Okinawa

Iwo Jima, kamikaze, Hiroshima, Nagasaki...all words that fascinated me as a child.  A world I would never see except through Dad's eyes. He rarely told a battle story only the funny ones to me but I overheard conversations when Dad forgot "Little pitchers have big ears."  He only talked with others that had served. I saw the war in his eyes and it haunted me almost as much as it haunted him.

Dad taught me to love Big Band music, told me about "pin up girls" (Dad liked Rita Hayworth) and the pictures his friends carried.  He talked of submarines, ships, planes and amphibious vehicles. He talked of friends and enemies.  Dad talked of Churchill, MacArthur, Roosevelt, Eisenhower and letters from home.  He talked of chocolate, K-rations and how he found a ripe tomato on Okinawa.

Dad talked of islands:  San Clemente, Hawaii, Okinawa, Iwo Jima, and others. He spoke of friends, news of their family and how he kept records in his pocket Bible in code.  He spoke of the plants, the heat, how good a lobster tasted over a campfire...all the good that was.

Dad talked of how they were rarely told where they were going or even where they were. Snipers, flame throwers and children with hand grenades were things I overheard.  He served as they asked and as they commanded.  It was what an American did.

Today I honor all who have served.  Those who made it home "okay", those who did not and those still serving. Thank you from the bottom of my heart with my deepest respect.

War

For Magpie Tales with Tess Kincaid

image credit:  Dick Blick Art

War touches all
with long bony fingers
in our dreams
through lifetimes
we can say
it is for the greater good
try telling that to
the ones who came home
incomplete
try to tell the ones
who never came home

War dVerse~Poets Pub

War isn't something
you can sweep
out the door
and declare it done
it stays
to eat your soul

War never leaves
the dark nights
of sleep
it plays over
and over
and over

Soldiers return in pieces
dead and alive
they weep
silently
for friends
and enemies

The best they can do
is gather the parts
misplaced by orders
glue them together
and pray that soon
they might forget

With honor and gratitude to those who have served and are serving...thank you.
War Poetry for dVerse~Poets Pub

War

Is never pretty.
We tend to paint pictures
Where the Good
The Bad are labeled.
Yet neither speak.

Ike was a hero
To some
But I was told
He was crazy
The man who led
The allies to victory
With overwhelming costs
Was a crazy man

Who are we to judge
Actions that are past
We did not wear
Their uniforms nor their shoes
We did not lay in foxholes
And hear the screams

We rally
Scream "No War!"
In violent voices
And mistakenly think
Our violence begets peace

We cannot think
We know the answers
The solutions
In every instance of violence
There is a choice
We do not know
The heavy weight of choice
Until we alone must choose

I sing "Peace"
And
Soulfully
Hope
I
Never
Have
To
Choose

Sometimes there are reasons to war.

Poets United

The Mag 143

Verdun, 1917 by Felix Vallotton

February through December

 The earth was torn apart 

As people perished

 By each other hands.

  We learned nothing except 

More efficient ways to kill

How to war is not a talent

The artist shows it well.

The Earth cries

With the destruction

And humanity cries

For ones who do not return.

I make a habit of not researching anything on the picture or the artist until I have written my piece.  I read no others so my take will be my own.  Somewhere in my outdated hard drive of a brain Verdun said war and the picture backed me up.  It is a good artist who can represent the destruction and desolation of war in the strokes on his canvas.

Visit Magpie Tales  with Ms Tess Kincaid.  Read many talented writers contributing to her fabulous blog and join in the challenge.

Thank you, Tess, for remembering.