Tag Archives: war

DEAD SOLDIERS

dead soldiers

Dead soldiers can’t march.
They can’t hear your lies.
They can’t hear their buddies
Or their agonizing cries.
The politicians lie so smoothly
Some dreams are so lifelike
And the lies are said so truthfully
That some life seems dreamlike.

Dead soldiers are not the ones,
The ones out looking for war.
They, above everyone else,
Know exactly what war is for.
Congress keep swords sharpened
Year after hypocritical year.
Don’t let it happen again
Don’t let it happen here.

Dead soldiers can’t hear you
When you pray to the crowd.
They can’t hear the platitudes
No matter how florid and loud.
They are beyond your excuses
And they never really mattered.
People in power are safe far away
From where all the blood is splattered.

Dead soldiers can’t hug their kids
Or kiss their wives in the morning.
No more time exists for them
It ended with little warning.
They did what they were told to do
With no mutinous thought in their head.
They were obedient and loyal
And now they are quietly dead.

Congress keep swords sharpened
Year after hypocritical year.
Don’t let it happen again
Don’t let it happen here.

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RECESSIONAL

RECESSIONAL

You are fighting again
And want me to come
To worship at your temple
Of the dazed and dumb
Who are led so easily
By the mention of God
And find us who question
To be diseased or odd.

Don’t sing us songs
About your holy wars.
That is really not what
Praying and progress are for.

You dress yourself in medals
And thousand dollar suits
And pretend merchants
Are not your family roots.
You think to disguise profit
As your one raison d’etre
So you speak flowery nothings
And haven’t made sense yet.

We have untold resources
To heal the lame and poor.
Endless war is not what
Praying and progress are for.

You create your holy mantras
About defense and protection
While every kind of help for us
Meets with official rejection.
You make excuses to invade
And make money out of death.
Then, make up tales of threats
Until you’re almost out of breath.

Don’t sing us songs
About your holy wars.
That is really not what
Praying and progress are for.
We have untold resources
To heal the lame and poor.
Endless war is not what
Praying and progress are for.

BATTLE HYMN

battle hymn

Hundreds of years have gone by
Since some guys in America
Wrote down some words, then gathered
In armed hordes; resisting, insisting
On the rights of common liberty.
These centuries later, greater men and women
Have fought for our freedoms;
Written documents and laws
But still I am not free.

Life is still without certain kinds of liberty.
I am still stopped from being what I want to be.
I am still commanded,
It is still demanded
That I ignore the concepts we defended,
The ideas our founders intended.
Instead I am ordered to comply
With a religion that I do not worship.
I am not of their fellowship, no matter how many
So, accused of calumny, I am harassed,
Forces amassed so I finally am denied
The very freedoms inside our constitution.
Intuition alone should dissuade them,
Those ignorers of truth, but they oppress.

They chose to forget the mess this country created
When the land and courts defended
And supported the enslaving of humans.
Is this so different in a land dedicated
To keep government and religion separated
Is it so noble to allow this social elitism;
The strong voices of the wealthy
Tell our society what they can do with their bodies?

BLOWING TAPS

blowing taps

Does anything ever mute
The sound of dying men’s screams
Who volunteered to defend
The righteous demands of greedy dreams?
The clouds roll quietly in
And who can tell if it is mist or smoke?
So, this pile of dead humans;
Are they enemies or a sick man’s joke?

Did they know what they were
When they piled into the planes and cars?
Did they have any idea why
They were ordered to march and fly so far?
Were they told they were fighting
For one thing when it was really another?
Were the coerced into uniform
By neighbors, teachers, fathers and mothers?

And when smoke clears each time
Do those that came after them to battle
Find some still lie there dying
So they can listen to the death rattle
Of one more brother or sister
Dying in the mud on their back
From a war that was started
When their nation was never attacked?

Glory and pride are words
That can be used to cover over lies
Like bandages over wounds.
But they don’t mute the mortal cries
Of those who died feeling tricked
About not defending freedom
But for money for the hand-picked.

WAR STORIES

 

war stories

WAR STORIES

Just out of school, not quite aware

What life was, and why and where.

In not much more than an eyeblink

These youngsters were at the brink

Of murder, mayhem and destruction

With little to do but follow instructions.

Before they knew what it was about

They learned how to survive a rout.

 

Men and women, little more than kids

Came back ashamed with what they did.

They had guns in hand, aimed to kill

And it had nothing to do with free will.

 

One later told me he took his intestines

And pushed madly them back in him

And I wondered just why he had to

On the other side of the world he knew.

A young boy from Hawaii he was

On the way to dying for a cause

That was not his, or ours really.

Not the life he dreamed of ideally.

 

Men and women, little more than kids

Came back ashamed with what they did.

They had guns in hand, aimed to kill

And it had nothing to do with free will.

 

So many sad stories, not glories.

Some of them disgustingly gory

And other scarily, sadly quiet

Leaving minds in a state of riot;

The soul bleeding, the body not

But something going to rot

In an otherwise blameless youth

Who has been murdered by truth

That had nothing to do with him.

 

Men and women, little more than kids

Came back ashamed with what they did.

They had guns in hand, aimed to kill

And it had nothing to do with free will.

 

Brent Kincaid

2/25/2015

 

 

THEATRE OF THE DAMNED FOOLS

THEATRE

THEATRE OF THE DAMNED FOOLS

They cry about heaven

Even as they transform skin

Into sin, punishable by death

Or rape, or disfigurement

Sent by the devil for sure

Wearing tonsures and cassocks

Causing their own brand of havoc

Ruled by insensitivity

Because we are the enemy

No longer human, doomed

To suffer the ravages

Of their bad potty training

And lack of discipline

Over and over again

On playgrounds as kids.

 

They did it all over again

When in uniform, warmed

By the glow of popular bigotry

Idiocy blessed by some dope,

Some Protestant proto-pope

Who thinks God has time

To engage in crime in his name

So they can blame him instead.

Little else in their head

The steal land, and brand people

Burn people, assault people

And do their best to make them feel

Their god, their way is not real

And is not worth keeping.

 

Sleeping at night, nobody knows how

Now that they have shown their colors

To their brothers and sisters;

That they will kill mothers and fathers

And babies and the land

And think it just grand

Because they got paid

As they laid waste,

Turned the gardens to paste

Between the toes of evil.

We the boll, they the weevil;

They mashed us under their feet

No thought of being discreet,

We were fodder for their hatriotism.

 

Not patriotism.

That is impossible

And totally improbable

Once you’ve sold your soul

To Old Nick and his minions,

Hell’s hand picked denizens

Who look just like your neighbor

They labor at jobs, like you do

And look a lot like you, too.

Especially if you make excuses

To commit abuses

And blame it on god.

Savor the rod

And abuse the child.

Isn’t hatred wild?

Always on hand.

 

Brent Kincaid

1/8/2015

(Image from Time.com)