Two poems which
may serve as a prelude to the Iraq war poems
Total Security
By arming themselves
with sufficient
bombs
to destroy the world,
and being
the world's number one country
at dropping bombs
America is making enemies
of the entire human race.
If the human race
ever dares to strike
back
America will have no alternative
but to destroy the entire world
in self-defence.
David Roberts
13 February 2001
Copyright © 2003 David Roberts
Free use on the internet/web and
small-scale not for profit publications. Please acknowledge source.
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The President of the United States of America
is not God.
He is not
the international community.
He is not the ultimate arbiter
of right
and wrong.
He is not
the law.
He has no right to allot death
to this
or that continent,
this or that country,
this or that man or woman
or child.
The true international community,
the
five billion people of this earth
who are not the President of the United
States of America
could easily resist
his power
and would do
if it had the organised resolve.
And will do
in time.
David Roberts
26 December 2002
Copyright © 2003 David Roberts
Free use on the internet/web and
small-scale not for profit publications. Please acknowledge source.
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The photos were painfully clear,
In color, and graphically detailed,
In multi-pixel format
From across the world.
From another faraway land
In another place, and time.
They were undeniable, uncompromising,
Painful to look at, hard to accept.
Some photos showed naked men
Wearing black hoods over their heads,
Clustered in a pile on the floor,
As an American girl grinned and pointed at their genitalia,
As if she found it somewhat lacking.
Manacled hands embracing each other
Bare skin on bare skins
In a mangled group of bodies
Lying together in a jangled, confusing heap.
They lay helpless before the Americans.
One showed a prisoner like a giant moth-man
Standing on boxes with electrodes,
Attached to his fingers.
Still another terrified man,
Backed away, handcuffed,
Cringing against the wall
In total terror as excited dogs,
Eagerly strained and barked for the prize.
Most disturbing in that sinister jail
Known in Iraq as Abu Ghraib
A smiling American soldier,
Looks down at a prisoner,
Laying on the ground like a dog,
She held a leash to his neck
She stood there stoically watching
Her captured prize of Iraqi manhood
Cowering on the cold cement.
Helpless, powerless to resist,
Unable to act, unable to move,
Unable to think, defenseless
Totally submissive and subservient,
Totally at the mercy of the war.
These photos are a metaphor,
Of what America considers Iraq,
What we think of the Iraqi people,
Of our dominance, or our authority,
Of our cruelty, and our brutality,
Our inhumanity and callousness,
With total disregard for other peoples
Except ourselves and our selfish priorities,
Where the Military abuse their power,
Where the strong abuse the weak,
Where Leaders are beyond the law,
Beyond authority, beyond reproach
To unfortunate prisoners of war,
They appear to believe
They are answerable to no one.
A parallel metaphor emerges,
Of guards and prisoners,
Of leashes and hoods
Of the calloused indifference
The brutal treatment to Prisoners of War.
It is Cheney holding the Leash
Of a feckless, hooded naked Congress,
Secretary Rumsfeld dragging the leash
Of the military stumbling blindly behind,
President Bush leads the trio
Down his yellow brick road,
Paved with lies and misrepresentations,
False Fear, terror, deceit,
And fanciful, imagined enemies,
Dragging behind him the hooded,
Unseeing naked American masses
Down his deadly road
Of war and destruction,
All of us, unwilling participants in his War,
All of us…in America
Prisoners of War.
Curtis D. Bennett
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Inside the gray, steel womb of cargo space.
Flag covered
caskets quietly lie
In rank and file, line on line in silence.
Bound
together in final military formation
Flags of blood reds, cloud whites and
ocean blues,
Drape and caress the dull, pewter boxes
Encasing the broken,
ashen, hallowed remains
Of dead young boys and girls,
Forced to pay
the ultimate price
In this foreign land with strange people,
Where brutal
Death forever lurks,
Beneath the surface, around the corner
Watching
with cold eyes that never sleep.
Outside, hot desert night winds
Sweep down from the northern mountains
In biting, stinging clouds of dust
Blowing and swirling the tarmac, ruffling flags.
Steel, hydraulic doors
whine and close tight
Sealing the precious cargo inside.
Engines come to
life and rumble the air,
The huge cargo transport trundles away
Disappearing
in the darkness of the taxiway.
Moments later, re-emerging, a roaring shadow
That races and climbs sharply up and away
Into the night air to seek the
stars.
Floating suspended between earth and sky
The westbound
plane heads for the full moon.
Carrying its sleeping, youthful cargo home.
