From the Heart of a Military Leader, by James Sears

Have you ever stood strong when fear was all around?
I mean, did you actually stand tall while others fell to the ground?

Have you ever done what common sense said not to do?
Even when others ran and said, “Come on man, do not be a fool.”

Has fear ever gripped you so tightly you had to concentrate just to breathe?
I am talking about the kind of fear that brings even the strongest men down to their knees.

Have you ever had to remain calm and lead others to a safe place;
while fear was clouding your judgment and causing your heart to race?

Have you ever been so engulfed by fear that 48 hours passed without you missing a single beat?
Heck, I almost went three days on just two hours of sleep.

Have you ever thought, this could actually be the last breath I take; because death was all around you with no room for error, absolutely no room for a leadership mistake?

Have you ever been so frozen by fear that you just did not know what to do?
I have, but I had to go on because 237 Soldiers were looking at me to lead them through.

See, fear in the face of leaders could destroy the will of many people;
while fear that goes un-faced could become deadly and extremely lethal.

Ok, well have you ever had to give an order that even you were afraid to carry out yourself?
I mean, a command so crazy you would not do it for all the world’s wealth?

Have you ever had to send someone out on a mission you knew they may not complete?
That would be one of those nights were this leader did not get any sleep.

Have you ever had to give CPR to someone who worked for you?
Well, I worked on Specialist Sierra for over one hour but he just did not pull through.

Have you ever had to carry the body of someone who saved your life?
The whole time I was thinking, what in the world am I going to tell his wife?

Have you ever had to tell someone that her loved one was no longer alive?
Trust me, you can actually see her heart breaking through the tears flowing from her eyes.

Have you ever stood over a person who was dead due to an order you gave?
Look, do not stand too close at the funeral because you might want to jump into his grave.

Have you ever had to stand before a grieving family? Yes, it is completely sad.
Their Soldier gave his life for his country and all I had to give them back was a U.S. Flag!

I am a leader of Soldiers because that is what I was called to do, and just for the record,
I am not telling you this to prove anything to any of you.
Most people just do not understand a true combat Soldier, warrior, and leader.
Well, here are some insights for all you poetry writers and readers.

How did you feel when the World Trade Center fell, the Pentagon got hit, and those planes hijacked?
This leader was devastated! Thousands dead on my watch, and it was my job to prevent those attacks.
You really do not understand the sacrifices we have made for the armed forces.
Heck, I have missed birthdays, holidays, anniversaries, and been through a couple of divorces.

We learn loyalty, honor, and respect for the U.S., for government, and for freedom, but we actually fight for our fellow Soldiers, you would understand if you ever took the time to meet them.

So yes, I have faced fears for you and even for those that act like complete jerks,
because failure is just not an option for me in my line of work!
I am a descendent from kings, forced into slavery, then turned into a Soldier so here is my quote,
Brothers “I fought for this country before I had the right to vote.”

I am the Buffalo Soldier who fought the Indians and settled the west.
Absent from those history books, it was my blood, sweat, and hard work that helped build the U.S.

I bravely charged up San Juan Hill and was later discredited in the press;
because racism would not let the world view me as this nation’s best.

I am that courageous hard-working Sailor who signed up at that local rally;
to learn I could only serve my country from deep in the ship’s galley.

I am that black flier who defied all odds to fly, fight, and win.
Well, you may have heard them say that I am one of those Red Tail, Tuskegee Airmen.

I fought in all the U.S.’s conflicts to include two world wars to stop global oppression,
but it was not until the Korean War when we overcame segregation.

The media and the public want you to call me a hero,
but you treated my Vietnam brothers, those Soldiers, like complete zeros.

Those Vietnam Warriors followed orders, fought with honor, and had no regret,
but when they came home, they came home to your insults, no cheers, just total disrespect.

Well, this leader has faced his fears through multiple wars in the Middle-East.
So, I salute those Soldiers dealing with fear right now because they allow us to enjoy reading poetry in peace!
James Mr. Speaker Sears

THE SPACE, by SYANDENE

It is
the space you fill
when the dawn
freshly breaks
the space you fill
with a anticipatory
brew of certainty
come what may

The space that says
there is no routine
only the linking
of mapped souls
through
inner conversations
and
earnest supplication
for how we
get through
in seeing another day

And as I start my day
I am reminded
of the happiness that
cycling into
the path of the sun brings
sensing the changing seasons
of being

Seeing workmen
backs – breaking
in the heat
of the mid-day sun
but happy – eyes decorating
constructional achievements
with pleasure

A mature couple
studying the geography
of a new locality
A new home sought – maybe
A new life researched – possibly
their day out
placed against
dancing sun’s rays

hands held
A ritualistic spell
connected in harmony
for the new day

Snapshots of women
pushing
new age designed prams
cradling innocent cargo
sleeping – oblivious
prepped for the
various struggles
they will encounter
bringing joy and pain
in this life’s relentless
refrain

