Home sweet home part one and two.
The White cliffs of Dover
Places gain value when you are surrounded by war. The World War one and the World War two soldiers dreams of coming home. The white cliffs of Dover, when they saw them. They knew home was near. Home, sweet home. I saw the white cliffs of Dover in 1977. I could feel the joy of men here and gone. So many wonderful poems for the white cliffs of Dover. Words, written to honor her and England.
The white cliffs of Dover, the first marker of home, sweet home was near. A thousand soldiers cheered when they saw the white cliffs. They had fought in land drowning in blood and they left many brothers on foreign soil. War left no sweetness for them.
They needed to touch the England shores, kiss the soil and praise the land. The white cliffs of Dover welcomed them home with open arms and in a quiet whisper. Broken or not. She embraced them and she thanks them for serving and protecting freedom.
The Tennessee river…
We spend one year in the Iraq heat and dust. Damn desert, no trees, no water and hot as hell. We are surrounded by sand and garbage.
My friend Bill told me often. Soon I will leave this place and I will return to Tennessee. I will be home in late Spring. I will take a 30 day leave and all I will do is fish in the Tennessee river. Drink some cold beer and I won’t never complain
about the Tennessee weather. Rain or shine. I will be thankful to be home.
Coyote
Home, sweet home. Part two.
A Poem by Coyote Poetry
Just words.
Home, sweet home(For Port Austin)
Sun and heat, heat and sun. The Kuwait days slow and not easy.
No booze, no woman, bad food and we have read every book available.
I left home in great haste, thinking my life was sour and worthless. I needed adventure and war. Poor visions of salvation given to me by my father’s tales of war.
Friendships are made, card games are played and the soldiers doing their duty and assigned tasks. The long hot days make men learn. Home, is the sweetest word.
I told my friend Bill: When I return home in the late Spring, I will go to Port Austin, bring a lawn chair, a cooler of beer and a radio. I will put my feet into the cold Lake Huron. I will dance with her till the stars appear.
I will never complain about the Michigan cold Winters no-more. I will stay ten days to gather my mind and my thoughts.
I’m tire of the heat, I’m tire of the 15,000 soldiers with me. I need a restful place, where all I can hear is the birds singing and the Lake Huron waves moving. I need you, Port Austin.
Home, sweetest words to a wondering soldiers, learning. The green grass isn’t always greener on the other side of the fence. Maybe you had what you needed near.
Johnnie/Coyote