior, the attitude, the utter disrespect directed towards
those whose spirit inhabit this wall.
He remembers everyday heroes, quiet friends, raucous youth
defying death, defying the enemy, dying for each other
crying for each other, praying for each other
and this disheveled man wonders what his options are?
Walk away, like he has so many times before,
forget it, it don't matter, not at all
that was then, this is now. Times have changed
let it be, they will not understand, and even if they did,
they would not care.
He could do that, or perhaps he could kill them all.
These mindless ants that cluster on this sugar cube of life,
driven by instinct to be able to say "I saw it, yes I was really there. No big deal
really. Say, how about those Mets?"
Or maybe he should attempt to explain the priceless gifts
bestowed by those souls,
Cpl. Edward Cooper being only one of many,
who are now standing eternal vigilance, so the unthinking
the unaware may say "No big deal, how about those Mets?"
Yet how to explain the why of this wall,
the sacred power of this place,
to the couple visiting from Heartland USA,
"This part of the tour only allows for fifteen minutes,
hurry up dear, walk quicker, don't waste time.
Its only a pretty black marble wall."
The disheveled man does none of the above,
rather he goes to the place, August 1967, and his fingers trace familiar names
his tears can finally flow, bottled up for years untold
he remembers the places, he remembers the faces,
he remembers the love, the pain, the fear, the gut wrenching sorrow
he remembers it all
and as his tears cease to flow
he once again is aware of those around him
but they are now quiet, somewhat chagrined, somehow ashamed
and it turns out that this disheveled man,
nondescript, unnoteworthy,
with his tears, and the power of his memory
taught the lesson of the wall he so wanted understood.
amid the humble quiet, the teary eyes, the understanding hearts,
the disheveled man turned and left,
left the Black Marble Wall with names etched into its face.
FEAR
Fear,
acid tasting, foul smelling, sweat drenched fear
ran amuck
for amid the screaming wounded,
dying and choking in their own life's blood,
amid the whining bullets, the pounding bombs, the burning huts,
fear is strong.
A man falls over, half his face gone to oblivion.
His comrade glances towards this now empty being,
a sad thought,
a fond memory,
a grim forced set to the jaw,
a hastily wiped tear,
and then the comrade moves on,
to kill, or to be killed, whatever chance has to offer.
There, a brief struggle, two beings pitting their all.
Then the climax, and one crawls away the victor, this time.
Here a young boy cries, clearing his eyes with one hand,
firing his weapon with the other.
Somehow, with each tear, each bullet,
he is less a boy, more a man.
The fear is still strong,
furtive glances over hunched shoulders,
muttered curses and silent prayers
are all part , mixed in with the fear.
The smoke settles.
The losers
aren't they all?
crawl away to lick their wounds.
The winners
is there really such a thing?
lick their wounds and bury their dead.
The boy-men with look, a gleam to their eyes
now stamped forever into their countenance.
It is the look that war, and war alone can bring,
and as they walk away,
the dead,
the dying,
the ruins behind them
they have taken, or been given a new companion,
to follow wherever they shall go.
The scent is easily recognized, the look unmistakable,
for this is the gift of battle,
the price the winner must pay.
For now and all of time to come
the haunted ghost of fear shall travel in their wake.
A building explodes,
its heart ripped out with devices created by creatures of ignorance and hate
beings consumed with an anger and a rage that has no reason,
no logic, and most certainly,
no humanity
amidst the crumbled concrete, the twisted steel, the insane rubble
the lifeless remains of lovers, friends, parents and spouses are scattered,
buried and entombed with the broken remains of the children whose journey,
voyage on this planet,
was so abruptly ended.
And the world howls in outrage and pain,
sorrow for these innocent victims, those that were in the wrong place,
at exactly the right time
The heroes that went to the aid of the few that lived, and the many that did not
these heroes now are the center of a stunned worlds attention
concern for their emotions and wonder on how to relieve the trauma
are lead topics for the 6 o'clock news.
And this is a good thing to be concerned with-
yet, always a yet
What of the children that are still alive and breathing,
yet are buried under tons of poverty, crushed by ignorance and prejudice,
what ever do we do with them?
We cry and grieve for those murdered in a distant city,
and well we should--
Yet in our own home town, children are hungry
cold, and unable to read
Medical attention is available only after the children are made to understand,
to appreciate, their station in life
wait for hours in silent rooms heavy with shame,
shame that has no name, but is palpable in its reality,
attended to by those that care
but that do not have the time
or the resource, to offer more than the most basic
the most necessary of care
surrounded by brown and black skins,
a cacophony of languages
and cultures--none of them white
none of them main stream
Where is the humanity and outrage here?
Where are the tears and outpouring of love?
who is there to salve the brow of the stressed nurses and doctors
that minister to these people?
Haven't heard about this on the 6 o'clock news
Extremist that advocate violent overthrow,
those that use fear and destruction in an attempt to change the world
are they worse than the person that uses apathy and rationalization
as an excuse to maintain the statue-quo?
Millions are dumped on O.J., the entire world knows when the judge has indigestion
meanwhile 200 children starved to death in Boston,
some others died from tetanus, because they couldn't get a shot
In LA babies kill each other because there was no money
no resource, to pay someone to teach them to read and have hope
but there were those that could teach them to shoot and to die
Young men stand on street corners, nothing to do,
no real skills, nothing to offer but the sweat of their brows
society has buried them already
they are lazy and ignorant
dregs on a productive citizenry
By the way, did you see what Johnny Cochran did today?
