For Those Who Died With the Fallen

A friend sent me this last night. He reminded us to remember those with scars we cannot see...

Some soldiers die on the battlefield, though still they walk away
The living dead, plagued by a hell of perpetual 'replay'
So while we remember the buried, pray we do not forget
Those who died with the fallen, but are among us yet

Janet

Every Day is Remembrance Day

A neighbor dropped by this morning. We drank coffee, laughed at the antics of the little guy I baby-sit; fear for our safety never crossed our minds.

To tend with ever-loving care

The splendid little plot

Of loam that I call home-sweet-home

This is a gift, oh God

To serve, not with a heart of greed

But with humility

For you saw fit to spill a bit

Of happiness to me

And not to overlook the joy

Of simple blessedness

That we are free to drink our tea

In peace and quietness

…and in response to those who serve

On front-lines far away

I’ll tend this loam of home-sweet-home

With gratitude each day

© Janet Martin

Just read this poem. In the wake of being reminded of the cost of freedom it spoke in raw newness to me…

Easy Service

When an empty sleeve or a sightless eye

Or a legless form I see,

I breathe my thanks to my God on High

For His watchful care o'er me.

And I say to myself, as the cripple goes

Half stumbling on his way:

I may brag and boast, but that brother knows

Why the old flag floats to-day.

I think as I sit in my cozy den

Puffing one of my many pipes

That I've served with all of my fellow men

The glorious Stars and Stripes.

Then I see a troop in the faded blue

And a few in the dusty gray,

And I have to laugh at the deeds I do

For the flag that floats to-day.

I see men tangled in pointed wire,

The sport of the blazing sun,

Mangled and maimed by a leaden fire

As the tides of battle run,

And I fancy I hear their piteous calls

For merciful death, and then

The cannons cease and the darkness falls,

And those fluttering things are men.

Out there in the night they beg for death,

Yet the Reaper spurns their cries,

And it seems his jest to leave them breath

For their pitiful pleas and sighs.

And I am here in my cosy room

In touch with the joys of life,

I am miles away from the fields of doom

And the gory scenes of strife.

I never have vainly called for aid,

Nor suffered real pangs of thirst,

I have marched with life in its best parade

And never have seen its worst.

In the flowers of ease I have ever basked,

And I think as the Flag I see

How much of service from some it's asked,

How little of toil from me.

Edgar Albert Guest :

In Memory of Nathan Cirillo and all who pay the ultimate price for our freedom

 Image Source


Free to lie beneath the tree
and dream our dreams, in spite of tears
we walk the streets and splash through parks
where autumn gleams then disappears

Free to laugh the laughter of
the unafraid, while others die
to protect the country they love,
and thus protect both you and I

God, forgive when we forget
Freedom comes at such a price
Comfort us in this, our grief
of love's ultimate sacrifice

Janet~

Freedom-song

Lay down your weapons

And still the war-cry

Bring home our daddies, sons, daughters

Bombs cannot bring it

Though more millions die

Look to our fallen fore-fathers

Ah, where is freedom

And what is its key?

Is there a balm for our sorrow?

Goodness and mercy

And true liberty

Cannot wait until tomorrow

Lift up the tears

Of the innocent child

Look at the face of the fallen

Where is the freedom

For which heroes died?

What of those crosses in Belgium?

Sing a new song

Let the whole world join in

Fill every hollow and hunger

Freedom is Love

Ah, and love is the key

To peace in a world without borders

Lay down the bag-pipes

Sing a new song

Let TAPS ring for joy and not sorrow

Look long into

The face of a child

Let’s give them a better tomorrow

So,

Lay down your weapons

And still the war-cry

Bring home our daddies, sons, daughters

Bombs cannot bring it

Though more millions die

Look to our fallen fore-fathers

© Janet Martin

Remember to remember...and never forget
Freedom is never free!
Remember to pray for those hoping yet
For its blessed liberty

 

We Remember

To all the families all over the world who grieve fallen heroes...we remember, we care.

