Constantinos Grigoriadis' Photos

Heroes Next Door
(Dedicated to all Heroes of the next door)
By Constantinos Grigoriadis

There are some different heroes.
They do not exist in the books of history
and very few people speak about them.
There are some heroes that they fight with death every day.
They know very well the value of life, living, death.
There are some heroes that they get the medal of honor of life.
They are the neighbors of the next country, the next city, the next house...
The heroes next door.

©Constantinos Grigoriadis, 2007
 



VIETNAM WAR VETERAN'S POETRY


 To everything there is a season,
A time for every purpose under heaven:

A time to be born,
And a time to die;
A time to plant,
And a time to pluck what is planted;
A time to kill,
And a time to heal;
A time to break down,
And a time to build up;
A time to weep,
And a time to laugh;
A time to mourn,
And a time to dance;
A time to cast away stones,
And a time to gather stones;
A time to embrace,
And a time to refrain from embracing;
A time to gain,
And a time to lose;
A time to keep,
And a time to throw away;
A time to tear,
And a time to sew;
A time to keep silence,
And a time to speak;
A time to love,
And a time to hate;
A time of war,
And a time of peace. (Ecclesiastes 3:1-8)



A Poem by G. R. Webster - 68th Pilot



-----------------------------------



La Belle Dame sans Merci
by John Keats


"O what can ail thee, knight-at-arms,
Alone and palely loitering?
The sedge has wither'd from the lake,
And no birds sing.

"O what can ail thee, knight-at-arms,
So haggard and so woe-begone?
The squirrel's granary is full,
And the harvest's done.

"I see a lily on thy brow
With anguish moist and fever dew;
And on thy cheek a fading rose
Fast withereth too."

"I met a lady in the meads,
Full beautiful - a faery's child,
Her hair was long, her foot was light,
And her eyes were wild.

"I made a garland for her head,
And bracelets too, and fragrant zone;
She look'd at me as she did love,
And made sweet moan.

"I set her on my pacing steed
And nothing else saw all day long,
For sidelong would she bend, and sing
A faery's song.

"She found me roots of relish sweet,
And honey wild, and manna dew,
And sure in language strange she said -
'I love thee true.'

"She took me to her elfin grot,
And there she wept, and sigh'd full sore;
And there I shut her wild wild eyes
With kisses four.

"And there she lulled me asleep,
And there I dream'd - Ah! woe betide!
The latest dream I ever dream'd
On the cold hill's side.

"I saw pale kings and princes too,
Pale warriors, death-pale were they all;
They cried-'LaBelle Dame sans Merci
Hath thee in thrall!'

"I saw their starv'd lips in the gloom,
With horried warning gaped wide,
And I awoke and found me here,
On the cold hill's side.

"And this is why I sojourn here
Alone and palely loitering,
Though the sedge is wither'd from the lake,
And no birds sing."

John Keats

------------------------------------------


Drive-on Rag
© Richard P. Guthrie, 2002. All rights reserved.



Your Ruck must weigh over sixty pounds
and somewhere a strap has worked loose
letting the load rock with your stride,
pulling you off balance with each step,
making the walk twice as hard.

Then battalion calls to say you need to be another three klicks
straight up the same ridgeline you have humped for the last three hours.
Darkness approaches and you really need to get
Your soldiers set up before all light's gone.
And you don't feel right about hurrying up this narrow trail
So deep in "Indian Territory".

Time to untie, I'd say,
that greasy square of olive drab cotton
from around the neck,
wipe your brow...
and,
DRIVE ON!!!


Dick Guthrie

--------------------------------------

A Prayer to Start the Day.
© Martha Sarlin, 2003. All rights reserved.



Inspire me, Lord, throughout the day
to seek Thy help along the way;
before I act, before I speak,
teach me, Lord, Thy Word to seek.

Inspire me, Lord, to take good care
of Thy creation everywhere:
family, home, pets, garden, wealth, -
my mind, my body and my health.

Inspire me, Lord, to use my mind
to do my best at tasks I find;
to be creative: wise, not smart;
Thy words to guide me from the heart.

Inspire me, Lord, to use my heart
to live a life that’s set apart;
in everything be led by love;
in serving man, serve God above.



Martha Sarlin



--------------------------------------

Seasoned Combat Boots.
© Ray Sarlin, 2003. All rights reserved.



Spring:
Combat boots straight from the box
Begin to hurt my feet
Blister toes and crack my soles
Stiff leather retains the heat.

Summer:
When they've covered many miles
They take on a bright shine
Mould themselves to my skin
Then look and feel real fine.

Autumn:
Softly caressed joints and bone
I hardly know they're worn
So well drilled they shine themselves
Yet still resist a thorn.

Winter:
Re-heeled once, can't hold a shine
No longer looking cute
Rolling ankles, twisting toes
It's time they got the boot.

