“All The Beautiful Young Men”

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June 6, 1944 Landing craft at Omaha Beach.

“All the Beautiful, Young Men”

I see the beauty in their brave-lit eyes.

At Omaha, it is their shining hour.

The camera’s caught the gray of early dawn.

Men stand; committed to a greater power.

The ramp now opens; there’s the glint of morn.

No turning back ; this is no time for pause.

Momentum made and like the muscle torn

from out its place , it is for raging cause.

“Oh, captain! I have done my duty now.

I’ve given you my soul and this bold heart.

I’ve nothing more to offer or endow.

As water takes my body, I depart.”

War, then, would strip bravado from their smile;

our young men gone in such a little while.

(copyright, Jacqueline Casey 2013)

Thanksgiving Message

Vulture“Thanksgiving Message”

One cannot be so generous in war.
Our Bird’s analogy; his bold account,
compares this siege of Syrians to shore
as long ago our Puritans did mount!

Our enemy now interweaves their tread
with innocent, who, striving to be free,
must mock us with their ugly whore,  instead,
so filled with all her manner of deceit.

The Caliph sees no borders from his horse
deceptive as the Trojan War drum rolls.
See history repeat with deadly course
as refugees rush borders to cajole.

Comes answer, sly, suggesting Syrian vet.
Obama knows no record’s there to get.

“Where Have All the Flowers Gone?”

“Where Have All the Flowers Gone?”

Our land is thick with thistle and with thorn
dead bodies lace the meadow newly stripped.
The air now wracked with twisted metal born
and steaming clods upon the blackness slip.
So crush`ed is the early budding heads
who suckle now among a sea of mud.
Men plunge, protected through their field of dread;
grab boxes painted orange in death’s flood.
The blossoms in the meadow burnt away
each leaf has flown and hurried from our view.
The madness we call war has had its sway.
Burnt offering, we offer our excuse.
But flowers will not listen to our hurl.
They gasp for air in other, better worlds.

“All the Beautiful, Young Men”(2)

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“All the Beautiful, Young Men”

I see the beauty of his sober eyes.

At Omaha, it is his shining hour.

The camera has caught the scene at sunrise.

He’s standing in that moment of great power.

The ramp now opens; there’s the glint of dawn.

There is no turning back; no time to pause.

His choice is made and like a muscle torn

from out his heart , it is for raging cause.

“Oh, captain! I have done my duty now.

I’ve given you my soul and all my heart.

I’ve nothing more to offer or endow

as water takes my body, I depart.”

War cannot strip their beauty or that smile.

Our young men gone in such a little while.