In Baghdad
This poem is in honor of Sgt. James D. Priestap, a soldier from Hardwood, MI (Dickinson County) who was killed in Iraq.
In Baghdad
US military deaths hit
2,881
as of Tuesday Nov. 28, 2006
and yours among them
on Thanksgiving day, Jim
killed by a sniper at checkpoint 17
distributing food and water
to Iraqi police
giving candy to children
securing Baghdad
baga data: God given
a sheep enclosure
with blast walls and barbed wire,
and you in body armor
the bullet hit your shoulder
then your heart.
Who will hang the drywall in Hardwood,
work the night shift,
be husband and father, hero?
Is war still about the land,
the oil, race, and religion,
and changing the map of the world?
Your platoon divided
the ammo from your weapon.
posted by Kathy @ 11:48 AM
8 Comments:
I like this one. Thanks for speaking up.
Hi Kathy
A fine poem well capturing the sadness and poignancy of this soldier's death. Good work, Kathy.
Chris
Whether evil or a savior
Or both
I cannot know
The men came back and said
"He was a hero"
and others said
He was a cog in a killer robot
Did he pose in photos?
He cannot have given candy to every kid
But could have killed them all with one A-bomb.
What a shame,
I never met them.
I never met him.
Who am I to know?
Thanks for the invite to your blog .I will stop in from time to time. I like this piece. War, could we just settle over a game of chess. The only serious injury Ive ever seen over a game was a broken finger. War. I never tried writing about that, I may try. Thanks again for your help and inspiration.
caine mutiny
Hi Kathy,
The poem works well because you have taken a statistic and made it personal, put a face and a life around this tragedy.
Jim
I liked it alot, especially the line about the drywall and Hardwood. It really got accross the feeling of things left unfinnished and unresolved. Keep it up!
Oh my, how daft mankind is.
For selfish gain and fear, we let great men die in the name and flag of Democracy.
When will we learn the art of talking?
Anonymous Andy:)
Kathy, my continuing education evidently inspires. Your poem made me recall a similar piece so, from my archives, here's another homage.
Lunacy
The bombs in Baghdad
describe the drama
in catastrophic crimson
reducing realm and reason
into riffraff
It emanated from an essence
of monumental mourning
for loves lost
unequaled by the unworthiness
of suicidal sacrilege
The world worries
and wrestles with a wand
too inutile to intervene
as beauty and brains
burn
While gods grip their hold
on heaven
and bless their beasts
with crying children
growing gangrene.
I notice your proper use of "ing" and ask if this piece passes muster. Way into the Wild, perhaps?
Thank you.
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