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Michael Marchese Apr 2017
Prometheus ignites to spark this
Molotov to make his Marxist
On swine Fuhrer's Faux News tweet
Hashtag it #GorbachevWallStreet
'Cuz Putin's puppet Pinochet's
Whipped Creme de Kremlin's CIA  
From JFK to Allende
Like Russian roulette ricochet
I'll Trotsky through McCarthy's brains
Leave slain these ****** sugar Keynes   
Discred' the Fed’s six-figureheads
With strikes at dawn more red than Debs  
Still breakin' breads with Mulan Bouges
Makin' men of Khmer Stooges
Seein’ Rouge when Al Spans Greens
Potemkin loan wolf ponzi schemes
Who count the sheep like Philippines
Then Black Pearl Harbor GRANMA’s dreams...

Of Marilyn Monroes in store
Just off-shore ****** who **** the poor
A Glass of Steagall's broken trust
Half emptier than bowls of dust
In rust beltways still spewin’ fumes
As factories become Khartoums
No carbon footprint tax the hint
Of Amazon decays in Flint
Just pop the caps and drown in debt
Like Kent State drinkin' to forget
That cuttin’ class engenders race
Leaves glory, gold and God's disgrace
To slaughter Moor than Reconquista  
From Marti to Sandinista     
With Zapata sharin’ crops  
Till my Mexica heartbeat stops

I'm Pancho infiltratin’ villas
The Magilla of guerillas
In the midst of Congolese  
Same colonies, just different thieves
To me, my breed’s of landless deeds
So how you like ‘dem Appleseeds?
FReeducatin’ caves of youth
Fed Citizen’s United Fruit
‘Cuz now my open eye of Horus
Battle cries Grito de Lares
Che is centered in these veins
So my Ashoka takes the reigns
These Iron paci-Fists pack hits
Like Jimi on some Malcolm ****
Still Hajj mirages I barrage
The Raj with sheer Cong camouflage

Deployin' Sepoys on viceroys
And pol desPots’ in the employs
Of Tweedledums who run the slums
With country clubs of loaded guns
These Betsy Deez bear arms to school
Till no kids fly kites in Kabul
So gas mask your Sharia flaw
I'll Genghis Khan Sheikoun it raw  
'Cuz refugees are rising
And we're anti-socializing
Subsidizing private party plans
Who take commands from ***** hands
These grand old klans coup klux control
Your diamond minds with mines of coal
An oil Standardized existence
Solar powers my resistance

******* sun of Liberty  
My fear itself is history  
Rewriting wrongs of Leo’s creed
In culture’s blood and vulture’s greed
An alt-right/all-white cockpile   
Stockpilin' human capital
In tricklin’ contests over spoils
Of the cotton-ceded soils
Jingos chained to Cruci-fictions
Swallowin' good Christian dictions
I spit Spanish Inquisition
Trippin' Socrates sedition
Droppin' Oppen's fission quest
For "now I am become death"
'Cuz G-bay pigs in-Fidel's sites
Flew U-2's into my last rights

These Saddamites, I smite Assad
Then spread 'em like Islamabad
Convert for-profit prison tsars
From Escobars to Bolivars 
Like currency in Venezuela
Current police-state favela
Where 9/10th's of your possession's
Worth less than your Great Depression’s
Upscale bail ‘em outs of jail
With Dodd-Frank banks too big to fail
Your FDA-approved psychosis
From Campos’ daily dose of
More defense? Here’s my two cents
These slave wages ain’t excrements
So just say no to Reaganomics    
Got us hooked, but not on phonics

Just that Noriega strain
Of Contras stackin' crack contain
Like MAD dogs who trade weapons-grades  
For Ayatollah hate tirades
On “don’t ask, don’t tell” plague ebonics
Drug crusAID Jim Crow narcotics     
Warsaw rats injected, tested,
Quarantined, and then arrested
Guess the J. Arbenz' lens
Still Tet offends their ethnic cleanse
Still Wounding Knees of Standing Sioux
Till Crazy Horses stampede you   
For Mother Nature’s common ground
My Martin Luther’s gather ‘round
Is hellbound sounds of Nero’s crown  
Let's burn this Third World Reichstag down

Vox populyin’ to remove ‘ya
Like Lumumba then Nkrumah
So some Pumbaa kleptocrat
Declares himself the next Sadat
To hide supply-side Apartheid
Increase demand for genocide
So check your factions in Uganda  
Tune into Hotel Rwanda
Come play pirates with Somalis
Then desert ‘em like Benghazis
Thirst for blood so French Algiers  
It boils mine in Trails of Tears  
My destiny unManifest-
Oppressive Adam-Smitten West
So pay your overdues to Mao
I’ll Mussolini Chairman Dow

Then flood this 9th ward Watergate
With killing fields of glyphosate
I'll redistribute IMF’s
With Left so deft you’d think it’s theft
I’ll My Lai massacre these lines
With sweet Satsuma samurhymes
I'll make these Madoff Hitlers squeal
With that Bastille New Deal cold steel
Now feel that Shining Pathos wrath
Drop Nagasaki aftermath
On Nanjing kings and dragon’s Diems
With ****** bodhisattva zens
To show you how I pledge allegiance
With razed flags still rapt in Jesus  
Laosy liars pogrom psalms
Can’t Uncle Phnom my Penh’s truth bombs

On heroes shootin' ******
My fix is un-American
Tiananmen democracies
To Syngman Rhee hypocrisies  
Theocracies drive me Hussein
With Bush league’s mass destruction claim
So I dig laissez pharaohs graves
With pyramids of Abu Ghraibs
Then nail their coffers closed like Vlad
I AM THE GHOST OF STALINGRAD
My hammer forged in winters past
My sickle reaps the shadows caste
By pantheons of penta-cons
Whose Exxons lead to autobahns
When liberal Arts of War and Peace in
Free speech teach my voice of treason
“Fascism will come to America wrapped in a flag and carrying a cross”
-Sinclair Lewis
A hippie hocked a louie on Sammy
when he landed in San Francisco.

Sammy didn't respond;
he just wanted to make
his connecting flight home.

Sammy wasn't proud about
some of things he did in the war;
so he figured he probably
deserved the garlands of disdain
an ungrateful nation bestows
upon itself in fits of self contempt.

Sammy shut down and tuned out,
soon his heart was as dead
as a tombstone until he visited
the monument.  

He would often recall the story
that as he approached the darkened
wall he could sense ghosts loosening
themselves from the black granite.   

Sammy swore that Jimmy Lynch
who went MIA on the final week of his tour
gave him a bear hug and told him
as long as the beer stays cold
and he don’t lose the church key,
everything's groovy and he’s
hanging tough until the rest
of the guys show up.

Jimmy pointed to the Lincoln Memorial
at one end of the mall and to the
Washington Monument at the other,
emphatically stating that our monument
was forever linked with the greatest Americans.

Yeah meeting up with Jimmy
helped Sammy to start shaken
off some real bad stuff.

Mazie knew her husband for a
month before they got married.
A week later Freddie was off to Vietnam.

Freddie was KIA during the Tet Offensive
and his repatriated remains are peacefully
at rest in the red clay of Georgia.

An always faithful Mazie
came to the monument
a few years after it was dedicated.  
She was struck by all the keepsakes
people left at the base of the wall;  
Zippos, baby pictures, a copy of
The Catcher in the Rye, a fifth
of Makers Mark, Pink Teddy Bears,
votive lights, a red 57 Chevy model,
a left handed catchers mitt, and
a pack of Lucky Strikes.

She palmed rosaries and
crucifixes that salved sore
running wounds and David’s
interlaced Star sounding a Shofar
pleading a case for peace.

Mazie is most moved by the names.  
Rows and rows of names. The scroll
begins in a modest manner and
as the wall climbs the names
of a country's vigilant sons and
daughters tower over her head.  
So much living history; spoken
in the unique accent of a country’s
diverse plethora of luminous tongues.

The stories written into the black granite
tell a tale from every state; claiming
the ears, heart and mind of every citizen. 
Each chiseled letter captures every bit
of sun and deep creeping shadow
inching across a great nation.

“I’m  71” says Mazie.  “When I look
upon the wall I see my 21 year old
Freddie as he looked on the finest
day of his life.  He will never look
any other way to me.”
  
“I didn't want to go to see it,” Franny said,
“a cold piece of stone won’t bring my son back.”

Franny did finally go...

When it rains the wall weeps.  
The wall wept all day,
the first time Franny went.

Many were rubbing
the impressions of
dearly departed names.

Franny too, kneels to the
presence of her son’s name.

With a mother's
grateful fingers,
she touches the wall's
damp surface; wiping
the drizzle from her
child's sodden face.

Kneeling before his semblance,
she rubs his etched edges
onto tiny bits of paper.

