Sadder than the wars we fought sadder than mistakes we made
Sadder than the years we lost and all the lives we gave
Sadder than time we tried to deny
What\rquote s sadder than that is the people left behind
Singing, where did all the love go?
And where shall we all go? (the point being made is know)
(chorus)
Think of all the people, Who spend their lives
Imagine all the people, no doubt that we'd find
Many tried and many died for the nation's pride
More survived and left for time denied, so
When you think of American pride just think of
All the people left behind
Gotta listen up this time, gotta try to make a change
Gotta push away the pride and break away the chains
Gotta realize aside from the grave,
Those who died weren't the only ones who gave
Singing, where did all the love go (widowed wives and parents crying)
and where shall we all go?
Think of all the people, Who spend their lives
Imagine all the people, no doubt that we'd find
Many tried and many died for the nation's pride
More survived and left for time denied, so
When you think of American pride just think of
All the people left behind
(Bridge)
Chorus x 2
Blessed is the nation that has many heroes
And shameful is the one that has them and forgets
(author unknown)
Saddam Is Gone, I Should Feel Safe...Or So I'm Told
I should feel safe ...or so I'm told
Saddam Hussein is forever gone
Now at home all is well
Safe and secure...or so I'm told.
Rivers and streams toxic dumps to become
But...Saddam is gone, I should feel safe...
...or so I'm told.
Pristine lands will now be mined,
Their timber cut,
Their fields to drill...
...but...
Saddam is gone and I should feel safe...
...or so I'm told.
Unemployment way to high,
8 million strong and growing still...
Saddam is gone...I should feel safe ...
...or so I'm told.
Democracy and freedom exported now,
While here at home the Patriot Acts rules,
But...Saddam is gone...I should feel safe...
...or so I'm told.
Rebuild Iraq, now we must
While states at home all go bust...but
...Saddam is gone...I should feel safe...
...or so I'm told.
From acts of terror the nation we must protect
So no-knock warrants hang 'round our necks,
But Saddam is gone...I should feel safe...
...or so I'm told.
Veterans living on the streets
Some are sick...
Some will die...while VA budget must be cut
For to Iraq the money must flow
But...Saddam is gone; I should feel safe...;
...or so I'm told.
Rebuild schools in Iraq
While here at home lack of funds see them cut,
But...Saddam is gone, I should feel safe...
...or so I'm told.
Privatize health care, social security, water and schools
Profits to be high...who will survive?
But Saddam is gone and I should feel safe...
...or so I'm told.
Investment bankers give advice,
Creative accounting, profits real nice
And CEO's get real rich while employee pensions end in a ditch;
9/11 is to blame...has everyone gone completely insane?
But that's o.k. Saddam is gone, I should feel safe...
...or so I'm told.
Truth will out amidst the lies
Administration and corporations have major ties
Saddam is gone!..I should feel safe...
...or so I'm told.
America was great because it was good,
No more good its greatness falls
Even now with Saddam all gone
I don't feel safe, I don't feel secure
As the policies of my government to my heart strikes fear.
The idea of America is still alive
But Bush and Ashcroft would see it die!
With troops on our streets
And fear to speak out
Makes me wonder if America will survive
But in the end Saddam is gone
So safe and secure I can now feel...
.........or so I'm told.
Jack Dalton
2003
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What Ever Happened to Peace on Earth
There's so many things going on in the world
Babies dying
Mothers crying
How much oil is one human life worth
And what ever happened to peace on earth
We believe everything that they tell us
They're gonna' kill us
So we gotta' kill them first
But I remember a commandment
Thou shall not kill
How much is that soldier's life worth
And whatever happened to peace on earth
(Bridge)
And the bewildered herd is still believing
Everything we've been told from our birth
Hell they won't lie to me
Not on my own damn TV
But how much is a liars word worth
And whatever happened to peace on earth
So I guess it's just
Do unto others before they do it to you
Let's just kill em' all and let God sort em' out
Is this what God wants us to do
(Repeat Bridge)
And the bewildered herd is still believing
Everything we've been told from our birth
Hell they won't lie to me
Not on my own damn TV
But how much is a liars word worth
And whatever happened to peace on earth
Now you probably won't hear this on your radio
Probably not on your local TV
But if there's a time, and if you're ever so inclined
You can always hear it from me
How much is one picker's word worth
And whatever happened to peace on earth
But don't confuse caring for weakness
You can't put that label on me
The truth is my weapon of mass protection
And I believe truth sets you free
(Bridge)
And the bewildered herd is still believing
Everything we've been told from our birth
Hell they won't lie to me
Not on my own damn TV
But how much is a liars word worth
And whatever happened to peace on earth
Willie Nelson
2003
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Reflection on War and the Season
I don't know how many frozen nights
my dog and I walked
the blasted hills of Korea -
but Christmas Eve was the worst,
because I was there - not here;
in my home steeped
in the smell of pies baking,
hearing not the faint crackle of gunfire
but the sound of gift-paper
confounding my clumsy fingers.
