The Marble There Said Nothing

-- My 2013 Memorial Day Tribute


© 2013 Linda McKinney All Rights Reserved


The marble there said nothing we hadn’t seen before,
Words like “Died in Battle”, “Son of”, “Mi Amor”.
In sunrise, it shines softly, glows upon the hill,
In darkness, it reflects sorrow: so silent and so still.

In rows and rows of marble, we see the price they paid,
For freedom’s greatest harvest: liberty has stayed.
But is the price of freedom, worth all they gave to us?
Or do we stop the struggle, give in and others trust?

Lives that could’ve been saved, their futures lived in full,
Their loved ones must have wondered, “What if…”, “Is it possible?”
Would those who cannot answer give the nod to what
The price of freedom took from them, without a pause or thought?

And there beneath that marble, upon which names endure,
Would those who paid the total price, now be so sure?
Of their sacrificial service as when they signed up?
Or of their country’s value to give their own life’s cup?

To drink from the fount, of n’er ending grief,
For wife, husband, child, parent, and delay the turning leaf?
Or would their answer stand the test of time’s unfailing tock,
Resounding through the ages, and eternity’s ne’r failing clock?

For marble’s future gloaming, for freedom’s future fight,
Their answer lives upon the rock that shines in fading light.
John, Gary, Emanuel… Harry, Favre’, Sam*:
Answered question with stout heart’s resounding, “Here I am!

Moon glows upon the marble that lists the names of all
Who answered with their lives the bell of freedom’s call.
In Vietnam, WWI or Two, or Afghanistan, Iraq,
Liberty tugged their heartstrings; refused they to turn back.

Memorial Day upon us, I want to thank you again
For giving of all you had for America to win.
The marble there said nothing we hadn’t seen before,
Words like “Died in Battle”, “Son of”, “Mi Amor”.


*Sam = Samantha

A Christmas Tribute to Our Troops

Christmas Tree Boots

© 2011 Linda McKinney All Rights Reserved


Filled with dirt,
Frozen through,
It started there,
In WW two.
Tradition: it starts somewhere.

A friend had died,
Though not alone,
And given up
His boots to Jones.
Christmas: it started there.

Rhoades took the boots
And dug the dirt,
And carried it
Wrapped in his shirt.
Stacking: starting with Jones’.

And from there
It all began,
Tradition passed
From Man to Man.
Trees: from shoes one owns.

In the circle,
Toes pointing out,
Recall the names
That it’s about.
Filling: support to give.

Ten to eight,
Eight to six,
Six to four,
Soon it’s fixed.
Single: from one who lives.

A soldier’s boot
Now stands tall
For Christmas-time
Has come to all.
Tree: dirt-filled soldiers’ boots.

In frozen snow,
Or sandy desert,
It helps to ease
A soldier’s hurt
Normalcy: our own roots.

When next you see
A soldier brave
Remember thank them,
Salute their grave.
Freedom: won day by day.

Even on Christmas
They gave their all,
Served our country,
Answered the call.
Sacrifice: the price they pay.

Imagine now
The soldiers’ boots,
Stacked up tall,
First owners mute.
Blood: red and green contrast.

A Veterans' Day Poem: SHE SERVES

Sometimes during the night hours
She sits watch and thinks about
The loved ones back at home
Those she’s doing without
And when in sadness, weary,
She feels so all alone,
She looks back at her squadron
And lonely no longer bemoans.

Sometimes on patrol
Within the danger zone
She worries about her safety
But not for hers alone
She wonders how her family
Without her there would fare
And her fellow soldiers
Would do without her there.

She knows it’s not her presence
That ensures their safety, success
It’s just that when she’s with them
She’s their Momma Bear Princess.
She listens to their problems,
And comforts their fears and doubts
And sometimes, lends a shoulder
For them to cry them out.

For when she made the Army
Her home, her family,
She knew the sacrifices
Enormous, hard would be.
Yet, worth it all she counts them
With all the worries, cares,
When in harm’s way she enters
She knows her brothers there

Have got her back and always
Will watch out for her here.
Here where harm surrounds her
She keeps her “brothers” near
Sometimes safety rides in numbers,
But here danger lurks in secrets
The enemy whisper soft
And moments are divided by
Escaping danger oft.

‘Tis eighty days till home
Will greet her weary eyes
A daughter, a son, a husband
Await her to arrive.
A memory will haunt her
At home with family’s love
A brother soldier died
While cradled in her arms.

He was her “little brother”
Her laughter when depressed,
He kept them all together
When anger was trumped by jest.
His smile was contagious
And never did it fail
To bring about the unit
That needed laughter’s hail.

His mother she did contact
And tell the sad, sad news
And wept as long as she did
For her heart was broken, too.
When home she sees at last,
She’ll call her once again,
Go visit grave of “brother” passed.
So now she sits and watches
And keeps her squadron safe
And thinks about her loved ones
Back home she’s keeping free.
She knows it’s all been worth it,
Her country more secure,
Because she chose to serve us
America’s Freedom will endure.

So now we thank our soldiers
On this, their Veterans’ Day,
We thank them for their service
And for the price they pay.
We thank their friends and family
For their own sacrifice
Of time without their soldier
And too oft, for their lives.

© 2011 Linda McKinney