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THIS IS A PLACE OF REMEMBRANCE
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
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
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 clothes, and not very clean
But his spirit 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
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
 In My Memory Box
I placed a lot of things in my memory box
When I was a child things like twine and rocks.
As I grew older the things changed to my later surprise
Like new sweethearts and old goodbyes.
New friends and experiences were next on the list
Ones that still remain there today, as they are hard resist.
Joy, pain, compassion and love live there now
The box still isnt full but I dont know how.
Some say that they havent opened their box for many a year
But mine is open every day and stay crystal clear.
There are no physical things in the box you see
As they were discarded long ago for they hold reminders that still hurt me.
The pictures, the letters, the reminders of long ago
All were thrown out, all had to go.
Some may think this silly for Im a grown man
But the simple things were the ones that hurt and had the upper hand.
So as I say I visit the box most every day
But with help of good friends I can now let them lay.
Family, brothers and friends that have gone on to wait
But their memories are in the box as they wait at the gate.
Some memories are good some cause you pain
But to keep them separate is the trick of the game
To dwell on the bad as I have often done
Can lead to excessive sorrow and the hurt has begun.
My box is unvisited by friend or foe
Except for me no one will ever know.
The memories within hold a special place in my heart
To tell you of the content there is no place to start.
© David R. Alexander
January 26, 2003
All Rights Reserved
 Stored Boxes
A box of mementos stored away on a shelf;
Remnants and souvenirs of an earlier self
Conjure up memories of times gone by
Brought back into sharp focus in the minds eye
Inanimate objects, yet possessed of a power
To evoke sweet memories of a lovers flower
Still jeweled with drops from a gentle shower -
Or recall red blossoms from a deadly watchtower
In an isolated jungle camp in a long ago war
And flick the scab from an unhealed sore.
As with Pandoras chest, one might come to find
That its best not to open some boxes in the mind.
© Thurman P. Woodfork
26 January 2003
Through These Eyes
Lying here on the ground not cold any more
Eyes wide open, and the rain is beginning to pour.
I can see you kneeling there shedding tears for me?
Sure, but I can see you through these eyes.
Now Im being loaded onto a chopper
There are more like me being loaded very proper.
These brothers are all dead; off we head into deep blue skies,
What a beautiful horizon, as we bank I can see all of you through these eyes.
At home again, in a casket, I recognize many people here
Mother and Dad, first time Ive seen Dad shed a tear.
There is family and friends here all dressed in coat and ties.
They all look so sad but dignified I can see them through these eyes.
Seems Ive been gone for such a long time
I seem to be searching for something and a tall hill I must climb.
There are some of my brothers and family at the wall its great to see you guys
My hill I have climbed, I know what I was searching for, I can see you through these eyes.
Time for you to go now, I know how you have felt for all these years
One last touch of my name and wipe away the tears.
I have only feelings of gratitude, love and brotherly ties,
It was sure great to see you all through these eyes.
©David R. Alexander
January 27, 2003
All Rights Reserved
The Blue and The Gray
I watch the horizon as the Yanks ride over the hill
My thoughts are of my wife and family if me it they kill.
This war is so outrageous, what is it really all about?
To have started so sure now I have a really big doubt.
As I ride over the hill to where we know the Rebs will be
What will happen to my wife and kids if the one killed is me.
Why are we fighting this dreadful horrible war?
So far away from home maybe to see home no more.
Now they are getting close and our officers say to hold our fire,
Most of the officers are no older than me not much to admire.
We were told we were fighting to preserve our way of life,
I wonder if the Yanks are doing the same thing and I wonder if they feel the strife?
We are within a hundred yards of where they lay in wait
The longer this war goes on the less I can hate.
Can these Rebs really be so different from me?
I pray I wont bolt and run, but it would be so nice to be free.
They are so close we can hear their horses snort
Time till we fight is growing awfully short.
God be with me in this dreadful fight.
Please be with me and let me see the night.
We are so close they cant help but know we are here
There they are darn they are so very near.
God be with me in the dreadful fight.
Please be with me and let me see the night.
Reb here I come defend yourself or die
That bullet was meant for you and there you lie.
A feeling of regret and one of pity I feel
This isnt really happening, it cant be real.
Yank, Im lying here, a bullet in my chest
I still have breath and my bullet will do the rest.
Come closer Yank, so I have the strength to shoot you down
There Ive done it, I see you hit the ground.
Both stare at the other as they draw their last breath
Both were doing a job, both fighting till the death.
Found the next morning lying side by side
One Blue one Gray each filled with doubt but they died full of pride.
©David R. Alexander
January 29, 2003All Rights Reserved
Lament On the Wind
Bitter knowledge
gleaned from the wind,
blown as smoke from ancient fires,
fumes as those from a funeral pyre.
Their battle cries echoing lost on high;
Truth whispering, clinging like a sigh.
Some promises are broken again.
War and not peace, will be the gain.
As the mighty Eagle doth gear for war,
mothers hearts pray, "No more,no more!"
Heard beyond the winds wail, high and away,
is the mighty music of the mothers who pray.
©Faye Sizemore
January 30, 2003
Eternal Flight
Seven will
Continue...
ever onward,
never returning...
never ending...
forever, ever onward
We salute...
Seven
Faye Sizemore 2/1/2003
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