Poems

I thought I would start a thread and if someone feels they would like to add theirs as well that would be great. I will start with the first one and one of my favorites.

THE FINAL INSPECTION


The soldier stood and faced his God,

Which must always come to pass.

He hoped his shoes were shining,

Just as brightly as his brass.



"Step forward now, you soldier,

How shall I deal with you?

Have you always turned the other cheek?

To My Church have you been true?"



The soldier squared his shoulders and said,

"No, Lord, I guess I ain't.

Because those of us who carry guns,

Can't always be a saint.



I've had to work most Sundays,

And at times my talk was tough.

And sometimes I've been violent,

'cause the world is awfully rough.



But, I never took a penny,

That wasn't mine to keep...

Though I worked a lot of overtime,

When the bills just got too steep.



And I never passed a cry for help,

Though at times I shook with fear.

And sometimes, God, forgive me,

I've wept unmanly tears.



I know I don't deserve a place,

Among the people here.

They never wanted me around,

Except to calm their fear.



If you have a place for me here, Lord,

It needn't be so grand.

I never wanted or had too much,

But if you don't, I'll understand.



There was a silence all around the throne,

Where the saints had often trod.

As the soldier waited quietly,

For the judgment of his God.



"Step forward now, you soldier,

You've borne your burdens well.

Walk peacefully on Heaven's streets,

You've done your time in Hell."


~Author Unknown~

Somethin I wrote.

WITH THESE HANDS
It wasn't the first of many letters,
Nor was it the last,
It was the absence I felt,
It has been so long,
I can't feel homesick,
I have learned quickly,
This is my home.

Home, If you can call it that,
My brothers,
My sisters,
My rifle,
Sand in every pore of my body,
And surrounded by death.

Most of my letters have fallen apart,
Torn,
Dirty,
And no long smelling of,
What I used to call home.

Tired, is my new awakened state,
Rest is no longer rest,
As I'm torn from sleep,
By brutal,
Unspeakable dreams.

Maybe it was feeling nothing,
For someone who I meant everything to,
Maybe it was knowing,
I am moving backward in life,
The one I worked so hard to build.

Most of all,
It is that I now know,
Not even tears of innocence,
Can wash the blood,
From my war torn hands.

Soldier On Watch Christmas Poem


I gazed round the room and I cherished the sight.

My wife was asleep, her head on my chest,
my daughter beside me, angelic in rest.
Outside the snow fell, a blanket of white,
Transforming the yard to a winter delight.

My eyelids were heavy, my breathing was deep,
Secure and surrounded by love I would sleep
in perfect contentment, or so it would seem.
So I slumbered, perhaps I started to dream.

The sound wasn't loud, and it wasn't too near,
But I opened my eye when it tickled my ear.
Perhaps just a cough, I didn't quite know,
Then the sure sound of footsteps outside in the snow.

My soul gave a tremble, I struggled to hear,
and I crept to the door just to see who was near.
Standing out in the cold and the dark of the night,
Alone figure stood, his face weary and tight.

A soldier, I puzzled, some twenty years old
perhaps a Marine, huddled here in the cold.
Alone in the dark, he looked up and smiled,
standing watch over me, and my wife and my child.

"What are you doing?" I asked without fear
"Come in here this moment, it's freezing out there!
Put down your pack, brush the snow from your arm,
you should be at home, this cold could do harm!"

For barely a moment I saw his eyes shift,
away from the cold and the snow blown in drifts,
to the window that danced with a warm fire's light
then he sighed and he said "Its really all right,
I'm out here by choice. I'm here every night"

"Its my duty to stand at the front of the line,
that separates you from the darkest of times.
No one had to ask or beg or implore me,
I'm proud to stand here like my fathers before me.

My Gramps died at 'Pearl on a day in December,"
then he sighed, "That's a Christmas 'Gram always remembers."
My dad stood his watch in the jungles of 'Nam
and now it is my turn and so, here I am.



I 've not seen my own son in more than a while,
but my wife sends me pictures, he's sure got her smile.
Then he bent and he carefully pulled from his bag,
the red white and blue... the American flag.

"I can live through the cold and the being alone,
away from my family, my house and my home,
I can stand at my post through the rain and the sleet,
I can sleep in a foxhole with little to eat,

I can carry the weight of killing another
or lay down my life with my sisters and brothers
who stand at the front against any and all,
to insure for all time that this flag will not fall."

"So go back inside," he said, "harbor no fright
Your family is waiting and I'll be all right."

"But isn't there something I can do, at the least,
Give you money," I asked, "or prepare you a feast?
It seems all too little for all that you've done,
For being away from your wife and your son."

Then his eye welled a tear that held no regret,
"Just tell us you love us, and never forget
to fight for our rights back at home while we're gone.
To stand your own watch, no matter how long.

For when we come home, either standing or dead,
to know you remember we fought and we bled
is payment enough, and with that we will trust.
That we mattered to you as you mattered to us.

Author unknown

I want you all to know that each and everyday I think about the military men and women still in harms way, not for one minute do I forget about you all and I hold you all in the highest esteem and in my prayers. But especially since the special day of Christmas will be upon us before we know it and some if not most of you will be away from your families again, I can't help but feel a sense of sadness and at the same time very grateful to you all. Nothing I can do or say will ever seem enough to make up for all that you do for us.
Just know that there are some old vets and civilians alike that will defend you in every way possible, you are still and will always be my brothers and sisters.

God Bless and stay safe.

