A Boy in Love
We first met in grade three.
I knew you liked me when you smiled at me.
A school in the country I attended with thee.
You seemed so distant so far from me.
Yet I seemed to grasp your love for me.
As we grew older about grade seven.
At sock hops you danced with me.
You held me close you liked me most.
I felt your fear oh so shy with me.
Before my eyes into a woman you grew.
Feelings of love I had for you.
Your love for me I strived to explore.
The Army spoke I had to go.
The choice I made the Air Force at war
My life I’d promised but I hoped I’d live.
I still hoped to marry you one day
I hoped you’d send a child my way
Once I knew my fate was life.
I asked your hand in marriage one night.
When I joined the force, I knew the score
I’d learn to design the machines of war.
Our child you raised while I fought that war.
As times got tough you loved me more.
Camille had left the city rotting.
I helped them gather up their dead.
I carried the caskets helped shoulder their sorrow.
I stood at attention carried the bodies they buried.
I tried not to listen while each life story they read.
I still see the faces of those that were dead.
I pray their souls their God will keep.
I schooled in electronics I learned to fight.
They taught me to kill in case we lost flight.
They taught us survival just in case.
We cloaked our travels few knew of our flights.
Our missions were guarded the stories untold.
I learned the ways to Bird dog in.
In country three days and quickly get out.
Freedom Bird out was the end of the game.
Over flag draped coffins I often stood watch.
I guarded their bodies their souls now gone.
The flights home so very solemn
On the tarmac, I saluted the flagged draped coffins
Our comrades in arms now headed for home.
The war in Nam was now winding down.
Yet the world leaders still wore a frown.
The politicians just needed to settle a score.
They had not killed enough in this war
The communists must die our government agreed.
Then we would see if they would bend us a knee.
They called it a conflict I call it war.
I returned to my wife I returned to my child.
I returned to my family I returned from the war.
My life seemed changed for better or worse.
My mind seemed changed by the gore of this war.
I still can love maybe much more.
A human life means a whole lot more.
My heart has a scar that I now bear.
The scar first formed as I watched from the air.
As the napalm fell from a nearby planes open door.
How many died is anyone’s guess.
I think it was hundreds I tried hard not to care.
The tears I felt running I blamed on foul air.
My eyes have seen death yet it hides in my core.
Those memories now hidden my God only knows.
Now, as I grow older more wisely I love.
My wife shares her love but I share more.
I share her friendship that I might have lost in that war.
I now understand there might not have been more.
This life I now know will one-day end.
Our maker will stand at the door of his home
To me he will state:
Revenge is mine sayeth the Lord.
Others will do unto you as you have done unto them
I would hate to burn in that napalm gore.
As much as I love my wife as best friend,
I also accept that there is another true friend
A true friend will stand watch over his friend.
I am certain I will stand watch over those in my life
I hope there is one who will stand watch over me
This tale I now share not to frighten or scare.
The fifty-two roared with her jets in full burn.
The moon shone brightly off Greenland’s south shore.
We fought to gain speed but She seemed to slow.
That fifty-two was cold and maybe too old.
She answered to helm but she answered real slow,
The cold of Thule had seeped deep down to her soul.
That night I feared I might need my true friend.
I might need a friend to stand watch over me.
The pilots fought hard to save them and me.
For the plane was determined to dive to the sea.
I feared that night I may have a need you see
I feared I might need my true friend indeed,
If they managed to pull us free from the sea,
I might need your watch over little old me.
I hoped that my box would hold a small piece of me.
Now you know of my love for my life.
Now you know of my love for my wife.
Now you know of my love for The Flame.
I still feel love for my country without any shame.
You now know how I spent my war time nights.
You now know of the tales that I write.
As I stood watch over the coffins of the dead at night
The coffins I still see weather its day or night.
As you read the tales I have penned.
Please be aware that I have more to share.
I plan to write on, onto the end of my life.
Now I write with a little more haste.
My life is much shorter; I have no moments to waste.
I will write the last tales of The Empress in haste.
I hope you read on and let my days not waste.
Vietnam era MIA/POW
The coffins were bare.
No flags did they wear.
No names of the dead.
No names could we share.
Two God loving souls.
The tags simply read.
MIA/POW –Please handle with care
The human mind cannot accept.
The pain you both had felt.
No human can imagine.
Such fear at ones death.
If God had felt mercy.
When your hand you pulled off.
He’d have stopped your heart before then.
The story we’d heard.
The five days of pure hell.
Your death was not easy.
From the stories we’d read.
Burned while still tied.
Back to back while still alive.
You shared your last moments.
As God watched and cried.
Two missionaries of God.
How could the enemy find fault.
To Evelyn Anderson.
I remember your name.
To Beatrice Kosin.
I remember your name.
Your rescue curtailed.
Two lives they let die.
So the politicians could boast.
They had won the damn war.
The American Embassy.
Your capture they hid.
They held up your rescue.
