Site hosted by Angelfire.com: Build your free website today!

Reflections - Poetry & Memories

"Save Him Lord Save Him"

How long can she wait alone in the night?
Will he come home in peace or will he start a fight?

It gets so hard trying to anticipate what he will do;
When will he take the blame and stop blaming you?

She tries to protect her children from the tension in the air;
When is Daddy coming home Mom? It's just not fair.

But the children are asleep now -- secure in their beds;
And she dwells on the thought of wishing she had never wed.

Her mind takes up residency in the darker side of life;
Dreaming of being single instead of being his wife.

But, then like a jolt from heaven those thoughts go away;
Save him, Lord, save him, she begins to pray.

Hour after hour she brings her request to God's throne room;
But the harder she prays the more Satan tries to seal her doom.

Every moment of the day she cries out to God to change her man;
The whole time though she's working out her own plan.

She no longer talks and prays to God about her self;
She's put her husband on the throne and put God on the shelf.

She thinks she is being the virtuous and righteous wife;
She asks people to pray for her man while she's playing Holy Spirit in his life.

She preaches at him about going to church so all this will end;
But she never just tells him that Jesus wants to be his friend.

The prayers that she prays for her children now are few;
Trying to save her husband is about all she will do.

Her life is now totally consumed with the salvation of her man;
But true to his Word God has His own plan.

One night God gets her attention and shows her her own heart;
And she sees now that she was playing God's part.

Her heart was dark and cold as a stone;
While crying for him the anger and hatred had grown.

She cries out to God again in the night;
And asks for forgiveness and help to set things right.

She still prays for her husband whenever she can;
But she knows that God's in control and it is He who will save her man.

God has taken her heart made of stone and broken it in two;
And brought her out of her prision and away she flew.

Once again to his throne room she has come today;>
Change me, Lord, change me, she beings to pray.
Linda S.




Vietnam Vet Wife

I know it wasn't easy for you,
waiting during the war.
Praying every night and day,
they won't knock at your door.

They always send a soldier,
with a chaplin at his side.
They come to say, we were missing or hurt,
or maybe that we had died.

I know how hard it's been on you,
sometimes you still do it alone.
So thank you for your patience,
and for making us a home.

We can never thank you enough,
for standing by our side.
Acting so brave for the children,
while at night alone you cried.

God bless all you ladies,
you held us while we cried,
Uou've been with us since Vietnam,
back when we all had pride.

There were quite alot of you,
when the war was at it's peak,
but like many of our country-men,
some of you grew weak.

I do not condemn then,
because they weren't strong,
but some of you stood by us,
you understood the wrong.

Being a Vietnam Vet for some,
HAS BEEN A LONELY LIFE,
except for those, lucky enough,
to have A VIETNAM VET WIFE.
ron


The Circle

I am Mary, I was just diagnose with MS
I can still function and do my daily task
But there is Susan she is worst then I
She has MS and 3 little ones. And she is always tired.

I am Susan, Mother of three
I get very tired at times
But I still can enjoy watching my little ones grow.
Tommy next door is worst then I.
He suffers of numbness in one of his legs
And has to walk with a cane

I am Tommy, at times I have difficulty in walking
My left leg goes numb on me
But I still can work and enjoy life
Sandy is worst then I
She has to walk with crutches and at times
She is wheelchair bound

I am Sandy; I can't walk without the help of my crutches
And sometimes I get so bad I have to use my wheelchair
But I still can go out and visit my friends
And use my hands to create a beautiful quilt for my grandbaby to be
Howard is worst then I
He is wheelchair bound and has trouble hearing.

