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Prose and Poetry
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by Anonymous 21 years ago
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I gazed round the room and I cherished the sight.
So serene and secure, 'twas a beautiful night.
My wife was asleep, her head on my chest,
my 3-yr old daughter beside me, angelic in rest.
Outside the snow fell, a blanket of white,
Transforming the yard to a winter delight.
The sparkling lights in the tree, I believe,
Completed the magic that was Christmas Eve.
My eyelids were heavy, my breathing was deep,
Secure and surrounded by love I would sleep
in perfect contentment, or so it would seem.
So I slumbered, perhaps I started to dream.
The sound wasn't loud, and it wasn't too near,
But I opened my eye when it tickled my ear.
Perhaps just a cough, I didn't quite know,
Then the sure sound of footsteps outside in the snow.
My soul gave a tremble, I struggled to hear,
and I crept to the door just to see who was near.
Standing out in the cold and the dark of the night,
a lone figure stood, his face weary and tight.
A soldier, I puzzled, some twenty years old
perhaps a Marine, huddled here in the cold.
Alone in the dark, he looked up and smiled,
standing watch over me, and my wife and my child.
"What are you doing?" I asked without fear
"Come in this moment, it's freezing out here!
Put down your pack, brush the snow from your sleeve,
you should be at home on a cold Christmas Eve!"
For barely a moment I saw his eyes shift,
away from the cold and the snow blown in drifts,
to the window that danced with a warm fire's light
then he sighed and he said "Its really all right,
I'm out here by choice. I'm here every night"
Its my duty to stand at the front of the line,
that separates you from the darkest of times.
No one had to ask or beg or implore me,
I'm proud to stand here like my fathers before me.
My Gramps died at 'Pearl on a day in December,"
then he sighed, "That's a Christmas 'Gram always remembers."
My dad stood his watch in the jungles of 'Nam
and now it is my turn and so, here I am.
I've not seen my own son in more than a while,
But my wife sends me pictures, he's sure got her smile.
Then he bent and he carefully pulled from his bag,
the red white and blue... an American flag.
"I can live through the cold and the being alone,
away from my family, my house and my home,
I can stand at my post through the rain and the sleet,
I can sleep in a foxhole with little to eat,
I can carry the weight of killing another
or lay down my life with my sisters and brothers
who stand at the front against any and all,
to ensure for all time that this flag will not fall."
"So go back inside," he said, "harbor no fright
Your family is waiting and I'll be all right."
"But isn't there something I can do, at the least,
"Give you money," I asked, "or prepare you a feast?!
It seems all too little for all that you've done,
For being away from your wife and your son."
Then his eye welled a tear that held no regret,
"Just tell us you love us, and never forget
to fight for our rights back at home while we're gone.
To stand your own watch, no matter how long.
For when we come home, either standing or dead,
to know you remember we fought and we bled
is payment enough, and with that we will trust.
That we mattered to you as you matter to us."
Author Unknown
(If you know the author please let us know)
(My thought for the title is what the subject is!)
Posted : 2003-12-25 21:46
here every night
This is a beautiful poem, written with the feeling that the author must have believed he actually experienced. there are many poems to come from that war and I for one would really like to find a book of all time favorites, if anyone knows of such a book please inform us of the title and author.
Dave Reavis @ dimmer144@msn.com
Posted : 2003-12-26 11:58
The Poem
All Americans should read this, with an open mind, and heart. There are life lessons here for all of us; very affirming, and still a challenge to do more for each other.
Moon
Posted : 2003-12-26 14:58
Author of "I am here every night"
I did a web search and it seems that the author is a Michael Marks. I found a web site dedicated to war poetry http://iwvpa.net/index.html and this poem, named "A SOLDIER'S CHRISTMAS" and another, appear under his name. The wording is slightly different but there is no doubt in my mind that it is the same poem. The other poem is entitled "THE SANDS OF CHRISTMAS" and it appears below.
There are many poets listed on this web site. I was especially taken by an Australian Vietnam Veteran named Colin Jones. I will list a couple of his poems in a separate post.
THE SANDS OF CHRISTMAS
I had no Christmas spirit when I breathed a weary sigh,
and looked across the table where the bills were piled too high.
The laundry wasn’t finished and the car I had to fix,
My stocks were down another point, the Dolphins lost by six.
And so with only minutes till my son got home from school
I gave up on the drudgery and grabbed a wooden stool.
The burdens that I carried were about all I could take,
and so I flipped the TV on to catch a little break.
I came upon a desert scene in shades of tan and rust,
No snowflakes hung upon the wind, just clouds of swirling dust.
And where the reindeer should have stood before a laden sleigh,
eight hummers ran a column right behind an M1A.
A group of boys walked past the tank, not one was past his teens,
Their eyes were hard as polished flint, their faces drawn and lean.
They walked the street in armor with their rifles shouldered tight,
their dearest wish for Christmas, just to have a silent night.
Other soldiers gathered, hunkered down against the wind,
To share a scrap of mail and dreams of going home again.
There wasn’t much at all to put their lonely hearts at ease,
They had no Christmas turkey, just a pack of MREs.
They didn’t have a garland or a stocking I could see,
They didn’t need an ornament -- they lacked a Christmas Tree.
They didn’t have a present even though it was tradition,
the only boxes I could see were labeled “ammunition.”
I felt a little tug and found my son now by my side,
He asked me what it was I feared, and why it was I cried.
I swept him up into my arms and held him oh so near
and kissed him on the forehead as I whispered in his ear.
There’s nothing wrong my little son, for safe we sleep tonight,
our heroes stand on foreign land to give us all the right,
to worry on the things in life that mean nothing at all,
instead of wondering if we will be the next to fall.
He looked at me as children do and said its always right,
to thank the ones who help us and perhaps that we should write.
And so we pushed aside the bills and sat to draft a note,
To thank the many far from home, and this is what we wrote,
God bless you all and keep you safe, and speed your way back home.
Remember that we love you so, and that you’re not alone.
The gift you give you share with all, a present every day,
You give the gift of liberty and that we can’t repay.
©Copyright December 2003 by Michael Marks
John
Posted : 2004-01-02 10:39
Each of these works is quite a bite. Both together is overwhelming!
John, you know how to treat your Marines to special things.
Thanks again for your posts and your time......
Oh boy! More Ham 'n Muthas
Posted : 2004-01-02 18:57
While We're on the Subject
Phu Bai, December 1968 east end of the 3rd barracks from the chow hall between Letter, Jobe, Jiminy Cricket, Kingfish and Salamander's racks. Still haven't found out who took the little fake Christmas tree and put it face down in the GI can. I've always suspected one of those Rotunda Marines from H&MS-36. It was definitely a "Jingle Bells, Mortar Shells" attitude. The quest continues.
SF
Wayne Stafford
Posted : 2004-01-03 15:36
