~Second Death~
By Michael Ladanyi
(For my Father)
You could not be there when I
fell into this swirling world,
screaming, echoing the cries
of anguish and terror
surrounding you among
blood-splattered, sharp
elephant grass, claymore
hills comprised of as much flesh
and bone as torn, weeping
earth, a littered nothingness
of sliding mud, stone-Buddha
jungles, snake-vines and
feces-covered bamboo
spike-traps, lost as you were
a million miles away in your
exploding hell of Vietnam.
Through your bloodied
stories of these things,
I
have felt your nervous,
chilled sweat, beneath
mourning stars cringing
above blowing whistles and
screams of "Charlie in the
wire!" I've read your letters
of lung-searing, napalm
mornings, black ash and
soot thicker than plaster.
Now, more than three
decades later, you've died your
second death. No bullet with
your name could steal your
breath, though, Vietnam's
agent orange, crept up, knife
in hand, in cancered dreams.
Again, you are not here, as
I walk through this swirling world--
I will wait Father.
Michael is the eldest son of Gloria and Joe Ladanyi, Jr. Joe recently passed away after a long battle with cancer. I served with him at Ft. Campbell and in Vietnam. He was a combat veteran of many hard fought battles, including the vicious battles of Operation Hawthorne. He was a member of Companies A & C, 2/502nd Infantry. Joe was a brave soldier and a personal friend of mine. He is missed. Grif.
The Valley Of The Shadow of Death
By Jackie Langley 15 May 2001
There is a valley, and all of its wonders are of beauty that mine eyes have
known.
Its beyond all other valleys I've seen, and none can compare to this one.
But then came the war and the skies filled with rain and the blood rolled
through the hills.
Young bodies lie around me and death remains, no longer beauty, just a chill.
How could this beautiful place leave such memories in my mind?
Bullets and mortar rounds fly through the air and shrapnel pierce my side.
This wound has blinded the image of what once was a beautiful place,
and all that's left are the screams of pain and the fear on a soldiers face.
I pray to God to give me peace and to others that feel the same.
And I pray that we will never return to..."The
Valley Of The Shadow OF Death."
ANOTHER TEAR
A poem by Jackie Langley
When she got up this morning on the wrong side of the bed
she never even noticed where she had laid her head
as she looks in the mirror a reflection showed his face
as she turns to say good morning Dear, another tear rolls down her face
Another tear for the memories
another tear drop for the pain
another tear for all the feelings,
there the only thing that remain
of the love they shared between them
of a love she can't deny
till the day she goes to meet him
with a tear drop in her eye
She hangs her head in silence as she walks out of the room
and even though he's not there, she'll talk to him till noon.
She tells him that she loves him and softly whispers why,
but no one ever answers, another tear falls from her eye
maybe time alone is not enough to heal the pain she feels
and the memories of the love they shared linger in her heart still
and I'm sure one thing she hungers for is the day when she can lie
beside him in their peaceful rest with a tear drop in her eye
She'll watch his favorite TV show, the news then say goodnight
she'll turn down the covers, get in bed and turn out the light
and as she drifts off to sleep she'll release a gentle sigh
You see, she's on his side of the bed, another tear falls from her eye.
Maybe time alone is not enough to heal the pain she feels
and the memory of the love they shared lingers in her heart still,
I'm sure one thing she hungers for is the day when she will lie
beside him in their peaceful rest with a tear drop in her eye.
Another tear for all the memories
another tear drop for the pain
another tear for all the feelings
their the only thing that remain
of the love they shared between them
of a love she can't deny
till the day she goes to meet him
with a tear drop in her eye.
(revised version of: The Wrong Side OF The Bed
writen by Jackie Langley 05/01/01)
For Mom & Dad
IN THE CORNER OF THE ROOM
Written by Jackie Langley 01/19/01
It looked so old so worn and tatterd in the corner of the room
hanging all alone, to high to reach for this boy who never knew
that the man who wore this uniform had stories he could tell
but the years have passed now he's old and gray and his memories not so well.
But the stories he could tell sent chills down my spine
and the words he spoke would take you to another place and time
Many thought him crazy, just an old man, a wanna be
but the uniform in the corner of the room was all I needed to see.
There were ribbons on his chest, not many just a few
and he'd point at every one and all the stories I knew
but I'd let him carry on as if I'd never heard
and I'd listen there in silence to the pride in every word.
