Memorial Day

[scott]

Tomorrow, let us not perpetuate war by exalting its sacrifices.

...If we were genuinely concerned with honoring those who have died in war, we would make it our sacred task to eradicate the causes of war.
[...]
Almost every war in every era could have been avoided, if the majority of men were not motivated by the basest, most repellent and petty of factors: the lust for power, greed, and the pathetic search for "meaning" and "glory" in one's life by killing the designated "other" of a brief historical moment.
[...]
So the myths prevail. Our wars are always noble, fought for the purest of motives. Our warriors are similarly noble, engaged in a high-minded crusade. They butcher and slaughter, and are butchered and slaughtered themselves, so that "civilization" might be preserved. Never mind that many of the warriors themselves would not agree. Never mind that the front-line soldiers know that war is insanity, and only insanity. Never mind the overwhelming, senseless, futile, endless horror of what actually happens in combat, and the details that never reach the public.

Chayefsky rejects the myths in their totality. He implores us to embrace cowardice. I beg you to follow his advice. You can be certain the cries for war will rise again, if not against Iran, then against North Korea, or in ten years' time against China, or against a country not now in the news, but which will fill the role required by the vast machinery of war. And when those cries overwhelm all facts and make reasonable argument impossible, and when they are amplified once again by an ever-compliant, always docile and obedient media, plead cowardice. If you value the sanctity of a single life, it is the only sane course to take, and the bravest.

http://powerofnarrative.blogspot.com/20 ... et-us.html

[jim_mich]

War, huh, yeah
What is it good for
Absolutely nothing
Uh-huh
War, huh, yeah
What is it good for
Absolutely nothing
Say it again, y'all

War, huh, good God
What is it good for
Absolutely nothing
Listen to me

Ohhh, war, I despise
Because it means destruction
Of innocent lives

War means tears
To thousands of mothers eyes
When their sons go to fight
And lose their lives

I said, war, huh
Good God, y'all
What is it good for
Absolutely nothing
Say it again

War, whoa, Lord
What is it good for
Absolutely nothing
Listen to me

War, it ain't nothing
But a heartbreaker
War, friend only to the undertaker
Ooooh, war
It's an enemy to all mankind
The point of war blows my mind
War has caused unrest
Within the younger generation
Induction then destruction
Who wants to die
Aaaaah, war-huh
Good God y'all
What is it good for
Absolutely nothing
Say it, say it, say it
War, huh
What is it good for
Absolutely nothing
Listen to me

War, huh, yeah
What is it good for
Absolutely nothing
Uh-huh
War, huh, yeah
What is it good for
Absolutely nothing
Say it again y'all
War, huh, good God
What is it good for
Absolutely nothing
Listen to me

War, it ain't nothing but a heartbreaker
War, it's got one friend
That's the undertaker
Ooooh, war, has shattered
Many a young mans dreams
Made him disabled, bitter and mean
Life is much to short and precious
To spend fighting wars these days
War can't give life
It can only take it away

Ooooh, war, huh
Good God y'all
What is it good for
Absolutely nothing
Say it again

War, whoa, Lord
What is it good for
Absolutely nothing
Listen to me

War, it ain't nothing but a heartbreaker
War, friend only to the undertaker
Peace, love and understanding
Tell me, is there no place for them today
They say we must fight to keep our freedom
But Lord knows there's got to be a better way

Ooooooh, war, huh
Good God y'all
What is it good for
You tell me
Say it, say it, say it, say it

War, huh
Good God y'all
What is it good for
Stand up and shout it
Nothing


EDWIN STARR lyrics - "War"

[winkle]

Bomb-bay doors slide open, now an arc
Of heavy bombs shit into space
To free fall in a lazy race
To ground.

Three long sticks of bombs drift back
With thirty-one tons in every stack.
In streaming banners they drift on down
An iron ladder to the ground.
Below the enemy walks unaware
The Damocles sword that fills the air
Spread high above the countryside,
Two miles long, a half-mile wide.

Thunder-flash explosions strikes
And dance the ground in sparkling lights
To stomp frail earth in thud refrain,
With pounding, smashing, iron rain
That marches down the valley floor,
Goes up the hill and down once more,
Each bomb-step treading on the others,
Overlapping rings of death that smothers
In gruesome gore.

Shock waves slam the shell-shocked land
With smoke, debris, steel dust and sand
So thick it dims away the light
And mellows day to dusky night,
The shattered trees are gulped by fire
That rages hot to billow higher
Merging anvil clouds that flare
And mirror reflect the reddish glare
Of hell on earth.

