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This Is A Place Of Remembrance

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Fire Dances
 
(for all my Brothers who served with honor ...in Vietnam)

Late in my life,
and so very deep
into the night,
I gather fingers of flame,
bright,
orange and white
fire, dancing
past midnight.
....and I hear muted sounds
of distant war
as time burns into old moments,
flashing
young faces....with
eyes so bright,
alive with courage,
...dying away
into grey dreams.
The silent ashes of my memory.
We light a fire
to pacify our fate.
The bony finger of death
pointing!
...beckoning us
to follow!
As the ashen faces of soldiers
return again
to the perimeter of our lives,
to defend,.....once again,
..and slowly they protect us.
.. they defend us all.
Their tomb is opened,
revealing the voices of children
and laughter,
...and such courage!
The fire dances
and I see them again,
...living,
dancing,
............so alive in the Light!

LJKlaiber 1/16/03

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War Poetry  

 The Healing

 

To read the words of reality,

To grasp the words of pain

To feel the words of futility
Is to acknowledge life again.

 

©Anthony W. Pahl
19 January 2003

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Find Yourself

While drifting along a path, with the horizon to scan

A small bird sat watching this old man.

His hat was worn as well as his cloths, and not very clean

But his sprit was new and keen.

 

The bird watches as he takes his time

Drinking in nature, all of which was sublime.

Now the bird was of course unaware

This old man meant no harm and willing nature with him to share.

 

As the old man got closer to the bird sitting on a limb

The bird became interested in this old man fit and trim.

The old man would stop and smell the wild herbs

Observe the landscape and careful not to disturb.

 

Solemnly he continued past the bird

Only pausing long enough to speak as to the beauty as if he heard.

Not once did the bird feel threatened, nor feel the need for flight

As the old man continued out of site.

 

As the old man reached his home he remembered the bird that he had met,

He didnt know why, but he had a strange feeling of regret.

Then it came to him, as he went in out of the cold, and why should he pretend,

He had just visited nature and without knowing it made a friend.

 

Somewhere in the night a little bird must have thought the same about this old man,

For if we find nature a great work in Gods plan

We find also that we are all Gods creatures something that he left.

To find beauty in nature, we must first find yourself.

©David R. Alexander
January 21, 2003

All Rights Reserved



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Dinner Meeting

For five years I saw him
Never knowing his name
Nor where he lived
How many miles a day
No matter the weather
A green wagon he always pulled
Sometimes empty...
Sometimes full...

Then by fate we met
A table for two
He sat alone
A 99 cent burger
For dinner is all he had

I stopped for a moment
Then offered my hand
"My names Ed and yours?"
For an hour about we talked
Homeless he is
In a Dome tent he lives
Off an old dirt road
Deep into the woods

Strangers we are no more
Now when I drive by
I honk and we wave
His name...
Mike E. Hottinger
The Tin Can Man

The Spirit Weaver
©Ed Tieman