He would always speak of freedom, duty and honor to name a few
but God and Country topped the list of everything he'd do.
and the years his life has spand leads me to understand
that I'm proud to be the son of the son of this Patriotic Man.
Now the day will come when he is gone and memories are all I'll have
but he'll live on through the stories he told in every generation of man.
Now the uniform in the corner of the room is not to high to reach
and the pride of the man who wore it continues on through me.
I reached for this symble of honor to give it that which it deserved,
and from the pocket a ribbon was hanging, it was blue and had white stars.
As I pulled it from the pocket and held it in my hand
the medal he never talked of, I'm the son of the son of this Patriotic Man.
Editors note: Jackie's Dad did not earn the Medal of Honor but she wanted to honor those Dads who did.
The Volunteer
(Could You?, Would You?, Should? You)
By Jackie Langley
Could you do the job if he asked you?
Would you give 110 percent,
or wimp out because your scared
and get somebody else sent.
Would you say; "I'm here Sarge"
Gung-ho and ready to obey
or keep your mouth shut and stay silent,
and hope he goes away.
Should you take the chance and volunteer
for a mission most could do,
or remember the bullets flying
and wonder which ones for you.
One has your name and you know it
but is it caution or is it fear.
Sometime it's hard to tell,
when you’re asked to volunteer.
Could you do the job your trained to do?
Would you if you could?
Many never volunteer,
but you know somebody should.
If there were no volunteers
where would we be today,
our country would be defenseless,
the draft has gone away.
So to all of those who volunteer,
I salute you and give thanks.
Could you, would you, should you,
There's nothing left to say.
The Trigger
(that damned ole song)
By Jackie Langley
Here it comes again,
I'm so tired of this song.
Thirty years have past but the memory is there,
I can't believe it's still so strong.
The first time I heard it
I was lying in my Hooch,
and the memories flood as the rain did then
from the sound of Susie Q.
I don't need a rifle anymore,
I have triggers everywhere,
and the barrels pointed at my head,
but I'm sure that you don't care.
You must think me crazy,
for not liking the things you do.
and should you ever set me off
that gun will point at you.
Those disco balls with strobbing lights
are a fire fight each time.
Please take me away from this place
before I lose my mind.
You tell me I'm no fun,
I should forget and start a new.
Believe me I've tried but it doesn't go away,
I need help to see me through.
They say I have a disorder
and others have it too.
I think that you're all crazy,
there's nothing wrong with me, it's you.
So don't start something that you can't finish,
you'd be crazy to think you could.
Cause in a flash I'm back in the bush,
doing things you never would.
I hide away on the fourth of July
which should be the time to hear freedoms cry.
I served for freedom, and never returned,
you see a part of me just died,
and the part you see is all that's left,
but pull that trigger if you think I lie.
To be alone in silence and solitude
is the friend that sees me through
Don't ask me, "What's Wrong" I can't tell you
and I doubt I ever could.
Maybe one day you'll realize
that you haven't done anything wrong.
It's just the Trigger of old memories
like Susie Q,
that damned ole song.
DO YOU KNOW THE COLOR RED?
Written by: Jackie Langley 04/16/01
Do you know the color red, or is it just inside your head.
I've had my fill of hope and dreams, now I'm blind and can not see.
All those young men we left behind, a faded image in my mind.
And the color I most dread is the color that means Dead.
No more bullet's will they fear, no more laughter will they hear,
Just their name upon The Wall, reflects a memory to us all.
Black Granite etched with perfect skill, you can't forget, "I never will."
And the color I most dread is the color that means dead.
From a rainbow you can choose, but with this color you might lose,
To some a tragic blow was struck, and some survived, they say shear luck.
The blood that runs through all our veins is a color that remains the same,
and still the color I most dread, is the color that means dead.
The only colors that do not run, wave for us under the sun,
for the Flag we all have pride and for this Flag so many have died.
They gave their lives so we'd prevail, now we are left, their story to tell.
With pride and honor we speak their names to all of those who still remain.
Now after all is done and said, Do you know the color red?
As we remember those who fell, young lives struck down, war is Hell,
and as I lay me down to sleep I pray for you, your soul He'll keep,
keep you in His loving arms and away from any harm.
And still the color I most dread, is the color that means Dead.