Remembrance

A gun, a bomb, hatred and loss
Will never set us free
A Son, a tomb, love and a cross
Has sealed our victory

~Janet Martin~

“It is finished” John 19:30

This is my body given for you
Do this in remembrance of me. Luke 22:19

No 'Free' in Freedom

Somberly, up the quiet tree-lined street
The steady stream of solemn ranks are led,
As sun-beams dance to the drummer’s beat
Filtering through the branches overhead
Beyond the tears and past the trees
The music of a small child’s laughter swells
Stark contrast to the infantry
Bowing ‘neath the tolling of the bells

Then, as the bag-pipe sound exalts
The melody of sweet Amazing Grace
The banner-covered coffin halts
For it has reached its final resting place
The last note fades, the cannon flies
Echoing across a distant shore
But none as stirring as the mother’s cries
“There’s no ‘free’ in freedom anymore

Put down your banners, lay down your guns
My sweet baby boy has died
Tributes, salutes, many battles won
Won’t bring him back” she cried
“Take away all the roses for nothing will be
Like it ever was before
The price of freedom is too hard for me
There’s no ‘free’ in freedom anymore”

Freedom (part two)

Up the rocky skull-strewn trail
A teaming, screaming throng of hatred surged
Swarming ‘round a form so pale
Upon a place called Calvary they converged
Beyond the tumult, wild and raging
Not a solitary friend is found
Stark contrast to the shouts and praising
As the palm-tree branches decked the ground

Then as the sound of steel on steel
Rings beyond the horror on the hill
As they drive in each cruel nail
‘Gainst the cries of ‘Father, not My will’
And as they raise the blood-stained cross
In victory the maddened thousands roar
As Mary weeps her deepest loss
“There’s no ‘free’ in freedom anymore

Take away your hammers, lay down your swords
My dear precious son has died”
As the lightning flashed and the thunder roared
There at His feet she cried
“Take away all your hatred, your jeers and chanting
For you have slain my Lord
Take away all your weapons, your raging and ranting
There’s no ‘free’ in freedom anymore”

There’s no ‘free’ in freedom, oh what a price
So that we may be set free
There’s no ‘free’ in freedom, love's sacrifice
Is beyond understanding for me
There’s no ‘free’ in freedom, let us value each day
And cherish each living breath
Oh, what a price someone needs to pay
For the cost of freedom is death

Janet Martin

When He is Gone...#4

Poetics Aside Prompt; use 'when he is gone' in poem

When he is gone

Do we remember?

And do we pray

For he or (she) as they fight

For our freedom

Every day

When he is gone

Is he (she) a mythical ‘forgotten’

In a world far away?

As they lay their lives on the line

For our freedom

Every day

When he is gone

Do we beseech

To God as we pray

To keep and protect them as they fight

For our freedom

Every day

When he is gone

More than his dearly beloved

Ought to weep and pray

For sons and daughters
And mothers and fathers

Who risk their lives

For our freedom

Every day

© Janet Martin

Of Flesh and Blood Compassion (edited re-post)

...when flesh and blood lies bleeding

futile thoughts against the sky

as farewell prayers, gasping and pleading

weep out life's final good-bye

...when freedom’s price is blood-bought

with a brother, daughter, son

our grief is universal

and our teardrops flow as one

...when freedom’s charge is gathered

again…again… again

we see, not their race or color

but simply women, men

With flesh and blood compassion

we implore to God above

to comfort those who deeply sorrow

for the ones they dearly love

When freedom’s price is blood-bought

charted ramparts disappear

for in death we all are kindred

and our sorrow is a tear

© Janet Martin

Is Peace Really Out of Reach?

Is there anything new under the sun?

Will ever we learn how to truly love?

Will ever there be a putting down of gun?

Love’s surest, purest part to prove

Blindly we gaze from north to south

Where autumn glory gilds its span

And while her goodness stuffs our mouths

We turn to slay our fellow-man

Will ever True Love that was spilt

On Calvary from Son of God

Vanquish the horror of our guilt

That seeps blood-red into earth’s sod

Is ever a battle truly won

Of anger, hatred, spite or wrath? 

