Long Servicemen Poems
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At the Oakland Airport Hilton Inn, I was working the evening shift, from 3 to 11 p.m.
behind the front desk on a Saturday at 8 p.m. Three Canadian boys, one younger
than the other two, shared a Junior Suite that connects to two bedrooms on either side,
each with two queen beds. Two Canadian Undercover Secret Servicemen were in the
other connecting bedroom, as the younger boy was the son of the Canadian Prime Minister,
Pierre Trudeau, 10-year-old Justin Trudeau, who’ll be the future Prime Minister of Canada.
He is on our VIP list, and now he has gone and stood at the Cashier Stand at the opposite
side of the front desk counter, where I went to assist him. He asked me, “Do you accept this
Canadian five-dollar bill for American quarters?” The Canadian dollar is one of several foreign
currencies for which we have an exchange rate of seventy-three cents to the Canadian dollar.
Although it didn’t break even, I gave it to him at seventy-five cents instead. I personally
covered the difference, a loss of a few pennies, of which I had notified the young Justin of
my neighborly gesture.
The three boys were attending The Day on the Green Concert—an event where various bands
perform nearby at the Oakland Coliseum. The boys were hoping to bump into Michael Jackson,
who performed there, but he took a side entrance, bypassing the lobby altogether. The boys
were taking turns playing Galaga and Asteroids on the gaming tables that were set up in the
lobby. I had notified the Canadian secret servicemen who shortly joined us in the lobby. They
sat at a nearby table, busted out a deck of cards, and began playing among themselves. The
lobby gift shop was closing, nearing 8:30 p.m. Young Justin came with cash from his friends,
asking for more quarters. After some time had passed, the boys called it a night, and they all
left, leaving the comfortably air-conditioned lobby to me.
My neighbors have been celebrating 4th of July for a week.
It has finally arrived today. Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom.
I think these patriots take time to nap between 11 and 2 every day.
They have tossed cherry bombs into our dumpster.
They have blown up our mailbox.
What marvelous festivities for them!
It gave us a chance to see how worthless our grayscale video is.
We saw one flag decorated guy get out of his car to do these deeds.
But we could not identify the car or the guy.
Unless he wore the same t-shirt
And no one else had one.
Bam Bam Bam Bam Bam
Our dogs and cat are hiding behind us in our recliners.
Their ears hurt.
I can only imagine how men and women servicemen are doing.
Especially if they have PTSD.
Does anyone ever consider them during these 4th of July celebrations?
Apparently not.
Moina Michael was a teacher,
Who vowed to wear a poppy,
Each year so as to remember,
The fallen, alone and the dead.
She wrote a poem in reply,
To McCrae’s In Flanders Fields,
Promised thenceforth to objectify,
By the poppy, red for blood liberty.
As a lecturer she taught,
Disabled servicemen broken,
Asked of them their enterprise,
At making silk poppies as a token.
These poppies became the symbol,
Of the American Legion Auxiliary,
In 1921 when at a loose end,
In contextualising that battery.
French national Anna Guerin,
Brought these poppies to Britain,
Where the Royal British Legion,
Bought nine million for certain.
We owe these two women,
The stability of our modernity,
Because they allowed us,
To reflect on horror positively.
Read Moina Michael's poem We Shall Keep Faith at:
http://www.greatwar.co.uk/poems/moina-michael-we-shall-keep-faith.htm
On the morning of Dec. 7th 1941,
429 Marines and Sailors lost their lives.
As a result of a surprise attack on battleship row,
The brave souls perished to an awful demise.
She was a part of the Pacific Fleet when 9 Japanese,
Type 91 aerial torpedoes pummeled her that day.
And then her port bilge struck the harbor bottom,
Commencing to overturn, she began to rest in the bay.
She was the oldest of all the battleships there,
And the first to go down and capsize.
The battleship’s crew went down with their ship,
As horrid black smoke filled the Pearl Harbor skies.
The USS Oklahoma was moored at Pearl Harbor,
And a memorial was built at Ford Island in 07.
The Servicemen gave their tomorrows for our today’s,
And Pearl Harbor is the tomb of USS Oklahoma BB-37.
my father is no longer here
but I still have memories
like the letters from his high school buddies
in the armed forces
at the tail end of World War 2.
these letters, thankfully, were saved by my grandmother
he missed his senior year
to learn how to fly an airplane for the war with Japan
Hitler had been defeated
but not yet Tojo
I'm lucky Dad wasn't a few years older
and he wasn't deployed in Normandy
he never saw any action
because the war ended
but he was ready
we disagreed about many things
but I'd rather be sitting with him now
than with anyone in the world
what I love about these letters
even though they were to (not from) him
is that they reflect
the time in history
and show
the love his friends had for him
which I understand
because I know my dad
and I can feel the humor
and the camaraderie
in those words
written in the individual scrawls
of the young servicemen
who, at the time
I would think of now
as young boys
they were proud to do their duty
and anxious to come home
and begin the business of young men
education, recreation
friends, family
and then
business, courtship, marriage, and children
I like to think of my dad
as a young man
full of fun
health and vigor
I know he was proud of his service
it meant something to him
it means something to me
and he means something to me -
a lot
here's to you Dad
and to the ones who weren't so lucky
in memoriam
Old Glory’s at half-mast today.
I wonder who just passed away?
Was it a hero from some battles past?
A dead leader whose influence lasts?
