Showing posts with label Veterans. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Veterans. Show all posts

Friday, November 11, 2022

Veteran's Day

The Latin in this poem means: "Sweet and fitting it is to die for one's country."
(From Horace, Odes, III. ii. 13)

2nd Lt, Wilfred Edward Salter Owen, 5th Bn. Manch. R., T.F., attd. 2nd Bn.
Awarded the Military Cross for conspicuous gallantry and devotion to duty in the attack on the Fonsomme Line on October 1st/2nd, 1918. On the company commander becoming a casualty, he assumed command and showed fine leadership and resisted a heavy counter-attack. He personally manipulated a captured enemy machine gun from an isolated position and inflicted considerable losses on the enemy. Throughout he behaved most gallantly.

DULCE ET DECORUM EST
Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,
Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs,
And towards our distant rest began to trudge.
Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots,
But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame, all blind;
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots
Of gas-shells dropping softly behind.Gas! GAS! Quick, boys!
--An ecstasy of fumbling
Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time,
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling
And flound'ring like a man in fire or lime.--
Dim through the misty panes and thick green light,
As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.
In all my dreams before my helpless sight
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.
If in some smothering dreams, you too could pace
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
His hanging face, like a devil's sick of sin,
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs
Bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,--
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est
Pro patria mori.
- by Wilfred Owen
 Benjamin Britten's War Requiem incorporating the poetry of Wilfred Owen.


Monday, November 1, 2021

Poor Man's Turkey - Repeated as Public Service

“People are just as happy as they make up their minds to be.” - Abraham Lincoln
This recipe comes from Karen Rock and Recipes of the Liberty Bell Chapter #266 - Vietnam Veterans of America. Seems apropos given the cuts in food assistance nationwide the Republicans are working on and the turkey shortage.

Yes, I am even political on Thanksgiving. Probably why I am single. I am not running a Chili Parlor. I am a political organization.

This might taste awfully good on those days when you are sick of leftover Turkey and you have some stuffing left. I never have any stuffing left. And I hate Turkey. Might have to improvise. Happy Thanksgiving.

Poor Man's Turkey

1 pound Ground Beef
1/2 cup Bread Crumbs
1 Egg
1 small Onion, chopped (optional)
2 tablespoons Soy Sauce
1 cup cooked Stuffing
1 slice raw Bacon (optional)

Combine first five ingredients and form into one loaf. Cut in half lengthwise and insert Stuffing into the middle of the loaf. Put back into shape and bake one hour at 375 degrees. Place strip of Bacon on top of meatloaf to keep it from drying out. Serves 4.

Friday, May 22, 2020

A White Rose for Remembrance


God bless all of the Folks, known and unknown, in uniform and out, who gave their lives for our Democracy. May they rest in Peace and Honor.

Sometimes the work of a photographer is so beautiful that no words can do it justice. So it is with the work of Eddie C. More of his photographs can be found here:

THE YOUNG DEAD SOLDIERS DO NOT SPEAK
Nevertheless, they are heard in the still houses: who has not heard them?

They have a silence that speaks for them at night and when the clock counts.

They say: We were young. We have died. Remember us.

They say: We have done what we could but until it is finished it is not done.

They say: We have given our lives but until it is finished no one can know what our lives gave.

They say: Our deaths are not ours: they are yours, they will mean what you make them.

They say: Whether our lives and our deaths were for peace and a new hope or for nothing we cannot say, it is you who must say this.

We leave you our deaths. Give them their meaning.

We were young, they say. We have died; remember us.

- Archibald MacLeish (1892-1982)

Monday, January 22, 2018

Vietnam Vet Gives Romney and the Rest of Us a Lesson in Civility and Reality

Mitt Romney is running for office again. This time running for Senator for Utah. 

What is there to say? Rmoney is an Asshat. Man is so damn awkward he makes me itch when I see him. Do you think Rmoney gets a facial every day? I would love to know who does his hair. 




Saturday, August 18, 2012

Four More Years





WHEREFORE ART THOU, MITT ROMNEY?
By Ralph Maxwell

O, Romney-O, Romney-O, Wherefore art thou, Mitt Romney?
You flip-flop here, you flip-flop there,
You flip-flop almost ev'rywhere.
You ballyhoo what you're gonna do
And then you pull a switcheroo;
You now malign what you found fine;
Seems like you've got a jellyfish spine.
Obamacare, by you begun,
Now you'd trash it on day one.
Gun control you did extol,
But now you're preaching decontrol.
 
O, Romney-O, Romney-O, Wherefore art thou, Mitt Romney?
We've got no clue what you will do
Or what new view you'll pander to.
Time was you championed women's choice,
But you no longer heed their voice;
On gay rights, too, guess you withdrew
Support they once enjoyed from you.
Global warming, EPA,
Immigration, minimum pay,
Roe V. Wade, also fair trade,
All joined your flip-flop cavalcade.
 
O, Romney-O, Romney-O Wherefore art thou, Mitt Romney?
So many things that you were for
You've turned against and slammed the door.
Stimulus and cap and trade,
Education, foreign aid,
Campaign reform, tarp rescues, too,
All victims of your switcheroo.
You take your stand on shifting sand,
We never know where you will land;
You vacillate, you fabricate,
A wishy-washy candidate.
 
O, Romney-O, Romney-O, Wherefore art thou Mitt Romney?
As gov'nor you let taxes rise,
Now ev'ry tax you demonize.
You say regardless of the facts
You'd take an axe to the millionaire's tax;
You'd feed the greed of the richest few
The poor and middle class you'd screw.
Your tax returns you hide from view
What evil lurks there we've no clue;
If they're not bad why hesitate?
Is it that they incriminate?
 
O, Romney-O, Romney-O, Wherefore art thou Mitt Romney?
At Bain you plundered with a flair
And walked away a zillionaire.
You shipped off-shore, good jobs galore
To China, India, Singapore;
A job creator you are not.
And to boast you are is tommyrot.
As a total fraud, Mitt's got no peer;
What we must do is crystal clear:
Let's give Obama four more years!
Yes, it's Obama – four more years!
FOUR MORE YEARS!
FOUR MORE YEARS!
FOUR MORE YEARS!