Page Seven


Request To The Author For A Rewrite

History,History... I thought I loved you...
.................until you proved too true
You turned on me, and at me, did hurl
.............horrible atrocities.........
............not belonging in my world
Your horror overpowers your good....
...and if I could change you I would
The Crusaders raped and pillaged ...
...countless countries and villages...
In the name of God...My God! the name of God...
In the new world, many so called witches were burned
for it was thought from Satan their power was earned
They were killed and turned beneath the sod...
...................and it was in the name of God...
The Red man was then cheated.........
............Their laments went unheeded
The solders, who froze their feet
at Valley Forge, shiver still.....
.........Could not God have changed it
had it been his will?..
...Slavery`s cries through the years can still be heard
..................the cries silenced not by chains undone
.................or heroes felled on a battlefield, unsung
Brother against brother in Civil War,.........
....................many never seen anymore....
And then while the country was on the mend
...................the Red man was cheated again
.......Sent out man,woman,and child on a Trail Of Tears
.................The tales still come down through the years
All mother`s sons had to to go fight World War One...
They thought at last peace had come, with victory won
The economy just couldn't take it no more.......
Banks failed and stocks went through the floor
Someone in their wisdom started another war
Crazy man gassing some Jews at a furious pace
......................all in the name of his Master Race
Dear God,I know ...they cried to you...........
......... World War Two........
It filled pages,more than a few
Not many more years down the road
.... there come another load............
Korea was it`s name..........
shiver,............freezing cold,
.. and soldiers dying was it`s game
...............a few years of happy days
... and more horror came....... Asian jungle war
..... and Vietnam was it`s Name
..........God, did you see........
what happened................
... to my brothers and me
It was a bloody war... that for some
........... still....... is not done...........
Just a little peace and than a trek
... of soldiers in the sand..... free a small country
........ from a neighboring dictator`s hand
Peace came again with a job left undone
.....................Victory was still not won.....
......Quiet times and empty rhymes
and back again to Iraq......
..........This time we will not lack.....
God,can I ask you to watch their back...
I do not love you,History, anymore
......unless you will take this chore
........Change yourself, History.....
You are too open,....... too in sight
There will be left no mystery
All has.................... and will come to light
..........Cleanse yourself,History!..............
Change! I beg of you,turn back your pages
...................Take the hate out of the ages
And begin, if you may, and if you are able....... the spot where Cain slew Abel......

(c)Faye Sizemore 4/29/03


Grave Visit

Sitting there with flowers in hand,

Sitting alone with no one else there,

Sitting quietly as the world passes by,

Sitting, sitting, no one at his side.

Staring at the headstone there,

Staring at the name it bears,

Staring at the wilted roses,

Staring at the name of someone he knows.

Placing the fresh roses on the mound,

Placing a hand on the stone without a sound,

Placing a kiss on the stone with the name.

Teardrops fall like trickles in the wind,

Teardrops fall like a stream in a river,

Teardrops fall like drips from a faucet,

Teardrops fall but no one can see them.

Standing up and saluting the stone,

Standing up and walking alone,

Standing up and getting in the car.

Driving away from the stone with the name,

Driving away, soon to come back again.

Danielle N Calhoun

© April 30, 2003


Dark Rider

Memory rides a thundering steed
whose hooves strike lightening flashes
coming with strong gusts of wind
Rain streams down
bathing all with a wet red glow

Vietnam comes again to light
Artillery is in the thunder`s boom
The lightening flash holds enemy fire,
in the rain, the smell of jungle stench
and in the wind, cries of battle again

What makes a man brave
A soldier stands because...he is a soldier
My heart is pounding in my chest
My ears are filled with the sounds of fear...
......and in my mind are the sound of feet running...

©Faye Sizemore 5/07/03


Thank you to IWVPA

The Higher Trail

Burdened soldiers,

When you are feeling down,

lift your head and look around

There is a way to higher ground

There is a trail forever leading home,

paved with love, in each and every stone

The ones who travel it, do not trek alone

It is brightly lighted end to end, by caring

and there are friends, for burden sharing

It is maintained with honor and pride,

made wide enough for side by side

Gallant soldiers, journey on

Leave the past, it is gone

Soldiers,heed the words I say...

Walk proudly as you go on your way

Know that we are so proud of you

for always,yesterday and today,

and when your course of time has run

History will record your rewards in stone

and it will read.......

'Well done... Welcome home'

©Faye Sizemore 6/3/03


How about a little story

My Hat

I wear My Hat with pride. It is MY HAT, and yet,
I feel it belongs to all.

You can't miss My Hat, it's rather bright.
Upon the front are my pins. Not to many, just a few. I
search still for more.

