Archive for

Jul 27

Salute

by Kirsten Trump

Finished college and got my rank.
Fortune’s friend—who to thank?
Walking through the hallowed halls,
Heavy burdens hold up these walls.
Wounded warrior—enlisted man–
I know you’d salute me if you can
It’s just that now—nothing is there,
Where your fingers once touched the air.
I know you’d stand to watch me pass,
If you had feet to touch the grass.
Brave young soldier—gave life and limb.
I really should be saluting him.

Kirsten Trump has a background in theater as an actor and director, and is a voice, speech and dialect coach and voiceover artist. She directs, coaches and teaches in the Division of Theatre at Shenandoah University. She is also an avid lover of poetry and a published lyricist, and works with her partner on his musical projects.

Jul 25

Homecoming

By Margi Desmond

Mayor Richard Powell ordered all Woodbury flags to fly at half-mast in honor of hometown hero, Army Sergeant First Class David Lehane, who gave his life fighting for the United States of America during Operation Enduring Freedom.

The Lehane family replaced the blue star flag hanging in their home’s front window with a gold star flag.

Jul 22

All the Places I’ve Laid My Head

by Claire Hersom

streams with summer rain
back seat window panes

goose filled pillows, feathers galore
pocketbooks on airport floors

Grampie’s woolen coat
crook of an arm on a desk top

Queen Ann Lace, soft and sweet
our baby’s soft, newborn cheek

the family dog, warm and breathing
the hammock in a summer’s breeze

the cramped back seat of your brother’s Jeep
lake docks that lulled us to sleep

your stomach, leg, breast
your picture atop the cedar chest

clean sheets just off the line,
the American flag after you died.

Claire Hersom is the middle daughter of Norman L. Hersom, who served in WWII in France with the 709th Motorcycle Police Battalion. She is a published poet with three books, the latest called Drowning: A Poetic Memoir.

Jul 20

Ships

by Garland Davis

let old broken ships
rusty and discarded

enjoy the quiet deep
let them lie, sleep

under the sea
shrouded in darkness

while the ravages of storm
roll and turmoil above

in this watery grave
among the hulks of others

Garland Davis entered the Navy at the age of seventeen in 1961. He served during the entire Viet Nam conflict and retired in 1990 at the grade of Chief Petty Officer. Now retired from self-employment in Honolulu, Hawaii, he spends his time writing and conversing with old shipmates via the Internet.

Jul 9

Mai Tais in Paradise – 1967

By Louis M. Abbey

The man stands naked in front of the sky-filled window curling his toes into the pile carpet. A drop of sweat trickles down his hairless chest. He feels the walls press close around him like the reeds would at night on the river. Fifteen stories below, bathers wander in and out of surf and traffic crawls along a flower-lined boulevard. Colors mute, merge and separate in the glaze of bright sunlight. He turns.

Jul 7

Five Minutes Is a Lifetime

By Edward F. Black, Jr.

Oh shit! I thought before I died.