In God We Trust
The poetry you find here came to the Korean War Educator with unknown authors. If anyone can verify who wrote the pieces, please contact our Foundation.
Loving a serviceman is not all gay:
A careworn heart is the price you pay.
It's mostly to have and not to hold,
Being young, and feeling old.
It's sending a letter stamped upside down
To a faraway place in a faraway town.
It's being in love with merely your dreams,
Bringing thoughts to heaven, where love lights its beams.
You wish it were possible for him to say,
"I'm coming home, and home I shall stay."
You watch for a word that he is well,
You wait for weeks, but no mail for a spell.
When a letter does come, you bubble with joy
And act like a child with a shining new toy.
You go in to church, and kneel and pray
And really mean the things that you say.
Love's hating the wait, the world and the war
Because it took the boy you adore.
It's loneliness, sadness and ungrounded fears.
Crying until there are no more tears.
Yes, loving a serviceman isn't all fun,
But it's worth the price when the battle is won.
Remember the day I borrowed your brand new car and dented it?
I thought you’d kill me, but you didn’t.
Remember the time I dragged you to the beach? You said it would rain – and it did.
I thought you’d try to say I told you so, but you didn’t.
Remember the time I flirted to make you jealous, and you were?
I thought you’d leave me, but you didn’t.
Do you remember the time I spilled strawberry pie all over your car rug?
I thought you’d smack me, but you didn’t.
And remember the time I forgot to tell you the dance was formal and you showed up in jeans?
I thought you’d drop me, but you didn’t.
Yes, there were lots of things you didn’t do.
But you put up with me, and you loved me and protected me.
There were lots of things I wanted to make up to you when you returned from the war.
But you didn’t.
[This poem was written in Pyucktong "Camp 5" North Korea. Over 1800 men died in this camp. In the Spring of 1951 over 1600 "dog tags" were taken from these men. Many of the prisoners at this camp contributed to the words of "The Sixteen Hundred."]
Not a bugle was heard, not a funeral beat,
Or even a drum sounding retreat.
As over the ice the corpse was carried,
To the hill where those "G.I.'s" are buried.
Six foot by two foot by one foot deep,
On a Korean hillside they sleep.
Both young and old, perhaps one wonders why?
These 1600 had to die.
No little white cross with their name,
But then they are not buried in shame.
Although they are in unknown graves,
"Sixteen Hundred," American Braves.
No useless casket enclosed their breast,
It is "G.I." clothing for their last rest.
All colors of men: Blacks, Browns, and Whites,
Now "Sixteen Hundred" faded lights.
A pill, a powder, medicine of any kind,
Or, should we say a stronger mind;
Could have saved them from yonder hill,
Those "Sixteen Hundred," now laying still.
In their illness, tossing and turning,
Most of them knew there would be no returning.
Some went easy, some with pain,
Did these "Sixteen Hundred" die in vain?
When we go home to enjoy our fill,
They are still there on that lonely hill.
Forgotten by some, yet remembered by most,
They will be "The Sixteen Hundred" in their last post.
The poems below are reprinted from the book, Dry Tears, with the permission of the author, David Baillie. Born on the lower east side of New York City in the 1930s, David Baillie was raised and educated in several school systems throughout New York and Massachusetts. He left high school to enter the Army (under age) and first saw service with the 30th Infantry Regiment, 3rd Infantry Division, and the Infantry School at Ft. Benning, Georgia, as an instructor. He then became part of the 24th Infantry Division, 34th Infantry Regiment, 34th Tank Company in Korea, and later did tours with the 1st Cavalry Division. His last tour in Korea was with B Troop, 1st Recon Squadron, 9th Cavalry Regiment. He returned from active duty and served with the 142nd Tank Battalion, New York State National Guard and the Army Reserves for many more years. Upon returning from overseas, he went to college on the GI bill to finish his education, attending several colleges and universities in the New England area, gaining degrees in Counseling and Education.
Easy to escape to reach peaceful place, death,
truth of reality harsh, hard to take evermore,
eyes have seen all that is real to soul’s depth.
Peaceful darkness it would bring no more pain,
time and time again easy it would be, fulfill the plan
to stand and fight no choice ever again.
Winds of black thoughts reach the inner mind,
peace is so very close at one’s own hand,
in this time of year, life re-newed t’s grand.
Horror of horrors viewed long ago, never lost,
blackened soul nightmares rise again, again,
shadows within the mind ghostly host.
Rise again is the theme, never a truth been seen,
potted white lilies line the path to destiny,
wind bring strong scented aroma keen.
Peace at last with one’s own thoughts it brings,
wishful death will allow long wanted rest,
easy to find resolve in darken thoughts, black things.
Peace now from all the evil felt, see restful dreams,
spring fading, summers near, maybe peace next year,
given the strengths peace will be there, in dreams.
Try and try again as before to rest with wishful death,
to rise again doubt, long rest well over due,
worth in human terms nil, t’s owns last breath.
Tears all dry never felt by others is true,
fleeting breath is own to renew or subdue,
seldom known, and never, never knew.
Wishful death gives peaceful guise to dreams of past,
shall it be or not, horrors so deep to forget, regret,
too many to pass-over ever, and ever they’ll last.
Peaceful rest a wish to come true with each breath,
breath to breath life not lasting t’s true, worthy too,
so plan for the long peaceful, wishful death.
Four miles of no-man’s land a 100 long cold and hot,
shadows of the night hide the fear felt none seen,
soundless as a black panther in the darkness, alone,
only self to answer, a one man patrol right or not.
Life taken in hands through darkness, fear unseen,
long silences spent until foe found, never seen again,
Days melt into weeks and months, still alone he goes,
on bent knees and hands crawls over ground not seen.
Weather is not mind felt, missions all that he counts,
alone is best no one else can meet test, none of rest,
no thought midnight dreams ahead just mission felt,
the count of all foe would take one to untold amounts.
Few knew of his mission and so it will rest evermore,
dreams come and go these are none the worse too,
faded into past and mind with all rest which is best,
fire and hate, the past with memory too evermore.
Blare of bugles send chills through early morn mist,
ghostly figures form row after row on distant shore,
river fog rises to hide terror’s view, from their quest,
numbers grow and grow as bugles blare, a 100 an 100 more.
Suddenly all is still just before the rows of gray launch,
fires of death race across their ranks, from our tanks,
muddy river turns blood red as row of gray, fire breached,
human form 100 and more become mounds upon sandbar, death ranks.
More still more closer, closer rows of gray breach the shore,
fifty yards, twenty closer too, sounds of death to hear,
point-blank in the rows of gray, they still come as before,
200 and 200 more, over others laying on shore, in no fear.
Bugles blare, into brightness of day, lives lost in malay,
sweat and tears, bodies worn, fire more from morn to dusk,
to stop would be to betray a trust, red hot guns in the fray,
fallen comrades still, that line of steel can’t go bust.
Like lighting fire-flies rounds of death streak across river,
from this side to that snuffing out life in their flashes,
steel blades to hold the line from evil across the river,
no tears for fallen, no time to stop flow of life from gashes.
No young men here now all as old as time itself, for evermore,
moment to moment recalled forty ears from now is true,
gone the baby face smile of youth, swallowed, by horror’s gore,
dreams of the river clear today, nor sleep the night through.
Dusk revealed gray mounds along the shore an all was still,
distant sounds from human forms heard to replace bugles blare,
night’s darkness hide the sights from eyes that would chill,
no life, soul or breath to give, question if God is still here.
Forgotten but by a few, this river crossing of life and death,
memories all too clear for young men, now old ones too,
the day was saved, the cost too high to equate, in a breath,
the river that turned red for a long, long day forgotten too.
Long ago and forgotten in a Godless place,
man made on paper with a sweep of the hand,
no walls or river nor mountains to see this line,
if you cross even with care, life will be taken, devil’s hand.
Frozen in earthen shapes and images and minds for eternity,
stretched from sea to sea hundred miles and more, this way an that,
no human path made, devil’s hand made from below, must be so,
line of life and death, a thousand times that and more, to infinity.
Honored task to cross it, for gold, silver, riches in dreams,
what then…promotion to position up on high, can be..
to win a golden prize, a medal of distinction too..
gladly they go to reap this honored goal it seems.
Ever so fiercely they run, walk and crawl to reach this goal,
over fallen comrades, and bits of the foe, up they go,
higher to the top of the hills across the unseen line,
none falter in their task, honor at stake after all, the goal.
Once again an again they take the challenge and cross the line,
1,800 their number was to start now less than half again the total,
bugles blare through early morning chilling air, hills still there,
at last the knoll can be seen, the task done, rewards to be fine.
Dawn, reveals less than four score and ten of men, made the hills,
there was no gold, silver of worldly riches given, nor medals, worth,
mounds of dirt to fill their pockets, not gold powder or diamond chips,
worth the cost, the goal’s question asked then and now still.
Cross the line on paper for what and who or just a job to do,
the hill tops only dirt after all, no earthly worth, its true,
not so you know your worth all there is on this earth to cross the line,
all you did, will stay for as long as time, human worth is so.
So very long ago to recall it all, hills, valleys and frozen, cold,
all still is as it was, only we have lost parts of our soul,
remembered in mid-night dreams for a forgotten few,
mission, task, done we crossed Line Kansas, our goal.
This land may have been forgotten by God or not,
its rain and snow both chill one to the bone,
mid-summer’s night dreams become nightmares all,
rain never stops, soaked in and out, covered or not.
Dry creek beds become raging rivers, not to cross,
land, hills, and roads can’t be seen, heavy is the rain,
rice paddies become swamps and lakes, with no shores,
men try and die in the mud and rain, too far to cross.
This land that God forgot, were sent here to keep peace,
winter cold makes ice from rivers and paddies, hills,
never warm again, wind makes sure there is no heat,
hands and feet never felt, looking for a warmer place.
Some good friends, some we never knew, 50,000 and more,
many ghosts still appear nightly from over 40 years ago,
all came back are not all alive because of forgotten memories,
this place forgotten then and now, no, they who serve evermore.
Frozen, rained on, and forgotten this clan will never forget,
the last of them soon will pass but memories will linger forever,
theirs a pride that goes un-sung, the few who did much for us,
in a far off land, rain soaked and frozen, will never be forgotten.
Mid-night’s nightmare among frozen hills, forgotten land,
gray forms countlessly cover the landscape, top till bottom,
snow’s crust broken by a thousand steps and more over land,
whiteness gives way to gray, as bugle blares, sound lonesome.
T’s not a dream, every nerve awake can feel the earth move,
a thousand feet and more marching up, up the hill,
frozen fingers grip, triggers at the ready, sights in the groove,
whiteness gone a gray wave now moves strong, sight sends chill.
Wave after wave never to end, defend hill in forgotten land,
twenty no, thirty below and more, fingers blue, feet too,
can’t walk or run so fight, day and night make a stand,
to take a breath is death, frozen lips to speak, to who?
A thousand and a thousand more, bugles cut night air,
fire flies of death ring out across frozen hill and mound,
whiteness now turns to red, cold matters not for the dead there,
row after row reappear and buddy along side is frozen ground.
Wishful the thoughts were frozen too, from long ago, of land,
youth was lost among the frozen waste of land an human soul,
bring back, lost for eternity all who stood hand to hand,
monuments stand, can’t feel the frozen curse, for man’s soul.
The smell of death all around, will there be an end,
short timers don’t even smile, they been in country too long,
a new phrase then but now known by all friends,
deep in rice paddy mud, time left is too long.
Rain and sweat soak you through and through, blood too,
there are no safe places to hide if you could, and would,
mounds of empty shells fill the field, body bags too,
one more day, each day after another, go home you should.
There are some who stay in country for times over due,
they think if they do one less new is needed to come over,
to save a life anyway they can is the plan and that’s true,
another time, have been a great country with green cover.
Now all one thinks about is to get out of, in country,
each day is counted off to the hour short or long to go,
last sight seen is it fading beneath the clouds, in country,
back into the real world, what’s that? Anyway we go…
In midnight’s dreams the stillness of thought there is no sound
of times gone by and memories fade, there is no light to be seen
quiet as this may be there yet can be heard, death an its sound
comes not only in the night but day light too, an yet can’t be seen.
For us who have been close enough to touch it, we heard it too
some others look at us and know not what we hear and why
there is a sound that with time we hear but no one else does too,
like the night’s darkness gives out a cry, or blacken sky.
Just before a summer thunder storm from a far is heard sounds
death gives out these same unheard sounds to ones eyes
like the cold in a long winter’s night, so cold it gives off sounds
we know we can’t live till the end of time, so shut our eyes.
Peace will at last over come us and take us to a better place
when sounds of death grow louder, one knows it’s time to go
this can be now in a second or years ahead to find peace
do not fear the sounds of death when it’s time you’ll know.
Some say they can smell death signs and that may be true too
to have been so close to hear and smell it, to feel it through your soul
can’t take away the sounds as long as your breath is felt too
time goes on and the sounds grow louder, ready to take death stroll.
Out live friend and family alike, dark hair turns to gray, mind grows dim
can be said a lot to die young, to much pain in long days remain
there can’t be any steps back only forward to where the light is dim
I can hear these sounds and they grow louder each day I remain.
I wonder as to how they fly, we dare not pry,
no wings nor feathers seen, this bird of sky,
nor sleep or rest even a place to nest.
Made of metal and tin, with blades so very thin,
this side that, turn up or down and around,
sightless seen in early light just short of ground.
Whipping, whining sound seen others light it found,
Grunt’s closest friend to leave LZ and ground,
many a foe gone it spits fire very profound.
Life of life to save every day, will always find,
dark dreams are made from its sound to hear,
every hill, field and paddy too always in mind.
Never stop coming, going day night to bring the flight,
save a life or more handed with care through its door,
bird of prey and peace and Grunt’s life of flight.
Whirly Bird, we need you now, so find us tonight,
for the morn to late it’ll be to save a life, me,
will stand and wait for my fate, pray it’s my flight.
None of us asked to come but we did any way,
some were old men, 25 or so, some teenagers.
The heat was bad but the cold was worse for all,
now we all are old and many are still cold today.
High school Proms were missed, more than a few,
who’d ever guess in the War Forgotten we’d be,
in the land God forgot, 10,000 miles from home,
your best girl out with someone else, who knew?
Dear "John" letters arrive everyday, you’re alive,
ditch and ice water each day and a bed of hay.
More fun in Small Town USA, to bullet dodging,
no red sunsets, just red balls of fire, artillery live.
Will we ever remember how to be young again?
Will we forget all that we have seen, we’ll try.
Once you celebrate your 18 birthday in a paddy ditch,
it’s hard to become a teenager now and again.
Thirty days of all this and all are old to the day,
the loss is great and no buddies are left to find,
6 from 36, and 1 from 40, and 183 out 1,900 all gone,
so long ago names just fade away as years and days.
It’s been 50 years already? can’t be, and me alive.
They say the good die young, so here I am waiting.
Some things are fresh and some are forgotten for good.
Can’t go to Hell been there once already, and survived.
Wearer of khaki and olive drab with three stripes on the sleeves,
many a bugle’s sound heard by men over hard years,
from Indonesia to the Bulge service done with skill and pride,
rise up in early hours to its tune, reveille an mess and mail please.
Times of glory and defiant brave men, all have met the greatest test,
one of these we knew and held dear has now heard his last bugle call,
once again he has met the test and now leads the way down a new path,
we can’t follow now, but he’ll be there when we arrive along with the rest.
It’s altogether proper to play "retreat", but I think he’d like a good jazz beat,
any words spoken in behalf need to raise a grin; without, it wouldn’t be him,
he’s done the best he could do for country and family, its hard to know how,
right, left to the sound of the beat from far off shores to home towns streets.
A traveler to new ground and far from alone, to find many an old friend,
the wearers of khaki and olive drab gather there with warm waiting embrace,
he hears the last bugle call long before the sound is heard by others ears,
with a snappy turn on his heels down the path goes another not to forget.
Free of strife and pain, he’ll have ever lasting peace before you and me,
share your thoughts of him with others, tell his jokes, recall his laugh,
give a grin and stand still for the bugle’s sound it’s playing "recall",
he’s wanted again to serve, do his best as before for the rest, you and me.
Sounds fade away and flags are lowered and tunes of glory heard by all,
this old warrior has met his foe and wont he day, we need not weep but pray,
time will heal the pain and embrace the memory, he’d want it that way,
the last bugle’s call is heard by him wearer of khaki and olive drab an all.
Ernest Botti was a first lieutenant in the US Air Force, 339th/319th Fighter Squadrons (All Weather) in Korea. All of the poetry that he submitted to the Korean War Educator is copyrighted to him.
When Johnny was just a little boy
He’d call on me for tea –
We’d sit for hours lost with joy
And wondered what life would be.
Johnny was only a doorknob high
And I a keyhole measure –
We’d hold each other and with a sigh –
Savor our hidden treasure.
The years were swift and Johnny has grown
And I’m a lady too
Autumn winds the leaves have blown
The skies are azure blue.
Johnny heard the clarion call –
Now Johnny’s become a name on THE WALL.
The mist hangs like a dirty drape –
Formless shapes struggle to escape –
Lying on my back – stands of water on three sides.
Swirls – like tidal pools when I was a kid –
Life teeming in a little world – star fish – squid –
Sand all over my weapon – none to play with.
My boots are wet – my feet are cold –
What am I doing here – am I to grow old?
Thunder in the sky – planes flying by –
Can’t see them – clouds hung out to dry.
Don’t sleep much – we’re in for a big one –
Waiting for the dawn – waiting for the Sun.
This is an odd place –
Everyone with the same face –
Can’t drink the water – rations are poor –
Bed down at night – the earth for a floor.
Complain? – can’t do that – my choice – I enlisted.
Could have listened to the old folks – as they insisted.
Mortar rounds screaming overhead
Sickening thud! – giant craters – filled with the dead.
Had a girl back home – she’s waiting –
Last moments – gave her a gentle kiss – parting.
I thought that I would be forever young –
But within a week my hair turned – I’ve been stung.
The Sun is up – parting the Gray
We are sons and daughters of prey –
Our minds buried in this mire –
Here they come! – HELL IS ON FIRE!!!
Was God There?
The bombs bursting in air – the Rockets Red Glare
On came the hearse – black as night
A beacon to follow – Oh! Sorrow of fright.
Was God There?
Then a twisted column – winding its way through
Dreams left behind
A milling crowd – Trapped at the edge of grief.
Little Boy Blue – a mortar blast in the Ardennes – no relief.
Was God There?
Omaha Beach at dawn – Anzio – Inchon. Also Saigon.
A fog drenched morning – fighting the Sun’s rays at Wounded Knee – The Blood Runs Red at Bull Run.
The deed is done.
Was God There?
Father came to ask – "Will you trumpet the piece?
Will you break this power of silence?
Guide our hand through the veil of darkness – Lead our souls beyond the dust of time."
Whence I asked – again – "Is God Here?"
"Yes – my trumpet will cry in this borrowed place."
A wailing echo cast about the nave – ancient spirits called to witness.
They hurl themselves upon the bier – mother – wife- daughter – sister.
"Where is God? – Is God Here?"
"Yes, I will trumpet the piece – sweet as nature’s song in remembrance of HIM.
But! – Is God Here?"
Where did the little boy go?
Out back in the cherry tree – a favorite spot – you see.
Now to the front on a summer sled
A cardboard box – lemonade for a fee.
Where did the little boy go?
Down to the brook where the big kids go –
A Tarzan’s swing on a dare.
Foraging the dump for a treasure – ah! a big rats lair.
Where did the little boy go?
Hopped a ride on the milkwagon. Cool ice for a summer treat.
No nickel for a Crown Cola to beat the heat.
But – where did the little boy go?
Down to the school yard – big fight – mighty blow
Little boys do that sometimes – you know.
Where is the little boy – where did the little boy go?
To the river – a friend – quiet times – to fish – to pray.
Would that it could always be that way.
Where did the little boy go?
To war in a far off place – he’s a man. His country called – an embrace.
Did the little boy go?
The little boy has gone –
Gone to that sunset in the Great Green Forest.
Day succumbs to falling shadows -
windows of the night sky
Flash their brilliance and
fence with the cosmic wind.
Reality skirts my vision -
a silent passage.
I witness endless horizons
framed by the eyes of innocence
Filled with illusion.
Darkness descends -
threading my way through
memories of life's moments,
of tragedies and triumphs -
of loneliness and LOVE –
I become a visitor in my dreams.
I struggle to wake - to shed this
fragment of time – this
spiral of slumber.
The light of Day will not be denied –
the morning mist disperses -
moonbeams in retreat.
A miracle of majesty
glides 'cross the ether -
propelled by nature's invisible eye -
‘ tis the 339th -
EAGLES OF THE NIGHT SKY
Earl Carson (Lynnwood, Washington) served in the Korean War from September 15, 1950 to November 1951, in C Company, 1st Tank Battalion, 1st Marine Division FMF. According to Earl, most of his poetry was written to honor and remember combat vets generally, but some of it also reflects his views of "Clinton’s legacy of draft-dodging, flag-burning, support of the Soviet Union, anti-American actions and beliefs, and his hatred for the military generally." The poems were written from the perspective of a Korean War combat Marine.
