That word ‘hero’

Define that word
Hero

Wet firecracker
Disposable note

Am I a hero
No no not you

Yes yes hero
Dismissed

The better parts
Of valor, Discretion

Humility, honor
Valor, but quietly 

Then am I
Not if you say so

Hero worship
Community rejoice

At a distance
In a mask

On the screen
Beautiful fantasy

We hire heroes
Can I have a job

Oh no not you
Unqualified, poor fit

Then what for
Whispered words

Caesar gave land
Material gratitude 

Uncle Sam offers 
Disability pension

To what benefit
Purchased silence

To what ends
The stories end

I’m on Facebook, there I’ll be able to communicate with people more directly, and also have more writing updates, beyond daily musings and light bits of poetry.

Follow me on Facebook here.

Photo by Aaron Burden on Unsplash

Survivor’s guilt

Guilty thoughts intrude 
Upon a small head 
Groggy and quiet 
On my chest

His son can’t have this
Quiet domestic moment
A bullet pierced 
Through his chest

Is Grandma guilty
with giggling children
Joyful and carefree
An unplanned visit

He couldn’t give
This small precious gift 
A third generation
For a surprise visit

Divide and conquer
We tackle bedtime
Split simple tasks
Settle children to bed

Plenty to divide
But he isn’t there
Another night alone
Always outnumbered 

Nothing new to report
These costs always known
It doesn’t change 
that you are missed 

I’m on Facebook, there I’ll be able to communicate with people more directly, and also have more writing updates, beyond daily musings and light bits of poetry.

Follow me on Facebook here.

Photo by Gabe Pierce on Unsplash

Spin

Daily writing prompt

Describe a random encounter with a stranger that stuck out positively to you.

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Normally when I’m not feeling a prompt I’m a bit critical of the prompt itself. Today I think the prompt is fine, I’m lagging a bit with coffee and sleep though.

Not critical of anything.

I’m pulling outa longer piece I put together and haven’t released, it was graciously rejected when I tried to submit it. I don’t even remember by whom at this point.

***

It’s spin is disorienting 

A HMMWV simulation 
More fun than we admit
For training, we tumble

Rollover 
Rollover
Rollover

A sharp turn or blast
The hulking MRAP twirls
Grab the gunner

Rollover 
Rollover
Rollover

The ground settles
Out the back they crawl
A helicopter blade whirls

A pop off the right flank
Gunner rotates, safety off
A shower of shells, chime

Three, six or nine months
Time spent at great 
distance from all familiar

The world spun fast
On an opposite pole
Far away, in familiar places

It’s spin is disorienting 

I’m on Facebook, there I’ll be able to communicate with people more directly, and also have more writing updates, beyond daily musings and light bits of poetry.

Follow me on Facebook here.

Photo by Javier Miranda on Unsplash

Barbar Published

My poem ‘SGT McIlhenny and the Tabasco Troops’ has been published by BarBar.

A proud upright soldier
We served together
A brother you were 
Upright and resilient 
In your tiny bottle

Find the full poem here.

Photo by Tim Schmidbauer on Unsplash

Aged old boots

Daily writing prompt

Tell us about your favorite pair of shoes, and where they’ve taken you.

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Marched alien deserts
Patrolled foreign towns

Tan leather, lacking polish
Dusty tattered old boots

Stories quietly distributed
To the carefully vetted few

Sweat stained, dry rotten
Oil stained, cracked soul

Better left in dark corners
Deep set closet interiors

Photo by NEOM on Unsplash

I wouldn’t

Daily writing prompt

If you had a freeway billboard, what would it say?

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If I had a billboard,
I wouldn’t,
this is overall pretty uninspiring.

On another note, if you made it past the part of the excerpt where I trash the prompt and meander a bit. I dropped a sneak peek of my soon-to-be-wrapped-up first draft for the sequel to O.P. #7, The Valley. Everything is tentative. This is all a part of the Horrors of War series.

To be direct about the location, you may find the link to the sneak peek of my new book below.

The Valley a sneak peek

I will openly acknowledge that the books I write are very different than the little bits of poetry that I’ve been releasing as of late. The poetry was to stretch my legs, and develop additional skills. I also enjoy the ability to write short punchy little pieces that aren’t held to the rigor of narrative, character development and the like. I can write a short poem on a walk or while I convince my children to get ready for school in the morning. I can’t write a novel in that time.

My writing will always be written for a less high-minded literary audience. If O.P. #7 feels more like a B-grade horror movie, that is not unintended. The people who are more likely to connect with that book are less likely to read Jane Austin than to watch Sharknado, those are also my people. I don’t write for the tweed jacket college professor to approve of. I write for the same folks I ate MREs with in Iraq and Afghanistan.

I’m not going to say much more, I’ll acknowledge the irony of mocking a billboard prompt for its arrogance and marketing theme, and then I publicize an upcoming work. But if you can’t laugh at yourself…

Photo by Patrick Robert Doyle on Unsplash

Key Under the Mat

Did the last man, 
Leave the key under the mat

Did they say goodbye
As they packed their bags

Did they share last meals
And exchange gifts of friendship 

Or did they talk about tomorrow
That they knew would not come

Did they think it was a joke 
When they found the bases empty

Did they mourn or cry with joy
When they realized it was true

Did they think the war was over
Or realize they now fought alone

Did our leaders write a memo, 
Perhaps a slap on the ass, you got this champ

Did the years of sacrifice
Soothe grieving mothers or stranded partners

Did the silence overwhelm
The roar of the frightened masses

Author’s Note: Inspire is a trite word, but this was drawn by association and projection into the sudden withdrawal of Afghanistan in 2021. The issue is messy, and I won’t make a value judgment, but I did have friends over there at the time. The human side of these events makes the intentionally journalistic style of writing seem inadequate.

Photo by Michael Dziedzic on Unsplash

Topiary

Young of limb, supple
Spritely and of great potential
Pick this one, easily uprooted

That old tree, brittle
Inflexible and harder to work
Leave this one, deeply rooted

This old tree bears fruit
It provides shelter
See that it is part of a community

Were I younger it says
You’d want me, I would do better
Wiser and hardier, of better stock

Pluck shoots, trim buds
Mold younger sapling, purposeful
This young hedge against the storms

Stay rooted old tree
Bear fruit, and cradle nests
Grumble and sway for distant winds

Photo by Sergei A on Unsplash

Published – Military Review

Small victory on a Thursday.

The poem Baby Boy has been published in the Military Review Creative Kiosk.

You can find the links above, pretty excited about this one.

I hope you are all having a great week so far.

Photo by Anne Nygård on Unsplash

Simple Luxuries

Ubiquitous and innocent
the garden hose, a simple
elegant invention, coiled
bringer of joy for children

I remember metallic flavored
sips as a child in the garden
refreshing moments of
rebellion or spraying brothers

Easily forgotten, these simple
childhood moments, laughter
and freedom, when traveling
the long road to Baghdad

Along the road, another factory
a clearing op, two cheerful 
old guards offered goods, we 
partook of bottled soda

Orange Mirinda, my personal
favorite, effervescent and 
sweet, I sipped slowly a warm
bottle from the jingling crate

Down the road they shared 
a forgotten hose, left behind 
when the workers fled, cool
water on a hot Iraqi day

That long road had little water
treated with respect, for 
drinking a small luxury, 
cool shower, or warm soda

Photo by insta @H95i on Unsplash