A Poem Worth Reading


RALPHIE

GT Owner
Mar 1, 2007
7,278
A Poem Worth Reading -

He was getting old and paunchy
And his hair was falling fast,
And he sat around the Legion,
Telling stories of the past.

Of a war that he once fought in
And the deeds that he had done,
In his exploits with his buddies;
They were heroes, every one.

And 'tho sometimes to his neighbors
His tales became a joke,
All his buddies listened quietly
For they knew where of he spoke.

But we'll hear his tales no longer,
For ol' Bob has passed away,
And the world's a little poorer
For a Soldier died today.

He won't be mourned by many,
Just his children and his wife.
For he lived an ordinary,
Very quiet sort of life.

He held a job and raised a family,
Going quietly on his way;
And the world won't note his passing,
'Tho a Soldier died today.

When politicians leave this earth,
Their bodies lie in state,
While thousands note their passing,
And proclaim that they were great.

Papers tell of their life stories
From the time that they were young
But the passing of a Soldier
Goes unnoticed, and unsung.

Is the greatest contribution
To the welfare of our land,
Some jerk who breaks his promise
And cons his fellow man?

Or the ordinary fellow
Who in times of war and strife,
Goes off to serve his country
And offers up his life?

The politician's stipend
And the style in which he lives,
Are often disproportionate,
To the service that he gives.

While the ordinary Soldier,
Who offered up his all,
Is paid off with a medal
And perhaps a pension, small.

It is not the politicians
With their compromise and ploys,
Who won for us the freedom
That our country now enjoys.

Should you find yourself in danger,
With your enemies at hand,
Would you really want some cop-out,
With his ever waffling stand?

Or would you want a Soldier--
His home, his country, his kin,
Just a common Soldier,
Who would fight until the end.

He was just a common Soldier,
And his ranks are growing thin,
But his presence should remind us
We may need his like again.

For when countries are in conflict,
We find the Soldier's part
Is to clean up all the troubles
That the politicians start.

If we cannot do him honor
While he's here to hear the praise,
Then at least let's give him homage
At the ending of his days.

Perhaps just a simply headline
In the paper that might say:
"OUR COUNTRY IS IN MOURNING,
A SOLDIER DIED TODAY."​
 
OUTSTANDING post, Ralphie. :thumbsup:thumbsup :cheers

"B.Z.'s" to it's author...
 
January 31, 2009, 10 p.m.

Ralphie,

That poem struck a chord with me. 10 days from today, January 31, 2009, at 10 p.m., a World War II Army veteran died, my father. He had suffered for years with heart problems, diabetes, and dementia. He was severely injured twice, losing the site in his left eye and severely injuring his back. His injuries came in training accidents so he was never awarded a Purple Heart. Both times he was offered a discharge which he refused. He served in the Philippines and was aboard a troop ship off the coast of Japan when the atomic bombs were dropped on Hiroshima and Nagasaki. Had those bombs not been dropped, he, and over half of his comrades would almost certainly have perished during the first wave of the mainland invasion of Japan.

When I spoke from the pulpit during his funeral, I noticed a thin old man in a khaki military shirt sitting by himself in the church. At the gravesite, a group of VFW WW2 Veterans representing the United States Army, buried my dad with full military honors.

After the service, the driver of the hearse asked me if I had spoken to the old man in a military uniform in the church. I said I had seen him but had not had a chance to speak to him. The hearse driver told me that he did have a conversation with that old man. He had read my father's obituary in the newspaper. The last time he had spoken with my father was when they served together in the Philippines. So he put on his old uniform shirt, which still fit him, and came to the church to say goodbye one of his fellow soldiers. Their ranks are growing thin. Below is a photo of my dad sitting in his wheelchair, celebrating his final birthday at my house three months before his death.

Chip
 

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Thank you

Shadowman
 
Thanks Ralphie!
 
Here's Another One

They say it takes a minute to find a special person, an hour to appreciate them, a day to love them, but then an entire life to forget them.

Just wanted to share with you the beauty of this child's love. This poem brought tears to my eyes - - -


Daddy's Poem

Her hair was up in a pony tail,
Her favorite dress tied with a bow.
Today was Daddy's Day at school,
And she couldn't wait to go.

But her Mommy tried to tell her,
That she probably should stay home
Why the kids might not understand,
If she went to school alone.

But she was not afraid;
She knew just what to say.
What to tell her classmates
Of why he wasn't there today.

But still her mother worried,
For her to face this day alone.
And that was why once again,
She tried to keep her daughter home.

But the little girl went to school
Eager to tell them all.
About a Dad she never sees,
A Dad who never calls.