Rifle squads are on patrol,
Though few remain alive;
In unity they fight as one,
For common goals they strive.
It's humid, and a blazing sun,
Is brutal in its touch;
A God, a home, a land they love,
Prompts them to risk so much.
Exploding shells and shattered trees,
A sound like Hell's refrain;
What they have seen so much before,
Is happening again.
The training they received in boot,
Has hammered out the rough;
The point man's hit, but rifle sights
Avenge him soon enough.
It's "saddle up, move out Marines!"
There isn't any doubt,
They will prevail as in the past,
They know war inside out.
The foe has thrown his gauntlet down
And chosen this his lot;
Outnumbered, still Marines respond,
The price regretting not.
The sounds of war are quiet now
A hilltop has been bought;
Can those at home know what they feared?
How fiercely they have fought?
Continue on, U.S. Marines,
Reload, regroup, renew;
Death is silent, always near
To those, "The Brave, The Few."
Some shrapnel just knocked down a buddy of mine,
Tore a big, gaping hole in his chest;
His unfocused eyes are wide open and glazed,
No more will he face wartime’s test.
I can’t shield your eyes from that sun, my friend,
Or cushion your head from the ground;
Must fire my rifle while ammo holds out,
There are enemy troops all around.
You’re trying to speak with a half-hearted smile,
And it brings floods of tears to my eye;
For God only knows I can’t listen or help,
I must fire this rifle, or die.
We teamed up as buddies in boot camp, my friend,
We marched through the day and the night;
Then shipped out together to take on this job,
Wound up in one hell of a fight.
What will I say to your children back home,
And how can I talk to your wife?
What can I do for your mother and dad,
When I tell them how you lost your life?
Must cancel these thoughts for a while, my friend
And fight for this ground we are on;
For I can’t leave you here for the enemy troops,
I must carry you out when they’re gone.
Incoming rounds shake the ground, Dear God,
And shrapnel screams loud through the air;
And I must rely on my faith in the Lord,
For, without Him it’s too much to bear.
So, rest now in peace, and I promise, my friend,
I’ll see you get back ‘cross the foam;
And say "Adios" to you there and then,
Then in Heaven, you’ll find a new home.
Some restless nights I lie awake,
To gaze at stark, black skies;
And there a vision comes quite clear,
Before it fades and dies;
Dark shadows from a haunting past,
Appear before my eyes.
I see a group of heroes, dead,
With soundless steps appear;
And what their silence can’t withhold,
Their tortured looks make clear;
Their clothes are stained and soaked with blood,
And eyes express great fear.
They are the lost, forgotten men,
Who went through wartime’s pain;
And now they come to tell the world,
This country’s gone insane.
Since people vote for evil men,
They’ve lost their lives in vain.
Their legion grew with every war,
But more will join this band;
As U.N. conflicts take more lives,
For Clinton’s "one-world" stand.
And brain-dead voters still support,
Those traitors in command.
In D.C., treason reigns supreme,
Draft-dodgers pull our string;
They take away our liberties,
And every sacred thing.
They pledge allegiance to our foes,
With payoffs from Beijing.
So those who fought our nation’s wars,
and formed this country great;
Appear again to tell us all,
The time has grown too late.
To rectify the voter’s sins,
Now, we shall meet our fate.
Our combat vets defended us, and proudly they did serve,
They paid the dues our country asked, in order to preserve;
This land of hope and liberty, from which our freedoms sprung,
And helped to shape its history, back then when they were young.
They felt that through their suffering, and by the grace of God,
The home folks need not walk the paths their bloody feet have trod;
To learn first hand the lessons wartime’s terrors can express,
Or have to deal with governments that evil men profess.
But freedom calls for vigilance, for on our hallowed ground,
Dwell evil men in politics, and traitors all abound;
These tyrants are not limited to far-off distant shore,
Ensconced in D.C.’s marble halls, there lurk so many more.
It’s not the ones who fought our wars who put those traitors there,
But those who stayed so safely home, and simply didn’t care;
They mocked the wounded and the dead, who fought to keep us free,
By sending those most evil men to Washington, D.C.
Then, sixties-style leftist types, who loathe our fighting men,
All turned their backs upon our flag to dodge the draft, and then;
They greeted our returning vets by spitting in their face,
And voted evil men to power, to add to the disgrace.
Since service men risked life and limb to save the whole world’s bets,
The ones who shirked their duties are disgusting to these vets;
And traitors weren’t elected by the men who sacrifice,
But by the brain-dead socialists, who never paid the price.
In spite of wars for liberty, and all those tears and strife,
Of death and pain, and hardship to defend a way of life;
Still thieves and liars, and their ilk, in pompous comfort dwell,
Concerned with power and with self, they’d sell our land to hell.
Like flies upon a garbage heap, these traitors foul our land,
Their treasonous agenda is all they understand;
For those who rule in Washington abandoned and betrayed,
Our country and their sacred oath, as Chinese funds were paid.
And now our nation rots within, our freedoms are no more,
An evil sickness fouls our land just like an open sore;
Attracting germs and viruses, as anyone can see,
For still, this sickness threatens us, from Washington, D.C.
Those unwashed sixties hippie types loved freedoms in their life,
All gained by others’ sacrifice, with blood, and death, and strife;
But when their country asked for help – when it was in a jam,
They ran away to dodge the draft, and didn’t give a damn!
They cared not for our noble past; those generations who,
Displayed contempt for fighting men, and founding fathers too;
they called our nation’s history a massive, right-wing sham,
And showed our country disrespect. They didn’t give a damn!
They opened up their leftist mouths, and commie hype came out,
For socialistic tyranny is what they’re all about;
They gained elected office through some lying, Marxist scam,
To take our country’s freedoms, for they didn’t give a damn!
They waved the banners of our foes; held riots in the street,
Burned draft cards and our Stars and Stripes, and worked for our defeat;
They pledged allegiance to the flag of bloody North Vietnam,
The sixties generation that didn’t give a damn!
They spouted views of Chairman Mao, and served his cause quite well,
Their works are of the Antichrist. Their souls have roots in hell;
They tried to change us all to fit some foreign diagram,
Those G.I.-hating sixties types, who didn’t give a damn.
They’re unfit to share the blessings of our patriotic best,
And since they’ve chosen tyranny, they’ve failed Heaven’s test;
So when their lives are over, and they take that last exam,
They’ll graduate to hell, because they didn’t give a damn!
Its stripes of red would paint the sky, for everyone to see,
With stars of white on field of blue, it mirrored liberty;
And told its story to the world - of people brave and free.
It spoke of battles we have won, where fighting men depart,
To meet the foe on foreign soil, in wars we didn’t start;
And how it brought them confidence, and courage to their heart.
It graced the marching honor guards, to head up the parade,
And followed men to hell and back, when wartime’s debts were paid;
Then hovered half-staff over graves where combat dead were laid.
It once stood for a land of patriots tried and true,
Who’d rather die than disrespect the red, the white and blue;
And always rose to honor our Old Glory when it flew.
But later generations snub our nation’s flag today,
At football games and in parades, they look the other way;
Old Glory now is much ignored, as patriots pass away.
Then brain-dead types brought Clinton in, a guy who proudly spurned,
Our nation and its sacred flag, and then so unconcerned;
In front of Moscow’s citizens, the Stars and Stripes he burned.
Some evil politicians came, our freedoms to forestall,
To be a part of Clinton’s team, to follow treason’s call;
And violate their sacred trust, to subjugate us all.
And now that U.N. flag appears, where Stars and Stripes had flown,
Declaring we are spiritless, our heritage is gone;
Reminding us of values lost, of liberties we’ve known.
So if by chance that you should see the Red, the White and Blue,
Just think of better times gone by, when life was clean and true;
And reminisce as you recall the freedoms we once knew.
As rising crime and violence replace good times of yore,
We cringe and tremble with a fear we’ve never felt before.
How soon we lose the purpose of our nation’s early years,
And due respect for those who fought, with blood, and sweat, and tears.
Our founding fathers made this land as it was meant to be,
A home for lawful citizens, of people brave and free.
Now, if you listen silently, perhaps you too can hear,
Their deathless words that echo their heartache, dread, and fear.
They agonize in disbelief, of better times gone by;
" Things we considered innocent exist no more!" They cry.
" For slimy sixties Marxists burn the flag we hold so dear,
And homes become like prisons. Crime grows from year to year."
"Those things considered sinful now happen all the while,
What now is seen as normal was once both sick and vile.
The woman’s place, though in the home, her family to maintain,
with latch-key children each one took her role in life in vain."
"Her children roam the streets at night, as if they’ve lost all hope,
Those rock and rap groups idolized preach death, and sex, and dope.
The roving gangs that terrorize each law-abiding man,
Prompt drive-by shooting incidents from some opposing clan."
"’Do-gooders’ cry ‘insensitive, revenge is not so nice!’
so criminals are pampered, their victims pay the price.
The Bill of Rights is threatened, the people unaware,
Would vote away their liberties because they just don’t care."
"Abnormal same-sex practices, from which no childbirth springs,
Must now be taught in public schools, with other weird things.
Though deadly AIDS infects them, strange laws say you can’t tell,
The names of those you must avoid, to keep you safe and well."
"Though ‘civil rights’ are parroted, they’re meaningless to men,
When seeking work to pay the bills, they try and try again.
But find that sex and race alone determine who will share,
This country’s jobs and social life, and men don’t have a prayer."
"Your citizens have forgotten us. You chose the course of sin,
This country that has blessed you all will never rise again.
And those of us who formed this land feel sickened and annoyed,
Because you simply didn’t care, this nation is destroyed!"
They chose to fight for liberty,
Just kids, still in their teens;
But joined the legion of the lost,
In wartime’s combat scenes.
Some gave their lives on tropic isles,
Or burned in airplane wrecks;
While others died on frozen hills,
Or jumped from sinking decks.
The bullets tore their flesh away,
On Iwo’s bloody shore;
And Chinese burp guns took their toll,
At Chosin Reservoir.
Vietnam’s dead felt cannon fire,
Their names were on those shells;
They bled, they cried, and there they died,
In many separate hells.
And though they rest at Arlington,
Their souls cry out in pain.
For Clinton sold this hallowed place,
To pay for his campaign.
Slick Willie traded gravesites there,
Reserved for combat vets;
To those who dodged the draft like him,
And paid his campaign debts.
In payment for election funds,
To help that Clinton snake,
A place was found at Arlington,
To plant that Lawrence fake!
So, since the ground’s polluted now,
We vets must look ahead,
And find a clean and proper place
To honor combat dead.
Yes, Arlington’s infected now,
All thanks to "Comrade Bill."
Though Larry Lawrence was removed,
His aura fouls it still.
They cannot rest, their ground is soiled,
And justice is delayed;
Because of Clinton and his ilk,
All vets have been betrayed!
With shouts of left-wing slogans loud, the sixties slime left as a crowd,
With hate for homeland and its wars, they dodged the draft on foreign shores;
They fled their country, then returned, demanding rights they never earned.
Some pinkos, filled with all their hate, to Hanoi went to demonstrate,
And Moscow’s haunts, strange tales could tell, of those who came, their souls to sell;
Such traitors burned with evil hands, our sacred flag, in foreign lands.
With acid-rock their brains pollute, free sex and drugs was their pursuit,
Their half-dead souls made senses reel, so Karl Marx could win appeal;
Their schools with liberal thoughts arcane, taught socialistic, one-world gain.
They all refused to share the yoke, and communistic treason spoke,
Despised this greatest land on earth, this nation free that gave them birth;
With cowardice they scorned those all, who fought to answer freedom’s call.
If these Satanic traitors faced those long-dead tyrants they embraced,
Then Joe Stalin, from depths of hell, would view their deeds and say, "All’s well;"
And Adolph Hitler, watching too, would surely say "I’m proud of you!"
In politics these traitors strive to keep their evil plans alive.
That in this land so free and brave, the populace they might enslave;
With left-wing liberalism’s gloom, they’d send this nation to its doom.
Let’s not forget the sacrifice, endured by vets, as freedom’s price,
They faced the foe and beat him down, to cast his sword back to the ground;
They’d gladly do the same today, to save us from those traitors’ way.
And now an ultimatum clear, demands that we must lend an ear,
Each patriot must be shown the reason to stop this evil, one-world treason;
For if we fail to act today, it’s goodbye to our U.S.A.
Combat vets with tales to tell; not often prone to brag,
With talk of war, of wounds unhealed, of honor, country, flag,
But those who stayed so safe at home have other things to say;
"We’ve heard your line too many times. Please vet, just go away!"
"We do not care about your wars, and what each battle cost,
The pain and torture you endured. The comrades that you lost,
Your tales of death and violence, too grisly to portray;
Distressing to our consciousness. Now please vet, go away!"
"We young should do the nation’s work. The gays and women too,
Minorities must be first employed before we hire you,
Affirmative action is the law. With quotas we repay;
And you’re too old to take our jobs, so please vet, go away!"
"We’ve taken morals out of schools. They’re free to educate,
To teach of sex, of one-world rule, of Godless welfare state,
The Stars and Stripes, in protest burns, when it goes on display;
You loved that flag in vain, G.I. Things change. Now go away!"
"The nation’s better in the hands of generations new,
What’s old is past, the values change, and we are tired of you,
Your patriotic sentiments by now are all passé;
Time after time, we’ve heard your rhyme. Now vet, just go away!"
"We’re sixties-style radicals. We hate you men of war,
Your comrades dead, in hallowed ground, deserve our praise no more;
And contributions, slyly placed with Democrats today;
Will buy our place in Arlington, so vet, just go away!"
"Although you risked your life and limb to keep this nation free,
We voted Marxists into power, in Washington, D.C.,
The foe you once so bravely fought, we honor now today’
The country’s changed. We are one world. Now vet, please go away.
An eerie vision came to me, in dreams, the other night,
Of wartime dead who lost their lives, in some distressing fight;
Their anguished faces showed concern, and mirrored inner fright.
They bore deep scars from every war, from where our flag once flew,
They died from wounds at Bunker Hill, and Iwo Jima too;
Korea’s frozen dead appeared, along with Viet Nam’s crew.
In hollow, death-like tones one spoke: "We have a tale to tell,
On battlefields across the world, we served Old Glory well’
That flag now flies above the graves where we, the dead, now dwell."
"We chose to fight for liberty, but treason reared its head,
An evil generation rose, and we can’t rest," he said;
" They burn our nation’s sacred flag, for which much blood was shed!"
"While you remained so safe at home, we paid our country’s due,
We trusted you to guard that flag, and hoped you’d never choose
To tolerate those evil ones who would our flag abuse."
"G.I.s would face a firing squad, if the flag they should betray,
But sixties rebels didn’t care. They chose the traitor’s way;
The devil has a special place reserved for them some day."
"In mocking this, the Stars and Stripes, flag-burners showed their hue,
They waved the flag of North Vietnam, and that of Russia too;
And you did nothing to resist. What must we think of you?"
"How shameful your inaction. Your responses weak and lame!
How can you make excuses for a country gone insane?
How can you answer we do died, who fought your wars in vain?"
Those patriots all have passed away, and as in death they fell,
Succeeding generations condemned this land to hell’
They chose the side of leftist slime, and commies wished them well.
The vision of those wartime dead soon vanished in the air,
But left behind a message clear, of anger and despair;
For Satan’s spawn still burns the flag, and people still don’t care!
Chase, Donald A.
Donald A. Chase lives in Framingham, MA. He joined the US Army Reserves on May 20, 1944, then enlisted in the regular army October 1945. He served with the 89th Infantry Division in Europe during World War II. When the Korean War broke out, Donald re-enlisted into the Army in December 1945. He arrived in Korea January or February 1951 and served with B Co., 19th Infantry Regiment, 24th Infantry Division. He was wounded March 1951, then injured a second time in June of July of 1951. He returned to action in Korea November 1952, assigned to I Company 15th Infantry Regiment, 3rd Infantry Division. He was wounded a third time on July 26, 1953 at Outpost Harry. He was discharged from the Army in October 1953.
Regarding the use of his poetry on the Korean War Educator website, Don wrote, "The writing of it was a form of therapy for me when all the scenes and experiences would come to mind after I retired and had time on my hands. In fact, it has never ceased to amaze me how certain things from that war still stay so clearly in my mind even though they all happened almost fifty years ago. There were the battles when I was with the 24th Division in 1951 when it was a war of movement, and then the stalemated trench warfare of 1952 and 1953 which in a certain sense was even more nervewracking."
I have had many adventures down through the years.
Most have brought happiness, a few have brought tears.
With the passage of time some memories tend to dim.
Yet certain ones stay forever, always locked within.
Two warm hearted soldiers who took care of me
While still a young kid in the infantry.
They saw I was timid, withdrawn and shy
And in their own quiet way were always nearby.
A war torn Europe with its shattered land
Full of death and destruction at every hand.
But one scene stands out above all those things bad.
The children’s smiling faces when I shared what I had.
There was the old gold miner on the outskirts of Nome
With his tales of places in the world he had roamed.
We would sit and talk under lead colored skies
And remembered still were his cold deadly eyes.
Stock car racing with all of its fun
Always looked back upon as my day in the sun.
Camaraderie taking place with other drivers you know.
The banging and crashing just part of the show.
Another war in a far off place
Leaving good and bad memories which time can’t erase.
The Swedish hospital where my wounds slowly heal
A shy Korean girl bringing me my meals.
Parachute jumping and the tingling thrill
when the lines pull taut and the canopy fills.
Alone in the sky, so peaceful and free
Where somehow I feel its just God and me.
My work as a carpenter allowed me to build
Many tangible things that are obvious still.
Buildings and bridges carry the mark of my hand.
Even after I’m gone they will still stand.
Marriage and children with the joy they both bring
Made life complete so t’was easy to sing.
But something went wrong for it all came apart&Y^
Leaving an emptiness unseen in the heart.
These verses tell a story and the scenes they create
Were all part of my world as determined by fate.
Someone has watched over me, in oh so many ways
Now allowing me my memories to help fill my days.
Whenever our country has gone to war,
there come forth a special breed,
of men and women from all walks,
to serve in those hours of need
Like minutemen of old, they rallied,
to defend our flag ‘round the world,
and even today, though aged and gray,
stand tall when our banners unfurled.
There are tears for departed comrades,
whose bodies now lie far and wide,
yet always remembered down through the years,
so in a sense, walk side by side.
These men and women are veterans,
who carry the scars of the fight,
some on the outside, most on the inside,
but all from defending what’s right.
The soldiers trooped aboard the ship
in a seemingly endless file,
their youthful banter filling the air,
faces crinkled with smiles.
But behind the smiles and banter,
was the knowledge they were going to war,
when this ship completed her journey,
leaving them on some distant shore.
Also present was the nagging thought,
that many might never return,
and just how fate would decide this,
led feelings inside to churn.
In time, the ship is loaded,
then slowly starts to sail,
while observers standing on the pier,
see thousands lining her rail.
Many looked through glistening eyes,
as these young men sailed away,
but whether aboard the ship or on the pier,
all would long remember that day.
Off to one side and silent
they sat with downcast eyes.
Not knowing what their fate would be,
or whether they would live or die.
One had blood dripping down his face,
from a bullet crease in his head.
Another’s arm hung mangled,
with its bandage stained bright red.
The third had feet discolored,
in sneakers that were full of holes.
His toes all swollen and useless,
frozen stiff by the winter cold.
They were enemy soldiers,
yet human like you and I,
and one couldn’t help but notice,
the pain in their anguished eyes.
That scene of pain and misery,
which has defied the passage of time,
Is another unwanted souvenir,
from a war that left scars in the mind.
If the barren mountains of Korea could talk,
what memorable tales they would tell;
of men who fought in a forgotten war,
which gave them a preview of hell.
They would speak of things that tried men’s souls,
leaving the survivors to remember so well.
The cold with its snow, mud from the rain,
and underground holes where they dwelled.
There would be stories of human endurance.
Brought on by the will to survive.
Bravery and courage and unthinking sacrifice,
for warfare demands some must die.
They also would tell of the burial place,
of soldiers now locked in eternal sleep,
whose grey-white bones lies silent and still,
though loved ones and comrades still weep.
These voiceless mountains with their untold tales,
have a far greater meaning than most.
To the men who fought and existed thereon,
they are a separate world full of ghosts.
Often when I sit alone, and twilight fills the sky,
I find myself recalling scenes from other years gone by.
Memories of Korea still clutter up my head,
those dreary days and hellish nights, and my friends, long dead.
The many hills we fought through, which never seemed to end,
and all the while the fear inside, of death around the bend.
The clashes with the enemy, who sometimes fled away,
but, for every hill we won, someone had to pay.
