April 17, 2012 - 0500

This is another poetry prompt from the My Word Wizard site. As a Marine, it made me feel a little bit more pride to read a few months ago that the term "Former Marine" is considered obsolete. There are no "Former Marines", only Marines. In my mind however, there are "ex-Marines", and they are the ones who have disgraced the Marine Corps in some way. The ones who don't deserve the title that they once earned.

Disgraced


The term was an ugly one
To one that had been once so highly regarded
From a long line of heroes
He was to be stricken

Jason was an ex-Marine
He no longer could claim the title
That he'd sung about in boot camp
That had been bestowed upon him on Parris Island

He carefully folded the blue coat
Neatly placed in a case with glimmering buttons
Shiny badges
Rows of ribbons and medals

All earned in service to his country
But now, only a short time later
He could not bring himself to look
At his past glory

He closed the case
He turned away, and towards his new life
One that he didn't want to return to
The life of an ex-Marine

April 10, 2012 - 0500

Our good poetry friends at My Word Wizard have been posting poetry prompts and I see them in my Twitter feed. I think to myself, "I should do some of those. They would be creative ways to get the word flow up." So, I took a look at one or three of them, and here's what the results are.

The Junk Hunger

Marlon was addicted to it

The junk consumed him every time he

Jabbed the needle into his thin arms

Into his collapsing veins

Marlon was addicted to it

The plunger pressed sent him

Over the edge. Further away

The plunger plunged him into the abyss

Marlon was addicted to it

He'd rob you for it

He'd steal things for it

There was nothing he wouldn't do

For it. Marlon was addicted to it

It was his first thought with the sunrise

It was his last though with the moon rise

It was, frankly, his only thought

Marlon was addicted to it

The way it made his hands swell

The way it made his head droop

The way it made him feel...alive

Marlon was addicted to it

There was no turning away from it

It was to late for that

Oh yes, much too late for that

Marlon was addicted to it

He knew that one day

It would kill him. But he was fine with that

As long as It was what killed him

April 3, 2012 - 0500

This one is about our dog, Fiona. Fiona is a fawn colored greyhound that we rescued from a nearby dog track. She's 5 years old, and still plays with the carefree abandon of a puppy. She occasionally growls and barks, while throwing her toys in the air. She will follow me or my wife around the house, always wondering what we are up to and if there is a possible treat in the making. She's goofy and rambunctious and we love her dearly.

Puppy Love

I love you because you're crazy

I love you because you're calm

I love you because you comfort me

When I wake up scared from a storm

I love you when you snuggle next to me

I love you when you lay quietly by yourself

I love you when you're head is on my lap

And your tongue leaves its mark on my pants

I love you when you're ears are standing up

I love you when your tail wags in circles

I love you when you smile with your doggie teeth

Looking mean to those who don't know any better

I love your furry little head

I love your fuzzy little feet

I love to scratch your little tum

And feel the fur under my fingertips

There's nothing like your small, warm head

Resting gently on my knee

Reminding me that all is fine

No matter what the world has done

March 27, 2012 - 0500

A goal that I have tried to attain ever since middle school was to learn something every day. Mr Roberts, my 7th and 8th grade social studies teacher said this to his classes and it stuck with me. Whether it's reading something new, seeing something in a different light, or going someplace unknown I have tried. And when I am gone, I hope that someone that I have had contact with, will take that lesson and carry it on to the next generations.

Lessons Learned

In 38 years what have I learned?

When I am on my death bed what can I pass on 

Before I pass on

What are the lessons I can impart before I depart?

In 38 years I have learned

That growing up isn't always done

Where you grow up

That maturity is done when you are gone from home

In 38 years I have learned

That training, knowledge and experience

Are sometimes no match for cunning, deceit and lies

From those who practice this every day

In 38 years I have learned

That your friends will be there for you when it's easy for them

But that best friends never go away

Even when they are far away

In 38 years I have learned

That children can be cruel

Adults can be evil

And that both are learned behaviors

In 38 years I have learned

To ignore the jeers, embrace the laughter,

To remember the tears and to learn from the mistakes

Because none of these come often or last forever

In 38 years I have learned

That I have learned a lot in 38 years

And that there is a lot more to learn

In the next 38 years

March 20, 2012 - 0520

I watched the documentary "Louder Than A Bomb", about the poetry slam contest that takes place in Chicago, and I wrote this after seeing Adam Gottlieb give a jaw-dropping performance. If you haven't seen this movie, and consider yourself any kind of poet, you are doing yourself a disservice. See it now. Twice. It is inspiring.

Who Do I Think I Am?

Can I be as good as this man

This child who lives in the City

This half-my-age literary genius

Who brought me to tears with his words?

I see the open mike calls

The contests and competitions

I see the friendly messages for poems

And I think I can do it

Then I hear this man

This child who lives in the City

This half-my-age literary genius

Who brought me to tears with his words

I say to myself "I can do this"

"I can go to this open call"

"I can write something that they will like"

I think I can...

And then I hear this man

This child who lives in the City

This half-my-age literary genius

Who brought me to tears with his words

I put my words on "paper"

The virtual page where I collect my thoughts

With the thought that I can go to the mike

And share with the polite applause

But then I think of the man

The child who lives in the City

The half-my-age literary genius

Who brought me to to tears with his words

And I close the "book" and walk away

January 2, 2012 - 0445

The new year will hopefully mean more frequent posts. Time will tell but that's the plan.

I had this idea about a month ago, but it wasn't an easy one to just write out in a flash. And, there were still about 30 days left in the year. So I waited, and ended up having to adjust my number. After reading this, I would urge you to go to the Officer Down Memorial Page and look at some of the names and read an entry or two. And, if you're so inclined make a donation to this worthy cause.

163

Each year the new names are etched

Into the cold stone

A solid, stoic reminder

Of heroism and danger

163 new names will be added

For 2011. Fathers and mothers

Brothers and sisters

Family and friends

From almost every state

In every size department

Big city; small town

Urban or rural

These were the guardians

The protectors of society

Hailed as saviors

Vilified as monsters

They were in a strange business

Policing their fellow man

Keeping watch over the flock

Keeping the wolves at bay

163 warriors of justice

Their lives cut short

Their careers abruptly ended

Their memory kept alive

We couldn’t know them all

But we knew them all

They were called

Like we were called

Rest in peace champions

Your work will be continued

Your loss will not be in vain

We will carry on for you

December 22, 2011 - 0340

On my drive home I saw a huge buck in a forest preserve. He was standing in the fog and mist and I was inspired. I actually said to myself "I wish I could paint or draw that scene." Instead I wrote these words.

What I Saw This Morning 12-21-11

My drive home is usually bland

On autopilot I wind the roads

Never a standout moment

Rarely a story to tell

This morning it was was foggy; misty

A hazy, dangerous way to be

Making my trip to my dogs

And the warmth of my bed

This morning, as I shivered

Despite my heater heating my car

A sight rose from the fog

Appearing through the mist

Its red-tan hair shone with the dew

Its ears flickered as it listened

For approaching coyotes

Or for approaching people

The large rack of antlers

14 points of bone and glory

A hunters dream

A predators nightmare

I quickly scanned my right

Changed lanes and slowed

This glorious animal needed

A closer look, a more detailed glance

The steam puffed from its nose

As it scanned the horizon

The roadway where I drove by

The least of its concern

I wanted to paint this beast

To draw the magnificence that was

The power, the strength, the beauty

Of the protector of the herd

I slowed as traffic slowed

I stopped as traffic stopped

But the image remained

Burned into my mind

As I drove away from the light

I wondered, if I had seen him

At another time, another place

Could I have been as moved