War touches all

The following is a term paper based on several books written about the Vietnam War; but it is just as relevant for any war… and for any time.

[Take your ego and preconceived notions out of the equation and it’s never too late to learn.]

Fly the friendly skies0001

War touches all

War is greedy. A little thing can release it, but after it is let loose it cannot easily be tamed. It has no loyalty, not even to those who cast it forth. It seeks to ravage anything and anyone it touches, and it touches everyone. And anyone touched by war will never be the same. But individuals who experience war firsthand will, inevitably, bear a bigger cross: a burden uniquely forged by their experience and perspective. Continue reading

Raping Mother Earth

Mother Earth did not need Freud to come along with words like Oedipus Complex.

She has known, intimately, many men born of Earth with inner desires to wed and bed their mother.

The immaturity of such fantasies foolishly mistake lust for love.

And when rebuffed they respond in infantile manners for that which Mother Earth knows will lead them down a destructive path.

Some go no farther, but many team with likeminded siblings and violently rape Mother Earth.

Greedy, lustful, spoiled children addicted to their deranged desires based on selfish motivation and the misinterpretations of what constitutes treasure, wealth, and the real riches of Mother Earth.

Mother Earth’s daughters are not innocent; they share responsibility for the ongoing rape.

Much of what is ripped from beneath the skirts of Mother Earth – in every orifice and deep within her bowels – is used to tickle the fancy and fashion of women worldwide.

And if they encourage the rape of Mother Earth in order to enjoy the pleasure bought through greed, should they really be surprised when the same childish men rape them?

 

© JW Thomas

I Salute You! And only You.

graves1

[MATURE CONTENT]

Join up and be a man. Join up and see the world. Join up for the adventure. Join up to learn a valuable trade. These and many more PR tidbits still ring in my head. It’s funny; no one ever said, “Join up to stick your hand inside your best friend’s chest cavity in a futile attempt to save him.”

Where was the commercial about only sending us to the shittiest assholes around the globe? To the most god-awful heat and humidity; which was actually sub-zero compared to the hellish and volcanic emotions vomited on us by the locals: and those were supposed to be our allies.

Where was the commercial about the exotic cuisine… both eating and being eaten by? Monkey brains, insect stew, tarantulas, snake, maggoty meat pies, and gallons of blood… to keep you full and enticing to the swarms of kamikaze mosquitoes from the air, and the submariner legions of leeches infesting nearly every putrid waterway you’re forced to traverse.

Where was the commercial about the people you were helping betraying you in every way imaginable? The lovely ladies with soulless black hearts that would tempt and seduce the lonely GIs, only to surprise them with razor-sharp blades placed in their pussies for a sensual mood-killing surprise; or worse, those truly sadistic that would literally bite a mouthful off in the middle of fellatio. Or the men and women that would send their own children wearing the latest explosive fashions into a group of GIs to blow them to kingdom come.

Where was the commercial about “all is fair in love and war?” Which, when translated, meant we were expected to follow the most restricting rules of engagement while the enemy, so-called allies, and any other trigger-happy, booby-trap rigging, motherfucker could make up their own rules as they go, while our Brass-Hats mutually masturbated to please whichever politically correct puppeteers are in power at the time.

America is a country that lies, cajoles, seduces, and manipulates its bravest and finest young men and women to wear the uniforms and bear the burden and responsibility of fighting for our freedoms, and cleaning up the messes around the world that our politicians and corporations continually create or exacerbate for political or financial gain. And yet I still run into people who have no clue why we honor our fallen heroes, or why they should respect anyone that willingly puts on a uniform. Go figure!

To all my fallen brothers and sisters, who understand my rant—I salute you! I do not salute you for this country or its leaders. I salute you for your willingness to bear the burdens, to accept the responsibility, and to sacrifice for an ideal that this country and its leaders have tarnished beyond all repair. I salute you for your youthful exuberance, your dedication, and your professionalism. And, most of all, I salute you for your courage to stay beside your comrades in the heat of battle, to save many of your brothers-in-arms, and to willingly pay the ultimate sacrifice: making sure that it costs the enemy dearly. In short, on this day, I salute you and only you, my fallen brothers and sisters.

So I am Told

proud shadow1

I am a byproduct of civilization

Blood from two of the five

civilized tribes flows in me

So I am told

Tribes of the Southeast

Why is the Southeast not my home?

Because of the Trail of Tears

So I am told

Destination

Oklahoma

New roots for ancestral kin

So I am told

Why is Oklahoma not my home?

Because of the “New Deal”

So I am told

Placate the politician

Vacate the reservation

Paddy-cake a new direction

Earn more money

Have jingle-jangle jeans

Forget your language

Homicide your Spirit Guide

Be a “real” American

So I am told

A few went to Texas

A few to Southern Cal

Indian maiden finds white-eyed Prince

Indian brave finds white-eyed gal

Broken water sets me free

Born in Long Beach

California

As far away from my ancestral home

as I can get

without getting wet

So I am told

Separated geographically

Separated culturally

So I am told

But I have lived

loved

longed

lost

and laughed

But never with a true connection to kin

My inspiration to begin again

A byproduct of civilization

So I am told

More often than not – civilization sucks

© JW Thomas

Tricky Rick is Dead: Goodbye Little Coyote

grave-with-flowers

A carefree day

Beaver stays busy

Salmon travel

Cougar roams

Eagle soars

I listen to the symphony

fluid sounds of lake,

creek, and brook

North Wind’s turn to conduct

melodious tunes:

light, airy, breezy

Sway of branch

dance of leaf

inspired vocals

tweet bird, tweet

Cues to laugh,

grin,

smirk,

smile

Ancestral home

visible for miles

Missed cue

by technology:

ring-tone clamor

ancient Hammer hip-hop

need upbeat Mother Earth apology

Voice of lost love

suspicion aroused

“J-Bear, you cool?”