For too many
this time recalls what isn't;
the warmth and security of home,
finding just the right gift, then
imagining over and over,
how it will be received;
wondering at the shapes
and shaken sounds
of forbidden packages;
also wondering who will be there
-- and who won't?
They will be missed,
and we will note a coolness
radiating from a favorite chair,
an accustomed place at the table.
For some we wait;
for others, we have stopped waiting
and begun to learn about grief.
Many have returned -
but not to us; they face inward,
looking at selves they dare not show -
angels and elves cannot quiet the howls
of these terrified children;
for them, gaiety is like the searing path
of a tracer,
and they duck away.
Yet, I cannot spoil the season;
it has always been a time for reflection,
contrasting plenty with little,
hatred with love,
war with peace.
For me, it is either a time
to indulge to oblivion, or
to engage reality in its starkest terms,
strengthen resolve,
extract all love,
and go forward.
Woody Powell
2003
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Soul Survivor
Heed the call to glory
Young men of time
Join us in battle
We've drawn the line
Answered the missive
As young men will
Dressed up for war
Went off to kill
That man is our enemy
He's different see
Now go do battle
For you and me
Difference I knew
Open your eyes
Obvious difference
Easily despise
That man is our enemy
Hate him you must
Obey your orders
In God we trust
Hatred I knew
It's our way of life
Expressing hatred
With fist, gun and knife
Trained hard, physical
Fed words rang hollow
Drank deep their wisdom
Phrases to swallow
Training completed
Flown foreign to fight
Knew not the enemy
Just might makes right
At first oh so easy
'til I looked around
My comrades in arms
Some black some brown
Now this a difference
I knew before
Now they did battle
Beside me in war
I held our enemy
Cradled in death
Noticed through tears
He drew the same breath
Swept with feelings
Remorse and shame
No difference at all
His blood was the same
Shattered the night
By incoming rain
Hot metal concussion
Inflicting grave pain
Drift from my body
Pause to look down
Battlefield littered
Now hallowed ground
Into our Maker's keep
Ascending with me
Souls of my comrades
Souls of our enemy
Answer me friend
This you should know
Sisters and brothers
What color the soul
George Main
2003
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Old Faithful
Every time I see an American flag
My mind puts a swastika in it's place.
I can't help it.
They're all over the place.
Like rust spots on an old chevy.
Only one thing gives me hope.
The flags that have been out there too long
Like dogs left out in the rain to weak to bark to come in.
You know, The tattered ones.
The ones frayed around the edges.
The ones falling apart
With maybe just one strip blowing free.
(I wonder what state that is: New Jersey?)
I feel sorry for those poor poor flags
Especially the shredded ones that have been
flapping just outside someone's car window
Like bees wings and are now hardly recognizable
As symbols representing our country.
It used to made me angry:
"Don't these so called patriots have any respect for their Country!"
But now they are a great source of hope.
The worse shape they're in the better I feel.
Because Nazi's would never treat their swastikas so poorly.
Can you imagine a tattered swastika hanging from someone's
Volkswagen aerial? No way!
The other Nazi's would have a fit.
We American patriots will put up decorations.
We like that. Lights at Christmas.
Pumpkins at Halloween. It's how we mark time.
It's friendly. But those flags left out over night
In bad weather. I'm hoping it shows we're really not
So gung ho about all this patriotic crap.
That it's just the thing to do right now.
And it will pass the way of hulla hoops and
Pet rocks...
Maybe I'm foolish.
But I'm betting on the shallowness of the typical American citizen.
So far it hasn't let me down not even once.
Frank Asch
2003
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Home From the War
Pilot training ain't as hard as nursing school.
Flew a hearse in Vietnam.
Tactical airlift over a strategic bombing zone.
Swing low, sweet chariot,
coming for to carry them
home from the war.
Refuse duty. Hit the street.
My black brother got beat
by the police in Miami Beach,
down to the ground.
With one arm and one leg,
he stood up again,
tall and proud like he was before.
