Showing posts with label War. Show all posts
Showing posts with label War. Show all posts

Tuesday, August 9, 2011

Seal Team Six Solstice Psalm

Aug 6, 2011, KABUL, Afghanistan (AP) — 30 American service members — 22 of them elite Navy SEALs — died Saturday when their Chinook helicopter was shot down about 60 miles southwest of Kabul...

This is dedicated to those that died. This is an acrostic...


Coalition US led,
Operation, 30 dead.
Political patriotic pawns,
Typical post Islamic palm.
Every parents' worst nightmare,
Reprehensive cursed warfare.
Did they die needlessly?
Obama please, can't you see.
Will you end the suffering?
Now's the time, don't you agree?

Osama drama still at hand,
Segregate the Kali-ban.
American special service plan,
Militia's sacrificial lamb.
Anti-aircraft missile toll,
Single shot south of Kabul.
Rest in peace young sacred sons,
Eternal sleep's the prize you won.
Vindication now in hand?
Evacuate Afghanistan.
Navy Seal Team Six's song,
Gallantry, right or wrong.
Elite soldier's solstice psalm.


Copyright © August 2011
Kevin Mooney

kmm001
080811

Sunday, May 16, 2010

Another War of the Worlds?



This poem is written to describe the accompanying art by RougePriest of the OP site - thank you Dan. In addition to being a poet, Dan is a very accomplished artist as well. Be sure to checkout the other poems I have written to his art - Faces of Infernal Destruction and Self-Denied, Satisfied and Crucified. This poem is also dedicated to the book and 1938 radio broadcast of The War of the Worlds by H.G. Wells. It is intended to draw parallels to the the radio broadcast event and the 9/11 Trade Center attacks. It is a terrorist and war poem.


This is also an acrostic...



Americans favorite shows all tuned,


Network special news report.


Original programs now resumed,


Tensions build outside New York.


Helicopters fill the sky lined night,


Emergency broadcast systems sound,


Rising chaos, no threats in sight,


All towns quiet, Lady Liberty's down.


Live feeds indicate aerial assault.


Initial reports of alien attacks.


Elastic city's news at fault,


Neighbors crazed, lack of facts.


All seems hopeless, so unreal.


Television programs all seem norm.


Terrible bursts of glass and steel?


Another nightmare terrorist storm?


Choreographed to rational folks,


Kept confused through theatrical hoax.








Copyright © November 2009


Kevin Mooney






kmm041


110109



Saturday, May 15, 2010

Simon Vincent Ladd





The eldest son of an Irishman,
Was Simon Vincent Ladd.
Raised outside of Washington,
When times were not that bad.
Men valued what they had.

Born in the winter of '56.
When it was good to be alive.
Penny jars and muscle cars,
Women with tall beehives.
Glasses over sized.

Half Catholic and half Protestant,
Were Simon's mom and dad.
Both got married way too young,
Victims of a social fad.
They struggled for all they had.

In '59 war broke out,
In North and South Vietnam.
Determined to stamp communism out,
We fought the Viet Cong.
Many felt it was wrong.

A brand new decade, 1960.
Simon Vincent turned four.
His parents barely managed each week,
On $100 or more.
It was tough being poor.

In that year's election,
John F. Kennedy won.
Despite some strong objections,
The war carried on.
Many cried we didn't belong.

When he was seven, Simon recalled,
His father was 25.
A handsome man, slender and tall,
Quite the athletic guy.
It was a balmy July.

Later on that summer, of 1963,
Two hundred thousand men of color,
Marched on Washington, D.C.,
Led by a Doctor named Martin Luther,
They shared a collective dream.

Times got worse, money was short,
Even his mom got a job.
The month before, Kennedy was shot,
More went to Vietnam.
People feared the nuclear bomb.

In '64 his sister was born,
Life got twice as tough.
His dad jumped 'round from job to job.
Tried different kinds of stuff.
Nothing seemed enough.

In '65 his father decides,
To sign up for the war.
Despite resistance from his wife,
He walks right out the door.
Things got worse than before.

Soon new checks came rolling in,
Dad finally found steady work.
They got a letter now and then,
A picture was an extra perks.
Mom no longer had to work.

In '67 Simon was eleven,
His sister was almost 3.
That Doctor spoke in New York City,
He was hailed a modern King.
It was a tenuous thing.

He opposed the war and poverty,
Spoke of life beyond.
He forged a war for equality.
Was anti-Vietnam.
Cautiously, life went on.

Though his father never bothered,
To visit or phone home.
The checks kept coming,
While Simon was becoming,
A young man on his own.

On April 4th of '68 Dr. King was shot.
It affected Simon a lot.
Many people protested, many people fought,
King haters boasted, he deserved what he got.
Simon thought definitely not.

That same year, with the election near,
Another Kennedy died.
How it happened wasn't clear,
He remembered his mother cried.
Simon just sat and sighed.

The war raged on in Vietnam,
As Nixon became President.
In '69 Apollo 11 set a precedent.
On July 16th the moon became,
Man's newest residence.

In July of '69,
Simon's sister turned five,
It was a turbulent time.
Simon's father was still alive,
The family still survived.

One month later, in mid August,
Four hundred thousand arrived.
At Yasgur's farm in a place called Woodstock,
A concert, rain or shine.
The largest of it's kind.