She sees him,
made manifest in the stone.
As if through a glass darkly,
a found son looks back,
onto the face of a caring mother.

Franny hangs onto the quiet
memory of his voice,
shimmering in the soft lilt
of a warm dark stone.

This deep core Vulcan gneiss,
at last emerged from the hardest stuff,
sculpts a perfect likeness of a tear stained nation.

The Harmonizing Four: Rock of Ages

In Honor of
The Vietnam Veterans Memorial
Washington DC

Oakland
Veterans Day
2013
Geno Cattouse Sep 2012
1968  I remember 1968..
The land of milk and honey.
The war was still cold but not
The Tet. That ***** was hot.

1954 I made my debut. Lotta my boys did too.
** chi Minh amped up his crew.
Can't. We all just get along.

No way LBJ. Young guys all over town stressin the lottery.
The randomness of body bag.
Friday hip deep in rice paddy.
Monday a letter to your moms.
John F McCullagh Nov 2011
For every aging boomer
there are one or two they've known:
Heroes of the battlefield
Who never made it home.

Some classmate who was butchered
in a fire fight in “Nam.
A sibling who had perished
in the standoff at Khe Sanh.

Perhaps the Tet offensive
left some friend's blood spilled and spent.
Politicians speak of glory-
It’s the grunts who pay the rent

From the walls of Hue to Can Ranh Bay
from Tonkin to Saigon.
there is a wall in Washington
with their names inscribed thereon.

The lucky ones who did come home
recall the name and face
of some heroic eighteen year old
who perished in their place.
The Traveling Wall. The mobile version of the Vietnam memorial came to our town back when I wrote this poem. It is a companion piece to my Poem "The Butterfly"
John F McCullagh May 2013
For every aging boomer
There are one or two they've known:
Heroes of the battlefield
Who never made it home.

Some classmate who was butchered
in a fire fight in “Nam.
A sibling who had perished
in the standoff at Khe Sanh.

Perhaps the Tet offensive
left some friend's blood spilled and spent.
Politicians speak of glory-
It’s the grunts who pay the rent


From the walls of Hue to Cam ranh Bay
from Tonkin to Saigon.
there is a wall in Washington
with their names inscribed thereon.

The lucky ones who did come home
Recall the name and face
of some heroic eighteen year old
who perished in their place.
For marine Corporal Frank Evangelista Jr. and some 58000 other members of my generation who never made it to Woodstock.
Janek Kentigern Oct 2014
You walk a lonely path old man but now and then you show us
you're alive
And maybe when you've had a few you'll shed a sorry tear or two.
That's fine.

But if you really must insist on dredging up this ****
Each and every time.
As each new fact's learned don't mistake horror for concern.
Cos it's a lie.

I'm happy. My eyes are dry.
I can't feel pity looking in your killer's eyes.
So chin up son, don't you cry.
The things you did were unforgivable and I'll never sympathise.

Lying just beneath the skin there hides a multitude of sins
That wait
For a ear that doesn't sneer or recoil sickened
Cos they can't relate.

Seize any opportunity; for you've so many agonies
to share,
To unload your woes but that cross you built
is yours alone to bear.

Each sacred tet-a-tet where you might vocalise regrets
makes you renewed,
But don't forget that as they peer at you it's one-way glass
their peering through.

You look through misty eyes - your little heart is opened wide,
but their's are shut.
They can't return your gaze of hopelessness and shame,
They've heard enough.

If I thought there was an afterlife
I'd be concerned for what's coming your way
And whilst I don't believe in evil
You and him came pretty close I'd say

You can repent until your spent or
Flagellate your sorry self to death.
But if your just trying ro tell the world your sorry
Well, you can save your breath.

Leave flowers on his grave and promise that you'll never
misbehave again
Curse the wicked heart god gave you -
If you had the chance you do it all the same.

Mount another charm offensive
Show them all the side they think you lack
But know that no amount of
Humility will ever bring him back.
These are the lyrics to a song. It's about a dead friend whose death I was indirectly responsibleresponsible for.

On reflection the metre roughly fits that of the verse sections of Radiohead's High and Dry.
Summer in Bermuda, licker could be nice
An over dramatic garden
on a phosphorescent football.

There's a stream running through,
In translucent yellow.
Fertile with life passing by.

This thing inside me, this army of strife,
Is soldiering around me against the malitia of life.
I'm passing by with a strong gain of muster,
Treading through the garden with childlike guster.

Smoke another cigerrette, dream of watching four tet.
Guess you could call this the calm before the storm.
spysgrandson Apr 2014
that summer, Born to Be Wild
and Mrs. Robinson were on AM,
A & W Drive Inns served frosted mugs    
and Tet’s blood had not long dried black
on Saigon streets

my thumb took me from the green tipped tongue
of western Kentucky across the wide world
to a café in Santa Rosa, where I spent my last
eighty-five cents, on a tuna sandwich
and chips

a bus bench was waiting for me  
when the cafe closed its doors
at 12:10, the old waitress giving me
a generous extra dime of time,
knowing I had to face the night  
and the bench, or the New Mexico road
I chose the latter and headed south  
under coal dark skies    

only eighteen wheelers passed, their screaming lights
robbing me of what quiet vision night’s monotony had granted  
they saw my thumb, but not one stopped; they did not know I had walked
a dozen dark dead miles, and had not closed my eyes in 60 hours  
nor did they care, about me, or my shadow on Highway 54  

I talked to pinyons,  cedars that dotted the mesas
and moved about like mournful buffalo, stirred to life
by a sound or a scent, perhaps my own foul road bouquet,
though they were mute, even when I asked them
if I was seeing god in their measured marching
across my desert dream  

long before
the dawn I begged to come
I saw him, dead center on my highway
so black he was blue, his eyes like two emeralds
hanging in some ethereal space, staring at me, the rest
of the absent world unaware he was there, growling
the rumble so low I tasted it, as he might taste me,
I felt our nostrils flair, as his would when
he devoured me,  I saw the blood feast
through our eyes, the last morsel of me,
a pale art form on an asphalt palette  

as he swallowed the last of his meal
the eighteen wheeler came, its high beams bouncing off him
only long enough for me to see his mouth was dry
and his belly empty, before he vanished
into the blue night
The late great Gabriel Garcia Marquez uses the phrase, "the eyes of a blue dog" to refer to a group of short stories he penned. I have no idea what he meant. This "thumb tale" is one of many I wrote about my time on the road, hitchhiking in my teens. In this story, I had been sleep deprived for nearly 3 days and the dark desert came alive in strange ways.
Mike Essig Sep 2015
He was That Guy in high school.
You know who I mean, That Guy
who scored the winning touchdown,
who won a National Merit Scholarship,
who got accepted at Yale and Princetown,
who made everything look so easy,
Who was voted best looking,
most likely to succeed, most athletic,
who got blow jobs from grateful cheerleaders
and even ****** Mademoiselle Marsh
the **** French teacher as a senior
the day he gave the valedictory speech.
Everybody knows some Guy like That.
He is the Golden Guy who will never rust.
Only This Guy made an honest error.
The country at war, he felt his duty
and joined the Marine Corps in 1967.
He left a leg at Hue during Tet
and won a bunch of medals, but
a very Different Guy came home.
Yale and Princetown were ghosts.
He rented a room and tended bar
and he could hop those drinks
faster than anyone else,
but mostly he sat in his room,
saw and spoke to no one,
spinning reruns in his head
and drank and drank and drank
until someone discovered him dead.
Twenty-four and game over.
Sure, you knew That Guy.
Kaeru Jun 2014
In the field
where roses sing
a lonely man approaches.
His face is haggard,
stained and scarred
yet strong as he encroaches.

He won't stop
to think of rest
though long his quest has taken.
His ka-tet broken
friends all dead
yet his resolve's not shaken.

He goes up
the ancient steps
and sees his precious moments.
Why does he smell
sweet alkali?
Is this a form of torment?

Thirty-eight
he sees his love,
sweet Susan dead from fire.
Oh Char-you tree!
He feels such guilt
but keeps climbing the spire.

Up he goes.
He ponders this:
Mayhap it goes forever?
But, no. It can't!
His life is long,
but not that long, however.

To the top
where one last door
with ROLAND on the surface
does call to him
and begs him come,
for was this not his purpose?

There engraved
upon the ****,
the guns his father gave him
wrapped in a rose.
But they are gone.
No, even they won't save him.

Past the door
the hot Mohaine
and alkali await him.
He begs mercy
but ka has none.
The Tower it did bait him.

Roland, he
begins anew
and remembers not a thing.
He marches on,
the Tower waits
among where roses sing.
(Now words written some months back more urgent then ever)!

