Memorial Day poetry. When the war is over.
When the war is over. 1- I haven’t been right, maybe I won’t be right again, I left war and war found me. Friends’ faces are hanging with me, a heavy sadness. My… Continue reading
Tag Archive: John Castellenas
Memorial Day poetry. My home is Northern Michigan.
My home is Northern Michigan. I sat by the Cherry trees of Michigan in Northern Michigan, and I remembered a good friend. He was not young; he served in the Army. 25 years,… Continue reading
Memorial Day poetry. Salute old glory and thank a Veteran.
Salute old Glory and thank a Veteran A Poem by Coyote Poetry “I need to remember a good friend. We live in a world where few of us are not touched by war.” … Continue reading
Memorial Day poetry. A soldier prayer.
(Soldier goes off to War. Need kind and sweet memories to keep them human.) The Lover (A soldier prayer) Poor boys and men.Roads led to War. Young woman with a sweet smile.Silk dress,smelling like… Continue reading
Family pictures.
Family pictures. Do we know when the final goodbye is?Did we tell the people we loved? They saved our life many times and gave us reasons to be alive.Old faces and words appear.… Continue reading
Memorial Day poetry. At peace, at last.
At peace, at last… (Sometime war killed the soldier slowly.) The Soldiers gave him a 21-gun salute.Only young and old Soldiers came to say goodbye.Old Sergeant Major finally drank himself to death.35years a… Continue reading
Memorial Day poetry. Remember many fought and died for us to know freedom.
I left a boy; I came back a season man.I learned the drills of the soldier,befriended many good men and women. Soldiers drink, soldiers dance and they celebrate each new day. I followed… Continue reading
Memorial Day poetry. Old Soldier.
Old Soldier A Story by Coyote Poetry Only Soldiers understand what another soldier had saw and felt. Strangers to war and violence cannot understand. When you are near death for too long. You appreciate… Continue reading
Memorial Day poetry. Knuckle red, knuckle bleeding.
Knuckle red, knuckles bleeding. Knuckles red, knuckles bleeding. My father fought and fought, wars that could not be won. He told me in his drunkenness state. He told me. I killed and I… Continue reading
Memorial Day poetry. My father’s mind, my father’s wars.
My father’s mind, my father’s wars. If you live by the gun, you will die by the gun. Do corpses talk? My father asked me a few times when the rum was aplenty.Who… Continue reading