Does glacier worry about snow flake?

All is frosty

“It’s about Little Brother:

Little Coyote.”

Spirit Guide robbed her punch line

Tricky Rick is dead!

How?

When?

Where?

Land of the Devil Sun

Late night on a lonely road

Backseat rider

business bound

Staring down the bright lights of woe

Two-ton bullet gaining speed

Swerving

At the helm

a DUI three-peat

Slim Picken’s imitation

rocket rodeo

missile madness

No time to act

No place to go

except where faith

may make it so

Fire-water scores four more

One married to addiction:

three collateral damage

but the count’s too low

What about opposites

and offspring?

Little Coyote’s wife

leaving hospital:

Gave birth to their first,

now grieving

Daughter now daddy-less

Is that not collateral damage?

Statistically speaking,

who speaks for

ghost statistics?

Who qualifies

the unregistered quantity?

So much concern for criminals

Much less for crime victims

Don’t blame color-blindness

gender prejudice

age-bias

political incorrectness

or financial deficiency

Lady Justice is blind

to personal responsibility

She’s a gold-diggin’ bitch

with a greedy itch

Where, pray tell, is my compassion?

Spread among the innocent dead

and kith and kin

Destroyed when Mr. Booze

performed a dozen

long-necked elbow bends

scorned common sense

chose to drive

Giving no thought to the living

Receiving no mercy in the end

When Wolf tells Moon

a lunar joke

Crow caws just because

and Coyote abandons his den

© JW Thomas

Way of the Warrior

chiefs1

The way of the warrior is only honorable

in defense of oneself or others

Not for the theft of nations –

the rape of neighbors –

the acquisition of slaves –

the burning of babes

To follow a fool into battle

is to be a fool

To be led by those with greed

against lesser foes with need

you must sacrifice your soul

as fodder

Tell me, my people

when to the Great Spirit

your voices call

Does He answer?

Or does He turn in shame?

© JW Thomas

Grandfather

Crow_s_heart,_Mandan

Grover Priest was a holy man

without sackcloth,

robes,

or rosary.

Never thumped anyone

with a Good Book –

or a bad one.

Broke water in Oklahoma.

Indian Territory.

Raised red on the rez’.

Raised “right” by white.

Sheared like a sheep.

Long-knives detest long hair,

except in Custer’s case:

another disgrace.

How is one made

to fear braids?

Sacred eagle feather must go;

forgot to tickle the fancy.

Breechcloths stripped:

too many Pale People blushing.

“Savages are quite vulgar,

shamelessly rude:”

pale prudes embarrass easily.

Leather leggings – feared.

Leather chaps – for cowboy gear.

Queer perspective.

Pistol-packin’ denied.

Rifle-stackin’ applied.

Cartridges confiscated.

Quiver and bow

and arrows must go:

not even a lance

to count coup.

When Winter Hawk comes

scarce is the game.

See the nameless,

faceless –

to all but us –

seek a place

to sing their death song.

Quite a sight

a child’s empty stomach

swelling as if full.

First People on knees

remind pale fathers

about treaties

and Golden Rule.

“Please” isn’t easy for proud.

Aid and comfort come

with pox blankets:

disease.

First People

much to give

now told

“no right to live.”

Truth would say,

“Livin’s an illusion

when white claim right.”

Things can change

when a strong man stands,

and Grover stood.

Bore the mark of braves,

the sign of Dog Soldiers:

scars,

jagged and deep.

No weapons.

Empty hands.

Brave breath.

Inspired heart.

Vision quest

to Black Buffalo:

introspection.

Dream narrative

by Ancient Owl:

new direction.

Naked heat,

sweat lodge,

purify.

Voice of reason,

four seasons

Great Spirit

from big sky.

Grover roves,

holy role,

medicine wheel,

hoop circle,

sage smudging,

trudging in snow,

sand painting,

tainted spirits

must go.

New visions –

no indecision.

Peyote,

Bill Cody,

who gets the bill

for buffalo loss?

A Nation’s cost –

too much to bear.

A blameless shaman

in an uncommon time

for shameless acts.

Revised racism.

High-velocity

religiosity –

with Spirit Man

confidence scam:

each bear some blame.

New Deal times two —

Roosevelt won,

Collier’s opus:

rez’ life

merely hopeless:

a distinct improvement.

Old Ones see

reservation breed

child-man

into man-child.

What improvement?

Some jingle-jangle in jeans,

but seams still split,

dreams all wet;

met the enemy

“he” is me.

“Give us this day”

“Forgive us our way”

Thirty pieces of silver

still lay on the ground.

Shaman unheeded.

Grover is told,

“Not needed today

or tomorrow.”

Title is lifted,

off rez’ Grover drifted.

Territorial goodbye

hello Texas sky.

From prophet to profit,

a Sun Dancer rancher

who looked back to see

the rez’ deep in sorrow.

A redskin in Red Rock,

red clay by the border;

a good shaman shunned

when Tribal Council judged

when pockets jingled

with Judas coins.

Red betrayed red –

mineral rights –

elemental means –

mimic “white eyes”

for jingling jeans.

Tradition is lost –

the cost to progress –

ceremonial dress tainted –

no happiness.

No sign ever shown

of Grover’s grief;

forsaking the herbs

and raisin’ the beef.

Holy he lived

and holy he died;

one thought ever-present,

my people survive! 

 

© JW Thomas