By Jay Powell
This is one of 147 National Veteran Cemeteries
Surrender your free will to the machine.
That is the act performed,
when you enlist or accept a commission
and take the oath to obey,
without reservation.
They don’t tell you that,
when you are 16 or 17 or 18 or 19 years young.
Your brain, no matter how incredibly brilliant,
is not fully formed and hooked together (scientific fact).
You are still a babe,
whether you know it or not.
The recruiter (not just the individual who hands you the pen to sign, but
the machinery that promises to fill whatever void you might imagine)
does not tell you what horrors might occur for you – but will certainly occur for some who later stand beside you
(take the oath).
Without your sworn oath, the machine cannot
accomplish its purpose – preserve and defend,
without question of the means
the orders within the
order prescribed.
(St. Peter smiles proudly in innocence)
It is a beauty to see the orders
executed
well
in unison
with precision
orders barked
resonate,
echo off the pavement
impressive is the silent
dispatch from
patient practice
(the drill).
Each assigned a different or same motion on
a count
choreographed
pivots, stomps, slaps
in cadence
now a
slow
strut
then speed to stop
and silence.
(the team).
As the pearl handled sword spins,
signaling completion and crescendo
(Boom!)
21, 60 year old rifles salute
(this time paper not lead flies from the barrels),
Sgt Piel remarks:
“Everyone wants to play Marine,
but no one wants to be
one.”
But some did
become
one
or another
warrior in service to
the machine
and some
(insert here known list of friends and the names etched on the black wall
and the too long and not truly or completely known list of those wandering the streets of America, carrying ghosts of many beyond our shores in their mornings, nights and turns around any corner on any day without warning)
fought
fatigue
boredom
terror
rage
guilt
distress
distrust
disgust
to soldier on
and dispatch their oath and their even more
sacred
pledge
to care for
one another
even if it
meant
losing
their minds or
their limbs or
their lives
or all of
(I sing of )
thee
(resting finally in peace, I pray)
above.
**********
************
Jay Powell is a member of the San Diego “Hugh Thompson” Chapter of Veterans for Peace. His poem is a recollection of a drill team command during the era of the Vietnam “conflict.” It was inspired by various reviews of books of fiction and fact about the more recent undeclared wars in the Middle East in the special “War All the Time” feature of Bookforum, Summer 2014.
Jay Powell
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Fuck yea!
The effects of the war machine on our youth is well described in this meaningful poem by Jay Powell! In searching for a way through college I almost got caught up in the NROTC system with a scholarship to UCLA. I did not like the idea of marching regularly and taking military science courses. So, instead, with scholarship help, a good summer job as a Roustabout for Shell Oil, and a dining hall job at Encina Hall, I worked my way through Stanford University as an International Relations Major. Eventually, I was drafted into the U.S. Army and served for 1 1/2 years in communications in Baumholder, Germany. Fortunately, it was between wars, and I did not have to kill anybody. However, many of my students could not sleep at night because of memories of killing women and children in Viet Nam. The War Machine continues as we seem to be in a state of perpetual war.
John: Small world. Looks like we might have missed an earlier intersection. When I attended UCLA (a federal “land grant” college), ROTC was compulsory for two years. I received an NROTC scholarship, joined the Drill Team, was commissioned US Navy, served my time commitment for scholarship and then some and resigned as Henry and Dick were laying plans for the next round of bombings.
Here we are telling our stories hoping this “next” generation might ask a few more questions and find another way for us to help the people on this planet suspended in this interstellar time space continuum work for something other than what the fight or flight default wiring keeps serving up. Peace On!
Well and beautifully said, my friend. I’m going to share this with my ex and another old friend who still bear the emotional scars of the Vietnam era. Peace on Earth is in my daily prayers.