Particularly pleasant, it is well worth a visit. While they are busy with their own affairs,Īlarmed, wondering if lust will run amok.Within easy reach of central Paris, Boulogne is the second most populated area in Greater Paris. Would worship your lithe, careless sprawl. To bear you up, too, while couch and chairs The walls bearing up the house would love Loves your feet, your weight, as do I, and With perfume craftier than those of Paris. Taking advantage of its luster and bloom, In the devilish play of orgasm and dread.įorbidden to love where we are not loved.Ībout this night was made for love: stars We bond, we bind, we treat flesh savagely Willingness to fight, kill, and bear witness. In our soon-to-be-history innocence, in our Tempting in our incredible physical fitness, Publicly you find us a bit erotic, a little Take pictures of us even if you can’t admit To keep civilian citizens living undisturbedĪnd corporations sating their reptilian needs. Warships on perturbed waters, to dominate Sea-warriors all, we are in training to lead This side of slaughter and creation of the dead. Want us, too, and we say “Sir!” and “Ma’am!” The United States Navy wants us to be pure. We smart, smooth future denizens of the sea. Laud and lusty blessings given or received, We are young and trusted, hale and hearty,Įager and aware of things no longer believed When all we want is to party and come alive. Tight-lipped, tight-laced on the outside, We are all beautifully uniform, cocky, plucky,īuff. To face the trial of duty, honor, and the sea. That would sacrifice us all for someone’s lie.Īble to soothe another body, brace another soul Take off your binding cords, have you trust Salve your interrogation’s welts and wounds, The planet quiet, the ungodly a past disgrace.įor not dying. The human race breeds automatons, myrmidons, Neither willing to leave us alone to flower.īoth would have us kill and kill and kill until Yours as unforgiving of life’s soft blasphemiesĪs mine, mine as hateful of impiety as yours, Our gods have put us here, done this to us, Your healthy body coated hopelessly with red. Would wield the whetted knife: snicker-snack!Īnd then your head would roll out bleeding life, It’d be to send you back from whence you came: Young man, you’re a strange thing sitting here, The thought, there but for the grace of God go I. My own, your youthful tenor cry awakening Your young eyesĬaught mine, your fright and tears touched You balked, begged, bared your vest to us, and To overcome the spiritual chill of sudden death, The fleshy thrill of 72 virgins not being enough Love be at least one corruption we chose together. Here, in the deepening blue of our corruption, let The poems capture moments of coming awake and self-realization, relaxation and stress, heartache and rejoicing, and I offer them as one veteran’s experience. Taken together, these poems tell a tale every gay military man knew well back then: duty, honor, sacrifice, hard work, danger, friendship, self-control. During the 1960s, when being gay in the military would’ve ended my career if not much worse, I was proud to serve and loved the Navy environment even though I had to keep my private thoughts to myself and a few fellow officers. The 61 poems in War Poet, about half of which were written during my active duty status, reflect the tension between two sides of my consciousness: self-sacrifice versus self-protection, domination versus submission, obligation versus pleasure, dehumanization versus love. Navy during the Vietnam War Era, torn between the man I was in my soul and privately, and the man I had to appear to be publicly. What a time it was! I was on active duty as an officer in the U.S.
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