There are no victors where the gun

Renders its deadly aftermath

Friend, enemy; are we not one

As we lie in a common grave

When our life-battle here is done

And only Love our souls can save?

Will foolish war and bickering

Forever taint this troubled berth

Of Time, ceaseless and quickening

Where love is ever its lone worth?

Is there anything new under the sun?

And will man’s striving ever cease?

Or, is earth the valley of the gun

And Heaven our hope of peace

As tiny droplets form a sea

And golden grains of sand, the beach

Ah, surely one by one thus we

Can form what now seems out of reach…

© Janet Martin

   

Where Are We Now (and what are we doing)?

Where are you in your walk
as evil continues to prove its greed
reminding us over and over
that our greatest need is
Love
and all we can offer each other
of any value at all
in this weeping, hungry dirt-bowl
sister to sister and brother to brother, is
Love
As hatred wields ugliness
nothing can steal from any hands
the power of unfailing goodness
in the beauty of
Love
Evil will not prevail
Someday we will lift our eyes
to behold in unfathomed glory
the proof of what cannot fail  
Love


Janet~

  ...as we remember may hope be renewed and love be our weapon.  

Jesus, All for Jesus  Robin Mark

Loving Him (re-post)

Loving him

The most beautiful thing

She has ever done

Wild rivers run

Home-fires glow

Within her soul

At last she knows

She is whole

Dreams spawn

More dreams

'To love and to cherish'

But it seems

These dreams

Will perish

Loving him

Wild rivers run

The most unbearable thing

She has ever done

J~

The Living Dead

Amelia has prayed and pleaded and cried

For somehow the Charlie she knew has died

She holds him close when the dark thunder rolls

There are no words with power to console

Or wipe the scenes from his tormented mind

For where Charlie goes, she remains behind…

The shades are drawn to subdue the daylight

But they cannot shade the mind from his plight

The sun is warm with scent of pinewood

He shivers, inhaling the stench of blood

Lassie waits, eager for Charlie to play

Her master is home, it’s a perfect day

He lifts his arm; suddenly he braces

For the explosion of grenades and faces

Lassie looks back, trying to understand

Why Charlie won’t throw the toy in his hand

But she does not hear the planes distant hum

Or marching feet to the beat of a drum

She cannot see the horror-stricken tears

Of mangled and wounded as gun-smoke clears

Her skin does not ache with memories of blood

Covering the earth in a sickening flood

He cannot see rippling wheat fields, blue skies

Darkened by images burned in his eyes

The woods, once tranquil and sweet with romance

Speak only of fear in his haunted trance

Memories of lying in its cool dark shade

Are frames of terror as history is made

When they told her he made it, Amelia cried

Now she still weeps for her Charlie has died

Janet Martin

http://margoroby.wordpress.com/2011/11/08/painting-poems-tuesday-tryouts/

Remembering Forever

The rhythmic swish of the dark ocean waves

Conceals the horror of uncharted graves

The warm dappled sunbeam sparkles and leaps

Over lost tombs in decade-pleated deeps

Across whitewashed sands carefree children run

Where once lay man with a prayer and a gun

As shell-fire and smoke and bloody tears fell

Bathing the shore in red rivers of hell

Nostrils burning with the grim stench of death

Time; precious yearning in every breath

As hatred and love and grief are laid bare

In volleys of terror piercing the air

Delirium offers tormented bliss

Twixt strident reality and her kiss

The rise and pitch of after and before

Launches the dying to a one-man war…

There is no glory in war; it may seem

As if its stories are simply a dream

Though they may emit a teardrop subdued

Or feelings of anguish and gratitude

Can we reignite what seems to be lost?