Ray Sarlin



-------------------------------

Parade.
© Michael Koplin, 1985-2003. All rights reserved.


So many didn't make it home.
Their innocence was ended
fighting for the honor and
the glory they defended.

Who explains it to the children
of the men who lost their lives.
Who consoles the grief
of the mothers and the wives.

What of those whose legs were torn,
who walk within their dreams.
Who comforts those who call for help
with silence in their screams.

In time, when history will tell,
and memories will fade...
when soldiers remember deeds of past
each has their own parade.



Michael Koplin


--------------------------------------

Arlington.
© Michael Koplin, 1985-2003. All rights reserved.


They're buried now,
those brave and valiant men
who had to die.

Although we fought to win the war
some say we didn't try.

Taps is sounded in their honor,
as wives and children cry.

The flower is lost forever,
and all I ask is why?


Michael Koplin



-----------------------------------

Bali!
© Anonymous, 2002.

You hurt us bombing Bali, but we can take the pain,
But if you think you'll beat us you can think a-bloody-gain
We battled at Gallipoli and we fought the bloody hun
Of all the arseholes we've had to face you're just another one

You won't get your hands dirty, you won't fire a gun
Whenever danger threatens you just pack your gear and run
You brainwash innocent children to do your evil deeds
Careful not to let them know just where it really leads

You get them to believe all your bigotry and lying
Until they cannot see that there's no glory in their dying
Now we'd like to pose a question, answer if you can
Where does your holy book tell you to kill your fellow man?

Now listen hard and listen well, we're giving you the word
You're never gonna beat us you spineless bloody turd
You'd never face us personally you haven't got the guts
You know that if you ever did we'd have your bloody nuts

Our spirit is unbroken, and our heads are still unbowed
We sure as hell aren't scared of you and your gutless crowd
So get your act together -- you'll never win because
What you're really up against is the spirit that is OZ


Anonymous (provided to Ray Sarlin
by an Australian Vietnam Veteran)



-----------------------------------------


Patrol!
© Dennis Driscoll, 2002. All rights reserved.

Another patrol, short or long
It felt the same.
The thoughts of war and pain.

That feeling in our stomach.
Hollow and frail,
time to follow another trail.

Gather your weapon, check the gear,
buckle up! The Chopper is here!


Please press here for the complete poem.
Comrades!
© Dennis Driscoll, 2002. All rights reserved.

I stand at the graves
with the flags.
I think about the untold
stories beneath each tomb.

They are my comrades
and those standing near.
We share the common bond.
The horrors of war.


Please press here for the complete poem.

---------------------------------------

Pain!
© Richard Guthrie, 2002. All rights reserved.

And oh, not five minutes before,
He had dug Zippo from sweat-muddy Jungle Fatigues,
And respectfully lit the soggy last Marlboro,
His Cap'n had tugged from the crumpled pack.
Now, a booming flash, and he writhes, stunned, bloodied...
So maimed that if he survives at all,
He'll never make babies with the waiting girl of the snapshot on his helmet,
Nor read again with those blue eyes,
Her three letters from this morning's Mail Call.

At that black scar in the earth on the Mall, tears flow,
As numbly you rub your fingers yet again over the engraved names of those,
You led... you loved... and you lost.

There's pain with us each, and no store of wisdom, no thickening scar tissue,
Can make it go away.
The Great Spirit likely made us thus, so we'll think twice,
Before we put figurative or literal hand back on the proverbial hot stove.
And yet, the pain so focuses our memory,
That we celebrate better the living stored there:
The loving and the loved ones, the triumphs, joys, satisfactions,
That define our very souls,
That shape and form our essence.

And this is the same celebrating
Isn't it, that keeps us pressing ahead,
So full of hope.


Richard Guthrie


-----------------------------------------

International War Veteran's Poetry Archives
September 2002



Follow Me!
© Ray Sarlin, 2002. All rights reserved.




"Here's your new A.O.," says the major,
"Your troops won't go in blind."
"Check it out,' says the colonel,
"And see what y'all can find!"
"Follow me."

"Situation, mission, execution," says the cap'n,
"The objective's over there."
"Logistics, command and signal,' says the cap'n,
"This is a tough 'un, so beware!"
"Follow me."

"We move at oh four hundred," says the el tee,
"The Old Man says it will be tough."
"Oh four hundred we move out," says the el tee,
"Get ready to do your stuff."
"Follow me."

"Keep movin'," says the sergeant,
"The enemy's just ahead."
"Smartly now," says the sergeant,
"Stop and you'll be dead."
"Follow me."

"Spread out now," says the corporal,
"Don't give 'em a good shot."
"Keep your place," says the corporal,
"Pretty soon she'll get real hot."
"Follow me."

