They were Meriwether Lewis and William Clark,
Her name was Sacagawea.
On an expedition they did embark
Finding the passage to the sea.
Down the Missouri they traveled,
Then slithered 'round the Snake River bend.
Rocky Mountain weather and sickness battled;
At the Columbia River they'd end.
©2013 Honestly JT
Copyright © Honestly J.T. | Year Posted 2013
Unnoticed, he blends into the grey park bench,
eyes clouded and watering,
permanent tears for friends lost in a trench
not quite enough of a life-time ago.
Will anyone acknowledge him?
Smile at him? Say hello?
How many people walk past without seeing?
Are they afraid to take a look
at their future being?
Can see past hands on a walking cane, shaking,
which once held arms straight, which killed
as he dreamed of his mother holding him
close in a muddy field in France, dug in,
his only perspective – the sky – looking up,
imagining his Victoria Cross moment,
which never came.
His history has died with those he has loved:
he exists alone now, his life stored in his head,
musty albums in an abandoned attic.
His film is ending, subtitles about to roll,
last moments of anticipation, will his story change
before the last curtain call?
Was he the star of his own show, his life?
Would that he had been so invisible then,
in that giant gutter, repelling the end
but now the magnet has turned,
death - an indecisive friend.
Ninety odd birthday's leave a stuttering heart
and a once-red poppy, grey.
On a bench, sad fingers trace the brass
in which his wife's name is interred
hearing aid off so his sweetheart's voice
can be clearly heard.
As there will be no 'hello' today.
That's all he wants.
A quiet hello.
So he knows he's not already a ghost.
Copyright © Sarah Heath | Year Posted 2016
In summertime, the ivy climbs,
and hides the castle wall.
The king dreams of late,
that the sea is so great,
and yet - his boat is so small.
As swift as a fox and
dark as a raven on wing,
seven hundred soldiers march
into the valley of the king.
Long overdue, a battle ensues
flanking the powers that be.
Children cry, and good men die,
the monarch is now on his knee…
Soon the horsemen alone
try to maintain the throne.
But the long way around
is the shortest way home.
The evening is filled
with chaos and smoke,
and the kingdom is
stunned by it all…
Soon the sun will go down,
and in spite of his crown,
the king will undoubtedly fall…
His rival’s strength
by a king overtaken,
his life is now but a pawn.
His authority lifted,
the power has shifted –
an era of glory is gone…
Copyright © Cole Banner | Year Posted 2013
Dad, why are those men carrying flags?
Because it's a parade
To honor our country
Then the little boy asked,
Were you an Army man?
Yes, I was.
Now look straight ahead to the Flag son.
Why do the Army men in wheelchairs
Have ribbons on their chests?
They're for bravery son
Do you have any?
I wasn't as brave as them.
Now look straight ahead to the Flag son.
Can I be a soldier one day?
Only if you grow up big and strong
Stand tall and straight
Have a steady hand
With good eyes
And aren't afraid
Then you can be a soldier.
Sitting around the kitchen table
Listening to their fathers and uncles talk of the days when they were young
Boys grow up
Listening to the glories of war
Adventure and camaraderie
And guns and things.
Years later another war begins
From old wounds never healed
Young boys become men
And answer the call
During the war
Soldiers slog on
Mired in mud
Deep in fight
They obey this
And do that
But no one wants
To see a soldier
On his back.
Politicians will say
The outcome of war
Rests with the people
But once the war starts
And the killings begin
Politics becomes business
Dirty tricks a diversion
And truth a casualty.
Who is in charge?
No one answers
Reasons not given
Only lies and
And the voice at the top
Has no blame.
But one thing is certain
When all is said
There will be bloodshed and
Ask the old men
Who know about war
And drink to memories of long ago
Boys were led to believe
Stories made of lies
The simple truth
Is fathers lied
And soldiers died.
Copyright © Edmund Siejka | Year Posted 2009
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
The dead have vast monuments begotten in stone
The living have last moments forgotten, alone
The sound of marching fades in ceremonies
Replaced by new young legs for new cemeteries
Copyright © Sidney Beck | Year Posted 2014
I see you
with your clothes from
shoes that have seen
to many miles,
and furrowed brow.
And pined upon your chest,
ribbons and medals,
won in some long forgotten
telling me your mind
is still living those battles,
of your youth.
Only when speaking with you,
as your face comes
Letting you know
Copyright © Tucker Carwile Jr | Year Posted 2012
From England's dark blackout
We came to these shores
I and my siblings
In refuge from war.
How enchanted we were
With all we saw.