I am Howard I am wheelchair Bound and cant hear.
I can't use my legs, and when I do try, it hurts
I can't hear very well either
But I am lucky I can see my wife's smile each day
And can see how much she love's and cares for me
Mike is worst then I
He is in a nursing home; He can't take care of himself

I am Mike, I need consent attention
I don't have any control of my body functions
But I been bless with a humorous attitude
I am also lucky because I have so many caring people
taking care of me
Not like Amy She is worst, she is dying.
She is so confuse that she doesn't know where she is

I am Amy, I am dying
But I can hear the Angels singing to me
There are assuring me that all is well
The Angels are telling me I am going home soon not to worry
OH! Who is that reaching out to me?
God is that you?
Yes Amy it is, Its time to go home now
I am ready, How lucky I am
To be loved by God
Mary is worst She just been diagnose with MS
By Krandia



Maybe Someday

Maybe someday I can get up in the morning and feel good about myself
Maybe someday I won't need drugs to get to sleep
Maybe someday after I get out of bed I have had a full night sleep
Maybe someday after the full night sleep I can say I did not have a bad dream.
Maybe someday I can walk down the street and say hi to my neighbors and know that they don't think I am a mad baby killer
Maybe someday I can hold my head up and look everyone in the eye and feel good about it.
Maybe someday I can have friends
Maybe someday I can trust someone again
Maybe someday I can have a normal sex life
Maybe someday I won't have a look of death on my face and in my eyes
Maybe someday I won't scare everyone I look at
Maybe someday I won't have memories and ghosts
Maybe someday there will be no pain
Maybe someday I won't need the VA.
Maybe someday I won't have to sit in the corner of the room
Maybe someday I can just sit down and talk to someone
Maybe someday I can get rid of all my guns I sleep with
Maybe someday I can have a day that I don't think about Vietnam...
Maybe someday my life will be over and none of this will have happened...
Maybe someday nobody will ever know we were........

Vietnam Class of 69' 70'
Leonard Doty
© All Rights Reserved 1998
I wrote this to day March 22, 1998. I was on a forum and was given a unwelcome sign. So I wrote this to send to them. But after wards only sent it to a few friends.



Written for my husband : From Now Until Eternity

Whoíd ever thought on that day in 1968
Youíd be flying in helicopter looking down and all around
Thinking youíd left behind all that hate
You were dreaming of home and times gone by
Trying to block that terrible pain
Telling yourself, this really is insaneÖ..
Your friends left back there in the jungle who knows where
Your comrades, your brothers shared a bond like no other
And you wondered would you ever see them again?
And when will this war ever end

You were 20 years old and on your way home
Wondering what life would be like
For your wounded soul and your broken bones
Forever a battle you would fight
You wanted a wife to share your life
Someone who might understand
Why you had those dreams about that foreign land
Someone to raise your spirit
But all she did was make fun of it
So you felt down and low
Recovery was definitely way to slow
She never really tried to find your heart
Money and status she craved from the start

So as time went by you withdrew inside
To the only place you knew you could hide

You still wished for someone to understand
All those feelings of unrest, in this now displaced young man
The memories never gave you not one single momentís rest

Another 20 more years you locked up your fears
You cried no more tears
And you tried to live like the rest
But your heart became cold, and whiskey kept you bold
Yet you kept on trying your best
But way down inside was a place you could hide
And no one could find where you were
You found yourself, your life, everything just a blur

No matter what you did
You felt you never fit in
You couldnít talk about the war
No one wanted to listen
There was way too much gore

I know it hurt the day you left
Youíre little girls behind
You had to go even though you loved them so
You had to find some peace of mind.

Over and over, you asked yourself why
Youíd come back from hell and so many had died
And how could you know when you said youíd go
That the road would lead you to me
I know it was long, but God kept you strong
Even in the darkness of your dreams
Now you know, now you can see
God saved you for me

I know we canít get all those years back
But we can share stories about memories of the times that we lacked
I hope for a better tomorrow for you and for me
Because Iím gonna love you from now until eternity
Now my love you can let your heart go free and give it to me
Yes, now you know and now you can see
That God really did save you
Just for me