Maybe one was lucky, when a bullet found an arm;
for a little while, at least, you were safe from harm.
My mind recalls the icy weather, when diseases took their toll,
when frozen feet were common, from winter’s numbing cold.
The trench line with its bunkers and grimy faces there
where if you were observant, you saw the burnt-out stare.
The pathway from the trenches that led to no-man’s land,
a torn and barren piece of ground, destroyed by human hand.
Always, there were those who fell, never to arise,
and to this day, I still can see the shock in startled eyes.
These vivid pictures locked inside, although they do not show,
never seem to leave my thoughts, no matter where I go.
First there is a scream for a medic,
but tool ate, so a soul must yield.
To the whistling death of the bullets,
that criss-cross the battlefield.
Still others shake and tremble,
as deadly shells crash down,
but a certain sense of honor,
makes them hold their ground.
Sometimes the fighting is savage,
so bodies lie in heaps,
and some will always question,
was the price too steep?
Yet when the battle is won,
there is a feeling of great pride.
Although you cannot see it,
because it’s something that’s inside.
So many times this happens,
in the brutal game of war.
That all who have endured it,
are changed forever more.
We climbed the hill in silence,
just listening to the sounds of war.
And each in his own way and manner,
tried to get ready for what’s now in store.
All heartbeats started to quicken,
as we thought of what goes wrong,
when shells and bullets start to sing,
their always deadly song.
And so we heard this song of death,
for many a night and day.
And fortunate indeed were those of us,
who were able to walk away.
But the sights and scenes encountered,
as the days and nights went by,
Live forever in your mind,
and at odd times can make you cry.
"Time will erase all wounds", ‘tis said,
but sometimes that’s not true.
For when the wounds are deep inside,
they become a part of you.
From boyhood to adulthood, many changes take place,
but the scars left by war are never erased.
When you answer the call and become part of the fight,
then you learn of war’s horror with all of its fright.
How the shells crash down with a chilling sound,
as you crouch in fear in your hole in the ground.
How the bullets zing and whistle past,
while a friend slumps down and breathes his last.
The enemy soldier, just another man,
doing his duty as best that he can.
No glory exists, and the gruesome sights seen,
haunt you forever and become part of your dreams.
When at last it’s all over and you sail for home,
you carry the scars that are yours alone.
Scars on the outside, easy to find;
scars on the inside, etched deep in your mind.
The years pass by and memories fade,
but thoughts still turn to the friends you made.
To those who survived it, and to those cut down,
who today rest quietly in their spot in the ground.
Each time the daylight faded, and darkness filled the sky,
the waiting would begin, for the night to hurry by.
Darkness was the time that the enemy chose to strike;
knowing eyes grew dim and weary as they strained to pierce the night.
There was little sound or movement and the weather took its toll.
Bodies ached and stiffened, from winter’s bitter cold.
Hours slowly passed, all senses showed fatigue.
Endurance had its limits, with sleep the crying need.
Suddenly without warning, flames and thunder rock the scene.
Shells and bullets hit their targets, while the night was rent with screams.
Man-made moonbeams lit the sky; flares added their glow.
Shadows twisted and danced, like some weird picture show.
Chattering machine guns sang their deadly serenade.
Shrapnel whined and howled, from exploding hand grenades.
From frozen snow-filled holes, men would fight to stay alive.
Sadly, though some did see a sunrise, many others also died.
Life is pleasant in sunshine’s bright light,
but apprehension begins with the coming of night.
You fall asleep, but dreams fill your mind,
of days of terror once thought left behind.
Of days on an outpost in no-man’s land
seeing the pieces of what once was a man.
Who he was, no one will know,
only part of his head and one hand show.
The unseen mortar coughs up its shell,
followed by a blast that casts its spell.
There is nowhere to go, no place to hide,
as the screaming shrapnel spreads ever so wide.
At last its quiet, but you still hug the ground,
shocked at first by the absence of sound.
The heartbeat slows and you wake to find
it’s just another dream playing tricks with your mind.
These scenes of battles from days long ago,
are kept buried inside so no one knows.
And although you try with all your might,
you can’t stop the dreams that come with the night.
I did not hear it coming in, for mortars make no sound.
Only when they leave the tube and when they hit the ground.
A flash of colors filled my eyes, from a thunderous blast,
My body flew into the air, it happened all so fast.
Lying crumpled in a heap, too stunned to feel the hurt.
Blood spilling freely from the wounds, mingling with the dirt.
The medic looked, rolled his eyes, I can’t remember what he said.
With shredded legs and head torn open, all seemed colored red.
Carried down the hillside, by fellow comrades who slipped and fell.
Compassion showing in their faces, gentle words to wish me well.
The clean soothing hospital, where my wounds were treated with skill.
Then away from the winds of war, blowing through those hills.
For me the war was over and homeward bound I’d be.
My mind a cluttered storage place, of faces, scenes and memories.
Yes, all the external wounds did heal, but not the ones inside.
These, are constant thoughts of friends, who from this blast did die.
The rugged battle field in Korea,
contained many hills with well known names.
Deadly fighting took place on their slopes,
but sometimes all in vain.
Jackson Heights was such a place,
where a lot of blood was spilled.
The end result was many deaths,
and the enemy controlling the hill.
Outpost Tom and Outpost Dick,
were places of much lesser fame.
Yet, there too men suffered and died,
When shells came down like rain.
Outpost Harry was a critical hill,
one to be held at all costs.
And so men went to their maker,
To insure it would not be lost.
History books on the Korean War,
will have a paragraph that tells
About the men who defended Outpost Harry,
and how they defended it well.
Boyce Clark was a member of E/2/7, US Marine Corps, during the Korean War. He served in Korea in 1950-51. His full memoir can be found on the Memoirs page of the Korean War Educator under Boyce Clark.
Here is a story that must be told,
Of Marines who fought in the bitter cold.
Some were veterans of World War II.
They would soon join the ranks
Called the "Chosin Few".
These veterans, though not too old,
Had one thing in common, all were bold!
Always outnumbered, but never outfought,
Fulfilled the lessons they were taught.
The Division was cut off, constantly hounded.
Then "Chesty" was heard to chime,
"They've got us surrounded.
The bastards won't get away this time".
Frozen hands and frozen feet,
The landscape covered like a great white sheet.
Still, they fought through the wintry breeze,
And destroyed eight divisions of the encircling Chinese.
Grunts on the ground will always share,
A special kindred for the Marine Corsair.
Their close air support left no doubt,
Of devastated Chinese along the route.
From Yudam-ni and Toktong pass,
Then Hagaru and Koto-ri,
First Division Marines fought their way to freedom,
To Hungnam and the Sea.
Now, truly a band of brothers,
We honor those Marines we never knew,
Hereafter, they will share with us in spirit,
We are -- THE CHOSIN FEW.
Korea was called the "Forgotten War,"
And historians do not dwell,
But there are countless personal stories,
And here is just one to tell.
He was my friend, and I heard him die!
I said heard because I could not see,
Yet he was only fifteen or twenty yards from me.
It was March 7 of '51, this I certainly know,
As our dug-in positions were covered,
With a heavy blanket of snow.
His name was Robert Raspanti,
And I still can hear his voice,
It was filled with anguish and pain.
What were his thoughts -- of family or friends?
Or will I get home again?
This story would be repeated.
On this windy, cold March day,
As five more Marines from E-2-7,
Were to be listed as KIA!
Their names will forever be remembered.
And listed here below:
REGAN, PASSERO, MATERNE,
CASTILLE, and CHURCHILL.
They were 7th Marines who fought and died.
On that hill and in the snow.
We will never forget the sacrifice they made,
As they fought for others freedom,
And with their lives they paid.
I for one will always remember,
All the Marines who went ashore,
And the heritage they left us,
As members of our beloved Corps!
One day, we all shall meet again,
We'll look each other in the eye,
And say, welcome aboard Marine,
Well done! and -- Semper Fi!
To those who served in Korea,
There was always one more hill to climb.
Be it in the heat of summer or miserable winter time.
The high ground proved to be our friend,
As we would dig in for the night,
And the two man holes we hastily dug,
Were always too damn tight!
It was to our advantage,
When the Chinese did drop by,
Thanks to well laid fields of fire,
All they could do was die.
We had seen what happens,
When you fail to plan ahead.
It was mid-May of 1951,
And a sight we'll never forget,
As we marched through "Massacre Valley",
And witnessed our Army's dead.
So climb we did and dug our holes,
No matter what the weather,
When you think of the alternative,
The gear we packed up those hills,
Seemed lighter than a feather.
To all who walked those Korean hills,
The memories will always be around.
As Marines we know the value,
Of always securing the High Ground.
In the year of our Lord 1950,
The U.S. and the world was at peace.
Then the bubble burst in the Far East,
And the peace we all knew would cease.
As thousands of North Koreans,
Would invade their neighbors in the South.
And once again the echoes of war would be heard,
In the "Land of the Morning Calm".
For thirty-seven months the battles raged,
And the outcome was in doubt,
Until U.S. led forces showed the enemy their clout.
There was the escape from Pusan's perimeter,
Then the invasion of Inchon from the sea,
And U.S. Marines of the First Division,
Would help South Korea remain free.
Still battles raged throughout the land,
Then an epic withdrawal would soon be at hand.
From the frozen Chanjin (Chosin) reservoir,
Marines and Chinese would be fully at war.
The world was told the Marines had no chance,
As thousands of Chinese were on the advance.
Yet, the 1st Marine Division proved the world wrong,
As they would march to the sea and defeat the throng.
With 10 Chinese Divisions at their back,
The 1st Marine Division would lead an attack.
The Marine attack would begin at Koto-ri,
And end successfully at Hungnam and the sea.
Misery and agony, two words we knew so well,
Were common words for those who fought,
On that Korean landscape called hell.
From the summer of 1950 'till the summer of '53,
Brave men fought countless battles,
So South Korea would remain free.
We were told this was only a "Police Action",
And really not a war,
One wondered if the rest of the world,
Knew what we were fighting for.
We fought for another nation's freedom,
And against those invaders from the North,
Who would enslave their neighbors,
As enemy armies came marching forth.
From the perimeter at Pusan,
To the frozen Chosin (Changjin) Reservoir,
Then Spring and Summer offensives,
Would test the resolve of our beloved Corps.
The politicians and the pundits,
Called Korea, "The Forgotten War",
But just ask those who fought there,
What they were fighting for.
Freedom is not free and comes at a terrible price,
Just remember those who cherished freedom,
Yet with their lives paid the ultimate price.
And to all those who did come home,
Life itself is like a special soothing balm,
For they helped preserve freedom,
In this "Land of the Morning Calm."
It was cold, so cold, at that Masan site,
As we gathered to sing carols,
On Christmas Eve night.
Far from home, family and friends,
Still the warmth we shared knew no ends.
Snow flurries added to the spirit of Christmas,
While some even wondered,
If folks back home missed us.
Korea! Korea! Where the hell's that?
I can't even find on my old world map.
But here we are at Truman's request,
All bundled up for a long winter's quest.
I heard Joe O'Brien say, hey! Where's me hat!,
And in an instant, I knew where I was at.
You see, Joe was a classmate of mine at O'Dea,
A school in Seattle, so far away.
We hadn't seen each other in years,
So, we talked of old times, over Ashai beers.
We sang carols of course, cursed Acheson and Harry,
But time was short, so not to worry.
We had good chow, warm clothes,
And lots of Suntori!
Then Christmas Eve faded, along with our dreams,
Of being "home early",
Just another one of MacArthur's schemes.
"Marine, you die!" the shrill voice screamed.
Now wide awake, we had not dreamed.
Whistles, bugles, they all blared.
We hunkered down in holes we shared.
Here they come, though not too far,
The M1, the carbine, would not cope.
Still they come, though not too far,
Thanks to the Marine and his BAR.
The CCF, they really tried,
And for their efforts, they all died.
What was their purpose, their screams and yells?
They soon would rest in new-found hells.
This Korean night in May was serene,
Until they challenged a U.S. Marine.
For in the hereafter, they will see,
The Marine, the Marine, USMC!
A solemn tribute is paid today,
By a guard of honor, as Marines would say.
A flag-draped casket, a friend perhaps,
A mournful tune as a bugler plays Taps."
This Marine we now honor and lay to rest
Had family, friends and this request:
"Seven Marines fire a volley of three,
There is no better way to remember me."
My time has come, the day serene,
As the Lord welcomes home...a U.S. Marine.
Twenty-four notes all loud and clear,
Breaking the calm of those gathered here.
A flag-draped casket is laid to rest,
An American hero, one of our best.
The sound of "Taps"
Brings a tear to the eye,
And we ask ourselves, "Why did he die?"
He gave his life so we'll remain free,
To protect and preserve our liberty.
Then seven Marines fire a volley of three,
"There is no better way to remember me."
Those mournful 24 notes
Have been heard once more
By all Marines in our beloved Corps.
So until we all meet at heaven's gate,
Those twenty-four notes will have to wait.
Then the day will come--
We'll look each other in the eye
And say, "Welcome aboard, Marine,
Well done and Semper Fi!"
I stood alone and looked around
At this windy, cold and hallowed ground.
The countless markers, row upon row,
A reminder of wars fought long ago.
This common ground they now share,
Why are so few here to care?
Complacent? Forgetful? Who's to say?
Yet a time to remember, a time to pray.
As a nation we shall remember
All veterans who paid the price.
They answered the call when needed,
And did so without thinking twice.
Some fought the "War to End All Wars,"
A better life for one and all.
Still World War II, Korea and 'Nam,
What's the answer to it all?
Peace is hard to come by,
Yet if these veterans could only speak,
I'm sure their answer would be as one:
"Treasure liberty! Don't be weak!
Just don't forget we did our share
For country, freedom and you.
Is it too much then to ask,
Remember and give us our due?"
Now on this November Veterans Day,
Surely we can take the time to say
A heartfelt "thank you" to our veterans
As we pause, give thanks and pray.
They were all here and then no more.
These warriors, these Marines of our Corps.
They paid the price for you and me
That this nation would remain forever free.
They answered the call not thinking twice,
And we must never forget their sacrifice.
All rest here now as friends gather around
Paying respects at this hallowed ground.
What can we say to show that we care
As we bow our heads and say a prayer?
The sound of "Taps" played loud and clear,
An honor to all who will remain here.
So let us remember each Memorial Day,
As our time to pause, give thanks and pray.
We must always treasure our liberty,
And remember those who have kept us free.
And now that we depart this place serene,
We have rendered honors to a U.S. Marine.
The 7th Marines of "Easy" Company
Will all muster once again.
We'll gather in heaven's squadbay
To receive our orders for the day.
We served our time for country and Corps
And heard the terrible sounds of war.
Now as a lone bugler plays "Taps,"
Another Marine leaves our Corps.
We welcome him home as a nation gives thanks.
He is a Marine from "Easy" Two-Seven
And we are proud he is in our ranks.
So fall in Marine and cover down,
Sound off when your name is called.
Next time you hear the sound of "Taps"
And Marines fire a volley of three,
There really is no better way to remember you and me.
You can hear the faint sounds of Sousa's band
That stir not only our hearts, but others'.
We safely have come home from the wars
And will forever be a band of brothers.
It is known by every Marine alive
That our Corps was born in 1775.
Formed by Congress
To protect our liberty,
We are known as warriors.
We are soldiers of the sea.
Since the founding of our nation,
We have fought against tyranny
In the jungles, sand and coral
Of World War II,
To the bitter, freezing Korean cold.
Our colors have never shown brighter.
Our Corps ethos makes us bold.
From Tripoli to Belleau Wood,
Marines would forever be known
As leathernecks and devil dogs--
Their fighting spirit well-shown.
From the first battles of our Republic,
And all other wars in between,
Marines always have been
At the tip of the spear,
For as our hymn reminds us,
We are the finest ever seen!
Now, let us propose a toast.
All stand and lift your glass
To our beloved Corps!
"To those Marines who went before,
We'll uphold your legacy,
For we are truly a band of brothers;
We are soldiers of the sea!"
We read it in the papers, then see it on TV.
The media's constantly telling us
This country's not what it used to be--
That we lack respect and discipline
And no one seems to care.
Well, I for one have a story to tell
That I am more than willing to share.
Our republic is in excellent shape.
You only have to look around.
Thanks to U.S. Marine recruiters,
Our Corps is on solid ground.
These young men and women
From throughout the good old USA
Will train at Parris Island
And near San Diego's bay.
Their one desire, to be the best,
Will be tested for 11 weeks.
The ultimate goal to be called Marine
Is what each individual seeks.
Discipline will be ingrained;
Respect must truly be earned,
For these are traits to live by
And goals for which Marines have yearned.
The future of our nation
Is in every youth we see.
Ask any Marine Corps recruiter
And he will readily agree.
So, next time you see a story
Knocking country, youth and more,
Remember these young people
Serving their country and our beloved Corps!
Thanks again to Marine Corps recruiters.
They are put through every test
And are ultimately responsible
For selecting the very best.
For once recruits have completed
Their 11 weeks or more,
They will have earned the title "U.S. Marine"
And will forever be part of our Corps!
Since the founding of our beloved Corps in 1775,
Our finest young men and women
Have kept freedom's flame alive.
We have learned that freedom is precious
And that liberty comes at a price.
Yet, throughout our republic's existence,
And when challenged to fight,
Our Marines never faltered, but made the sacrifice.
Our Corps is filled with history,
For our heroes and legends abound.
Yet, all are proud Americans
And throughout the land are found.
Take a look at our battle steamers
As they glisten from our colors staff--
Each streamer a vivid reminder of encounters from the past.
Each streamer tells a story, of which we may be proud,
To be a part of history; we should shout it right out loud!
There are those who do not understand us,
And of course they never will,
For we are a band of brothers and understand the drill.
We have been forged together,
Be it in peacetime or in war,
And to each of us our Marine Corps is well worth dying for.
Those who have worn Marine Corps green,
And proudly wore their blues,
To you I say welcome board,
You have certainly paid your dues.
For "Once a Marine, always a Marine"
Is a motto we all understand,
And I know we all get chills
As we hear the strains of Sousa's band.
Our hymn forever reminds us
Of the battles we have seen,
And it makes us even prouder
To bear the title of United States Marine.
We now have another title
We'll carry through stress and strife.
Our Corps and our country will know us,
For we are Marines for life!
Do you recall in years gone by,
When we used to pause and pray,
For those Americans who gave their lives?
We called it Armistice Day.
The 11th hour of the 11th day,
Of the 11th month of the year,
Was set aside to honor those,
Who fought for liberty.
It was called the "War to End All Wars,"
And they died for you and me.
Now, we call it Veterans Day,
To honor all those who served.
Surely, we can do no less,
For their deeds are well deserved.
But where now are the parades,
The marching bands and such.
Is it just another holiday,
Or do we really care that much?
If you care, then tell a friend,
And join in this Veterans Day.
Make the occasion special;
It shouldn't be made a chore,
For those you have come to honor,
Once cherished peace and not war.
Some now lay in hallowed ground,
For they paid the ultimate price.
Why not then, take the time to visit?
Surely, you can make this sacrifice.
So, whenever you meet a veteran,
Especially on Veterans Day,
Just wave, acknowledge him, or even better yet,
Why not shake his hand and say,
"Thank you for all that you have done,
To keep this nation free."
And to all who have served before us,
Who treasured liberty,
Once Armistice Day, now Veterans Day,
Just let us never, ever forget,
To pay our respects to all who served;
This nation will forever be in their debt!
To the sons and daughters of America
Who fought to keep us free,
And to those who served on the home front
To help preserve our liberty.
Veterans, how can we ever thank you
For the sacrifice you bore,
And to those who never came home
From the European and Pacific war?
Your deeds should never be forgotten,
In fact, should be etched in stone,
As we gather here today and profess,
At last you are remembered;
You are honored and not alone.
As Americans, we must remember,
Freedom and liberty are not free.
Ask the veteran standing next to you
What he sacrificed for you and me.
The memorial before us is a reminder
That freedom comes at a price.
Yet when our nation called them,
They answered, not thinking twice.
As we dedicate this memorial
On this Memorial Day,
It is only fitting and proper
To pause, give thanks and pray.
To all who served in World War II,
Our thanks go out anew.
We have all come here today
To honor each and every one of you.
Future generations will learn
Just what our veterans have done--
That World War II was the supreme battle,
A battle which you have won.
As you leave here today, remember
Just what this memorial is fore:
To pay homage to each veteran,
And not to glorify war.
Too many years have now passed
Since that infamous seventh day of December.
Now is the time to pause and reflect,
And tell everyone, "We must remember."
It used to be, when I was young,
There were parades and flags flying
In the bright summer's sun.
People of all ages turned out to see
Those young men in uniform
Who helped keep us free.
The occasion was called Memorial Day,
A time to celebrate, a time to pray.
What used to be a solemn tradition
Has now been forgotten, a truly sad omission.
Where are the patriots, those who care
About our nation in need of prayer?