A runner
fighting off exhaustion
for that final push, up
‘I can do this’ Hill

And the urban but
incessant babble
of school children
absorbed by the
ineffectiveness of what it means
to have the latest
technological gadget
in their possessions

I cycle
freewheel through
the cascade of monotone images
imbued to be outspoken
about the healing powers of
love and unity
for a world
rent in two
by the
fashionable commodity of
hatred and greed

reminded of my
grandmother’s timely words
” Chicken memba Gaad wen im drink”
meaning
thankfulness and reverence
must be the order of
the day

Knowing we aspire to
an idealized concept of we
knowing we lack nothing
want everything
and maybe
only visible things in between

Knowing that the
landscaping – reshaping
inward making and outward making
of the mapped soul
seeks no type of
hidden mystery
hurts

But now older
and much wiser
I am no longer
a subject to the
ligature marks of
life’s discordant cry

Free to journey into
onto and through
the iconoclastic footprints
left by the eclectics

For mine is a measured walk
inspecting the houses
inhabited by
wizened women
speaking truth in
its unaltered state

Sipping on
sacred science
the 7 tones of purity
the effusion of Ancient Mysteries
and the oneness of the
harmonized self

As they note
The New Ascension
unfurl its well preserved wings

That I too may climb higher
go within
and fly

(c) Syandene Jahia

CALELendar a poem, by Melissa Chaconas

branch out on words
pivot the approach he prophecy
relentlessly the part
dreamed old- piece of night
that transformations between me
first word- last love
intricately organic beyond
reason strange
benediction lesson
mailbox wrath welcome letter picnic
father instructions

confidential hemorrhage

signal child
to
economist’s old clothes
mask of supper
daughter bring
mean careless love
quality between
this questioned
world
silence your science green gods.

flowers fall grimmer grammer in
house- railed- un-withered
the approach to
upstairs
-the thief
of end- when will it end?
goose eat- what eat goose?
&
dragonfly- ?
lamplight covers
scourged head down
hermetic
reader
writer
down
in class

summing up meditation
a testing spark
journal old cracked curtain (belongs to someone else)
to portrait
the illumination of dynasty
w/ red breasted robin
road of summer river solstice
build report gladiator of the system
around 3 floors- flights to the king cleoparta
tree-please teach Dante
layeREd knots unknown nights
catch cage- portents contents fire-sticks
Lincoln’s death

quarrel w/ six
sisters
route the unquiet ones
layer snakes of
September
image maker
make we
abduction to 1914
foreboding my
poet rounds
ill pass on the
boat

whale through
chariot rides
to the house
of mother’s
pearls
comet
autumn
comes
commit on
lamentation-
the sea
touch me

never
begin
w/
beethoven
expected
music-
not to you
but it acts
of old photos retouched
signed great
us-

Enough wanderer, by Melissa Chaconas

father of our country ill fated
disgraced to be civilian
go lay in a rustic bed
of a poor king- abandoned by
the powerless-
buy- touching
Pope

He loved the toil of making
this true again 4 how many
more years

tree-trunk officers- hollow hands
full length misery of situations
gone beyond help
make 4 good donuts,
bBig tears 4 men without utility belts
“Do to you ask the peace from me 4 those
whose lives were taken by the cast of Mars”

Where are the warrior girls who
also debate w/any?
dances as she turns to
shoot the aim of armless
one-breasted bows
arrows
formulated from
of lost cities
intermitted with
blazing lamenting
wordless weapons

ashy
ashed
seas

“Dawn at that hour
brought on her kindly light
for ill mankind,
arousing men to labor & distress”

morning kind light
made her that hour
what cab in can she animate
the action before sexually waken up
the action that sways men to wages and physical trouble in search of evening satisfactory- its unforunate that mankind
can not be without reference to sex
at what hour will her light look at the beginning?

This old-timely body of
underneath gloom
un foundation in men
hurled swine
herd death in commandeered positions
heated up the stove
but no reaped-up climax
the hope- trembles in same
time
the queen entreaties
the mounds of
trust-faithly hounds
the palpable eyes-
the inner enjoined scepter
we say him trying to lay
tendering our gifts but
with a war- father in gripped
rough hands
“what happened to disturb your
quiet life?”
Dominance in Greeks is our
strange taste that
often lends to exile
others don’t hear

what makes the
royal mildew groan
and roar/
cloaked in mothballs

scattered, by Melissa Chaconas

scattered
old lord – raised- flash
of electroitity
ragged flame

a trip through breathing hard chest

still greater loving
flying immortal energy
watch distances-while still

I want to be
kindness stained
groan with quickness
at your intellect
-tired yet full
of your shoulders
of mankind
penetrate through instruments
gave his life
spearing all heads
great welcoming torso
pull glory out of it & spoke,
speak need the passage