Jacqueline King
May 1999



Who Am I?
To the many,
... I'm the Medicine they beg for to have relief.
... I'm the Mom they cry out for when in pain.
... I'm the Edifier of my comrades-in-arms
that cross my path each day.
... I'm the Educated to a point. I usually seek similar employment outside the walls of military service.
... I'm the Dedicated one to the tasks given me.
... I'm the Difference between the life they had & the life they might not have.
... I'm the Intercessor between the medivac & the enemy sometimes moment by moment.
... I'm Indescribable. I usually carry everything but a weapon except for my shield of faith.
... I'm the Conscientious one my faith has taught me to be.
... I'm their Confessor when no one else can be found.
... I'm their Sacrifice that allows someone else to live another day.

I've ridden the horses,
Sailed the wide seas,
Gone from nation to nation,
Even walked the 'plank', so-to-speak.
From the Revolutionary War to the present
In the sun, rain, snow or sleet
Inside a tank, a truck or a jeep
Wherever it may be...

I carry much pain, hurt, anger, guilt and frustration as much those I serviced as my own.
I heard their confessions of sins; those who died in my arms because I couldn't heal them,
make them well to walk, talk, breathe again,
or bring them back from the 'limbo' they were in.
They were my friends, my comrades, my buddies, my foes
in life and Now, they are vage memories that visit me in my dreams and nightmares.

Do you know who I am?

M
edicine Man
Expeditor
Devoted
Intercessor
Caring
Sacrificer

A Completed Soldier

The cook feeds the soldier's body so they may march another day;

The priest, rabbi or pastor feeds the soldier's soul in the face of the battlefield for peace by the bay;

The medic feeds the mind of the wounded soldier so they may survive in another way.

by Joan M Paule
daughter, sister, widow and wife of Vietnam Vets
9 September 1999



TRIPWIRE


From under the freeway bridge, he stared in the gelid, chilling night,
The relentless rain fell, sparks of yellow in the fetid roadway light,
The water washed down, wallowing in the gutter, like a wounded snake,
And pooled around the gaping drains, like a swollen, stagnant lake,
An old, lame dog hobbled by, looked up, curled his lip and sneered,
He leaned back against the abutment and picked at his oily, matted beard,
He curled up on a dirty blanket, for another night of long, restless sleep,
No one near to say goodnight; better yet, no one to watch him weep,
No soothing hand to stroke his brow, as he fell into a fitful slumber,
To dream of apparitions, fire in the sky, and ghosts without number,
To start awake, still dreaming of viscera, endless rain, mud and mire,
Visions of his dead and dying friends swallowed by all-consuming fire,
He went to a far and alien land, and had done as his leaders had bidden,
And brought back horrors to fell to bare, to be kept sheathed and hidden,
On a rainy, sodden day, his first that he was to have taken up the point,
Thrilling him, fear and courage had run through him both spine and joint,
He had turned to face distraction; his comrade covered him from behind,
The shell that burst among them, oh how he wished it would have struck him blind,
But the horrors that filled his eyes are what no man should have to see,
Death had come calling; he was here to collect his deadly, bloody fee,
He saw the gaping wounds of his buddies; their dying cries fill his ears,
Instinct drove him onward, courage in his gut, as his eyes filled with tears,
All he could do was hold their hands, as medics worked in frenzied pitches,
As the battle roared around him he cried, "Don't die you sons of bitches!",
But he knew his friends were slipping, into that last water, dark and cold,
In a span of a few minutes, he felt youth leave him; he had grown so old,
The thumping of Dusty's rotor, smote him full against his head and chest,
Sarge clapped him on the shoulder, "Don't worry son, you did your best!"
But the preying beast clutched his mind, for him there would be no rest,
It skittered on taloned toes, through halls of his memory, to its ebony nest.

