Poetry
By: David Bancroft
Take a very good look
at our great country's living book
with new pages being added each day
to the blessed life of the USA
that goes beyond what words can convey.
America's wonderful unfolding story
is one of freedom, honor, friendship, and glory
strongly rooted from Her founding seeds,
sustained by proud beliefs, brave deeds,
united will . . . and unyielding love
of our nation under God above,
which we celebrate on July 4th each year
in memory of all that we hold very dear.
So, give thanks for where you are
and to those who are near and far
doing their valiant best to protect us all
and keep our beloved USA strong and tall.
Copyright © 2007
All Rights Reserved
Listed November 20, 2007
David Bancroft is the founder and owner of USA Patriotism.
By: Holly C. Bell
We Stand Up
For it is not enough
to sit back or stand down
to wait and watch while the world
wrestles to right itself
this war is not theirs alone to fight
So We Stand
For We are the Warriors.
The Front Line
is no crevasse drawn in sand or etched in stone
It is my breath, my body, my burden, my home
it is where danger is a dust
that settles down deep in the bone
It is Where We Stand
For We are the Warriors.
I carry with me the Lord’s prayer in my pocket
and a gun in my hand
my sweetheart’s kiss on my lips
a handshake from my dad
the memory of my mom’s tears haunt me still
In this Post Where I Stand
For We are the Warriors.
A Country Divided
Yet I will not back down, I will not give up, I will not give in
Freedom’s hallowed ground I will protect and preserve
With my life if I must, it’s the least She deserves
And should I fall here, Where We Stand
Tell my mother, I was Honored to Serve
FOR WE ARE THE WARRIORS
By: HA Cummings, Veteran
When the world's last war has been fought,
and lies have been cast off and vetted,
When the oldest warriors are home,
and the youngest deaths regretted,
Humanity will heal albeit slowly,
while warriors continue to weep,
'Til tales of valor forgotten,
and fear's finally put to sleep.
When the oldest crosses have crumbled,
and the greenest grasses turned grey,
When the last old glory's been planted,
and silent shadows no longer play,
Old warriors' hearts will be healed,
and no more tears will be shed,
Hope will find new foundations,
and nightmares put to bed.
Freedom will loudly ring once again,
so deafening the sound will be,
And the world will be vividly painted,
in hues replete with honesty,
With humanity once again artists,
working as one in light,
Warriors will close their weary eyes,
with souls at peace this night.
By: William D’Emilio, Jr., U.S. Army Veteran
Standing at the crossroads...where nothing's ever new
The signs all say the proper way...but none of them seem true
Some just give directions...while some say what to do
But all they really seem to give...is another point of view
So I started on a journey...to see what i would find
And came upon an old man...who said that he was blind
Gave him my condolences...which he said was kind
But quite unnecessary...as vision is a state of mind
Next came upon a cricket...who told me what he found
While living in the darkness...deep beneath the ground
Listening to the others...all fiddling a sound
Each and every one of them...claiming theirs was most profound
So i rested on a timeless stone...that had never moved
Wondered of it's purpose...and what it's existence proved
It laughed at my complexity...and said I'd be behooved
To know it sat for weary men...and kept the earthworms roofed
Then i dove into a deep, deep pool...reflecting my own face
Fell upon it's surface...then sunk into it's space
Thought that I was one with it...but that was not the case
Though the water had embraced me...I caused it to displace
Went into a concrete wilderness...where it's not land that's farmed
Met a cultured reptile...who said that it was charmed
It patronized my weaknesses...so i was not alarmed
To find it insecure...and merely mentally well armed
Entered a house of worship...a place to meet the lord
Met a bunch of people...some cynical..some bored
Wondering just where it is...that treasure’s really stored
So they could be quite certain...where to stash their hoard
Arrived back at the crossroads...where it all did start
Where the end of one path...was where the next one would depart
Glad to know my journey...had served me in it's part
Of revealing that the crossroad...was really my own heart
By: Armstead Fisher, Veteran
Armstead Fisher wrote “Nephew’s Keeper” after he was inspired by the stories he heard from veterans at an in-patient domiciliary in New York. Fisher was himself a patient at the domiciliary, where he continued to volunteer his own time after completing the in-patient treatment program by running a writing group to help other veterans.
Fisher hopes that with this poem veterans are encouraged to express their feelings and emotions through poetry and short stories.
You tell me to fight before I am old enough to buy beer.
I am told to uphold a moral code the founding fathers could not adhere to.
Not to rape, pillage, and burn.
I don’t shave, never been married, I walk with a limp.
Hear the children playing in the park.
On sunny days I watch them circling on the merry-go-round.
I am inhaling fresh aromas of life
When suddenly the smell of burning bodies enters into my soul.
Where can I run? How can I flee from my mind?
What do you want from me?
Are not uncles, nephew’s keepers?