What a guy-
Damn those bums on welfare
they need to get a job
we have no money to waste on them
hundreds of millions for OJ
Millions for those few that suffered an unjust demise
billions for Viet Nam
lots of money for elections and political mail
buy $500 wrenches and send congress to Tahiti to understand poverty
don't look to the streets of Detroit, or Augusta
forget the millions of children that have already been buried
the millions of teachers and nurses that are traumatized everyday
every hour, every waking second
that they attempt to make a difference
what time is O.J. on?
Did you make a reservation for dinner?
If those people would get a job, my taxes would be less
I have worked all my life, don't want to pay higher taxes for teachers and schools
let the people having kids pay
I'm old and shouldn't have to be concerned with that stuff
I want for me
ME ME ME ME MINE MINE MINE
and the children are hungry
and can not read
and die from lack of medicine
and kill each other
they may even kill you too,
but one can be sure,
these things most definitely
will not be on the 6 o'clock news
A lump of frozen flesh,
wrapped in mismatched scrapes of discarded clothing,
lie gasping for air on the broken steps of a condemned building.
Citizens hurrying on to important appointment; dinner, a haircut,
an early date, or just on their way to someplace other than the here,
this place so rudely occupied by one of those street people,
the homeless ones. You know, the crazies, the lazy,
the ones that only want to scam hard working honest folks,
get money for alcohol and drugs, only want to hang out all day,
and night too, for that matter.
Worthless sods, everyone.
Ought to work like the rest of us.
Striding by, quickly, without a sideways glance, without even an acknowledgement,no
glimmer of recognition of a fellow human being who lies gasping, struggling to hold on to
a life that appears misspent, a struggle soon to be lost, lost to the eternal embrace of
the dark one,
the Grim Reaper soon will collect even this soiled, abused,
ill-used remnant of a human being.
This bag of rubbish, this being contaminated with diseases,
Emphysema, pneumonia, and chronic heart problems
being only the most notable of the ailments which have conspired,
seemingly in concert with a disdainful society,
to end the miserable existence of this sorry excuse for a man.
What right has this creature to lie there,
in full view of all that chance to pass by,
and die?
Is there no hole or dark alley that would have better served,
perhaps been more appropriate for the final ending place
of this misbegotten soul?
John William Hall
Born: 27 September, 1945
Parents: William Henry Hall and Joan Lynn (Elliot) Hall
City and State of Birth: El Cajon, California
Notable life events:
First word was EAT
Walked early
Lacerated chin, age 2 1/2, required five stitches
Pet dog, Tracey, killed by automobile. John, age 6, cried for two
days. Would never have another pet. Couldn't chance another
painful loss
Average student, no major problems, no major achievements
Mother dies as a result of severe trauma to her head,
sustained after slipping on water spilled by John, age 11,
on kitchen floor. Father never forgave John. John cried for
ten straight days, required medication.
Fell in love with Beth Lann. John age 17, Beth, age 18
Father died, heart attack, John age 20, had not spoken to
father for three years. John did not cry. He joined the Army.
Beth cried for all of them
John married Beth after completing his Army schools. John
was a airborne infantry soldier.
John goes to Viet Nam, he is 21 1/2 years old.
Beth is killed by hit and run drunk driver, John does not cry.
John's company overran by Viet Cong, John kills 15 of the
enemy soldiers, personally saves the lives of four fellow GI's,
one being the company commander. John was shot three
separate times during the engagement. He did not cry. He
recovered from his wounds and went back into the field to
fight (die).
John rescues Vietnamese children from fire storm caused by
V.C. booby traps, severely burned on his hands and arms.
Returned to field after wounds heal. Now on second tour
in Viet Nam. No desire to come home
Helicopter shot down, John rescues pilot, crew chief, and door
gunner (co-pilot lost). John is shot 2 more times. This time
the wounds are too severe. Part of his left leg is gone, his
skull now has a plate, he has lost his right eye, and will
always have internal organ problems.
John is medically retired from the Army. He held the rank of
E-6, staff Sgt..
A grateful country awards John the Purple Heart with 3 oak leaf clusters, the Bronze Star
with 6 oak leaf clusters, the Silver Star with 2 oak leaf clusters, and the Congressional
Medal Of Honor.
John is discharged from the V. A. Hospital, broken and quiet.
He is 24 years old
John cannot keep a job, he tries, but the pain and the dreams
are too much. He drinks and takes lots of drugs
The years go by, not fast enough, but somehow blurred anyway
The army pension goes to alcohol and drugs
John is outwardly quiet, inside he dreams of his dog, his mother and father,
Of his love for Beth,
Of his brothers left empty and dead in Viet Nam
and all he sees now is people stepping over him,
as if he were a pile of dung,
and as he gasped his last breath,
no one was there to notice his passing.
The only comment as the carcass was removed
"ONE LESS BUM TO TAKE CARE OF"
Born a girl
trained to be a lady
expected to be mother
lover
slave
Hidden resource
unspoken knowledge
False competition
woman for all time
build the man
take comfort from his shade
subtle guidance
steel under velvet
bat your eyes
worry about wrinkles
tuck the tummy
never let the truth
be known
Woman for all time
stride forth in the world
Time is your ally
slowly
slowly
take back your
place
state your case
take up your reign of
power
the scepter
of wisdom and grace
Woman for all time
come forth now
shine your radiance
and universal love
Your time is now
lead, love,
give birth to the nation
of mankind
that has always
been your
destiny
fate
reason for creation
come forth
now
unfold your arms
your power
your radiance
the time is now
the place is here
step up now
Woman for all of time.
© Doug Avery 1998. You can e-mail me at dougavery@earthlink.net.