In 2010 poems have been added to several other pages in this website including the Afghanistan page, the Africa page and the Danny Martin page.
THE COST OF THE WARS IN IRAQ
AND AFGHANISTAN
Casualties of war - Iraq and Afghanistan
Deaths in War in Iraq 2003 to 31 December 2009
US soldiers killed - 4,300
UK soldiers killed - 241
Iraqi civilians killed - 100,000 approximately
Deaths in War in Afghanistan 2001 to 31 December 2009
US soldiers killed - 935
UK soldiers killed - 179 (299 18 June 2010 - BBC Radio 4, 6 o'clock
news)
Afghan civilians - 30,000 approximately
Statistics from BBC programme, Defining the Decade, presented by Edward
Stourton, Radio 4, 29 December 2009. (With one subsequent UK death added
after the programme went out.)
Financial costs to the UK
In his answers at the Iraq War Inquiry (the Chilcot Equiry), 5 March 2010, UK Prime Minister, Gordon Brown said that the two wars had cost "£18 billion in total in addition to the existing defence budget." The Iraq war had cost "some £9.2 billion". Gordon Brown made it clear that when the war started he, as Chancellor of the Exchequer, had agreed that the budget for the war was without limitation. The UK would pay whatever it cost. - Enquiry transcript pages 101, and 103. Click for link to the transcripts.
Costs to the US and the rest of the world
The financial cost to the US has been enormous. This and other costs are
analysed in a book by the former Chief Economist of the World Bank,
Joseph Stiglitz, The Three Trillion Dollar War. Click for
more about this book.
Poems on this page
Steve Carlsen -
Take your pills
- We slept with our boots on
- Thunder in the valley
- Death of a hero
Hubert Wilson - Rainbow Death
Sgt John Norbury, Afghanistan, January 2010 - Goodbye
young soldier
Edward Porter - A soldier's demon
Henry M Bechtold - Children in the Darkness
R R Ledford -
Silence Condones McEmpire
Laura M Schultz -
Quagmires of the past
David Roberts - We bomb in peace
- The trouble with terrorists
Goodbye Young Soldier
Sgt John Norbury explains how this poem came about:
I was moved to write this following a Vigil Service on 4th Jan 2010 in
Helmand Province . I have a son of my own, he is a similar age to the
majority of these brave young warriors, I can only imagine what the
parents, family & friends are feeling at this time in their loss.
I think when I wrote it I initially wanted for the soldier's family to
read it, to know that others care.
Please take a moment in reading this, say a little prayer for those who
grieve, for those who wait back home.
To those out there, reading this, take care & stay safe.
To top of page
Goodbye Young Soldier
We said goodbye tonight
To a soldier whom I did not know
He did his duty well
But sadly he had to go
He did not travel this far
To leave behind family & friend
He came to do his duty.
He did not know it would be his end
His short life was just that
A soldier’s ultimate commitment he gave
This earth deserved him longer
He went too early to his grave
He is one of many heroes
Another poor young soldier
For he is not alone
No years left in which to grow older
What comfort lies for those he left
Never again to be by their side
A gallery of happy memories
And deservedly this Nation’s pride
So farewell young soldier
Whilst here you did just right
I hope your life was not a waste
Farewell young soldier, sleep tight.
Sgt John Norbury, Afghanistan, January 2010.
A Soldier’s Demon
A Soldier's Demon
In the fog of war
Believe me, unfortunately I know...
A lot can happen in an instant
In the instant after clear and present danger reveals itself…
Time then slows down, way down
You hear bullets and shrapnel whizzing past you in slow motion,
As if you could reach and pluck them out of thin air...
It is in this moment that you realize that you may be dead…
Before your next thought is able to collect itself in your conscience.
Your finger reaches for the trigger...
You start shooting before you even aim...
As if your entire existence depends on firing your weapon...
You cannot think about anything other than survival...
Not your past, not your family, and not your wife and kids...
All the training means ABSOLUTELY nothing...
No one in your training was willing to die in order to kill you…
Now you start to see red. Different shades of red.
You feel anxious and cosy simultaneously.
You feel inside of the whirlpool and yet on the outside of it as well...
YOU FEEL PROFOUND AND SHALLOW AT THE SAME INSTANT...
BRAVE AND COWARDLY AT ONCE...
Right and wrong means nothing...only alive and dead are on your mind.
WITH A WICKED DEMON AS YOUR SOLE COMPANION...
While you wish for an angel in flight to pass by.
As the dust settles you wonder when, how and why
Your mind is dull, yet your body could begin to fly
Is this the end or just another nightmare that will pass by …
No telling apart the screams of the enemy from a friend’s death cry.