Trumpet call to action,
sans barreling totalitarian
tilt per prez zee dent shill faction
already wrecking ball -
even without Miley Cyrus - got traction.

Das boot Trump out-
(oust him to) Mexico or Waterloo
lip smacking gangs eagerly await
bully in White House and true
as Reince prescience fore tells poe
whit yawl get lucky strike
if keep Taj Mahal shaped shoo
fur deux hundred daze
starring scary motley crue.

╰☆╮I'm royal heir to peace mongering hoarders,╰☆╮
which comb hen might handy when borders
hermetically sealed, per heil hit lore
caw zing a furor with his stark orders.

Gestapo Re Don Dint (doomsday)
I dont wanna don a quack dynasty outfit,
or that of wood chucker
but...holy *******
kudos to heckler, who deems
steam roller Trump as one mean trucker.

Thus - for umpteenth attempt to post
with noah intention
to induce rabid reaction to roast
my *** (albeit scrawny just to be cheeky),
I duck rye America will burn like toast

if.... mister money bags reaches
full term finish line of presidential electorate,
he doth stick out pudgy leatherneck
with reassurance,
sans hiz safely guarded golf coast.

My anti Donald trump screed
WE MUST DO MORE THAN YODEL LOUD: all agreed
out....out...get...lest cruel nightmare har reed
thru legislation - ding ****
the witch's dead donald drake...freed

bigotry, derogatory hate, hence
out...of...here...without...his...coat...indeed
of...armor, nor golden golfing irons greed
dilly bought with monies usurped
unpaid/underpaid migrants MUST NOT heed
no passivity, who rightfully
feel indignant and teed.

I dune hot condone political measures
paws sauté fracas mane lion kapo - louse
jabbering indiscretion via his blouse
zee and breezy haughty snub nosed
air audacity, haughty, and superiority
on par with Doctor Zeuse
herewith continues poem,

I dashed off ala hill a re: huff - to douse
Auld don self serving trumpeting and gel lee
joie de vivre dystopian *******
inducing nostalgia fin d siecle
Barack Obama utopia of yesterday
now 45th lacking prez cred,

he doth thrive to squeeze gnarly paws,
around world asper hobnobbing
with bigwigs snatching grab-bag to carouse
invariably sparking angry birds viz
puffin that retweet his sewerage bilge -

strike horror tummy senses -
for antithetical opinions heed espouse
based on scary political fracas
and ominous nightmare whar mo' will grouse
to obstruct Trump accessing black keys to arouse

looming presidential nightmare
became real - gruff louse
he crushes sacred freedoms,
whence civilization goes off bluff
analogous to a rabid Tom cat
terminating the life of poor ole Mickey Mouse.

DUCK AFTER DUMP PING THE DON
air ring ma thoughts - no matter aye ham
juiced one twenty first century mwm ape
serves as genuine s cape
to fly (during pitch

black hours of night) and escape
burning effigies, where his jumbo jet,
a sonic boom stick bewitching like Snape
temporarily tough feign ruffled feathers sans ****
pay shuss selfish lust, when world
slides down behavioral sink into Old Rotten Gotham,
where he twill jape
at distant outlier from madding crowd a gape.

At sheer inanity trumpeting strumpets donning innate
prejudice and senselessness purr
blind faith toward self avowed demigod --
seize ***** viz Cesar

his hair coiffed and puffed like it whir
wind blown kickstart ting mobs to stir
paying bodyguards
to evict ruckus-causing murmur
oh...how the masses will let this country.

Go to hell in hand basket
and rack up stratospheric global debt
cause zing this one measly mortal male to fret
that totalitarian rule will force every man,
woman and child to march....het

two...three...four, while the billionaire
turns a third blind eye speeds away
in his foo fighter jet
argh...heavens to Betsy DeVos,
how did fickle finger of fate let

this pompous ***
vacuum majority votes across world wide net
to finagle vox populi,
and groom hooligan nasty ruffian thugs
with smashed face doughy as smart putty pet

bump ping uglies henchmen bedlam set
to create their own version of the tet
offensive, despite croup
bawling ashen faced deportees,

whose tears sentence innocent to po' ver tee
branding indiscriminately vet
so culled unwanted ill eagle "aliens"
labored with nose to grindstone

fingers to the bone vainly,
their American dream parched whence whet
long story short - pondering
rental circumstance will equal net

zero importance, and will be upended if this ret
chad, ewol, googly-eyed, gastronomic,
narcissistic bullish don will set
the spark for world war three -

via gone ah re: ha...ha...ha...to all vet
tureens within American crucible melting *** -
with backs whet
unless....Katrina and the Waves,
superman or Sabrina can oust him yet.
Derby Sep 2016
Every day, even the nonreligious boys knelt and bowed, so as to pray,
“Oh dear God,” they’d say, “Let me be the predator and not the prey!”
April came, and for months we sang
A sweet song about running away
Not ‘cause we were afraid,
We just didn’t want to stay
We wanted to escape--
To take the A-train to the planes at Da Nang
And go home.

So we heeded the word
And we ran through the jungle.

Who could have ever guessed that a hamburger could be so unappetizing?
Here’s the truth: that ain’t ketchup, and this ain’t child’s play.
No Red-Riders or Daisies
These toys are real and so is this pain.

If you’re lucky, you can be saved
If you’re lucky, it might just rain
If you’re lucky, they’ll cancel the game
If you’re lucky, you’ve got today.

And what we imagined when we were tots
About the war our fathers fought
Was all fun ‘til we were caught
In the A Shau Valley with jungle rot
Starving half to death for a C-ration box,
Brothers dying left and right—even if we could, we wouldn’t watch
We had our sights lined up to fire shots
Leaving behind us all our guts
No time for stomachs ******* in knots
No tears, no fear, we’re here to give ‘em hell
And that’s our job
So that’s what we’ll do.

Search.
Destroy.

No sleep for days, a **** sure bet
That sick feeling you’ll need to use your bayonet
‘cause some poor *******’s so unfortunate
To stumble upon you and take what he gets
Surprise, surprise: no peace this year for beloved Tet
“Happy New Year!” are they ready? Are they set?
For two years, their leader’s dead
And the VC’s still such a threat
Both sides take turns mowing down men they’ve never met
They want and we want each other to quit,
That’s what we all expect
But it still hasn’t happened yet.

It’s been five-plus years and we’re still here
Taking baby-faced rookies hardly old enough to drink a beer
Turning them into hardened men through blood, sweat, and tears
Black or white, straight or queer
We’re all equal on the battlefields
We don’t come cheap, but we come at a steal
Valuable and worthless at the same time
It all depends who you ask, the folks at home or the men on the lines
And everyone in between has a different answer too
Olive-Drab boys filling combat boots
A couple thousand bucks for already-dying shoes
To ****** the roots of a foreign land where none of us belong.

Why can’t we leave ‘em alone?
No time to ask questions, just follow your orders:
**** and survive,
Do your damnedest not to die,
Then you can get on the plane and fly.

Fly on home, under one condition:
Survive the brimstone and ******,
weather the storm and see the calm.

Been here 3 years myself, and I heard stories--
Got letters from buddies who made it safe to Uncle Sam
“They hate us back here. Why?”
I ain’t quite sure, man!
Life sure gets different real fast when you’re face-to-face with an enemy
And in a split second, without a thought, you snap his arm and stab his throat
Then lie him down, walk away, and that very same day, go write your girl back home a love-note.

Sure, it’s gotta be nuts to them folks back home, staring into the deep and empty eyes of men who killed and died
Out in those jungles where their country’s pride learned to hide like a silhouette when you **** the light.

It’s gotta be nuts trying to adjust to waking up in a comfy bed without seein’ someone dyin’—
The paranoia of stepping outside to grab the morning paper, which could **** well be a landmine.

Oh, the things they must hear!

Deafening silence.

Deafening silence, through which, if you listen close enough, you’ll hear the shells burst and the bullets fire all day and all night.
And you’re just plain crazy.
Is the mailman a friendly?
Is the neighbor’s kid deadly?
It’s sure gotta be terror.
Pure terror.

I’d say I’m coming home, but I wouldn’t want anyone to feel the sorrow
Or the pain or the guilt or any disappointment when I die tomorrow.
The truth, though, is that I’ve been dead for three years and change now.
Nobody lives. Nobody makes it here,
We just
Drone along, and
Run through the hell we’ve come to know as Vietnam.

Any man who says he’s “fine”?
Well, that’s a **** filthy lie,
For we’ve all come to run through the jungle
Not to live,
But to die.
Written intended to be almost like a letter back home from the perspective of a battle-worn veteran of the U.S. Military in Vietnam.

