Magazine Posts

He stands with hand to his chest.
At one time, he was this Nation's best.
There, with his clothes all a tatter,
People drive by and it doesn't matter.
He will ask for money for financial aid,
While embarrassed, but he is unafraid.
He served his country, far across the sea,
Now he is here with a diagnosis of PTSD.

One again I am in the trees,
The snow here is up to my knees.
Our Jeep is high centered, you see
And our answer is to use a "Come along"
Winch, that requires a tree or a stump.
Slowly we move, one click at a time,
Pulling the Jeep over the snow hump.
Next stop, is a lineman's shack,
Which will provide shelter and warmth.
In the morning we rise early,
As we must find those elusive Elk,
Out in the woods we do ramble.
Quickly we are in this very big thicket
Of small trunked trees,
When I hear the noise, like that of a train.
A herd of Elk have decided to move,
Through these same trees.
Did we see them? No but hear them we did.
Another failed hunt, on this Winter day,
No meat tonight, as they got away.

South Pacific, aboard ship, underway, at Twilight.
Our ship knifes through the choppy Sea.
An iridescent glow appears now along the Hull
As it slices through the water.
Flying Fish, appear alongside the ship.
On a good trip, Bottle Nose Dolphins, appear,
Racing with our Destroyer Escort.
It's hot and muggy. Staying topside,
Is cooler than being below, in our quarters.
I have Evening Watch, 2100 hours to Mid.
We are dressed in dungarees, rolled to our knees,
With a faded, Chambray shirts.
Up the ladder to C.I.C, (combat information center),
To sit in front of a RADAR scope
On the look out for other ships.
If we see a contact, we take a reading and range,
And another member, will plot the time and bearing,
On white paper that is atop of a DRT (dead reckoning tracer).
The DRT moves on the course direction of our ship.
We report course, bearing and time every 5 or 10 minutes,
Depending on the distance from our ship.
We have been trained that if the bearing of the contact,
Remains constant, then we are on a collision course,
At some future time. We alert the bridge,
Who will make a minor course correct to avoid a collision.
The next watch has now arrived, we enter information
In our Log.
Leaving. It's down the ladder to the Boat Deck; Down another ladder
To the main deck, then down another ladder to our quarters
Which is located next to the laundry. Thankfully they're not working.
Up on my hammock I go to try to sleep as Revellie is early
And roll call is at 0800 hours.

I came close to leaving, on this day.
Just grab my bag and run far away.
Thinking hard, I then heard my voice,
"It is unfair to her as she has no choice."
Sobering words that I needed this day.

I stand by the water
Watching.
I hear the lapping waves
Splashing.
The smell of the Sea,
Enticing.
What you do to me,
Exciting.
I gaze into your eyes,
Bewildered.
The reflection, I see,
Adoration.
My arms encircle you,
Comfort.
It's almost time to go,
Anxious.
I've lost you my love,
Sadness.
I'll pray for your soul,
Weeping.

I hear a voice, saying to me,
"you must return, across the Sea"
To that place that knows you well,
So hot and humid, it felt like hell.
Why must I go? Don't you see,
It will be meeting with my destiny.

Blow hard, the Wind. Blow hard tonight.
Clean up the air, use all your might,
For the pollutants and emissions must
Be reduced for all, not for just
Those who we see every day,
But the World citizens, who must stay
In squalid hovels, at the border of the USA.

When the evening light, turns to black,
It's the time for a memory lapse.
Not recalling names of long lost friends,
Or remembering places we went to, often.
The sense of loss of her mind, I feel
Afraid for her, in this life surreal.
"Weep not for me", she's said before,
As we trudge towards that fateful door.
The cruelty of this disease, to me
Astounds my view of the lost memory.

I heard the sound of shrill agony
When a young Crow, fell from a tree.
A young Crow, when on the ground,
Will perish soon, as predators abound.
Give it water to make it strong
And before you know, it is gone.

My feet slide through the dry needles,
Lying on the forest floor.
My destination is a pond or lake,
Just that, nothing more.
I search the trees, that lie ahead
And I see a eagle, soar.
The love I have for this great land,
Is all our land and much more.
Protect this land from those abusers
Or the land will be gone forever more.

Wind and rain
Blowing sideways
I'm wet

My Mother told me; young was I
To be respectful of others and to try
Being polite, when spoken to,
And when leaving, say adieu.
Open the doors for others,
Especially women or expecting Mothers.
Give up my seat, when on a bus,
To any female and not to cuss.
Walk on the outside of the walk
And to be sure and listen, not to talk.
Thank you, Mom for what you taught me.
I learned a fine lesson, thanks to thee.