Name who's ribbons these are and I'll sell my book for 50% off
They are the ribbons of someone of WWI and WWII and Korea fame..
Red poppies blowing in the wind,
across fields in far off land..
White markers all in rows, straightway standing,
among emerald lawns, and cobbled paths..
Again, once more they stand, shoulder to shoulder,
hand to hand, defending all shores of man..
Bitter cold, rain wind nor snow, summer heat,
can their bodies feel, from beneath, they rest..
Called to go and serve, do their best,
duty done, long ago, time is done..
To weep for all eternity would take,
honor their memory, put to rest our fears..
To cry for all would drain mind and soul,
pray on bent knee, if you will..
Safely now they lie, they have earned the rest,
so for them cry only Dry Tears..
Poems and Short Stories about Military life
all remain the property of the webmaster if any are requested
for reprint then prior approval must be given by author.
Laughter rings out across a crowd filled room voices of
cheer in every corner, glasses tinkle with toasts.
Men and women all of good spirits raised on high,
tears of joy, friendship abound through out room.
One quick look about, a view of all it's a scene
of joy for most, crowd in all of the room,
not one alone to make sure.
Yet in the far corner by the window stands one alone,
can this be true, surely he's a friend of all
if not, the host.
A gaze in his eyes tells at once himself
not in this room, far off, other times,
places and memories haunt the soul.
Colored ribbon on lapel, tells viewer of horrors
must have seen, peers into night and dreams, dreams
no one else dare think alone.
He stands alone in crowded room, no thoughts of now
and here, the voices and sounds heard of then,
memories only seen.
Quick jump by man alone, a crowd member passes,
behind, more come near, gazes at room of cheer,
should not be here.
He turns his gaze away, leaving glass still filled
with drink, softly moves across room, ghostly
sounds follow him there.
Door is closed without sound his shadow gone
to the night, a pause and then swiftly gone,
swallowed by darkness alone.
Un-noticed by host, he stood alone in a crowded
room, no memory of him recalled
from cheer filled crowd.
He is there again and again, the man standing alone,
in many a room, with other guises, an nights to roam.
He can never be anything but alone, too much memory,
for eternity dark spaces will he roam,
Black Wall- Bronze Patrol
The reflections of ones soul is seen on Black Wall, searching for all,
tears seen from young and old tell the depth felt as many knelt,
time is to heal they say, but the thoughts they never, never go away,
for every name not there are twice that number on Black Wall.
Friends forgotten are recalled in heated emotion with single touch,
faces reappear like clouds blowing by, or early paddy mists far off,
scarred and rough faces give way to waves of tears, with shaking hands,
time has not forgotten, nor you, all the Black Wall recalls time not enough.
Across the pond of seas several clicks away time brings Bronze ghosts,
nineteen prod their way into history and a forgotten war in one last patrol,
who is left after all makes the journey to another shore, recall the names,
kindred one an all, under the same flags unfurl, fire and hell their hosts.
Colder and with more hills to climb, always the paddies to cross a must,
lines on paper worth as much, men's faces buried in mud and the dust,
other side never cross, honor bound to save a life, no lines on hills seen,
death knows not of man's drawn lines, only brotherhood of ones to trust.
Bronze Patrol images can be seen in Black Wall from within, kindred names,
faces and names gray in recall, deeds and places too, time tells it all,
touch the Wall, follow the Bronze Patrol, feel the waves of the seas between,
look for the paddy mists, boot prints long gone, ghosts of the forgotten names.
Sounds of taps and recall played again and again for one and all, standing
shame upon us all to forget, duty now never, never not recall names on the wall,
to follow bronze patrol into forgotten history, demand it be told again for all,
can less be done to honor what they all have done, the long, short and the tall.
Tattered coats, ponchos an dented helmets, the uniforms of the day wearers
memories and gifts left to say words could not, at long Black Wall for them all,
to rise again into such strife, with loss of uncounted life, its worth questioned still,
Bronze figures searching for their place in history still, soon, soon it'll come we pray.
Common thread of honor, duty done, with no parade, guardians of freedom's
sons, uncles, fathers and lovers all gone, only fellow ghosts to hear their plight,
never, never forget our fight, never forget our right, keep calling their names,
faded flags and worn jackets signs of duty done, remind us never out of sight.