The narrator is, in my perspective, a 21-year-old soldier who no longer dreads death, nor does he really care or put much thought into whether or not he will live or die; he has lost plenty of friends, as well as any purpose to make new friends in Vietnam. He initially wrote this "letter" to send to someone--anyone--back home, but he never wrote a name or address on the envelope in which he keeps the letter. He kept it in his footlocker, left at his base after writing it. Every now and then, when he got back to the base, he would read it over again and see, because it is the only thing that could make him weep--the only source of any true emotion or feeling he could muster up. He never sent it back home, and, as an epilogue, he survives the war, and returns home the next year, as his deployment had finally expired. He returns to civilian life, suffering the failures of social and romantic relationships, years of heavy post traumatic stress, and unreasonable disdain from his countrymen, until 1975, when there comes some sort of relief: the war is finally over. He goes on to live a fairly ordinary life, though he still suffers from the effects that war can have on a person--often suffering in secret. Decades later, while looking through some storage, he recovers the letter he wrote to nobody but himself. He weeps again, as he had in Vietnam, for all the memories come flowing back. However, re-examining the letter makes him feel much better, much clearer, and much less stoic and stagnant.

Heavily-laden with Vietnam War and period references.
O SAY CAN YOU SEE

by

TOD HOWARD HAWKS


For Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.


Chapter 1

"Would you like another one?," ask the waitress.

"Sure," said Charlie Cumberston.

The band was playing "MOOD INDIGO" then "STRANGE FRUIT."
Charlie loved jazz. He also loved baseball, which was why he also brought THE ENCYCLOPEDIA OF BASEBALL with him to the Village Vanguard every night. And he was passionate about art.

The waitress brought back another Scotch and Soda.

"Thanks," said Charlie.

The Village Vanguard was his home every night since the CIA made him an offer he couldn't refuse.

"You simply know too much. If the wrong people find you, they'll want to know everything you know. If you don't cooperate, they'll stick a barrel of a gun into your mouth and pulled the trigger!"

Charlie had graduated from Columbia College, Columbia University in 1963. He wanted excitement and chose the CIA. He was smart as hell. He quickly ascended to the top tier and was sent to Saigon a year-and-a-half later. During the Tet Offensive in 1968, Charlie was severely wounded. That's when he met Anh, his nurse.

While sipping his Scotch and Soda, he picked up his THE ENCYCLOPEDIA OF BASEBALL to read again about Willie Mays. Mickey Mantle, Ted Williams, Sandy Koufax and many others.

Now the band was playing TAKE FIVE followed by ROUND MIDNIGHT.

The waitress came again to Charlie's table again.

"Would you like another one?" she asked.

"Please," said Charlie.

This was how every evening went from 7 to midnight.

"It's time to go," said Sid.

Sid's job was to pick him up in the limousine at the Waldorf Astoria at 6:45, drive him to the Village Vanguard, then around 11:45 drive him back to the Waldorf. This was Sid's job, seven nights a week.

While he never got drunk from drinking too many Scotch and Sodas, the drinks always made Charlie a bit more than loose. As he entered the limousine, he nevertheless always thought of Anh.


Chapter 2

Sid picked up Charlie at 6:45 at the Waldorf and drove to the Village Voice. Even at 7 the place was packed, but that table, that same table, was always waiting for him.

"Good Evening," Charlie always said to the waitress.

"Would you like a Scotch and Soda?" said the waitress.

"Yes, please," said Charlie. Drinking Scotch and Sodas the rest of his life was better than being thrown into the East River from the Queensboro Bridge with a bullet hole in his forehead, thought Charlie.

The band was playing TAKE THE A TRAIN then MY FAVORITE THINGS.

But Charlie was thinking of a different trip, the trip to Saigon. The machine-gun fire he suffered during the Tet Offensive almost took his life. But Ahn, his nurse, saved his life. As the months passed, Charlie grew increasingly fond of her, and she of him, until fondness became love for both of them. But their love for each other was truncated a few weeks after his release from the Saigon hospital because the U.S. ARMY was going to send him back to the USA to to recover fully. But during those few weeks, Anh and Charlie made love, not only physically, but also spiritually, every nanosecond they could.

"Would you like another one?" said the waitress.

"Please," said Charlie.

The band was now playing SO WHAT then ALL BLUES.

Often, despite the music and drinks, Charlie would slide into memories of atrocities committed by U.S. armed forces during the Vietnam War, some in person, others written up by CIA personnel of which he was apart. The most infamous was the My Lai massacre.

On March 16, 1968, American soldiers brutally murdered in only 4 hours over 500 unarmed civilians including women, children, and old men in the village of My Lai in South Vietnam. American soldiers even took time out to eat lunch. The victims were *****, mutilated, and burned. William Calley, Jr. was convicted by court-marshal of the ****** of 22 unarmed South Vietnamese civilians. He was initially sentenced to life imprisonment with hard labor, then commuted to 20 years, then commuted to 10 years, then commuted to 3 years of house arrest by President Nixon.

"Body Count" became de rigueur. Civilians killed were added to the total of Viet Cong soldiers killed. Competitions were held between units to see which one killed the most Viet Cong. Rewards for the "winners" were days off or an extra case of beer. At this time, much of these activities went unreported, but not unnoticed.

"**** anything that moves!" That became the sine qua non of many commanders whose troops then carried out massacres in their area of operations.

Few war crime investigations were completed by the military at the
U.S. National Archives. The amount of munitions used by American soldiers was 26 times was greater than in WWII. America had unleashed the equivalent of 640 Hiroshima-sized atomic bombs on Vietnam. Two million civilian Vietnamese were killed and 5.3 million were injured. Far bloodier operations like "Speedy Express" should have been exposed but were hidden by the highest levels of the U.S. military. Years later, it was found that this operation killed 11,000 Viet Cong.

"Charlie....  Charlie, are you OK?," said the waitress as she placed the Scotch and Soda in front of him.

"O yes, I am. I was just ruminating," said Charlie.


Chapter 3

Charlie was dreaming about Anh. Would it not be heavenly to have her lying beside him? The Waldorf would not matter. It could be anywhere in the Cosmos. Her scent, her breathing, even the shadow of her lissome body against the large window would arouse him.

"Kiss me. Kiss me again," she would say in his dream. No more war. No more killing. No more massacres. Just love.

The moment Charlie saw her in the hospital, he fell in love with her. Though it took months for him to heal, it was Anh who healed him. Her smile, her touch, her just standing beside his bed made him heal more each day.

When Charlie was released from the hospital, Anh and he made love many times each night. Charlie remembered those nights again and again in his dreams. But when he learned he had to return to Langley and had to tell Anh, tears flowed, flowed so much it awakened him. Charlie had been crying while dreaming. He sat on the edge of his bed bawling for over an hour.


Chapter 4

Another day, another night Charlie had endured.

Sid picked him up at 6:45 and took him to the Village Vanguard. His table was waiting.

This routine lasted 5 more months, but on the night of May 4th, the improbable occurred.

Could it be true?, thought Charlie. Could it be real? What he saw across the room were two young women sitting at a table, one of whom he recognized. It was Anh.

Charlie's heart was pounding, his breathing a tsunami. He sat at his table declining Scotch and Sodas. He didn't recognize the tune the band was playing. He was in shock.

It took almost an hour for Charlie to recover. It was Anh. By now, he was sure of it. Finally, he got up from his table and walked slowly toward Anh. When he reached her table, he said, "Excuse me, but aren't you Anh?

Anh looked up and saw Charlie, then said "Aren't you Charlie?

Charlie said, "Yes."

Anh was stunned. Now two hearts were pounding, their breathings a torrid tornado.

Anh asked her girlfriend would she be okay if she left their table to speak to this gentleman.

"Of course," she said.

Anh and Charlie, therefore, walked to an empty table and sat down.

Anh said, "I thought I'd never see you again." "That's what I thought, too," said Charlie. "What are you doing in New York City?"

"I'm doing post-graduate study in nursing at NYU, but it's summer vacation. And you?"

"That's a long story, Anh," said Charlie.

"I'd like to hear your story," said Anh.

"Are you married?" asked Charlie.

"No, I'm not," said Anh. "Are you?"

"Neither am I," said Charlie. "You saved my life, Anh."

Charlie's remark pierced her heart. Anh's face flushed.

"I fell in love with you the first time I saw you. You healed me," said Charlie.

Charlie said he really wanted to tell her his story, but it would have to be in private. He told Anh he was staying at the Waldorf Astoria, room 719.

"Might you feel comfortable enough to spend the night with me?" said Charlie.

"I'd love to," said Anh.

Charlie's heart started pounding again.


Chapter 5

"Let me just hug you forever," said Charlie.

They just fell onto the bed fully clothed. The room was lit by the night's city lights.

"I couldn't tell you this when we first met. Though I wore a military uniform, the uniform was my cover. I worked at the highest level of the CIA in Saigon. During the Tet Offensive, I was severely wounded and met you when I was hospitalized. When I first met you--even before we first had spoken to each other--I had instantly fallen in love with you," said Charlie.

