A Hometown Refugee -- The Plight of Homeless Vets

Been thinking a lot about our soldiers in Iraq and Afghanistan lately and wondering what will happen to them when they finally come home.

Will they be taken care of and appreciated or will they be forgotten and marginalized like the Vietnam veterans were?

The signs are already heartbreaking. Just this week they found mold in another veteran's hospital.

Recently, it was found nearly one in five, or about 300,000, soldiers who has served in Iraq or Afghanistan has post-traumatic stress disorder or major depression -- illnesses that could cost the U.S. as much as $6.2 billion over two years in care, lost productivity and lost lives through suicide, according to a RAND report. This is tragic.

The wounds of war are not always visible and stay with soldiers for the rest of their lives.

One day while driving to work a few years ago, I saw one of our brave veterans at the side of a freeway off ramp homeless and begging for food.

And I wondered what kind of society turns its back on its soldiers that fought for our so called freedom?

That question haunted me and sparked this poem...

GP

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A HOMETOWN REFUGEE

He's lost.
A refugee of this country.

Forgotten,
dumped
and discarded
at freeway exits
like trash.

His grizzled
broken face
is
expressionless
as he holds up a cardboard sign
which reads HOMELESS VET NEEDS HELP.

He has a million mile stare,
gazing beyond the passing cars,
the freeway and concrete
into a world only he knows.

It's a place
beyond sadness,
beyond anger.

His is a soul obliterated
beyond recognition.

His tattered clothes
hang loosely from his bony frame.

He's waiting,
hoping,
searching
for some sign of charity.

On patrol,
he springs into action,
deceptively quick,
grabbing meager
offerings from the drivers
waiting at the stoplight.

His reconnaissance continues throughout the day.

There are no cameras documenting his plight
as with the refugees in far away lands.

Where's CNN and all the
other cable and TV channels?

Here's a refugee
in a country
he once defended.

A defender of our broken shame
even if he no longer has a home to defend.

Just what does the
ultimate sacrifice
mean to him now?

George Pappas
Copyright 2008

WAR IS A CANCER

Witnessed a strange thing this week.

Our foolish president speaking out…for peace?! and against Russia’s misguided invasion of Georgia.

Bush is right of course in this case, but he’s also a hypocrite.

How can this country lecture Russia to pull back in their invasion of a sovereign country after what we did in Iraq?

Iraq was also a sovereign country when we sent our troops in. How is that any different?

Just shows how America has lost its moral authority around the world....with our bungled foriegn policy.

So now another dangerous war breaks out in different country….but it seems all the same to me….

It is familiar path that we as a civilization have traveled far too many times in our history….the same virulent strain of violence, rage, hatred, nationalism, ignorance…

When will we ever learn? as Pete Seeger sang so many years ago...

We are still waiting for that answer...as the body counts rise and the heartbreak continues...all over the world…

I wrote this poem about war that keeps comes back like cancer…slowly killing off our hopes and dreams…

Let's hope this latest war ends quickly and the cease fire holds...but unfortunately... I have my doubts...

GP

***************************

WAR IS A CANCER

War is a cancer
eating away
at our humanity.

We try to deny it
We try to eradicate it
We try to cure it.
Just when we think war is in remission
it keeps coming back
more virulent and deadly than before
to kill
our hopes
our dreams
our hearts and souls.

War is a recurring disease
eating away
our so called veneer of civilization.

War is a spreading affliction
stripping away
our compassion
our justice
our kindness
leaving us
empty
devoid
of any lasting emotions
but greed, fear and hatred.

George Pappas
Copyright 2008

The Small White Crosses of Santa Barbara

"Why should we hear about body bags, and deaths...I mean, it's not relevant. So why should I waste my beautiful mind on something like that?" – Barbara Bush

As John Lennon so accurately wrote: "War Is Not the Answer."

If you ever find yourself in Santa Barbara on a Sunday, make your way over to the pier area. There you will see an impressive and moving display put on a group of veterans against war that is comprised of rows and row of white crosses. Each one represents a brave American serviceman or servicewoman that has died in Iraq.

As you look across that beautiful beach at those endless rows of crosses, you begin to realize what has truly been lost. So many souls that will never be able to enjoy a summer day or look at such a beautiful beach. I was so moved by this display four summers ago while visiting Santa Barbara, a poem just poured out of me. It was more like a torrent.

Back then the we had lost 912 soldiers in Iraq. As of today, we have lost 4,131 soldiers and no one really knows how many Iraqis have died. They stopped their crosses at 3,000 at Santa Barbara's Arlington West, but still display is more than powerful in conveying the ultimate loss.

I have posted a video at the end of this post and included photos I shot of the display. I also posted an interesting photo I created using one of the postcards from the veterans group that puts on the display and a picture of a smiling George W. Bush. Seems appropriate.

Here's also a poem I wrote about the white crosses of Santa Barbara. Please visit there soon and give the veterans alive and dead the support and respect they deserve. You can also check out the Veterans for Peace Santa Barbara Chapter Web site for more information:

http://www.vfpsb.org/cms

Peace is the answer....

GP

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THE SMALL WHITE CROSSES OF SANTA BARBARA

It's Sunday morning
of the rest of our lives.

Small white crosses
lined up in neat
rows in the sand.

More set up each week.

Each
representing more
than mere words can convey.

A soul extinguished.
So much lost.

Memories erected
now for spirits
struck down far too soon.

Dreams vanishing daily in the sands
another world away

Small white crosses
back home
on different sands.

Nearby volleyball players
and sunbathers
enjoy another warm Sunday
in the middle of the summer.

So many walk past
oblivious to
the small white crosses
and
the passing
of those who will never
strike a volleyball again
or enjoy the pleasures
of a summer day.

Feeling selfish.
Justifications fail me.

The sacrifice
seems more than
we can ask.

More than we can bear.

Looking across this beach
that used to bring me so much joy.
Tears well up in my eyes,
but they won’t come
only the rage
coming in waves
choking me.

A freedom
to breathe in this summer day
lost
to those of the small white crosses.

Their lives loom so much larger
than the markers.

They admonish us in the silence.

Their memories
reaching out to us
across this serene stretch of Santa Barbara beach.

The waves,
the sand
so deceptively calm.

Yet evoking
the sad lessons of war
all the same.

The small white crosses
represent
a sort of Sunday service.

Speaking to us
across the sands of time
reminding us of other losses
in other wars.

Leaving us lost in the silence
of our consciences.

Where are our tears
for the small white crosses?

912 and counting.

Each day,
each night,
each week,
the small white crosses
multiplying
in sorrow and pain.

When will it stop?
When will it ever stop?

Hollowed ground
in the sand
this Sunday
and all the Sundays to come.

The vigil will continue.
The prayers never cease.

This line of small white crosses
looms ever larger
in our imaginations.

Their voices speaking to us
in our nightmares
and our dreams.

Our anger and our sorrow doesn't seem large enough somehow.

The small white crosses
of Santa Barbara
haunt me daily
and in the wee hours of the morning
trouble me to my core.

Each one leading
to so many other
crosses
the families will bear forever.

This is my Vietnam
but what have I done to stop it?

What have I done?

Nothing at all
as the small white crosses
of Santa Barbara beach
multiply in number each Sabbath.

Ultimately,
somber reminders
of our broken
country,
our broken hearts,
our large and looming
mistakes.

Our hopes
are
buried in
the sand a world away
and here today.

No trace left
except for
the white markers
to reawaken our
heartaches for an eternity.

George Pappas
Copyright 2008