We should never forget their sacrifice;
On far-off battlefields they paid a price.
It seems to me that one day each year
We could each pay our respects,
Wave flags and just cheer--
Cheer all those who are with us today
And honor those in whose memories
We'll shed some tears and pray.
For these men now rest in hallowed ground,
Surrounded by comrades, so quiet a sound.
Yet faintly I hear the soft sound of "Taps,"
Echoing the voices of men from the past.
If you listen to your heart and feel the soft breeze
As the leaves gently rustle
Through the tops of the trees,
Listen, listen! And no doubt you'll hear
Voices from deep within say,
"Let us put the memory back in Memorial Day!"
Now, here we gather to honor those
Whose memories will never perish.
We can do no less than to say thank you;
Your deeds we shall forever cherish.
They all earned the title of
United States Marine.
Now their one and only goal is to train
Young people in their teens.
They are known as drill instructors,
And for eleven weeks or more,
They challenge each and every recruit
As they strive to join our Corps.
You see, each drill instructor has completed
Courses at DI School.
Now each recruit will swiftly learn
That drill instructors rule!
"Sir, yes, sir!" are words recruits all share,
As they respond respectfully
To the DI with the Smokey Bear.
It is this distinctive cover,
That all drill instructors wear,
That sets them apart from others
As they train those in their care.
For, you see, drill instructors
Are the backbone of our Corps,
As they train young people daily,
Be it in preparation for peace or war.
There is no substitute for readiness
The DIs know firsthand,
As they ready each and every recruit
To embark to a far-off land.
The training will soon be over
Recruits' skills are honed and keen.
For finally, after the Crucible
They will be called United States Marines!
But what of the drill instructors?
What do they have in store?
Just the knowledge and pride of each platoon
They've trained for our beloved Corps!
This story will be repeated
On coasts both East and West
As DIs strive for each platoon
To do its very best.
So, to those Marines with the razor creases
And their jaunty Smokey Bear,
Semper Fidelis to you!
This nation knows you care.
They fought beneath the Southern Cross,
These men they call Marines.
Some were battle-hardened,
Most still in their teens.
From the Solomon Islands to Okinawa
And countless islands in between,
U.S. Marines of the First Division
Were always on the scene.
It was 1 Feb. 1941,
When the "first to fight" was born;
And only 10 months later,
Our nation would learn to mourn.
The Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor;
There was no place for them to hide.
But at a place called Guadalcanal,
Marines would soon turn the tide.
The "first to fight" was ready
At this place they dubbed the 'Canal.
It should always be remembered;
Those who fought there surely shall!
Marines faced a bitter enemy
Until early September of 1945,
When the enemy finally surrendered,
And again, our freedom remained alive.
The "first to fight" was in Korea,
And then came Vietnam.
They vanquished another enemy
On the sands of Desert Storm.
And now 60 years later,
As we commemorate their anniversary,
The "first to fight" says Semper Fidelis
To all soldiers of the sea!
What do you feel when our flag goes by,
A spine tingling chill, a tear in the eye?
To me it means the freedom we all crave,
In this land of the free, home of the brave.
It is truly our symbol, the red, white and blue,
Yet some people may burn it, but very few.
We honor our symbol on this Flag Day;
Let us pause, reflect and, of course, pray.
Pray that our nation remains ever strong,
Maintains our vigilance, so nothing goes wrong.
We can always rely on a reliable source,
They are U.S. Marines: our 911 force!
If called to action on a foreign shore,
The red, white and blue will accompany the Corps.
We must always be a ready force from the sea,
If we are to protect and defend democracy.
So, let us always remember, the red, white and blue
Is the symbol of our freedom,
Obtained by those Marines we never knew.
It is true, some will still burn our flag,
And they will never be contrite.
They live in freedom, yet unearned,
They feel that it is their right.
Still, each time I hear "The Marines' Hymn,"
My heart is filled with pride,
And I'll say a silent "thank you" prayer,
For my country and for those Marines who died.
Semper Fidelis, these two words ring true.
U.S. Marines shall always be on guard
For the red, the white and blue!
For 11 weeks, we trained each day
And did our very best.
Yet, another challenge called the Crucible
Would be the one last test.
We all faced this defining moment
(As only recruits can do.)
Now, formed into cohesive units, success was measured
On just how we would follow through.
The obstacles, although many,
Were overcome by each and every one,
As teamwork brought us together,
And together we were as one!
Then came the time we all waited for
As morning colors rose,
We finally received the title Marine
And are now members of the Corps!
The 12th week is a time to share,
And, as Marines, reflect on what we have done.
We all came in as individuals;
Now, the Crucible has made us one!
I looked out my window,
And against a bright blue sky,
Saw the flag of our nation,
Softly waving on high.
We take for granted, so many things,
Like friends, homes, families
And children on swings.
Do we ever stop
To pray and give thanks,
For the countless Marines,
Who once filled our ranks?
If not for them, where would we be?
This home of the brave,
This land of the free.
And now 221 years later,
On this birthday of our Corps,
Our colors shine even brighter,
For there is peace, not war.
We're still prepared if need be
To defend our nation's goals,
Whatever will be our mission,
We'll master the rocks and shoals.
For those who wear
The Marine Corps green,
Our proud motto says it best.
Semper Fidelis--these two words
Have surmounted every test.
From our early Revolution, in 1775,
Marines have fought in every war
To keep this nation alive.
So wherever you are, let the word go out,
Be you on ship or shore,
To all Marines, Happy Birthday
And may God bless our beloved Corps!
It has often been said and written by others,
That U.S. Marines are a band of brothers.
Forged together, in peace or war,
Semper Fidelis, to country and Corps.
Combat ready; a force from the sea,
Prepared to keep this republic free.
History teaches mistakes from the past;
We must learn these lessons well.
Too many Marines have paid the price;
Their lives have been a sacrifice.
The price they paid for freedom
Has never been in vain.
This republic, in which we live today,
Has been won through their sacrifice and pain.
Is the "Cold War" really over?
Just look around the globe and see.
Remember, there is no substitute for readiness,
If this republic is to remain free.
When, and if, we're asked to fight,
As Marines we will do our best.
We ask, but just one thing...
For truly, it would be a sin,
And that would be hereafter
Limiting our ability to win.
Give us the tools with which to fight;
For as a band of brothers,
We are ready, both night and day.
Our one and only goal as Marines,
Is to protect the USA!
Memories are treasures; we keep them locked away,
Knowing that someday, we'll recall them back to play.
Forgotten faces, places and names;
Our memory retraces and eases the pains.
The pains of war now long past,
A memorial rises...remembered at last!
We care to remember our comrades who died,
So vital, so young, so filled with pride.
Pride in their country, pride in their Corps,
At last we remember, we can do no more!
Forever young they will remain,
It is those still living, who bear their pain.
And now the memories, once locked away,
For a few fleeting moments, are with us today.
This memorial is a tribute to all those who died,
And to those who remember, a day filled with pride.
Their names now inscribed in marbled stone, They're not forgotten; they're not alone!
Finally! The time has come,
For us to say farewell,
These past years have taken their toll,
as we gather here on sacred ground,
To pay honor and extoll.
You fought and gave your life.
That others may live free.
The Memorial before us,
Is a testament, you see.
This testament speaks volumes,
Of those who died for you and me.
A nation cannot thank you,
For the courage you did show,
But your comrades gathered here today,
Say softly, believe me; we surely know!
You will always be remembered,
In this nation's "Forgotten War",
As long as there are Americans,
Who believe in freedom, and sacrifice,
To keep enemies from our shore,
We shall always remember,
"That freedom is not free,
That the price you paid in Korea,
Was the cost of liberty.
So on this July day, in 1995,
We give thanks to you,
And your comrades,
That a free nation did survive.
Historians, and pundits,
May call it a "forgotten war",
But to you dear friend,
and to those who survived,
We give you honor as never before!
Those gathered here, families and friends,
Our hearts are filled with pride,
And now, four decades later,
We honor those who died,
The "Forgotten War" is now remembered,
and in this hallowed place,
We can close our eyes,
And in mind and heart,
Still see your youthful face,
Now rest in peace, the time has come,
Although granted, somewhat late,
those gathered here, to honor you,
Will never forget your fate.
Your deeds will be remembered,
By free men everywhere,
We now take this time to remember,
Because we really care!
This solemn day in November,
We gather here to share,
To honor and remember those,
Who sat in this empty chair.
Veterans Day is special,
A time to contemplate,
Why this chair is empty?
What was this Marine's fate?
He was at Valley Forge with Washington,
And in every war was seen.
This empty chair before us
Renders honor to a Marine.
He was a son or father,
A friend or uncle, perhaps,
But it really doesn't matter.
As a bugler now plays "Taps."
Thanks to them, we live in freedom.
They could truly do no more,
As they gave their lives,
For you and for me,
These members of our Corps.
We eternal band of brothers,
We soldiers of the sea,
Must maintain our heritage,
To keep our nation free.
Let us now stand together,
And with a toast, we pledge:
"From this day forth we honor
The sacrifice you bore,
We are proud to be here with you
As members of our Corps."
We see the chair is empty,
Yet, in our hearts serene,
Know it once was occupied,
By a United States Marine!
Uniforms they proudly wore
Sacrificed lives on a distant shore
Marine was the title they all earned.
Adept in their training; hardships spurned
Resourceful; prepared for any mission
Initiative in the Corps tradition
Navy carries us from ship to shore
Experienced warriors to fight a war.
Corps and courage go hand in hand.
Our force is the best from any land.
Respected for all the world to see
Proud Marines we will always be.
Semper Fidelis ... to you and to me!
Young men are training daily,
At a place called MCRD.
The mission of this elite group
Is to keep this nation free.
Their task will not be easy;
The training rough at best.
Mental and physical toughness
Will be included in the test.
For discipline breeds confidence,
These "boots" will all concede.
Soon now they will graduate,
And become the newest breed.
For 11 weeks they have endured,
And learned their lessons well.
Thanks to the drill instructor,
The stories they will tell.
You see, each week, times 44,
On this San Diego shore,
Once raw recruits are now transformed,
They are members of the Corps.
"The Marines' Hymn" is now over,
The final dismissal near,
All are waiting eagerly.
The word they want to hear.
You all have looked forward,
To this day, this time serene,
For each of you have earned the title
Of United States Marine!
It was May 28 of 1951,
this date I remember so well.
My story will be quite brief,
but there is so much more to tell.
Our objective was to take the high ground,
of course this task was not new.
Easy Company had done this so often,
we all knew exactly what to do.
The steep mountainous terrain proved difficult,
as the Chinese rained down grenades.
Here memories diminish somewhat,
but really never, ever fades.
And the cries went out - Corpsman,
as we mounted our final assault.
To eliminate the entrenched Chinese,
was what our mission was all about.
With our objective now fully secured,
it was time to count the cost.
Easy-Two-Seven counted seven WIA,
while five more Marines were lost (KIA).
I still can see the faces of ...
Lunsford, Marino, Wilhite, Russell & Mills.
Each Marine to me a hero,
who sacrificed their lives on those hills.
I know every Marine has a story,
that he would like to share.
This is my brief offering,
brought to you because I care.
Memories have a way of fleeing,
and if we don't share the past,
These stories are lost forever,
because with age memories fade and don't last.
So get off your 6 and turn to,
while you still have the time.
Share your stories with family & friends,
no one says they have to rhyme.
I am thankful each and every day,
for family, friends and God's beautiful scenes.
But moreover to have shared my life,
... with United States Marines....
He is going home but not alone,
He is a United States Marine.
He fought and died in a foreign land,
to protect a fledging democracy.
His mission to bring hope, peace and liberty.
Family and friends will now gather,
At his final resting place.
They all will cherish knowing him,
And forever recall his smiling face.
Let us always remember,
This Marine's service in peace and war.
He was a credit to his country,
And to his comrades and his Corps.
And now the flag is folded,
The Marines fire a volley of three,
and in the far off distance,
The mournful sound of echo taps,
brings a certain finality.
And another U.S. Marine is home with family.
May God Bless our beloved Corps,
And sustain our Marines in peace or war.
The "First to Fight" will keep us free,
To protect our Homeland and Liberty.
We have fought in every clime and place,
And will do so ever more,
Just as those Marines before us,
Brought honor to our Corps.
So no matter what the mission,
Our training will see us through
We will fight this Nation's battles,
To defend the Red, White and Blue.
Whenever our Republic has been challenged,
A call went throughout the land,
And U.S. Marines responded,
And were the first to take a stand.
Now fanatic terrorists are on a killing spree,
As they attempt to discourage,
And make certain non one is free.
It is up to people everywhere,
If they cherish freedom and peace,
To see that terrorists are defeated,
And that world wide terrorism cease.
As U.S. Marines we will be prepared,
For we cherish freedom and right,
Rest assured America we are on guard,
For we are "The First to Fight."
We all have earned the title of
United States Marine.
And there is no doubt about it,
"We are the finest ever seen."
Our mission is to protect this country,
And to guard our homeland shore,
From enemies both foreign and domestic,
who would dare to challenge our Corps.
When called upon to serve our nation,
We'll keep our targets in sight,
For we are guardians of liberty and freedom,
We are always "The First to Fight."
Do you remember Iwo Jima, a far off Pacific isle?
It was here that 20,000 U.S. Marines,
Would face a bitter and deadly trial.
For thirty-six bloody days against a fanatic foe,
Marines of the 3rd, 4th and 5th Divisions,
Would fight their enemy toe to toe.
Twenty-three thousand Japanese did try,
And for their efforts nearly all would die.
On 23 February 1945 our colors would rise,
For all aboard ship and island could see,
Yet the fighting would rage 'till the 15th of March,
Before the island of Iwo could be called free.
Secretary of the Navy uttered to General Smith,
"Holland, the raising of that flag on Mt. Suribachi,
Means a Marine Corps for the next 500 years."
Let us hope and pray these words are prophetic,
And in the year 2445, Marines will once more gather,
To preserve and keep our traditions alive.
Nearly 7,000 Marines would pay the ultimate price,
For this sulphurac volcanic isle,
So near the Japanese homeland it was a deadly costly trial.
And now sixty-two years have passed,
Since U.S. Marines stormed ashore,
And the furious bloody battle for Iwo Jima,
Is now a legend within our Corps.
Let us all pause and remember Marines who paid the price,
For the freedoms we all now share, due to their sacrifice.
And to those Marines still with us,
Who survived this bloody, bitter fight,
All are truly heroes in the years of their twilight.
Now let us raise our glass in a toast to one and all.
"To those who never came home,
For that hellish black volcanic shore,
Their memories will live forever,
For they are truly heroes of our Corps!
And at our final muster,
We will look each other in the eye,
And say Welcome Aboard Marine,
Well done and ... Semper Fi!"
These men are all warriors,
And friends of mine,
All struck from a mold of another time.
Born to wear the scarlet and gold,
They are U.S. Marines, both brave and bold.
When called upon to protect this land,
Each one stepped forward to raise their hand.
They swore to protect not just you and me,
But preserve and defend others liberty.
All have fought on a distant shore,
They are the elite Marines of our Corps.
Do you know someone who would die for you,
And if need be you for them?
Our ethos speaks of character,
As the Marines of our Corps will attest.
We have fought this republic's battles,
And surpassed each and every test.
Each November 10 Marines will gather,
On the birthday of our Corps,
To raise their glass in honor,
Of all Marines who went before.
We'll speak of honor, courage & commitment,
These are words we all live by,
And close with a toast of well wishes,
And a heartfelt--Semper Fi!
The year was 1950 and with a fragrant summer's balm,
Troops from North Korea
Invaded the "Land of the Morning Calm."
Sixty years have now come and gone,
Since that fateful June summer day,
When American forces were thrust into the fray.
For all those men who fought there,
It was a long and bitter war,
As we lost too many of our brothers,
They were all warriors within our Corps.
Yet the President and the pundits,
Called Korea the "Forgotten War",
But for those who died and shed their blood,
It meant so much more.
We saved a budding nation from tyranny and strife,
And breathed hope in South Korea,
That they would have their freedom,
And renewed their hopes of life.
South Koreans have no doubt,
That "Freedom is not free."
They are thankful for those who paid the price,
For their families and liberty.
So let us now remember the sacrifice they bore,
These men of the First Marine Division,
These warriors of our beloved Corps.
The "Forgotten War" is now remembered,
At least by those who trod the valleys and the hills,
The stifling sweat of summer,
And the bitter, freezing winter chills.
Hopefully one day the two Koreas will reunite,
Once again sharing and caring for their,
"Land of the Morning Calm."
I'm an 0311 a ground pounding grunt,
With Easy Two Seven.
We humped those damn Korean hills,
And still can feel those wintry chills.
If it wasn't the cold it was the monsoon rain,
But all in all we felt the pain.
We'd climb a hill, dig in for the night,
And prepare ourselves for a fire fight.
The Chinese liked to scream and yell,
And our Marines would respond,
And send them all to hell!
They tried to advance but never got far,
Thanks to the M-1 and the BAR.
Time after time the Chinese tried,
And for their efforts, they all died.
Then morning came and we'd saddle up,
Shake off the morning chill,
We are mud Marines from Easy Two Seven,
Our next objective another hill.
Now sixty years later those of us left,
All gather together with others,
You see, we are Marines from E-2-7
And are forever....a band of brothers!
Let me tell you a story of men I knew before,
They are Marines of Easy-Two-Seven,
All warriors of our Corps.
They fought in the monsoon rains of summer,
Then in Korea's frozen hills up north,
Often trading the same old fox holes,
As they battled back and forth.
Now looking back I wouldn't trade,
The memories we all together share,
As each reunion brings us closer,
And the tales told show we care.
After all it wouldn't be a reunion,
Without sharing sea stories from the past,
Let's face it they all sound better,
Than they did in the year just passed.
So raise your glass and offer up a toast,
"To all Marines from Easy-Two-Seven,
It has been an honor to serve with you,
And I would do it for evermore,
Semper Fidelis to you Marine,
And to our beloved Corps!"
Remember the Alamo! Remember Pearl Harbor!
And another day we must always remember,
Is that fateful date the eleventh of September,
The year was two-thousand-one,
And the black smoke from the Twin Towers,
Blotted our the morning sun.
Nearly three thousand Americans died this day,
And a mournful Nation was left to pray.
All America rallied as they did before,
And all vowed to win this terrorist war.
We must always remember those citizens who died,
Those who gave us our precious liberty.
Since the founding of our Republic brave men and women,
Have fought to keep us free.
They served in our Armed Forces,
And on the home front too,
They died so we might live in peace,
Under the Red, the White and Blue.
So when we pause to remember,
Those who paid the ultimate price,
It is only fitting and proper to recall their sacrifice.
Not only on Memorial or even Veterans Day,
We should say a daily "thank you",
To all the members of our Armed Forces,
For their venture into Harm's Way.
We must remain ever vigilant,
There is no room for complacency or error,
If we are to remain forever free,
We must win this fanatical...WAR ON TERROR!
And while we remember The Alamo,
And the sneak attack upon Pearl Harbor,
Let us always remember those who perished in 2001,
On the morning of the 11th of September!
My Corps, Your Corps, Our Corps.
We are ready at a moment's notice,
To march to the sound of the guns,
Our training and devotion to country,
Is what guides us in what is right.
We are U.S. Marines and as it should be,
We are "The First to Fight".
Since the founding of our beloved Corps,
In the year Seventeen-seventy-five,
Marines have banded together,
So that our republic may survive.
To those who would attack us,
You have failed to calculate,
As a U.S. Marine with his weapon
Will have sealed your miserable fate.
All America has banded together,
To fight this terrorist war.
And as U.S. Marines we will continue,
To bring honor to our Corps!
Rest peacefully tonight America,
The United States Marine Corps has your back.
We are ready at a moment's notice,
To vanquish any hostile attack.
There has always been our motto,
We are "The First to Fight."
We will be on guard to protect our nation,
From all enemies who dare attack us.
Since the founding of our republic,
In the year Seventeen-Seventy-Five,
Marines have been in the forefront,
To see that America will survive.
We train in peace to prepare for war,
As we must remain forever free,
And destroy those who would,
Terrorize us and take our freedom and liberty.
So, once again America, we are on guard for you,
We are our nation's 911 force,
For we are U.S. Marines, The Proud! The Few!
Semper Fidelis is the motto of our Corps,
Be it in peacetime or in the time of war.
These are words we live by, shared by a very few,
all have sworn allegiance to defend,
The red, white and blue.
since the founding of our beloved Corps in 1775,
Those who have worn the eagle, globe and anchor,
Have fought to keep this nation alive.
We must always treasure liberty,
If we are to remain forever free.
We are truly a band of brothers,
We are soldiers of the sea.
Why would others mock our flag,
and even watch it burn?
When in the hearts of every Marine,
There is a prideful yearn.
This yearn says..."Protect this Flag",
We cannot let it burn. Too many Marines have died,
While others will never return.
