I saw a burial with a bugler playing taps;
I turned to my father, “what happened?” I asked.
He clutched my hand and with a quiver in his voice,
he began to explain and his eyes became moist.
“My son,” he said, “this is rather difficult for me;
for an old veteran like myself this is tough to see.
In that coffin lies a genuine patriotic warrior,
an honest-to-God hero, an American soldier.
I appreciate that soldier and the service he gave,
and I honor his sacrifice as he’s laid in his grave.
He was honorable, selfless, courageous, and bold;
please remember him son, as you grow old.
The value of his service, I must explain,
if not remembered, will be lost in vain.
As a nation we’re nothing without soldiers like him;
and failing to remember would be a terrible sin.”
I listened in awe as my father spoke,
it seemed as if his heart were broke.
I suddenly remembered when he went to war,
and when he returned I thought nothing more.
I never asked why he walked with a limp,
and I didn’t care about why he was sick.
I was too busy enjoying the life that I had,
to realize that I had it because of dad.
I finally understood what my dad was about,
and it hurt so bad I cried out loud.
He sacrificed so much so I could be free,
and his battle scars were suffered for me.
It was my father’s spirit that spoke to me that day;
thank God I finally understood what he had to say.
I saluted his coffin as they laid him to rest,
and I thought about the medals pinned on his chest.
That I didn’t honor him sooner, I will always regret;
and I pledged that day to never again forget.
I’m proud that my dad was a patriotic warrior;
I’m honored to be the son of an American soldier.
Copyright © Ed Coet | Year Posted 2007
silently I lie
awaiting I await thee
a wry smirk greets me
sighted precision confirms
sporadic crimson now speaks
Copyright © James Fraser | Year Posted 2015
You have my soul, but you have your fate
Whatever your words, I’m willing to take
You have my word; I’ll give you my breath
It’s like a chain that would never be break
You are my love with all my heart,
I’ll fight for you with all my might.
And in the way, you admire your goals,
You hold my hands, but not so close.
As you go to your chosen path,
I’ll accept the fact that we will be apart.
In the dark side, I leave behind
Within my faith, that you’ll arise
Please don’t look back, coz I’m fighting still
I’m hurting so much! Don’t want to have you near
I accept my fate for what it does,
I’m bleeding so much, do you know for whom it was?
You reach your goals, as you want to have,
Would you remind the man that gave what he had?
As you reach the stars, and be the one
Be a sun that shines its own.
After the rain, the rainbow comes,
Like dark in the moon, when the light flash
A glimpse from you at least a short
For then I knew my pain is worth.
Copyright © Emmanuel Fajutagana | Year Posted 2013
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
Copyright © Mac McGovern | Year Posted 2010
Fare thee well our precious men and boys
Marching into war
Fighting for a purpose
Does anyone know what for
As some you return lying down
Instead of tall and strong
How can we all sit and watch
Surely this is wrong
Will you buy a poppy
Will you shed a tear
Killed in 10 years
Downing street want to resign
Saying it is now the time
That's not a victory we know its a crime
That's not a victory on the front line
The soldiers do their jobs
Fighting for our Queen
Lets not forget though the military supplies
Not the best we have seen
A lack of helicopters sent to assist
These terrorists could now be missed
British soldiers now lost their lives
Us army men also lost to their wives
We need to help somehow
Britain decide what to do
The lives of our servicemen around the world
Could depend on you
Why should we leave this to them in London Town
Mp's who don't know what biscuit they like, I frown
Copyright © Gail Lewis | Year Posted 2016
As sin and perversion often
So many lives and families
are being “disintegrated.”
Many are being driven by sin’s temptation force…
It’s no wonder much of this country
is way “off course.”
The morality and values that once made a great nation.
Are evaporating…. Leading to a
Love, honor, and respect of God…
Is often a “thing of the past.”
Anything of God seems to be
God is our only hope! And him alone!
Only he can bring healing to our broken homes!
He’s the answer to this wounded nation, that bleeds!
It’s only God that can meet all of our needs!
He’s our provider… The great: “I am!”
Won’t you reach out to him?
And give him your hand?
Why not give him a chance? And allow him in?
A brand new life for you…
Is waiting to begin!
May we allow God’s holiness and love to reach
down into our hearts…
Asking; “Lord please forgive our sins!”
Is a good place to start!