Edward Porter
About Edward Porter
Edward Porter lives in Los Angeles, California. He has provided the
following notes about himself and what inspired him to write the poem.
I am an Ex Brit who has been a US Citizen since 2000. Born in Tehran,
Iran in 1971 to an Azerbaijani mother who is a proud British Citizen and
who is fluent in French culture/language (more than anything she is a
French woman). Raised by my maternal grandparents in Iran until 13, I
saw firsthand the horrors of the Iran-Iraq war (it being the 3rd
bloodiest war of the 20th century). As a pre-teen, I escaped a war-torn
and revolutionary Iran to live with my mother and my British step-dad
who then subsequently moved the family to the USA. I have many friends
and family in the US Armed forces and their experiences are routinely
conveyed to me through firsthand accounts from places like Haiti,
Somalia, Iraq, Afghanistan and Kuwait. Being a trained and passionate
writer, I do not have to experience an event firsthand myself, in order
to be able to write about it as if I had...
I have been there in my thoughts, in my dreams and unfortunately in my
childhood. I have been a writer for over 25 years now, mainly of Novels,
Scripts and hundreds of poems. While being fluent in French, Azari and
Farsi, I have a love and fascination for the English language which I
consider my mother tongue, (in which I am currently writing a Novel
about my experiences regarding my transition/experiences from my
childhood in pre/post revolutionary Iran to my new homes in Europe and
the USA). I am also working on two other Novels in addition,
simultaneously.
I live and work in Los Angeles, CA as a Realtor and a Landscape
Contractor. I also serve on our School District's Governing Board as an
elected Trustee. My family and I live on a ranch in the mountains above
Los Angeles in an area called Santa Clarita. Prior to becoming a Realtor
/ Landscape Contractor, I was employed in the Film Industry in the areas
of Post Production, Production and Distribution.
I consider myself a patriotic American while being quite fond of our
"Closest Friend and Ally", the United Kingdom where my siblings and
parents reside, not mentioning a small piece of my heart.
Rainbow Death
Hubert Wilson
Ssgt USAF, 1968-1972
This small poem speaks of a modern day ingredient of warfare that has caused appalling death and suffering – not only to its intended victims, the Vietnamese people, but also the service personnel that used or even just came into contact with “Agent Orange”.
Wikipedia reports, “Agent Orange is the code name for a herbicide and defoliant—contaminated with TCDD—used by the U.S. military in its Herbicidal Warfare program during the Vietnam War.
According to Vietnamese Ministry of Foreign Affairs, 4.8 million Vietnamese people were exposed to Agent Orange, resulting in 400,000 deaths and disabilities, and 500,000 children born with birth defects.[1]
From 1962 to 1971, Agent Orange was by far the most widely used of the so-called "Rainbow Herbicides" employed in the herbicidal warfare program. During the production of Agent Orange (as well as Agents Purple, Pink, and Green) dioxins were produced as a contaminant, which have caused numerous health problems for the millions of people who have been exposed. Agents Blue and White were part of the same program but did not contain dioxins.” To read more in Wikipedia go to http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Agent_Orange
This poem may remind us that wars aren’t over when the wars are over.
DR March 2010
Author’s comments follow the poem.
Rainbow Death
America did not foresee
Green, pink, purple and other colors death potpourri!
Expecting others to pay a high price.
Now thinking twice?
Toll on the innocent and unborn.
Omnipotent and disregarding who will mourn.
Reflective about all the illness, birth defects and prematurely dead.
All the deceit continues to spread.
Nefariously America led astray -
Generations untold WILL pay -
Execrable effects of agent orange spray!
Hubert Wilson
Rumors persist of still another more toxic color coded herbicide at the end of this deadly rainbow!
I am a Vietnam War veteran (as are my four brothers) who served in the USAF Security Service. I, along with a dozen or so intelligence school grads, prepped for about 14 months at Kelly AFB in San Antonio, Texas, before anticipating being sent to Vietnam or elsewhere in southeat Asia in 1970. About half ended up in Da Nang (an Agent Orange hotspot) in the 6924th Security Squadron. The rest of us were assigned to Shemya Island, Alaska, with the 6984th Security Squadron, and what eventually was a MORE contaminated environment than Da Nang!
My health problems started approximately 15 years ago with unexplained headaches and limb pains. Four years ago my central nervous system radically deteriorated with Parkinsonian type tremors, severe headaches, progressive limb pains, etc. No physician has ever diagnosed the specific illness. NO VA physician has ever rendered ANY medical assistance! My number one educated guess is the heavily contaminated drinking water at Shemya during my year there as an intelligence analyst. Organo-phosphate toxins may not run their toxic course until 20 to 30 years after initial exposure.