In all the battles our Corps has fought,
We have always turned the tide,
The Marine Corps has taught us well,
The meaning of Corps and pride.
Corps and pride go hand in hand,
As we remember our brothers who have died.
They truly understood the meaning of Liberty!
Let each of us remember, the red, the white and blue,
This symbol of our freedom,
Obtained by those we never knew.
Each time I hear the Marine Corps Hymn,
My heart is filled with pride.
And I'll say a silent "Thank You" prayer,
For my country and the Marines who died.
Semper Fidelis, these two words ring true,
As Marines we shall always be on guard,
To protect the red, the white and blue!
The time was 0300, when we pulled into MCRD,
Then someone shouted! Get out! & Follow Me!
We hurriedly scrambled out of the buses
Not sure of just what to expect.
It didn't take us long though, to show the D.I. our respect.
He yelled! stand on the yellow foot-prints,
Let me see what we have in store.
Do your mommas really know you left home,
In hopes of joining our fabled Corps?
One thing you best remember,
You are "recruits" and NOT Marines,
So, get used to the idea of no long hair or blue jeans.
The next twelve weeks are crucial,
You'll soon see what I mean,
You will bond together, and together will be a team.
Teamwork is the essence of what we're all about,
And next time on the "grinder", you'll hear them sing & shout.
"Lift your head and hold it high,
The best on the Depot is marchin' on by."
The "best on the Depot" could be you,
the next twelve weeks will mean,
You'll have to count on teamwork,
If you ever hope to be a Marine.
The training is now over,
The feeling of accomplishment is great,
As your parents, friends and relatives,
Gather to watch you graduate.
Never forget the yellow foot-prints,
They have been stood upon before,
By countless other Marines,
Who brought honor to our Corps.
Eagle, Globe and Anchor,
These three words could say no more,|
For they bind all Marines together,
As proud members of the corps.
Yellow Foot-Prints were just the beginning,
You now wear Marine Corps Green,
So, welcome to the Brotherhood.
The Few, The Proud.... The Marine!
It used to be when I was young
I'd dream of battles fought and won.
I was with Washington at Valley Forge,
And finally at Yorktown too.
It was here that General Cornwallis
Finally met "his Waterloo."
Many wars and battles were within our land,
And then in 1861 the Civil War was at hand.
When the War Between the States was finished,
A half a century would then go by--
Then it was the Great War as Europe was aflame,
And American doughboys,
Would then be called upon once again.
It was here at Belleau Wood,
U.S. Marines would take a stand,
And once again I fought this battle
To help save a war-torn land.
I found again during WWII,
On far-off Pacific isles,
And when this war was over,
We encountered other trials.
War broke out on Asian soil,
As North Korea invaded
Their neighbors to the South,
And the entire peninsula would boil.
Later on Marines would muster,
In a place called Vietnam,
and once more I fought this battle,
And to this day still believe we won.
Then came battles in the desert,
In places called Iraq and Afghanistan,
Where we try to establish democracy,
In this ancient and bitter land.
Now as I grow older,
I recall my boyish dream,
Of fighting my country's battles,
As part of my Marine Corps team.
There comes a time to say farewell,
To our dreams and battles won.
Knowing full well that my life,
Is now forever serene--
As I served my God and country as a
United States Marine!
I stood on the yellow footprints,
And wondered, what's in store.
A lean D.I. in a Smokey Bear yelled out,
Welcome to my beloved Corps!
Look straight ahead, don't even blink,
You are the lowest form of life.
I'm your momma and your poppa,
God help you if you had a wife.
For the next 12 weeks you belong to me,
And the first words,
Out of your mouth will be,
Sir! Yes Sir! And just to make this clear,
You'll shout out loud for everyone to hear.
Remember, you are not Marines
You're a pitiful sight to see,
But I am here to transform you,
From boys to men, to soldiers of the sea.
From the looks of you people,
Twelve weeks is not nearly enough,
But I'll guarantee you one thing,
And this is "off the cuff",
By the time you leave here,
You'll know what it means to be tough.
so, stand tall recruit and remember,
Once you've passed the crucible test,
You will then be called Marine,
And join our Marine Corps Best. Semper Fidelis!
The above title says it all,
It's a statement! Not a question?
Because we miss them one and all!
Hereafter, we must always remember,
They will never be forgotten,
As we set aside a special day,
To pay our respects and honor,
All our veterans listed as POW/MIA.
On the 3rd Friday of each September
We'll recognize those who never came home.
As a nation we must take time to remember.
Our prisoners of war & those missing still,
Have only strengthened our resolve & will.
For as long as we have liberty,
We'll continue our search to set all free.
The sacrifice they made we cannot measure,
But we must never, ever forget them,
For the freedom they gave to us,
We shall forever treasure!
So, until they all come home,
Let's pause, pray and remember,
All those still unaccounted for,
On this 3rd Friday in September.
Let me share a story with you,
About U.S. Marines, The Proud, The Few.
They have always repulsed our enemies,
In the air, on land and sea,
And for over 230 years, our Republic remains free.
Each Marine has earned their title,
It has been earned through their sacrifice,
Some bled for Corps and Country,
While others paid the ultimate price.
From their rigorous training at Boot Camps,
On the coasts both East and West,
Young American's fulfill their heritage,
And as Warriors are our Nation's best.
They are truly America's 911 Force,
Always serving at the Tip of the Spear,
And at each and every Graduation,
Receive their Nation's rousing cheer.
So to all who have worn Marine Corps Green,
And have donned their sharp Dress Blues,
As grateful Americans we say "thank you",
For your dedicated service in paying your "dues".
As you now depart and receive orders,
To maybe serve aboard ship or on shore,
We all pause to shout--OORAH!
|You are a credit to your country and Corps.
The National Museum of the Marine is finally a reality,
A tribute to all Americans a National Treasure for all to see.
Wisdom, foresight and devotion,
Are apparent to all who enter here.
As the stories of our Nation's Marines are graphically made clear.
As Americans we all know that freedom is not free,
And that Honor, Courage and Commitment,
Have been put forth for you and me.
For more than two centuries Marines have fought and died,
And in each and every battle their bravery turned the tide.
So, now enjoy your visit, make certain to tell your friends,
Tell them the Museum has a beginning, but never, ever ends.
From the American Revolution in 1775, the second Continental Congress,
Authorized two battalions of Marines,
In order for this fledgling Republic to survive.
Then came the British surrender in 1781 and ever since that time,
U.S. Marines have fought our wars and won.
All through the 1800's Marines would go ashore,
And of course they participated in our fateful Civil War.
Remember this National Museum of the Marine Corps,
I am certain you will agree is a testament to all Marines,
Who throughout the years have fought to keep us free.
These doors will always remain open, the Marine story will be told,
You will see for yourself through your own eyes,
The countless acts of heroism as these stories quickly unfold.
So, please enjoy your time here, come back often to see,
Just what Marines are preserving as "Soldiers of the Sea".
If you have enjoyed your visit, remember please to tell us,
We extend our very best wishes to you, and of course to all,
SEMPER FIDELIS!
George Washington designed a Medal in 1782,
To honor those who shed their blood,
During our war for Independence.
It was a heart shaped badge,
Made from purple cloth and white silk,
Awarded so those who were wounded may share it,
The President created, the "Badge of Military Merit".
One-hundred-fifty years later,
In the year of our Lord nineteen-hundred-thirty-two,
A modern form of this medal,
Would be authorized anew!
Now, it is called The Purple Heart,
And takes its' place in the Pyramid of Honor.
Awarded only to those combat wounded,
Who so faithfully served their nation,
The Purple Heart has become a beautiful decoration.
The heart shaped medal is suspended,
From cloth both purple and white,
With the profile of President George Washington,
It is truly a magnificent sight.
So, to all who wear The Purple Heart,
Your sacrifice helped keep this nation free,
You are truly an American patriot,
For the entire world to see.
Since our early Revolution where the medal had its start,
Stand tall, you've certainly earned it,
Take pride in your...Purple Heart!
Every story must have a start,
Let me tell you of the Purple Heart.
In the year of our Lord 1772,
During our war of independence,
George Washington designed a medal,
Awarded those who shed blood to protect us.
Originally known as the Badge of Military Merit,
Thousands of Americans now proudly wear it.
It is now known as the Purple Heart,
And takes its place in the pyramid of honor.
Awarded only to those combat wounded,
Who so faithfully served their nation.
The Purple Heart has since 1932,
Become a most cherished decoration.
This heart shaped medal is suspended,
From cloth both purple and white,
With the profile of George Washington,
It is truly a magnificent sight.
So to all who wear the Purple Heart,
Your sacrifice helped keep us free,
You are truly an American patriot,
In this land of freedom and liberty.
And now to conclude this story,
From our early revolution,
Where the medal had its start,
Remember to stand tall you've earned it,
Take pride in your...Purple Heart!
Our Flag is unfurled for all to see,
A symbol of our cherished liberty.
For over 200 years brave men have fought,
To secure the freedoms many have sought.
There are 13 stripes and a field of blue,
The bright white stars represent me and you.
It was in Philadelphia on 14 June,
In the year of our Lord 1777,
Our Stars and Stripes had a special hew,
When Congress adopted, the Red, White & Blue.
Some will say it is only a piece of cloth,
So what does it really matter,
If some people burn or desecrate in some disgraceful manner.
To most the Flag is an inspiration,
For in 1814 as Old Glory waved for all to see,
Above the Fort named McHenry,
A poet wrote the Star Spangled Banner,
His name was Francis Scott Key.
What do you feel as our Flag passes by,
A spine-tingling chill? a tear in the eye?
To me it means freedom all citizens crave,
In this land of the free, this home of the brave.
So on 14 June as we celebrate Flag Day,
Pause for a moment, reflect and pray.
Pray that this Nation remains ever free,
As we honor those patriots,
Who fought to give us freedom and liberty.
The Eagle, Globe and Anchor,
Three words which bind us together,
We are U.S. Marines and will cherish this title forever.
The Eagle, Globe and Anchor,
Is well known throughout the land,
And past history tells one and all,
Where we have made a stand.
We have fought for others freedom,
To help establish peace and liberty,
The Eagle, Globe and Anchor says it all,
For we are truly, Soldiers of the Sea!
Two Battalions of Marines were formed in 1775,
Now, over 230 years later our Corps and Nation still survive.
The Eagle, Globe and Anchor,
Is the bond forged in peace and war,
All Marines proudly wear it,
As a testament to our beloved Corps.
In all the battles the Corps has fought,
We have always turned the tide,
The discipline and training have taught us well,
The meaning of Corps and pride.
So to all who have earned this emblem,
Here is my toast to each of you,
"May the Eagle, Globe and Anchor
Always see you through."
Remember the Alamo! Remember Pearl Harbor!
And another day we must always remember,
Is that fateful date the eleventh of September.
The year was two-thousand-one,
And the black smoke from the Twin Towers,
Blotted out the morning sun.
Nearly three thousand Americans died this day,
And a mournful Nation was left to pray.
All America rallied as they did before,
And all vowed to win this terrorist war.
We must always remember those citizens who died,
Those who gave us our precious liberty.
Since the founding of our Republic brave men and women,
Have fought to keep us free.
They served in our Armed Forces,
And on the home front too.
They died so we might live in peace,
Under the Red, the White and Blue.
So when we pause to remember,
Those who paid the ultimate price,
It is only fitting and proper to recall their sacrifice.
Not only on Memorial or even Veterans Day,
We should say a daily "thank you",
To all the members of our Armed Forces,
For their venture into Harm's Way.
We must remain ever vigilant,
There is no room for complacency or error,
If we are to remain forever free,
We must win this fanatical war on terror.
And while we remember The Alamo,
And the sneak attack upon Pearl Harbor,
Let us always remember those who perished in 2001,
On the morning of the 11th of September!
Let me tell you a story,
of Marines both brave and bold.
They serve in far off foreign lands,
And protect our nation's shore.
Each proudly wear the Eagle, Globe and Anchor,
The symbol of our Corps.
Since the founding of our beloved Corps,
In Seventeen-Seventy-Five,
Marines have borne the brunt of battle,
Just to keep our republic alive.
Now 232 years have passed,
And we gather to celebrate.
Our United States Marine Corps birthday,
A most significant date.
Let me now finish this story,
And with glasses raised on high,
Let me propose this toast.
"To all Marines wherever you are,
Be it on land in the air or on shore,
To each of you... Happy Birthday!
You are a credit to country and Corps.
We gathered at Tahoma National Cemetery,
Where our heroes are laid to rest,
The granite headstones a testament,
That all indeed are our Nation's best.
Each headstone has a story to tell,
And if we only look to see,
They are this Nation's sons and daughters,
Who fought for freedom and liberty.
It really makes no difference now,
What uniform they wore,
Army, Navy, Air Force, Coast Guard,
Or the United States Marine Corps.
What does make a difference,
Is the sacrifice each one paid.
Now it is up to us the living,
To honor the promises we made.
We promise to always remember you,
To keep Freedom's Torch aflame,
And that future generations will honor you the same.
And now the Flag is neatly folded,
The rifle volley done with precise care,
As the mournful sound of echo Taps,
Fills the cemetery's once quiet air.
How very much we treasure,
This sacred, and hallowed ground,
for it is here at Tahoma National Cemetery,
That truly serves our Nation's best,
It is a final journey,
A place...Where Heroes Rest.
His name was Gerald Foley,
His time on earth is no more.
As fellow Marines will gather,
To honor this hero of our Corps.
He fought in many battles,
Yet never did complain,
Be it in the freezing cold of Korea,
Or in his waning years in pain.
He took great pride in belonging,
Along with other Marines he knew,
To share their Korean War experiences,
As members of the--Chosin Few.
This elite group of warriors,
Will miss their friend indeed,
For Gerald Foley was the kind of man,
And was the epitome of,
The Marine Corps breed!
Rest assured St. Peter
Will welcome Gerry home,
As he and General Louie,
Will have Heaven's streets to roam.
So, stand tall as you remember,
This Marine we all called friend,
As the Firing Detail,
And the mournful sound of Taps,
Brings closure to an end.
This final salute we now render,
From all Marines Gerry knew,
Including the Marine Corps League, and I-3-7,
and of course--The Chosin Few.
Since the founding of our beloved Corps,
In Seventeen-Seventy-Five,
Marines have fought this nation's wars,
To keep our republic alive.
Be it in the steamy jungles,
Or in Mountains covered with snow,
the U.S. Marines will be there,
As we are always, "Good to Go!"
"Good to Go" is our lingo
for getting the mission done,
To defeat our nation's enemies,
And savor victories won.
"Good to Go" is our answer,
As we master the rocks & shoals,
To serve our nation proudly,
Is one of every Marine's goals.
So, next time you see a U.S. Marine,
All loaded down with gear,
Remember, he's "Good to Go",
He's at the tip of the spear!
Do you remember Iwo Jima, a far off Pacific Isle?
It was here that 20,000 Marines
Would face a bitter and deadly trial.
For thirty-six bloody days against a fantastic foe,
Marines of the 3rd, 4th & 5th Divisions,
Would fight their bitter enemy toe to toe.
Twenty-three thousand Japanese did try,
And for their efforts nearly all would die.
On 23 February our Colors would rise,
For all on the Island to see,
Yet the fighting would rage 'til the 15th of March,
Before the Island of Iwo could be called free.
Secretary of the Navy uttered to General Smith,
"Holland, the raising of that flag on Mt. Suribachi,
Means a Marine Corps for the next 500 years."
Let us hope these words are prophetic,
And in the year 2445, Marines will once more gather,
To keep our traditions alive.
Nearly 7,000 Marines would pay the ultimate price,
For this black volcanic Isle,
So near the Japanese homeland, it was a deadly, costly trial.
And now sixty years have passed,
Since U.S. Marines stormed ashore,
And the battle for Iwo Jima,
Is now a legend within our Corps.
Let us all pause and remember,
Those Marines who paid the price,
For the freedoms we all now share,
All due to their sacrifice.
And to those Marines still with us,
Who survived the bitter fight,
All are truly heroes in the years of their twilight.
Now, let us raise our glass in a toast to all.
"To those who never came home,
From that hellish, black volcanic shore.
Their memories will live forever,
For they are truly heroes of our Corps!
And at our final muster,
We'll look each other in the eye,
And say, welcome aboard Marine,
Well done and Semper Fi!"
H...onorable warriors throughout the land
A...lways prepared to take a stand
P...roud to wear uniforms of green
P...repared to bear the title of U.S. Marine
Y...ears of training keeps us steady
B...eing on guard we are always ready
I...n peace or war we are here for you
R...eady to defend the Red, White and Blue
T...hanks to those who went before
H...onorable Marines who served our Corps
D...uty-Honor-Commitment-Courage
A...ll words Marines live by
Y...earning to keep traditions alive
M...arines will forever strive
A...lways ready is one of our goals
R...egardless of an enemy or rocks and shoals
I...ntense desire to be the best
N...o doubt Marines will pass this test
E...ach who dons Marine Corps Green or wears their sharp Dress Blues
S...emper Fidelis Marines...you all have paid your dues.
In the year of our Lord 1775,
A fledgling Republic came alive.
The second Continental Congress would proclaim,
That defending this Nation would be their aim.
A call went out throughout the land,
To seek brave men who would take a stand.
A Battalion of men would soon take form,
And a Corps of Marines were then born.
And ever since that day serene,
This Nation has been served by a U.S. Marine.
Now 230 years later we pause to celebrate,
The Birthday of our beloved Corps,
And to those Marines who made us great.
From the first Commandant Samuel Nicholas,
To our current Commandant General Hagee,
And to all those Marines in between<
We are proud to claim the title of,
UNITED STATES MARINE.
So wherever you are, be it on ship or shore,
Happy Birthday Marine to you and our Corps.
Who are these men we call Marines,
Mostly just youngsters in their teens.
They saw the posters that said, "I want you",
Then joined, "The Finest, The Proud, The Few".
Then came "boot camp", training and more,
They were now Marines and part of the Corps.
Soon they departed the friendly shore,
Boarded transports and off to war.
During the last major battle of WWII,
The island of Okinawa came into view.
And my friend Bob Boardman...was one of the "Few."
then on 17 June of 1945,
Bob was severely wounded, but thankfully still alive.
While the Japanese were on their flanks,
Bob fought on with his men on their tanks.
For eighty-one days men fought and died,
And for their efforts turned the tide.
The battle for Okinawa now secure,
But for eighty plus days the outcome was not sure.
Only two years earlier on an Island in New Guinea,
My friend Bob Boardman would bend a knee.
Bob accepted Jesus Christ, as his Lord and Savior,
And has lived his life to repay Jesus' favor.
the Good Lord has sent Bob,
So we all can see, just what is in store for you and me.
For if we believe the Lord is just,
Then following in His footsteps is certainly a must.
Bob survived, for it was meant to be,
That the Good Lord said, "Bob, pick up your cross and
follow Me." (Psalm 28:7)
Do you remember Veterans Day,
When marching bands,
Were allowed to play?
When soldiers, sailors
And Marines marched by,
They touched our hearts,
And made us cry.
There were Army squads & Navy crews,
Then came the Marines,
In their sharp dress blues.
Who are these people, I had to ask,
Then a veteran Marine
Took me to task.
Son these are Marines you see here,
As the crowds sang out,
And shouted a cheer.
They are the finest warriors,
Throughout the land,
As they marched in cadence,
With the Marine Corps Band.
It was then I knew that surely one day,
I would join the Corps,
And would earn my pay.
First there was boot camp,
Where I earned my dues,
Yet a long, long way,
From wearing my blues.
After boot camp on San Diego's shore,
We boarded transports & off to war.
All decked out in our herringbone,
Our pride in Corps & country was shown.
Soon we'd be on the evening news,
Yet, a long, long way from wearing dress blues.
Years passed by and we became old,
Remembering those Marines who were so bold.
They fought and died for you and me,
For country, corps and liberty.
Let's all pause, pray and give thanks,
To those Marines who once filled our ranks.
I'm proud to stand as our flag goes by,
To see those gathered with a tear in the eye.
For at long last, having paid my dues,
I am finally wearing my sharp dress blues.
We gather here as Marines today,
From the east, west, south and north.
Shoulder to shoulder we battled together,
As warriors from the "Fighting Fourth."
There was Roi-Namur, Saipan and Tinian, too,
Then on 19 February '45 Iwo Jima came into view.
For thirty-six days we fought and died,
On this black volcanic sand.
As Marines of the Fourth Division
We had to take a stand.
Our memories recall the battles,
On these far off Pacific Isles,
As young Marines we answered,
And were tested by these trials.
And now we've come to honor,
Those warriors we left behind,
For these Marines of the Fourth Division,
Were truly one of a kind.
They will always be remembered,
By each of us gathered here,
For in our mind's eye we still see them,
We say God Bless You and shed a tear.
Now, stand with me and raise your glass,
Make sure you hold it high,
As we propose this toast:
"To all Marines of the Fighting Fourth,
We raise our glass to you.
