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Sandwishes & Shellshocked

Updated on May 18, 2022
MFB III profile image

Artist, actor, poet, teacher, songwriter & actor with 4,000 poems & almost 1,000 songs written, performed recorded & published on line.

Dreams die the hardest for the young.

Sand wishes.

Tiny boy child sitting calmly
playing in the sand
forming smooth walled castles 

with his clever little hands

imaginary worlds of Kings 

and Queens down by the sea

dwelling in a happy place

of peace and harmony

turrets tall with perfect towers

gleaming in the sun

moats and drawbridge made of

driftwood quietly are hung

windows with a tiny finger 

drilled out not to deep

a magic place that he created...

his own castle's keep

suddenly the cry of "Dolphin!"

fills the summer air

people leap up to their feet 

and point, and shout, and stare

little boy child seeks the fin 

that marks the mystery

of one of the most gentle 

of God's creature's from the sea

while his head is turned away

a huge foot starts its descent

smashing down the dreams he made 

from all that time he spent 

Just a careless passerby 

who looks to see what's going on

flip-flop bombs laid waste 

unto this sculpture, then it's gone

little boy child turns back 

to finish work he'd left undone

seeing that it is destroyed 

his tears gleam in the sun

he walks away and leaves a piece 

of his soul on the beach

that soon is washed away 

by waves whose liquid fingers reach

to draw the world around them 

back into the salty brine

and grind it into tiny crystal's 

sparkling with sunshine

Iraqi child sits by a hut 

and calmly works the sands

weaving patterns fit for blankets 

textured by his hands

dreaming of the market days 

when real work he can sell

make some escape 

from this his desert hell

suddenly folks all cry out 

"Bombers!!" as they point and shout
the Iraqi child looks all round 

to see what it's about

only eight he doesn't know 

the heavens hold much more
hen Allah's love from pretty clouds 

there also can come war

a giant finned creature is launched 

and starts on its descent

his Momma screams a block away 

but knows all hope is spent

people scatter like roach packs 

startled by the light

and only one boy child remains....

to face the newest blight

just twenty feet away 

it impacts with a shattering roar

and dreams of blankets pretty patterns

turn to bloody gore

Sand-wishes spattered with raw flesh 

fresh blood and one small hand

that later when it's opened

holds a heart shaped ball of sand

the waves of grief like liquid fingers 

from many eyes are spilled

but they can never wash away 

the vision of him killed

some careless acts by grown adults

result in young boy's cries

while other acts of carelessness

go wrong and young boys die

sand wishes turned to tragic ends....

it happens every day

too many innocent are lost..

young children swept away

when wishes turn to sand 

they slip through fingers and are lost

and when it hurts the children 

it extracts too high a cost.


Tiny bloated baby floating 
in a rice paddy 
amidst exploded pieces 
of her mommy and her daddy 
simple peasants picking rice 
young infant sits near by 
crawls to be near Momma and 
emits a lonely cry 
her tiny errant foot nudges on 
hard metal where it lies 
then she triggers off a claymore mine
what was meant for the V.C.

1000 balls of shrapnel 

poke holes in eternity

entranceways to exits 

for their souls 

that now are free

killed in our attempt 

to build them a democracy

in a land of simple lives 

that only wished to be let be

multiply this by the men 

who died in agony

their names chiseled 

on tall black walls
in Washington D.C. 

and just as many later chose  

to end  their lives in grief

or died from agent orange 

with cancer...begging for relief

tiny little strip of land 

that always lived with war

men who bled and died 

wondering what they were fighting for

take a hill and give it back 

then take that hill again

come back home and face the masses 

calling them heathen

piles of bones of men 

held captive... never coming home

for a fee they will return 

each soldier bone by bone

tiny ribbons dot the chests 

of those who made it through

bars of color that attest 

to all they tried to do

soil rich with peasant blood 

mingled with Americans

craters from the bombs 

we dropped all overgrown again

jungle claiming back it's turf 

it smothers war's debris

planes and copters vanish 

with thier men eternally

bones of peasants fertilize 

the new rice paddies grown

soon the land bears little trace 

of all that once was known

new babies squat near the 

rice fields giggling as they play

Mamasan's still keep a sharp eye 

on them every day

they've heard the tales of cobra's 

that can fly and pound the land

with one hundred rounds per inch 

while decimating every man

birds now chirp and life 

continues like it always had

wars they come and go....

but when it peaceful life's not bad

other places they fall targets 

to the war machine

while bleached bones 

still left in Vietnam 

turn slowly back to green

sharp salutes to all who fell 

bitter tears for tiny tots

and whole families whose last days
ended with loud rifle shots

nature heals what we as men 

cannot hope to repair

and God cradles the souls 

of all that died too early there

the saddest part is 30 years 

have passed since babies burned

yet we are still planning new wars 

with lessons never learned

with thousands of young men 

still missing from our battles past

they're bent on sending new ones 

off to fight and breathe their last

while we all stand quite helpless 

as this evil die is cast.

© 2009 Matthew Frederick Blowers III


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