First Sydney's fine harbour
And her bridge of one span
Then the azure blue sea
The long beaches of sand
The beautiful city lit up at night
To our youthful eyes a wondrous sight.
The Aussie soldier in his famous slouch hat
The long train journey to the far outback
The Cockies screech the Kookaburra's cackle
New sights and sounds for my brain to tackle.
The grazing sheep the fields of wheat
The fun of the master the blistering heat
The long hot summers with respite at the sea
Where we swam and surfed in unspoilt glee.
School days were spent in city or mountain retreat
Strict was the discipline our uniforms neat.
Happy the friendships spacious the grounds
Nuns telling rosary beads flitting around.
With firmness and patience they taught us well
Recreation was announced by the tolling bell.
Oh the joy when the holidays came
What fun we had on the old school train.
It trundled along past wilga and gum
Past meandering creeks and billabongs
Past Emus grazing and Roos hopping along
Through wide open spaces rich in bird song.
At the graceful homestead with veranda surround
Stood the welcoming grandmother so recently found.
With parents far off she gave care and love
How proud we were of her pioneer blood.
She cooked and scrubbed and chopped the wood
She could do everything she really could.
But tragedy stuck
With her soldier son killed.
She grieved and withered and lost her will.
No longer in her life
Would he take part
Months later she died of a broken heart.
There came a time when with many tears
I bade farewell to this life so dear.
I had no choice I had to go.
The years passed on
I missed it all so.
This time when I came
I touched down by plane.
New visions flood my startled brain
Australia I find is absorbed in change
it makes me feel so very strange.
The laid back Aussie with his old world charm
A computer wiz now and amazingly calm.
The coastline is cluttered highrises abound
The noise of the traffic an ugly sound.
But the song of the Bellbird is still a wonder
It soothes my senses as I ponder.
For no land on earth has so much to offer.
So I’ll settle here I will not hover.
Perhaps the maternal ancestors smile from above.
For at last I'm here In the land they loved.
And I'll spend the twilight of my years
In this country I've always held so dear.
Copyright © Gerry Dawson | Year Posted 2005
cuts and bruises seen
laughter can be medicine
i'm learning to smile
Copyright © gregory boyer | Year Posted 2013
We the redeemed were sitting together amongst a celestial
crowd whom had gathered outside the front of the main castle.
Pavilions had been set up, benches had been erected
for the massive crowds to sit on. Beverage carts were plentiful
yet all the drinks were free. Fresh baked pretzels with sides of
cheese, fresh picked apples and other fruit from the citrus trees
were in abundant supply for a bite to eat. No more shuffling around
in one's pockets to find some loose change to pay the attendants
working the booths of fare.
We all had settled down as the King who was seated with His immediate
court, gestured for the Royal Story Teller to begin this day's tale;
now there would be many more such joyous, warm occasions.
"Listen, listen now," the bearer began. "Listen as I tell the tale of
the Old Glory Knights, the sons and daughters of His Majesty's
Whether these Knights rode upon horses that crossed the lands,
or rode inside the grand iron horses beneath the Earth's oceans,
or flew upon the winged horses of the wind... we owe the greatest debt,
and the deepest layers of gratitude as they were obedient to the
call and out realm's worthiest cause; the cause was to get the word
out that our Highest King was coming to possess His lands, to save His people
from sin and death because all belongs to Him, to our fair and our most Beloved.
So now we are here to thank the states of the red, white and blue, the military for having sacrificed your lives for your country, for the larger picture of God.
There would have been more dire straights without you.
You kept Old Glory's dreams, its blessed flag alive, waving strong in
the winds of change, of the life yet to come.
Freedom which was left in your care was more priceless than any
gold and sparkled more than any gem, its beauty so full.
Because of your sacrifice we were able to sleep safely and even soundly
during many of the midnight hours.
It is so sad to think that Satan had so many in his control,
his command, his human puppets, soldiers didn't understand the
ugliness of hell was so clearly with them.
Ugliness with no regard to the peace of our one true God, yes
I'll even say it Jesus Christ our Lord.
Ugliness in regards with too much anger and possessing non progressive
ways, no patience for enlightenment of the people who were all
learning to follow the Truth, the Life and the Way.