He returned safe and sound, but never again would be fully whole,
And even his friends could sense the change, of the darkness in his soul,
His fiance gave the ring back, this was not the man she would have married,
With darkness on his brow, he looked forever haunted, haggard and harried,
The friends he once knew now shunned him; it was the fits of towering rage,
Drifting from job to job, his life now a prison, his own mind a pitiful cage,
He cut all the anchoring cables in his life, and how he was just a lonely drifter,
The years now come and go, to him, nowadays they seem too quick and swifter,
Grey hair now overruns his head; silver whiskers thread through his unshorn beard,
There is no more "down" upon this plain, and it is oh so lonely, as he feared,
In this sucking chest wound world, his journey is shortened; the end is not far,
He knows the wollen sun is going down, he only awaits the tepid evening star.

A car splashes by, his form in the shadows, goes unseen and most unheeded,
His visage, if it were seen by the riders, would certainly be most unneeded,
The cold and damp of the pitiless rain make him settle closer in his thin bedding,
Now an aimless drifter, no inner compass to point him to any particular heading.

As the damp cold seeps through, he mutters one last folorn, lonely litany,
"Dear God, Sweet, Loving Lord, I thank you, for making so few like me".

Charles Mitchell
August 29, 1999



OLD WARRIOR'S SONG

In this green and verdant land,
The warrior's sword lies, ere long broken,
The unfound grave remains quiet,
The wake and honors still not yet spoken,
The ghosts wander through the forest,
And roam among rocks, down shadowed rill,
Their bones line in the soil, in restless sleep,
The repose on clouded karst, 'neath rocky hill,
Old, gray, grizzled and scarred warriors,
Have a duty; form their cairns and place a stone,
As the tears of the Caonag are lost among the rain,
She comes no more to cry and weep and moan,

And with all the deliberation of smoke from burning leaves,
Near sundown, late on an almost windless autumn afternoon,
The warrior's memories drift among the hedges of his childhood,
To disperse into the coming night to fade away all too soon,

When I cross the darkening bar, give my ashes to the Mekong,
Scatter them across the muddy waters and left them drift along,
For I carry the knowledge to my final pyre, to my dreaming rest,
It was here, among the warriors
I know
I did
my best.

Charles M. Mitchell-August 3, 1999
USAF 1967-1971

"Mitch"





GLORY TO GLORY


Day turns into night and night turns into day;
Does it really matter when you're locked into your past in a land so far away?

They took you as a youth and said we'll make you a man;
We're your family now they said, so you went while others ran.

They trained you, gave you a gun and put you on a plane to Vietnam;
your thoughts wander -- will I make it back home or be a sacrificial lamb?

Living in the jungle full of hope and pride and fear;
Living with the carnage of war -- if you can just make it through the year.

Your friends are dying on your left and on your right;
You search for meaning, for some reason, in this fight.

I have to live, I have to survive -- that's the meaning -- to get back home alive.

Well, you made it through that long, long year;
You're on your way home, nothing left to fear.

Now you're back from the war and it's all left behind;
Your friends who died there and the others you promised one day you'd find.

But there aren't any yellow ribbons or "support our troops" signs in the yard;
You have a long road back home but you hope it won't be too hard.

Your family welcomes you back, but somehow they think your different;
You left as a boy and now that you're back you don't seem so innocent.

Time goes by and before you know it it's been twenty long years;
You stay awake at night, checking locks and doors and dwelling on your fears.

You've been taught to turn that fear into anger and that anger into rage;
You can't control it and start to think you should be locked up in a cage.

You live in your nightmares of buddies who died;
If only you could have saved them, if only harder you had tried.

You would have traded places with them then and you would gladly trade places with them now;
You ask how could a God who says He is love let this happen? HOW?

My friend I can tell you as one who has seen you live your life;
He loves you and wants to save you, He saved this warrior's wife.

In Vietnam you had a purpose, a mission to fulfill;
And now you search for meaning and help and the V.A. says "here, take this pill."

There is a meaning and a purpose and I'll tell you where to start;
I have a friend named Jesus and He wants to live in your heart.