"Oh, Charlie!", said Anh as she first hugged him even more strongly, then gave him a long kiss.

The talked long into the night, about the past, about the present, about the future.

"T have an idea. First, I must adhere to the mandatory routine forced upon me; otherwise, I will be killed. The good news is that the routine is, in my opinion, lax. My routine is that Sid will pick me up at the Waldorf every evening at 6:45 and drive me to the Village Vanguard where I am to stay until closing time, which is midnight. Then Sid drives me back to the Waldorf. That's it. The way I see it is that from midnight to 6:45 pm the following day, I'm a free man. I've been doing this for years and I've never been checked on, Anh. Furthermore, I need to keep you safe. What do you think?" said Charlie.

"I think both of us will be safe," said Anh.

"If so, we would be able to spend the night together, as well as the rest of the following day, say until 4 pm," said Charlie.

"I agree," said Anh.

"Do you remember telling you I'm passionate about art?" said Charlie.

"Yes, I do remember your sharing that with me," said Anh.

"Well, New York City abounds with art, and you and I can begin to share this beauty tomorrow," said Charlie.

"You're right!" said Anh as she put her arms around around his neck, kissed him, then the two made love as the sun began to rise.


Chapter 6

"Good morning, Anh," said Charlie.

"Good morning to you!" said Anh.

"I'd like to take you to eat breakfast at Tom's, my old haunt when I was a student at Columbia. Then we can take a cab to the Met, as it is often called, to see some of the most beautiful art in the world," said Charlie.

"That sounds wonderful!" said Anh.

Anh showered first, then Charlie.

After both were dressed, Charlie said "Are you ready to head out?

"Yes, I am," replied Anh.

Charlie hailed a cab in front of the Waldorf and asked the cabbie to take them to 112th and Broadway where Tom's was.

"Here," Charlie said, "keep the change."

Tom's, while remodeled, was still Tom's, the same food, the same ambience.
Anh and Charlie ate a full, tasty breakfast.

"Are you ready now to see great art?" Charlie said to Anh.

"I'm ready," said Anh.

Charlie hailed a cab on the corner of 112th and Broadway, and off they went.


Chapter 7

The cab dropped off Anh and Charlie in front of the Met.

"The first piece I want to share with you is my favorite:  Renoir's STILL LIFE WITH PEACHES. It's in the Impressionist Wing," said Charlie.

"Wonderful!" said Anh.

"Well, there it is. I have come to this spot many times and have been transfixed every time I have seen this painting," said Charlie.

"It's beautiful, Charlie," said Anh.

The two stood silently in front of the painting for about 20 minutes.

"It matters not to me how many times I see it nor how long I gaze at it," Charlie said, "I am mesmerized."

Anh and Charlie spent almost an hour in the Impressionist Wing taking in the beauty:  IMPRESSION, SUNRISE by Monet;  LUNCHEON OF THE BOATING PARTY by Renoir;  Le Dejeuner sur l'herbe by Manet;  SUNDAY AFTERNOON BY THE ISLAND ON LA GRAND JATTE by SEURAT, for example.

Other famous paintings:  JULIE LE BRUN LOOKING IN A MIIRROR by Brun;  WASHINGTON CROSSING THE DELAWARE by Leutze;  THE DEATH OF SOCRATES by David;  THE GULF STREAM by Homer;  THE DANCE CLASS by Degas;  BRIDGE OVER A POND OF WATER LILLES by Monet;  SELF PORTRAIT WITH STRAW HAT by Van Gogh;  MUSCIANS by Carravaggio;  PORTRAIT OF A WOMAN WITH A MAN AT A CASEMENT by Lippi;  STUDY OF A WOMAN by Vermeer;  YOUNG MOTHER SEWING by Cassatt.

Charlie knew that it would take a visitor around three hours if she/he simply walked by, but never stopped at, any of the works in the Metropolitan Museum of Art. He knew it, because he had done it himself.

"I'd like to take you to Titiana, famous for its Cairibbean food. It's In David Geffen Hall, part of Lincoln Center. You remember I have to be back to the Waldorf around 6:30 pm so Sid can pick me up at 6:45 so I can arrive at Village Vanguard at 7, right? You have your own key to our room, so keep it with you at all times. I'm sure you'd like to lie down and rest, then freshen up. Here's some money to pay for your cab. Come to the Village Vanguard whenever you like. I love you, Anh," said Charlie.

The two took a cab to Lincoln Center. The maitre'd of the Titiana took them to their table. Anh and Charlie perused their menus.

"I'd like to start with Corn Bread;  Honeynut Piri Piri Salad (Persian Cucumber, Seasonal Grapes, Crispy Quinoa);  Egusi Dumplings (Jonag Crab, Nigerian Red Stew, Pickled Pearl Onion);  and the Bodega Special (Cosmic Brownie, Powdered Sugar Donut Ice Cream, Sorrel), please," said Anh.

Charlie said, "I would like Fried Branzino (Rice & Peas, Cilantro. Onion);  Braized Oxtails (Rice & Peas, Thumberlina Carrot, Chayote Squash);  Hamachi Escovitch (Avocado, Carrot Nage, Marinated Peppers)
and Golden *** Cake, please."

"And what would you both like to drink?" asked the waiter?

"You don't drink alcohol, right Anh?" said Charlie,

"You're right, Charlie," said Anh. "I'll just have ice tea."

"I'm just going to have ice tea, too," said Charlie.

"Well, we've had a full day, Anh, and the day isn't over, is it?" said Charlie. "I think I'm going to give up alcohol now that you've made my life worth living."

"Bless you, Charlie," said Anh.


Chapter 8

The next day, Anh and Charlie visited MoMA (The Museum of Modern Art).

The following were their favorites:  THE STARRY NIGHT by van Gogh;  LES DEMOISELLES d'AVIGNON by Picasso;  CHRISTIAN'S WORLD by Wyeth;  THE BATHER by Cezanne;  THE PIANO LESSON by Matisse;  THE MOON AND THE EARTH by Gauguin;  SEATED BATHER by Picasso;  FULANG-CHANG AND I by Kahlo;  and GIRL WITH BALL by Lichtenstein.

Anh and Charlie ate a nice meal at the The Capital Grille, then returned to the Waldorf to rest. But before resting, they couldn't resist making love, then fell asleep in each other's arms. The alarm clock went off at 5:30 and at 6:45 Sid pick them up and took them to the Village Vanguard arriving at 7.

Charlie's table was waiting, as always.

"We'd both like ice tea," said Charlie to the waitress.

The band was playing ROUND MIDNIGHT then WHAT A WONDERFUL WORLD.

"Anh, being with you is my dream come true," said Charlie. Anh grabbed Charlie's hand and squeezed it.

"I could have attended any university in America, but I chose NYU," said Anh, "and New York City was the only city in America where I could possibly find you!" Anh squeezed Charlie's hand a little harder.

"I have dreamed of you every night since I left Saigon.The odds of us every seeing each other again were incalculable, but it happened. Do you sense it was by chance? I think it was meant to be," Charlie said as he took Anh's other hand and kissed it.

The band was now playing THE GIRL FROM IPANEMA.  No, Charlie thought, the band was now playing THE GIRL FROM SAIGON.

"We have a chance to see the world by seeing New York City, Anh!" said Charlie.

"How wonderful!" said Anh.


Chapter 9

Anh and Charlie at breakfast at Jams, then took a cab to the Whitney Museum of American Art.

Charlie's favorite American artist was Edward Hopper, and while the Art Institute of Chicago had Hopper's most famous work, NIGHTHAWKS, in its collection, The Whitney had the most. Charlie wanted to concentrate on all the Hopper paintings.

The Hopper paintings:  CAPE COD BAY;  MASS OF TREES AT EASTMAN;  ROAD AND ROCKS;  A WOMAN IN THE SUN;  SECOND STORY SUNLIGHT;  SOUTH CAROLINA MORNING:  THE SOURCE OF ALL VIOLENCE, MY UNSEEN FATHER-IN-LAW;  STAIRWAY;   SEVEN A.M.;  ROOFS, SATILLO;  JO IN WYOMING:  SLOPES OF THE TETON;  EL PALACIO;  JO HOPPER;  SELF-PORTRAIT (I);  SELF-PORTRAIT (II);  SATILLO, MEXICO;  a ma femme-jour de naissance;  EARLY SUNDAY MORNING;  LIGHT AT TWO LIGHTS;  TWO ON THE AISLE;  NIGHT WINDOWS;  ROAD IN MAINE;  AMERICAN VILLAGE;  THE WINDOW;  THE HORIZONTAL CITY;  WASHINGTON SQUARE;  THEATER;  REALITY AND FANTASY;  HEAD OF A MAN;  MAN WITH BEARD; NEW YORK MOVIE;  AUTOMAT;  TABLE FOR LADIES;  GIRL AT A SEWING MACHINE;  CHOP SUEY;  FROM WILLIAMSBURG BRIDGE;  HOTEL LOBBY;  and  OFFICE IN A SMALL CITY.

