Fifteen Poems Out of Iraq
By Dennis L. Siluk
Dec. 13, 2004
(Dedicated to the freedom fighters of Iraq: in particular the Iraqi men, children and women; also, the American, and British Soldiers ((and the pint-size Coalition))
Pain and the Whip [#1]
If you are feeling no pain; and you do not see the whip (the whip of the strongman looking down from the clouds): why is it? Now ask an Iraqi the same question, and see what you get. Possible: “We feel the gust behind our necks, and the pain has never ended.”
(Isn’t it great to be an American?)
#413/12-2004
Blind World [#2]
Faithlessly the world hid, hid from the strongman of Iraq. We saw all the signs of desperation (and turned our backs). We hid (for twenty-years) completely within— like a fossil in petrified wood.
#414/12-2004
The Evil-Coalition [#3]
The inner ear was mute— it is so good at doing this—the United Nations has adapted it for Iraq. As has its evil-coalition: France, Spain, Germany, Russia and China (and half of America); but they can hear the syllables quite well in: bribes, contracts and oil. I think Saddam got them spoiled.
Human sounds: the crying of women and children; food for oil, while the evil-coalition took all the spoils. Recoiling sounds, never made it around—never pierced the deaf ears of the evil-coalition. As they walked on water to their United Nations positions.
#415/12-2004
Friends [#4]
Friend: they all call everyone friend at the UN; and put their foot, but not their heal, everywhere.
How is it that they do not love Iraq? They see their world, but not them. Without the United States they’d have no friends.
#416/12-2004
Holy Ground [#5]
Yesterday was like every other day. I got out of bed, turned on my computer and read. Tried to find some beauty in current events especial in Iraq.
I seen hundreds of Muslims kneel and kiss the ground—; building over and over again; as the world looks on.
#417/12-2004
American Soldiers in Iraq [#6]
The American soldier in Iraq changes everything. There are no thorns to hold them back: freedoms knocking at their door.
I’ve heard it said American Soldiers shouldn’t be there by those who would befriend the evil-coalition.
By folks like Robert Bly, that would rather give a lecture and not blink an eye on the Iraqi’s who have died—died, tortured, under past regimes (cannot anyone hear their screams?) How greedy we are to keep our freedoms to ourselves.
But the windows are open now, there is no wall to fence them in; they are neither ‘those nor them.’
#416/12-2004
The Question [#7]
Go to sleep Iraq, taste the freedoms on your back. Twilight has no secrets—anymore. People are running to and fro…. Two worlds with different doors; one that leads to democracy, the other that leads to scorn. Run, run fast, before the UN cracks your back.
#417/12-2004
The Hand of the United States [#8]
When Christ returns, he will be on a white horse, with a sword in his hand, it will not be a flower my friends. And so we march on to meet Him, as a warrior, no less than He would have us be.
They try to define you Iraq; radical or not! They wonder about your motives a lot. In the United States they say: ‘There is hope,’ and you are that. But not everyone knows how others think. While the world hides: grab the hand that is willing.
#418/1-2004
Note: created out of protest for the war; the author believes the war was right and just (proper), even against world opinion, although he does not believe we should be rebuilding the whole country; he believes it is not the job of the conquers to do such a task, especially at the expense of American tax payers; plus on biblical grounds [Ref: Old Babylon; and the Book of Revelation]. And he believes it is wise to bring the Americans home as soon as possible. We have almost accomplished what was necessary.
------------
Poems On Iraq [Dedicated To The Freedom Fighters]
By Dennis L. Siluk
Dec. 15, 2004
[Dedicated to the freedom fighters of Iraq: in particular the Iraqi men, children and women; also, the American, and British Soldiers (and the pint-size Coalition)]
The Spectator [#9]
(The Birds)
How would you know the cries of the Iraqi’s? when you simply turn your TV on and off (channels fixed for football and planting flowers, cartoons, Jay Leno and David Lettermen’s night talk shows, poking fun at hurting folks; no better than the insurgents; making amusement at everyone’s cost: no blood in their face: no shame. It’s not what the birds sing—in Baghdad.