LONG RANGE RECON PATROL (LRRP)
A poem by Jackie Langley with Rob Langley
He's a man of many talents,
but unto this very day
no one understands him
and how he turned out this way.
If you had known him as a boy,
your thoughts of him wouldn't be
of a man who would give up everything
for God, country and me.
A poor boy playing soldier
with kids in the neighborhood
soon found himself in Viet Nam
doing the things I never could.
Disturbing memories kept silent
in the darkness of his mind,
seeing them in dreams
and haunting him each time.
The friends he left behind
with faces and names now a blur.
Haunting his darkest memory,
he finds it difficult to show how he hurts.
He controls each waking thought,
thinking of work, wife and kids.
But the night holds memories
of all he once did.
I wish I could help him…
share his pain, erase his guilt.
By not knowing the hell he went through,
I doubt I ever will.
A truer friend you'll never find
should you need his assistance.
With all things considered
and no matter the distance.
Jackie's husband, Pat, was a Ranger with First Strike.
WHO NEEDS THE MEDAL
Written by Jackie Langley 04/10/01
I thought I'd tell a story today, one you've never heard
I've tried to keep it tucked away, just waiting for the word.
Well, the government finally recognized all the places I have been,
Laos and Cambodia, I know you remember them.
Tiger Print upon my back, jump boots on my feet
a Black Beret on my head, a combination you can't beat.
camouflage upon my face, I lay my body down,
crawling through the bush, elbows in the ground,
The target isn't far away, just another couple clicks,
just one of many mission that got lost in the government mix.
The objective was to search and destroy, six men would carry it out,
all trained with special talents, some you never talked about.
Some targets were of places with names you've never heard,
some target's, they had faces, the shot they never heard.
some targets often wouldn't die and there was nothing left to do,
but help him to meet Buddha, cause he can't go back with you.
Monkeys in the tree's and Tigers on the ground,
save your rations if you can, one whiff and their around,
then Victor Charles will seek you out from the sounds which they make,
and you'll just be another meal or a trophy on their stake.
No other details will I tell, if you were there, you know what's real,
don't ever let anyone undermine the missions you fulfilled,
remember our brother's left behind and the price that they paid,
and we'll tell our children's children of the sacrifice they made.
Who needs the extra medal, a chest full we all have,
they only remind us of a childhood lost, a good memory turned bad.
So keep this new earned medal, we have enough to last,
your sympathy we do not need, you aways knew the facts.
Editors note: the last verse was revised and toned down by Jackie at my request. Grif.
A MOTHER'S SON
A poem by Jackie Langley 9/8/00
A mother's son stood tall today
in a line for Uncle Sam.
She never knew the choice he made
would lead to Viet Nam.
She knew her son would prevail,
no matter where he went
and through tears of joy and sadness
to Viet Nam he went.
A mother's son stood tall today
in the tarmac of another land.
Not knowing if he would survive
this hell called Viet Nam.
Eighteen years old, his childhood gone,
all he owned thrown on his back,
He doesn't know the hell ahead
or how he will react.
A mother's son lies low today
with tracers going over head,
and prays that no one in his squad,
is wounded or winds up dead.
A mother's son shed blood today,
one of few who would survive.
A purple heart pinned to his chest,
regretful to be alive.
The pain that lies ahead
will we ever understand.
The war that never was a war,
this place called Viet Nam.
A mother's son stood tall today
on the tarmac of This Land.
Welcomed home by few
condemned by the rest of man.
A mother's son stood tall today
at a monument called The Wall.
Names etched in black granite,
he shed a tear for one and all.
If they were here, they’d do the same,
But I’m grateful for my life,
And I honor every mother’s son,
Those that are gone and those that survive.
A Mother's Son Stood Tall Today.
AS WE WERE...ODE TO MORRIS POWELL
By Robert L. Airwyke
As I leave this drawing of my last sight of your remains,
as Fletcher stood above you;
I have this feeling that you stand above me somewhere nearby,
and watch as I hold back tears.
As we received our parachute wings together at Ft. Benning,
I will always cherish the pride we felt,
and the way we stood tall. You were the quiet one,
the one with the inner peace.
As we served together in Germany, the 509th Airborne,
I would always come to you for advice.
We were both new. You were the quiet one,
the one with inner strength.
