Writings Of Boondockers Poetic Justice Members
PAGE 8
Home
page 2
Page 3
page 4
Page 5
page 6
PAGE 7
PAGE 8
PAGE 9
PAGE 10
PAGE 11
PAGE 12
PAGE 13
Page 14
PAGE 15
PAGE 16
PAGE17
PAGE18
PAGE 19
PAGE 20
PAGE 21
PAGE 22
Page 23
Page 24
PAGE 25
PAGE 26
PAGE 27
Page 28
PAGE 29
PAGE 30
PAGE 31
PAGE 32
PAGE 33
Page34
PAGE 35
PAGE 36
PAGE 37
PAGE 38
PAGE 39
Page 40
PAGE 41
PAGE 42
PAGE43
Page44
PAGE 45
PAGE 46
PAGE47
PAGE 48
Page49
PAGE 50
PAGE 51
PAGE 52
PAGE 53
PAGE 54
PAGE 55
PAGE 56
PAGE 58
PAGE 58
PAGE 57
Site Awards
Lighter Side Of BPJ
Lighter Side #2
Lighter Side #3
LIGHTER SIDE#4
4TH OF JULY 2003
THE KOREAN WAR REMEMBERED /July 27,1953-July27,2003 50 years

This is a place of rememberance

blackvirgin.jpg
CopyrightThurmanPWoodfork

double-tap-2004.jpg
Congratulations,Poppa and Cal

VIETNAM!
 
Why? 
  after all these years 
 
am I so addicted to you? 
 
Why do I love your memory mountains and ridges, and robed monks bowing to the Buddha morning? 
 
Buses loaded with morning people and market wares! 
 
The sky that smiled upon all the deception and lost dreams. 
 
The days of AK's and M-16's! 
 
Why do I love the mighty Mekong; 
 
...........the Black Virgin rising above the floor of you! 
 
The smell of lost dreams and incense at midnight.? 
 
Why do I love the memory of my brothers faces..sleeping. 
 
Why did you seduce me with your curved body lying beside the South China Sea? 
 
Why? Oh Vietnam, 
 
can I not stop ........loving you?
 
The seed of the Lotus burns within. 
 
Caliber/RC
 
©Lou J. Klaiber 
February 18, 2003
 All Rights Reserved

 
____________________________________________The Answer!
 
OH Soldier of Vietnam
 
It is not I to whom you are addicted
 
To love the beauty of my land and mountains and my people,
 
The markets the ancient transportation.
 
Once my sun smiled upon you while you were young and impressionable,
 
.. While at night your dreams were of home.
 
Your days of weapons and fighting are done
You must continue to live the life you have begun.
 
The incense of night are replaced now by a loved ones perfume.
 
. Oh if I could seduce you back to those days of yesteryear
 
The love you perceive of me is but a farce, 
 
. You must now remember fond things of your lost friends
 
And yes the seeds of the Lotus does still burn, 
 
..But not for you. Sleep well my friend.
 
© David R. Alexander 
February 18, 2003 
All Rights Reserved

                       To The Ones Left Behind
 
                  To all of you that we left behind
                   Maybe this will ease your mind.
                              All of us to a man
    Know that you feel sad, just coming home from that land.
 
                   But dont dwell on us for you see
                  We all are here just across the sea.
       We look down on you and sometimes shed a tear,
           Because you live in a fantasy of yesteryear.
 
    Sure we all know that you miss the friendship we had
    Fear not my brother, your name soon here we will add.
              Look not at what might have been
      Lift up your eyes and live fondly remembering when.
 
           Your brothers await your journeys end
      When that day comes we will be here to greet a friend.
         There is a place already made for you to rest
       Because you our faithful friend have been the best.
 
                              ©David R. Alexander
                                  February 20, 2003
                                All Rights Reserved

tony_verson_of_poetry_award.jpg

                                  In The Shade Of Orange
 
           In the Sixties,our troops were sent to a foreign land.
           My brothers and I went off with a wave of our hand.
                We were all vowing to be the defending band,
                the protectors making a great freedom stand.
 
                 It became a long ,drawn hideous  war game,
                 the one needing defending having my name.
                     Thinking the cards had been stacked,
                       for vigilence, not one of us lacked.
 
                   What we were fighting for, you must see,
                  were the very lives of my brothers and me.
               Yes,we went to Nam, and took a mighty stand,
                poured our brothers blood into a foreign land.
 