By Jim Pemberton
Copyright © Jim Pemberton | Year Posted 2013
Remember those who died for us,
They left their families to save us,
They died and went to heaven.
Remember the twin towers,
They once were there but now are gone,
Remember those who went to work,
Who never came home.
Remember the God who gave us life,
Who can save us from death,
Remember He’ll never leave our side,
In sickness and in health.
They left their family to save us,
They died and went to Heaven,
Remember those who died for us,
Copyright © Stephanie Weeks | Year Posted 2013
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".
Copyright © Rachel Couvillon | Year Posted 2013
I finished high school four months prior to my 18th birthday. By this time, my country was heavily engaged in the Vietnam war. I was very much subject to being drafted into the service and sent thousands of miles away to a war zone. Often true, but it isn't always true that the things we fear will surely happen.
At the time, I never became a 'runaway to Canada' nor a draft dodger. However, I must confess that I feared being caught up in the lottery draft and shipped off to Vietnam. But as it turned out, I served my country in the war zones of the streets of Chicago. For six years I worked with street gangs, alcoholics, and drug addicts. I often feared for my limbs and life as I walked in and out of high rises unfit for human habitation.
They told us that our young men were in Vietnam to prevent the spread of communism. So many of them lost their limbs, and far too many paid the ultimate sacrifice. Many of them who were fortunate to return home alive were not welcomed by thousands. It is known as a very unpopular war. However, may all who died in combat for our country be honored and never forgotten.
Anyway, I can never forget the daily headlines and reporting of fatalities. Also, I cannot erase the pictures of the helicopters lifting Vietnamese people out of harm's way at the close of the war. Although it was such a sad scene, it portrayed the sorry saga of our human race.
Unfortunately, the war in Vietnam where we supposedly fought and died for democracy, was a loss. We did not stop the domino effect that we feared. Communism won that war, as the South fell and we departed. Nevertheless, communism would suffer massive loses in the years that followed.
05182017cj PS Contest, Foreign Wars, Lewis Raynes
Copyright © curtis johnson | Year Posted 2017
I do not know?
Hundreds of slices
Dress your abdomen;
The pain of a thousand wars.
Tiny glittering drops
Decorate your forehead.
Creates a pattern
Of swirling smoke in the mist.
The grey debris of battle
Coats your tongue
Like a long forgotten language
Fluently flowing from your throat.
Coughing up your gut;
A silver pearl slides out your mouth
And covers you in sublime misery
While you cocoon yourself,
Waiting for your demise.
Copyright © Heather Rodwell | Year Posted 2015
I was young- nearly twenty-
the day innocence became ill.
I remember the funeral well
that ninth month.
As the sunlight shattered another night,
I awoke in a dim lit room, silenced
by a strange sunrise
as it splayed across the earth,
then darkened in the most
somber and eeriest gloom.
Ashes were scattered over the sea,
beyond the hills,
into the valleys,
hurdling ocean waves,
drifting across isles,
then settling into unknown graves.
The thin-lipped mistress
shed no tears from faraway shores,
her saw-toothed, jagged edges
cutting deep the wagging tongues,
swaggering into the Eagle's beak.
Her colorless face, with black eyes
bored into souls with a craven heart,
stone cold and set- cast deeper
than the wounded stars and bleeding stripes,
flying at half mast.
We sat huddled, wrapped in gray shawls,
glum and sullen- watching
the smoke curling upward toward the angels
who were stepping out of a mystical fog
dove wings spread wide, reaching down
to lift up all who had fallen.
Copyright © Dana Young | Year Posted 2016
Look up in the sky, planes flying low,
Crashing into buildings, not where they should go.
Pilot error it was thought, during crash number one,
Then a second collision, made the people run.
New York under siege, an attack by the air,
The snake named Bin Laden, who else would dare?
The trade towers stood for many a year,
At the world's financial center, did terrorists leer.
The world watched, as the towers came down,
A huge white cloud, and a thunderous sound.
The finest and the bravest, lost their lives,
Calls made, to the husbands and the wives,
We have bad news, your love one has died,
Out of the rubble, their body was plied.
There life it ended, in towers one or two,
Many lives ended that day, others were just through.
What of the workers, looking through the rubble,
Years down the road, the death toll would double.
From sickness and disease, contracted at ground zero,
Families can't survive on the memory of a hero.
Many years have passed, freedom tower erected,
People stay sharp, terror must be detected.
