... this afternoon I will be having dinner with my Mother and various other relatives... sitting around the swimming pool with hotdogs and iced tea... watching an uncle man the grill and an aunt or two attempting to herd their grandneices and nephews from pool to towel to picnic table... it shoud be a nice time...

... I was talking to a great friend of mine yesterday about Memorial Day... and how important it is to recognize the sacrifices laid down on our behalf... I come from a family of Veterans, and as I was rolling their names off during the conversation, it ocurred to me that only two of us who served never saw combat... myself and Greatuncle Art... I served during time of war, but was not in theatre... and he served between Korea and Vietnam... but the rest of my family - every one of them - saw combat....

... most of them have passed on now, including my Father... and while none were killed in battles, I am sure they bore the scars of war in their own ways.... and today while we cook our hotdogs and watch the kids splash around in the pool, we'll be remembering them all...

... and as I did last year, I give you a poem from Wilfred Owen....


Under his helmet, up against his pack,
After the many days of work and waking,
Sleep took him by the brow and laid him back.
And in the happy no-time of his sleeping,
Death took him by the heart. There was a quaking
Of the aborted life within him leaping...
Then chest and sleepy arms once again fell slack.
And soon the slow, stray blood came creeping
From the intrusive lead, like ants on track.

Whether his deeper sleep lie shaded by the shaking
Of great wings, and the thoughts that hung the stars,
High pillowed on calm pillows of God's making,
Above these clouds, these rains, these sheets of lead,
And these wind's scimitars;
- Or whether yet his thin and sodden head
Confuses more and more with the low mould,
His hair being one with the grey grass
And finished fields of Autumn that are old...
Who knows? Who hopes? Who troubles? Let it pass!
He sleeps. He sleeps less tremulous, less cold
Than he who must awake, and waking, say Alas!

by Eric on May 29, 2006 | Bullshit (3) | TrackBack (0) | Poetry
Bullshit So Far

What a beautiful poem.

Bullshitted by oddybobo on May 29, 2006 02:51 PM

... Owen is worth checking out, oddybobo....

Bullshitted by Eric on May 29, 2006 03:32 PM

Too many people think this is a day for parties when we all should be thinking of those who ensured our freedoms.

Bullshitted by Junebugg on May 30, 2006 12:45 AM