Vietnam Veterans Against the War.
World War One flying ace Eddie Rickenbacker
never knew the Blue Rider artists who died
down below in the German trenches:
Macke, Marc, Morgner.
They died in the trenches
along with their sketches
and he came home from the war.
jim willingham
2004
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An loc
it was up a hill
dirt runway
land going up
takeoff going down
oh the major's plane
a flat tire sitting pretty
atop a hill defoliated
waiting for us to land
coming up they took our airplane
took off going down the hill
we waited
what a desolation
of spirit
half baked artillery base
at the end of the war
named for the provincial capital
no longer there erased by cropland
defoliation population decimated
phoenix assassination
removed survivors to greater saigon
now sandbags large black gray metal
guns pointing out into the night
but it was afternoon
some guns were firing down the hill
by the defoliated river
"oh it's the arvins"
vietnamese army playing with guns
up on the hilltop quiet
sitting in a circle of sandbags
a strange little circle
one grunt said to me
"see that blond kid?"
a baby faced kid sitting there
not five feet away
"he's under arrest
he fragged the nco"
it looked like nothing
then the next cargo plane landed
barreling uphill
they got out
with spare tire
mechanics on board
we left them there
our turn took off going downhill
lifted off across the defoliated river
never looked back
sadness remains
it was my last visit to anh loc
the first time
we carried a load of vietnamese
rangers strapped with hand grenades
wrapped with rubber bands
we stood outside watching them
form up one fellow was looking at me
smiling
a year later the place was almost deserted
familiar turf
tired bored
dread
jim willingham
2004
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A Poem 1984
i went to my brother's for Christmas
holiday in Texas
he had a christmas tree Lot
and we went across the Street
from his House
to have a holiday season's Toke
at his across the street Neighbor's
sweet marijuana smells Wafting
the neighbor's an ex-Marine
was in vietnam So
my brother wanted me to Meet
him as i Was
in vietnam Too
we are Smoking
the marijuana And
the ex-marine asks me "What
do you think about C.O.'s?"
"do you mean Conscientious
objectors?" i Asked
"no," he yelled, "i Mean
commanding officers i Hate
commanding officers!" i Said
"we hated our Commanding
officer Too."
jim willingham
2004
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The Lover of Peace Followed Your Dreams
your dreams of freedom, love, and peace
and
all the soldiers making good things happen,
the world would do just fine
but
we asked the iraqis to turn in their guns
but
nobody did after the looting after the
invasion to liberate them
but
we couldn't see the obvious as peace lovers
braved the battlefields unarmed
bringing smiles to angry fearful people
and
leafleting soldiers
with
circulars of good things
what
they could not know
before the battlefields so
the lovers of peace followed them
there
with your dreams.
keep dreaming.
they will follow
jim willingham
2003
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PTSD (1)
Awake tonight, I am
hyper-vigilant;
the cats are trying
their best
like Dagwood's dogs
to cheer me;
they follow everywhere
poking their noses
getting into corners and small spaces.
I got some Tension Tamer tea and
have been doing breathing meditations
since Friday evening;
on Saturday cursed an old friend,
a Buddhist brother Veteran,
I wrote,
"Fuck you very much."
Alarmed, later it was all OK.
Buddha's footprints by the Bodhi tree.
My partner in anatomy lab
years ago,
a Vietnamese woman,
she told me
she'd come to America and
found Jesus.
I told her
I'd gone to Vietnam and
found Buddha.
The stone temple
above the gateway
to war, Phan Thiet.
Silent, abiding,
I can see it clearly.
High above the cliffs
a rock outcropping,
winding stone steps are
climbing a pilgrimage.
Counting breaths,
travelers walked up there
for solace.
Angry ghosts,
the spirits come over me,
keep me awake,
vigilant.
Make me wonder,
after so many years,
why?
It's my angels,
scaring me.
I want to cry.
Called in sick.
First time in
two months.
Getting better.
Breathing in,
I accept the gift of life.
Breathing out,
I give thanks for the gift of life.
One hundred and eight times
times
one hundred and eight times.
I'm up to twenty.
It soothes,
calms the hungry ghosts,
reminds me of the love
I feel for all of you.
But the spirits are here.
Their presence is palpable,
the new berzerkers,
they've found an abode again
so, like Milaropa in his cave,
I'll have to welcome them
until they go away
for awhile.
It sucks.
A driving force, though.
There is more to reality,
unseen hands.
Shamanic psychic ebbings
and flowings.
