Hawks Call For More War

Hawks call for more war

A peaceful resolution

Is the last resort

Someone I think is confused

When shedding blood is first choice


~~ Dominic R. DiFrancesco ~~

Growing Frustration

Growing frustration!

ISIL laughs in our faces

…America bleeds.

Again we are being used

Because we’re slaves to their oil.

The coalition–

Where are they in this struggle?

This fight should be theirs!

Instead we do their bidding

As hostages to these captors.

We’re fooling ourselves.

This isn’t just about safety,

It’s economics.


~~ Dominic R. DiFrancesco ~~


Please Tell Me

Please tell me….

What does it look like to win?

Ideology can’t be defeated on the battlefield,

No matter how you try you can’t kill it.

You can kill its adherents,

Destroying the body, but their hate lives on.

Containment is decried as weak,

Nothing short of all out war satisfies the hawks,

Annihilation of everyone and everything their only answer.

So then, please tell me…

What does the enemy look like?


Dark skinned?

Light skinned?






Sounds like the faces of the innocent and the guilty.

Can you please tell me…

How will you know your foe?

They will not come at you waving a flag.

They will not march upon your positions in perfect high-step.

They will not be clothed in matching uniforms,

Blaring their trumpets and saluting.

So tell me again…

Who is the enemy?

The farmer?

The shopkeeper?

The mechanic?

The soldier?

The school teacher?

The Imam?

The mother?

The father?

The child?

Would you have us kill every living thing just to make your point?

You rhetoric says that you would!

Someone please tell me…

What does it look like to win?


~~ Dominic R. DiFrancesco ~~


Pain You Cannot See

Pain you cannot see,

Can be heard–

In the wavering of words,

Can be seen–

In the worried expression.

Reliving the past in waking dreams;

Speaking to the invisible that seem so real;

Returning to the present awash with anger.

Ravages of war do not always leave visible wounds–

For the visible may be treated with scalpel and stitch.

That which is unseen may be the most devastating of all,

Lasting a lifetime,

Tormenting, demonizing, incapacitating,

Shattering the spirit.

We see this on the streets,

We see this in the shelters,

We see it on the cardboard signs

And in the tin cans held out by dirty hands,

No place is immune.

These are the ones we turn away,

Diverting our eyes,

Ignoring them as a nuisance,

Wishing they would just go away.

Does not their sacrifice grant them better?

They gave when called,

Offering life and limb;

Permitting us the pursuit of our happiness.

Yet what do we offer in return?

Nothing but contempt.


~~ Dominic R. DiFrancesco ~~


Those Left At Home

By D. DiFrancesco

Are they ok?
Where are they?
Questions asked daily by parents of children
But they aren’t really children any more
Only to us.

A letter home
The occasional telephone call
Pictures and postcards
Somehow it isn’t enough to quell the fears
While serving in a land so far away.

We can’t hold them
We can’t advise them
We can’t comfort them
All we can do is worry about them
So Many more questions than answers.

The military says they will take care of them
They say they will try to bring them home safe
“Try” doesn’t make this any easier
But they can’t make such promises
No one can see into the future.

Parcels are sent regardless of cost
Trying to provide some comfort to them
Little things to remind them of home
A little thing to make us feel useful
Yet it doesn’t change anything.

This is what they chose to do
We swell with pride at the thought
We fly our flags and display our yellow ribbons
Small signs to the rest of the world of the their sacrifice
And our sacrifice.

They are a gift
Given to all of us to cherish
They pay the price for our freedom
They weren’t asked to, they weren’t told to
They give because it is their destiny.

Remember these heros in your prayers
Because you know them or someone like them
And because they deserve it and have earned it
This is the very least we can do
Don’t let their sacrifices be for naught.

The telephone rings
Our hearts skip a beat
Hello, is answered with an endless silence
Angst gives way to elation
Hi…Mom…Dad, its me.