TWAS THE NIGHT BEFORE CHRISTMAS,
HE LIVED ALL ALONE,
IN A ONE BEDROOM HOUSE MADE OF
PLASTER AND STONE.

I HAD COME DOWN THE CHIMNEY
WITH PRESENTS TO GIVE,
AND TO SEE JUST WHO
IN THIS HOME DID LIVE.

I LOOKED ALL ABOUT,
A STRANGE SIGHT I DID SEE,
NO TINSEL, NO PRESENTS,
NOT EVEN A TREE.

NO STOCKING BY MANTLE,
JUST BOOTS FILLED WITH SAND,
ON THE WALL HUNG PICTURES
OF FAR DISTANT LANDS.

WITH MEDALS AND BADGES,
AWARDS OF ALL KINDS,
A SOBER THOUGHT
CAME THROUGH MY MIND.

FOR THIS HOUSE WAS DIFFERENT,
IT WAS DARK AND DREARY,
I FOUND THE HOME OF A SOLDIER,
ONCE I COULD SEE CLEARLY.

THE SOLDIER LAY SLEEPING,
SILENT, ALONE,
CURLED UP ON THE FLOOR
IN THIS ONE BEDROOM HOME.

THE FACE WAS SO GENTLE,
THE ROOM IN SUCH DISORDER,
NOT HOW I PICTURED
A UNITED STATES SOLDIER.

WAS THIS THE HERO
OF WHOM I'D JUST READ?
CURLED UP ON A PONCHO,
THE FLOOR FOR A BED?

I REALIZED THE FAMILIES
THAT I SAW THIS NIGHT,
OWED THEIR LIVES TO THESE SOLDIERS
WHO WERE WILLING TO FIGHT.

SOON ROUND THE WORLD,
THE CHILDREN WOULD PLAY,
AND GROWNUPS WOULD CELEBRATE
A BRIGHT CHRISTMAS DAY.

THEY ALL ENJOYED FREEDOM
EACH MONTH OF THE YEAR,
BECAUSE OF THE SOLDIERS,
LIKE THE ONE LYING HERE.

I COULDN'T HELP WONDER
HOW MANY LAY ALONE,
ON A COLD CHRISTMAS EVE
IN A LAND FAR FROM HOME.

THE VERY THOUGHT
BROUGHT A TEAR TO MY EYE,
I DROPPED TO MY KNEES
AND STARTED TO CRY.

THE SOLDIER AWAKENED
AND I HEARD A ROUGH VOICE,
"SANTA DON'T CRY,
THIS LIFE IS MY CHOICE;

I FIGHT FOR FREEDOM,
I DON'T ASK FOR MORE,
MY LIFE IS MY GOD,
MY COUNTRY, MY CORPS."

THE SOLDIER ROLLED OVER
AND DRIFTED TO SLEEP,
I COULDN'T CONTROL IT,
I CONTINUED TO WEEP.

I KEPT WATCH FOR HOURS,
SO SILENT AND STILL
AND WE BOTH SHIVERED
FROM THE COLD NIGHT'S CHILL.

I DIDN'T WANT TO LEAVE
ON THAT COLD, DARK, NIGHT,
THIS GUARDIAN OF HONOR
SO WILLING TO FIGHT.

THEN THE SOLDIER ROLLED OVER,
WITH A VOICE SOFT AND PURE,
WHISPERED, "CARRY ON SANTA,
IT'S CHRISTMAS DAY, ALL IS SECURE."

ONE LOOK AT MY WATCH,
AND I KNEW HE WAS RIGHT.
"MERRY CHRISTMAS MY FRIEND,
AND TO ALL A GOOD NIGHT."

This poem was written by a Marine stationed in Okinawa Japan. The
following is his request. I think it is reasonable.....

PLEASE. Would you do me the kind favor of sending this to as many people as you can? Christmas will be coming soon and some credit is due to our U.S. service men and women for our being able to celebrate these festivities.

Let's try in this small way to pay a tiny bit of what we owe. Make people stop and think of our heroes, living and dead, who sacrificed themselves for us. Please, do your small part to plant this small seed.

"MY TRIP TO ISRAEL"
(Written in 1971 at Camp Eagle, Republic of Viet Nam)
BY: John Robert Mallernee

Gather 'round, my comrades
And I'll tell of the day
I boarded a plane
And flew far away.

In Viet Nam, I'd spent
Six months and a year
Living like a dog
And surrounded by fear.

So, I bid "Farewell!",
With leave orders in my hand,
As Trans World Airlines
Flew me to the Promised Land.

The Land of Israel,
The Land of the Book!
I could hardly wait
To have my first look!

After many long hours
Above the clouds we'd trod,
Trans World Airlines
Finally landed at Lod.

In Tel Aviv,
I roomed at the "Park"
And ventured forth,
Happy as a lark.

Bethlehem, Masada,
Jerusalem of Gold;
I visted them each,
And other places of old.

I met a young lady
On my guided bus tour.
Entranced by her femineness,
I thought, "Vive L' Amour!"

From Montreal, Canada,
Is where she came.
But, I was too shy
To ask her name.

All through the trip,
I watched her and stared.
She would never know
How much for her I cared.

We would never meet,
As decreed by the Fates,
For the girl went to Greece,
As I flew to the States.

I bought Yemenite jewelry for Mom,
An antique sword for myself.
Pictures of Israel
Are in albums on the shelf.

Though I'm back in Viet Nam
With my head in a whirl,
I remember Israel,
And I remember that girl.