The tides are turning
the tide is turning.
There's nowhere to turn.
We can all grieve together
and affirm
the love that will go on
through others
as we become
the ancesters,
waiting to be healed.
Nothing lasts forever,
except hatred.
Kindness never retreats
except on sick days.
May I be well and happy.
May you be well and happy.
Affirmations.
Jim Willingham
2004
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PTSD (2)
I still don' t quite understand.
The change in me, I mean.
There was no combat,
Just voices in the dark,
And disassociation to bury the fear and
Pretend I had control.
And then, of course, there was the core change.
When my foundations were shaken
Until my carefully constructed, youthful house of cards
Tumbled into a weeping heap of anxiety
Waiting for direction, a touch, some contact with
My old reality to make me think that I
Could start to build again.
But fantasy was easier.
Ignorance is not bliss.
It is blindness, purposeful or not.
And so it was, broken as they wanted me to be,
I was pieced together as they wanted me to be,
Not knowing that I feared the
Knee-swelling, stinging rocks of solitary in a box.
Not knowing that the mind-numbing, hallucination-inducing
Solitary hours in yet another box
Listening to screams of unknown people,
And hearing that it was my fault,
Would press me deeper into an unknown
That I feared less than where I was.
And not knowing that the smallest box was yet to come.
Where head and knees touched,
My hands and feet trying to move
To wake each other from their sleepy tingle.
And where the suffocating closeness
Sucked the air and sanity
From my once emboldened comrade,
And crushed my spirit to a size at where
I did not know a human could exist.
Was this all pretend?
The barbed wire compound,
The humiliation,
The no-win, twists and tweaks of tired minds?
It didn't matter.
I was already gone.
Departed to parts unknown.
Not to be called back for 20 years.
A blur of life that gained an education,
Lived and lost a marriage,
And struggled to try again.
And then it happened.
An accident.
The ocean urged me
Into another unknown abyss.
Upon my return, I was not the same.
And during the slow crawl of rehab,
I found the littered burial ground
Of my old fears, broken self-esteem and shame,
And I heard that it was OK.
It's OK that you didn't go to war
To have these nightmares.
Others have them, too
Others have them, too.
A momentary peace spread throughout my soul
And helped to crack the once entombed training,
Helped to interrupt the continuous playing
Of old tapes that told me what to do,
And let me see that I could actually choose my way.
I still don't understand.
The change I mean.
But my courage and curiosity are stirring,
And I stand humbled by my humanness.
BACK TO TOP
The Swamp
Dedicated to the Veterans Fast For Life and
the Jersey City Vet Center
About 20 years ago, I was dumped in a strange swamp
and told to find my own way out
I started walking but with every step I seemed
to sink in deeper and deeper
But I kept walking, what choice did I have?
If I had stopped I would have sunk in over my head
Finally I made it out and thought Thank God it's over
But I was to learn that it was only the beginning
Every time I looked back, I could see my footprints
I wished I hadn't entered in the first place but
that didn't make my footprints go away
My shoes were caked with mud and it wouldn't wash off
So I tried to forget the shoes, the footprints, the swamp
but my numb mind led me right back in
Yeah I may be slow but I learn
Today I know the footprints will remain,
they'e mine for the duration
My shoes aren't new anymore
but they still have a lot of miles left on them
So I've taken up my post,
A sentry at the entrance of the swamp
There I can help those still stuck inside
and warn others of the dangers that lay ahead
NO MORE VIETNAMS!
David Cline
Veterans Day 1986
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And from the bowels of the beast
Will rise the warriors for Peace.
The one-time shine of their armor
Now springing from their hearts
Shall light the way.
And tho' the wounded and lost
Among them are plenty,
Spirit's strength will once again preside
To stoke the fiery passion of the masses
In yet another effort to unite;
And tame the beast with love.
Tim Pluta
2003
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At midnight's darkest hour Starbuck speaks,y
"My vaunted death? That's just a clerk's mistake.
That row of body bags in sullen gray?
The broken remnants that they held weren't me."
And then the cold and mousy light of morning comes
And brings with it his father's tear-streak'd face,
A folded flag, pallbearers' half-stepped pace,
The haunting notes of taps, the muffled drum.
Yet even so, he lives in mem'ry's keeping rooms
And time has not his youthful brow inscribed.
He marches to the beat of cadenced drum,
The rifle's bark, artill'ry's distant boom
Across the plain where needless loss resides.
March on, brave grieved for friend, forever young.
John R. Guthrie
2003
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