Dry Tears

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..
 

Dry Tears

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..

Standing Alone

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,
standing alone.

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 tall,
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 all gray,
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 right,
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, images all,
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.
 

 China Beach

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...

 Invisible Bullet

The perils of hell called war through it all they came and saw,

shot and shell, gore and hate, loss of limb and life part of duty,

took the call to save freedom's right to protect a far off shore.

Once again left home and love's hearth to stand with comrades,

a proud country flew yellow ribbons strong and true, a duty due,

sand and heat and strange traditions overcome in land of nomads.

Fire flights a thousand times a thousand strong never before seen,

night into day and day into night, sand turned to Satan's land,

highway of death ends the path for wrong into right as its been

Cockpits and Tank turrets and foxholes buddies, men and women both,

front lines vanish with a whisper of a scud, all risk death or worse,

shoulder to shoulder power and might streak across sky into foe’s troth.

Swift end is found and madness ends with again freedom’s loud ring,

homeward bound heroes all, proud a country can be, for a duty done,

many never scarred by bullet or shell coming home songs now to sing.

Home and not a scratch, all is well, music of bands not heard by others,

pride restored to all warriors,  and ghost of old wars from far off shore,

no sleepless nights to haunt soul and mind, my sisters and brothers.

Purple Hearts but few, honor and pride instilled in country's halls for all,

the “perfect war” fought and won and “Johnny comes marching home”,

can this too be a dream no dark clouds to remain on glory’s field for all.

A 100 thousand or more struck down by invisible bullet never heard,

more deadly and painful than loss of limbs or life rips into homes an hearth,

no voices hear the cry to warn of bullet of destruction path unknown and dread.

One shot felled ten times our sisters and brothers then in land of hell and sand,

shoulder to shoulder now we must fight again for what’s right who stood the storm,

what rockets, shells, heat and flame did not destroy we must give a helping hand.

The invisible bullet still striking down its foe, now and many more to go,

shield our sisters and brothers with the truth so bullet, can't raise its score,

storm our country's white halls until it can be seen no more by friend and foe.

Stretch the hand to its fullest measure, they gave no less for freedoms ring,

insure peace in these hallowed halls, and treasured shores who braved the storm,

let no one say they did not help their sister or brother in fear of this terrible thing.

There is no price higher than what they gave nothing less should we repay,

invisible bullet we can't allow to dishonor a re-gained country's pride,

no choice but to fight again this invisible foe and win again freedom we pray.

Faded Glory

Red bars and white stripes, briskly blowing from staff,
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, and Taejon,
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...

EAGLE'S FLIGHT

Sensuous power of flight, mighty in heaven's touched,
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 to 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
 

   Little Texas

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.

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( This page last updated 14th Sept. 2006)