Softly now the foot steps pass the Bronze Patrol and long Black Wall,
distant bugle sound sweet retreat and final note for all the comrades that fell,
safely they pass to a better place, we know it can't be hell, once there is enough,
a solemn salute and farewell to honor the brave who fought for us so very well.
Not Coney Island, Tampa or Long Beach by a long shot,
a place to rest for a few, and repair, a restpith if you will,
discover round-eyed women still exists and cold beer,
that the whirly bird has a nest and does rest all from view,
that the human spirit will survive even in the center of rot.
A woman's hand to hold once again who can understand,
words and places of home once again exchanged in distant land,
at last odors that don't turn ones stomach green from within,
a song, tune heard from back in the world, a forgotten shore,
to bathe in clear water without rice reeds as curtains is grand.
Sip ever so slowly the cold, cold beer savor the taste once more,
embrace its cold shock as it flows down your throat, cooling all,
remember the nice words to ask a round eyed woman for a date,
and how to dance into the night, and try your hand again at amour,
it ain’t Palm Beach that's for sure, it's the best there is, is no more.
If you can only stand to reach her hand to dance again, once more,
try as you may try as you might, you thought the fight was rough,
to get this job done you really have to be tough, and tough enough,
at last the touch, the grasp, she leads you to the floor on silver legs,
hard to dance to any tune when no feeling in silver legs an more.
Whirly Birds just keep coming and going with more and more,
think there was some special show to see, no more for me,
homeward bound to sit and rest with medals on chest no glory,
price too high to answer again highest quest, just home to rest,
gone all the kids of my past along China Beach's shore evermore.
THEIR NAMES, CALLING
Statues along a darken path to recall the past,
their names forgotten as well as their deeds,
ages of youth, many guises of gray tell the task,
rain and cold have taken toll, their names calling..
Long ago words of youth has faded from their lips,
no names for the hill tops reached again, again,
no songs pass their lips, only 45's hug from hips,
only family next to all in dirty ditch, their names calling...
There stands these men in bronze, mirroring men of flesh,
to all to recall their duty done, the very best,
refresh our memories if we dare honor their forgotten quest,
faces and places fade into darken past, their names calling..
Forgotten by many remembered by few these young men, then,
blistering heat to bone chilling cold, freedoms pride,
for us who lived will carry images inside, all of them,
none will be forgotten, not now not then, their names calling...
Cold black wall with 10,000 and more to find, in time,
no band of welcome home too, just do and do duty too,
out stretched hand to search again, again, the long lines,
nails, hands bloodied till raw, their names calling...
Pray for forgiveness all left behind, ask each one,
on bended knees till they are raw, search for one an all,
should have stayed to save a few, even just another ,one,
tattered coat, wearer too, their names calling...
Fog covered paddies to hill top posts, gave their most,
spat upon for a duty done with honor and pride,
dreams of horror by their side, black ghosts their hosts,
guilt of duty done, their best, their names calling...
Twenty no thirty no forty, no fifty thousand more,
gone, will not see the sun rising, nor laugh nor play,
strife and death fill their days, blood and gore,
no knocking on homes door, their names calling...
Faded stripes, patch on shoulder tell, he was there,
search till infinity to ask each one forgiven now,
standing as though alive, but not inside till he hears,
all is well, done your best, their names calling...
Easy to escape to reach peaceful place, death,
truth of reality harsh, hard to take evermore,
eyes have seen all that is real to soul's depth.
Peaceful darkness it would bring no more pain,
time and time again easy it would be, fulfill the plan.
to stand and fight no choice ever again.
Winds of black thoughts reach the inner mind,
peace is so very close at ones own hand,
in this time of year, life re-newed t's grand.
Horror of horrors viewed long ago, never lost,
blackened soul nightmares rise again, again,
shadows within the mind ghostly host.
Rise again is the theme, never a truth been seen,
potted white lilies line the path to destiny,
wind brings strong scented aroma keen.
Peace at last with ones own thoughts it brings,
wishful death will allow long wanted rest,
easy to find resolve in darken thoughts, black things.
Peace now from all the evil felt, see restful dreams,
spring fading, summers near, maybe peace next year,
given the strengths peace will be there, in dreams.
Try and try again as before to rest with wishful death,
to rise again doubt, long rest well over due,
worth in human terms nil , t's owns last breath.
Tears all dry never felt by others is true,
fleeting breath is own to renew or subdue,
seldom known, and never, never knew.
Wishful death gives peaceful guise to dreams of past,
shall it be or not , horrors so deep to forget, regret,
too many to pass-over ever, and ever they'll last.
