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I Like War Chapbook
I Like War Chapbook
I Like War Chapbook
By Allen Taylor
Copyright 2008 by Allen Taylor Published by Rumsfeld's Sandbox
Robert E. Lee
Table of Contents
I Like War Trapped Music Piano Things I Wish Id Said Love and War Ceasefire Gunfight in Manhattan Six-Thousand Mile Dream SSG Good Man No Exit 1 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12
I Like War
I like war. He teaches me to think like water, wade through hearts with lion-like precision; I like war. It empowers me, lets me to hold other men in that dark, intimate space between him and his maker. I love war. She is a beautiful mistress. Her tongue has pelted my skin with riddles all too often. With cunning, she spreads fear, blankets the panting skies with cries of salvation. War rains. Even on cloudless days. War gives me reasons. Tugs on my collar like hubris, bursts upon my brow with audacity as if Napoleon himself had risen from the dead. Yes, I like war; predictable, lovely in the years before gray. Sweet is the battle like corn, tart as lime, and big. Very big. As much nice as girly skirts in spring; the perfect date any time of year.
Copyright 2008 by Allen Taylor Published by Rumsfeld's Sandbox
I like war, Yet like all men, I yearn to win back that small part of me left home by the hearth of my young dreams. From knuckle to stone, from fist to fire; Carthage to Baghdad, man to man: If war is so damn good then why does it drive me down?
Trapped
Ive got the freshest eyes in the universe shooting from azimuth to back azimuth like Greenwich overlooking magnetic north Ive never been one to wander but when morning sun creeps over ziggurats Ill pound this desert for my exit stretch for the eye of a needle and know even I couldnt walk through If I peer too deep into wadis Ill forget my peaceful past push through this fight into glory unsatisfied
Music
When Satchmo played In the early days Of a time thats lost its youth The rhythm of Our God above Shone bright as a golden tooth The harpsichords And ivory boards In hearts harmony did play With the six-stringed lass The brazen brass And a chorus from Calais Tis sweet the Muse Who lights the fuse Of a melody made from tears And on that note Id like to quote A man wise beyond his years Most folks go Where nothing grows With the music still inside They never change Or extend the range And their song in silence hide When Elvis played In halcyon days When refrains had lost their jazz
We did the twist Held stiff our wrists And danced like a razzmatazz
Piano
He closed his Wurlitzer for the last time. Ebony hands, ivory teeth, a hymn bequeathed to a bride so fresh her sheets will not press. Lover, soldier, son: alive now in memory, his sullen eyes fall sharp like a half rest through his mothers imploding heart. Tomorrow comes, but not for any more love notes.
One day is forever when not tangled in the tweed of your love. The trees grow in the shadows of your mist. The skin of your battle drum pulls taut against my heart and I dizzy for your silence. Lets grow deeper into the cove of etched memories, keep them safe for a year. When I return I will crawl between your legs, slither into the capsule of your mind and tell you over and over the one thing I can never say enough: I love you. I love you. I love you one more time.
Ceasefire
When nations search for common ground with arms and lungs and eyelids closed, leaving the past to future generations, they leave little room for doubt and brush aside A thousand promises of peace worthless as one act of war; The face of one child left hungry, lonely or aghast is more a stab in the heart than a hundred kings and potentates with blood on their hands. Tell the saints and the sinners, the heretics and the martyrs, lovers and warriors too, that one God above them all shall decide the fate of the wicked and the just. Today we gaze into the portal and pray no more books are written about losers and their dreams.
Gunfight in Manhattan*
Every day I wake to small arms fire Just a stone's throw away. The crackle of .50 cals boast of hidden talents, remind me to breathe again. When Ma Deuce screams her nightly shrill, she feels me up and then down again with hands of magical steel, pushes her way inside and lays her muzzle cold against my aching brain. I forget who I am until hot flashes Of lead remind me. Tonight, Im going home, where the sound of gunfire means someone just had dinner.
In the Al Anbar province of Western Iraq, a small air base east of Ar Ramadi sits near the Euphrates River. Soldiers and Marines stationed at the base ward off attacks from insurgents in the area daily. Allen Taylor was stationed on the opposite side of the Main Supply Route on a base called Al Taqaddum. Manhattan is the name given to the small air base by members of the military, who use it as a forward operating base, but it is better known by its real name, Habbiniyah. Copyright 2008 by Allen Taylor Published by Rumsfeld's Sandbox
a spark splinters into a full-fledged battle of flesh and spirit, but at least I know Samson got a piece of ass.
No Exit
Hell is other people - Jean Paul Sartre Trapped. Wearing the same drab garb Day after day. Scenery unchanged. Prisoner of war Enslaved to serve my own. First, empire; then death by fire. This hell has no windows, No furniture, no third wheel. Tomorrow, its the same old grind And Im checking out.