Pawn’s Poetry Wall

Vietnam commendation medal

Good Conduct Award

And a Honorable Discharge

Have no meaning in Poetry.

One must be a Bone Spur

With BS collegiate credentials

Awards that flow, like waterfalls.

One is not a Poet, but a War Pawn

My Poet Lieges, I bow to you

For being Masters of Literature.

Think, I am putting you down

Using your own self adoration claim.

You are the elite Royalty of Poetry.

How can an Honorable Discharge

Ever compete in International Acclaim?

Born on the wrong side of Walled America

There had been a Wall behind another, so on.

Since, I first wailed the baby blues color.

But once, we get color, religion and social statUS

Takes hold in America’s hidden caste system

That a Bone Spur Master Crass divides US.

That you get trapped within barriers,

Becoming prisoners trapped within fate.

Each Wall ahead being taller, meaner.

To go back, razor wires, ripped in entrails.

To say, in America, we have social equality.

Walk homeless, and see the Truth of Christianity.

Look at the color of Mary, Joseph and Jesus.

The more affluent, the more Lilly White the Bible.

Few say, WE are ALL God’s children - To Be Loved

Instead we use religions to divide US with hatred.

Society building walls upon walls as but-tresses.

But they are not of the Master Crass of Belligerency.

America they say VWV pawns have Rights.

Seems the only one - the Right to go to War.

Where the boy is castrated of youth’s Balls.

Denuder the lamb flock of subservient pawns.

Here do you see Clinton, Cheney, Sessions elite

No, pawns cannot afford to get Degree Deferments.

Most dads, could only cry, seeing their son off to War

They knew, their son, would never be, the same again.

Many body bags were filled with parts, gathered together.

Many more came home in PTSD emotional baggage

Regurgitating home amid morgue innards testaments

Wherein, be always turmoil, boiling open, wound sores

The dank dark fingers with choke hold torn tears

That grasp the core verse of nailing Poetry to War.

Oh God, if luck was To Be Bone Spur Master Crass

They did sit in the Republic, wealth safe and sound.

That somehow the Draft was not about them

Paying few taxes, its about, BS Crass being made Special.

Vietnam War Veterans were never that Special.

That is why the Vet bowels in soldier vowels wrote,

The need for Character’s power to feel war’s wrath,

To dig inside bleeding soul’s soil that toils within soldiers.

Where dye canvas expounds resounds, Holly Hell.

Oh God take down damnation within any more suffering

That the veins of ink stains must singe the Napkin Poet,

Tight fisted fraught words of wrought fists barren despair

Cries the Wall wail the Pawn that scrapes nails to verse.

So Pawns exists in a shell of rhyme devoid of hallow time

Framed wherein The CIRCLE of clocks tick tocks hollow.

Wherein one stands still born to face thy mirror reflection.

The Master Crass Truth is that those Bone Spur pedestals

Want troops here, soldiers there, military every where

But with condition their BS children be War BS Deferred.

After all they are not American Pawns but the Master Crass.

Never did think that Vietnam War Veterans had no Rights

After fighting for BS Crass Rights one still be this enslaved pawn.

German Corporation in Alabama saying AVWV must stop poetry

24/7 - even inside Vets own Home Sweet Home Alabama dwelling

Oh Lord, I need my therapeutic napkins that vent dire inner strife.

That writing releases the Veteran War venom upon ink stain trails.

Does not an American Veteran even earned European Worker Rights

What if German, was told they could not write in their own home?

Maybe this WWII German Company, once silenced its working force.

Alas this AVWV was German American Terminated for Poetry.

They took what I loved and used to heal and devastated a Vet.

Today, this AVWV has found that after being Terminated for Poetry.

I do not have the BS credentials to be an American Veteran Poet

All the War Pawn has is a

Vietnam commendation medal

Good Conduct Award

And a Honorable Discharge

That in writing this poem, these thoughts of VWV venting

Would be grounds to take away my American Bill of Rights

But then who would fight those BS American Crass Wars