To let you know how proud we are,
To once have served with you.
For soon we all shall meet once more,
Look each other in the eye,
And say, welcome aboard Marines.
Well done and...Semper Fi!"
It was Easter Sunday, April Fool's Day, too,
Then the L-Day (Landing Day) came into view.
With four Divisions landing abreast,
Marines and soldiers would be put to the test.
The island of Okinawa was the landing site,
Where Japanese defenders vowed to fight.
For the next eighty-one days the battle raged,
And American forces were fully engaged.
Grunts on the ground would express their thanks,
To all those Marines from C-Company tanks,
These iron monsters shooting flames of fire,
Rapidly decreased the enemies' desire.
While cave-to-cave fighting was commonplace,
Japanese defenders would soon lose face.
Through the days of bitter fighting,
There was no time to be bored,
Thanks to God who would save me, my Savior, my Lord.
It was Father's Day, the 17th of June,
A Sunday that I remember well,
For it was on this island of Okinawa,
Where we were witnesses to hell.
It became known as "The Father's Day Massacre",
And now let me tell you why
As countless dear friends and comrades,
Were to be wounded this day and die.
It was here that valiant men,
Would form a life long bridge,
In places they called "No-Man's Valley",
And of course there was "Kunishi Ridge".
There was Joe, Charley, Jerry and Nick,
Can't forget Ed, D.I. Walt, Walter, Phil, Louie & Barwick.
Of course there are so many more,
As all are true heroes of our Corps.
Now, sixty years have come and gone,
Since brave men fought and died,
We shall forever remember them,
And to those who fought and survived.
How should we remember,
This last major battle of World War II
This battle which involved thousands,
Now remembered by only a few.
Let us honor them with Memorials,
Monuments and more, for surely they will remain,
As long as there is a Marine Corps.
One thing is for certain we can do each day,
That is to pause, reflect and remember,
And in our own way pray.
Pray for those who went ashore,
And now rest in Hallowed ground,
We can at least extend our hand,
To those Marines who are still around. (Psalm 18)
My hero is every American
Who put on the uniform
Of his country.
Who unselfishly said to himself,
Yes, I will fight, and if necessary,
Die for what I believe.
Yet, there are some among us,
Who would burn our flag,
And defile those who would protect it.
They call themselves Americans,
But hesitate to uphold,
What our forefathers bravely gave;
Their lives, their fortunes,
And their sacred honor.
A true patriot is willing,
To sacrifice and to protect,
The majority of his countrymen.
Today's heroes, as those in the past,
Proudly proclaim the Latin phrase,
"Non sibi sed patriae."
Not for self--but for country.
Benjamin Franklin, a true statesman,
On 1 July 1776 remarked,
We must all hang together,
Or assuredly, we shall all hang separately."
It is people such as these,
Be they soldier, sailor, airman, coastguard,
or United States Marine.
Who are truly our American heroes.
I never dreamed of what's in store,
Until I up and joined the U.S. Marine Corps.
First a train ride to a sunny clime,
a good thing we were in our prime.
Off the train and onto a bus,
We arrived in San Diego where the DI's met us.
"You People" will never be in my Corps,
You look like something that washed ashore."
Our job here is to make Marines,
Not to baby sit a bunch of teens in jeans!
In the next eleven weeks we have a plan,
To transform you from boy to man.
You'll either succeed or you will fail,
There is no middle ground.
So, Listen Up! do your very best, and you will be around.
Remember, you are not yet Marines!
Just a bunch of raw recruits, until that Graduation Day,
We will refer to you as "boots".
So, if you want to be a Marine,
And enter our beloved Corps,
Just follow in the footsteps of those legends who went before.
There will always be battles,
In order to keep our Nation free,
So, it's up to each of us as Marines,
For we are truly "Soldiers of the Sea".
And now it's Graduation Day,
Parents, friends and loved ones are on the scene,
As you rightfully claim the title of,
United States Marine!
Red is the color of the blood they shed,
White was the landscape where they tread,
Blue was the sky above the snow,
That winter in Korea so long ago.
To those Marines who fought and died,
We cherish their memories,
We share their pride.
Pride in country, pride in our Corps,
Marines who follow can do no more!
We truly are a band of brothers,
We've bled in every war,
We've fought for others' freedom,
Since the founding of the corps.
So when you see the Colors go by...,
The Red, the White and Blue,
Remember Marine you're one of a kind,
You are one of a select few.
Next time you go to Washington,
To our Nation's Capitol in DC
Plan to stop by the Marine Barracks,
And you'll witness history.
if this place could only speak,
Of Marines who came before,
And served their Nation proudly,
At this "Oldest Post of the Corps."
The year was 1801 when Thomas Jefferson,
Selected this location,
And Marines have been quartered continually,
To serve their Corps and Nation.
When the British marched on Washington,
In the year of 1812,
And burning everything in sight,
Marines repulsed their attacks,
Sending them to flight.
The British then burned the capitol,
And the White House they did try,
But they were quickly dispatched,
At this place called 8th & Eye.
For it is here at 8th & I,
From May through August you'll hear,
The sounds of John Phillip Sousa,
Ringing out loud and clear.
It is here each Friday night,
That the "President's Own" WILL PLAY,
This is the United States Marine Band,
You are in for a treat this day.
The hour is 2100,
And the Evening Parade will start,
As the Ceremonial Honor Guard,
Will most surely touch your heart.
150 U.S. Marines assemble in Blue and White,
All march in perfect unison, a truly inspiring sight.
150 rifles held in white-gloved hands,
The Bugler has sounded Assembly,
And now there is silence in the stands.
The Silent Drill Platoon, twenty-four rifles in all,
With gleaming steel Bayonets now fixed,
Shatter the evening silence after Adjutant's Call.
Their M-1 rifles strike as one, upon the grassy deck,
As six platoons of U.S. Marines soon Pass in Review,
There is yet one thing in store,
As a Scarlet Clad lone Bugler, plays Taps,
To honor those fallen Marines of our Corps.
The Evening Parade is now over,
You have been a part of history,
so rest easy tonight America,
Your Marine Corps is on watch,
In the Air, on Land and Sea.
We walked and talked with legends,
On this Iwo Jima Remembrance Day,
For each of them wrote history,
and we listened to what they say.
They were veterans of a bitter battle,
On a far off Pacific shore,
All were United States Marines,
and a credit to their Corps.
The Island was called Iwo Jima,
Just another name for hell on earth,
As nearly 7,000 Marines would die,
Many only 20 years from their birth.
For thirty-six days, they fought and bled,
On this black volcanic sand,|
To wrest this piece of sulfur rock,
From the fanatic Japanese command.
Of course, the rest is now history.
Each Marine we honor here played a part,
All assembled wish to thank them,
From the bottom of our heart.
Now, it is D-Day+1; plus another 54 years,
As we gather here on this remembrance day,
To honor each of you with our applause and cheers.
And to those Marines who never came home,
From that hellish, black volcanic shore,
Their memories will live forever,
For they are the true heroes of our beloved Corps.
At our final muster, we'll look each other in the eye,
And say, well done Marine, welcome aboard, and Semper Fi!
Rest easy America--do not fear,
We are U.S. Marines, "The tip of the spear."
First to go and "first to fight",
We'll confront the wrongs,
And help make them right.
For freedom and democracy,
Go hand in hand, no matter what continent,
In a far off land.
To protect our national security goals,
We'll cross the dangerous rocks & shoals.
As Marines before us led the way,
And fought to keep us free,
We that follow can do no less,
To preserve freedom and liberty.
So, sleep in peace America,
No need to fret nor fear,
Our nation's 911 force of Marines,
Are at "The tip of the spear"!
He is a warrior, this friend of mine,
Struck from a mold of another time.
Born to wear the Scarlet and Gold,
A U.S. Marine, both brave and bold!
He fought on far off Pacific Isles,
And four different battles would be his trials.
He helped to turn the Japanese tide,
And served with honor, courage and pride.
There was Roi-Namur, Saipan, Tinian too,
Then came Iwo Jima out of the blue.
For thirty-six days in black volcanic sand,
Brave Marines were to fight and stand.
And stand they did as Marines before,
As they all wrote history for country and Corps.
This friend of mine, his name is John,
And though he'll never say,
Of what he and other Marines endured,
In these battles along the way.|
As a member of K-3-24, of the "Fighting Fourth Division",
Each day became a life and death challenge,
In John making the right decision.
He fought to maintain our freedom,
And if called upon, would do the same today,
This Marine I call my friend,|
His name...Sgt. John Des Jarlais.
Now, over half a century later,
He still serves country and Corps,
There is no other Marine I know of,
Who ever accomplished much more.
One thing I know for certain,
When he answers his final muster,
And enters upon Heaven's scene,
He'll say, that all he wanted out of life,
After wearing Marine Corps green,
Was to be said of him, "He was a good Marine!"
On the Island of Iwo Jima in 1945
Prophetic words were spoken,
Which would keep our Corps alive.
As the flag was raised on Suribachi,
Navy Secretary Forrestal, exclaimed,
To General, Holland Smith,
(While others stood in tears)
"Holland, the raising of that flag,
On Mount Suribachi,
Means a Marine Corps for the next 500 years."
As we approach the 21st Century,
Let us pause, pray and give thanks,
To those Marines who fought and died,
And to all Marines who now fill our ranks.
Pledge, never, ever forget, the sacrifice they made,
While as a nation, we all stood together,
As we sought freedom and prayed.
Now, all too often in peaceful years,
There are those who would have you believe,
That the Corps is no longer needed,
There is now peace, at long last a reprieve.
But, history tells a different story,
If only we will learn, that peace is hard to come by,
Yet, is something we all yearn!
The Corps has proven its mettle,
Since our inception, in 1775.
We have fought since the Revolution,
Just to keep this nation alive!
Truer words were never spoken,
Than on that February day,
When Marines raised the Stars & Stripes,
On Mount Suribachi.....
That U.S. Marines are here to stay!
There will be some Marine, in the year 2445,
That will recall the battle on Iwo Jima,
That helped keep our Corps alive.
So, to that Marine, and friends...
... John, Max, Gerald and more,
Semper Fidelis to you, and to our beloved Corps!
When the first Marine was recruited, 10 November 1775,
Another eight months would pass,
Before our 4th of July Independence Day would arrive.
So, you see we have a history,
That sets our Corps apart.
We have borne our nation's battles,
And have done so from the start.
Marines have no secret weapons, but if you were to ask,
"What sets you apart from others,
In fulfilling the Marine Corps task"?
While the answers all may vary, to one they all respond,
It is called, esprit de corps, our ethos is our bond.
Traditions are long time honored,
And something we do not take light,
One of our traditions, being the "First to Fight."
We did so for our Independence,
And, if called upon once more,
Will protect and defend our nation,
As all U.S. Marines have done before.
Now, there will be other missions,
In which we will be called to quell,
Rest assured, we are ready, any enemy to repel.
We are our nation's ... 911 Force...
And stand guard as never before,
For we wear the Eagle, Globe and Anchor
... We are U.S. Marines forever more....
When I die and die I must,
I will think of Country, Corps & Trust.
For these three words go hand in hand,
As we dwell in freedom in this land.
This Country was born in a Revolution,
Our Marine Corps helps keep us free
As Marines we Trust in each other,
So that all the world may see.
And to all who have worn Marine Corps green,
Since the founding of our beloved Corps,
Surely, understand these words we live by,
And will forever more!
The legacy I leave is important to me,
And in time, my children will come to see,
What it has taken to keep this Nation free.
King George of England sent his troops in boats,
A formidable group, in their bright Red Coats.
To stifle freedom in a new land,
Until brave men rose up and took a stand.
For, if free men were to survive,
In this year of our Lord...1775.
We must band together as never before,
To fight and struggle to win a Revolutionary War.
Men came together from throughout the land,
And fought the British Red Coats, hand to hand.
Men from the hills and from the shore,
They were called Marines and formed a Corps.
The Continental Congress, soon would see,
This wise decision would be a decree.
That hereafter, Marines would fight on land and sea.
And since our birth on that tenth day of November,
One thing remains clear, so let us remember,
Freedom is a precious thing and cannot be bought,
But through sacrifice, devotion and battles fought.
For well over 200 years, our Republic remains free,
Thanks to those Marines who preceded you and me.
Our Continental congress was wise indeed.
To form Marines, both the Old and New Breed.
So, on the 10th day of November, we give thanks evermore,
To all those Marines who served our Corps!
I'm an 0311. Ground pounding grunt
We are always prepared to march.
As Marines from Easy Two Seven.
Our mission was to search and destroy.
The history that precedes us.
Claims "We are the first to fight."
Each challenge that confronts us.
Only confirms we are always right.
We have marched to the sound of the guns,
As Marines have done before,
We have confronted our bitter enemies.
And have brought honor to our corps.
Now each time we hold a reunion,
Our numbers may have declined,
But the stories never seem to age.
As we strive to turn another page.
A page that claims we did our part,
To keep this republic free,
As we helped fight our nation's battles.
To maintain our liberty.
Our high and tights may have some grey,
Our step may be a bit slower,
And we may not be quite as lean,
But one thing you can still count on,
We have all earned our title, United States Marine!
I walked and talked with heroes,
On this Memorial Day.
We stood among the granite headstones,
And each had this to say.
Each of these white markers,
Has a story or two to share,
Not only with their families,
but with all gathered here that care.
They gave their lives that we may live,
In security and liberty and moreover,
To let us know that our freedom is never free.
there is the ultimate price,
Those of us resting here have paid,
And all we ask in return,
Is that you take the time one day each year,
To pause, give thanks and pray,
And to just remember each of us,
On our nation's ... Memorial Day!
I looked out my window,
And against a bright blue sky,
Saw the flag of our nation,
Softly waving on high.
We take for granted so many things,
Like friends, homes, families,
Even little children on swings.
Do we once ever stop,
To just pray and give thanks,
For those countless Marines,
Who once filled our ranks?
If not for them, where would we be,|
This home of the brave,
This land of the free!
And now, 222 years later,
On this Birthday of our Corps,
Our Colors shine even brighter,
For there is peace and not war.
We're still prepared if need be,
To defend our Nation's goals,
Whatever will be our mission,
We'll master the rocks & shoals.
For all those who have worn,
The Marine Corps Green,
Our proud motto says it best,
Semper Fidelis...these two words,
Have surmounted every test.
From our early Revolution in 1775,
Marines have fought in every war,
Just to keep our Republic alive.
So wherever you are, let the word go out,
Be your on ship or shore,
To all Marines ... HAPPY BIRTHDAY!
And may God bless our beloved Corps!
He was a fighter, this friend of mine,
Now rests with friends from another time,
At Vella La Vella, then Bougainville,
Again, at Iwo during World War II.
He served in Korea, the "Forgotten War",
Then trained other Marines for going ashore.
He truly was a "Mustang", one of a select few,
Who bore the title of Marine,
Was an example to all he knew.
This author of "Mustang, a Combat Marine"
Should be read by all who serve,
For it tells a compelling story,
Of heart and guts and nerve.
My friend, the Colonel is resting now,
Taps came much too soon for him,
He is probably telling stories,
And listening to the Marine Corps Hymn.
All he wanted out of life,
After wearing Marine Corps green,
Was to be said of him,
"He was a good Marine!"
... Rest in peace, Colonel Gerry Averill ...
Eagle, Globe and Anchor,
Three words could say no more.
These are the words that bind us,
As proud members of our Corps.
Two other words, we also share,
They are known throughout the world.
They have been our motto,
Since our Colors were unfurled.
Semper Fidelis ... two words say it all,
As a greeting, or in our Hymn.
Marines respond together,
And together, all stand tall.
To all who have worn the Marine Corps green,
Since the founding of our Corps.
Be it either in peacetime,
Or be it in time of war.
One thing you will always remember,
the place, the platoon, the date.
The day you were addressed ... Marine,
A U.S. Marine Corps graduate.
You are now part of a heritage,
A part of a select few.
And those who have gone before you,
Will take pride in what you do.
You now wear the Eagle, Globe and Anchor,
You have earned the Marine Corps green.
And as it says within our Hymn,
"You are the finest ever seen."
So, to you Marine, wherever you are,
You are now one of us.
And with these two words,
Let me close, and just say to you,
.... Semper Fidelis ....!
A Marine was laid to rest today (5/9/96),
Major Herbert Valentine was his name.
Both in WWII and again in Korea,
His exploits won him fame.
On 25 May of '45, the skies were blue and fair,
Then Capt. Herb, led his Division,
Made up of four Corsair,
30 enemy Zeros approaching from the north,
And soon these bitter enemies,
Were engaged in "dog fights", back and forth.
In the space of 20 minutes, but what seemed eternity,
Herb splashed six Zeros off Okinawa,
Into the churning Japanese Sea.
Remember, that in a 20 minute space,
Capt. Herb, Commander of VMF-542,
Would become a Fighter Pilot Ace!
For this heroic action, and the enemy's heavy loss,
Captain Herbert James Valentine,
Would be awarded the ... Navy Cross.
His battles are now over,
He did his part and more,
| And for all eternity, brought honor to our Corps.
Now, at last he is at peace, with comrades he once knew,
As they talk of the many battles,
And of the Corsairs which they flew.
Herb was a true American hero,
His Country could ask no more,
He served with such distinction,
As a member of our Corps!
Rest peacefully America,
The U.S.M.C. has your back.
We are ready at a moment's notice,
To vanquish any hostile attack.
This has always been our motto,
"We are the 1st to fight",
And we'll be on guard,
To protect our sovereign nation,
From all enemies who dare attack us.
Since the founding of our republic,
In the year Seventeen-Seventy Five,
Marines have been in the forefront,
To see that America will survive.
We train in peace to prepare for war,
As we must remain forever alert,
And to destroy those who would,
Terrorize us and take our freedom & liberty.
So, once again America,
We are on guard for each of you,
We are our nation's 911 force,
We are Marines! The Proud! The Few!
I am proud to claim the title,
Of a United States Marine.
And upon my final deployment,
Plan to look on Heaven's scene.
Then when I finally close my eyes,
What do I plan to see?
But the Eagle, Globe and Anchor,
The scarlet and gold....USMC!
Do you know someone,
Who would die for you,
And likewise you for him?
Believe me when I tell you I do,
He is a U.S. Marine,
One of the Proud! The Few!
We are a band of brothers,
And like those who served before,
March to the sound of gun fire,
To serve our country and corps.
When we go into battle,
And counter the enemies attacks,
One thing we can count on is,
We have each others backs.
We must never forget our heritage,
As we honor those Marines,
Who once served before,
For each and every U.S. Marine,
Has brought honor to our corps.
In closing let me use two words,
All Marines learn from the start.
- Semper Fidelis - to each of you,
As this message comes from my heart!
Whoever said, "You can't take it with you,
Never met a U.S. Marine!
Now listen up, here's what's in store,
I will tell you about my Marine Corps.
The warrior's ethos comes from within,
And the mission of our corps,
Is to fight wars and win.
Since the founding of our beloved corps,
We have always been "The First to Fight".
From Seventeen-Seventy-Five to the present,
This has been our corps birthright.
One thing Marines will take with them,
When we depart this earth,
We can truly state forevermore,
That we have served God & country,
And have brought honor to our corps!
I walked and talked with heroes,
On this reunion day in May.
We are Marines from E-2-7,
And we had a lot to say.
We spoke of long ago battles,
And of buddies we had lost.
It was difficult for all of us,
To total up the cost.
As warriors we all remember,
The hostile mountainous terrain,
The freezing cold of winter,
And then the monsoon rain.
Now we gather to honor those
Who never did come home,
From the "Land of the Morning Calm",
As we toast those Marines,
And their memories we all treasure,
As a healing, soothing balm.
So here's a toast to all who served,
In the magnificent Seventh Marines.
"We raise our glass to honor you
And in our hearts serene
Are proud to share with you the title of,
United States Marine!"
Oorah!
If only these Korean hills could talk,
The stories they could tell,
Of brave men who fought in the heat and monsoon rain,
Then the bitter Korean winter,
Would bring the cold and pain.
There was always one more hill to climb,
As the enemy put us to the test,
Yet we surmounted each and every battle,
Before we dug in for the night to rest.
For chow we had our C-rats, not really a gourmet treat,
But the beans and franks were tasty when we added a little heat.
The morning came all too soon and then we'd saddle-up,
Not knowing what would be in store,
Then someone shouted out, "Aren't you glad you're in The Corps!"
For years South Korea has sought reunification,
With their families and neighbors to the North,
Yet sixty-three years later, there are no signs of peace coming forth.
Hopefully, in the coming New Year, leaders from both North and South,
|Will seek out and find a soothing balm,
And peace will blossom forth once more,
In the "Land of the Morning Calm."
As we gather here on hallowed ground,
I look up to see the only Marines,
Who would ever "Let me down".
All decked out in their sharp dress blues,
Their faces reflected in their spit shined shoes.