#418/12-2004
The Spectator [#10]
(All Eye)
The eye sees, sometimes like a snail; a snail climbing over a dead body in Iraq. The ear translates sounds, but cannot talk, like water over rock. If all you have are opinions from the media, you do not long for conviction; stay in your hole, stir on…; better to lay down and fart out an egg.
#419/12-2004
Sensitivity: children of Iraq [#11]
It is too bad we cannot taste the tears of the children of Iraq—out of their dusty eyes. They hear their own voices when they echo back, (when I think of them) not knowing foe from friend. In this poetry I’m never sure what I’m gong to write. It can be a very silent subject with quill and mind; so many answers from so many minds.
#420/12-2004
The Soul for Iraq [#12]
The soul is the character of a person. It has a big job—more so than the eyes, and ears, the voice and even the legs of a person. LOVE comes from the soul: everything else vanishes; so if we give to Iraq, lets give soul.
#421/12-2004
Gloomy Faces [#13]
How easy it is in so many countries to see ones road, ones life path, that is set in for them. Hard to move a person from it, against the cold that blows—. “Leave my prosperity alone,” they say.
But the worms are the same in Iraq, as in Europe. They sit silently waiting for dawn, a new day, beginning. When we die, we are like the worms, waiting for a new dawn, what will we say on that silent day, to the worm gatherer?
How marvelous to look out my window and see so many gloomy faces—go to Iraq and complain.
#422/12-2004
Europe’s Dust [#14]
[And a little in Canada]
Most devils have now gone to Europe more dust to hind themselves in, and there is no wind. With feminine hooves they stand, side by side with their mates, as if to celebrate the dust inside their heads; Canada’s no different. The hoofed devils find it hard to believe, how easy they are to lead.
#423/12-2004
Europe’s Favorite Son [#15]
The Europeans play with Iraq, like a gang of school kids trying to inflict terminal doubt, throughout the schoolyard.
They never have looked seriously at Iraq’s will for freedom; but rather like a mother whose lost her favorite son (Saddam).
#424/12-2004
------------
By Dennis L. Siluk
Dec. 13, 2004
(Dedicated to the freedom fighters of Iraq: in particular the Iraqi men, children and women; also, the American, and British Soldiers ((and the pint-size Coalition))
Pain and the Whip [#1]
If you are feeling no pain; and you do not see the whip (the whip of the strongman looking down from the clouds): why is it? Now ask an Iraqi the same question, and see what you get. Possible: “We feel the gust behind our necks, and the pain has never ended.”
(Isn’t it great to be an American?)
#413/12-2004
Blind World [#2]
Faithlessly the world hid, hid from the strongman of Iraq. We saw all the signs of desperation (and turned our backs). We hid (for twenty-years) completely within— like a fossil in petrified wood.
#414/12-2004
The Evil-Coalition [#3]
The inner ear was mute— it is so good at doing this—the United Nations has adapted it for Iraq. As has its evil-coalition: France, Spain, Germany, Russia and China (and half of America); but they can hear the syllables quite well in: bribes, contracts and oil. I think Saddam got them spoiled.
Human sounds: the crying of women and children; food for oil, while the evil-coalition took all the spoils. Recoiling sounds, never made it around—never pierced the deaf ears of the evil-coalition. As they walked on water to their United Nations positions.
#415/12-2004
Friends [#4]
Friend: they all call everyone friend at the UN; and put their foot, but not their heal, everywhere.
How is it that they do not love Iraq? They see their world, but not them. Without the United States they’d have no friends.
#416/12-2004
Holy Ground [#5]
Yesterday was like every other day. I got out of bed, turned on my computer and read. Tried to find some beauty in current events especial in Iraq.
I seen hundreds of Muslims kneel and kiss the ground—; building over and over again; as the world looks on.
#417/12-2004
American Soldiers in Iraq [#6]
The American soldier in Iraq changes everything. There are no thorns to hold them back: freedoms knocking at their door.
I’ve heard it said American Soldiers shouldn’t be there by those who would befriend the evil-coalition.
