Beautiful poetry and photography – click here for: Frühling.
From the wonderful blog abozdarwordpress.com – Perspectives on life, universe and everything. A blog you should consider following.
Three vampires and a ghost go for a drive… Click here for a little Friday fun: If you need something done ask a busy person.
For those who have lost someone they love, a friend, a lover, a sister…
Poet Dan Tanzo passed away this morning. It is a sad day indeed.
I’m honored to share a poem from my friend, Northern California writer Richard Turton.
The Eagle Cried
The acrid smell of cordite
Still hovered in the air.
No breeze to wash away
The scent of Satan’s hair.
The Medivac’s are fading now,
Their cabins filled with dead.
So many grisly pictures
Are surging through my head
Another hill’s been taken
The earth all charred and black
We all know what’s coming;
Tomorrow…”Give it back!”
The Eagle cries from barren trees
His tears, he cannot hide.
Where once a proud, young soldier stood
My Warrior Brother, died
The scorched ground that surrounds me;
Am I in Dante’s Hell?
This skirmish now is over
We saw them as they fell.
My Warrior Brother, Donny,
Died that gruesome day.
He took the bullets meant for me
With his final words did say,
“Tell Mom and Sis I loved them!
Please! Don’t let me down!”
I promised I would tell them
A promise I’d soon drown.
The Eagle cried that tragic day,
Back in Sixty-Eight.
A promise made…un-kept,
To my Warrior mate.
One thing that I’m sure of,
A thing that gives no rest.
The hounds of Hell still battle
Deep within my chest.
A bottle’d been my address
For forty years or more.
I’d take ‘most any drug,
I couldn’t find the door.
Somewhere there’s a record,
Of drugs and booze and tears.
When I crawled out of the bottle
I’d been buried in for years.
Half a decade sober.
Not a real long time.
That’s how long I’m clean tho’,
My life’s becoming mine.
The winds of war are blowing by;
In history books they last.
I’m in the winter of my years,
My best days…they have passed.
The one thing that I’ve never done
One thing I cannot face:
To visit the Memorial,
The headstone for that place.
My daughter said, “You have to go,
To honor those who died!”
I said I know I should…
But that I’d go…I lied
Then one day the phone rang;
A call I knew I’d dread.
It was Donny’s sister,
“Please help me!” Karen pled.
“I’ve spent these years just searching
I even hired a sleuth.
I finally found out where you live…
I need to know the truth.”
“The Army’s always been real vague,
And their answers never matched.
I need to know what happened;
They always seemed detached”
“Our Mother has passed on now,
But I still need to know;
I’d really love to meet with you,
Please…just show me how!”
The hounds of Hell are roused again;
Their howling has re-started.
I force their shrieks out of my mind,
My path, it has been charted
Quiet now, you dogs of war!
It’s time for a new quest!
It’s time for me to wrestle you,
And lay your souls to rest!
Then I thought the one thing,
A thought I’d never say,
Should I meet her at The Wall,
And put my hounds at bay?
I finally said I’d meet with her,
With a voice that was not mine.
“The Wall is where I’ll meet you.
I’ll see you there at nine.”
I saw flowers in her hand,
As she walked my way.
“Yellow roses were his favorite.”
Later she would say.
“Hello, my name is Karen.”
She said when we did meet
“Donny wrote me many things,
I knew that you’d be sweet!”
“I know this must be hard for you,
But I really need to know.
Please tell me how my brother died,
That day, so long ago.”
The moment had arrived.
I could hide this fact no more.
I said things I’d kept hidden,
Behind my mind’s locked door
She took my hand in hers,
And waited patiently.
My head bowed down as I thought
Of words I had to say.
I knew my words would stab her heart
But she would not look away.
She watched me as I told her
Of that ghastly day.
“Your Brother died in my arms,
In that nameless place.
He took the bullets meant for me
And died as we embraced!”
Her head dropped down, when I was done
Her chin upon her chest.
A single tear rolled down her cheek,
“Now Donny’s laid to rest.”
I walked with her as she made her way
To the Wall of Stone.
She laid the flowers at the base
Her silent prayer was sown.
At last I’ve honored those who fell,
Whose names are etched in rows.
We touched the name of Donny,
Who died so long ago.
And we cried…
The Eagle’s cry is heard again;
It lives within the Wall!
Each time a name is touched
The Eagle gives his call.
© Richard Turton
Note from Marla:
I met Rick Turton through his son who was my daughter’s 4th grade teacher. Rick joined a writing group I’m an administrator for. We all soon discovered Rick is a talented writer and a man with a sharp sense of humor. When I first read this poem I had no idea … I ended up choked up. A few years ago I visited the Vietnam Memorial in Washington DC. It was such a moving experience – a difficult experience – even though the war is long over. For many it will never be over. Thank you to Rick for your words of love and honor and for allowing me to share this poem.
A short bit of fiction to start off the week with…
No End in Sight
A short story from Juliette Kings
The cold tile under her feet was always preferable to shoes. That was something her mother never understood. Just like nobody understood when Karl passed away she didn’t want to be bothered by anyone for a long time. She went to the beach where she could feel the cool sand in her toes and stood under the gray sky watching the waves for hours. Then she went home and wondered what was next.He looked across the beach and saw a woman who reminded him of a girl he knew in college. Only this woman was older than the 22-year-old girl he’s last seen. The woman on the beach was around his age. Standing alone she watched the waves. He should have gone up to her, or at least walked by close enough to see if it was the girl who’d haunted his thoughts for the past 30 years.After she arrived home she sat on her deck listening to the sounds of the woodpeckers. A dog barked or other suburban sounds drifted over the fence. She poured another glass of wine. Now what?
Click on the link above for the rest of the story and links to more unique short stories..
I thought this was just another article about the economy… but it was so much more. It is about being human. It is about caring and giving and giving back. It is about those little steps that will make things better.
I’d like to introduce you to a poet, a bear of a man, a free-thinker, a man with a loud laugh and a gentle touch. A man with few filters, but a man of great words. Daniel E. Tanzo.Celebrate with me the poetry…
Click here to read more: via Silk She is.
Click here for beautiful words: World Poetry Day, March 21st.
For a fun and smart online story follow City of Zombies: Click here for: House 5.
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Click here for: March Madness, Laundry and Vampires.