Charlie suggested the two ate at the GRAND CENTRAL OYSTER BAR. Anh said she loved seafood. A cab took them there quickly.

Anh said "I would like OYSTERS ON THE HALF SHELL, A CUP OF CLAM CHOWDER, MUSSELS, AND A SLICE OF KEY LIME PIE, please."

"I would like please OYSTERS ROCKEFELLER, LOBSTER BISQUE, and a good, old-fashion SHRIMP COCKTAIL. We both would like ice tea," said
Charlie.

Their dinners were delicious. They took a cab back to the Waldorf in time to meet Sid who got them to the Village Vanguard by 7.


Chapter 10

In the ensuing summer months, Anh and Charlie continued their seemingly endless exploration of New York City and, at the same time, adhered to their required nightly visits to the Village Vanguard. Over this time, the two enjoyed a cruise around the Statue Of Liberty, going to the top of the Empire State Building, visiting Ellis Island, walking tours of Chinatown and Little Italy, taking the New York Helicopter Tour, experiencing the Central Park Carriage Horse tour, and enjoying the Manhattan Island cruise.

And late afternoons, Anh and Charlie continued to eat among the best restaurants in the world:  OLIO E PIU;  BOUCHIERE UNION
SQUARE;  ELEVEN MADISON PARK;  BALTHAZAR;  GRAMERCY TAVERN;  THE MODERN;  UPLAND;  VIA CAROTA;  LE BERNARDIN;  PICCOLA CUCINA OSTERIA;  SCILLIANA; BOUCHERIE WEST VILLIAGE;  SCHUTTE;  GABRIEL KREUTHER;  FREVO, ATERA;  ESTELLA;  KOCHI;  LE COUCOU;  TAO;  COTE;  PETITE BOUCHERIE;  AMAVI; MANHATTA;  BLUE RIBBON BRASSERI;  1803 NYC;  MINETTA TAVERN;  SCARPETTA; CRAFT;  CROWN SHY;  HEARTH;  CHAMA MAMA;  FORGIONE;  TSUIMI;  PER SI;  CLOVER HILL; ASKA;
DANIEL;  JUNGSIK;  AQUAVIT;  ICCA;  MASA;  SUSHI NAKA-
SAWA;  GRAMERCY TAVERN;  LE PAVILLON;  LE JANDINIER;  
63 CLINTON;  AL CORO;  COTE;  OIJI MI;  JEAN-GEORGES;
DON ANGIE;  ONE WHITE STREET;  VESTRY;  THE MUSKET ROOM;  o.d.o.;  CLARO;  SUSHI NOZ;  ESTELLA;  SAGA;  SEMMA; L'ABEILLE;  NOZ 17;  SUHI GINZA ONODERA;  and THE RIVER CAFE.


It was a mid-August early evening as Anh and Charlie lay curled up naked under the white linen sheet.

"Anh, I love you. I will always love you. I want us to share the rest of our lives with each other. And if you feel as I do, I need to tell you that I feel each of us must be prepared to do the right thing, not only for each other, but also for all others.

"I worked for the CIA, and I know it does not always work for all people. I do not want to be a prisoner of the CIA for the rest of my life, and I don't want the woman I love also to be their prisoner.

"Anh, I love you. I will always love you. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. And if you feel the same toward me, you'll need to know fully what both of us will need to do for the rest of our lives:  SPEAK THE TRUTH. These months I've shared with you have made me realize I cannot go on covering for the CIA and its related agencies and covert, deadly operations. If I cannot love you openly, if I cannot propose to you to be my wife, I would rather be dead. If you cannot run the same risks as I, I'll grieve greatly but understand and respect your feelings," finished Charlie.

"I would rather die than not to love you the rest of my life," said Anh.


Chapter 11

Charlie knew them all, from Haiti onward, but let's start with the OSS of WW11 becoming the CIA.

The CIA was supposed to behave legally, but it didn't always do that. Take, for example, assassination and torture, but don't tell Congress about them. If a foreign country smacked of communist leanings, the CIA needed to "redirect" it, even if its leader had been elected democratically. What else comes to mind? Of course, domestic wiretapping;  manipulation of media;   extraordinary renditions;  secret prisons run by the CIA on foreign soil;  "enhanced interrogation" (torture);  support of dictators in Latin America;  recruiting Nazis as spies;  sales of arms to nations under embargo;  CIA involved in global drug trafficking;  collecting data on Americans without warrants;  and mind control experiments. It took a lot of practice to do all of them well.


Chapter 12

"This is Charlie Cumberston calling for Senator Peterson," said Charlie.

"Just a moment, please," said the secretary.

"Charlie, you old dog!" said John. "We haven't spoken for a hell of a long time! How have you been?"

"That's a long story, Will," said Charlie, "but in truth I need to speak to you in private. It's a life-or-death matter, Will."

There was a long pause.

Charlie and Will were both Nacoms at Columbia, but though Will was considerably older than Charlie, they had become best friends. Will was now the youngest U.S. Senator. After law school, he and his wife, Marilyn, a Barnard graduate, had moved to Boulder, CO where he was elected U.S. Senator on his first try.

"I've been in New York City. I wonder if there is any possibility you might be able to take the shuttle to NYC to talk with me. I need your help," said Charlie.

"Charlie, if you think I could be of help to you, I will find a way to see and talk with you. I'll get back to you pronto." said Will.

"God bless you, Will," said Charlie.

The two exchanged the necessary contact information. Will told Charlie he thought he could get back to him in a day or two, if not sooner.

In early afternoon of the second day, Charlie heard a knock on his door. It was Will.

Charlie opened the door.  "Will, God bless you! Thanks for coming up. Take a seat at the table."

"Will, you know me well," said Charlie. "After Columbia, I joined the CIA. I wanted to honor my country. After intense training, I was sent to Saigon in early '65. During the Tet Offensive, I was wounded severely. I was in the hospital a year. I almost died, but Anh saved me. She was my nurse. I fell in love with her. I had a month before I was to be flown back to the U.S. and it was during that month that I knew I wanted to marry her. When I got back to Langley, they told me I knew too much about the OSS to the present, and if I divulged any iota from the past to the present, I would be "eliminated." I knew they meant what they said. So I agreed to be put up at the Waldorf Astoria and be taken to the Village Vanguard every evening. That was going to be the rest of my life--that is, until I had the unbelievable fortune of meeting Anh in New York City. My dilemma is I know I can't marry Anh now. Anh feels the same as I do. I wish to be remembered as an honorable man. I wish to speak to the world from the podium of the UN General Assembly to tell the billions on Earth the truth and ask all for their forgiveness. You are now the new U.S. Senator from Colorado.  You are an honorable man. The people who voted for you know that. Your fellow Senators will increasingly know that. My advice to you, Will, is do what you think is right. Thanks for hearing me out."

"I will tell the truth," said Will. Will said he would let Charlie know the outcome as soon as he could. The two shook hands and left the restaurant together.


Chapter 13

A week went by and then another. To say both Charlie and Anh were torn was an understatement. Then on the morning of Tuesday of the third week, Will called.

"I have great news for you, Charlie! You've won your battle! You need to prepare your remarks you will share with all the ambassadors and, indeed, the world." said an exuberant Will.

"I can't thank you enough, Will," said Charlie. "I can't thank you enough!"

As soon as Charlie hung up, he picked up Anh and swirled her around and around.

"I will share my remarks with all the ambassadors and the rest of the world," said Charlie, then picked Anh up and gave her a hug and a kiss in mid-air that lasted at least a minute, maybe two.


Chapter 14

"The irony is nobody had the guts to do what you have done, Charlie," said Will. "You have broken things wide open. Now Earth, and every living thing on it, has a chance not only to survive, but also to prosper. I met with U.S. Ambassador Wilson and told him everything. In turn, he spoke first with ambassadors who were his friends who, in turn, spoke with their ambassador friends. This has just spread like wildfire, Charlie. It's amazing!"

"Thanks, Will," said Charlie. "Now my life has meaning. And if this has wheels, we can change the UN Building to the US Building, as in "us, not them."

"That's brilliant, Charlie!" said Will.

After the two men finished their lunches at the 1789 Restaurant in Georgetown, they gave each other a big hug and shock hands.
Anh was taking a nap at the Willard.