As we descended by chopper into the jungle on that nineteenth
day in May, I remember the fear
as I looked to you for strength. You were the quiet one,
your eyes said that it would be okay.
As we fought with different platoons, I often thought
of you and how you were.
I wished that I could have spoken with you
at night, when I feared the dark.
As I stared down at your limp body, the fear, the anger
raged within me.
I wished that I could have spoken with you then,
for I feared death.
You were the quiet one, the one at peace.
Ex-Sgt. Robert L. Airwyke was a member of
Co. C, 2/502nd Infantry, 101st Airborne Division, Vietnam, 1968-69.
An Eagle has soared, Bob Airwyke passed away on 17 February 2002. God bless you Bob, you have made a difference. We thank you brother trooper!
Mr. & Mrs. Robert L. Airwyke (Bob & Cher) on their wedding day:~Love - 31 August 2001 - Eternal~
AS WE WERE...ODE TO GARY MABREY
By Robert L. Airwyke
As I leave this rendering of us in the A Shau Valley,
that is; your remains and my shadow as I say
good-bye from a distance so long ago. I also
leave behind at this wall, this sacred place,
all of my guilt, fears and pain.
At this tree, as yet unscathed by war, majestically
stands guard over your remains so long ago;
I too stood watch overnight as darkness came
upon us. I couldn’t bear to see you loaded, but
I ran to get that last glimpse of the chopper.
As I acknowledge my sister’s birthday on August 5th,
that day shall forever be sacred to me, for on that
day, you began another leg of our journey.
You ascended to God and were exalted
to honor.
As we gazed toward the chaplain’s tent on August 3rd,
we both saw Jesus Christ on the cross; and He
was crying, and He was glowing. At that
exact moment, we both knew that we had
just witnessed a miracle.
As we sat together, while the phantoms pounded that
hilltop, you told me that the message was for you,
and that I was to be a part of it. You said that
you would silence that gun, but
it was not to be.
As Paquin, Vandergrift, Doe Robbins and I carried
your remains to the highest point of this mountain,
we all had an unspoken understanding that this
was Mabrey’s mountain in the valley of the 101st,
the valley of the shadow of death..
Note: The author, Ex-Sergeant Bob Airwyke, left both of the above poems and artwork at “The Wall” in Washington, D.C. on July 27, 1996 in honor of his two fallen friends. Troopers Powell and Mabrey were killed in action in the A Shau Valley fighting for their country and their fellow Strike Force soldiers.
THE SPECIAL TROOPS
A poem by Crystal Ortega
Peace of mind exists within,
Minutes are lost and time kicks in…
My mind blank, lost by war,
Heart broken, I beg for more…
I see nothing, but what I hear.
Memories of people dead,
Have ceased to fall in my head…
Bullets, bombs, and hand grenades,
All my life was just a charade…
Vision gone, therefore left blind,
My only senses are those of time.
War and battles have risen my fears,
For fellow members, they show no tears…
Lives are lost and men die,
But what I hear are deadly cries…
“Save me, save me!”, I once heard and ran back in,
Despite my urge…!
Yelling, screaming, all around,
Blocked by boms and bullets.., that fall down..!
“WAR”, whats that?
“PEACE”, they say, “will come soon”,
But by that time…
Oh!, look, it’s the moon,
“Too late”, they said, “they’ll never come..!”
But out of the shadows,
A noise is heard… Its my Dad’s troop,
The Widowmakers!
Crystal Ortega, age 18 - 14 May 1999 -
Written in loving memory of her father,
Raymond Martinez Ortega, Jr. Co. C, 2/502nd Infantry,
101st Airborne Division Vietnam, 1968-70.
Note: Crystal would like to hear from anyone who served with her Dad, especially Capt. Nahas and Lt. Wade.
VETERANS, YES VETERANS DAY
A poem by Crystal Ortega
TO THE VETERANS WHO GAVE THEIR LIVES TO PROTECT OURS!
Our veterans fought for our country,
Gave their lives for our freedom…
And how do we repay them?
With our simple thoughts and prayers,
With awards and medals…
But.., no one really cares,
They say we all must die someday…
I opened up my eyes one day,
And opened up my heart…
I gave a little more to the wondering part.
I asked myself one day,
Why don’t people care?
About the Veterans…
About the freedom of our country,
Veterans should pay…
Veterans, yes Veterans… THIS IS OUR DAY!
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