He fought the greatest battle of all time and history;
And He defeated the enemy by dying while nailed to a tree.

He's the Captain of the Host and the General of God's army;
And He's looking for a few good men to celebrate His victory.

From the glory of battle in the jungles of Vietnam;
To the glory of giving your life to fulfill God's purpose and plan.

But this time the draft has ended and He won't make you report;
God's army is all volunteers but He calls and He knocks at the door of your heart.

He will take away your fears, nightmares, flashbacks and guilt;
And He won't stop calling you until His army has been built.

You don't need a recruiter or some contract to sign;
Just call out to God -- you've done it before -- lay your life on the line.

He'll take you from glory to glory and give you a new life;
He has defeated the hurt, the pain, and the strife.

So open the door of your heart as wide as you can;
I promise you he'll cleanse you of your guilt and make you a free man.

Just believe in your hear that Jesus died and rose again for you;
Take it on faith that what I say is true.

He shed his blood that you might have life and your nightmare would end;
And you know better than anyone there is no greater love than to lay your life a friend.

Linda B. Scallan
3/91



I MISS HAVING MY MAN AROUND

I miss being a woman
I miss having my mad around
The hugs, the fights, the fusses, the making-ups
The hurts, the words, the anything anymore.

I miss being a wife
I miss having my man around
The love he tried so hard to give
The touch, the tones, the kisses, the pats
The words, the likes, the dislikes, the anything anymore.

I miss being a help-mate
I miss having my man around
The eggs that arenít fried just right
The grill cheese sandwiches not to his liking
The smells, the looks, the fussing, the complaining
The caring, the sharing, the quiet time together, the anything anymore.

I miss being a companion
I miss having my man around
The scriptures we would discuss
What I thought, what he thought
Who was right, who was wrong
The talks of subjects like heaven, death, Vietnam
The way to forgiveness of the past, the anything anymore.

I miss being a friend
I miss having my man around
The laughter, the crying, the togetherness
The closeness of two people so different
yet so much alike in many ways.

My man, my husband, my help-mate, my companion
Yes, even my best friend, served his country well
He did his job, stayed alive, came home in one piece
He didnít know his rage, frustrations, hurts
and former marriage was due to PTSD Ďtil pronounced alive but dead
With renal cancer gone to the bones due to Agent Orange

With every breathe he took was a blessing from Almighty God
He made his salvation sure with Mercy and Grace from His Father above
he witnessed to every vet who would listen becoming POINT MAN
To others like himself, cut down at 44 years young.

In the hearts of hundreds, heís still here on earth
Still, I miss having my man physically around
The children are grown adults, having their own lives to live
The house is empty except for a bird named BABY
Thereís no one to yell at, complain to, make-up with
No hugs, no fuss, nobody anywhere, no anything anymore.

Mrs. Joan M Lynch
March 1995


A Motherís Memory, A Fatherís Pride


"Mommy, I fell down and hurt my knee. Make it better?"
"Can I keep him, Mom? He wonít eat much.
Aní I promise Iíll take care of him?"
"Mom, Iíd like you to meet Susan."
"Donít worry, Mom, Iíll be back before you know it."

"Watch me, Daddy, see?"
"Traininí wheels are for sissies."
"Play catch with me, Dad?"
Wildcats 28, Cowboys, 27.
"Itís a great car, Dad, thanks."
"Dad, this is Susan."
"Donít worry, Dad, Iíll do us proud."

"Missing . . . Mekong Delta . . . presumed . . ."
"On behalf of the President and a grateful nation . . ."
Twenty-one reverberating explosions.
A lonely bugle in the distance.
A soft, blue triangle with large white stars.
"For actions above and beyond the cal . . . "
"Without regard for his own safety . . ."
A pale blue ribbon with small white stars.
A golden disk,
"Valor."

By Dan Decker



The Memories of War


He was just eighteen when they sent him over there and that was one hell of a load for a kid to bare. He looks back on it now even though it's been so very long and he still carries those memories that he hoped one day would be gone. They make him very sad and he feels so much alone, sometimes he's even wondered why he had to make it back home.

