Conflict Poetry.
"Classic They/Them" and "Select YOUR Service" (War with Iran Inspired)
The End of a 5 year long war of human slaughter. An End…What now Begins?
We Shall Find Out!
METAL on METAL. (I start off the poem by banging my steel/aircraft aluminum knife on another piece of metal. This signal is what the boys in the trenches and the towns along the front in WW1 first used as a warning of a gas attack, by banging on broken/fallen church bells. A terrifying signal of what is to come. Those in the Gulf war of 1991 are familiar with the potential reality of such an attack. All soldiers know that this is a signal of an incoming attack. A start to Conflict about to take place. Like now.
The sound of metal on metal reverberates throughout humanity as we continue to escalate into darkness, hate and bigotry.
Classic They/Them.
Keep them OUT.
Keep “them” out! Keep them all out!
Where they work, we’ll stake it out…
And all the ones we have will shout…
But not those ones that pick the sprouts.
Or servant ones we found no doubt.
By then, your overlords will shout? (Curious Questioning Voice)
(Softer, Slower Voice)
And you’ll be next…with no way out.
That’s what the other books would shout…The ones you burn and spread about.
These are Selective Service Registration cards from WW1, WW2 and even one from Korea. Each one to me is a story of individual humanity. Stories I distract myself from our current reality. It pains me so. I ran an Armory for an Infantry Unit. The Selective Service had their office there. Yes…they are still operating. Take note from someone that misses, nothing.
Select Your Service. Those that Can!
Send your daughters,
All your kids.
They have somewhere to go.
Sons & Daughters, grease the skids.
We need each one in tow.
They are all here,
Now shave them down,
And shove them in a line.
Dress them up, and give them guns,
And have them marking time.
(Radio/TV broadcast voice)
“In just a couple minutes now, they all will hit the beach...”
(Return after pause)
Be sure to bring a Chaplain as last rites they doth beseech.
But who is missing from such roles?
The ones that spill their blood.
I know where they all suckle from,
Down roiling in the mud.
The bloated never served a day,
And sat on gleaming bars.
While honorable warriors fighting Wars,
Were killed by blasting cars.
Listen, now you have a choice.
Exhale before that shot.
I know for sure, deep down inside.
A killer you are not.
End Poetry.
You will change to a darker side of yourself. Surgeon Generals Warning: WAR is hazardous to Young Americans Health. Dipshits.
Chip.
Love and Peace. To All of humanity that struggles. I see you and I watch. Justicar/451CTFFighter Safety Division.
Treat Everyone with Respect. Please. If you want to fight, find me. I could use a good ass kicking…or maybe you could? Either way it sounds fun.