"World peace is now the sine qua non for life on Earth," said Will. "Thanks for emailing all your brilliant ideas, Charlie," said Will. "All nations, including the most autocratic ones, see the inescapability of having to form a world union. You are the savior, my friend."

Will continued. "Monday, I will begin to talk to ambassadors. Those will speak to others, and so on. You said there is only one land, one sky, one sea, one people. The boundaries that divided us are not on maps, but in our hearts and minds. Either we will survive as one because of a successful, gargantuan effort to make world peace, or billions will die in minutes. Those are your words, Charlie. Those are your words."

Charlie said "I want to talk with my 8 billion friends on Earth. I will say first that it is an honor to speak to my sisters and brothers. I am overjoyed that I'll meet many of you. I will need to hear your heartaches and hopes to make Earth our home. I will help people realize their real selves. I will help people see what truth is and what it is not. I'll encourage them with love. I will tell them their inner-greatness is inviolable. Corrupt politicians aggrandize power to oppress others, not to empower them. I will die for humanity, but I will never **** anyone."

The ambassadors were in a frenzy for two weeks, communicating with their superiors in their home countries, garnering their approvals, getting ready for Charlie's momentous announcement to the world in the "US Building."
Connor Reid Apr 2014
The circuitry of this belated exclusion
Reminds me of lights in the sky
Like 'You don't know why'
Signs
On roadsides
I know her address
But I don't know mines
I look up at the water vapour on the paper
And 'Sigh'...Oh its fine
Snow lines the road I chose tonight
As the sky ignites my mind
With needs to pace tunnel mouths until daylight
Day and night
Nocturnally confide in an absence of light
That feeding hands teeth bite
Snow white
Blood synergy despite
Khaki brown lamp-post light
In grey sights bloom
Silhouettes lapse comfortably
Towards walls from the sun & the moon
In the dead of noon
This sun down comes too soon
Outside my windowsill
Separate mind states of each room
Spiraling into hate and destruction of my emptied morals
The want for perfected attachment over empty bottles
Ripping hairs out my head
Til it bleeds and pain does follow
Sifting through ******* bins
Fueled by sorrow
Searching far and close
Far and wide
The outskirts and to my side
My quantum of solace
My love
My ever-flowing blue tide
The fist
The fog
Envelops a lot
But truly there is no place to hide
I clutch the thought lost prop in my head
And swallow my pride
The wheels on this car trudge circular
Like a black hole
Am I insane?
Do I have a soul?
In no-ones car that I stole
The lights cut through the haze
Tet my wheels hit a hole
Standing right there, I see her with my eyes
As the car loses control
Her palms calm, as she settles her  head on my chest
We link arms and irrevocably become acceptant of death
The frost on my breath sporadics on her neck
Yet...
Just like icen ash
Her skin flakes wet in this winter wonder regret
My face numb and dead from words that I said
I bleed for 6 months misread in the alliteration of how I slept
Her hair dips in the snow
When we sit on the bench
I'd say something
If this didn't seem to make sense
To feel loved, intense
So dense
But where's it went?
Out the window
Turning tides thrown away like 50 pence
From her lips to her fingertips
My fragile lust shifts
Between want and repulsion
To her angelic bliss
Her arms on my shoulders
And my hands on her hips
We dance in each others minds, volatile
Try understand this
A natural feeling for reformation
Wanting back the chase
Such a thought, whats the cause?
As tears stream down my face
Emotionless hate for her
And not this place,
The ways
I wandered in want for true love
Completion by fate
Is far more appealing than the truest blue expression of our love
In togetherness
This selfish man has truly had enough
Handcuffed by enforcing sculptures of depression
I wheez and huff
I've seen some stuff in this empty town that your push can't shove
It's the wine and the water
The sons and the daughter
My dreams construct the building blocks of the slaughter
This dreamcast dream
Can't dream that on a pint of fosters
If I no longer feel a quarter like my self to this imposter
My heart flutters in love
Like the wings of a fly
In sync with she,
"What will you think of me when I die?"
The rhythm at which she breathes
Her heart beats "Why?"
Confused as my grip tightens on her neck
And I can't help but cry
stalactites dart towards the gutters in the street
The function of my bi-polar existence is inherently complete
Bags of men in plastic sheets
Sprawl at my feet
Whenever the temperature drops in this lost cause city of sleep
2011

Concept song I was never very fond of...
What an Auspicious night my friends,
    What a day in fact,
What a life
What a reflecting Knife,
What with it’s ticker-tack bindings taught with rife,
Yes with the moon’s self served cursed light
That’s right down into my very soul
The pull of which yearns evermore for yet
Another empty ***** and tet-tet
It gets what it rents, it bleeds what it brecks,
It feeds what it mets, is leads where it regrets
Oh yes my friends
Oh yes
What an auspicious night
What a day in fact
What a death


And you wake up alone
In the village you built years ago
Not as you as you are
But you as as you were
Or some oft changed memory of, like soft spun tar
Molded shaped and bent,
Broken in fact by the ravages and scars,
Of nothing, of no one, of nobody,
Of everything, of everyone, of ever body,
All humans, all animals, all life
No people, no beasts, no strife
The cold carcass of the molten sun
The future the past of another man’s son,
What does it mean, what does it mean,
You turn your head in the village
But every stone is me


The night ends to the rise
Of not a start but a doom

Luck is gone Love was a chemistry
Engineered and now revereried
Lipple lap the gods they laugh
As the dice has been cast low and strung
Aye further now you’ve fallen but higher you have come
You split yourself in pieces unbeknownst to anyone
Even your own mind unwitting to the deception
As the chortles bortle onwards ad nauseum
This prophecy disintegrating as it goes on
What is left what is left
You sat there alone for years stuck
This is just the price to pay
For the dam of time to unbrook
What an auspicious night my friends
    In fact
What a day
In fact
Alexis Michaels Aug 2015
And she knew that she would be okay. So she didn'tet her life waste away,cause she knew this is what it takes.
I will finish five months of therapy
yet find myself wondering
should I have made it an even six?

I question with Four Tet on, As Serious
As Your Life has been, any answers given
have left me wondering.

How seriously do I take it,
Opia, existence?
All I want is to love life,
I thank music for being so kind. What Rom Di Prisco cast
I would divine, Gamma Velorum, Graviphoton, any other insight.

Today I considered several fluorinated analogues for the 2C-x and DOx families, extending these considerations to the 2C-T-x and Aleph branches of their respective family trees. There are perhaps
over a dozen viable compounds, clinical trials pending.
Afterwards I took a lengthy shower and cooked dinner.
Following this I joined my compatriots upon campus, wherein we engaged in conversation aided by the consumption of ethanol and caffeine, tonic wine indeed. These are my thoughts while I am still
drunk and wired. I've been afraid

I might not be ready to leave, I know I am.
"Ohana means family
and family means nobody gets left behind".

I'm coming back.
In that glittering, bottomless moment a pair of opaque pupils refocus.
Quote:
Line Twenty-Two and Twenty-Three from Lilo & Stitch (2002).
Tu Anh Apr 2020
So yes he left us
Left this life on earth
Marking his completion
A circle of human life: being born and death

I met him in his
Thirties , young ; yet, not that sweet
I met him in his
Early mid-life crisis (?)
Returned home from his
Years serving Military service

There, he found two kids
And their iron lady-in-chief
Struggling with life to feed
the two little birds
All he wanted is
Stay home and be their dad
And that’s how we grew up
Having sweetest, most kind-hearted, loving dad
And an opposite : iron , nothing can break , lady of our place.

It’s said, you know, daughter is daddy’s past life love
The bond between us
Was instant and ferocious
He hold me tight in my burning feverishness
He braided my hair from my early years
Till I went to college
He made me those most beautiful artworks
For my school homework
He was my hero, was everything I wish
For my future man to be

Life then parted us
as I wanted to leave
As far as I can, from their protective fondness
I detached myself, stopped having them
As a important factor of my life
“cause deep down I know they would do everything
To steal me back and shape me to their “ideal” happiness

We struggled as we grow
Life got us back together sooner than I know
And in its most devilish method
Three women crying next to his dying bed
“Is there anything you wanna leave?
For your daughters as their inherit?”
“I have nothing to give” exclaimed him through a soft breath
We burst out crying as we said
“Daddy you gave us all your life
How can we ask for more, please rest in the light
Of inseparable love , we promise”

So here we are, this is the first TET
We would undergo, without your exist
Wherever you are now, my dearest dad
Lets celebrate this incredible fate
Of having each other , of sharing life-long companionship.
Filomena Rocca May 2024
ja kā o Kánóka? ja Kánóka o kā?
ja kei got ba fo nok za tu zon zak de ska?
i sai pen ni je ben ni je tet ni po zbu.
ju na lok ni no tok ni nãu qok ni de tsu.

ju no vol ni so dol ni qo don de so klu.
je qeu tet ni põ fet ni e sol ze e plu.
juja kā nia Kánóka ki vei ni sai blu?
i zon go deu sat qe deu lup qe deu dqu.