My life has witnessed a hectic pace,
And now I'm at my final resting place.
The flag has now been folded and handed to my wife,
"On behalf of a grateful nation",
We have come here to recognize your life.
For service to your country,
And to your beloved Corps,
We gather here to say thank you,
But wait, there is more in store.
The silence is now deafening you see,
Then seven Marines fire a volley of three,
As there is no better way to remember me,
And now a stillness fills the air,
Surrounded by friends and loved ones who care.
All is now quiet, no one has stirred.
As the faint sound of Echo Taps is heard.
Everything is now peaceful and serene,
As the Lord welcomes home--a U.S. Marine.
Are you ready for a lesson on our Nation's history?
It starts with a group of warriors,
Who took an oath to keep us free.
Congress banded them together in 1775,
And to this day are a Band of Brothers.
They are called United States Marines,
An elite force not like any others.
For twelve weeks they train on coasts both East and West,
To hone fighting skills and surmount each and every test.
Soon now these raw recruits will earn the Title Marine,
And prove to themselves and others, are the finest ever seen.
So, from our early Revolution in seventeen-seventy-five,
Marines will have borne the battle to keep our freedom alive.
When their time in the Corps is over,
And they gather with family and others,
One thing all will have in common--they will be a Band of Brothers.
You see, there are no former or so-called ex-Marines,
Only those who still serve their country,
As currently....off duty U.S. Marines!
I raised my hand and swore an oath,
To protect this precious land.
Millions more before me also took this stand.
Together, we have prevailed and today our freedom,
Still reigns because we cherish liberty,
And will never submit to chains.
Since our founding revolution in 1775,
United States Marines have fought,
Our republic's countless battles,
In the air, on land and sea,
Unswerving in their efforts,
To maintain our freedom and liberty.
I have been privileged to serve my country,
In a corps of U.S. Marines.
|Be it in peacetime or fighting on a far away land,
We are molded together by a fabric,
Very few will ever understand.
Now as we grow older and our ranks becoming thin,
We still recall the oath we swore,
To preserve and protect this land.
We now stand a little taller,
As we hear refrains from John Phillip Sousa's band.
We are once again in step now,
As we muster to pass in review,
And of course we are proud of the fact,
We are United States Marines,
... The Proud! ... The Few! ...
The following poem was written in November of 2005 by Korean War veteran Anthony DeBlasi. He gave the Korean War Educator permission to post his poem on the Poet's Corner of the KWE.
Great Depression babies, we
Came into the world
With Frankenstein and Dracula.
Too young for World War II,
Too old for Vietnam,
Between 1950 and '53
We said goodbye to family,
"So long," to friends, "I'll see ya,"
And headed for Korea.
"The Great War" is one that
Some of our fathers fought in.
Uncles, older brothers went to fight
In the "Good War."
In time, nephews and sons
Would fight in Vietnam,
And grandkids would attack
In Afghanistan and Iraq.
But we, the Great Depression small fry,
When we came of age,
Went to fight a "Forgotten War"
On a tiny spit of land
On the other side of the world,
Whose hills and mountains
Burst into fire and blood
In the summer of 1950--
Where over 36,000 brothers in arms
Spent the last day of their short lives,
And many more lost limb or mind--
And where 30,000 of our soldiers
On Korean soil today
Face the same enemy, each day.
In this "Land of the Morning Calm,"
No, Mourning Calm --
Lorded over by Chinese,
Savaged by the Japanese,
Ravaged by World War II --
Ever looking for a brighter future,
A gentle people, constantly misled,
Got hell instead.
When the shooting stopped,
Was it victory or stalemate?
After more than 50 years,
Some still wonder --
Why, why all that blood,
The unspeakable holocaust,
The infinite pain?
Was it all in vain?
Let no one doubt the outcome
Of that fight:
We put the murderous invaders back
Where they belonged,
And answered the respective quests
Of Kim and Mao and Joe
With No! and No! and No!
More: we helped the people of the south
Show their northern kinfolk and the world
The success of people set free
From fear and tyranny.
In every grateful heart --
Given a chance to live on their own terms,
Spared from further bomb and bullet,
Lord and sword --
We have our reward.
Robert Echelbarger of Mason City, Iowa was a private first class who worked his way up to a sergeant during the Korean War. Beginning in 1946 he served a two year hitch in the military, then joined the inactive reserves. He was recalled to active duty when the Korean War broke out, and served with F-2-5 Marines in Korea from February of 1951 to Christmas of 1951.
I am a man with a mind that cannot rest.
I wonder what causes these flashes of thought.
I hear they are ghosts of unsolved problems returning to haunt me.
I see the spirits of yesterday coming forth.
I want them exorcised so I can be at peace.
I am a man with a mind that cannot rest.
I pretend the thoughts have no meaning and cannot harm me.
I feel the presence of those I have wronged.
I touch upon their lives in my mind now and again.|
I worry that I may be called upon for an accounting.
I cry because of the agony churning within my mind.
I am a man with a mind that cannot rest.
The New Testament lay open in my lap. As I gaze at the wake of the ship. The boiling water narrows and becomes a line as it reaches out to the rising sun.
I’m not especially religious. In fact I never thought much about God, but I am a practical young man. I am on my way to war. It is a Legal Police Action and the President is sending me to Korea. Each turn of the propeller is taking me farther and farther away, from those I love; my new wife, mother, father, and brothers too.
I am a machine gunner by training and am yet to be tested in battle. Gunners don’t fare too well, so the statistics show. The last I heard, the war is going badly and my profession is in great demand. If or when death’s dark door opens will I be prepared?
It seems prudent to read about God and his Son and the promises they made. I think it is quite likely I may be standing in judgment before them in the near future.
Questions are running rampant within my mind. Am I capable of killing another human being? Will I be able to kill, for my country? Will I be able to endure the pain and agony of my torn and rent flesh, should that be my fate?
What does this book have to say to me? Is Jesus the Son of God? It seems logical. There are many who do believe. If I kill someone before I die, will that cause problems up there? If a read the Testament, will it make me stronger?
Maybe I should read this Book. After all it may do me some good. Will it be better for me if I really do believe? Will it be better?
[Echelbarger’s note on the poem above: "These thoughts were running through my mind as I watched a sunrise in February, 1951. I was on the troop ship U.S.S. Breckenridge headed west. The retreat from the Chosen Reservoir was over and the Marines were waiting for replacements before heading North again. Some observers quoted statistics about machine gunners lasting less than one minute in a fire fight, because they attracted too much attention. I was 22 years old."]
He slumped, rather than sat in the dirt. His eyes had the look of the undead, as they stared at the earth. His face was streaked with the accumulated dirt of weeks. His helmet sat heavy on his head as his cumbersome pack sent waves of pain rippling up and down his back.
He leaned against his weapon of death as his muscles screamed in protest. His body was beginning to dispute the signals sent from his brain to march again. His belly was growling and shrinking in retreat, because there had been no time or energy to eat.
A short time ago the concussion of mortar blasts had come too close and fast he had felt death’s hot breath, as fragments of steel flashed past his chest. He had heard the bullets snap as they flew close and past. The cries of pain still sounded in his ears when his buddies spilled their blood and tears. Sanity had almost slipped from his grasp. Deep within his mind he continued an endless debate. Would I live or die on this date?
All thoughts of home and family, wife and child were put aside for awhile. He was living life in its simplest form. Would I ever be able to rest and keep warm?
One more hill to climb before he could rest, unless of course the enemy would protest. Would he be able to rise again when the break came to an end? One more hill to climb. One more hill.
The blood red sun sets beyond the hill. The darkness of night spills into my foxhole.
As I settle into the earth I surround myself with tools of death. Stars appear one by one as a voice from within asks, "Will they come tonight?"
The hours pass slowly, one by one. The night chill of early spring seeps into my weary bones. In the distant valley, a flare chases away the stars. Fire flies appear all in a row and disappear one by one. As the stars and quiet reappear, the voice from within repeats, "Will they come tonight?" As I lean against my waiting rifle, the voice speaks again. "Will you be a victim or an instrument of death this night?"
No night birds herald the spring in this war torn land. Death rules the darkness and specters wander here and there. The voice from within begins again, "Will they come………" Before the sentence ends, the notes from a bugle flow from across the valley and into my listening ears. The notes are replaced by the muted baying of hounds loosed from hell, and hot on the scent. Voices rise and fall from the valley floor. Overhead rustling sounds of night birds of death, complete their flight with shards of steel seeking human flesh. Flares replace the stars of night, and the fire flies line up in their lethal flight; the voice from within shrieks out, "they are coming tonight!"
The little porcelain doll stood by the side of the road that early spring day in 1951.
Her dark almond eyes registered the hopelessness within her soul; fear shown within her eyes like that of an innocent fawn cornered by wolves with no place to hide.
She watched with tear stained cheeks as we dealers of death slogged by. Her silent lips and staring eyes seemed to ask the question, "Why?" The little porcelain doll slumped with her shoulders pulled back, by a cumbersome pack. Her once white gown was streaked by dirt and grime. Her delicate bare feet were bruised and flecked with blood.
I asked myself, "Why do you cry, little porcelain doll? Is it because your childhood innocence has been destroyed? I know you are weary little porcelain doll, and carry you I would—if I could."
"Like you, I have no place to lay my head or a house to call my own. Both of us are victims of war, over which we have no control; your future lies in flight, and perhaps survive. My destiny is to fight, and possibly die."
"Yes, little porcelain doll, I will never see you again as you disappear from sight.
Your haunting face will return to my mind, during the quiet hours of night. You will always have a special place in my heart. Little porcelain doll. Oh, little porcelain doll."
It began with a "Thunk! Thunk! Thunk!" from a distant hill.
One thousand and one, where can I find cover?
One thousand and two, how long do I have?
One thousand and three, do they have the range?
One thousand and four. no time to dig a hole.
One thousand and five, no time to run.
One thousand and six, they should be getting here soon.
One thousand and seven, why don’t they come?
One thousand and eight, is that a whispering sound I hear?
One thousand and nine, I hope I am in the right spot.
One thousand and ten, here they come!
One thousand and eleven, Steel birds of death are shrieking.
One thousand and twelve, Hammer blows pound my body, again and again.
As dirt rains down.
The hot breath of hell blows over me. Will it ever end? My head is groggy, but no pain is registering yet. I must be O.K. because I am up and running, But where is Paul?
There he is so quiet and unmoving. His body looks like a rag doll tossed aside by a bored child. He looks up at me with eyes that do not see. Black dirt on his face mingles with his black skin. If it weren’t for the bright red blood trickling from his ears, I would have expected him to speak. Is it a look of wonder or resignation that lingers on his face? Why didn’t you run good buddy? Why didn’t you run?
His skin is black. My skin is white. His blood is red and so is mine. Inside we are the same. His mother and father will mourn him. My mother and father would mourn me. We were lying side by side. His side was death. Maybe in his dying he extended my life. My mind questions, why you and not me? Why didn’t you run good buddy? Why didn’t you run?
He had a bulbous nose with freckles that abound. He was the tallest red neck around. His hair stuck out here and there. His body took on the shape of a pear.
He had a vision my red neck friend. God had called him to save we Marines from sin.
He said, "You Marines must mend your wicked ways." He forgot about how the Devil likes to play.
Preacher came on the line with armor and sword to do battle with the evil horde.
The Devil began his insidious work accompanied by a mischievous smirk. Day by day and hill by hill he whittled away.
Preacher’s time of trial was at hand, He was about to face his worse nemesis on land. One night while resting, all wrapped in his sleeping bag’s embrace, he felt cozy and safe. As he reclined upon a shelf cut out of clay, the Devil came to play.
Preacher rolled over and off and down and away as he bounced and tumbled, he thundered down. Each time he encountered a rock, or snapped a tree, he would groan and blaspheme away. Some for the words, I never heard him or anyone say. The devil would laugh in glee each time Preacher took out a tree.
As he tumbled on and on, I remarked to my friend, "It looks like he wrestled the Devil, and the Devil did win. He sure doesn’t sound like a preacher to me. Maybe Preacher wants to make it two out of three.
Like a Lotus flower, which germinates in the mud, so too, she surfaced from the filth and muck of war.
She had a delicate oriental face and dark almond shaped eyes. The look of fear was in those eyes. The lips that were meant to smile and melt a man’s heart were drawn tight against her cheeks. Black hair flowed down her slender back with stray wisps blowing here and there.
Her once white garment reached to her ankles and was rent by brush and wire. Delicate feet, which had covered miles and miles were dirty and bruised. Fear of an uncertain future was etched in her delicate face, as they brought her through our lines. Her captors were agents of death and for her death had been a familiar companion.
Silently I queried, where are your parents Lotus Flower? Do you have children, or perhaps a lover? What were you doing over there in that valley of death? Are you friend or foe? Are you scared because you fear us? Are you fearful we will violate your body?
Why do you look deep into my soul, with those beautiful eyes? I mean you no harm. Maybe you are bound for a better life Maybe you will be able to sleep safe tonight. Maybe tomorrow you will be on the way to anew life. Some of your captors face a worse fate. Death in battle may be their destiny.
Move on Lotus flower; move on to a better life. We are here to make your tomorrows better. Like your name sake, you too can rise from the mud, and blossom into the delicate flower I see in my mind’s eye. You are safe now Lotus flower, you are safe.
The words came rippling down the line. "No pictures! No pictures! Put all your cameras away, Do what all the lieutenants say." I hiked up the road all bent over under my load, I thought to myself, "Something is strange." Early this morning I knew something was wrong. We were marching up a road, instead of climbing hills like toads.
As I rounded the bend, I saw the trucks. They were all lined up, bumper to bumper like sitting ducks. I had heard the Chinese had broken the Army’s back, when they hit them a few days ago in a massive attack. They had bugged out and faded away like so many cats. We stopped the Chinese before they got too far. They were running away north, apparently in haste.
We were hot on their heels trying to plug the gap, but we were also looking for a trap. As we passed truck after truck I kept wondering, "Why no pictures?" We all know the army doesn’t have much luck. As we approached the end of the line, I saw burned out trucks. There was a stink that sure didn’t smell like wine.
It looked like the fly boys had dropped Napalm on the last of the line. Apparently it was to stop the Chinese from stealing the trucks.
There was a burned out ambulance that set in the track. From a distance I noticed a figure hanging out back. His face was turned upward, and he was reaching out to the sky. As I got closer I noticed he was charred black as the dye. I couldn’t figure out how he was hanging on to the back.
His life had ended in a burst of flame. His image is burned into my mind today. I wonder who took his life away. Was he signaling to our planes before he came to grief? Did he look at the falling tanks and wonder in disbelief? Did hope turn to despair when he finally realized he had lost the wounded placed in his care?
Now I know why no pictures were allowed. Who in his right mind would want to record such a scene? However, it will always be playing on my mind’s inner screen. "No pictures! No pictures."
Hot chow! Hot chow!
All we’ve had to eat is C-6’s up to now. They are all set up in the valley cooking up the chow. Hurry! Hurry! My stomach thinks my throat has been cut. I can’t stand my growling gut. I haven’t eaten for a day and a half. I can see the tents now. Everybody line up. No trays, no knives, forks, or spoons. Use your own mess gear. Mess gear, you’ve got me in tears. Too much weight to carry on the line We threw them away a long ago time.
"What am I going to put food in Mac?"
"Here I’ll use the helmet, that’s on my pack. Just dump it in, and get off my back." O’boy, Vienna Sausages, and mashed potato goo. Dump in the corn, it looks good too. Butter and white bread, it looks so good, it makes me dizzy in the head. Fill my canteen cup with milk I bet those cookies taste as smooth as silk. Cookies and milk such a delight. Just for that treat alone, I would start a fight.
Sit on a rice paddy wall, and enjoy the best meal of all. So it’s all mixed up— that doesn’t matter in the least. Shovel it in, boy those sausages taste neat. White bread and butter, by itself a feast it all tastes so good and I can eat and eat. The helmet is finally empty and my belly gurgles in glee. Time for a nap and then climb the hill for another two weeks of C’s.
I turn to walk towards friends in my squad, when something horrible happens to my bod. A demon or something grabs and twists my gut and knocks me right on my butt. I fall to the ground writhing in pain. Something pounds my belly again and again; if I don’t know better at first, I would swear I was about to give birth.
Added to the pain, is the fluttering of that special valve. It tells me my body is about to expel. I lurch to my feet and stagger to the trench, to seek out that infamous bench. "Get out of my way, don’t slow me down. If I don’t get there now, I certainly will drown." Relief finally comes as I hang over that trench. Hang on to me buddy, I’m turning inside out. I may fall of the bench and I feel like all of me is going into the trench." I gain relief, but I am awfully weak. Lying here on the ground is quite a treat. Stomach muscles relax and the belly pains cease. Sweat stains on my face look like grease.
Three hours later we are told it is time to eat, so let all of us be hold. The cook yells out, "It’s time for another treat – Vienna Sausages –all you can eat." My stomach turns over and starts to feel queasy. I thought to myself, "This ain’t gonna be easy." I look at those sausages, all swimming in grease, that before looked sublime. If I eat them again, I’ll go out of my mind. Even the fresh white bread and butter, causes my belly to shudder.
With a look of resignation on a face all covered with grime, I plead with the cook,
"Look buddy, if you don’t mind, I’ll take a can of C-6 Rations this time."
It comes wailing out of Siberia, like the cry of a banshee singing her song of death. It lingers in the corner of my bunker and penetrates to my inner most soul. Icy fingers violate my body, and send a shuddering chill up and down my spine. Its frigid breath strokes my dirt covered face.
The wind driven snow is a lance of ice that sets my lungs on fire.Death waits outside, not only by shell or blade; perhaps by the banshee’s frigid embrace, after having accepted her invitation to sleep.
Having whispered her invitation, her mournful voice flows down the valley, luring others to her freezing embrace.
As I entered the house that Christmas day, your grandfather was holding you, daughter of mine. Your wispy brown hair and elfin ears reminded me of a fairy tale pixie. Your dark brown eyes looked at me when I called your name. You seemed to wonder, what strange creature are you?
I looked at you and wondered, are you really flesh of my flesh? When you were born some four months ago, I couldn’t even remember your name. You see, I was in a far away land trying to stay alive. I couldn’t afford the luxury of thinking about you; while you were entering this world so many of my friends were leaving through no fault of their own. Death’s dark door remained ajar and several times I almost passed through.
I wish I could have been with you and your mother, when the light of day first entered your eyes. Instead, I witnessed the light leaving my buddy’s eyes for the final time.
Your first cries were signs of an awakening life. My friend’s cries marked the ending of his.
Was it pure chance, or God’s will that allows me to hold you in my arms? I climbed hills without number and endured the fires of hell to be here with you. Are you real, daughter of mine, or just a dream? A dream I used to chase away fear. Are you truly mine?
The foxes gather around the tables to talk of days gone past. They are the Marines of Fox Company who speaks of comrades brought back to life, if only in their minds. Battles in Korea are again fought reliving painful memories.
Their bodies show the effects of passing years. Time lines are etched on their faces; once firm and erect bodies have yielded to age and gravity. These men with rotund figures and vanishing hair speak of flat bellied young men in the prime of their life.
They gather each year to remember. Buddies who paid the price and friendships bonded in war. They speak of many things. Fire fights, both won and lost; the frigid Siberian wind that seared their lungs the wind driven snow; mind numbing rain that drains the body of warmth; the merciless heat and flies; those damn hills and the stench of the dead.
They remember the sounds of death passing close by, and the terrors of the night, both seen and unseen. Some recall the pain of flesh violated by shards of steel.
Most of all they remember their buddies. They can never forget they were all passengers on a trip through hell. They gather to rekindle friendships and bonds forged in the fires of war. They gather to pay homage to those who never had the opportunity to grow old. They gather to be thankful for having survived.
They meet each year to remember a long ago time when each of them had to face their inner most fears; when life was reduced to simple terms. Will I be alive or dead tomorrow? They gather each year to honor their buddies and each other. Yes, the foxes gather each year, to remember and be thankful
Those damn Korean hills finally defeated him, this magnificent looking man.
I noticed him slumped by the trail as I struggled by on my blistered feet. His head was bowed in defeat, as tears ran down his dirt streaked cheeks. The cry "Fall out and take ten" rippled down the line. I dropped to the ground at his side and breathed a sigh of relief. I loosened my cartridge belt and thought, "I wish I had something to eat." I loosened the straps on my pack and stretched out on my aching back.
As I looked him over, I noticed the broad shoulders. His muscles bulged through torn and dirty clothes. I asked him, "What’s wrong buddy, did you run out of gas?" His reply was labored, "I just can’t climb these hills anymore, I just can’t climb."
Our platoon sergeant, who was walking the line, stopped by this poor specimen as he reclined. In a voice edged with a rasp he growled, "On your feet and off your ass. Where in the hell are your ammo cans at?" The Adonis looked up at this wisp of a man and a look of anguish registered on his pan. His voice seemed to come from a long distance away as he replied, "I left them at the bottom of the hill. They are just too much to carry, they are just too much."