The Pins. The pins are only a part of the story of my

At the top is the Flag of the United states of
it represents not just the Greatest country in the
World, but my God and my Family. These three things
are above all else.

To the right as you look at My Hat, you see a pin with
Eagle spread wide across the Red, White and Blue

To the left, the POW MIA. I will not forget those that
have not returned. As I live and breathe, I will pray
for their return. To a proper place of rest with those
they served, and to those who mourn their presence.

To the right again, the USN Eagle. I honor Those in my
family who served in the U.S. NAVY. My Father in World
War 2, and myself, with 15 years. I will remember
those who served before me, and pray for those who now

To the left, the Crest of the United States MARINE
CORPS. As with the Navy, I honor and pray for those
who serve, my Nephew, and those he calls his Fellow

The two pins at either side at the bottom are to
remind me NEVER to forget what happened to MY Country
on Sept. 11, 2001.

Upon the back of My Hat, where you cannot see, are to
little poppies, one Red, one Blue.One from the
Disabled American Vets, and the other from the
American Legion. I will always support my fellow VETS.
In War or Peace, they are my Brothers and Sisters.

You may ask, "Why did he use his hunting hat?".
I will always keep close to me those who have died and
those who suffer from the devastating effects of Agent
Orange. I hope and pray, that somehow, someway, the
government that has hurt these brave people, will
someday finally admit to it, and take care of them and
their children.

That is My Hat. It is not much. It is not finished. I
still search for more pins to add.

Some may laugh at the sight of My Hat, until I tell
them story of My Hat, and then they laugh no more.
Some may not completely understand, but they allow me
to go honoring those Who served before, tose who
served with me, and those who continue what you and I
started before.

May God Bless Us All.

©Tracy B. Bartlett
OS1/USN Ret.



~ 1 ~

Tis so like a small volcano with lava rising up,
you cannot stop depression by emptying the cup.
It rises to the surface like a buoy you cannot sink,
that submerges just a little when it rises to the brink.
Tis like the pain of arthritis which comes and goes at will;
an invader nesting in your mind that is impossible to kill.
It is always there in residence and never knows defeat,
highly tuned to certain words which trigger it from sleep,
then suddenly it surges throughout the body to the brain,
overwhelming, overwhelming, in its urgency to claim,
every feeling, every vision every thought of tranquil peace,
with its constant irritations which never seem to cease.
Til finally subsiding leaving horror in our veins,
leaving slowly fading memories until emptiness remains.

~ 2 ~

In the silence where Hells breathing is the only sound you here,
which isnt really something which vibrates in your ear,
there is a darkness which is darkness without it being dark,
that is dank and coldly clammy yet humidified and stark,
like a spiders web thats draping and wrapping one inside.
Each sticky strand a burning wire which struggles to divide,
each nervous thought and pattern from its junction link,
causing funny kinds of shivers and blotches where you think.
Theres a vacuum thats imploding causing outer pressure sweat,
to burst upon the forehead where throe is growing yet.
From your skin the blood retreats and floods the screaming brain,
and the sickness in your belly that your body cant contain,
brings bitter tears and anguish with cries of ill despair,
that suddenly you awaken finding none of them are there.

~ 3 ~

Well there were oranges and lemons with the juices bursting out,
and running down the atap roofs and through the barrel spouts,
that shot out red tomatoes like hurtling lumps of steel,
that splattered on the footpath beneath a steel tracked wheel
where bodies all lay bloated in pools of crimson blood;
where a grinning little hostile in the middle of it stood.
Then suddenly I am floating across the battle field,
with a little wooden spear and a bible for a shield.
My legs are running backwards but the carrot on a string,
keeps me moving forward where the bullets wine and sing
and I see the worlds great leaders lined up in a row,
each with a thousand arrows but not a single bow,
and from each mouth runs orange juice contained in lemon skins,
as they sit around a pool of blood betting on who wins.

~ 4 ~

And the creeks are running crimson and the rivers running red,
and all around the white house there are bodies lying dead.
Tomatoes pop from fountains and splatter in the streets,
where the soldiers come home marching with slippers on their feet/
No one seems to hear them as they slip and slide along,
as the great men in their towers still plan battles with the tongue.
The parliamentarians are sitting on an island in a mist,
all rolled up together like a white knuckled little fist.
The cotton wool in their ears keeps out all the sound,
while in the crimson rivers all the veteran soldiers drown.
There is Hitler there with Clinton, Stalin and the rest,
Rows of little ass-holes all like aliens in a nest;
they are all there past and present writing books about their fame,
as the nations of their glory go gurgling down the drain.

