One Toy Soldier
Little toy soldiers are all put away
Training is over for this time of day.
Where do these little boys go now to play?
Away from their home to die in the fray.
Little toy weapons are no longer there
But boxed in attics by mothers with care--
Where keepsakes still hold a lock of his hair--
While rockets and missles challenge his fare.
Little toy bad guys and little toy good
Haze in the distance when misunderstood.
Where fall the lilies on long crates of wood
And each gave their all--as good soldiers should...
Little toy soldiers are coming back home...
Mothers are weeping, laments all alone
Where flags lie folded--the gift of Shalom...
As the long box is lowered...'neath the loam
One little toy soldier is placed on the top
Remembering All--so that None be Forgot.
seconds, minutes, hours and days
these pass to most in uneventful ways
s'o's' is a common phrase
yet to some times pass in torment and haze
a sound, a smell, a sight we glean
can nudge the mind to places more mean
places and times long ago pushed away
visit the mind with a will to stay
we know it is troubling and a not wanted visit
but the taste is bitter or sweet, which is it
some say be strong and pass it away
once the claws are set they want to stay
deep in the mind the battle is fierce
your heart, your soul, the claws will pierce
seconds are minutes, minutes are hours
hours are days as life darkens and sours
not battles rage or depth of sea
no limits set for him or me
for circumstances vary of tragedy and pain
no one can limit loss and gain
we must reach inside and pull ourselves free
not to live as him but to live as me
Robert Gene Stoner Jr ©
Streaking skyward the tracers rip
Into hanging soldiers
Falling about into mayhem
Pulsing through blood-filled ears
Hearing comrades scream
This is the war I found…
Hatred filled hardened hunter
Into smashed building
Homes pulverized rubble
Strewn about the decaying mass
The scorched metal burning
Bodies of the fallen men
The miasma of war I forever inhale…
Tigers rolling through billowed flame
Firing upon burnt battlefield blindly
Retreating in terror I leave the voices
Calling as I my boots tamp by arms
Reaching for safety I couldn’t render
Brothers abandoned in the Arnhem snow
These are the ghosts of war who haunt me….
Battle’s percussion on the horizon distant
I fade through the fields upon the Rhein
Farmhouses glow a midnight path
Walking to the beat of gun fire echoes
Off the walls of a shelter a little boy sits
Unafraid of the man feeding him chocolate
In the crater of a bomb…
This flash of hope my salvation from war.
Some boys called them dinks.
I called the bastards Viet Cong.
Others called them gooks.
I begin each morning eager for the day
Working for the good of mankind
Come what may
There have been many hurdles along my way
For some reason unbeknownst to me
I do not stray
This soul is strong in spite of it's emotional dismay
My spirit is my strength today
And guides my life in every way.....
In a cold dark damp jungle on a line he now calls home,
Sits the Forward Observer, waiting for orders, observing the enemy all alone.
Enemy trying to find his position; to terminate his view.
He'll sit in silence for hours, to guide the direction for a military move.
No sleep, no fire, COLD; bitter cold Korean jungle.
Slow moves; that command approves.
Watchful eyes; always looking for the sniper's
The sniper always trying to end your day, your life; your way, back to your family.
Slither like a snake they said during training to do this job.
Slow and calculated because every move could be your last.
seconds into minutes; minutes into hours; hours into days
and still no replacement, to take this chill away.
Silence becomes your friend.
Time becomes a loss,
Cold damp surroundings, become your only boss.
F.O. they call me; both sides abhor me!
because I'm the one that rains down fire,
on the line as only I can see it.
Some call me God, others call me satin,
it all mixes in the middle as a Forward Observer station.
Too young to die
They take a boy, too young to shave
Who has never lived his life
While his mates are chasing girls
They fill his life with strife
They send him off to a brand new war
Over some damned fools Ideal
I don’t understand their wars
And I guess I never will
The folk who like to run the show
Or most of them at least
Have never even been to war
They’ve never felt the beast
As he rips right into one’ intestines
That hollow hole of fear!
Each leader should be sent to war
Then the picture might grow clear
Then when they send young boys to war
They’ll see the whole damned show
The weight of endless terror
And then maybe they’ll know
What it’s like as a fine young man
To be sent out there to die
He might then know, how a mother feels
When she’s lost her little guy.
1 August 2013 @ 1443hrs.
Every veteran is a casualty
Whether it’s in body, mind or spirit.
Because War is the worst obscenity,
Ruining both General and Private.
Until War becomes an anachronism,
We’ll feel always threatened by: anarchy,
Terrorism, and social entropy.