There were Daddies along the wall in back,
For everyone to meet.
Children squirming impatiently,
Anxious in their seats.

One by one the teacher called
Each student from the class.
To introduce their Daddy,
As seconds slowly passed.

At last the teacher called her name,
Every child turned to stare.
Each of them was searching for,
A man who wasn't there.

"Where's her Daddy at?"
She heard a boy call out.
"She probably doesn't have one,"
Another student dared to shout..

And from somewhere near the back,
She heard a Daddy say,
"Looks like another deadbeat Dad,
Too busy to waste his day."

The words did not offend her,
As she smiled up at her Mom.
And looked back at her teacher,
Who told her to go on.

And with hands behind her back,
Slowly she began to speak.
And out from the mouth of a child,
Came words incredibly unique.

"My Daddy couldn't be here,
Because he lives so far away.
But I know he wishes he could be,
Since this is such a special day.

"And though you cannot meet him,
I wanted you to know.
All about my Daddy,
And how much he loves me so.

"He loved to tell me stories
He taught me to ride my bike.
He surprised me with pink roses,
And taught me to fly a kite.

"We used to share fudge sundaes,
And ice cream in a cone...
And though you cannot see him.
I'm not standing here alone.

"'Cause my Daddy's always with me,
Even though we are apart
I know because he told me,
He'll forever be in my heart."

With that, her little hand reached up,
And lay across her chest..
Feeling her own heartbeat,
Beneath her favorite dress..

And from somewhere there in the crowd of Dads,
Her mother stood in tears.
Proudly watching her daughter,
Who was wise beyond her years.

For she stood up for the love
Of a man not in her life.
Doing what was best for her,
Doing what was a right.

And when she dropped her hand back down,
Staring straight into the crowd.
She finished with a voice so soft,
But its message clear and loud.

"I love my Daddy very much,
He's my shining star.
And if he could, he'd be here,
but heaven's just too far.

"You see he's an American Soldier
And died just this past year
When a roadside bomb hit his convoy,
And taught Americans to fear.

"But sometimes when I close my eyes,
It's like he never went away."
And then she closed her eyes,
And saw him there that day.

And to her mother's amazement,
She witnessed with surprise.
A room full of Daddies and children,
All starting to close their eyes.

Who knows what they saw before them,
Who knows what they felt inside.
Perhaps for merely a second,
They saw him at her side.

"I know you're with me Daddy,"
To the silence she called out.
And what happened next made believers,
Of those once filled with doubt..

Not one in that room could explain it,
For each of their eyes had been closed.
But there on the desk beside her,
Was a fragrant long-stemmed pink rose.

And a child was blessed, if only for a moment,
By the love of her shining star,
And given the gift of believing,
That heaven is never too far.
 
Though I'm wearing my glasses...I can't see the monitor. Anyone not moved by that poem isn't worthy of the space they occupy.

You're a good man, RALPHIE.

Thanks...
 
Thanks Ralphie....excellent post.
 
Great poem. Lee Greenwood should put it to song.
 
Worked with Counter IED forces for the past 8 years and I can't tell you how close this hit me.
 
Great poem. Lee Greenwood should put it to song.

Or if he were still alive, Johnny Cash. Or Willie Nelson or Kris Kristoferson.
 
Great poem. Lee Greenwood should put it to song.

Or if he were still alive, Johnny Cash. Or Willie Nelson or Kris Kristoferson.

Actually, I was thinking more of Bobby Goldsboro ("Honey", "Watching Scotty Grow") or Don McLean ("Starry Starry night")....
 
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Chip, thanks for posting about your dad.

When I was in high school in the late 60's and early 70s I was a history buff, and I still find WWII history to be the greatest and most interesting. I had the honor of knowing two people who were friends of the family that served there. One was my dad's boss who owned a commercial construction company. He had the rank of Colonel and was on Omaha beach. He would never talk about it.

Another was as much a dad to me as my real dad. Frank was on Iwo Jima from the beginning. He saw the first flag raised. He always told me he (and many of the others with him) would not have survived "were it not for the Indians". Now remember this was in 69 or 70. The real story of the Code Talkers had not been made public.

Then there's Allen June. One of the original 29 Code Talker who happens to live about 10 miles from here. I'd heard about him and contacted the local vets organization, and asked if I could talk with him. The guy said "One better. Come on Saturday to the Blessing Way ceremony we are having to bless his new home." This true WWII hero lives in a very simple trailer home in Longmont, CO. He is "old" and speaks mostly in his native tongue now. His wife Virginia translates. We chatted for a few moments. He was not on Iwo Jima but of course knew the ones that were since they were all "trained" at the same time. As near as I can tell he was recruited from the Phoenix "Indian School" - the namesake of the street, but which is no longer there.