For the good of world peace.
My God, you were human.
How could they let you just die.
To die in the jungles.
Was all our worst fear.
You were tortured and forgotten.
That was the way of this war.
A war they call conflict.
A war just the same.
This wasn’t a game.
But the politicians wanted more.
You had not rank.
As civilians you joined.
In God’s name you came.
To this country of shame.
Missionaries of hope.
You offered God’s love.
But instead died in his arms.
While spreading his name.
The world will remember.
By the words I shall write.
I'll remember your plight.
In my dreams every night
With this poem, I offer you light.
I'll remind the world of your love and your life.
I'll remind the world of your love for your God.
This writing I offer, a memory of mine.
As we fight a new war.
Remember the lost, the departed souls.
They fought for our freedom.
And the salvation of our souls.
Christmas is surely ruined
No snow again this year
I hate this moldy green
It makes me wheeze and sneeze
All I want for Christmas
Is snow on Christmas day
I bet the girls in Chino
Get snow for cat to play
If Mother Nature can’t provide
A Christmas gift for me
FedEx surely delivers
Snow on Christmas Day
Fantasies and Memories
I carefully wrote my letter.
I sealed it with a kiss.
I hoped the elves would read it.
They’d pass along my wish.
As Christmas Eve arrived.
I sat outside and watched.
I hoped to see my Santa.
With a present just for me.
When the snow began to fall.
I heard the sounds of Santa.
His reindeer and the sled.
I hoped to catch a glimpse.
Instead of slowing down.
He slapped the leather reins.
He just kept on going.
Never even looked around.
My mother said to wait.
He surely would return.
The man was busy on Christmas.
All God’s children were in need.
My mother is now calling.
Bedtime is surely near.
I guess I will forget.
This Christmas I have missed.
I step into the kitchen.
I smell the fresh baked bread.
I walk towards the bathroom.
To wash the tears I shed.
I look towards the tree.
The candles lit with care.
I spot a fresh wrapped box.
Could this present be for me?
I walked into the room.
I read the tag with care.
The name is surely mine.
I feel all warm inside.
My father truly loves me.
His arms are strong and warm.
He moves the present towards me.
He smiles and reads my name.
I open up the present.
I tear the paper fast.
The box is just so barren.
No hint to what’s inside.
I see the tiny doll.
The one that Santa brought.
I wrap my arms around it.
I begin to cry.
I turn to hug my father.
His smile is warm with love.
My mother wipes my tears.
And shares the love I feel.
I surely will remember.
The love my parents shared.
The best of any Christmas.
A present just for me.
The Dream Watcher
As you close your eyes to sleep,
You pray your dreams that I shall keep.
Your dreams are yours, not mine to tell,
Your private thoughts, your soul, your hell.
You wonder how I see your dreams.
You wonder how you dream with me.
The human mind cannot control,
Where our dreams decide to stroll.
They sometimes wonder into others heads.
They often move into others beds.
They often seek the love we need.
They seem to feed from thoughts or deeds.
The watcher knows if you should wander.
The watcher knows the love you ponder.
The watcher knows when your fingers pleasure.
The watcher knows the funds you plunder.
I hear your screams of fright tonight,
As you fall from some great height.
I let you scream as you lose your grip,
You thought I held you from your death,
Instead, I smile and let you slip.
I stop your fall, before you die,
I surely don’t know why.
You try to hide you’re gripped with fear.
I pull you back and keep you near.
You attempt to run but you’re legs are numb.
Your eyes are open they’re filled with fright.
I smell your fear, as you fight your plight.
I let you feel your lovers touch.
I sense your body getting near.
The moment of shear bliss is nearly here.
I let your mouth share his kiss.
Your bodies join you move as one.
I feel your climax oh so near.
On a shelf, a book I tip.
You hear my laughter in your mind.
You move your fingers to your place of need.
You quench your heat and end the deed.
I smile and allow my jealous rage,
To slowly dwindle from this dreamland scene.
My love for you has grown too strong.
I cannot allow another’s love.
To join this Watcher’s dream.
The Price of Freedom, We All Must Share
Decoration Day, Remembrance Day, or Memorial Day.
The name means all the same.
“Kneel Where Our Loves are Sleeping”.
We honor our dead, we decorate their bed.
In Flanders Fields - the poppies still grow.
Nourished by the blood of many fallen souls.
Their hearts are now still.
But their dreams live on.
Freedom for all “In God is our trust”.
In service of country, you fought for our freedom.
We remember the lost, the departed souls.
You gave your life, while mine was spared.
The freedom you purchased, I now protect with care.
This day I do honor, my childhood friend.
We walked the streets of Coleman.
Where we talked about the war.
Your death, stirred revenge in my heart.
Rest easy my friend - I’ll carry on with your fight.
The freedom of all is surely in sight.
In memory of my childhood friend
PFC Robert George Wilkie
Ronald Dean Rellinger
Under the pen of Ronnie Coleinger