I've come here again
today, to say goodbye,
As unseen birds do
sing nearby.
I don't come here
too often, since its not,
my hometown.
But a more peaceful
place, I have not found.
They have tours and
buses here today,
But a walk alone,
through the hills and trees,
is really the only
true way.
I've been here on
cold Wintery days,
And in Summer, when
thankful for
the trees' shade
There's no one here
to talk to, but I still do.
Some I have only
heard of, but others
I truely knew.
I've just about been
around, this old world
of ours, and have
seen some wonderful
pleaseful places.
And my memories are
filled with great friends,
I can still hear
their voices , and
see their faces.
That's why, whenever
the chance I get,
Its to here I come,
And take my walk
through Arlington..
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
"You'll be sorrrrrry"
! "You'll be sorrrrrry " !
Were the jeers that
greeted me.
As off that Tonerville
Trolly, I raced at Yamasee.
"Keep off the grass!!"
Keep off the grass"!
Bellowed that slim
tanned man.
But for the life
of me, all I could see was sand , sand, sand.
Up until that day
of life of strife.
It was the longest
in my life.
There would be others
worse, during my years of roames,
But that I'll cover
later, in some of my other poems.
On this first day
"DI" Rosen, took us to be deloused,
Which ofcourse would
tke place in a Quonset House.
On entering, we were
told that The Legend was there, and was
temporarily in charge.
And we could look,
but not speak, as we ran pass,
The Old Sarge.
At that split second,
I knew what I would do.
I would pause and
say "adieu"
Not many know of
this great man it seems,
So what ! , we knew
him, his fellow Marines.
As I ran near him,
I stopped, I had forgot.
"Keep moving you
knucklehead", and I boomdocker,
on my rump I got.
Friends, Islands,
caves and beaches have now gone, and rest,
at long last I have
had luck to find.
But not one day do
I remember more clearly, then when
MasterGunnerySgt
Lee Diamond kicked me on my behind.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
If you ever get the
chance , and to Oahu go
Between your visits
to the sand and surf, to
The Punchbowl go.
Go down into the
base of it , among the crosses stand
And listen to their
voices , dialects of every land.
Where have they come
from, before they landed here
Your hometown and
my hometown, and others far and near.
Brave warriors lay
here, woman and man
And so I’m sort to
say are filled with bags of sand.
So mid your suntan
lotion,
And shopping for
your notions
Go out into the harbor
away abit from the land
And bow your head
in silence, as on The Old Arizona you stand
Enjoy your vacation
, whatever land you have come from,
But before you go
Please , for them,
a short visit to The Punchbowl go.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
BY:
D.H. Newton.. GySgt USMC
(Okinawa A-1-29)
Its quiet around the
wards tonight
Silently , these
old vets, put up the good fight.
If only we had more
time to spend with them
Perhaps sit a spell
and hold an old hand so thin
A hand that once
carried a rifle with bayonet attached.
Or perhaps held the
rutter, on a fast moving landing craft.
Or, standing at the
plane’s open door, guided a "fifty"
As it fired on enemy
planes flying by,
So many years ago
when B-17’s did fill the sky.
His eyes now seem
to be dull and slightly glazed,
But once were bright
blue when on Suribachi
Old Glory he helped
raise.
He doesn’t ask for
much
Just a soft kind
touch
Each of these old
vets, are like pages from an old
History book
Just laying on the
living room table, just waiting
For some one to take
a look
The sounds they make
now are different from the
Ones of their youth
When on a sandy beach,
they fought hand and tooth
Where in darkness
you hear now a moan or two
Try to listen, as
if it were a far away lost and happy tune.
That now in his lonely
dreams, he trys to remember
When once on the
cold North Atlantic he was a crew member.
On that old oil tanker
"North To Murmanks"
Sit, hold his hand,
is that so much to ask?
Those legs that no
more move, and seem so fragile and unbehaved
Once ran, and dodged
and climbed and fought
In some far away
cave.
Sit a spell, and
with a damp cloth his forehead soothe
Where now its toped
with grey, blonde curles once grew.
Don’t be afraid,
Hug ‘em, his dues
have been paid
His shoulders now
seem saged and lousely hide
On those same shoulders
a wounded comrade did ride
When in early morn,
he slips back to his roots,
Stand erect and snap
him his finial salute
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
BY:
D.H. Newton.
Its quiet around this
house tonight
And my memories are
in their usual flight.
As I relax here on
my front porch, in my favorite chair
The house lights
are out, as across the open sea I do stare.
Where will I go tonight,
and walk memories lane with whom.
Who will appear to
me in khaki or dress blues,
Out of these sand
dunes.
What sounds will
I hear, perhaps a bugle call or two,
Maybe The Charge,
Revellie or my favorite Tattoo.
When at days end,
before Taps, Tattoo is sounded.
It calls us all to
barracks, to be with friends and comrades,
And memories are
re-founded..
Some days, I sit
and visit with Lee Diamond, that gentle gaint, with
The gootee, and visit
far off places anew.
Only Marine allowed
to have a gootee, and why not !!
On his chest was
that ribbon with a white bar surrounded by blue.
Other evenings Ira
Hayes may be seen walking along my beach
This time, a quiet
one it is, no volcanic ash or Mt.Suribaci to reach.
With these comrades,
there ‘s no need for much speach,
Nearness is all it
takes.
In silence we both
hear that sound again, as a Nambo the beach does rake.
Memories lane with
them, is a pleasant path, on which to strool
Here on my moonlite
beach, we sometimes shiver with thoughts
Of Northern China’s
cold.
Perhaps in twilight
The Fullers, father and son, are seen marching,
Once again in line.
The father I knew
and saw often, the son was after my time.
"Chesty"Fuller was
a LtGen, with five Navy Crosses,
His son , a Lt. counted
missing arms and legs as his losses.
On these cool. Balmy
Florida evenings, I wait and watch
For a salute and
a hallor
And my porch becomes
The Halls of Vahalla
Once on one evening,
I visited in my dreams, under that moon
Just us two, alone
With "Manila John’
Basalone
You young folks,
who have life in front of you.
When next you see
an old vet, picture him in youth like you.
Tall, straight in
back, firm in body and mind,
And a strong gait
in walk toboot
No need to speak,
just a sharp salute !!
Towards evenings,
they’ll all stand, these my comrades, nod and march
away,
For they have heard
it too.
That sound, on those
far off breakers,
That sound of Tattoo.