Away up high
The behemoths circle round to fly
Back out to sea, and their island base.
They throttle back to leisure pace.
The crew kicks back their job well done,
The weaving contrails catch the sun
The evening star glows to the right,
They fly in peace, in perfect flight.
The broken backs of splintered trees
Smoke in the dusk. A gentle breeze
Stirs the embers…fans the flames.
And acrid smoke drifts from remains
Of what once were men. Now charred lumps,
They puddle there in awkward clumps
Of black and bloody, steaming meat.
That night, the rats, come out to eat
The dead…and badly wounded.

"as our Khe-Sahns, keep rolling along…."

from ARC LIGHT

Curt Bennett





From the coast
Drones an ancient, spectral ghost.
It rises from its earth-bound lair
To graze upon the cool night air.
It lumbers straight towards the sight
Of glowing tracers in their flight.
The radios relay the ground situation
As "Spooky" arrives at his battle station.

It lumbers high, this grand old plane
Whose piston engines spit blue flame
While it makes an easy left hand turn
To orbit o're the tracer's burn.
Now Spooky kicks out one big flare
That blossoms in candescent glare
That paints the jungle bluish-white
Where silent bullets snap and bite!

Now sounds the eerie, deadly moan
Of automatic cannons heavy groan.
A red river of fire arches down
To join old Spooky with the ground.
The pilot's gun sight is his wing
That guides the iron bees that sting
So bad! And like a chef will stir the soups,
The pilot stirs his dripping groups
With easy wave of wing.


No lights
Betray his presence on the heights.
A flitting shape that blinks the stars,
Betrayed by ropes of fire that scars
And sears the blackberry night.
If pauses for a moment there,
Once more kicks out a chuting flare
That lazily floats and drifts on down
To march the shadows on the ground.

Its deadly, scarlet fire-broom
Sweeps the crowded jungle gloom
In close-packed death. Each round
Strikes one meter of the ground,
A greedy hail of swarming rain,
Unbroken streams of iron chain,
That gouges tears, rips and gashes,
Whipping the earth with lethal lashes.

Now flailing up in swift return
A streak of green bolts glow and burn!
As an AK returns his stitching seam,
Green salmon swimming ruby stream!
Spooky pauses in mild curiosity,
Then pisses in impunity
A molten trail of deadly force
That smothers the fire at its source.

Now…all is still, all is done.
No way, the enemy will overrun
Tonight. Spooky takes a lap or two,
But no new fire shoots into view.
Spooky growls, turns on his lights,
In hopes of drawing green fire-bites,
But nothing stirs along the ground,
And nothing moves..there is no sound.

At the listening post in chewed up mud
The radio sprawls all soaked in blood.
Three bodies cool. The sacrifice
To "Friendly Fire". So high this price
To pay. Cold stars prick eternal space
Their faint lights blush the dead men's face
Who gape the sky with sightless eyes…
And only night birds eulogize…
The loss.

from SPOOKY

by Curt Bennett




The sounds of war are different from others,
Not too unpleasant, but distinct,
The eternal crackle and chatter of radios,
Filling the air like white, background noise.

The sights and sounds of war at night,
Are unseen and impersonal,
Without authorship or responsibility,
Somehow removed, to be viewed from afar.

One unpleasant reality of war
Is the smell, the cordite burn,
The acrid sweet smell of sweet pork,
From burning, human meat.

Somehow that and the screams
Of the unseen dying somewhere
Out there, tends to diminish
The beauty and fun of it all.

from THE BEAUTY OF WAR




O for a voice like thunder, and a tongue
To drown the throat of war! When the senses
Are shaken, and the soul is driven to madness,
Who can stand? When the souls of the oppressèd
Fight in the troubled air that rages, who can stand?
When the whirlwind of fury comes from the
Throne of God, when the frowns of his countenance
Drive the nations together, who can stand?
When Sin claps his broad wings over the battle,
And sails rejoicing in the flood of Death;
When souls are torn to everlasting fire,
And fiends of Hell rejoice upon the slain,
O who can stand? O who hath causèd this?
O who can answer at the throne of God?
The Kings and Nobles of the Land have done it!

William Blake




LAST NIGHT I HAD THE STRANGEST DREAM

Last night I had the strangest dream
I ever dreamed before
I dreamed the world had all agreed
To put an end to war
I dreamed I saw a mighty room
The room was filled with men
And the paper they were signing said
They'd never fight again

And when the papers all were signed
And a million copies made
They all joined hands and bowed their heads
And grateful prayers were prayed
And the people in the streets below
Were dancing round and round
And guns and swords and uniforms
Were scattered on the ground

Last night I had the strangest dream
I ever dreamed before
I dreamed the world had all agreed
To put an end to war

good luck on that happining



war sucks
but it sure makes for great poetry

by the way over 100,000 people that severed in Vietnam have committed suicide

http://www.veteransforamerica.org/blogid/2233