So we fight because were patriotic,
Or to secure our standard of living.
Feeling traumatized and idiotic--
Since we survived, there is no forgiving.
We can’t escape our fear of “the others”
Until all men see themselves as brothers.
Strange or not
Odd and fun.
That’s not all
And still are
Strange and odd.
life is life.
Not is lies.
Truth seeps from
Lies, lies, lies
Move, move, move
Lies are life.
Lies are death.
Lies are homes.
Lies are pain.
Lies are truth.
Truth is life.
Truth is death.
Truth is home.
Truth is pain.
Truth is lie.
Truth is that.
Lies will die.
Lies will cease.
Truth will live.
Truth will be.
VIETNAM VET SOLDIER'S NIGHTMARE
Another dream –
I could not wake –
Escape from what would follow--
Grasping for a secret word, the letters stark and hollow--
I was trapped entangled there,
Just beyond the reach
Of men that could release me
Or a hill that could be breached
Gunfire was a backdrop
Soft and pungent was its sound
Fell on me like raindrops--strangely harmless on the ground
Smoky gray encased me like a piece of sleeping net
Tunnel faces hidden —easy killing, no regret--
Felt terror and the aching for the friends around me cold
Standup guys with stalwart hearts--just did what they were told
Then my cell phone beeped a beep---
A message had come in ....
Now awake I saw your name---
My new day would begin.
November 25, 2012
waking from a nightmare contest
Hark! It is he!
A slate face; devoid!
Mechanical, computing, sleepless.
No! Just human!
Turning, just turning!
He will not fall, now expressionless.
The dark gazeth!
Yet, he wont gaze back!
Four days, sleepless, faceless, for all!
His face is stone.
No care, there's no care!
Persist amidst all of the loss.
It is but he!
designed to be.
It is but he!
Shrug the abyss,
he will nev'r fail;
designed to be.
Shrug the abyss.
Through it all,
he leaveth none for all!
To see the end of it all,
the completion of it all!
None but all.
Four days sleepless,
it is none but he!
Faceless, breathless, mechanized.
Look! See him now!
With bags under eyes.
See him now, the man with no face.
It is he,
Be it so! Be it so!
To see the end of it;
the destruction of it all!
It is he.
The brave soldier
Who stands firm
Like the fickle shell of a snail
Before the oncoming foot of titans
The brave soldier,
A ferocious bee
Who strikes his stinger into the enemy
Comforted by fleeting thoughts of heroism
-a safeguarded hive
Thoughts that flit away in the wind
Like windswept Pollen ambushed by desert
-as the bee falls for the cause
The brave invader
Who fells foe for his country
All hail murderer,
Comforted by a noble cause
Sent out on wings of glory to cut down fanged tigers
Purging threats, safeguarding life
For all tigers are fanged
All people threats
-All people life
The weary soldier
Joined out of a desperate cause
A squalling infant, a taunting belly
And the weary soldier
Gives his sacrifice to the gods of the Hive
And prays for rain.
SAPPHO’S FALLING STARS (Part one)
I am descendent of Odysseus
Hero of the past
Have I kin—I know not—I may be the last--
The Trojan War and Helen made my family's blazing fame
Thus magnified by Homer was made our honor and ancestral name
I stand this day the General of the fallen men that the Fates have tossed
across the Siren Sappho's way—
now foolishly slain-- my Fallen Stars
such a ragged few
in this paltry breath of a moment
of mere delay--
Inconsequential time in history
at their honor’s cost
for Mine, a Mighty Name
excuses easily such inconsequential blame
I cannot weep—I cannot pray
Such sacrifice of brave men
Lifeless , While I stand whole
Due to my folly
Sucks the breath stark from my soul
Yarns and lore of Heroes—I know
Babe……. to youth……… in manhood……..
Each far-flung hour, day upon dew-kissed day
Nurtured ever cherished in the sweet talk of the female-breast-kissed way
Absorbed sensuous tactics laced with salty woman taste--so learned
Intimately known as my manhood blossomed
You, Sappho, sought my need –-
Intimate follower once—
I ate your passion delicious sauced with greed
(part two posted)............................................
Victoria Anderson-Throop 12/18/12 ©
Our government says were incompetent –
our weapons they must take.
The 2nd Amendment no longer applies,
life, liberty and the pursuit happiness
is now at stake.
Our forefathers were merely mistaken –
this Constitution they’ve drafted in vain.
So they tear it apart piece by piece,
as We The People watch with disdain.
Your opinion doesn’t matter here –
Freedom of Speech belongs to them,
to a perverse, corrupted society,
too ignorant to see their condemned.