The sergeant’s eyes seemed to penetrate his very soul. They had the look, of one who could kill. In a voice that was deadly and low, he growled, "Get your ass back down the hill and get those cans." The look in his eyes and the deadly growl gave the poor guy a surge of power. He lurched to his feet and stumbled back down the trail. The sergeant followed him step by step, chewing ass all the way.
I looked at that body all muscled and brown. I wondered, "How long can I last pounding my feet on the ground?
How long can I keep climbing these everlasting hills? After all he was much stronger than I, or so it seemed. More than one Marine has been beaten to his knees, by the multitude of hills and trees. How long can I last, how long?
He lay in winter killed wild flowers and grass that had grown green and lush in the past. Like the grass and flowers, which had completed their cycle of life, he too had bloomed. Now his cycle was completed.
He lay face down with outstretched arms. Was he reaching out to God, or pleading for his life? His light brown hair rippled in the breeze. He had no helmet, no weapon, nor cartridge belt. He still had his shoes on his feet. Whoever took away his life must have moved on in haste. He bore no visible wounds, but they must have been there, to send his soul to its fate.
Why was he here in this lonely place? Where were his friends? He must have left them in haste. The Chinese broke through the line four days ago. Maybe he was one who chose flight, rather than stay and fight. He must have run and run, to escape the terror in the night.
He had lain there long enough for the Missing-in-Action report, to be sent to those he loved. The message would bring despair. The MIA words would be the seeds of hope, probably followed by prayer. The seeds would be sewn in rocky ground that would not burst into life.
Would his mother and father, or perhaps a wife pray for his life; if so, the answer would be no. Why does the memory of him lying there so long ago, haunt me now that I am old? After all he was only a soldier and not one of us. Maybe he would be alive today, had he chosen to stay and fight. Today, I see him in a different light. Maybe, I am grateful, that it was he rather than I.
He lies there in my memory year after year. He comes to visit whenever a cold North wind whispers through the dead grass and flowers of yesteryear.
Gene Isom served in the US Army for seven years, from January 1947 through January 1954. He took basic training at Fort Knox, Kentucky, and then went on to communication school at Ft Monmouth, New Jersey. He spent the remainder of his first three year hitch at Ft. Shafter, Hawaii, with most of that time installing telephones in the Trippler General Hospital being built at that time. Gene reenlisted and was sent to Ft. Lewis, Washington, where he was attached to the 2nd Infantry Division. He was shipped over to Korea shortly after the war started in June of 1950. He served in Korea with the 205th Signal Repair Company, 8th Army. The 205th was made up of five repair teams (Radio and Telephone equipment) that traveled throughout Korea, attached to different divisions and units for short periods of time. Isom rotated back to the States in November 1051.
After spending one year at San Louis Obisbo, California, he volunteered to return to Korea for a second tour, but upon arrival in Japan, he was assigned to Tokyo, maintaining communication (teletype) equipment for most military installations in the Tokyo area. He was discharged in January 1954, and then married his hometown sweetheart. He then Joined the Air Force in June 1954 and spent the remainder of his military career with Strategic Air Command (SAC) as a B-52 Crew Chief, while being assigned at several different SAC bases throughout the U.S. After his military service, he joined Eastern Airlines and worked in several different capacities over the next 21 years (Passenger services as agent, Supervisor, Quality Control, Sales and Chief Agent), retiring in 1991. He now lives in Gainesville, Florida, with his sweetheart of 48 years. The couple spends half of their time at their place on Horseshoe Lake, in Southern Illinois.
The Old Korean Veteran poem was written several years ago just before Christmas. While stopped at a stop light, an old man in very ragged clothes was sitting on the corner holding up a sing that read, "Will Work for Food". Gene Isom found nothing unusual about the sign at first glance. He tells the Korean War Educator that he has always had a sad, melancholy feeling every time he sees these poor unfortunate souls. However it was when he noticed the two words at the bottom of the sign--"Korean Vet"--that caused him the most anguish. He said that he tried to forget and drive on, but for the next couple hours while trying to shop, he couldn't get his mind off the old Korean veteran. "I finally gave up any attempt at shopping and drove back to where he had been sitting," said Isom. "But he was gone. For the next few days I would purposely drive back that way to see if he would come back. A few days later, I wrote the Old Korean Vet."
The sign he held though seen before
held no words of profundity.
"Will work for food," large and bold
were the words I first did see.
It was the next two words I read
that gave my heart a pull, and yet
I wanted not to feel akin
to this old Korean vet.
I quickly turned my eyes away
toward the light that held stubbornly red
and wished it would hurriedly turn to green
so I could be somewhere else instead.
The stores that day were dressed with cheer
as I shopped with a will to spend,
but I couldn't forget that down and out vet;
could he be a long lost friend?
Could we have marched side by side
on some long ago parade ground?
Could we have shared a smoke or two
while leisurely lounging around?
Was he close by one frigid night
when death appeared at hand?
Did he have thoughts the same as I
in that far off distant land?
With at last our duty done
and we returned to friendly shores;
with no bands to play and no one to cheer,
could he not return to life as before?
My mind turned inward as I milled around.
No more thoughts of shopping this day.
I hastily returned to the place last seen,
but the old vet had gone away.
Time and again I would return to see
if by chance we yet could meet,
to talk awhile and reminisce,
while squatting by a busy street.
That vet has now become a long lost friend,
although we may never have met
and of this I know, I'll never forget
that old Korean vet.
Two of Del “Abe” Jones’s poetry are inscribed on the Ellis County Veterans Memorial in Waxahachie, Texas. In addition, he wrote two books: Moontides and Other Changes and The World, War, Freedom, and More.
In June of Nineteen-fifty
At the Thirty-eighth Parallel
North Korea crossed that "line"
To begin a new War’s Hell.
Armed by the USSR
With ranks of Chinese, Soviets
They Invaded South Korea
With thousands of War hardened Vets.
They overran the Southern Troops
And took the Capital of Seoul
Though, to Control the whole Country
Was the North’s ultimate goal.
Truman directed MacArthur
To evacuate Americans
And to supply the ROK Army
With ammunition and guns.
As the threat grew stronger
He authorized the use of Force
Of our Troops below the Parallel
To try to change the Battle’s course.
The U. N. asked all its members
To help repel the North’s Invasion
But as always seems to be the case
We gave more than any other Nation.
We were at War once again
With only five years since the last
To be Protectors of the World
Seemed to be our Country’s task.
There are too many Battles to list all
But to just maybe name a few
Some of them were more famous
And these most everybody knew.
There was Bunker Hill, Sniper Ridge
And Old Baldy and T-Bone
Arrowhead and Pork Chop
Were some of those better known.
But each little unknown Skirmish
On each and every unnamed Hill
Was as Huge to those who Fought
All Heroes, showing Strength of Will.
After thirty-seven months of Conflict
A cease-fire finally came to be
And we’ve had Troops watching that "line"
Since Nineteen fifty-three.
The Horrors of War unchanged
Pain and Suffering takes no side
And Scars on the Land and Man
May Seem to Heal on the Outside.
But Wars are not Forgotten
Though some may think (or wish) it so
Just ask any who have Fought them
And they will surely tell you, "No!"
There are written stats and numbers
About the Wounded, Missing, Dead
But Thanks and Praises to those Heroes
Is what should be written there, instead
Korea was no different
Just a different Time and Place
With Losses of too many Souls
Which we never can Replace.
That poem about where "poppies blow"
And, "the crosses, row on row"
Still rings true, these ninety years
After written, still brings tears.
We still have Dead, "amid the guns"
And lose our young and our loved ones
Those who lived, "short days ago"
Who, "felt dawn, saw sunset glow".
In Flanders Fields, "the poppy red"
Still grow where the blood was bled
They, "Take up our quarrel with the foe"
And still die for Freedoms that we know.
They pass, "The torch" to, "hold it high"
And not, "break the faith with us who die"
For they, "shall not sleep, though poppies grow"
Beneath all those, "crosses, row on row"
In Flanders Fields.
The Guns stopped in the Eleventh Month
On the Eleventh Hour of the Eleventh Day
It was called the "War to end all Wars"
At least, that’s what they used to say.
It began in Nineteen fourteen
And blamed on an assassination
|But in truth, because of Greed
And Power of Nation over Nation.
Most Countries of the World
Soon became involved in the Fight
And as it is with most all Wars
Nobody’s wrong and everybody’s right.
"The Great War" as it was also known
(There was nothing "Great" about that War)
More than nineteen million wounded
With sixteen million dead, maybe even more.
It ushered in our "Modern Age"
Of Mankind’s ability to Kill
With his new Inventions of Death
And Life’s Destruction, at will.
We’ve carried on that Tradition
And it seems we’ve done it well
We have it down to a Science
To keep our World on the brink of Hell.
Someday a new Eleventh Hour
Of some Month’s Eleventh Day
We’ll pay that price that Humankind
Has always seemed Doomed to pay.
It’s not just a simple War of words
Or just some Partisan ideal
It’s not just politics as usual
This is a War that’s very Real.
Those of us here safe at Home
Can watch those battles on TV
We seem to become immune to it
With all the violence we see.
Those we watch are Real People
Someone’s loved one or a friend
While we can switch the channel
They must watch until the very end.
We feel sorry when we hear
That somebody has Died
We might even shed a tear
But not like all, they’ve cried.
It seems much easier to say
If this War is wrong or right
When we don’t have someone
We’ve sent over there to Fight.
The politicians play their sides
Sometimes blind, refuse to see
If they can’t cross their party lines
They never can be, really Free.
They must admit their mistakes
Have the will to change their mind
Instead of following their leaders
Like the blind leading the blind.
For this War is a Real War
People get hurt, People die
And we must each know the answer
When we ask ourselves the question, "Why?"
This poem, written by their granddaughter Rebecca Myree Rawley at age 13, is dedicated to Harry and Reba Rawley with love and appreciation. Harry Rawley was in H&S Company, 14th Combat Engineers, during the Korean War.
For three dark years the war did last.
It was a frightening, brutal place in the past.
Brave men had to leave their families alone,
They did not know if they were coming home.
Each day, the only thing that they could do
Was pray that God would help them through.
Some friends were kept that the men did meet,
Others they watched die upon their feet.
Through tears and bloodshed, the war went on,
Finally, the treaty was signed at Panmunjon.
However, the war was not over yet,
It haunted their dreams as they slept.
Men try to forget the bitter past,
But, their sad memories will always last.
Shifty Shifflette joined the US Marine Corps on the 25th of June 1948 and took boot camp training at Parris Island, SC. After boot camp he was tranferred to Quantico, VA on Temporary Additional Duty on the Freedom Train (it carried the historical documents of our country) as an extra guard. He was reassigned to Marine Detachment, US Naval Base, Subic Bay, RPI because the Marines were being pulled out of China at that time. In April of 1951 he volunteered to go to Korea as a corporal and was assigned to A Company 1st Battalion, 7th Marines, 1st Marine Division FMF as a Fire Team Leader. He returned to the States in January of 1952 as a Sergeant. Duty stations to follow were Naval Retraining Command, Norfolk, VA and Marine Corps Recruiting Station, Richmond, VA in June of 1953. He was discharged as a S/Sgt. in September of 1956 to attend college. Shifty reenlisted in the Corps in May of 1958. He served in the States and on Okinawa. He retired as a captain on 1 May 1970 with 22 years of service.
Shifty didn't begin to write poetry until October 1997 after attending a reunion of A/1/7 in San Antonio, Texas. He has now made up for lost time, having completed 18 poems about warriors and duty stations in his life as a Marine, along with other poems of places he has lived and people that he has known. All of the poems about Subic Bay and Korea are true to life stories and concern the men that he walked the hills with in Korea during the period of June 1951 until January 1952.
Let me tell you a story of a battle for a hill in Korea in '51,
Many Marines were charging up, they were some mother's sons.|
The skipper kept encouraging them on and they just wouldn't quit,
The firefight was raging on and some of the warriors were hit.
One Marine yelled out I'm hurt and was lying there on the ground,
This young warrior was badly wounded when he was finally found.
The Corpsman that was tending him said his wounds were extreme,
Then he sent for stretcher-bearers to come to assist this young Marine.
He didn't give them a hard time just holding on and lying very still,
They all knew it wasn't going to be easy carrying him down that hill.
Then they passed the skipper on their way and said "Just listen to him,"
He couldn't believe his ears he was singing the Marine Corps Hymn.
Some people might believe that his behavior was somewhat bazaar,
Possibly you know the history of the Corps and their victories from afar.
There were many firefights won and some might be considered a loss,
The men of the Corps will measure up and show you they're the boss.
If you could only know these brave men and if you would really dare,
Stand up for them and respect their code; let them know you really care.
This war has come and gone and our country is a better place to live,
When you see Old Glory flying high a little gratitude you could give.
In July '51, the 1st Marine Division was given orders to be in reserve,
It was time to rest and regroup which was something they did deserve.
These warriors had fought many battles and on the front line so long,
Time to get some replacements and much needed training to be done.
The area was called Inge Valley, a place they will remember well,
A tent camp was set up there and the hot chow was really swell.
You see they had only "Charlie" rations, eating them for many days,
Training, eating, and sleeping soundly knowing the enemy was far away.
With new men joining the squads and platoons being brought up to snuff,
Showers were in great demand and haircuts for those who looked rough.
They had the time to wash their clothes and catch up on all their chores,
Things were really shaping up for these warriors of the U. S. Marine Corps.
Many days now had passed; the troops were ready and when they were told,
There was no surprise to learn their next mission was to be the Punch Bowl.
It was in mid September and they knew the next battle wouldn't be a spree,
1st Battalion, 7th Marines were ready and their next objective was hill 673.
When the battle was over everyone knew that their ranks were very thin,
It was decided that they be relieved and moved back to a reserve area again.
The warriors came down from the hill and moved along at a very fast pace,|
Each one wondering what they would find at their next assigned home base.
Now that the fighting had slowed down and winter beginning to settle in,
Bunkers needed to be fortified to protect them from a brutal north wind.
It was very cold, the snow was deep and wasn't much more they could do,
So they spent another Christmas away from home and just waiting for 1952.
How could you best describe a man or woman who may be a vet?
You need to call them heroes, those who fought many battles and yet.
Most of all they are the ones that have served our great nation well,
Many gave their all, so others can say their freedom is really swell.
They could be those who have achieved their goals and dreams,
Not having to wonder who they are or needing anything it seems.
Providing for their families to ensure they will have the good life,
Feet planted firmly on the ground, not worrying of some little strife.
Could they be that lonesome person just sitting on a bench in a park?
Living without the necessities of life, so much sadness in their heart.
Or just someone who is all alone, without a place to call their home,
Not looking for pity because they wound up some where all alone.
And if you see one who catches your eye and you might just think,
They may be a veteran and will show it by giving you a little wink.
There are many men and women, who can hold their heads up high,
Say thanks and let them know how you feel that so many had to die.
(Colonel Nathan R. "Nate" Smith, USMC (Ret))
In Korea there was a brave warrior, who was so very capable,
He was the CO of a rifle company we all call "Stable Able".
Then on hill he was wounded by enemy fire so very long ago,
His days as the leader of the company ended, as you might know.
After all these many years this warrior has continued marching on,
Not much has changed except his years have numbered more than one.
He is still that good Marine and he will tell so if you have any doubt,
Humping trails and bunking down in a foxhole is most definitely out.
From those days in Korea he is just known to all of us as "Able Six",
But he is not the type of a Marine to tell you what really makes him tick.
Selective surgery was in order and when it was finally over and done,
Moving this Marine from the recovery room he knew that he had won.
Wheeling him down that passageway they didn't know what to think of him,
He said, "The Marines have landed" and began singing the Marine Corps Hymn.
For now all he wants to do is recover and to get back to his life's long dream,
Returning as soon as possible to watch over the San Diego Marine Museum.
(Remembering A Marine Named Goldberg)
Years ago in Korea on one day that was very cool and damp,
A squad of Marines with a Navy Corpsman moved out from our camp.
Their mission was some what simple, just go out in no mans land,
To search for the enemy and look to see what might be at hand.
Looking for the hidden enemy and to see how far they could go,
In their minds they thought, "Why it's just one more patrol."
A shot rang out, a warrior was down and he was trying to survive,
The Corpsman made his way to him but found that he had died.
The Squad Leader yelled out for everyone to drop and then scatter,
All of a sudden enemies machine guns began firing, oh, what chatter.
While the Fire Teams were positioning themselves to return the fire,
They had to muster all their courage or else they would all expire.
All alone there in no man land when suddenly it started to rain,
But these brave warriors kept on searching this unknown terrain.
The Squad Leader began reforming his Marines as an effective team,
The mission was taking too long - at least that's the way it seemed.
When suddenly contact was broken and the squad started moving on,
Retracing their steps to the MLR bringing a fallen comrade home.
As they moved through our line you could hear several of them curse,
In all they were truly thankful for it could have been so much worse.
There is a country located north of the East China Sea,
It was a pleasant land but there was so much misery.
An oppressor from the north, above the 38th parallel line,
Tried to overrun this country during one period of time.
The United Nation forces who were formed from many lands,
Wouldn't stand for this aggression, so they came to lend a hand.
These warriors came from so many different walks of life,
They gathered together to suppress this tyranny and strife.
They battled the enemy at Pusan, Inchon, and on the frozen Chosin,
Many fierce firefights were fought, many warriors met their end.
With much courage and determination they continued to march on,
Helping so many people who were very hungry, sick, and forlorn.
The time was June, '50 through June, '53, when it came to an end,
No one really won this war and each side lost so many, many men.
If you would just want to take a look back to those yesterdays,
That all leaders should be content and in their own country stay.
Listen to me all you Marines I have a story to tell,
It's about some warriors and their CO called "Ding Dong" Bell.
The place was known as Korea a long, long time ago,
Many of them came back from there, but some didn't you know.
We had a job to do, you see that's what Marines are for,
|Our company would be assigned a mission; one hill, two or more.
The skipper would lead his men realizing the going could be rough,
But for us Marines we never shirk because we have to be tough.
1stSgt Skinner would say let's show them what we can do,
So off we would go just doing what Marines always do.
Bursting shells and flying bullets zinging through the air,
Kicking up the dirt and dust giving the men quite a scare.
Most missed the warriors on the hill, others finding their mark,
"Keep going, lads" the skipper yelled; "we must take this hill by dark!"
Then out of no where a weary, frighten lad began moving forward,
Making a way for others so they could follow.
With this heroic deed and objective now secure,
As the skipper came upon him he said "well done" I'm sure.
To all those who didn't come down from that hill,
And reported on that heavenly scene,
I 'm from A/1/7 sir, a United States Marine.
A Company known as "Stable Able" had done their job so well,
The skipper and the 1stSgt were very proud as hell.
Message to the Korean War Educator from Leland Smith: "This is the poem I said I'd send you - 'Where Did All our Gershwins Go?' - based on the fact that we are all born with special talents - some even unimaginably great talent - and it is such a shame that besides the emotional loss of loved ones, war loses so much of this irreplaceable talent. I think of England - which fed the flower of its talent into the great maw of World War I. I think this is a great poem - but I would - I wrote it. I am not a Korean vet, but I was in WWII - a sailor." - Leland Smith, Nashville, TN
Where did all our Gershwins go?
Like George and Ira.
Men within whose hearts
God locked away such golden songs?
But music never heard,
And now forever stilled
By burp gun bursts on Pork Chop Hill?
In far away Korea.
Where did our future Einsteins go?
Who'll do math for the next great race
To probe eternity of outer space
Was that an Einstein's fleshless hand
Frozen fingers pointing upward
Through that blinding, bloody snow
When we looked back on Cho'sen Dam?
In far away Korea.
Where did so many fathers go?
Gentle, laughing, loving men?
Who kept a freezing watchOn Korea's mountain tops
(The warming fires of hell
Almost welcome in that cold -
And just a bullet's whine away)?
Back there in South Korea.
Gershwins, Einsteins, Edisons
Pulitzer winners of a later day
Were they the ones who stood, and died
So First Cav could get away?
To come roaring back
And drive the gooks
On another bloody day?
In forgotten South Korea.
Where did these future Gershwins go?
Poets, playwrights, clergymen,
Lawmakers, judges, farmers, builders,
Einsteins and fathers, too?
Pray God they bought a better world
Their gift to me and you.
Their lives for me and you
Back there in South Korea.
When you are alone, say a Soldier's Prayer.
The Lord this day will see and hear.
As you search your heart,
He keeps you from harm.
Right from the start,
His guiding arm,
Wherever you are, on sea or on land,
As the North Star, His guiding hand.
Ask Him with blind faith.
Thank Him and believe.
Patiently wait.
You will receive.
When you are alone, say a Soldier's Prayer.
The Lord this day will see and hear.
Life's trials you will withstand.
As you search your heart,
He will understand,
Right from the start.