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This Is A Place Of Remembrance
A Child Is A Child
Here little one let me hold you to me
I know you dont understand what war can be.
Its hard to understand your mother in a war
Especially when you are only three or four.
I know you dont understand a word I say
Ill hold you here with me and for you Ill pray.
Go ahead and cry little one its o.k.
If only I understood the words you are trying to say.
Sit here with me little one upon my knee
Let me try and comfort you, I know the one you want isnt me.
I think I have some chocolate here in my shirt
Lets you and I share it, let me wipe away the dirt.
A little girl of only three or four
Caught up in the misery of a war.
A little shirt is all she has to wear
A little dirty face and black matted hair.
Finding you here standing my your mothers side
I dont know how long you have stood there and cried.
Charlie did a job on the village where you live
To have not had this happen what I wouldnt give.
Come on little one lets you and I sit behind the tree
We can look at Gods sky and all the beauty to see.
Sure lay your little head on my shoulder and sleep
Just seeing you like this makes me weep.
RTO, call Battalion and tell them what we need
Tell them to send out someone to care for her and to do a good deed.
No, we wont be leaving until someone comes to take this little one
Tell them she is too little for any of us to shun.
Quite little one, lay your head back on my arm
As long as I can hold you, you will come to no harm.
Tell them we arent leaving until there is help is on the way
Tell them I really dont care what they have to say.
Just rest now little one, dont worry about a thing
A chopper will soon come and help for you they will bring.
This is it little one, they are here to care for you
I know this isnt much but its the best I can do.
©David R. Alexander
April 9, 2003
All Rights Reserved
POSTSCRIPT:
This is a true story, June 1967 just east of Kontum, RVN. We came upon a village, and this little girl of four was the only one left alive out of her family, we found her standing by her dead mother crying, (There was a couple of older women left and they had a couple of kids of their own). She spoke no English and I no Vietnamese however she seemed to trust me and I held her for over three hours until the Battalion sent a chopper out with a Vietnamese interpreter to take her to an orphanage just out side of An Khe City. I never saw her again. I did take a picture of her as she ran from us when we first got there (wish I had taken another) and found her name was Linh, which means gentle spirit. There is hardly a day that goes by that I dont see a little girl that reminds me of her.
I got a written reprimand for not leaving her; they said I was endangering my men. I dont know maybe I was, I was 20 years old and couldnt leave her there.
I wrote this poem after all these years in hopes some day some where a Linh will see it and maybe remember a young American soldier that held her for a while. The Young have gone
What will you be, young soldier,
when you return from war?
Will you ever be the same again;
as naïve and innocent as before?
Where will you stand, young hero,
when to your hometown you return?
Will you silently hide in shadows;
or will the candle of acceptance burn?
What will you say, young warrior,
when they ask you what youve seen?
Will you say it dont mean nuthin;
or will you let them hear you scream?
How will you sleep, young old-man,
when day loses the battle against night?
Will you dream the dreams of the innocent;
or will nightmares awaken you in fright?
What will you think, young veteran,
in eleven thousand days from now?
Will you remember that it was worth it;
or will it, by your brothers blood, be sour?
©Anthony W. Pahl
09 April 2003
 Poem ....To America
All these years
of war
and remembering.
Freedom looking for a home.
It is You America!
Home for old soldiers,
...home to all the tears!
The sorrow of memory.
Within all the stellar Universe
there is but one beacon of truth.
East Coast!
West Coast!....................................You!
Citizen soldiers
and volunteers
...and the women who love us
because they want to!
Women who are free........
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A long time ago
I held a black American soldier in my arms.
he said ...he was 'So Cold!'
I am old,
...........remembering
him.
LJKlaiber
©4/9/03
 War Photos
Among these pictures of war
that cannot leave my mind
is one of a pastor, in mourning,
standing in his church, in Cleveland,Ohio
grief-stricken with his head bowed...
He has lost his only child...a soldier,in Iraq
There is a mother bent over a coffin
...unable to stand as the tears flow...
in a state, I forget where,
but not the grief on her face
A young wife,clutching a folded flag,
at a ceremony... in a cemetary,
for a soldier who can never come home
A mother and a father,standing,lonely,
but so proud,listening as taps play,
...picture could be Anywhere,USA
Grandparents,in Barnwell,South Carolina
losing the grandchild they raised...
to a war,a soldier, in a foreign land
These are the pictures of war
that cannot leave my mind
They are ingraved there,
...to stay,for all time...
©Faye Sizemore 4/7/03
 Under The Moon...[For 31D]
I walk
late at night
walk
under the moon
armed and
dangerous...walking alone
as you dream
peaceful dreams
and all the gifts of freedom
.......dreaming.