The Bill of Rights once ever so protected –
the Ten Commandments in every courtroom,
both now are strictly an abomination,
to this Godless Country in doom.
Take heed to their acts of subtle changes –
to their intensive need to change our creed,
People! It’s not about protecting us!
It’s about control, domination and greed!
Hardened by indecision
True conviction's at odd
Recompense beyond belief
Some-time's it get's
To play the part
From death do us part
From the truth until the
Dawn morning early light
In the heat of the night
We wrangle with the Devil
To win the fight
Treed by disease
With pain and strief
We vowel to move on
Fore we are vested
For this very life
Fore they killed our
Our only Son
His name was Christ
For this ye must pay
We travel there where thou'
Art not travel
Where evil may be
As wide as the mountain
But, as deep as the sea
Thee repave's of tragedy
Our Legion's are many
Heveanly hath no furry
Well, we have got plenty
We must submit to the Will
The Will to be free
That thou shall be done
On Earth for eternalty
Our legion's are one
To the commitment of
His new kingdom of one
Proclaimed to be
Under the jurisdiction
Of the Lord and His Holy Son
Till the brink of eternity
In the name of the Lord
And the Holy One
Till such that day
That the Kingdom has come
In the name of the Father
And the Holy Ghost
The Lord beseech you too....meet you at the Rapture...let it define you...
We are all the colors a Patriot depicts,
the red’s the blues and whites a mix.
We honor the soldier’s creed till death,
protecting our nation with every breath.
Quitting is not an option you’ll see,
for a soldier’s pride and honor succeeds.
A soldier’s mission will always come first,
hungering for freedom with a thriving thirst.
The American Soldier, our warrior of choice,
will serve their people will a victorious voice.
They are comrades in arms, till the very end,
no one left behind, fellow man they’ll tend.
The American Soldier doesn’t accept defeat,
heroically they’ll fight, in the cold and the heat.
They are the guardians of freedom we forget,
the American Soldier does not identify regret.
Our way of life is because of their strength,
for decades they’ve served at every length.
The American Solder conveys honor and pride;
for fallen soldiers, many tears they have cried.
Honor our troops, for freedom is not free –
it’s the American Soldier whose provided liberty.
Take a moment to praise the dedication and pride,
of the American Soldier that never dies…….
Last night awakened with thoughts of him
How long has it has been, only
First one I ever saw laid out
I sixteen, he nineteen, Viet Nam
Purple complexion seeping through under glass
I gaze on doll-like hair
His uniform perfect, tie straight
Blouse olive, at attention
No one else at the funeral home
Me and a girl friend too early for death
Dead before he hit the ground
Cut down by ground-fire first jump no longer
So many years now, forty-two,
awakened with thoughts of him,
Still see his body rigid attention
rumor wire for arm, died before his time
Didn’t know him well, would he
still be here if not
Would we have smoked and talked about
women if he would be
And what of Thua Thien, what now
monument, blood of airborne boys?
Golf course …
I get this wondrous chill as night falls
in mountains or desert sand
and I find myself dreaming about
home, my fondest memory
from this far away land.
I miss the special lady who
stole my heart, my thoughts
and all there is of me;
and I deeply cherish
our final moments together.
I think about the children
I left behind, how I miss them
and pray they’re fine -
and it’s hard Lord,
it’s so very hard.
It’s times like this that I wonder
why I volunteered and I
get this knot in my stomach -
then I cringe and find myself
trying to hold back tears.
Soon the battle will begin
when I’ll hear my own heartbeat
through the creepy sounds
amidst treacherous mountain sides or
drifting sands and whirling winds.
It’s time spent in worry,
fear, and some regret
as I encounter my fate
in the war so near
and I must admit, I’m scared.
This stench of war,
the sight of it all,
it’s that awful image
of how I imagined hell
after Lucifer’s fall.
I wonder to myself,
“Does it have to be
that generations of people
can’t seem to agree
to the simple concept of peace?”
Soldiers don’t start wars
but they surely fight them,
making all manner of sacrifice
and I doubt that even once
did a soldier ever like them.”
Then I think of “Old Glory”
and I’m filled with pride.
It’s a warm patriotic feeling
which overcomes me
from deep down inside.
I’m confused, scared
and battle weary.
I worry about those I love
as I cling to my faith
and pray to God above.
I’m a distant warrior,
an American fighting man;
not an aspiring hero,
but just a simple soldier
trying to do the best that I can.
Day is done, gone the sun.
(Gallant soldier, your duty done).
