Military Poetry

THE SURVIVOR
by Michael Dingwell

They come through the mist, through the night so cold,
their faces are young, and yet they're really quite old.
Everythings dark, their weapons are black,
here come the boys from Vietnam; the dead are back.

Alone I watch, always so alone,
my friends are all dead, just ashes and bone.
Along I watch, only I can hear,
they talk to me, they tell me "never fear."

You're part of us, our link to life;
only you escaped, Mike, that dreadful knife
the knife of death, the knife of despair.
why did we die, way over there?

What about our folks, sister and brother:
what about Dad, who told my Mother?
we have only you,Mike, our link to the living,
we can talk to you, for you understand our non-forgiving.

They didn't send us to fight, they sent us to die.
they didn't even tell us the truth, nothing but lies.

Well boys, you're dead and gone,
you left me here, a survivor all alone.
so why come back now and disturb my sleep?
are you trying to break me down, make me weep?

I didn't kill you boys, I cried for every one,
thirty five times I cried, I guess I'll never be done.
so why don't you go away, leave me in peace,
or just come in the day and let me sleep at least.

Just when I think I'm OK, just when I let my guard down,
then here you boys come again, Skip, Speedy, and Brown.
I can't remember all of your names, nor where you are from,
but I do remember your deaths, every single one.

Death is so horrible they'd make most men gag,
and I had to put you, my friends, in a body bag.
We're linked together, the living and the dead,
but the worse time of all is when I'm in bed.

For when you come, you cause me great pain,
I didn't die, I was only maimed.
I relive your deaths, throughout my life,
for I'm the only one who escaped that knife.

I'm the Survivor, the one who made it through,
and believe me boys, I miss all of you.
So go away now, relieve me of my pain,
leave me alone, before I go insane.

I know you're in Vahalla, where all of the warriors go,
so I'll see you soon enough, Bill, and damn, I miss you so.
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THE VIETNAM VET

The Vietnam war never ended...
I still fight the war when I sleep.
Too many men fell...
In that jungle of hell...
And the memories are planted too deep.

The Vietnam war never ended...
The memory of war stayed alive.
My friend's in a chair,
But his legs are not there,
And he fights everyday to survive.
Another friend walks with a walker,
Another, uses a cane.
Have another friend,
Shoots with a needle...
Escaping that Vietnam pain.

No, the Vietnam war never ended...
It will live until the day that I die.
War won't let you forget...
See, I'm that Vietnam Vet...
And at night,
When I sleep,
I still cry....

Philip Ezell
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Dear Lord,

Thank you for the life you bestowed upon us,
and the opportunity in life to serve others.

We ask that you bless those we have left behind,
and comfort them in the knowledge that we died well.

Yet in death our spirit soars,
in our flag our honor waves,
and preserved in every Marine Sword,
the legacy of our deeds.

May we meet again on that field where Warriors meet,
in that place known only to God;

Go now,
I humbly ask,
and prepare a place for me.

AMEN Sergeant Karl Clark Lippard
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Hill 327

The order came to charge again;
Like waves against a rocky shore,
A bloodied band of weary men,
We struggled up the hill once more.
"Semper Fidelis" , our battle cry
Shored up the limbs and cleared the eye.

We took the hill with tears and gore.
(A black-robed specter watched us go.)
For Honor, Duty, Esprit `d Corps.
While at the top, though none could know,
The reaper stood against the sky
And urged us on with Semper Fi.

Rob McEvoy
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Saints and Heroes

You didn't even know me then,
for I was yet to be;
You were full of passion then,
in nineteen forty-three.

You heard the call of Uncle Sam,
and stood up to be counted;
Amid the righteous rally calls,
the hostile skies you mounted.

They told you war was hell to pay,
the cost was made well known;
But how were you to understand,
the cost would be your own?

My soul has eyes that see you there,
preparing for a jump;
Nimble fingers, breathless sighs,
collecting in a lump.

Freedom's sons approach the doorway,
the mother plane gives birth;
Scores of silken mushroom caps
descend in silence to the earth.

Soon the heat of battle comes,
the smoke, the sweat, the tears;
With reckless rage you sally forth,
and swallow all your fears.

Heroes wisely hold their peace,
they have no tales to tell;
The shroud of silence, evermore
tolls a mournful weary bell.

Saints speak not of fear and pain,
they never count their tears;
The agony and grief remain,
buried deep beneath the years.

Your eyes betray a secret sadness,
so guarded, veiled and hid;
Of burdens you have never shared,
of sordid things you saw and did.

The price of peace was paid by you,
and your courageous brothers;
We owe a debt of gratitude.
to you and all the others.

I feel it now, I see it well,
as if you were my son;
It breaks my heart, it swells my breast
By such as you, the war was won!

Kathy L. Casper
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VIETNAM MEMORIAL II
a whisper from the wall

The flowers in the vase allay my fears.
She placed them, quite precisely, near my name
Here etched in stone. Her eyes are filled with tears,
Full knowing that it's I who've lost the game
Of life, my place on Earth reduced to this.
I pray she knows our Spirits still are one,
That touch, and tears, and even winsome kiss
Remain forever locked, though breath is gone.

It's peaceful here despite the constant pain
Of losing her. How easier for birds
To sing, for blackened clouds to spill their rain,
Than through this stone it is to speak these words -
I love you still, you're always part of me
And that can't change - in this Eternity.

P. L. Nelson
___________________________________________________________________

In Flanders Fields

In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie,
In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.

author Dr John McCrae

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THE LONGEST DAY

I'm standing on hallowed ground
Where so many brave men died.
They had a mountain to climb
And would not be denied.
It was hell there in Omaha.
But there was no other way
They gave all of their tomorrows
So we might have today.

Row on row
Small crosses of white
Cast shadows tall
In the morning light.
God, hold them close
I silently pray
They gave all of their tomorrows
So we might have today.