DSC_0041.jpg


L-R - Sgt. June's son who is a practicing Navajo Shaman., my daughter, Sgt. June, me, and Virginia.


Let's also not forget that as the WWII vets leave us at about 1000+ per day, the same is also true of the Survivors of the Holocaust. Without both sets of memories I fear history will repeat itself.
 
Thank you for these poems.
 
Thanks for the poems. We all need to remember every day(not just Memorial and Veterans Day)those that gave so much for or our county so that us, our children, and hopefully generations to follow continue to have a country to be proud of. God bless America.

Stu
 
A very special Christmas Message

T'WAS THE NIGHT BEFORE CHRISTMAS,
HE LIVED ALL ALONE,
IN A ONE BEDROOM HOUSE,
MADE OF PLASTER AND STONE.


I HAD COME DOWN THE CHIMNEY,
WITH PRESENTS TO GIVE,
AND TO SEE JUST WHO,
IN THIS HOME, DID LIVE.


I LOOKED ALL ABOUT,
A STRANGE SIGHT I DID SEE,
NO TINSEL, NO PRESENTS,
NOT EVEN A TREE.


NO STOCKING BY MANTLE,
JUST BOOTS FILLED WITH SAND,
ON THE WALL HUNG PICTURES,
OF FAR DISTANT LANDS.


WITH MEDALS AND BADGES,
AWARDS OF ALL KINDS,
A SOBER THOUGHT,
CAME THROUGH MY MIND.


FOR THIS HOUSE WAS DIFFERENT,
IT WAS DARK AND DREARY,
I FOUND THE HOME OF A SOLDIER,
ONCE I COULD SEE CLEARLY.


THE SOLDIER LAY SLEEPING,
SILENT, ALONE,
CURLED UP ON THE FLOOR,
IN THIS ONE BEDROOM HOME.


THE FACE WAS SO GENTLE,
THE ROOM IN DISORDER,
NOT HOW I PICTURED,
A TRUE SOLDIER.


WAS THIS THE HERO,
OF WHOM I'D JUST READ?
CURLED UP ON A PONCHO,
THE FLOOR FOR A BED?


I REALIZED THE FAMILIES,
THAT I SAW THIS NIGHT,
OWED THEIR LIVES TO THESE SOLDIERS,
WHO WERE WILLING TO FIGHT.


SOON ROUND THE WORLD,
THE CHILDREN WOULD PLAY,
AND GROWNUPS WOULD CELEBRATE,
A BRIGHT CHRISTMAS DAY.


THEY ALL ENJOYED FREEDOM,
EACH MONTH OF THE YEAR,
BECAUSE OF THE SOLDIERS,
LIKE THE ONE LYING HERE.


I COULDN'T HELP WONDER,
HOW MANY LAY ALONE,
ON A COLD CHRISTMAS EVE,
IN A LAND FAR FROM HOME.


THE VERY THOUGHT BROUGHT,
A TEAR TO MY EYE,
I DROPPED TO MY KNEES,
AND STARTED TO CRY.


THE SOLDIER AWAKENED,
AND I HEARD A ROUGH VOICE,
"SANTA DON'T CRY,
THIS LIFE IS MY CHOICE;


I FIGHT FOR FREEDOM,
I DON'T ASK FOR MORE,
MY LIFE IS MY GOD,
MY COUNTRY, MY CORPS.."


THE SOLDIER ROLLED OVER,
AND DRIFTED TO SLEEP,
I COULDN'T CONTROL IT,
I CONTINUED TO WEEP.


I KEPT WATCH FOR HOURS,
SO SILENT AND STILL,
AND WE BOTH SHIVERED,
FROM THE COLD NIGHT'S CHILL.


I DID NOT WANT TO LEAVE,
ON THAT COLD, DARK, NIGHT,
THIS GUARDIAN OF HONOUR,
SO WILLING TO FIGHT.


THEN THE SOLDIER ROLLED OVER,
WITH A VOICE SOFT AND PURE,
WHISPERED, "CARRY ON SANTA,
IT'S CHRISTMAS DAY, ALL IS SECURE."


ONE LOOK AT MY WATCH,
AND I KNEW HE WAS RIGHT.
"MERRY CHRISTMAS MY FRIEND,
AND TO ALL A GOOD NIGHT."


This poem was written by a Peacekeeping soldier stationed overseas.
 
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