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E. H. Johnson, war, in English Clear filters

AngryE. H. Johnson

A Bereaved Mother Speaks

Let’s have no flowery speeches over the dead. My young son sleeps, a bullet in his head. (Dear God, I ask what is there to be said?) Each week he sent me messages of cheer; Assured me always that real peace was near. (Don't let him know we are still fighting here!) Please do not fire volleys over his grave; He earned his peace -- a peace we failed to save. (I bite my lips. God help me to be brave...) Why must this show be staged here every year To honor those who are no longer here? (Was it for this, they paid a price so dear?) We should give up this vain jingo display, Silence the bands, bow our heads and pray. (My Gold Star, Lord, feels very cold today...)
AngryE. H. Johnson

I Give You a Skinny Soldier

Yes, take my boy And make him strong. Fill his young heart With jingo song. Repair his teeth, And feed him well. Ah, see how fast His muscles swell! I, too, want him To live in health. But lack of funds Precludes such wealth. Now, thanks to you Whom we make wealthy, If he must die, He will die healthy!
ContemplativeE. H. Johnson

Ex-Soldier and the Deer

Ah, frightened creature, Having fled into my barn, You can stop trembling now, You are safe from harm. For I, too, have known The spiteful crack of guns, The fear of sudden death, How unseen bullet stuns. Lie down upon the floor, Fear not the hunter’s shout. Here, I will close the door, Now you just wait it out. I have known like fears; My barn is yours to use Till friendly night appears, Forever, if you choose.
SadE. H. Johnson

P.O.W.

I close my eyes and see the rolling fields, And breathe the autumn air, scented with sage. It is then my homesick, longing spirit yields, And hot tears flow -- for I'm locked in a cage. Old dreams return to haunt me at year’s fall, White flags of deer, the whir of startled grouse, Smoke rising upward, climbing straight and tall, In a silvery pillar above an old farmhouse. I miss these things, but miss you most of all, When summer dies and autumn breezes blow. Yet it is with joy I look to this year's fall, For Spring -- and you! -- wait just beyond the snow.

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