To the land that gave them birth,
To the parents who loved and raised then
To the government who sent them to fight,
And the politicians who killed
them.
In the early morning hours, it touches down
On glistening tarmac
of the sleeping base.
To taxi off and away towards the dark distant hanger
Where black hearses wait under tight security.
Once again hydraulics hum the cargo doors open.
The
setting moon softly illuminates the caskets.
So quietly they lie, so well
they sleep,
With no more promises to keep,
No more miles to go.
Curtis D. Bennett
May 12, 2004
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One day we will look back and realize,
Our kids all died…. for nothing.
One day, America will be forced to abandon Iraq.
The American people will have enough
Of war, personal sacrifice and waste of treasury.
American voters will make the choice,
Not Congress, not the President, not the military,
But the people paying the taxes and sacrificing their
children.
Our military will be forced to pack it up and move out
Leaving behind the hot, dusty, blood stained soil
Where forgotten kids were butchered and maimed,
Were brutally murdered on behalf of America
Children sent there by spineless, cowardly politicians
Condoned by feckless, incompetent, Military Leaders
Who knew better, but said nothing to protect their jobs.
These kids selflessly gave the ultimate sacrifice of their
life
In the name of a misguided, confused, fearful country
Whose President claimed to the American people
He sent these kids to die in that savage land
With the blessing and approval of God.
At that point our war with Iraq
Becomes, the ultimate blasphemy.
Curtis D. Bennett
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It lurks behind their eyes,
Where the soul used to live.
Eyes, which have seen too much
Of war’s bad places
Where reality is too far
Beyond human comprehension,
Beyond human reasoning,
Beyond human sanity.
The nether world of death and carnage,
Flash-burned and sealed in a fixed dimension
Of atrocities bordered by unspeakable horror
That forever scars the psyche,
Everlastingly searing moments
That eternally burns too bright.
The blank vagueness of the eyes
Gazes through you,
Now past and far beyond,
Without judging,
Without emotion,
Without compassion
Without mercy, without humanity.
They stare, dead and blank, unfocused and vague,
Knowing everything, fixed on nothing,
Mirroring the soul.
Welcome Home.
Curtis D. Bennett
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The experience of fighting a war
Changes all men forever.
The experience of taking human life
And being responsible for death,
The ending of life of others
Becomes a, life-altering experience
Of any man who engages in a war,
Who experiences its ugliness, its cruelty,
Comes to know its pornography and savage brutality.
Those who have not been personally involved
In a war as a participant,
Or experienced first hand its aftermaths,
Will never know war’s reality and suffering,
Can never judge war’s validity or worth,
Should ever be involved in any decision
Resulting in a war between nations.
For their imagery of war is fictitious,
Evolving from one’s imagination
Man’s wishful thinking,
Based on movies and books and television,
Nothing more than a fanciful, false myth
Without appropriate context or validation,
Without merit or value.
Most men experiencing war
Become somberly aware of their own humanity,
And the humanity of all human beings and life
Who share this earth together.
Who only want to exist in peace, live and let live,
These men emerge from a war as true men,
Evolving from warriors to human beings.
Yet others emerge from war on the dark side,
Down into that murky, deep hole of savage death,
Where they relish and find irresistible the war experience,
The exhilaration of total power and control,
The wanton and cruel destruction of life,
Driven by the primeval exhilaration of survival,
Flourishing on the elixir of adrenalin rush.
Unmindful of any consequence,
Disregarding tenets and precepts of civilization,
To immerse themselves selfishly
In the darkness and ruthlessness
Of the act of war.
War is addicting, all-powerful, all persuasive,
A reason for being, without means, only ends.
Where killing is acceptable and justifiable,
Is undeniably necessary and even honorable,
Despite the human cost and tragedy,
Disregarding the human suffering and agony,
And in some twisted minds
Spurred on by irrational reasoning
And self delusions the act of war
Becomes a sacred mission,
Condoned, approved, and blessed by God.
In war, a man who succumbs to war’s sirens,
Loses himself forever in its terrible beauty,
Embraces its undeniable lure and stimulation of the senses,
Wallows in his perceived power and authority,
To gain other’s approval and attention
This man who truly believes in the act of war
As the ultimate exercise of will, power and personal authority,
Without regard for any human life or consequences,
Is known as a Berserker.
(1 )
Curtis D. Bennett
(1) Noun: Berserker
One of the ancient Norse warriors legendary for working
themselves into
a frenzy before a battle and fighting with reckless savagery
and insane fury.
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