Third Place

hard is the stamp of my darkening horse
loud are the boards that rumble below
cold is the steel that burns in my hand
just go to war with what you have

far in the distance the man I kill
lost in the moonlight eyes aflame
wild running empty hands
goes to hell with what he has

strict are the ways of the temple priests
heaven is barred with lightning swords
god is drunk on the blood of the damned
go to death with what you have

the cloth is quality, the suit is fine
the laughter clinks like champagne glass
wives of the criminals smile like cheetahs
go to the party with what you have

the world is a morgue and a birthing mound
death is the dancer, life is the sound
take it all in, for it will pass
go to dream with what you have

( MJS )

MJS (aka: MortalJivester) lives in Los Angeles. For his effort, he wins several bits of swag collected by a delegate to the 2004 National Convention, including an authentic Cheers cap.

Second Place

You go to war with what you have,
And I had dreams of glory,
Now long replaced with nightmares
And an all too familiar story.
An army of one, I’m a father and son,
And a brother—one of three.
The army with which you’ve gone to war
Is replete with men just like me.

You go to war with what you have;
We were told we had the best.
I strode into the combat zone
With Kevlar on my chest.
Some vehicles were armored well
The rest good armor lacked.
We scavenged for scrap metal, and
Hoped we would not be attacked.

You go to war with what you have,
And we fought for proper protection.
The enemy seemed a distant threat
As we fought fatigue and infection.
We fought the hunger gripping our guts,
We fought against thirst, stress, and pain.
We waited for rebels and roadside bombs
And fought against going insane.

You go to war with what you have,
Your fears, your flaws, your charms.
But in a moment, what you have can be lost;
I gave up one leg and both arms.
I gave up my innocence and any thought
That war was no more than a game.
You go to war with what you have
And hope you come back the same.

( Shakespeare’s Sister )

Shakespeare’s Sister, who so christened herself in a blatant fit of thievery from the greatest modern poet, Steven Patrick Morrissey, is an obsessive political junkie and progressive spitfire from a Red State. When not blogging or doing any of the other things for which she’d like to get paid, she earns her keep as a desk jockey who dreams of horses.

Her prize will be a Republican Jesus coffee mug, from the stores of General J.C. Christian.

Grand Prize Winner

flakes
plaster pieces from ceilings
as snow

drifting now turning falling

makes a carpet under my crunching boot

he is here

in a room upstairs
his ululating children beg
for his life

but no one here speaks their ancient language

we take the swollen wood stairs to the cramped
up
and he IS there, frozen in his terror
looking at us owned
and we have a sack for his head
to make his shame more tasty

on the way out
I see a small trinket -
a toy, really
a carved shoe, like alladin’s little foot
and I take it
because
I
want
it.

You go to war with what you have
you come back with more.

( Christopher Lee )
+
+
+
+
+

Chris Lee, asked for a biographical statement, replied “International spy, bon vivant, supermodel and inspiration to millions will suffice. Maybe throw in something about drinking turkey gravy.”

His prize will be a Republican Jesus mug, plus a CD from the works of the Reverend Billy C. Wirtz, specifically, Unchained Maladies.

CONGRATULATIONS TO EACH OF THESE FINE, PATRIOTIC AMERICAN POETS AND TO ALL WHO JOINED IN THE FUN!