Freedom Dogs

 

Click the link to read more.
https://www.freedomdogs.org/post/vietnam-navy-veteran-mushroom-montoya-partners-with-freedom-dogs-and-service-dog-yazzie-for-ptsd-sup

Taking a Stand

by Mushroom Montoya

Mutiny is punishable by death

Or a life of imprisonment,

And so is cowardice

In the face of battle.

 

And isn’t it cowardice

To stay quiet,

Obeying orders

While shutting off our minds,

 

Knowing full well

That our heart is watching,

Our mind is racing

To disengage from the battle

 

Of right and wrong,

True morality,

And the consequences

Of obeying orders?

 

Farmers and fishermen,

Children and their mothers

Are not a danger

Or a threat

 

To the powerful

Big gun battleships,

Fast flying fighter jets,

And life-ending machineguns

 

Of the mighty USA.

 

My heart begs me to stop

Obeying orders

To kill the named enemy

In the name of freedom.

 

I am not free

When I am ordered to kill

A person who has done me no harm,

Whose only crime was being born

 

In enemy territory

 

How do to apologize

To a mom and dad

For killing their son or daughter?

I was just obeying orders?

 

That will never suffice,

Never revive the dead child,

Never give them relief

From never ending grief

 

And now I wash

Over and over

The blood on my hands

That are permanently stained

All the way to my heart.

 

Therefore, I protest

This unholy war,

Knowing the potential consequences

Of disobeying orders,

 

Of leading a protest

That can be labeled a mutiny.

But I must take a stand

Or die from my own

Cowardice.

 

 

I Was Water In Viet Nam

by Mushroom Montoya

I was water in Viet Nam

Washing away the sins

Of deceit, hate, and greed,

Failing to feed

What my soul desperately needed

When no one heeded

The call for Peace.

I was water in Viet Nam

Trying to douse the fire

Of the self-righteous liar

Who told us we were on the right

When we were the blight.

I was Water In Viet Nam

Drowning 

In my own ocean.

No Escape Clause

 I am forever bound by that promise.

When Morality Plays Opossum

By Mushroom Montoya

.

She opened her mouth, blooming

With kindness that lit the whole room

As she sat on a broom

To fly into a world of contradictions,

.

Where warriors rule with guns and blade’s

Claiming they are doing it for freedom’s sake.

They blow up houses and schools,

Proclaiming they are protecting our homes and children.

.

She zooms hither and yon

Hunting for the anyone

Who understands there is no morality

When men play war.

.

But no one has ears sweet enough to listen

Except for the smallest of children

And mothers and fathers whose babies

Were stolen by bullets and bombs.

.

War is where morality plays opossum,

While glorifying tanks and drones

That crush our hearts and break our bones

And entices young boys to play the game.

.

She alights on cannon,

Beaming her radiance for all to see,

Singing a song of being in love,

The soldiers refuse to agree

.

That their war is wrong,

Even when they are

Sitting on a child killing machine.

‘

They pluck out her plumage of honesty,

Slap her in the face

With the label of traitor,

Sending her home in disgrace.

.

That has not deterred her,

Nor should it deter us

From shining the light on morality

When it plays opossum.

Alice's Restaurant

 I listen to Alice's restaurant every Thanksgiving.
After getting my draft notice in March 1971, I went to the induction center in Los Angeles where I was injected, inspected, detected, infected, neglected, and selected. After filling out forms and trying to remember the addresses of every single house or apartment we ever lived in, the sergeant ordered us to take off our clothes. We walked through the halls and into the rooms dressed only in our underwear. They left no bodily orifice uninspected.
They didn't send me to the group W bench, they sent me to a room filled with school desks. The sergeant told us to sit down. He handed each of us a test, telling us to fill in the little circles next to the correct answer and to walk up and give him our test when we were done. He said he would be watching for cheaters.
It didn't take long. I wanted to get out of there and go home. So, I rushed through the questions. When I finished, I stood up and gave the sheet with my selection of multiple choice answers marked with black lead from the Number 2 pencils they loaned us to the sergeant who as sitting at his desk, eagle eyeing each one of us to make sure we weren't cheating, or drawing lewd pictures on the exam sheet.
I was the very first person to turn in my test.
The sergeant, didn't look at it. He handed it back to me and told me to go back to my desk and fill it out right.
I was a bit confused, for having been refused, and infused with confusion. I handed it back to him, telling him I did the best I could.
He harrumphed and snatched my test out of my hand. He placed it on his desk, looked at the test number in the top right hand corner of the sheet, and pulled out a perforated card from an open drawer near his boot. He placed that card over my test.
His eyes lit up. "Wow! You can be anything you want! Your draft number is 125. We'll see you in June."
His last words, "We'll see you in June," haunted me as I walked out of the induction center and drove home.
This is my true story.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=m57gzA2JCcM&list=RDm57gzA2JCcM&start_radio=1

Sea Bag

 

In March 1972, I carried my seabag over my shoulder through the LAX airport on my way to my first ship, USS Trippe, a new destroyer escort, in Newport, Rhode Island. I put my seabag in the luggage compartment under the bus on my way to the base, while I listened to two local Rhode Island women talk. Their accents were so thick I wondered if I was in a different country.
After I walked onto the Trippe’s gangplank and was escorted down a few ladders to my berthing compartment, I stared at my tiny locker, wondering how I was going to cram everything in my seabag into it.
I shared the berthing compartment (ship's bedroom) with 21 other shipmates. I was given the top rack (a bunkbed 3 racks high.) The compartment was 18 feet by 15 feet. We were so tightly crammed into the berthing compartment, I swear I could hear my shipmates’ dreams.