I am always awake
alert
Defending you..........even when alone
defending.
You will never remember me
..except in the silence
when you are alone
...a lone soldier somewhere
in your hopes
your fears
your dreams
walking point
upon all the enemies of this world
.....a soldier
not afraid
......to be alone!
Remember me!
LJKLaiber
©4-11-03
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Here Is Your History...(for A. Pahl, and all my Brothers of Vietnam.) | |
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What are words
compared to the pain
and poverty
lost
within the filth of war?
What is pain that never ends?
The poem
died with them!
The future was cloudy
and filled with rain.
Love was lost...and went away
weeping.
All I have gained
is time,
Old age
and ....time.
To scratch my poems
and paint my heart.
What do you do..Brother
With all the death you carry?
Will we ever understand ourselves?
Will we ever emerge from the shadows?
Will the wind moan...our name
as it weeps?
Night falls
..a dark Wolf.............hunting.
The sky is a bird
flying away.
The Moon dies into dawn.
The Sun rises.
.and the lights of the cities
go out.......
...one by one
all 'round the world.
I paint the tears that never
dry.
Paint the history
of a war
and the voices of the dead
...laughing
beneath the earth.
I am a Warrior dreaming
..and never
alone.
Caliber....../RedCowboy........RVN Nov 65-Nov66
©4-12-03 LJKLaiber
Just Thinking
Lying here in this elephant grass under the stars
Staring at the bright twinkle of their glow
I wonder if Dad and Mom are sitting on the front porch watching the passing cars?
Mom doing what Moms do and Dad just thinking with his cigarette aglow.
Are the stars and the moon here the same as they are in the world?
Do any of my old friends ever think about me over here?
I hardly remember the home I left before here I was hurled.
No family, no boyhood friends, no one to call dear.
Does the wind blow the same for Mom and Dad at home tonight?
I wonder if Dad had these thoughts in World War II?
Did Dad have doubts, fears and questions about what is right?
Dad never talked about the war, and I always wished I knew.
Does Mom still cry at night when she thinks about me?
Does she still cook those meals that I always like so much?
Does she see these same stars that are just above the trees?
I know I long for just one of her hands upon my cheek to touch.
Another night without them, another day and then a week
Dad always the strong one carries on with his daily chores
I wonder does Mom still believe that the earth shall be inherited by the meek?
Dad has his now I have mine, as we both have had our wars.
Will the young men of the future still be wondering these same things?
Will they fight another war in a distant land while at home protesters bring shame?
Is there anything we can do to stop this thing called war and still let freedom ring?
I suppose there isnt and I cant find anyone to blame.
So we old and young, wish the same thing all over again
And I can almost attest that my Dad and his Dad before
Lord never again let this happen to our young sisters and our young men.
But knowing because I have read, that there will always be wars and rumors of war.
©David R. Alexander
April 12, 2003
All Rights Reserved
 I have written a lot of stuff, and now I am writing the very dark
side of war that I do not want to put online. I want to put the
first poem online, as it is for the gals that remain with all of
us. Brothers! We are Zip, without these Sisters of ours, so this
first poem is for them.
TY!
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For My Sisters
May I
touch your smile?..your lips?
May I thank you
for being here for me?
May I be silent
about what I have seen?
I don't want you there
with me,
Sister of mine.
I want your touch,
your smile,
....your arms around me.
..and all the love
I need.
©LJKlaiber 4/14/03
Carolina Soldiers
From out of South Carolina
where the lonely whipperwills call,
......and the giant magnolias bloom
came two brave men who gave their all...
They left this beautiful home place
and headed for Saddam`s Palace
In the armor of bravery they were clad,
went to smoke the rats from Baghdad
These rolling hills and mountains
will see them no more
These true American solders
fell in a desert war
They have left their mark in time,
fallen way before their prime,
having braved a tyrant and freed a land
Their legacy is written in brave blood,
Carolina blood, in the hot Iraqi sand...
For Sgt.George E. Buggs Barnwell,S.C. KIA
and PVT.Nolan R. HutchingsBoiling Springs S.C. KIA
© Faye Sizemore 4/14/03
Anzac Day
I hear footsteps...
from half the world away
Australia is marching for Anzac Day
There are those stepping lively
and those marching slowly
and those like me, marching only in their mind
They march in memory
to a place where for them the road does wind
and there they may be joined
by those who were left behind
There is the sound of many feet
marching in honor in the street
Listen,I can hear them come
as though marching to a single drum
The marching sound is deafing,
footsteps growing ever louder,
for in remembering their own,
their steps do become prouder..
.
©Faye Sizemore 4/15/03
For my friend Colin F.Jones
And for Australia and New Zealand
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