~ 5 ~

There is Castro they all envy in the Cuba they all love,
whose portrait of a crow looks more like a pure white Dove.
There are nations all over Earthland that have seen their peoples slain
yet still they plot and scheme to repeat it all again.
Sometimes its floating bubbles with faces in each one,
I can see their eyes all gleaming though the light in them gone,
and then they burst into confetti which quickly turns to tears.
And the monsoon rain is falling and a truck is grinding gears,
the mud is thick and rising above giant rubber wheels,
that are turning like a mixer which suddenly reveals,
legs and arms just dangling from a blown out tank,
that is covered with the horrid mud smelling foul and rank.
Im running, oh, Im running chased by a giant moth,
but my speed is less quicker than the slowest sloth

~ 6 ~

I fall into my sleeping pit among the worms and seep,
where my buddy comes and wakes me from a restless sleep.
And Im munching on some biscuits and everything is green,
until the flares light the wire and I hear somebody scream.
Then silence, then just blackness, Hell I must be dead,
and who is that shaking me, come on get out of bed.
Again Im munching biscuits and the rain is pouring down,
and I see my buddies face marked in a furrowed frown.
Theres flame that is blinding, worms all fried and black,
and I wake up for a moment thinking my buddy had come back.
But hes dead, yes hes dead he died in Vietnam,
Hey, Johnny grab your rifle weve gotta catch the tram,
cause your missus mate, she waiting with your little son
and ha, wont she be happy to know that we have won.

~ 7 ~

Drifting ever drifting, through spaces filled with smoke,
watching eggs from out of space hit the ground and spill their yoke.
And therere dark spots of destruction from another war
that my father and his father on this barren landscape saw.
Still drifting, ever drifting over landscapes brown and dead,
where from butchered bodies of brave soldiers souls have quietly fled.
There is the playing of the bagpipes and the raising of the flags,
and screaming wingless Eagles clinging vainly to the crags.
There are lots of wailing children, whose parents are all dead,
and dirty lifeless little babies whose blood has soldiers fed,
that they can keep on killing, raping and much more,
for they are no longer human in the chaos of the war.
And they carry home their horrors still screaming there inside,
and try to come to terms with the lucky ones who died.


they streak across the sky like locomotives in a row,

their fiery tails like rockets on bonfire night you know,

the pretty patterns of the tracers paint pictures in the sky,

and paint horrid little portraits on the chests of those who die

and the blood that oozes from them like a tomato full of holes,

juice dripping thick and crimson from their noses and their bowel's

is the substance of their essence that dries into the ground,

that who they were just soaks away without a bloody sound.

"What are we doing here Harry!! what the Hell is this about"?

but it's a faint and far away expression a sort of feeble shout.

"Oh Hell ivé lost my hat and I'm due now on parade!"

my guts are churning over like they're full of marmalade,

I am screaming, I am screaming "oh God where is my hat! "

and my mind is filled with blinding light, and ra-ta-tat-tat!!


drifting, ever drifting to where ever I might go,

but I see the Major pointing towards a bloke I know,

and he turns into a pumpkin all flabby and obscene,

with translucent head and hollow eyes burning yellow-green,

he looks not like a soldier nor anyone I know,

but his VC eyes are glaring and I know he is my foe.

"Hey wake up! you were dreaming, seems nearly all the night"

"you are keeping me awake so I had to halt your fight",

"look at you, you're sweating must have been a wild dream"

for sometimes you seem alarmed and oft I hear you scream"!

and I answer "it's just something that disagreed with me",

"something in the vegetables i have eaten for my tea"

It's calmer now the sun is up a light through my window shines,

and I can see a little robin flitting through the jasmine vines.


i used to go to Anzac Day; I was a member of the club,

getting drunk and talking shit going from pub to pub,

i even served on boards you know with other wartime vets,

living out those past events and all those old regrets,

they say it keeps the dream alive to aggravate the pain,

by reliving all those past dismays sad thoughts to retain,

but now I know it's bullshit to wallow in such rot

for half of what we think we are, we are bloody not!

what we are , are people, with a duty to perform,

helping folk who in despair live a life forlorn,

if all I do is think of self and dwell on sadder things,

that to my kids and other folk lack of resilience brings,

then all i've done in life you know I have done in vain,

by passing on the seeds of wrath that offers them no gain.



©Colin F. Jones

11 June 200


Yesterday`s Dance
A soldier ,once so young...
    not yet having met fear
as one who did seek protect the weak
He did not tremble...
as Destiny neared
He danced with Death...
...The Reaper let him lead
 When the dance was over...
 ... and the music stopped
He stood alone......
alive and listening, thunderous applause,
of which... echoes are heard. ... still
but... with the echoes
comes the knowledge
          that their dance
 had never... really ended...
©Faye Sizemore 6/27/03

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