The decade turned and so did Simon,
A muscular, bright 14.
Everyday day the news reminded him,
How terrible war can be.
It was all he'd ever see.

In May that year a shooting occurred,
At a Ohio University.
Four students died, at Kent State.
As guards shot radomly.
In a protest violence free.

A telegram came later that month,
Simon remembered getting the mail.
His mom immediately opened the letter,
Then suddenly turned totally pale.
He consoled her to no avail.

He read that day his dad was missing,
He'd been listed MIA,
Lost somewhere in Northern Asia.
Around Memorial Day,
All the Ladds could do was pray.

To make things worse the income stopped,
Mom no longer got dad's checks.
Soon she had to go back to work,
The whole thing was one big mess.
That's how it went, he guessed.

The war raged on against the Viet Cong,
It was now in year eleven,
New York City opened tower one,
It seemed to reach to Heaven.
Simon's sister turned seven.

In '71, Simon had begun,
To look like a full grown man.
He helped his mom best he could,
Did what a 15 year old can.
The Beatles were his favorite band.

Later that year tower 2 appeared,
Majestically by one's side.
They called them twins, America cheered.
No one could match their size.
Simon wondered if that was wise.

In '72, Simon knew,
His dad would never come home.
Mr. Ladd gave all he had,
Now rested all alone.
In some God forsaken zone.

The President visited China,
Was re-elected that same year.
Tragedy struck the Munich Olympics,
As 11 Israeli's disappeared.
It was many folks greatest fear.

At 16 Simon realized,
If the war went on.
Its he who would be victimized,
Forced to carry on.
Soon the draft would come..

He thought alot about his father,
For many a sleepless night.
Sometimes he would sit and wonder,
What it was like to fight.
Was it wrong or right?

One thing always made him sad,
How much he missed his dad.
It had been seven years,
Of missing what he had.
How could he not be mad?

The year became '73 and still they got no word.
They'd asked for confirmation.
Sought what they deserved.
They got no information.
Simon would not be deterred.

Just when it seemed hopeless,
That the end was no where near.
A ceasefire was called on the 28th day,
Of January that new year.
Many didn't care.

There was still no word on Simon's father,
Or hundreds of MIA's.
Why would anyone even bother,
To search for them anyway?
God bless the USA.

On a blistery day in November, 1973,
A day Simon will remember,
The Lord shined mercifully.
There came a knock at the front door.
Of Simon Vincent Ladd.
When he opened it, there he stood.
Simon Vincent's Dad.




Copyright © December 2009
Kevin Mooney

kmm001
122909

Tuesday, May 11, 2010

Echoes of Mulberry Peak




Barely listen, strain to hear,
The quiet psalms of fallen men.
Phantom calls reign far and near,
Random rustlings feign gentle winds.

In solemn sorrow I stand alone,
Gazing down on hallowed ground.
Where countless souls lie atoned,
Eternal peace so violently found.

I wipe a tear and bow my head,
As images flash before my eyes.
The field-filled scores of immortal dead.
Their shallow graves patrolled by flies.

They struggled bravely to achieve,
A blessed reprieve from ambient drones.
They died so nobly for their belief,
Now nestled prone in leaves and stones.

For whom so honors these righteous souls,
Cast away, bar thought nor prayer.
Forgotten spirits from days of old,
Passed away, shorn tear nor care.

Gaze out morns, through dawn's faint stars,
As clouds of vaporous ghosts beseek.
Hazed white billows mourn ancient scars,
And shroud the echoes of Mulberry Peak.


Copyright © October 2009
Kevin Mooney

kmm001
102009

Andrew Michael McClure





Such was the saga of Andrew Michael McClure.
He gave all he had and a little bit more,
He was slight for his age, his family was poor.
He learned early on to fight to endure.
He overcame obstacles, clear and obscure,
Never dwelt on a failure, only the cure.
If anyone needed a friend to be sure.
He could always count on Andrew Michael McClure.

As a child he was taught, to fight was no sin,
He fought for acceptance, he fought to fit in,
He fought for his friends, his neighbors, his kin.
Fought kids twice his size and would usually win.
There was nothing Andrew wouldn't fight for.
He even stood up for the little girl next door.
And when school came, kids learned the score,
To never mess with Andrew Michael McClure.

He grew up respected, was quite self-assured,
A good looking man, confident, yet demure.
He was ethically moral and righteously pure,
Found social etiquette hard to endure.
He soon went and married that girl next door.
And before you knew it, he joined the Marine Corp.
People remember his first duty tour,
When Uncle Sam called Andrew to war.

He fought for his country, he fought for his men,
He fought for strange people and never gave in.
He fought without question, with never a word,
He fought for reasons that to some seemed absurd,
He fought for the rights of strangers he served,
He fought against foes of whom he'd not heard.
His peers revered him, was regally observed.
You see fighting came natural to Andrew McClure.

And when he returned for his ultimate reward,
It was on a plane with fellow brethren aboard.
It landed majestically like a great bird.
While people shed tears, only silence was heard.
He disembarked with unspoken word.
Draped in a Flag, posthumously interred.
His fight finally ended on a spiritual accord.
The day Andrew McClure came home to The Lord.


Copyright © August 2009
Kevin Mooney

kmm001
081509