Here is the link two purchase my newest poetry anthology:
And here are a few poems from it:
JULY FOURTH
Jumbled memories of the past.
Under a hot sun,
Lined up at attention to bury a veteran.
Years in uniform honored at his graveside.
Flag folded carefully,
Only blue and 3 stars show.
Under a hot sun,
Riflemen fire 21 shots.
Taps from a battered polished bugle.
Here lies a real American Hero.
Joe Meyer
At the Richland County Courthouse The POW-MIA Flag snaps in the breeze. The Veteran’s memorial casts a cold shadow. Joseph Meyer is coming home today. Welcome him. May he rest in peace. In December of 1950 he picked up his M-1, once again to join the battle That raged on in North Korea far across the seas. A hometown boy, from Wahpeton, North Dakota, he had dreams of being the first in his family to fight for his country in this war. For fifty-seven years, his family waited for Joe Meyer to come home, clutching old letters and warm memories of the boy they lost. Fifty-seven years is a long time to be sleeping, unnamed in the ground so far across the seas. The first letter came, “I will be shipping to Korea In the morning with the boys. I am excited and scared But ready to fight.” Another letter posted later Told of excitement and anticipation of seeing nieces and nephews Born after he left Wahpeton, North Dakota. Only a year after Joe left home, A telegram came, the way they seem to: Private Joseph Meyer (stop) is missing from his post (stop) and feared killed in action. (stop). A tear in his father's eye, and his mother's heart stopped. How does a boy just get lost, And why did he want to go All the way over there? Search missions and patrols over torn, hallowed ground never found his broken body. His drab green duffle Was repacked And put on a transport, Headed back to Wahpeton, North Dakota. Except for in the hearts and minds of a lonely family, It would seem that Joe Meyer slowly faded into memory. The fighting finally stopped And his lonely mass grave Slowly became part Of a tortured land That nature was reclaiming. Faded memories and dashed hopes Of news came and went as decades Slowly marched along; Fifty-seven years of empty spaces at tables. Fifty-seven years of births, deaths, funerals. Like the echo of ground fire in the far off battles Joe Meyer faced, science caught up with the hard facts of war. Family members gave DNA sample in 1997, not expecting much, but slowly stoking and banking long tended fires of hope. It seems The Army doesn’t send letters Or telegrams anymore, But in a cozy kitchen On a Wahpeton winter day The telephone rang away. “A positive match has been made Of remains found in North Korea.” Joe Meyer came home To Wahpeton, North Dakota today. Welcome this returned hero. May he rest in peace.
Lois Mae
If I had to pick a hero, I wouldn't pick the caped, stone, strong men, standing upon principle. Nor gamma ray gadgets, that makes them invincible. If I had to pick a hero, it wouldn't be Digger, or Crazy Horse, or Braddock with Delta Force, Silver Star upon his chest. My hero to most, is rather plain. She's not very tall. A soldier girl, who stands 5 foot 3. In mirror polished combat boots. She outshines them all. My sister Lois Mae is a warrior. She doesn't guard tanks, and lob grenades, it's true, but she saved my life and taught me to love others too. She doesn't think she's special, when her smile lights the room. She doesn't get much chance for fancy dress, or expensive perfume. But standing for freedom, she is at her best. My sister is a military lady, in dust covered DCU. She watches over me and you. So remember when you point to a hero, what they really mean to you.
Just Another Day
Imagine if you will, when sitting down to Christmas dinner; it was just another day. While you complain about gifts not received and turkey undercooked, not enough mashed potatoes, and burnt gravy, Christmas; just another day. Half a world away, where they say, The Christ child was born, U.S. Army soldiers carried out raids in dusty Iraqi towns, December 25, just another day. Military doctors treat soldiers wounded by roadside bombs. Christmas in Iraq, was just another day. Your sister drank too much, and her husband is a loud mouth, hogging the TV, winning your 20 dollar bet. The Bears beat the Packers. Football, on another Sunday. You wish everyone would go home, Christmas is such a waste, your family bores you, and never gets you what you want or need. Christmas is just another day. Troops woke long before sunrise. It was a cold, rainy Christmas morning in Iraq. A raid on an upscale neighborhood, not much different from my hometown in the USA. Christmas is just another day. In honor of a Christmas tale, The target town is called “Whoville,” Who is the Grinch who stole their Christmas? Please remember the American Soldier when next you break bread, or think to complain or claim Christmas as just another day.
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