An appreciation for freedom’s cost

Across white-washed sands happy children run

Freedom’s banner gently blows in the sun…

Janet~

http://sundaywhirl.wordpress.com/

Thoughts of a Dying Soldier

The sky is such a lovely shade of blue in early May
The clouds look soft and fluffy; I’ll be touching them today
I'm glad the grass I’m lying on is soft and emerald green
The color of the lawn in spring back home in Aberdeen

God, there was so much that I had hoped that I could do
But it looks as if today I will be meeting you
And all the things I’ve thought worth-while seem suddenly so small
I can’t help but smile to think we fuss ‘bout life at all

The only thing that matters is this moment now impending
The seeds that I have scattered will grow though life is ending
God, it is so little that man-kind will ever know
I'm glad that I am not afraid because You love me so

There’s a letter in my pocket, I suppose someone will find
And give to my beloved, ‘something that he left behind’
Sure would have loved to see her, touch her soft cheek just once more
God, what a useless, bloody hell on earth, this war

Above me now an eagle flies on her majestic flight
I will pass her in the skies as I fly Home tonight
She will fly to some tall tree and to her faithful nest
I’ll fly to eternity and my eternal rest

The sky is such a lovely shade of blue in early May
I wonder what they’re doing in my home-town today
I wish that I could see them all and hold their hands again
Oh God, in death there’s no enemy, we are all just men

Janet Martin

Inspired by the book: The Sun Also Rises by Ernest Hemingway

Somebody's Love.....

He loved his mom’s apple strudel
His eyes were kind and blue
He loved a girl named Caroline
And oh, she loved him too
They were going to be married
As soon as the war was done
And maybe if they were lucky
Someday they would have a son……….

He always loved to play football
Was the high school quarter-back
He didn’t play for a medal
He just played for the love of it
And oh, how he loved his dog, Rover
Man’s best friend was his
Now Rover whimpers every night
And wonders where he is………

He was a generous fellow
He walked the second mile
When everybody else said no
He did it with a smile
But nobody knows his attributes
As he lies in the bloody snow
They’ve come to gather the fallen dead
…..here lies another John Doe

Beneath each cross in Flanders’ Field
Beneath the sound of a gun
Beneath the weapon or the shield
Is somebody's dear son
Beneath the watchful eye above
The dying fallen lie
Oh, pray for they are somebody’s love
…….for you and yours they die

Janet~
'son' is a generic term here.......
We pray for all the sons and daughters!

That Was Then....

Not so very long ago
He was running across the yard
Practicing his foot-ball throw
Tossing it far, tossing it hard
Not so very long ago
He had no cares upon his brow
But he has become a man
And he is a soldier now

Not so very long ago
He was just a little guy
But it is no longer so….
As a man’s tears dim his eye
Not so very long ago
He was proud, for he was ten
An innocent little boy….
No longer so….that was then

All Right Reserved
Janet Martin

Remember to remember…..
All the men and women
Who sacrifice their lives
For our freedom!!!
Do we pray for them?
Every day?

The Picture......

There’s a picture of her baby
On the refrigerator door
She hasn’t seen him since the day
That he went off to war
But as she softly gazes
At his youthful, noble face
She knows her prayers will touch him
In that distant, foreign place

She can’t help but over-hear remarks
About freedom and war
She wonders if we understand
Do we care anymore?
And she prays for all the moms and dads
The precious sons and daughters
Who left the comforts that they had
To sail across the waters

She prays that God will care for them
And then she prays for peace
Without more love for fellow-men
There will be no release……..
She pleads with God to bring an end
To this earth’s cruel war
As she gazes at the picture
On the refrigerator door

All Rights Reserved
Janet Martin

Love, Joy and Peace.....

Love, joy and peace
Just a little more of this
Then this world’s fighting would cease
Our cares would be less and good will would increase
If we all put to practice more love, joy and peace

Love, joy and peace
Just a little more of this
And there would be a release
From the cold cruel wars and life’s bitterness
If we all gave a little more love, joy and peace

All Rights Reserved
Janet Martin

I keep telling myself I’m going to
Take a break from writing…….
Then ‘little girl’ hangs up an innocent painting……..

‘Out of the mouths of babes…..’

Let’s REMEMBER…..not only at Remembrance Day……
Or Christmas, but every day all year through!