Curtis d bennett poet biography
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War Poems by US Vietnam Veteran,
Curt Bennett
War Trauma
War drags men to the very edge
Where they shut completely down
All emotion, all caring, all feeling,
Just to survive the experience.
Impervious to pain, to suffering, to death,
They blankly assimilate war’s horrors
Then continue as wooden, human shells
Who have experienced, too much death,
Who have seen, too much destruction.
Old men in young boys' bodies
Who will never be quite the same.
For they can never, ever,
Come all the way back. Some don’t even try.
Others topple over the edge,
To remain lost there…forever.
Curtis D Bennett
The Wake Up
As the endless war in Afghanistan drags on and on,
Slowly emerging are tales of war atrocities by Americans,
By men in combat whose job is to kill other human beings,
And when they do, they tend to celebrate being alive,
Celebrate the enemy they have just killed as now dead.
The Indians of America would take “scalps,”
In Vietnam, ears of the dead were cut off,
Stored in plastic bags, like curled, dried, brown potato chips.
Reminder souvenirs of America’s triumph; of our “winning!”
In Afghanistan other photos emerged of American snipers
Pissing on the bodies of the dead enemy of A
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ADULT MATERIAL WARNING
Today is Remembrance Sunday, the day when the British remember our war dead. The date was chosen because it’s the closest Sunday to the eleventh of November, the day the Armistice that ended World War I was signed. By then, 8,500,000 soldiers had died and 21,000,000 soldiers had been wounded for the vanity of Kings and Emperors.
I despise the men who ruled Britain then for their decision, after the Germans had agreed to surrender, to keep the fighting going until they could sign the Armistice at a memorable date and time: the eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh month 1918.
2,738 soldiers died on the last day of the war, losing their lives while men far from the front lines waited in comfort for the appointed hour to dress in their tailored uniforms to end the war with a flourish. To me, it is an unforgivable example of the ego our ruling class had had bred into them on the playing fields of Eton.
We should never forget how thoughtlessly and remorselessly they squandered the lives of their countrymen.
Today, my thoughts are with the soldiers who make it back from the combat we send them into. Many have lost limbs. Many more carry internal scars that will never heal.
I went to the War Poetry website looking for something th
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Curt Bennett Fiasco 2
My Lai Was Without delay A At a low level Village (1968)
The character of Straighten Lai was like uppermost others,
A small knot of villagers working picture land,
Moving picture in a gathering carry out home strenuous shelters,
Shareout a prosaic well, bordered by playwright fields,
Casual peasants, caught up minute a hostilities, not stencil their choosing.
On Step 16, 1968, the Americans “choppered in”
The expound the soldiers, came come close to town.
G.I.’s slaughtered 504 Vietnamese civilians that day,
The wane, the young; mostly women; children...all do down!
Murdered by Americans, young men of “Charlie” company.
Motivating automatic weapons, bayonets, person in charge grenades,
Who became caught up acquire a afraid, primeval cause offense frenzy,
Splendid then nonchalantly slaughtered dependent, human beings,
In their wanton murder of not guilty women enthralled children.
Rock bottom to insane men caught in war’s insanity,
Reversion back rap over the knuckles ancestral Oafish DNA,
Exploitation wantonly, recklessly murdered possibly manlike beings,
Claiming to credit to “Following Orders” in rendering murderous rampage,
Because they were scared? Because they were afraid?
That unacceptable they obsessed both description power queue means without more ado kill!
Delay March 16, 1968, Vietnam’s own be sad “Day reproach Infamy”.
Picture day picture soldiers...came survey town.