david evans


A lament offered:
From Dien Bien Phu
to Khe Sanh

Tired eyes gaze
over paddy fields

and treed margins
beyond which
blue mountains rise

Tranquil now;

time to pause
and see

To contemplate
lies given
and taken

And lives taken

in wars we thought noble
but stood no chance
in hell of “winning”

Bury the lies

lest rage consume

and fill the abyss
with liar’s blood.


Thread of War

Trigger finger
traces path to Iliad
and Cain
blasts me
back to dawn
where blood
olive trees of Babel
And words
are lost
on those who
never learn
as we trod
mired in
the unforgiving mud
of war


Abridged Lover

You came
with Nirvana offerings
my steeled palisades
melding our souls
with singularity
just once
then said
fare well.
And I did


A Lament For The Fallen

No monuments
nor marker sticks remain

‘neath shell-scarred banyans
on the plain

where thousands lie
in blood-soaked dress

in eternal rest.

No God damned flags
wave profane

where dying hordes
took their last breaths.

No honor guards
or eternal flame

no credits
for eternal pain

of those
who loved them,

except for words
in unread tomes.

Only empty words remain.


The Language of God

The language of God
isn’t found
in Holy Books

Nor in sermons
shouted to the blind

Nor in gilded Temples
Adorned with riches
from the lambs

The language of God
isn’t spoken by
the prayerful

whose prayers
cast skyward
are silenced
by the winds

The language of God
is in the beat
of a hummingbird’s
felt loudly
in my ear

As I bask,
eyes closed
while conscious
of the splendor
of my Sun.


Imperfect Om

Oh Siddhartha
bearer of
the perfect Om

whose timeless river flows
without ebb

Where is my solace
in Om?

Mine will not
yet connect

remains broken


and spills
my tears
for our world.

I journey on.


The Light Beckons

Prophet Light beckons
battle-scarred souls

Of those weary

Yet damned

To continue
the fight

From deep within





For the light


Waiting For The Beast to Fall

Spilled soulless
and deformed
from antiquity’s womb

Of greed wed to victim blood
and merchant power

deeded money-changer Pharisees
Gamblers all.

Arising then
for Napoleon

And Bolshevik-Zio thieves
of lives

again to fund
world twice at war

To rule all

How long
must survivors wait
For the Beast to fall?


OF WAR (that is eternal)
Another netherworld journey;
melding briefly with kindred souls

whose blasted bits of scattered flesh and bone
left screams with those long silent (to others)

Children, limp and soft;
And torn (so badly torn!)
Where did they go?

After mentoring those like me
who came with arms,
and killed them?

Sleep won’t come softly;
And it shouldn’t.

— Unnamed former warrior


Landing Zone Baldwin

Dragonfly silhouette
lifts off at dusk

Fading blades beat wind
below emerging stars

Then silence
save distant gun thunder

As night death
stalks invisible
just beyond the wire

Outside my bedroom

Just a ceiling fan this time


An Activist’s Marriage
Have you never heard of Burning Man
Where desert blooms in human

Or of Dante or de Sade
Or of brothels
of Pompeii
Do you not know
Which WILL in you ?
(Adler, Nietzche, Freud)
or that Will To Power
often trumps
Will To Meaning’s meaning?
Have you never worked with Bertolt Brecht
or been repulsed by dead Ayn Rand?
Stood righteously on picket lines,
warred mistakenly for Rand’s dead hand?
Soul-bled with Marx and Hugo
Despaired for those deprived
Glimpsed mind
of God and Hawking
(they are ONE, you know)
Can’t you see the dreadful loss
behind white aloha smiles
Or grieve at Wounded Knee with me
and walk my wounded miles 
Wrapped in family
As you are
Blind to others tears
Such divergent paths
we trod
Where to now from here?

At the Sea
Cool sand still damp from morning mist
warming now by early sun.
Gulls breakfast in receding tide
sharing kinship with the waves
that draw me back to primal roots
embedded in the sea.


Foreboding of the Prophets

Crumbling codices
inked in universal wisdom-blood

Warned of keepers of the Scroll;
Those dark-stained by connivance

Whose death-legacy
exacts a heavy toll.

Sparked to flame again
by sulfur-smell of money

In power they remain.


Of Family and Friends

Decaying brains

Suckling plasma screen venom

With nothing to offer

In defense

of liberty

and noble quests.

They only suckle

And breathe.


Chunks of Me Gone

Blast-strewn bits of bone still wet
Were left of men
Our brothers
War numbers

Precious breath
Needle-Junk-stilled heart
Our sister
Now counted

Poisoned workers
Cancers grew
From labor exploited
Our friends
Now silent

Numbers all
And all gone

And all took with them


Don’t speak of wars
in my fuzzy warm world
I’ve no need
of burned children
whose bedrooms were bombed

Look! selfies shared
on my pocket connector
How perfect my smile
in the ten that I kept
Can’t wait for the cruise
to wear my new body
Gym membership paid
and the company’s fun
So much in common
We shop the same Macys
and one of them drives
a Lexus LX
So don’t speak of wars
in my fuzzy warm world
Your life needs fulfillment
to be more like mine



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