"My dear Hannah: We're camped nigh a town called Gettysburg tonight.
I take pen in hand to write to you, my love, by the flickerin' candlelight.
From afar I hear the beat of Rebel drums preparin' fer battle on the 'morrow.
Oh, my darlin' Hannah! I ain't never knowed such loneliness and sorrow!"
"How I long to be with you and the children 'round our family hearth.
Ya'all mean the world to me, more than anything else on God's earth!
I recall so many times biddin' a sad farewell at our humble cabin door,
And marchin' off with my home brigade as we faced the cruel war!"
"I'm a-thankin' ye fer the chicken and apple pie you sent last week.
I shared it with my friends - it brightened our day which elsewise was so bleak.
This evenin' I read from my tattered Bible the Twenty-third Psalm.
We shared it many times at our family altar - it gives me such great calm!"
"I 'spect to be comin' home to help bring in the crops later on this fall,
And sit 'round the board to enjoy a bountiful Thanksgivin' with ya'all!
So fatten up old Tom Turkey, make some dressin' and sweet pertaters,
A couple of yer famous punkin pies and serve some fresh termaters!"
"I reckon I'd better close this letter 'cause its a-gittin' purty late.
Pray fer me, Hannah! I'll leave ever'thing in God's hands as to my fate!
Hug and kiss the children fer me tonight as you tuck them in their bed.
I'll see you soon, dear one. 'Til then, I remain your lovin' husband, Jed."
Alas, the Scythe of Death reaped Jed's soul upon that ghastly field of strife.
The hopes expressed in his poignant letter would ne'er be shared with his wife..
It was found in his tunic pocket as he was lowered in his hallowed grave,
As his comrades honored him for his service and the life he freely gave.
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) All Rights Reserved
Holding back his tears
In front of him, a soldier kneels
As the mourners look on saddened
Inside the little boy feels
To grow up without his father
As he grows up without his friend
To play ball with him in the park
When he needs him, so much to depend
To be there through out his school life
To make him oh so proud
But not to be there when he graduates
Clapping and shouting out loud
To be there when he gets married
Be a grandfather to his kids
At his fathers funeral he attends
His life in battle rid
In front the soldier kneels
Holding the Stars and Stripes
Presenting it to the little boy
Holding back his tears, from his eyes
An old man looking out his door,
gaze fixed on a distant shore,
reminiscing to a time, not of happiness,
or, the prospect of a bright future,
to when he was sick to his very core,
to when as a youth, he went to war
A time before infallibility had meaning,
patriotism and bravado the craze,
the future was still unknown,
vigor for life at its all time high,
a time for romance, partying, buying,
no thought of pain, deformity, dying
Too young to understand or question,
ship to foreign shore, medals abound,
will impress the girls next time in town,
sacrifice not temporary,
a legacy etched into a wall, few will remember,
flesh shredded, burned, torn,
A time, when he willingly went to war,
will happen no more,
all lost in youth, now unrelenting,
no blind obedience,
long life, his number one ambition
As he turns back from the door,
he thinks of the youth,
here now, soon no more,
lessons never learned,
the call to war,
to common the roar,
complacency the mood,
another generation removed
The old man agonizes
over what was originally not known,
war is preventable,
life too precious to waste,
the solution simple,
his vision, maybe too late
Send old men to the front to fight,
arthritis, heart disease, poor eyesight,
let the youth enjoy their life,
his near over, its only right
Send old men, to the front, to fight
ask them to give up their life,
patriotism and bravado, still alive,
will and desire would not last the night,
old men do not rush to death in their twilight,
failure inevitable, the old man smiles,
knows he's right
Wars not possible,
if old men, are sent to fight
Paying back what I owe.
I guess that some are wondering
Why I’m writing all this stuff
About the man John Sherman
Maybe you’ve had enough
But I owe the man so much
He taught me how to be
A man who lives more in the moment
With a heart and soul that’s free.
I was angry, rude and antisocial
I had no friends at all
No one wanted me around
I’d drive them up the wall
With all my foolish paranoid
And the hatred deep within
I tried with everything I had
To quell the nasty din.
But then I read Johns message
As I did surf the net
He told me ’do one little act!!’
And I have no regrets
That I did take the mans advice
For look at me today
My happiness is my success
And joy, it is my way.
Now I’m a very loyal man
I must pay back what I owe
John and Carla changed my life
So I want the world to know
I make me no false promises
I just say look and see
It doesn’t cost nothing at all
But it made a brand new me.
13 July 2013 @ 1208hrs.
Published by Poetry Explosion of PA
In Loving Memory of my Dad, Peter J. Mariotti
He left this world on May 9, 2011. I miss him so.
50 Years-Korean War
Dad, you were one of the foot soldiers,
When the Korean War began,
You were among the many to fight
In this foreign land,
You went bravely into battle,
Because our country told you to go,
You didn’t ask any questions
You just went to fight the foe,
North Korea was Communist,
South Korea was not,
The country had been split
After World War II,
Now American boys were fighting
On Korean soil,
The South Koreans needed help from
The Red, White and Blue
Dad, you were a hero,
You served our country well,
Now after 50 years
You finally were able to tell,
The story of your war
And the misery you saw,
The Korean War had been forgotten
But now at long last,
It will be remembered,
As an important part of our past.
Celine Rose Mariotti
Might this be a wonder,
Might this be a sunder,
Might this be the blocker,
Might this be the warder,
Might there be a plunder,
Might it pass the border,
Might there be a dweller,
Might they be lodgers,
Should they be squatters,
Should they be trespassers...
Might they squander,
Might it scatter,
Might this be a sputter,
Might there be a clutter,
Moght there be to many clusters,
Might this be the controller
Mightit get power...?