(to be continued - Old Glory Knights part II)
Copyright © Susan Clark | Year Posted 2013
Greenslopes Army hospital was ,
For the returned soldiers cos,
They needed repatriation,
For war causes sickness of,
Bronco-Don was there again,
Suffering trauma and the pain,
Till a scan was sought because,
Put his head in a vice like grip,
Said it wouldn’t hurt a bit
Pumped in dye, bad hurt, Tom-Twit,
But Johnson didn’t cry,
Took his head out of the stocks,
Grabbed the specialist by his frock,
Strangled him right to the floor,
“you said it wouldn’t hurt for sure?”
near death came as a shock,
for doctor macintosh,
bad Johnson evermore,
his bloody lot,
SOMETIMES THE BLOOD GETS HOT,
You bastards know whaffor….
Copyright © DON JOHNSON | Year Posted 2014
The first thing you must do in Bed,
Thanks to Almighty and make tired free Head,
Wake up early offer five prayer,
Make it your habit, never get rear,
Help each needy, Don’t be Greedy,
Do it at ease, Don’t be Speedy,
Work so hard so focus it All.
Keep your efforts like a soccer Ball,
Never get Upset, Never give Up,
Spark your mindset and Wake Up,
If you fail there is another Chance,
Do, done again with rocking Dance,
Try with efforts, do it Prior,
You’ll lead all, Make IT Clear!
M. Shahid H. Chouhdry
Copyright © M. Shahid H. Chouhdry | Year Posted 2013
Just my feelings on having fought a war. I was far to sensitive for a soldier to be...peter
Those Old Soldiers.
Let’s think of the poor old Soldier boy
Who joined up, though too young
To know just what the whole show meant
For wisdom, he had none.
He’d heard the words but listened not
That said “one must not kill”
For young folk rarely understand
Yet a day comes when they will.
For when a guy be young and all
He lives from day to day
And there be types that need adventure
And fighting looks okay.
So, they get to tread those foreign shores
As they get to prove their merit.
But as they sow their seeds so deep
The lady won’t forget it.
And when the years creep up on them
And they’re old hearts learn compassion
They’ll look on back to things been done
In, wars sad kind of fashion
Then they’ll realize the golden rules
Once broke cannot be fixed.
So, pity those old Soldier boys
They suffer, be sure of it.
Copyright © Peter Duggan | Year Posted 2016
Someone tell me where we are
not all that close, not all that far
Marching feet and distant drums
but I can't see where they come from..
Baby Soldier with angry eyes
filling empty space with hate
for fat old men made fat on lies
it's not your fault..........it's just your fate
Slaughter in the market place
You heard their cries, you saw their face
How then can you sleep at night?
How dare you say, "everything alright"
Baby soldiers with empty eyes
empty minds refilled with hate
for fat old men made fat on lies
while baby soldier licks the plate
Dancing in a rain of fire
Just one more death for your empire
but baby soldier dies alone
his soul is gone his heart is stone
Baby soldier with empty eyes
filling empty space with hate
for fat old men made fat on lies
It's not your fault It's just your fate
Baby soldier lay it down
the crops won't grow in blood soaked ground
but baby soldier cannot hear
above the sound of hate and fear
baby soldier with angry eyes
feeding on their hate and fear
while fat old men get fat on lies
everyone dies that's why you're here
Someone tell me where we are
not all that close not all that far.
Copyright © Robbie Brusberg | Year Posted 2007
this was sent to me and i feel it should be shared.
The Old Soldier
He was getting old and paunchy
And his hair was falling fast,
And he sat around the Legion,
Telling stories of the past.
Of a war that he once fought in
And the deeds that he had done,
In his exploits with his buddies;
They were heroes, every one.
And 'tho sometimes to his neighbours
His tales became a joke,
All his buddies listened quietly
For they knew where of he spoke.
But we'll hear his tales no longer,
For ol' jimmy has passed away,
And the world's a little poorer
For a Soldier died today.
He won't be mourned by many,
Just his children and his wife.
For he lived an ordinary,
Very quiet sort of life.
He held a job and raised a family,
Going quietly on his way;
And the world won't note his passing,
'Tho a Soldier died today.
When politicians leave this earth,
Their bodies lie in state,
While thousands note their passing,
And proclaim that they were great.
Papers tell of their life stories
From the time that they were young
But the passing of a Soldier
Goes unnoticed, and unsung.
Is the greatest contribution
To the welfare of our land,
Some jerk who breaks his promise
And cons his fellow man?
Or the ordinary fellow
Who in times of war and strife,
Goes off to serve his country
And offers up his life?
The politician's stipend
And the style in which he lives,
Are often disproportionate,
To the service that he gives.
While the ordinary Soldier,
Who offered up his all,
Is paid off with a medal
And perhaps a pension, small.
It is not the politicians/news reporter
With their compromise and ploys,
Who won for us the freedom
That our country now enjoys.