Peaceful rest a wish to come true with each breath,
breath to life not lasting t's true worthly too,
so plan for the long peaceful , wishful death.
Red bars and white stripes, briskly blowing
heaven's blue studded with white stars, faded hems,
still it flies on high with defiant pride forever more,
colors not as bright as when new, still holds tight to staff.
Has seen many guises, at first stars numbered
a dozen and one,
blue heaven a darken spot or two, shell flying low, in night glow,
stars now row after row, can tell stories how their place was won,
Faded Glory history of might and right at the top to show.
Paths traveled long ago, from Breed's Hill
to Concords green,
Bullrun, Gettysburg and Ft. Websters rapports it's flown,
Tripoli, Haiti, San Juan and to chase Poncho Via,
all men fought under her shadows followed with honor seen.
Saluted by very young and very old, the
rest unsure how or when,
all who served her with pride soul of soul wrapped in her in the end,
treasured gift given to sons, of fathers died, under her shadows,
never let to touch the ground dishonored sweet kiss embrace then.
Paths traveled long ago from Pearl Harbor
to Iwo Jima, Rhine,
Bastogne, and Saint Lo', Zigzag pass and Midway, Bataan,
Anzio Beach, Sword and Juneau Beach too, to name a few,
all men fought under her shadows followed with honor in mind.
Ever still she flutters in the breeze never
content to surrender,
strong winds flap at her might and she gets ready for still,
another fight, ill or not, faded too at the ready to carry forth,
faithful she is to all her sons under her shadows and tender.
Glory not her goal but her quest, hold
honor bright her best,
torn at its seams and worn through and through, can't compare,
center of all in its place none hung above save cross of God,
viewed with distinction from afar by all who honor the best.
Paths traveled long ago from Pusan to Inchon,
Chosin, Pork Chop Hill and Old Baldy too, Naktong River,
and Line Kansas, flew with pride, many, too many died,
all men fought under her shadows with honor are gone...
Sensuous power of flight, mighty in heaven's
but a dot to human view yet he sees you and you,
slowly turning to and fro as guided by God's touch.
Soaring higher out of sight to all below's
heart felt delight,
grace a word he describes he's turning with every breeze,
so simple t's to this bird of power and might.
Wings of golden brown, reach from cloud
crown of shining white, a beacon of freedoms right,
evil never a chance to grow he destroys the shroud.
This wondrous bird of power and might soars
over us, our delight,
we all wish him well and envy is felt with shining pride,
for t's his freedom felt the right and might with The Eagle's Flight
A hoe and a plow, behind the south
end of a Texas mule,
share-croppers son, one of nine bare foot children left behind,
all day long in the hot sun helping feed the younger ones,
just a lad of twelve not more , sitting hours on milk'n stool.
Socked with the depression, and not just
the dollar bill, this son,
saw his bothers and sisters off each day to Church and school,
knew the golden rule, hard taught and honor bound , this son,
mother of them all passed to greater rewards, their only jewel.
Sharpshooter before he was a teen, darn
few rabbits, missed,
feed a family of many on scraps, the times they were lean,
no other path to follow now t's his choice and God's blest,
strong winds of war blowing from the west, he's getting mean.
Too young for Marines, and Navy too, so
off to the Army he went,
a share-croppers son of just sixteen, to take on a struggle this hard,
he was no better or worse than anyone, just did duty where he was sent,
sick at sea and never looked the part of soldier in a fight with his heart.
Distant shores became common rather then
new, saw more than a few,
from Morocco to Sicily and Italy, Anzio Beach, to southern France,
no longer a lad of sixteen, older now because of what he's been through,
made a leader of men, most older than he, was the one who took chance.
Baby Face, Murph, Murphy he was called
and Little Texas too,
when things got rough and hot, they called for him; Hey Sarge, !
some say he had a death wish, could be true, lucky for me an you,
over hills and mountain tops, rivers and oceans, trees an hedges.
Fear may have been within him, none near
him could ever tell,
sights his eyes saw too much for most, he gave all hell to his host,
200 and more slain by his hand alone, and never a word of boast,
rain and snow, heat and cold all ground pounders know this is hell.
Blood spilled again, again and again, return
he must too at the end,
now a golden bar upon his collar, more to entrust honor's birth to,
near 300 dough-boys a company to start now less than a dozen, to end,
paths of fear, death traveled and return, from hell and back too.