Did not Abraham prepare a spot for Lot in the Covenant?
Did they not quarrel in love, over pasturage, yet leave Sodom
Together on a promise of many nations?
The angels understood. Let nothing come between
That which has been ordained and joined by blood.
What do I want from you? What do you want from me?
Did I not lay down my life, travel overseas
Work on hazardous assignments?
I stood tall in honor and dignity for my country.
My right hand has been forever sealed to my heart
In defense of “Ole Glory.”
You send me through revolving doors
Carrying Agent Orange and Gulf War Syndrome
From hospitals to Review Boards.
Is a penny too much to ask for my troubles … and pain?
What do you want from me?
To keep my mouth shut.
To wear away as a loyal soldier
Even after the war is over.
With all your bureaucratic checks and balances
You’ve made this disabled veteran unable to live.
Yet you ask me what do I want from you?
Sam, nothing you don’t want to give
And not a thing that has not already been given by God.
Dr. Galen M. Grant is a retired Army psychologist who has worked with many servicemembers and veterans experiencing post-traumatic stress disorder and suicidal behavior. Her poem is the latest from our DCoE Blog readers.
You come to me from war.
Some of you are scared.
Some of you are angry.
Some of you are intensely sad.
Some of you are numb.
Some of you can't sleep.
Some of you don't want to sleep.
Some of you have bad dreams.
Some of you drink too much hoping they'll go away.
Some of you want to be with your family.
Some of you can't get close enough.
Some of you run from intimacy.
Some of you want to be left alone.
Some of you can't concentrate.
Some of you can't remember.
Some of you remember too much.
Some of you don't want to remember.
Some of you have brains that have been shattered by concussions.
Some of you have limbs shattered by weapons.
Some of you have none.
Some of you have spirits shattered by war.
Some of you want to live.
Some of you do not.
Some of you have hearts that are dying.
Some of you have souls that have already died.
You come to me from war.
I will do my very best to help you live.
-Dr. Galen M. Grant
By: Robert “Cody” Griffith, Vietnam Veteran
The author was wounded August 17, 1967. Quang Tri Providence of Vietnam - Operation Beacon Gate with B. Co - 1st.Blt - 3rd Mar - 3rdMarDiv
During Vietnam, the author sustained head injures from a grenade blast and was shot twice in a fire fight. He was pronounced clinically dead for about three minutes (his heart stopped). One evening in 1996, he awoke from sleep and saw himself going through the transition to death that he had experienced.
He writes: “These are the words that came to me at that time and… I felt that these same words must have come to many who have had the same near death or death experience as I had that early morning on 17 Aug. '67.”
In the death of combat the only light to be seen is that of the glistening moon, and the silences of all life in the night are almost deafening.
As the chill of ones soul cools the hot night, the feel of hell's eternity covers one with the fear of blackness and loneliness, and the cries and screams make no sound to those in the night of deaths life.
As life ends the death, the touch of an unknown to carry back, and awake to life in a different light, but not to be forgotten.
Copyright: 21 - April - 1996
By: Nicole Vandeventer, A Marine Wife
You say I must be nuts
To know how hard it was
And to know the sleepless, painful nights
While trying to hold a house together.
You sometimes say
That it can't be done
But you know I won't believe you.
You know I'll call you sobbing some times
And I'll tell myself I hate it.
I'll question my faith,
I'll question yours,
And I'll question faith itself.
And yet
I want that life.
I want the strong character
That comes by way of suffering
I want that strength that comes
From walking in the shadows.
Toward unseen promises
And intense dreams,
Toward broken men
And more devastating things.
I know I'll smile when the job is done.
Each job that comes, that is.
I know God's with us.
And though my vanity draws me close
To hopes of distances separate,
Toward chivalry and romantic letters,
Five minute phone calls twice a month,
And times zones full of hurt,
And soldiers full of anguish,
The want, and the need,
And the "I have to do this'
Sink in.
It's not a game.
It's not a hobby.
It's not pleasant.
But it must be done.
The call must be answered
And the brave must go on.
I have an ache in my heart that won't go away
Because I feel God's called us back to that life.
"In His time," I'll keep telling myself.
I'll enjoy what days we have to prepare for the future.
By: Kristian Ray March
A Soldier's Story, Honor and Glory Red White and Blue, These Colors We Hold True, Duty's Reason, Pride's Passion, In This Way We Serve In Noble Fashion, Boots Gleaming Bright, Polished Black, With Justice We Plan Our Next Attack, Eternal Vigilance Is Freedom's Price, When It Comes To Killing, We Are The Dice, Only Blood On Foreign Shores, Can Keep Locked H--l's Doors, For God, Family Country, Red White and Blue, How About You!!!???!!!
By: Sandi Provost
“This poem is dedicated to all of our fallen. As a mother of two soldiers and numerous other soldiers whom I called my sons and lost, I wrote this on Memorial Day.”