Since my brain still functions moderately well (and I have mobility issues), I have turned to writing just like my late Father and the late singer (and writer) Johnny Cash.
Hubert Wilson.
To top of page
Silence Condones McEmpire
McEmpire's
Dollar menu
Serves up fast kill.
We pay the bill.
Spent uran'um? -
Small watts; big ill.
To store, or sell?
Makes heavy shell.
Blasts through walls well.
Recycled hell.
Deployed now, swell.
Flash fries dark ass.
Such menu class-
Crispy critters!
Some sauce? Must ask.
Eat here? To go?
Death swift, then slow.
Too late to know
the drift, winds blow
the toxic flow
through lungs, bestows
a slient blow
to genes; there sown
such seeds of woe.
As profits grow,
Health defects show.
Yet who will know
how was bestown
this plague of glow?
With press in tow;
Truth's shaft - sans bow.
As Vets soon go
Six feet below
More graves to mow.
Their healthcare dough
Becomes ZERO!
Life's value: Low.
We watch the show;
Caught in the flow.
To war we go,
When few say: NO!
The status quo
Lets madness grow.
A shadow foe
Still strikes their blow.
We've sunk so low.
We make no row.
No threat we pose
To leaders, those
Who send the drones
that bombs the homes
In target zones.
Crushed famly moans.
While killer clones
Just count the bones.
Silence Condones!
Richard Ledford 2009
© Copyright 2009 R R Ledford
David Roberts
We bomb in peace
Innocent bombsinnocent bombs
the bombs of goodwill
are falling still.
Fall friendly bombs
destroy the threat.
Will what we sow
Be what we get?
We bomb.
We bomb
So that tyranny may cease.
We bomb with love.
We bomb in peace.
1 January 2010.
The trouble with
terrorists
The trouble with terrorists
is
that they have sunk to the level
of their enemies
condemning whole peoples
on the basis
of the actions
of a few
and with almighty arrogance
have assumed the right
to allot punishment –
torturing injuries, trauma and death
almost at random
as if they themselves
are innocents!
Let them forsake their hysteria
stop the rant
state their aims
make their case.
This cuts
both ways.
David Roberts
20 February 2010
Background to The trouble with
terrorists
For background to this poem which particularly concerns US and UK
foreign policy, please see, for example, the books, Killing Hope -
US and CIA Interventions since World War II by William Blum,
and Lawless World - America and the Making and Breaking of
Global Rules by Philippe Sands.
Children in the
Darkness
Author’s introduction
I was in Vietnam in 1967 - 68 and again in
1969. I go back often because my soul lives in Vietnam and I go back to
visit it from time to time.
I was sitting in my hotel room in Saigon just before Christmas 2009
and I was trying to write a poem about the girls who work in the park
and how badly men treat them. I was angry but unable to write anything
that did not sound trite or weak. I looked at the TV and the news was
on. I did not know what the news reader was saying but in the
background was a photo of a small boy with a helmet and an automatic
rifle. This poem flowed out. The words just came to me and I typed as
fast as I could to get it all down.
Children in the Darkness
There are children in the darkness
Who have not seen the light
There are children in the darkness
Who someone will teach to fight
Chalk and blackboards will not be
To this door there is no key
From this life they can not flee
And these children are not free
Could we simply light a candle
Could we give them half a chance
Could we teach them how to read
Could we teach them how to dance
Or will a war consume them
Their body and their soul
Will their life and blood be poured
Down some endless thirsty hole
Back into the darkness
From which there is no flight
Back into the darkness
Into which there shines no light
Henry M Bechtold
2010
Steve Carlsen
About Steve Carlsen
Steve Carlsen was born and lives in Dowagiac Michigan. He joined the United States Army in October 2000 and went to Infantry Basic Training, and Airborne School in Ft. Benning Georgia. He then reported to D Company 1st battalion 504th Parachute Infantry Regiment. 82nd Airborne Division in Ft. Bragg North Carolina. He deployed to Kosovo in November 2001 as part of peace keeping operations. He Deployed to Afghanistan in of December 2002 where he participated in combat operations. He was honorably discharged from the Army in 2003. He currently attends Southwestern Michigan College wher his professor, Dr Michael Collins challenged him to write about his experiences.
Take Your Pills
I’m home now and every thing is supposed
to be okay
As hard as I try I still feel so out of place
trapped inside of a world deep within my mind
My thoughts keep rewinding backwards to a distant time
Instead of being a fuzzy picture projected on a screen
I see a high definition massive war machine
We all have demons deep down inside
Mine just come alive when I close my eyes
I yell and holler and cuss and scream
I can’t wake up from my violent dreams
Smoke burns my eyes, I see the face of the dead
The war is still raging inside my head
Paranoia slowly sets in
Lock the door, check the door, check the door again
It’s impossible to fall asleep without a loaded gun
A gun is not a guarantee that sleep will even come
Take a number. Wait your turn. Go to the end of the longest line.