Where is Paradise? And Paradise is where?
Can you stand in the land where all colors are fair?
I wonder, I wander, I try to discover,
But I guess I am less than untouchable other.

But I don't like complaining all day without fail,
So I try to enjoy both the head and the tail.
So then, where is my Paradise that I find so fair?
With love, and with friendship and help. It is there.
Original poem in Xextan, translated into English.
I had such a dream, it ****** me up.
My first girlfriend, the vitamins; I came
to so confused. I quit my job the next day.
I've hated myself, but no longer. "The world
was on fire". I wonder what's left

since love was quenched.
In the spirit of Four Tet, I believe
There Is Love In You yet.
Quote:
Lines Four to Five from Wicked Game by Chris Isaak
Michael Marchese Mar 2018
As gold as my soul as it slithers and shivers
And withers
To smithereens
First she was fire and ice at the same time
Second was burning wealth land with the moonshine
Deep as the sky when I’m high in the sky
Now I fear of no depths of the bottle, I ask why?
Try as I might to undo what I do
To imagine the tombs they await I and you
They equate I and you
They degrade I and you
And they make us see through what is not I and you
One more reason to fight
For a lefty theft right
To threat Tet upon agent’s of oranges blight
Splittin’ 3/5th’s a white
With arms-dealin’ pro life
Like it’s Jefferson smokin’ his whipper wind pipe
Diggin’ Ghraibs for his slaves in the back of a black site
Business is boomin’ like Truman in ruins
We trade magic mushrooms with animist humans
That’s just how we do it
In 50 state fascist Ford family reunions
Of clinically cynical gimmick illusions
Malthusian predictions
On stocked market shelves
Just as coated in sugar
As Keibler elves’ spells
British rebels who colonize
Liberty bells
Pledging sacrosanct vanity
Brinksmanship sanity
Phosphorous fire and fury brutality
Tyrant king lizards of ye olde feudality
Ellis Reyes Jun 2021
When no one else is
You are
There for me
My Eshet Chayil, my "Woman of Valor", for 34 years.
Moon Flower Jun 2019
tears are flowing as I write
some pains never fade
stay the same as if it happened today
so let me try to get this just right

I was just 16 moved to florida
from growing up in northern virginia
no friends, young and wild and facing
a lovers betrayal which changed my heart

first person I met I’d walk to the bar
was a guy named Joe Martin
he was hitting on the girl i was with
I remember she was crying so he gave her a kiss

from that day on, him and I were best friends
hung out all the time I completely trusted him
he caught feelings love he’d say
those sure words would make me run away

he always talk about his brother Jack
family nickname for him was Nat
all the adventures they shared
his love for his brother was rare

over a year or maybe longer I forget
finally one day his brother visited
on leave from the marine’s set to deploy
didn’t think much either way of that boy

we all hung out in and out at the beach
once Jack came over and my mom looked at me
she said “he’s cute” what do you think
i said “you think so, hmm let me see

relationships of that kind were not for me
something Iran from and certainly didn’t seek
but my dear mother she planted that seed
and pretty quickly Jack was hitting on me

we were alone I drove him to the lake
a place where he’d swim he couldn’t get me in
this day he was quite bold wanting
to be with me right there and than

I was intrigued and told him if he wanted to date me
he’d have to do it right
put in the effort talk to his brother
make sure it’s alright

from that day on we were together
every day and every night
seemed like weeks maybe month
but back than felt like years

the day finally came for him to leave
Joe was in the driver’s seat of my 69 firebird
cherry red white top convertible
top was down i was in the back

than Jack came running out
duffle in hand kissed me and climbed in
I said to him “did you tell your mom goodbye”
he said “yes I did, why”, I said “did you tell her you love her”
he looked in my eyes, smiled and ran back inside

off to the greyhound bus station car full of kids
I swear that boy lip locked me I couldn’t catch my breath
he didn’t let go the entire trip
we said our goodbyes and waved as his bus left

deployed to Beirut Lebanon 1983
he wrote me every week
told me about what it was like there
and how he’d reup with his sergeant’s despair

encouraged my schooling said I’d do great
told me of the culture and the barracks and mates
how he was taught use infrared telescope
from the roof spot any mortar or any dangers

he wanted to re-enlist to save money for his future
he was proud to defend our country

than the worse news went round the world
on October 23, 1983, two truck bombs struck buildings in beirut, lebanon, housing American and French service members of the multinational force in lebanon (MNF), a military peacekeeping operation during the lebanese civil war. the attack killed 307 people: 241 u.s. and 58 french military personnel, six civilians, and two attackers.

disbelieving and it took at least a week
before they found his body
in the pile buried underneath
all of us hoping he’d be ok no relief

I was at my brother’s funeral in maryland
all the family was at my grandma’s after the service
when Jack’s mom called with the heart wrenching news
I thought for sure there’d be no way, that god would
take them both away

when I returned back home to florida
waiting for me in the mailbox
my last letter from Jack
that glimmer of hope of a mistake quickly passed

his last letter read:
‘did you hear the new rainbow album
bent out of shape with
ritchie blackmore and ronnie james dio”?
“don’t you worry about me
telling me to be in right place at the wrong time
hell “I’m trying to be in the wrong place at the right time”

Love,
Nat

Jack was 22 I was 18
young private first class marine
died as a peacekeeper, no weapons no defense
the list of the rules first three were intense

until October 23, 1983, there were ten guidelines issued for each u.s. marine member of the MNF:

the perimeter guards at the u.s. marine headquarters on the sunday morning of October 23, 1983, were in full compliance with rules 1–3 and were unable to shoot fast enough to disable or stop the bombers.

1. when on post, mobile or foot patrol, keep loaded magazine in weapon, bolt closed, weapon on safe, no round in the chamber.
2. do not chamber a round unless instructed to do so by a commissioned officer unless you must act in immediate self-defense where deadly force is authorized.
3. keep ammo for crew-served weapons readily available but not loaded in the weapon. weapons will be on safe at all times.
4. call local forces to assist in self-defense effort. notify headquarters.
5. use only minimum degree of force to accomplish any mission.
6. stop the use of force when it is no longer needed to accomplish the mission.
7. if you receive effective hostile fire, direct your fire at the source. if possible, use friendly snipers.
8. respect civilian property; do not attack it unless absolutely necessary to protect friendly forces.
9. protect innocent civilians from harm.
10. respect and protect recognized medical agencies such as red cross, red crescent, etc.

the first suicide bomber detonated a truck bomb at the building serving as a barracks for the 1st battalion 8th marines (battalion landing team – blt 1/8) of the 2nd marine division, killing 220 marines, 18 sailors and 3 soldiers, making this incident the deadliest single-day death toll for the united states marine corps since the battle of iwo jima in world war ii, the deadliest single-day death toll for the united states armed forces since the first day of the tet offensive in the vietnam war, the deadliest terrorist attack on american citizens in general prior to the september 11 attacks, and the deadliest terrorist attack on american citizens overseas. the explosives used were later estimated to be equivalent to as much as 9, 500 kg (21, 000 pounds) of tnt.

minutes later, a second suicide bomber struck the nine-story drakkar building, a few kilometers away, where the french contingent was stationed; 55 paratroopers from the 1st parachute chasseur regiment and three paratroopers of the 9th parachute chasseur regiment were killed and 15 injured. it was the single worst french military loss since the end of the algerian war.the wife and four children of a lebanese janitor at the french building were also killed, and more than twenty other lebanese civilians were injured.

our lives forever changed that day

families, our country, our nation, blood stained.
innocent men and women and children die for us
every single second of every single day


In honor of all of them and

Private First class Jack L. Martin (1961-1983)
there’s a special place in heaven for such angels as these!

below is our song, rainbow “street of dreams”
released 1983 (bent out of shape)
I sometimes wonder what would or could of been
sure did love that Nat Martin!
my purpose was profound
jinjahman Aug 2010
bist du der Mond?
I'm coddling you from afar.
an aria hangs in the air:
bist du meine Liebe
Voll Mond,
from black fire-hole reclaimed

;
clouds over Berlin
orange- nicht weiss
then back to
clouds over any town
orange -not white then black

the movement

the moon is growing;
vertical horizontal algorithmical riSE
a wisp less of cloud - less defined
than what floats;
beneath, lunar
string quartet on wireless - how did they know?
coddling mein Liebchen
who has no time for sleep

waltzed the street to get
sleep,
meine Liebchen wept
the moon will miss you and not miss you . .
play string quartet-a-tet
come back again;
moon or not.
I know this is strange, but then the moon can do things..!

— The End —