Poetic Reflections: tanks

I meant to write about “thanks”. And the opposite. How ungrateful we humans have been to Mother Earth. How uncivilized civilizations have been toward other civilizations. How backwards our advancements have taken us in many ways. But how, nonetheless, we need to take the time — whatever our gripes and grievances — to appreciate this world and those around us. Also those much like us around the world. By that I mean, well, pretty much everyone. We’re all people, people!

I wanted to state what a marvelous and forgiving expression “water under the bridge” can be. That it conveys a depth of wisdom and compassion beyond the ordinary everyday toils and flubbish flounderings of humankind.

I was going to say that I am grateful Life can still startle me, amuse and amaze me, both by very big measures and the nice little surprises that come along. And, when I least expect, or when it appears I’m running low on possibilities and faith, a sparkling fountain of avenues and prospects might spring forth to dazzle my beleaguered soul . . . perhaps a small act may evoke a smile, even a laugh . . . and keep me believing in myself, as well as my fellow man.

I was going to write about such topics until my brain wandered off the path and the title came out “tanks”. And that changes everything. That takes me in another direction entirely.

Now I must speak of metal and noise. Of being treaded flat into the earth, or confronted by overwhelming odds and obstacles. Of two sides unable to compromise, unable to settle scores by simpler and saner methods. Of extreme measures, human versus human, son versus son. Of devastated cities and families. The images of real-life horror. The bloodshed and gore of War.

There are numerous kinds of battles. The competitive athletic challenge of exerting physically above and beyond for the squad or your personal pride. The chess-match strategic maneuverings of mind-to-mind combat. The mundane variety we encounter day to day: tensions, strifes, misunderstandings, pressures and minor struggles. The big, bold, blatant type you cannot ignore: against disease and violation, adversity and disaster. The blazing gunfights of lawmen and crooks. The eternal clash of Good versus Evil. The double-sided coin of armies defending God or country.

I didn’t see this coming but here it is. I have to deal with it. As I have said before and will likely say again, I prefer my horrors served in riveting fictional verse and prose; on a screen or platform where it isn’t really happening. Not in the news and certainly not in stark living color right before my seared stinging eyes!

In reality I’m a softie. I like to hug teddybears. I like to hear the songs of birds in the trees. I like to snuggle in a warm sweater on a cool day. I like to watch the grass grow secure in the belief that it will not be abruptly trampled by a tank.

War is a hellish enterprise and seems quite irrational, even downright insane when you think about it, yet wars are fought each day. Was there ever a time, in the modern or ancient history of men, that this wasn’t so?

Who do we hold accountable for the shattering of peace, the atrocities committed by good men against each other?

Should we blame the soldiers for following orders? Turn our backs on veterans who placed everything on the line for their nations so their loved ones and those like them could go on enjoying the better things in life?

Are the politicians and leaders at fault for finding no solution to issues and disagreements but to aim weapons — whether swords and arrows, ammunition and explosives, aircraft and artillery?

We tend to blame The Bad Guys. The other side.

History tells us that some wars needed to be fought, against madmen who needed to be stopped. For causes like Freedom and Justice. I have to admit, this might have been true.

It is certainly true when lawless factions inflict terror and slaughter the innocent. But is it so impossible that such factions could be convinced through words alone never to wield destruction? Or restricted by civil punishment, criminal prosecution, instead of whole nations duking it out on a global scale?

Did our environment need to be pillaged and scourged by rampant abuses in order for progress to be achieved? Or were there more intelligent means to get where we are?

Did “The Wild West” need to be won by force? Watching old cowboy and Indian movies I didn’t root for either side. I really liked them both and just wanted them to get along.

What’s done is done, whether right or wrong. It’s water under the bridge. And it’s important to remember, to learn from the mistakes along with the victories, so we will not repeat the same errors.

Wars are fought. Perhaps this will never change. We must honor the veterans for doing what they thought was right, obeying the call of duty and defending our ideals. Yet it is my sincere hope that in the future we will find better ways to settle our disputes. Without bombs, bullets, and tanks. It is my belief that we can evolve to the point of communicating rather than accepting more violence. Destroying more families, towns, or habitats.

In such a world I could just correct my mental divagation of thanks to tanks and remind you that there is a bright side to every darkness. That no matter how grim your day . . . if you’re patient, receptive, your heart and mind open, you will find a ray of hope. Sorrows can fade; you can discover a new purpose, a new reason to keep going. To keep striving and loving and living.

Well, maybe I’ll tell you that anyway. Because it’s true. And then I’ll write some poems.