                        Searching through leafless jungles,
                       hearing  in the distance the rumbles
                         Of those unseen overhead planes
                           that sprayed the chemical rains.
 
                         Through the hills and rice paddies
                            and the blazing napalmed trees
                           ah,interesting what hindsight sees,
                             and it sure does not please me!
 
                     Home ,decades later, that`s where we be,
                    still watching out for my brothers ,plus me,
                   just fighting to survive in this land of the free.
                   gonna live forever... if Agent Orange lets me.

                                    ©Faye Sizemore 2/19/03


State of Mind

 

What is the proper state of mind?

What is it we hope to find?

Where do we go for relief?

Who stole our youth like a thief?

 

Does anyone know the answers so dear?

Does anyone else really care?

Did our youth just pass us by?

Doomed to think and sometimes cry?

 

Why is the sky painted blue?

Who brought us together me and you?

What happened to all the days and nights?

Were we destined to lose them without a fight?

 

Did you really think there was an answer?

Do you expect to go through life with the grace of a dancer?

Does your life require a soft sweet rose to smell?

Did you wake to a dream that made you yell?

 

Now I repeat the questions of wonder

Or will these questions tear us asunder?

Im waiting for a wise person to step to the plate

Fill us with the wisdom as to our fate.

 

I didnt expect to hear a word

For I fear no one knows the answers preferred.

I hear a lot of I know the way

But alas they are just as confused at the end of the day.

 

This rhyme may not make a lot of sense

Maybe I am just too dense.

If you have the understanding and time

Wont you answer and ease our mind.

 

©David Alexander

February 20, 2003

                                                                        All Rights Reserved

woodforktpa.jpg
CONGRATULATIONS,WOODY

double-tap-2004.jpg

That Other Place
 
Down through all the mourning years
Fortunately, I have come to find,
Untouched by echoes of recurring fears
This special corner in my mind
 
Where demons do not come to play
And plague my nights or fret my days
With memories of that bygone fray.
One day, I heard a quiet voice say:
 
In this place gloom may not exist;
This is for those who did not die.
Theres no need to sit and list
Comrades for whom we have to cry.
 
Savor the guitar lightly strummed,
Join in the games of pickup ball,
Or snatches of song softly hummed
While we laze on a sandbagged wall.
 
Glittering stars in a black velvet sky,
Blaze like gems in the tranquil night,
And breezes soft as a babys sigh
Bring no danger with the fading light.
 
Brief those moments may have been
But they did indeed exist.
There was time to spend with friends,
Untouched by wars inhuman fist.
 
So, take the time to search them out
From where you have them hidden away;
Theyre still there, without a doubt
Ready to bring some joy to your day.
 
Look deep within, Im sure youll find,
Green and bright and dappled with sun,
That peaceful corner in your mind
I know that God made more than one.
 

© 2/23/2002 Thurman P. Woodfork

 

anthonypahl.jpg

Sentry
 
What is that young bloke thinking, sitting over there and all alone?
With his finger on the trigger and ten thousand miles from home,
Is his mind refining messages that his eyes and ears perceive?
Or is it back in the real world with loved ones he had to leave?
 
Is the full moon that's forming shadows on the killing fields of war,
The same one that shone so brightly when, undying love, he swore?
Are the fireflies that flicker like torches in the shadowed jungle night
The same as those he sees back home, which engenders such delight?
 
When he hears the chirping of the crickets and the croaking of the frogs
Does he associate them with the rice paddies and the fetid jungle bogs?
Or do they return him, for a moment, to the bubbling brook back home?
What is that young bloke thinking sitting over there, and all alone?
 
©Anthony W. Pahl
24 February 2003
 

international_flags_australia_2_prv.gif

Responsibility!
 
He wallows, as a wild beast, in the living room of civilization!
And with rhetoric worthy of Hitler and Stalin,
calls out and faces down the world - they who refuse to understand.
A glint of evil in the eye of the demigod who holds the rifle;
A rifle with a muzzle that, at the same time, he aims at the naÔve world,
and at the people imprisoned in his personal dominion.
 
Which nations are fearful of him? All are!
But sighted nations see that he demands a ransom be paid in moral blindness.
Blackness oozes from his heart and from the lands of these ancient people
whom he holds hostage against the golden contracts of the morally bankrupt.
 
An Eagle and a Lion shall direct sanity in this insane world.
Peace and Freedom will reign again in this ancient land,
And Babylon shall once more arise in this cradle of civilization.
 
