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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required NINETEEN FORTY TWO by JOHN M. ARRIBAS As a young man in Jersey I wanted to be a cop One sunday morning that dream came to a stop Our nation had been a victim of a vicious attack By an aggressive enemy , we had to fight back The guys on my street, most still in their teens Lined up the next morning to join the marines We were all patriotic with a drive to avenge That sneaky attack called for instant revenge Bussed off to camps to be trained for killing The need for payback made us able and willing We gave not a thought for the ultimate cost No one remembered the millions previously lost In France and Belgium on Flanders’ field Endless casualties that all conflicts yield We eagerly toiled and polished our skill Filed insurance papers and made out a will Off to see mom and dad on a five day leave I’ll be home soon mom, no need to grieve We visited relatives , our neighbors as well Unknown to many its my final farewell Off to the west coast more training to follow On and off boats in deep water or shallow We did that maneuver over and over again Disembark quickly we wont lose many men We boarded troop ships and sailed west Joined a convoy all in search of this quest We arrived at an island being bombarded The pinging of shell casing being discarded The command was given, go over the side Clinging to rope ladders as we battled the tide 1942 (2) Small boats all loaded with frightened men Most are sea sick, ashen and pale and then Circling, circling then circle once more With a sudden lurch, we raced to the shore The boat scraped the bottom, stuck on the sand Gangway dropped open, a hundred yards from land We exited the boat and into the water Then began a blood splattering slaughter Men were killed while still in the boat Wounded men laden with ammo to heavy to float Dodging and praying I made it to the beach Before finding cover I was trying to reach A mortar exploded which sent me reeling When I came to, I couldn’t see I had no feeling Hey mom I need a clean uniform for saturday It’s the championship game at the ymca I can hear my mom but I can’t reach her Hi mrs. Ryan, she’s my sunday school teacher I lay there motionless for who knows how long I began to feel warm, then cold, I heard a song Row, row your boat gently down the stream This hell cant be happening , it must be a dream All is quiet and peaceful now cause I’m not alone My mom and dad are here we’re all going home A telegram from the commander in chief Won’t dampen the pain nor the grief My mom is bitter it shows on her face My dad mopes around in muted pace Neither will be the same any more Two more casualties due to the war Pass by my house on foot or by car Hung in the window you’ll see a gold star
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