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Dancing with Mr Jigg
I met a man that really cared about me. We talked about raising a family. We even talked
about a day to be wed. His sweet and gentle talk even went to my head. His soft warm touches while dancing with me. He was
so incredible, too good to be! He showered me with flowers cards and chocolate candy.
He worked 60 hours a week, but was always broke. I'll do whatever for him, because he was
NO JOKE! I gave him my credit card because he was my heart. I gave him my checkbook which carries most my dough. Three
months later I watched my debts grow. Then I began to think that he thought I was slow. I noticed different things, butt took
a second look. "Were he buyinge gifts from my own checkbook?"
I followed my man off to work one night, because I had a feeling that something wasn't right.
I kept a close tail on him, not too far. He pulled into a rest area to switch his car. He got into a brand new Mercedi Benz.
I thought the car belonged to one of his friends.
A big pretty house with a white picket fence. I peeped in the window to check on my prince.
"Honey, I'm home!" I heard him say. "Did you work hard honey? How was your day?" He held her in his arms the exact way.
Dancing across the floor as he held her tight. Kissing her lips and making her feel right.
So all this talk about us getting wed, was just smooth talk to get my bread, to get his greed
fed and to get me in bed. I wasn't the only one taking his talk to my head.
There were other women whom thought they were the only one. This man had a wife two daughters
and a son! With all of the dances and moves that he made; when added up Mr. Jigg was paid!
Dora McCoy
Author
Raleigh NC
...AND A SOLDIER RETURNS...
The sunken eyes were hollow with no life. Two black holes staring off into the neather region
of eternity. The unshaven cheeks hung low on a blank face. The slightly parted lips release ever so quiet gaps air.
The battered and bleeding body slowly limps it's way from the bowls of freedom bird. The stares
of many glance off him with no acknowledgement. Their imaginations attempt to fathom what has happened to this shell of man,
to no avail....and a soldier returns....
The bodies of their brothers beckon to be carried one last time. The souls of his men dangle
on chains around his neck. The unwanted assistance was met with the barrel of a gun and the cold, endless stare of the machine
like body that stood before them. The procession of bodies was slow. The limbs swung loosely as the last of the fallen were
off loaded. The stares of the many were forlorn as the shell turned away and walked into the gates of hell!
....and a soldier returns...
SB
US Army Reserve
Virginia NC
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TIME PASSED DOWN
The old man sat proudly in the wheelchair that supported his frail, old body. The polish on his shoes and brass
were gleaming as if he was 18 years old and fresh lamb being sent to the slaughter.
The young man sat proudly on the bench that supported his young, but yet old body. The polish and brass were
gleaming as when he wrote the uniform just a few years past and fresh lamd being sent to do slaughtering.
The old man's eyes were red with tears from moments past. His face showing full recollection of friends long
gone and the horrors experienced. Not a word was said.
The young man's eyes were staring off distant without seeing. His face showing full recollection of friends long
gone and the horrors experienced. Not a word was said.
"When do they go away?" The young man asked.
The old man replied, "How long do you plan on livin'...?"
And then... Not a word was said...
S.S
WAR
Iraq
The American Way
Times have changed and so has the people.
Hoping that they all can be treated equal.
Evasively strutting around the street.
Asking people for a bite to eat.
Making money by asking for loose change.
Even though you’ll find them to be quite strange or
Ready to judge them as being deranged.
It
Cannot be a hungry man in your eyes
And for being less fortunate he must be unwise!
Never have you seen this in Burbank or the Hills,
so you lay back in your limo so you can chill!
What ever happened to that man?
do you really want to know?
America’s that starves normally sleeps in the snow.
Yes I care, but it’s only me.
i what to build a castle for him and his family.
i want him to laugh and enjoy his life.
i want to help him feed his kids and wife!
i will love to help him, but I need you, to help
whom ever you can
make their dreams
come true!
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JOIN NOW!
I Must Go On
We fought together, six months today,
As I rolled over, there he lay.
His eyes were open, his hands clenched tight.
The look of death, a look of fright!
I knew right then that he was dead
and wondered why, not me instead!
His life was short, not many years.
Full of hope yet full of fears.
We'd talked and laughed of times gone by,
and never thought that we might die!
But here he lay, no breath of life,
no thought of home, or his young wife.
I turned my head and looked away.
I fought the words I could not say.
HE IS DEAD, he is dead and gone!
But I am here and must go on.
I MUST GO ON!
Scott
US Army
Afghanistan
THE
VICTORS
What will become of us?
There is no answer;
Only the sound of the wind
Moving through dead trees
And choking dust rising
Beneath our feet.
The furnace burns thoughout
The day;
We suffer in agony, as women
In labor
But we die with birth. For
Our child is war.
Now we fathers move forward
to meet our fate.
In open fields and jungle paths
Strewn with death;
And call on the name of our God
Who will not hearour pleas.
We pile high the dead
Into a pale bleach mountian,
And swing our bloody bayonets
Skyward to horror the victor,
Who looks through red-rimmed
eyes.
And somewhere other than
home,
Our names and faces become
one.
Under steel helmets, fear
equalizes.
One is one.
What will become of us?
In the end, Valhalla is our hell.
And heaven is obscured
In agony of
pain.
Homeward-bound in aluminum
tubes
We know that in victory
There lies the promise of defeat
Reggie
Vietnam
Here!
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