Might these be handlers,
Might these be forcers,
Might these be the squashers,
Might these be the breakers,
Breaking some of the order...
Might this be a night,
Going to a wretched midnight,
Coming from a raging twilight,
Until these be ended, throughout nighttime,
Later waking from our bedtime,
Maybe dying to see the morning light,
Might this be happening tonight...?
Might there be a knight,
Might there be a fight,
Waiting for a shining might,
Coming from some rainbow's light,
coming slight from the nighttime,
With some waiting for their fly...
Might these fight the ghouls,
Might they get to their goal,
Might this vanish some ghosts,
Whom want all of our souls...
Might this be other things,
Might these be the lives of life,
With some asking, might these be I...?
M. I. A. ( Missing In Action )
The date was nineteen and sixty nine,
A soldier wrote a girl named Caroline,
The VC were starting to close in,
He wasn't sure when he could write again.
But there was something he had to say.
Three words he should have said before this day.
He poured out his heart on every line,
Then finished with "I love you Caroline".
The letter arrived one winter's day,
Weeks after she heard he was MIA.
And her tears stained the page as she read,
For in her heart she knew that he was dead.
He had disappeared without a trace;
Lost somewhere in that God forsaken place.
The Army said he might not be found,
So an empty box was placed in the ground.
Then she tried to move on with her life,
And she became a mother and a wife.
But each year she visited his tomb,
Around the time the flowers were in bloom.
This went on for nearly thirty years;
Yet no amount of time could dry her tears.
She would pray beside his empty grave:
"How could this be the fate of one so brave?"
Then one day, in nineteen ninety nine,
A phone call sent a shiver down her spine.
While breaking ground just south of Hung Yen,
Some workers found the bones of seven men.
One of those men was her soldier boy,
And after he was shipped back from Hanoi,
They honored each MIA who served,
Then buried him the way that he deserved.
If you call America your home,
From Tampa to Oahu and to Nome.
Don't forget the men still MIA.
And pray to God that they come home one day.
Where do I begin?
I got so much on my mind
Sometimes I wonder where we stand
But my emotions is bout to explode
Like a volcano when its eruption
And your name came in mind
When it came to reach out for a hand
I’m overseas fighting
With mortars flying over my head
Bullets traveling toward my frame
Fighting for something I don’t understand
I’m crying cause I need help
And here I don’t have a friend
Today I am alive
But tomorrow I might be dead
And man with this
Always on my mind
Got me scared for the fact
I don’t know if I’m running out of time
Usually I call you
But I have to write this on a line
Cause my voice is so shaky
I can’t say a word but jus cry
To me you’re like a brother
You are always by my side
That’s why I’m writing you
Even though I feel shy
You always seen me tough
But never seen my sad side
I hate that I feel like this
Even though I don’t know why
And I think you are the only person
That can really calm me down
Even though in my eyes
I see death all around
Blood on the sand
Body parts on the ground
Sometimes I think to myself
How do I stay alive living with a frown?
But knowing you’re here for me
Is enough to hold me down
Jus writing this to you
Is making me feel better right now
One day we’ll sit down and talk
And on my face you’ll put a smile
But I hope that day comes
Before I’m the next dead person found
I do not know?
(My Uncle: Good Morning, Apocalypse Now)
My uncle doesn't speak much
about Vietnam or the stuff
he witnessed when he
was just a boy. See,
he likes to drive the back roads fast
and honk at random cars that pass.
His friendly gestures always lead to how
he grew up compared to kids now.
Jumping and racing trains on the tracks
became dodging bullets and carrying his buddy on his back.
The marshes and dirt valleys here
became the forests and trenches of the military frontier.
Last year, my sister donned his jacket
a fatigued fatigue that hung in his closet.
In color and memory darkened,
kept out of sight for fear it would harken
the PTSD he's stuggled to avoid.
He saw his brothers, young like him
to Vietnam succumb
while on American soil
and he promised he would never speak,
for fear his stomach would coil,
when remembering rice - a dish he no longer enjoys.
And there's no orange on his clothes to remind him of the agent that destroyed.
When he speaks a calm
"Good morning", I wonder if he's thinking of Vietnam
or if he knows
that I admire his strength and
bravery and how
he continually fights against
the "Apocalypse Now".
I do not know?
Before you read this poem, I would like to invite you in reading about the great American sniper hero. I am also dedicating this to the fallen sniper because he is a true Patriotic Hero. Thank you.
Chris Kyle was and still is loved by many, this to be true I say
I always believe him to be, a great sniper to this undying day.
Why must things happen to people, that are always so kind
Life would be better keeping some, alive alongside mankind.
Why don’t I tell you a story, about this very kind honest fellow
He was and is an U.S. Navy Seal, but along that chill and mellow.
The most lethal sniper known of, in American military history
With a very high percentage confirmed kills, quite the victory.
At the young age of eight, his father taught him how to shoot
A great father teaching a son, instead of giving him the boot.
A bronco rider for the rodeo, sadly gave it up for a serious injury
It was to his arm although he still lived, with very great dignity.
Being a great sniper had an effect, putting souls to their bed
Eventually somewhat famous, an increasing bounty upon his head.
Undoubtedly dubbed the “Devil of Ramadi”, by non-other than Iraqi
An increasing bounty shot twice, but his body and will still intact.
After a while serving his country, he retired heading home graciously
Taking back some long spent time, spending it with his family.
Chris Kyle a loved husband, a friend to many and a beloved son
His homeland now saddened, for America has lost a patriotic one.
A great warrior indeed, in my opinion our greatest honorable hero
He put his life on the line, instead of becoming the common zero.
The greatest treasure of all, came from within himself to prove
That all humans aren’t wrongful, but that we all can improve.