“After a review of your paper work son, we believe that you are just
fine.”
“Take this pill, and every thing will be all right…
Don’t let your kids piss you off and try not to hit your wife.”
There concerns are not for me. Its for every one else around
I try to tell them what is wrong but they never hear a sound
I am not the only one who has these thoughts and dreams
Our numbers are growing rapidly because of the war machine
With the sound of mortar rounds still ringing in my ears
The intensity of battle will stay with me for years
I’m expected to be, a functioning member of society
So I do what I can, to hide who I am, so I can be who they want me to
be.
Steve Carlsen
We Slept With Our Boots On
They unloaded the dead and maimed right before our eyes
They washed out the blood, we loaded our ruck’s and then took to the
skies
Over the mountains, villages, and valleys we flew
Where we would land we had not a clue
Bullets are flying, the LZ is hot
We’re leaving this bird whether we like it or not
30 seconds they yelled, Lock N Load and grab your shit
Get ready to go and make it quick
My heart is pumping adrenalin through all of my veins
I run as fast as I can through the lead rain
The noise is tremendous, terror I can’t define
The only reason I survived that day was divine
I kept pulling the trigger and reloading and pulling some more
You do what you have to do, with that I will say no more
We fought from the valleys to the mountain peaks
From house to cave, to car to creek
Dirty and tired and hungry and scared
We slept with our boots on so we were always prepared
Those majestic mountains so steep, so high they kiss the skies
The Hindu Kush has changed so many lives
Up the mountains with heavy loads we trod
Who knew hell was so close to God
Beauty and terror are a strong mixed drink
So we drank it like drunkards and tried not to think
Good men and bad men, Mothers lost son’s
Everyone loses their innocence when they carry guns
Washed in the blood, and baptized by fire
I will never forget those who were called higher
They say blood is thicker than water, well lead is thicker than blood
Brothers aren’t born they’re earned. In the poppy fields, the tears, and
the mud
And when I get to heaven to Saint Peter I will tell
Another Paratrooper reporting for duty sir, I spent my time in hell
Steve Carlsen
Thunder in the Valley
Before
the morning call to prayer, just before the dawn.
On an
outpost in the middle of nowhere. In a valley high above the clouds.
We
smoked cigarettes and talked about life, as we pulled guard all night
The
whistle of incoming mortar rounds shattered the morning sleep
They
fired rounds from atop a hill in a place we couldn’t see
They
didn’t have a chance, once our guns were ready
As the
120’s pounded round after round, thunder echoed across the valley.
Lightning flashed from the mortar pits as hell was on its way.
They
couldn’t run. They couldn’t hide. All they could do was die.
We
helped them meet those virgins on their way to the other side
They
said that there was nothing left. Barren all around
No
stone unturned, not a leaf on a tree. Not a living thing could be found
Nothing
left but ghosts in a dream before the morning call to prayer.
Clothes soaked with blood, and blood on his boots
As he breaths he gurgles blood
He lays in the shadow cast by a wall of stone
A million miles from home
Eyes wide with fright. His brothers by his side.
He quietly prays as he slowly dies
As blood drains from his body, color leaves his face
His blood waters the flowers in this God forsaken place
They hold him so he doesn’t die alone.
They hold him until they have to bag him and send him home.
Tears leave streaks down a dirty face
Sorrow and emptiness now takes his place
With the utmost care they zip up the big black bag
and wrap his body in an American flag.
A hero is going home.
Steve Carlsen
Laura Schultz
Quagmires of the past
As a psychotherapist for over 25 years helping people through various crisis, I began to see the long-term effects on vets including Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, addictions, family/relationship problems and the like. As a poet and freelance writer I wrote this poem after the invasion of Iraq. I became concerned about the human community and losing touch with our lack of a global commitment to peace.
Quagmires of the
past
As dusk is nigh
and birds take flight
to a resting place chosen
for the weary,
so, too, do we gather closer
to each other
and the shimmering stars
over our platoons
are about to enter the foreground.
The awe of sounds
in our midst
that are strangely familiar
lessen our burdens
a wondrous puzzle
infused with
glorious metaphors
coupled with terror
as our constant companion
abound with questions
and a cornucopia
of contemplations.
Will we risk being afraid
to falter?
can we proceed
without caution?
can we thrive
without the momentum
to ask the critical questions,
and investigate
the quagmires of the past?
and where will we go next
what country will we invade
if we don’t?
By Laura Schultz
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