Should you find yourself in danger,
With your enemies at hand,
Would you really want some cop-out,
With his ever waffling stand?
Or would you want a Soldier--
His home, his country, his kin,
Just a common Soldier,
Who would fight until the end.
He was just a common Soldier,
And his ranks are growing thin,
But his presence should remind us
We may need his like again.
For when countries are in conflict,
We find the Soldier's part
Is to clean up all the troubles
That the politicians start.
If we cannot do him honour
While he's here to hear the praise,
Then at least let's give him homage
At the ending of his days.
Perhaps just a simple headline
In the paper that might say:
"OUR COUNTRY IS IN MOURNING,
A SOLDIER DIED TODAY."
Copyright © louis rams | Year Posted 2012
No regard to that precious gift of life, no regard for that all
encompassing love and mercy, nor were they good stewards,
keepers of the lands, air or water.
I pray this equation turns around favorably, but in the meantime,
to my American Brothers and Sisters during now and in this world,
before my spoken prayer manifests: I say to you we are with you
in battle, a spiritual battle, the ultimate spiritual quest. We are
even in this battle with our Royal Sister named Israel, which
contains the world's capital, soon to be the New Jerusalem the
place where Heaven meets and marries Earth. Along with our
Christian family, those around the world who value peace, wisdom
and the Ancient of Days as much as we do. I decree for our troops
the protection of Jesus, the love of God, the fighting power of
Heaven's angels to fight loyally along side of you... as our Lord has
all in His Hands, and His Kingdom comes and His Will is indeed
being done. May God Bless you and keep you!!!
and my heartfelt THANK YOU!
Copyright © Susan Clark | Year Posted 2013
At four years old she kissed him goodbye
In his splendid soldier’s uniform
She was saddened to see her mother cry
As he set off for a land that’s foreign
She didn’t understand the reasons
Why her Daddy had to go
She only knew it was a soldier’s duty
Because her Daddy had told her so
By five years old she had forgotten his smell
From the after-shave when he gave her a kiss
She had gotten used to life without Dad
But by her mother, every day he was missed
Today her father came home
Though it wasn’t a day full of smiles
He would be traveling in a wooden box
Across the many miles
Six soldiers carried him off of the plane
With an American flag draped over the top
She watched the tears flow from Mommy’s eyes
As if they’d never stop
She stood up and she saluted them
The way her Daddy had shown
Not completely cognizant
Of the eternity of his new home
When Daddies of little children
Die for some vague political cause
Every living human being
Should stop in thoughtful pause
In wars there are no winners
Just some who loose much more
Victory has hollow meaning
When Daddy dies when you are four
Copyright © Joe Flach | Year Posted 2011
We the redeemed were sitting together amongst a celestial crowd whom had gathered outside the front of the main castle. Pavilions had been set up, benches had been erected for the massive crowds to sit on.
We all had settled down as the King who was seated with His immediate court, gestured for the Royal Story Teller to begin this day's tale; now there would be many more such joyous, warm occasions. The bearer began. "Listen as I tell the tale of the Old Glory Knights, the sons and daughters of His Majesty's thunder.
Whether these knights rode upon horses that crossed the lands, or rode inside the grand iron horses beneath the Earth's oceans, or flew upon the winged horses of the wind... we owe the greatest debt, and the deepest layers of gratitude as they were obedient to the call and our realm's worthiest cause; the cause was to get the word out that our Highest King was coming to possess His lands, to save His people from sin and death because all belongs to Him, to our fair and our most Beloved.
So now we are here to thank the states of the red, white, and blue, the military for having sacrificed your lives for your country, for the larger picture of God. There would have been more dire straights without you. You kept Old Glory's dream, its blessed flag alive, waving strong in the winds of change, of the life yet to come. Freedom which was left in your care was more priceless than gold and sparkled more than any gem, its beauty so full.
Because of your sacrifice we were able to sleep safely and even soundly during many of the midnight hours.
It is so sad to think that Satan had so many in his control, his command; his human puppets, soldiers didn't understand the the ugliness of hell was so clearly with them.
Ugliness with no regard to the peace of our one true God, yes I'll even say it our Lord Jesus Christ.
Ugliness in regards for having not enough patience for the enlightenment of the people who were learning to follow the Truth, the Life and the Way. No regard to that precious gift of life. I must keep this tale short due to lack of space."