Years of strife and gore from shore to
far off shore the like never seen,
hell a vacation place it would seem, death a grateful rest at last,
more un-seemly than beauty to be viewed no pastoral scene,
memories of deeds done, honors won, always, always in the past.
Now at last the test has been past and
honors kept bright an right,
a silver bar now on his collar and ribbons on his chest, he's the best,
others not far behind in all his rewards his name is on top of the list,
blue ribbon with white stars hung around his neck , he's met the test.
Share-croppers son still not twenty one,
Little Texas has won,
home again to start anew pride of all, now bravest son of Texas,
soon golden leaf to rest on his collar, and a new star to be won,
fast as lighting to draw a gun, and ride trails this son of Texas.
Lost to the clouds and mist of the mountains,
shouldn't have flown,
a spirit of youth and pride he gave to all will last deep inside,
a youthful grin and face to match carry's the red badge we've known,
wait for me Audie “Lee” would like to travel a path or two by your side.
A paper of peace was signed long ago, not many alive to recall,
the 11th hour of the 11th day on the 11th month, shells stopped,
the horror of it all ended forever and ever was told us all.
The "Great War" was at an end none to be ever again, again,
ghosts of them rise their heads now with surprise and disgusts,
they gave all they had to insure this peace, and entrusted to us,
there is no great war after all, for evermore another comes, again.
Flags remind us now of what they gave, but who they were and when,
ask a child of school they'll not recall meaning of 11/11/11 at all.
Few if any march to refresh it all, if they had not then we'd fall,
ghosts will rise again should we forget to remember where and when.
War, after war, fathers and sons, uncles and even aunts heard the call,
all but a very few gone to a better place, waiting for you and me.
They will ask of us; How is it now, better for you, true for is it ?
How can we answer this question, to dishonor, they gave for you an me.
Images of friends long since gone, flash again, again into minds eyes,
a stretched hand that can't be touched lost for all time,but in memory's,
deepest caverns to rise again as fall gives way to winter's storms,
faded distant tunes are played, hummed from old soldier's memories.
Have all forgotten, an been forgotten for what they gave for who, when ?
I for one recall with nightly darkness,each and everyone , now till I am one.
All the ghosts are a part of us, in you and me for now and forever then,
Raise your hand to your heart an pay respects owed ,over due, to them.
Blare of bugles send chills through early morn mist,
ghostly figures form row after row on distant shore,
river fog rises to hide terror's view, from their quest,
numbers grow and grow as bugles blare, a 100 an 100 more.
Suddenly all is still just before the rows of gray launch,
fires of death race across their ranks, from our tanks,
muddy river turns blood red as row of gray, fire breached,
human form 100 and more become mounds upon sandbar, death ranks.
More still more, closer, closer rows of gray breach the shore,
fifty yards, twenty closer too, sounds of death to hear,
point-blank in the rows of gray, they still come as before,
200 an 200 more, over others laying on shore, in no fear.
Bugles blare, into brightness of day, lives lost in malay,
sweat and tears, bodies worn, fire more from morn to dusk,
to stop would be to betray a trust, red hot guns in the fray,
fallen comrades still, that line of steel can't go bust.
Like lighting fire-flies rounds of death streak across river,
from this side to that snuffing out life in their flashes,
steel blades to hold the line from evil across the river,
no tears for fallen, no time to stop flow of life from gashes.
No young men here now all as old as time it self, for evermore,
moment to moment recalled forty years from now is true,
gone the baby face smile of youth, swallowed, by horror's gore,
dreams of the river clear today, nor sleep the night through.
Dusk revealed gray mounds along the shore an all was still,
distant sounds from human forms heard to replace bugles blare,
night's darkness hide the sights from eyes that would chill,
no life, soul or breath to give, question if God is still here.
Forgotten but by a few, this river crossing of life and death,
memories all too clear for young men, now old ones too,
the day was saved, the cost too high to equate, in a breath,
the river that turned red for a long, long day forgotten too.
David Baillie @ 1997
I am always open to feedback: email@example.com
This page is to replace second site known as Dry Tears, it is used for military
poems and short stories all are welcome. Email to webmaster.
Click on Unit Award to go to Line Kansas Page or Click on Medal
to go to site home page or ribbon to Awards page.
Vietnam Gallantry Cross & Unit Award with Palm
more information about C.M.B.
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( This page last updated 14th Sept. 2006)