Were servicemen killed overseas,
Or humanitarians died fighting a disease?
Seems most of the time I don’t know why
The Colors only at half-mast fly.
More and more it seems to be
The flag’s mourning some local tragedy:
A lunatic shooter with a gun or rifle
Killed innocents for some reprisal;
Or people contemplating suicides
Go out committing multiple homicides.
I think the worst is killing schoolchildren.
Will this obscene madness never end?!
As Remembrance approaches this year
Many an adult will shed a tear
2022 and casualties still fall
Servicemen struggling to stand tall
We think it's all about two world wars
In reality it is about many many tours
Those that fell in foreign lands
We remember with marching bands
Boots,medals and uniform done
Stand on parade wait for the drum
March of at a 30 inch pace
Remember it is not a race
You don't have to be on the parade
Just remember the sacrifices that were made
Bow you head as the last post is played
Reflect and remember those who were paid
It doesn't matter if you never served
Two minutes silence must be observed
While it's quiet have a look around
Those with medals have been on the ground
The ultimate fear , is the not coming back
In a Draped coffin with a union jack
Those that are left can struggle after war
For there absent friends during the tour
Friday 11th is tomorrow's date
Go to church and don't be late
If you can't make it to the service
At 11am don't be nervous
Stand in silence for two minutes
Remembrance has no limits
Stand with them and have this thought
We owe our lives to those who fought
World War 1 and world war 2
The start of the poppy symbol is true
The blood that was spilt on flanders fields
Did not stop others to yield
Many other wars caused death and destruction
Listen to this simple instruction
Respect those that have done their time
And remember those that are still on the line
Rest in peace all those from the past
You gave your lives to early and fast
We will remember you not just today
Remembrance has to be everyday.
Let me take you back
To 1942
In Sagan ( Zagan ) Poland
In World War II
Their was built a camp
For prisoners of war
Primarily Air Force
Heroes galore
The site was selected
To escape them tunnelling
Deterring their efforts
In freedom funnelling
Forward we move
To March 1944
A tunnel called " Harry "
These servicemen bore
On a moonless night
March 24th
The crawled through the tunnel
To escape to go forth
To assist their escape
Air raid sirens wailed
The camps lights went dim
To the steps they scaled
Ten in the first hour
Escaped to the trees
Seventy six in total
From Stalag Luft free
The seventy seventh
Was seen emerging from the ground
The guards in alert
As the tunnel was found
The escaped seventy six
To the railway station they went
But confusion arose
For the paths they were meant
Not knowing where to go
They all missed their train
Some stayed for the next
While others walked the terrain
What befell the escaped
My words will speak
The search by the Germans
In prisoner seek
Two Norwegians
Made it to Sweden
A Dutch man through France
To Spain was his freedom
When news of this broke
Hitler was incensed
Orders were issued
For Artur Nebe to dispense
Fifty were herded
Onto trucks for their return
But they stopped at a clearing
For their fate to be learned
As they disembarked the trucks
To stretch their legs
Spandau's and Schmeisser's
Sprayed them with lead
The news of these deaths
Left our Parliament in shock
For these tragic moments
The Nuremberg trials would unlock
After the war
Gestapo officers were tried
They were responsible
For the fifty who died
This write is my tribute
For they were near freedoms gate
To all who were behind
The Great Escape
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/war.php
I, Too, Sing America (and did so in my diapers!)
by Michael R. Burch
I, too, served my country,
first as a tyke, then as a toddler, later as a rambunctious boy,
growing up on military bases around the world,
making friends only to leave them,
saluting the flag through veils of tears,
time and time again ...
In defense of my country,
I too did my awesome duty –
cursing the Communists,
confronting Them in backyard battles where They slunk around disguised as my sniggling Sisters,
while always demonstrating the immense courage
to start my small life over and over again
whenever Uncle Sam called ...
Building and rebuilding my shattered psyche,
such as it was,
dealing with PTSD (preschool traumatic stress disorder)
without the adornments of medals, ribbons or epaulets,
serving without pay,
following my father’s gruffly barked orders,
however ill-advised ...
A true warrior!
Will you salute me?
I hope my “small” attempt at humor will help readers remember the sacrifices made by the spouses, children and extended families of our valiant servicemen and women. It was not easy making friends only to lose them, time and time again, as I grew up a “military brat” on American air bases around the globe. I really did make sacrifices for my country, while winning every battle against the “communists” in our back yard.
Keywords/Tags: Memorial Day, military brat, service, war, duty, honor, heroism, soldiers, army, navy, air force, marines, child, childhood, children
Homeless
A house is not a home
If there is no love in it
A house is not a home
If we don't feel safe
A house is just bricks and mortar
It's the people in it that make it a home
If you live in comfort
You'll never want to roam
Others are not so fortunate
For their home is on the street
They have no bed to sleep in
And no decent food to eat
They rely on the kindness of strangers
Who may part with their loose change
Some people cross the street to avoid them
And look at them as if they're strange
The homeless are the same as you and I
They're someone's estranged father or mother
They could be on a missing persons list
And be someone's sister or brother
Not all of those who beg
Are genuinely in need
Sometimes they have a house and car
Their begging is just greed
I think of those ex-servicemen
With no roof over their head
They used to fight for their country
Now a pavement is their bed
Society doesn't care
And the government care even less
I can't see a solution
In this world that is a mess