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Dr. Bob is Robert Hsiung, MD,
bob@dr-bob.orgShown: posts 1 to 5 of 5. This is the beginning of the thread.
Posted by Atticus on December 11, 2004, at 19:20:42
Black Blood in the Sandbox
Had a barbecue in Fallujah,
Wafting scent of smoking meat,
Black blood in the sandbox,
Kid’s bones crunch under the feet
Of a soldier sobbing softly
In an abattoir, once a street,
Blowing grit clings to his guts,
Glistening coils that steam with heat,
Draped across his khaki camo,
Gray python in a hipbone tree,
Slips to his knees, a supplicant,
Raised arms sway like windblown wheat,
Cries out across the planet to
The new son he won’t meet,
Topples to the dusty asphalt,
Life and death both smelling sweet.Had a barbecue in Crawford,
Wafting scent of smoking meat,
Shredded pork on china platters,
Green grass soft under the feet
Of a president grinning broadly
As he basks in the defeat
Of his enemies in Fallujah,
Their ghost-in-the-night retreat,
Sinks his teeth into the sandwich
Stuffed with sacrificial beast,
Drips sauce on his khaki Dockers
Savoring his tangy treat,
Wishes his assembled family,
Parents and kids, bon appetit,
Inhales deep of the charred carcass
And life never smelled so sweet.
-- Atticus
Posted by Jai Narayan on December 11, 2004, at 20:31:25
In reply to poem ... Black Blood in the Sandbox, posted by Atticus on December 11, 2004, at 19:20:42
what a f*cken poem.
It's so viceral and painful. I feel like I am on the spit rotating.
first one side is chrisp then move me to the other side...
while I moan and wonder if I will make it out alive.
Of course not...I am dead.
but we have such a hard time with death....
I wanna live...
well don't I?
you are f*cking something else.
slurp your green tea you bard.
Jai
Posted by Atticus on December 11, 2004, at 20:56:04
In reply to Black Blood in the Sandbox..oh my f*cken lord....., posted by Jai Narayan on December 11, 2004, at 20:31:25
Oi! Watch the potty mouth in the subject heads! I'm the sensitive type! ;) Well, guess I'll get out the good stuff, then. Two shot glasses and a bottle of Bushmill's whiskey comin' up! I figured I just had to write something about the war sooner or later. No getting around it, eh? Ta. Atticus
Posted by Jai Narayan on December 12, 2004, at 8:36:43
In reply to Re: Black Blood in the Sandbox..oh my f*cken lord..... » Jai Narayan, posted by Atticus on December 11, 2004, at 20:56:04
Saw the movie "Buffalo Soldiers".
This seems like a true story.
Incredible.
there's a point in the story where the father is taking our star in an elevator to his death and dad comments on the Viet Nam war and how wonderful he felt.
It rivals the famous line "I love the smell of napalm in the morning"
Do you think this is true?
Do people love war?
if so, why?
Jai
Posted by Atticus on December 12, 2004, at 18:34:05
In reply to Re: Black Blood in the Sandbox.., posted by Jai Narayan on December 12, 2004, at 8:36:43
It's my belief that the people who love war are -- in most cases -- those who've never been within 1,000 miles of a real battlefield. You rarely hear the grunts who've been in the thick of it speak of violent armed conflict in ideological or romanticized terms. My Uncle Frankie parachuted in at the Battle of the Bulge. He was part of the American group of soldiers that linked up with the Soviet forces once Berlin had been taken. He exchanged the American flag he had with a Russian soldier for an enormous red Soviet flag with hammer and sickle. It's still stored at my parents' house. But despite all the hot fighting he saw, Frankie has never once talked or bragged about his wartime experiences. And the exchange of flags had no ideological significance to him at all; the American flag was simply the only gift he had at hand to give a fellow soldier who'd also survived to that moment, and vice-versa. The few times he's mentioned the war, it's been with a tone of utter distaste; he just sees war as killing and dying and surviving. And this contrast between those who haven't been in the cauldron but are all-too-willing to drop others into the boiling pot is essentially the message in this poem. Peace out! Atticus
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