By folks like Robert Bly, that would rather give a lecture and not blink an eye on the Iraqi’s who have died—died, tortured, under past regimes (cannot anyone hear their screams?) How greedy we are to keep our freedoms to ourselves.
But the windows are open now, there is no wall to fence them in; they are neither ‘those nor them.’
#416/12-2004
The Question [#7]
Go to sleep Iraq, taste the freedoms on your back. Twilight has no secrets—anymore. People are running to and fro…. Two worlds with different doors; one that leads to democracy, the other that leads to scorn. Run, run fast, before the UN cracks your back.
#417/12-2004
The Hand of the United States [#8]
When Christ returns, he will be on a white horse, with a sword in his hand, it will not be a flower my friends. And so we march on to meet Him, as a warrior, no less than He would have us be.
They try to define you Iraq; radical or not! They wonder about your motives a lot. In the United States they say: ‘There is hope,’ and you are that. But not everyone knows how others think. While the world hides: grab the hand that is willing.
#418/1-2004
Note: created out of protest for the war; the author believes the war was right and just (proper), even against world opinion, although he does not believe we should be rebuilding the whole country; he believes it is not the job of the conquers to do such a task, especially at the expense of American tax payers; plus on biblical grounds [Ref: Old Babylon; and the Book of Revelation]. And he believes it is wise to bring the Americans home as soon as possible. We have almost accomplished what was necessary.
------------
Poems On Iraq [Dedicated To The Freedom Fighters]
By Dennis L. Siluk
Dec. 15, 2004
[Dedicated to the freedom fighters of Iraq: in particular the Iraqi men, children and women; also, the American, and British Soldiers (and the pint-size Coalition)]
The Spectator [#9]
(The Birds)
How would you know the cries of the Iraqi’s? when you simply turn your TV on and off (channels fixed for football and planting flowers, cartoons, Jay Leno and David Lettermen’s night talk shows, poking fun at hurting folks; no better than the insurgents; making amusement at everyone’s cost: no blood in their face: no shame. It’s not what the birds sing—in Baghdad.
#418/12-2004
The Spectator [#10]
(All Eye)
The eye sees, sometimes like a snail; a snail climbing over a dead body in Iraq. The ear translates sounds, but cannot talk, like water over rock. If all you have are opinions from the media, you do not long for conviction; stay in your hole, stir on…; better to lay down and fart out an egg.
#419/12-2004
Sensitivity: children of Iraq [#11]
It is too bad we cannot taste the tears of the children of Iraq—out of their dusty eyes. They hear their own voices when they echo back, (when I think of them) not knowing foe from friend. In this poetry I’m never sure what I’m gong to write. It can be a very silent subject with quill and mind; so many answers from so many minds.
#420/12-2004
The Soul for Iraq [#12]
The soul is the character of a person. It has a big job—more so than the eyes, and ears, the voice and even the legs of a person. LOVE comes from the soul: everything else vanishes; so if we give to Iraq, lets give soul.
#421/12-2004
Gloomy Faces [#13]
How easy it is in so many countries to see ones road, ones life path, that is set in for them. Hard to move a person from it, against the cold that blows—. “Leave my prosperity alone,” they say.
But the worms are the same in Iraq, as in Europe. They sit silently waiting for dawn, a new day, beginning. When we die, we are like the worms, waiting for a new dawn, what will we say on that silent day, to the worm gatherer?
How marvelous to look out my window and see so many gloomy faces—go to Iraq and complain.
#422/12-2004
Europe’s Dust [#14]
[And a little in Canada]
Most devils have now gone to Europe more dust to hind themselves in, and there is no wind. With feminine hooves they stand, side by side with their mates, as if to celebrate the dust inside their heads; Canada’s no different. The hoofed devils find it hard to believe, how easy they are to lead.
#423/12-2004
Europe’s Favorite Son [#15]
The Europeans play with Iraq, like a gang of school kids trying to inflict terminal doubt, throughout the schoolyard.
They never have looked seriously at Iraq’s will for freedom; but rather like a mother whose lost her favorite son (Saddam).
#424/12-2004
------------
posted by Dennis and Rosa Siluk at 8:50 AM
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