Sister Virgin the denied aim, by Melissa Chaconas

Daughter Straddle
The

Saddle oracle

“shedding hot tears”

drunken bend crossing T’s in hope
of Pro’s
Prose
Poetry
danced
separate
spins

pastured herbs

heal the
frenzied
blow of a if done by
a
bitten tongue

“to find peace in the sea”

A girl now ripe
digital short-story of
a fruitious woman

deep in an inner
soiled down in an inherent
with humming
thunder

along came hustling, popping.
BLAST

it seemed her

her act it was

impressed-stimulated
stirred, tenderly new fangled in

her the noiselessness

admonition
there

bent over
walking with long white alien legs
slow on the toes
walking on blue earth

earlier the
sisters
gone
of
grammer
mistaken

stayed without them
as out of line ones
are
bedridden
bored maybe in
ivy-cross-woven laced chariot-nests
(rocking back n forth)
shapED like
long W’s.

I pick the burrow, by Melissa Chaconas

I pick the burrow
but there’s nothing left
to pick- brown greenish earth mud swirls around
down the
rabbit hole
– I pick anyway
and the earth bleeds… I
stop in painful shame and
I too feel the hurtful burn
of uncertainty.

I’m fine 4 a while then

I’m fire 4 A while THEN

I’m fine 4 a while then

then hours
later out of hateful habit
I take the scalpel &
look 4 something that isn’t here

I scan the walls
run my fingers over the
dried paint & mounds
of unseeable dirt

each
pile, bubble
different
but there lies a family, a unity
within the art of complexity

I want to pick at the old wounds
(at this house with no wind)
but I can’t reach them
there are far back &
my fingers are too big

Maine Gains— , by Melissa Chaconas

I tattoo in black
ink the word
relax
(but
w/ a
S
because
S is
nicer, softer
than X
marks the
spot)
in ancient
text on fingers like henna
I forget to go to
the star, the
extraord9inary special
Jewels
4 ways to stuff
my dolphingates full

I need thriller results
no more making friends
laugh w/my painfully empty dates

I turn your letter inside out
rip the sides down to open a passage
and pound out soft dough
words not ready to go
mountain climbing or
bake bread 4 the hungry
Will a normal Halloween past by?
(why is that sentence strange with irony?)
Why is it a competition always
Who holds MORE
Pain? Actually I am
Pretty good w/ games

let me
give you
a great introduction
to my
silent veins
I plus
focus plus
lines from chemicals ? on my
hands
will my palm reader
lose another
baby or go
dancing with me?
A special rate.

We play
music all the
time but who
listens? Do we
feel each other? Or
Do we “goofball”
feed off
each other?

I rewrite
& fold & rewrite

mailing this letter to my conscious self
to go visit my unconsciousness self on the hills of challenges
sneed snotty
sneed seeds slip special slumber shelters
(4) social services
(that) stop
(because of)
scheming
Brown jumping autumn elphant accepted
By
green growth monster that slips away

brown baby Ganesh busting w/ bountiful energies for health and home and true boundaries and luck for businesses

Will I owe my own Business?

this rabbit hole
from clark & division to Roosevelelt and opposite reverse direction
U see is if inclined filled with inspiration

this letter is made out to me
from my mother who goes wondering with pear waves and pumpkins that empress kings and make Scarborough horrors melt away with universal loving open mommy arms

don’t stop
the scarps on your knees and loose knee caps
help you grow

Darkening the sky, by Melissa Chaconas

Never a breathe

Reeking puff

Deep in rocky ricky their hum vibrates

Her mind riven by loud thunderclap

Her crimson groan and knotted hair
Round a inexorable indignant beam

sister-brother-yes
cough w/disgust
I know often remember or don’t
the long grain of sand time that spoiled
the pact by guile and either you or I
gave yourself/meself to this
wrong

my father says beauty fades what
remains is the brain or lack
there of

who will I go down with? It is
possible to join my forefathers.

dislodged inwardly
ungovernable
snapped spirit

circle technique
icicle packed echoed
banks & pools
to have stood here
earth- struggling long to stand
tweeted twirled up the other
what is left for you?
What could heed over pleading war?

Anger
I am
willingly

ready to turn & meet
the father of speech
bidding
begging
swift from heaven
flitting, flitting
unstrung by numbness,
she knew- despairing in her
finger tips- now I withdraw.

a shame river with depth flurrying

tauntin g nerve
skill footing
half-holve’s horse
swooped
tumbled both

narrowing his eyes for
wall-battering catapult

criminal blood spirit
fled into
slackened death
gloom chill

Buckling
range
spreading my hands
raged relic of anguish
don’t hurt heat the disappointed

terrible wanderings
neglect the plunder of
&
indecision
robbed responsibility

I looked at his opened mouth
teeth stained w/coffee,
sweat-smoke- his gums
but his eyes spoke
wineglass born of clay-
dissolve old masters of inexhaustible
sir-down these sit on sea love

a silent night of strength
dancing, darkness dance the dare
“maybe then she would be adorned
by real brains – not just seemingly
stupid men w/ real hands”