From the lake, from the hill, from the sky.
(We mourn that to sustain freedom you must die).
All is well, safely rest, God is nigh.
(You'll receive your just reward in the by and by!)
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) All Rights Reserved
NOTE: Lines 1, 2 and 3 are the traditional lyrics for "Taps". Lines within the
parentheses are my reflections. Every night at 2200, I can hear the soothing, yet mournful notes of "Taps" played at nearby Fort Carson, Colorado.
He was just a brash young kid,
Couldn't even legally drink.
He did all the things he did
Because he had freedom to think.
He watched America bleed
From terrorists across the sea.
He answered his countrie's need,
Wanting to be all he could be.
He went to war to defend
The freedom we've all come to know.
He thought maybe in the end
He' d make a difference and so
He gave all he had to give.
A soldier dies for the sake of his country
He lived in a land where we’re all meant to be free
Bleeding from his wounds he speaks before his life is done
“Not every soldier goes to heaven and I fear that I am one”
“I fought to save the innocent from suffering”
“I fought so hard but I couldn’t save them from dying”
He gasps as he chokes on his tears
His mind is but a fleeting memory thinking of long forgotten years
“My parents said to grow up and live strong”
“If they could see me now, would they hold me before I’m gone?”
“Or have I crossed the line between man and beast?”
“Oh Lord I beg of you, let this pain cease”
“Or has God forsaken man?”
“Does it matter? I’ve already fought and died for this land”
Hovering between life and death
He speaks with his last breath
“Is God watching now, have I done well?”
“If not heaven, where else can I go? For I’ve already seen hell”
he who fears to the death can never conquer, ask a true soldier
in copper and lead,
within full metal jacket
abide the steeled men
Robert Gene Stoner Jr
Syllable count 5-7-5
I as a soldier, have the heart, to willfully fight,
and fortitude, to still do, what is, constantly right.
I as a soldier, have the resilence, to continue, to live,
and the courage, for my country, my life, to then give.
I as a soldier, am a buddy, for whom, I fought beside,
an honor and privilege, serving with them, with great pride.
I as a soldier, however, can only, speak, for me,
destined, to pay back, a freedom, that, is never free.
Eagerly joining the nation's martial order,
Becoming Uncle Sam's itinerant boarder,
Pledging to defend my country's border,
Against foreign malice and internal disorder.
Callously disregarding my own personal ambition,
Carelessly abandoning familial bonds and social position,
Caustically enlisting in the my country's latest inquisition,
Cheerfully pledging to defend abstract values without condition.
Forthrightly conditioned to to obey without recourse,
Instantly melded into mindless, fraternal force,
A provisioned robot, a designated national resource,
Vetted to die for patriotic cause without slightest remorse.
Subjugated to the imperial dictums of state,
Compensated a minimal wage for perilous fate,
Commissioned to fight amorphous foes without face,
Trained to annihilate belligerents without trace.
HE SAT DOWN WITH US
A BEERY GROUP OF YOUNGISH MEN
NOT WANTING TO BE OLD AND REACH THIRTY
WE TALKED OF SEX ESCAPADES AND
MONEY-MAKING SCHEMES WHICH HAD
AND BOUNCED AWAY FROM THE TV NEWS
“I’D SHOOT YOU FOR THREE HUNDRED”,
HE SAID, NOT SMILING,
I NODDED IN CAUTIOUS ACKNOWLEDGEMENT,
HIS BARBED WIRE EYES LOOKED AT HIS WRISTWATCH
LATER YOU COULD HEAR HIM COUGHING IN
THE TOILET: THEN IN A SHORT WHILE
HE WALKED THROUGH THE ROOM WITH ITS
STORM OF TABLES AND CHAIRS WHICH
PARTED MOSES-STYLE TO LET HIM THROUGH,
COUGHING AND CURSING, ANGRY THAT
THERE WERE NO MORE WARS TO FIGHT,
EXCEPTING THE ONES IN HIS HEAD
Shadowy, now constant
a soldier-form marched out of the void
before it arrives, it is gone.
Thoughts Of A Soldier
Marchinn,no beatin drum to keep my rhythum.
No one is singinn or whistlinn.
Just making miles on a one way trip.
Bringing death to all religions.
Armed with weapons of mass destruction.
Carryinn my extra socks and foot powder.
Wishinn i did not have to have my beer later.
Lookinn for a place no place to eat.
Forgettinn always to carry meat.
Have i got my knife yet and all my leaven.
On my merry way to heaven,
I have to fight now to survive.
Thoughts of a soldier,gettinn older in the night.