And wiped out completely, US leads the way,
But for now on your knees, and everybody pray,
For the souls we lost on that frightful day,
Ask God to relieve, the pain that day brought,
Renew peoples hope, give direction if sought.
Copyright © Paul Morgana | Year Posted 2012
I hear a mother softly cry
As she sings a war-born lullaby.
The song of a father who went away,
To give freedom one more day.
He promised that he would return,
Return from watching evil burn.
It was a promise he could not keep,
As now he sleeps an eternal sleep.
He gave his life so his child could see,
A land of freedom and liberty.
His body now rests beneath green grass,
His medals and picture behind clear glass.
His soul, however, is not gone.
His ideas and dreams are carried on.
She sings the song of war’s high cost.
She sings the song of freedom not lost.
She sings of a father’s sacrifice,
For his country and family he gave his life.
Copyright © Tiffiny Hagan | Year Posted 2013
Pall bearers in uniforms, tall and erect,
Taps resonating; eerie, their profound lament.
Freedom lay in your skilled hands,
Troops skirmishing in open fields; brothers, a band
Defend and protect was the charge that day,
Bloody the battle that took your life away.
A casket draped in red, white and blue;
Hands over grieving hearts, in honor of you.
Cannons and rifles, a ceremonial salute,
An act of pride and dignity resolute.
January 29, 2017
Copyright © Paulette Calasibetta | Year Posted 2017
I do not know?
Dear child, we lost for you, America,
that apple pie, sprout from a tiny seed.
If you could find the hope of common need,
perhaps you'd save what was America,
from what's become a world of common greed.
Dear child, we lost for you, the dream of dreams,
we thought would always be; 'twould never end;
by now you've guessed, not everyone's your friend,
your apple pie's not always what it seems,
and hope is not what's just around the bend.
Dear child, we lost for you, the right to be,
the right to fly, the right to come and go;
the love of reaching out, to let it show,
your touching of a friend, in all you see,
this was America, you'll never know.
.............© ron wilson aka vee bdosa the doylestown poet
Copyright © Vee Bdosa | Year Posted 2013
My sergeant said you've been trained well you know what to do
Your assignment an ambush, do not return until the sky is blue.
We gathered our weapons and lots of ammo
And waited till dark then said he it’s time to go.
We set-up behind a Pagoda in a cemetery
Surrounded by graves, it was kinda a scary.
There in Vietnam overlooking an open field.
I sat and waited; on my lap an M-15 I yield.
In slow degrees though silent, the hours passed;
In the darkness my fear has yet to be surpassed.
It stated to rain obstructing my field of vision
I said a prayer; it was a time of deep contrition
In those clamorous moment before blood and death
I closed my eyes, lifted my head and took a deep breath.
Behind the Pagoda, the hour drew near.
I looked at my buddy eyes filled with fear.
Before I knew it his M-60 let loose
There were so many it wasn’t hard to choose.
In all of those moments as the bullets flew,
The fear of death it griped, it grew!
There was nowhere to go and nowhere to hide.
Still we remained instilled with Marine Corps pride.
The exchange of fire ended and my buddy fell dead.
I looked up to God and silently plead.
I saw the carnage, quivered and trembled in silent rage.
No time for sorrow, for the enemy was still engaged
I sought the sunshine through bloodstained eyes.
I knew that in war we cannot compromise.
I sniffed the damp soil, decaying and pungent with leafy mold.
At eighteen my buddy laid dead, a life story never to be told.
I sought mercy to easy my guilt.
Pierced to its poisonous hilt.
With Dark Vague eyes I started to cry.
I held his hand and said my last good bye.
I felt deserted I wanting to go home.
For me--farthest from deaths port to roam.
The worth of that is that which it contains
Where a bullet-riddled pagoda still remains.
Copyright © Johnny Martinez | Year Posted 2017
I saw there was a mow-down in Las Vegas
of country western loves.
And also heard our President
was about to share his view.
But before he had his chance
to enlighten one and all,
I figured his best solution
was to hope before the next time
we'll all do our patriotic duty,
go out and buy the best automatic multi-repeating rifle
with scope that we can afford to buy,
so everyone can keep a well-scoped eye
on all the other country western wise
before we blast each other's patriotic duty
to stand and salute both our flags of equally good history,
leave no child with any color standing,
left unpatriotically behind.
Copyright © Gerald Dillenbeck | Year Posted 2017