SPCGregoryChris's New Writeups

The awkward quiet of hospital hallways (poetry)

2012-08-22T02:54:58Z

I dreamt last night of Burma.
I was a gunner for my grandfather.
He wore three chevrons on his sleeve,
with a couple of rockers underneath.
By the end of it all,
he'd earn a nice diamond
to put right in the center.

He was damn proud of those patches.
They were new when I saw him last night.
He had a lucky strike
hanging out his mouth
looking like Clark Gable
when good ol' Joany lights his smoke in Chained.

He hollered out
Welcome Marauder;
Welcome brother.
And I knew
I was safe
in his command.

Dreams don't come easy in the hospital.
Too many tiny noises keep me up all night
so a good one like that is rare.
They say one more surgery
and this leg isn't gonna give out anymore.
A welcome home for good gift
from Martin Dempsey.
But you know…

twin halves of one august event (poetry)

2012-06-21T02:14:44Z

My daughter holds a top in her hands
wood and acrillically pink with faint blue stripes.
When she spins it on the tile floor
it goes fast enough to emit a halo.
And she wears it
well.

I want to pick her up at those times
and remind her that her father
is a good man.
Regardless
of what his hands
have done to others.

I find myself sometimes
wondering about another child
and a spinning top
with paint of red and gold
no halo, but sparks
like an art.

I took my gloves off when
I touched his shoulder
to tell him it was okay, son,
but it wasn't.
And I know he was terrified of
such a good man,
with safe hands.

How to Talk to a Veteran (poetry)

2011-05-15T04:36:22Z

Let's get this straight right from the start
Matters like this are close to my heart
so don't call me up in the middle of the night
I sleep soundly now but I haven't always
and sleeping bears don't take kindly to dark hallways
So remember that when you're opening up doors
and flipping on lights that haven't been on before.

I saw a lot of things and no matter what you ask
I'm not going to answer
I don't have to answer.
I'll answer when and if I even have an answer.

Yes, you're welcome for my service
and sometimes it is nice to hear it
but sometimes I don't want to be reminded of the things I used to fear- if
you just stop to think about it this way-
Do you thank every teacher that taught your kid math?
Do you thank every butcher for the hamburger?
If you see me out wearing my patches,
come shake my hand,
come offer congratulations
come offer words of wisdom if…

You to me are treasure. You to me are dear. (poetry)

2011-04-24T17:50:11Z

Under my bed I keep a box of treasures
three photographs, three medals, and some letters

On the stationery, handwritten, is a list of names
Blood brothers from the war games.
Adams, he was a gunner.
He was our crew's fastest runner.
But we hold no races stateside-
Adams hasn't yet learned to run
on prosthetics.
Or Harden, our scout,
always the first to make it out.
He succeeded at that in more ways than one.
When he got home and tore his mother's house up
looking for his very first gun.
Or Johnny from Jersey,
with the Van Gogh ear,
who went home through hospitals,
spent seven months in the type of hospital
that we talk about the least
and is the only one out there
still talking about peace

The medals.
One purple, one bronze, and one silver. …

career suicide (poetry)

2010-10-09T06:23:49Z

In Baghdad, after bullets fired,
after fighters tired
and heads were at rest
off shoulders, off chests
the night there sounds the same
as it did in the Midwest
And I, I wondered what it would feel like
to walk through crowded streets
looking down at my dirty feet,
my unpolished leather boots
...A civilian again.
A man among men.

9 years ago last month
I marched myself down
and I signed up
I unplugged my playstation games
Learned weapons by their real names
Cut my hair off and gave myself up
and I thought I was doing the right thing.

I took orders, I marched in packs
I learned to give men heart attacks
with a rat-ta-tat-tat of automatic fire
and the plink of pin pulled from an m67
I watched men pray to a god not much different than mine
that they'd make it to their heaven,
while…

I feel things, hundredsfold, a papercut requires stitches (poetry)

2007-05-31T14:27:00Z

Pops arrived back state-side in â75
And came home in 1976
And celebrated the bicentennial
By getting some girl to suck his dick
But he was a kid back then, just 24
And on angry nights mom swore
He wasnât the same boy she knew before
He went off to fight in that Goddamn Asian war.
Yet she still bore him seven sons
Though he never heard the trumpets

Pops came home but he never came back
Every alarm reminded him of every attack
We kept the house quiet and the doors all locked
Prayed that silly things wouldnât leave him shocked
We left California because he couldnât take it
When the house would rock
Or when the mail man would knock
Or cop sirens
Or childrenâs laughter

His aunts would talk in hushed whispers
About veterans, the government, and their skewed statistics
And the low…