Memorial day poetry

Just words.

I left a boy, I came back a season man.
I learned the drills of the soldier,
befriended many good men and women.

 

Soldiers drink, soldiers dance and they celebrate each new day.

 
I followed my father footsteps,
volunteering for every active war and
I learn my father’s sadness.

 

I learn war isn’t sweet or kind.
Once I stood with 15,000 soldiers,
we were fearless and standing for freedom.
Some of us lived and some did not.

 

I remember my father couldn’t drink enough to kill the memory,
he fought his battle every day of his life.

 

Memorial day is here, I drink the whiskey for missed comrades and I cannot get drunk anymore. My mind tried to rest and I can’t.
Now I am the caretaker of good friends who never returned home.

 

I lift my glass of Irish whiskey, a parting glass alone in a quiet tavern.
To dear friends, I remember you and I pray you have found a place where Soldiers can know peace and never hear the sounds of war.

 

Everyday I ask, who decide who lived and who died?
I stand by crosses of many lost to war on Memorial day.
Just boys and young men names with USA flags near.

I burn sage for the sleeping soldiers and sit by my dear friend grave.
I whispered, your war is over my friend and I am getting old.
Please save a seat for me at the Soldier’s table, I will join you soon.

                          Dancing Coyote

Author's Note

Just words.

Reviews

[Lydia Shutter]

No, war is not sweet or kind, that's for sure, but you went and you served and for that you should be thanked...and proud of yourself. Many men in my family fought in wars...different ones for different countries. They all came back changed....and not always for the better. The "soldiers table" is a long one and each and every person at that table gave their life for us....we are free because of them. A beautifully written tribute, John. Lydi**

[Coyote Poetry]

Thank you dear Lydia for reading and I do agree. A large table for the brave soldier.

[Neville]

war never solved anything without creating more sadness and problems.. these words resonate loud and true my friend.... a fine and fitting tribute to those fallen and lost... Neville

[Coyote Poetry]

Thank you my friend. I appreciate the comment.

[Cherrie Palmer]

A pinch of salt for the millions of tears spilled for them, and a toast to the departed, who never again will see war.
I hoist a glass with you and invert a glass for those who can no longer toast with us.

[Coyote Poetry]

Thank you dear Cherrie. Tonight a cold beer for friends gone.

[Cherrie Palmer]

Let's us always remember the cost.

[Chris Shaw]

You served your country and you should be proud. Others are proud of you. No one wins in war, and no one knows who will live and who will die. What I do know from reading you is, that although you survived you still carry that heavy burden of loss even today. War is a terrible thing. All those young men gone like dandelion seeds in the wind, never to return. It breaks hearts. It breaks my heart just thinking about it. Your tribute is so heartfelt Coyote.

Chris

[Coyote Poetry]

Thank you dear Chris. You are right my friend. No one win in war.

[Chris Shaw]

You are welcome Coyote. Take care.

[Patricia Wedel]

dear John... there is a lump in my throat and tears in my eyes when I think of all the young men and women who gave their lives and others who gave their limbs and perhaps their eyes or their minds... so that many have had their freedom. Let us pray that we never forget their sacrifice. The human Spirit is a gift to cherish and share always. Thank you, John, for your Service and your poetry as a Beacon to shine always. truly, Pat

[Coyote Poetry]

Thank you dear Pat. I appreciate the comment my friend.

[R.E. Ray]

Coyote, as I read this poem, I recalled my many visits to Arlington National Cemetery. So many heroes resting under the chalky white, and so many more still at war with past enemies and present demons. Touching poem, sir.

[Coyote Poetry]

No winner in war my friend. I appreciate the comment my friend.

[h d e rushin]

My dad told me and my sister the story of how he was at the Bulge. We played with his metals until they got mixed up with make-believe army men, pink barretts and Tea sets. Looking back, it was our first introduction to valor. Normandy? The liberation of Europe? The saving of the world were notions far too
glorious for little kids to imagine. :
"Now I am the caretaker of good friends who never returned home".
What a line! More venographic than simple words. Thank you for your sacrifice...dana

[Coyote Poetry]

Your father fought in one of the most terrible battles of WW2. Thank you Dana for sharing the story and I appreciate the comment.

[Ted Kniffen]

Like your father, John, mine couldn't drink enough to chase the memories away. He came home, but died a casualty 19 years later. Today I salute you for your service to your country. And I salute your father and mine who went to war and came home broken men.

A good write my friend.

[Coyote Poetry]

Our father's fought war they could not forget. No winners in war my friend.

[Ted Kniffen]

No there are no winners...next time, send the politicians.

[Cherrie Palmer]

You know I never considered my dad broken (although he too was a drinker) I never considered the lost soldiers that sat the stool with him.
he was a class A hard-a*s, that to me was a king.

[kentuck14]

Yes . . . I too think of fallen comrades . . . many I never knew or never knew as I might have wanted. I think of the soldier who might have died in my place in that bloody factory of death. I salute you now . . .

[Coyote Poetry]

Thank you my friend for reading and the comment. I do appreciate.

[andrew mitchell]

I take my hat off to you John and all soldiers good, one has to have lots of courage and faith to be a soldier and to endure the horrors of war. It is a life sacrifice either way to live with those memories. Nice informative but good writing John.

[Coyote Poetry]

Thank you Andrew. I appreciate the comment.