People just don't seem to understand what it was really like over there, or could it be, its just because they simply do not care.

I guess I would be the same way if I had stayed home too, but with me the war still goes on and I'm still carrying the same load that kid had to bare.

Gerald Gaines
July, 1998


STANDING PROUD

I'M PROUD TO BE AN AMERICAN
AND I'M PROUD TO BE A VIETNAM VET
I WENT TO WAR WHEN MY COUNTRY CALLED
AND FOR THAT I HAVE NO REGRETS
GOING TO WAR IS A VERY BAD THING
BUT SOMETIMES IT HAS TO BE DONE
WE FIGHT TO SAVE LIVES AND LIVE IN PEACE
WE DON'T DO IT JUST FOR FUN
THE VETERANS HAVE BEEN CONDEMED LONG ENOUGH
FOR DOING WHAT THEY WERE ASK TO DO
THEY WENT TO WAR WHEN THEIR COUNTRY CALLED, THEY
DIDN'T RUN LIKE SOME OF YOU, I'VE OFTEN WONDERED
WHAT THIS COUNTRY WOULD BE LIKE IF WE HAD BURNED
OUR DRAFTCARDS TOO, BUT THANKS TO THE VETS
AMERICA STILL STANDS, BECAUSE WE DID WHAT WE
WERE ASK TO DO
GERALD GAINES
1996



REMEMBRANCE


Guns thunder, shrapnel shards pierce the air,
Lives are shattered, filled beyond imaginable despair,
Men scramble for cover any and everywhere,
Glazed eyes scan outward the "thousand yard stare",

Fear creeps inward, longing for the "World",
Where hippies cries of "End the War" are hurled,
"Incoming" shatters quiet, where the brave are curled,
In this distant place where "Old Glory" is unfurled,

Souls are searched looking for mortal relief,
Telling God, "Please spare me", I'll enrich my belief,
If we must die for country and placed somewhere beneath,
Send our souls to heaven and the rest to the bequeathed,

The sounds of war are lifted, the years now come to past,
Soldiers still train to fight if peace is not to last,
Pray the die for war is not forever cast,
That our children shall not know the sounds of bullets, bombs, and blasts,

I found a wall with lists of friends who by fate did die,
It brings back memories, sad and happy that make men want to cry,
The sky is now blue and safe as I breathe a heartfelt sigh,
Knowing my fellow comrades are seated next to Jesus, perched on high,

Written by:
Patrick Cosper HM3 (Hospital Corpsman Third Class)
Doc "Flipper" C Co. 1st MarDiv. 1st Btn. 5th Marine Regiment
1969
lsers4@ix.netcom.com


THE LORD WAS ANYTHING BUT MY SHEPHERD
BY Joan M. Lynch
Vietnam Vetís Widow
Easter 1994

Ignorance of my enemy was my Shepherd.
The Military Brass was my Lord.
Rest, peace and food was all I ever wanted but did not get.
I was led to green jungles, rice paddies, booby traps, land mines and grenades.
I was led beside the still waters of doom and death,
All in the name of the good OlíU S of A.
Yes, though I and my buddies walked through the sprayingsof the valleys and rivers
with the Shadow of Agent Orange all around us,
Nine out of ten came home physically alive.
For my issued rifle and ammo were there to comfort me.
The Military Brass gave us a police action to oversee
that ended in a war in the presence of our enemy, the North Vietnamese;
They anointed my head with blood from all of my fallen comrades
filling our cup of guilt of survival up and over flowing.
Surely, the ignorance of not knowing my enemy shall haunt me
all the days of my life and those of us who survived
Will dwell in the land of horrors and memories of unforgiveness forever.


Reflections Page Two

Mom's Safe Haven & Poetry
Just a Simple Soldier
Vietnam Memoirs