The Graybeards - KWVA - Korean War Veterans Association

The Poets’ Place...
Poems printed on this page are not excluded from use on back page.
Under the splattered viscous mud,
under the darkened, clotted blood
there was a lad, not child, not man,
but somewhere in between the land
of innocence and age.
No time to ponder trivial things;
a deluge of wounded, battle brings,
demand I focus on my tasks,
doing what the doctor asks,
suppressing my own outrage.
I lay my fingers on his wrist
searching a vein, feeling his pulse
limping along, scanning his face
fearful of hemorrhage.
That face was more than just another soldier’s.
He looked much like my brother.
But horrible gaping wounds disguise
the look of love in any eyes,
or familial heritage.
Remembering the “Forgotten War”
The stretcher whisked him fast away,
but every hour of that day
I longed to see him once again,
that freckled face, that golden mane,
victim of war’s rampage.
Oh, flesh is fragile where shrapnel flies,
caring not who lives, who dies;
The bursting shell and thundering ground
drown out his little whimpering sounds
of agony and rage.
A sea of casualties rolled in,
I dared not fail to discipline my thoughts.
A nurse’s practiced, steady hand
Is what this slaughter does demand,
In war’s outrageous carnage.
By La Vonne Telshaw Camp, RN
Missing in Action, 1951
“Missing in Action” the wire read.
The words brought such a chill
To those of us who loved him
As we all love him still.
But that was oh, so long ago.
A life-time, so it seems.
The hope died slowly in our hearts,
Though it sometimes fills our dreams.
Where is our smiling soldier now,
Whose life was once assured?
“Last seen in hand to hand combat”.
That’s all we’ve ever heard.
The waiting has seemed endless.
The out-come, so obscure.
In our hearts we know the answer.
We will never greet him here.
There is a place beyond this earth
Where one day we will see
This fallen sparrow of the Lord
In his final victory.
By Judith Knight
for Sgt. Homer I. May,
MIA, Korea Sept 2, 1951
Soldiers
When we find our country at war,
God and soldiers we adore.
But, when the battles have been won,
We have less time for either one.
Every man should be a soldier
As it was with Romans and Greeks,
For evil loves to steal men’s souls
And strike freedom from their cheeks.
It’s not the guns or armament
Or the flags which fly in parade
But love and cooperation
That stops the Devil’s charade.
Always remember those who march
To the roll of muffled drums.
Many we know shall not return
Except to sleep beneath the mums.
By Tom Zart
Korea - - A Trip Back
On windswept hills snow softly falls,
hiding trenches in frozen soil.
When shells get close, men lay and prayed,
not this day, Lord - Please - one more day.
Within the valleys, peace now reigns,
in places where the dead have lain.
Covered with a halo of whitest snow,
hiding the blood-stained earth below.
In climbing hills to where we’ve been,
we hear the cries of wounded men,
Our memories are our guiding light,
in brightest day or darkest night.
We listen close as voices cry,
take up the torch and let us lie,
Remember those who gave it all,
and lie beneath this sacred soil.
If we break faith with those who died,
we shall not sleep unless we’ve tried,
To do our best - - to strive or fail,
to honor those who gave it all.
By William “Bill” Maddox
At the time of this printing I have many more poems sent in by members and friends. I intend on printing them all. Some are hand written which
will take some time putting into type. I am trying to print the oldest postmark first of those that are typed. The non-typed ones will be intermixed
in order to not delay this and other issues. Please try to type all poems and articles if you can.—Editor.
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The Graybeards