Outside of this prayer vision of manifest destiny I decree to you in meantime to our American troops, the protection of Jesus, the love of God, the fighting power of Heaven's angels to loyally fight along side you as our Lord has all in His Hands, and His Kingdom comes, and His Will is indeed being done... May God Bless you and Keep you !!! my heartfelt THANK YOU !!!!
Copyright © Susan Clark | Year Posted 2013
T' was the night before Christmas
At a house made of stone
There lived an old man By himself all alone
My sleigh stopped on the roof
With my presents to give
For the owner of this house
It's were this man do live
But when I did go there
What a strange sight did I see
No fairy lights no baubles
Not even a tree
No pictures of family Hung on the wail
Just medals and such like Was all I could see
An old soldier was sleeping Curled up on the floor
No bed no mattress As he slept by the door
Then I remembered the families
That I went to that night
Owed all of their freedom
From young men who were Willing to fight
Quite soon the whole world
When children would play
And parents soon celebrate a new Christmas day
And I started to wonder How many young men
Far away from their home In a far distant land
How many felt that they were alone
That terrible thought Invoked me to cry
And I fell on my two knees And started to pray
For I have no family No children no wife
But I do thank my lord For saving my life
This old man awakened And I heard his sweet voice
Say a prayer for me Santa But this was my choice
For I have fought for freedom
And I cannot ask for more
My god is my whole life And my freedom is for sure
Then the soldier looked up at me
it's Christmas tomorrow that's true
On your way Santa you have so much to do
I looked at my watch And I knew he was right
"merry Christmas my friend And to you a good night "
Copyright © emmanuel flanagan | Year Posted 2012
I watched him shake his hand
And say a gruff goodbye
To his beloved grandson.
Old soldiers do not cry.
He fiercely rubbed his eyes
To stop unmanly tears
As he recalled that other war
From those now long past years.
If old men could go to war
He would gladly take the place
Of this young lad without a clue
Of what he is to face.
He recalls himself, the innocent,
Proudly going off to war
To fight Hitler and his cronies,
Back in Nineteen Forty-Four.
He arrived there just in time
In the battles to indulge
In the most desperate fighting
The Big Battle of the Bulge.
Though he lost so many buddies,
He somehow stayed alive
Until the bullet with his name
In Nineteen Forty-Five.
He felt his life-blood flowing.
All he could do was wait
For the pick-up crew to come for him.
He hoped they weren't too late.
They came too late to save his leg.
Doctors said that it must go.
For him the war was over,
At least they told him so.
But he kept right on fighting
Every night in his dark dreams.
He could see the bullets fllying
And could hear his comrade's screams.
He was glad to have his Mary
Who held him in her arms
And told him it was over
And soothed him with her charms.
He and Mary had two daughters.
They weren't blessed with a son.
Somehow he didn't mind because
He need not worry over one
Who like him would have to go
To fight another mindless war.
At last the nightmares ended.
He was at peace once more.
His pride was in this grandson
The son he never had,
This boy who said he wanted
To be like his old granddad.
With one last wave he limped away
With his Mary by his side.
His nightmares had not ended.
That night the old man cried.
Buy Joyce Johnson
Copyright © Joyce Johnson | Year Posted 2010
I do not know?
Just a boy, several years back
As for a care, he had none until that day
Uncle Sam said, he had to go, so the note said
A boy into a man he would grow
It was his duty, that is why he went away
Tear in his mother's eyes, as the note she read
To a battle field in a far off land, he did not know
The wounded, flag covered caskets, bullets and bombs
And all the terrible things he would see
He had to keep his country fee, he had to fight the foe
Every second was like a thousand Vietnam 's
Wondering why God, all this misery
What he saw in battle, he could never forget
They were in his dreams, each and every night
The memories he brought back home yesterday
The war would never quit
He could not bury them or put them out of sight'
No matter how hard he would pray
And of all the terrible things, there was no healing
Or all the hurt, that never goes away
Praying God would give him an answer
And stop this terrible feeling
And help him make it through an another day
He was just twenty years old...........THE OLD SOLDIER
Copyright © Danny Nunn | Year Posted 2009
He had sailed the living oceans
fought great evil in the war,
but inside the broken boundaries
of his world,
I found a scar,
running from the massive mountain
of his hero heart of hearts
to the ever flowing fountain
of the goodness
t'was the scar made by a maiden
with a silver handled blade,
slicing through foreverafter
to the horrors of the shade
left for dead the new tomorrows
lie in tatters on the way
to the memory of sorrows
that she excised on that day,
when at last she put assunder
what no man should tear apart
broke the vows that they were under
and betrayed a broken heart.
Copyright © Johnette Loefgren | Year Posted 2006