I remember the first day I held your hand in mine,
I thought that forever our life would be fine.
That was the day when heaven sent you to me,
If only I'd known how short our time would be.
When I gazed upon your beautiful eyes,
I saw mirrors of the stars up in the skies.
Reflections of a heart that was so true,
The world was perfect because it had you.
Your voice was like a soft summer breeze,
It had a way to put my heart at ease.
Alas I could feel that a soul such as yours,
had a special mission to open other doors.
I had to let you go then and be all that you could be,
It was clear you were meant to fight and help to set us free.
Now you have gone to the Great Heroes Hall,
where all of our soldiers go when they fall.
A place where you can be with all of your friends,
where happiness, laughter and love never ends.
We want you to know you did not die in vain,
and that so much gratitude helps to soften the pain.
For all that you were, and all that you've done,
we'll never forget you, for you shine like the sun.
You will Never be Forgotten.
By: Nick F. Stamatis, Army veteran
Soldier I see you coming,
Scared and cautious down by me.
I see the sadness in your face
As you knell upon your knee.
On this tortured battlefield,
Trading bullets we did meet.
By only fate did yours reach first,
And now I’m at your feet.
I fear my life is fleeting
I feel it draining out.
It looks you came to comfort
and to quell my primal shout.
Are those my tears upon your face?
Are they for me or you?
What majesty they bring to me,
It seems you feel it too.
You seem to be about my age,
Maybe friends if I’d but wait.
But my time is going on,
Plummeting towards my fate.
And now you put my hand in yours,
And erase what you have done.
I see the shocking truth so clear.
To stop before war’s begun!
You’ve changed the fear upon my brow,
To a need to express my heart.
And the wish to change things,
Before these battles start.
I have so much to tell you,
So much of you I want to know.
Do you feel my forgiveness,
Tell me quickly before I go.
And as my strength is failing,
My mind is not so clear.
How can I convey my thoughts
To one who's come to calm my fear.
What one word could I summon,
What one name could I call.
What could I do for you,
That would express it all.
I think that I have it now,
In these moments how I’ve grown.
Trust the meaning of this word.
In tomorrows when you’re home.
Your grace helped and gave me,
A wonderful and loving clue.
So in your thoughtful future,
Know it really came from you.
That clue was monumental,
It’s from you my strength was found
I give your hand an answering squeeze,
And my world it’s final sound.
You closed my life with joy,
When you chose to call me “Brother.”
Now back to you that universal word.
The antithesis to war . . . it’s “Mother.”
Wash that anguish from your face
And know that this is true.
If the roles had been reversed,
Would I be half the man as you?
I feel myself floating upward now,
A strangers agony my path did pave.
For you my friend have given all.
A comforting journey to my grave.
- NFS, 6/26/10
By: Chuck Stromme
The author is a combat-disabled Vietnam veteran, an ex-Huey aviator with the First Cav.
You get really scared
There are lots of loud noises
Some people get killed
Nothing makes sense
Then one day it’s over
No more loud noises
Everyone is still there
Except the ones who aren’t
And you can't forget
Mr. Stromme is the founder of the Service Disabled Veteran Owned Small Business, The Stromme Group.
By: Nicholas Vandeventer
A cold rain begins to pour down my back
The blood of my foe's and brother's mingle and clean from my body.
Running through the war torn street carrying my dead brother looking frantically which way to go I hear a cry, then I feel numb,
The rain washes more blood from my body but now it's mine.
Our enemies are coming to see us, my brother and I,
We tried not to die, oh if only our mothers wouldn't cry.
"For Honor, Courage, and Commitment!" I cried.
If only we didn't have to die.
We served for love of nation, corps, and pride.
If only we didn't have to die.
A shot!
A shot from who?
"United States Marine!"
Joy! We're saved my brother and I,
Our other brothers have come so we don't have to die.
I wake, why? Back at base am I,
Look I do for my brother who came so I wouldn't die.
"Nurse, nurse I cried. Where is my brother who wouldn't let me die?"
Not a word, she only cried.
There that day I died.
In the streets where my brother and I bled side by side.
Why? Why did they have to die?
Then in my mind all I hear is, Semper Fi.
By: Bill Yamanaka, Lieutenant Commander, U.S. Navy (Retired)
Our people back from war bring a stark reality.
See them at a military medical center or VA facility.
Soldiers, Sailors, Airmen and Marines,
Many so young but no longer called green.
I see them in wheelchairs, missing arms, missing limbs.
Some scars are visible, some are within.
While they serve in harm's way to protect us this day,
I dine on my choice of food, sleep in a bed and play.
Should I feel guilty about the sacrifices of our troops?
Will arrogance and self-centeredness make humility moot?
There are those who are serving us, their own lives upset,
I must do right by them and behave as I won’t forget.