But those not willing to pay the cost for freedom and righteousness,
shall accrue the cost of destruction
and that destruction shall be theirs and their childrens.
 
©Anthony W. Pahl
01 March, 2003

bronzehelmetnov02.jpg

richmondrea.jpg

THE SPIRIT SENTINEl
 
I slept with those at Shiloh
I listened to them pray
I walked on both sides of the line
Dividing blue and gray
 
I touched them in the trenches
Amidst the cannon roars
Would that it just could have been
The war to end all wars
 
I was there at Normandy
At every row of hedge
I had my arms around them there
At the oceans edge
 
On the reservoir of Chosin
I sought to soothe their souls
I wept for them as they withdrew
Their bodies claimed by cold
 
I gave comfort there at Khe Sanh
And at Hamburger Hill
And I freely give it yet today
To those who need it still
 
In the darkness of the desert
When they were put to test
If someone only called to me
I held them to my breast
 
Then or now war or peace
He sent me to this task
Out of sight but easy reach
To any who would ask
 
Just know that I am always there
Beyond the ring of light
A never-sleeping, silent sentry
To still the raging night
 
©Randy E. Richmond
June 4, 2001
 

sentinel.jpg

    Empty Echoes
 
There are many echoes
winding down through time,
sounding in the wind,
metered in their rhyme
 
Warnings on the wind
that have been cast forth,
time and time again,
never taken for their worth
 
Sounds of death and dying
mingled with voices crying,
praying to fall upon an ear,
hoping someone may hear
 
History is so misunderstood.
War has never been glorious.
Repeat it again, you could,
heeding, if you only would.
 
Heard on the battlefield,
it will be too late to yeild,
for those who won or lost,
too late to count the cost

Becoming ourselves an echo
warning of old battles` woe.
Crying because no one hears
just an echo upon deaf ears

©Faye Sizemore 3/3/03

darkened_nights2.jpg

 

How Loud Is The Silence

The fear of the unknown

The heights to which one has flown

Or the depths to which one may have sunk

Even when one is sober or if one maybe drunk.

 

Lying in the shadows on the ground

Knowing not to make a sound

Fear grips you as the sunsets

You are only aware of the fear and the sweats.

 

Of all the things that happen

Of all the sounds that make ones hearing sharpen

The thing that one can not overcome

Silence screaming until one is numb.

 

Silence is not a friend

Nor can one believe nor even pretend.

Silence is the loudest sound

A scream that will abound.

 

Silence, death, and cold

Three thing soldiers have feared for time untold.

Silence stays with you like the grim reapers breath

Knowing silence will stay with you even after death.

©David R. Alexander

March 3, 2003

All Rights Reserved

 

1_remember_us_copy.jpg

shuttlecolumbia.jpg

 

Which is Worse?

On Saturday February 1, 2003

Two things happened that should mean something to you and me.

The Space Ship Columbia was lost with seven brave souls aboard

Seven souls called home by the Lord.

 

On Saturday February, 1 2003

The second thing happened that should mean just as much to you and me.

A helicopter crashed in Afghanistan and eight brave members of our military died.

No more than a passing mention in the news while their families also cried.

 

Not to take anything away from the crew of the Columbia

But should we not pay tribute to those in the military fighting for an idea.

The news around the world was nothing but about those seven

When in reality there was fifteen on their way to heaven.

 

Forgive me the luxury of a lingering debt

But we owe them ALL something and neither should we forget.

So if you remember either as the years go by

None of them wished to die.

 

To honor one group and not the other

Is to dishonor all my sisters and brothers.

So lift up your glass in a final farewell

To the brave men and women of both whose missions was hell.

©David R. Alexander

March 3, 2003

All Rights Reserved

thecrew.jpg


 

Columbia, Final Flight

 

Returning to Earth, their mission almost done,

As the world watched in shocked disbelief,

Three contrails appeared where there had been one;

Happy celebration slowly melted into grief.

Scattered across the land on that fatal day,

The Shuttlecraft was lost, with all hands on board.

A stunned nation could only gaze upward and pray;

Columbia had established its orbit about the Lord.

3/3/2003 Thurman P. Woodfork

 Silence
 
In a skies of a Texas morning
.........A dawning of sorrows
coming without warning......
Minutes from their families arms
...........We began hearing the alarms
The shuttle is missing........
..........The world was listening
...........They were quiet........
............My God,so quiet........

Faye Sizemore March3,2003

PAGE 9

sm_godbless.gif

Enter supporting content here