"What the fuck," says the private,
"I got but one life to live."
"Fuck this shit," says the private,
"Them mothers'll have to give."
"Follow me."

"Follow me!" they shout together,
Firing on the run.
"Follow me!" they shout together.
The battle has begun.
"Follow me."

"Keep going," says the cap'n,
"Through fire, smoke and shell!"
"Keep going," says the cap'n,
"Into the jaws of hell!"
"Follow me."

"Keep going," says the el tee,
"Through their mines and wire!"
"Keep going," says the el tee,
"Maintain the base of fire!"
"Follow me."

"Keep movin'," says the sergeant,
"Together me and you!"
"Keep movin'," says the sergeant,
"We're gonna make it through!"
"Follow me."

"Keep movin'," says the corporal,
"Don't think about your pain."
"Keep movin'," says the corporal,
"There's one more yard to gain."
"Follow me."

"What the fuck," says the private,
"Their rounds are shootin' high."
"Keep movin'," says the private,
"It's time for them to die."
"Follow me."

"Push on now," says the fallen,
"To that bright light just ahead."
"I'm coming," says the fallen,
"There's nothing left to dread!"
"Follow me."

Ray Sarlin


------------------------------------

Unexpected
© Richard P. Guthrie, 2002. All rights reserved.


Back then, tales abounded of the way: life in the service
Had brought this one around, made a man of that one, and,
How the other had performed incredible feats in the face of enemy fire.
No, we didn't expect a Church picnic,
The Talking Heads had warned us it wouldn't be easy.

Some did evade, but for us the citizen's role was clear.
Slinking North was not our particular American way.
So we swallowed hard, stepped up to the plate, did our duty best we could.
We expected that fighting for America would test us to new limits back then.
And nobody promised we'd all come home in one piece...and sure enough...

We expected the ordeal of it, the threatening flora, fauna and humana,
In the bleak loneliness, we found all the excitement we could stand.
We knew the heat, the mud, the stench, the sleep-deprivation all were coming.
Yet although we'd been warned, the rape of our innocence
Plunged us to depths we'd never known possible.

Sent off by a populace ambivalent, on a mission ill-defined,
We were right to be scared, to expect some measure of the terrible we got.
The real unexpected, though, was the bewildering "welcome home", when,
Just as - relieved and exhausted - we limped back for the familiar, the warmth,
And as we came up the walk, you slammed the door in our faces, America.

The same folk we thought we'd been sent off to defend, who paid our way,
Happily voted us over to that ordeal, then somehow thought it fitting
To pin on us all blame for the complexities of the problem.
We surely didn't see that part coming, and - hope you'll understand -
A few are having a hard time, just ... getting over it.


Dick Guthrie


--------------------------------------

Fiftieth Infantry Man
© John Smerdon, 2002. All rights reserved.




When duty called he gave his all
he risked both life and limb
he was a Fiftieth Infantry man.

He rode a track and carried a ruck
he scouted and he ambushed
he was a Fiftieth Infantry man.

His road was hard and his load was heavy
there wasn't a task he couldn't do
he was a Fiftieth Infantry man.

When friends fell and when friends died
he never faltered and he never failed
he was a Fiftieth Infantry man.

When his time came he feared not
he lived his life as men should
he was a Fiftieth Infantry man.



John Smerdon


----------------------------------

Fifteen Men
© Ray Sarlin, 2002. All rights reserved.

Organized like Rangers to forge a common bond
Seasoned, highly motivated, trained to respond
Making many a quick, bold and deadly strike
On enemy troops, weapons, and supplies alike
Just one of many irregular commando bands.
Holloway's Raiders in Nam's Central Highlands.

That evening of the twentieth of March, sixty-nine,
Fifteen Raiders stepped through razor wire and mines
Leaving LZ Action for infamous Mang Yang Pass
To lay a deadly ambush in the long, dry grass.
Training and comraderie were to save the day
For, unbeknownst to intell, a company plus of NVA
Dispatched by 5th Battalion, Regiment Nine Five B
To chop off Pump Station Number 8 at the knee
Just east on QL19 from where the Viet Minh
Annihilated Group Mobile 100's nine hundred men
An Indochina battle that as much as Dien Bien Phu
Forced once mighty France to bid Vietnam adieu.

In the early hours, the tiny patrol became aware
Of North Vietnamese regulars moving to ensnare
The understrength American force guarding PS8,
Despite heavy incoming, still oblivious of their fate.
The radio packed it in as Raiders alerted in place
Forcing 'em to blow their 'bush just to warn the base.
Heavily outnumbered, with futures looking blank
Thirty seconds of hurt poured into the enemy flank.
Many enemy soldiers fell, their shit blown away
Then the tide of battle changed; causing hell to pay.
For fifteen Holloway's Raiders, surrounded and cut off
Bullets whipped, rockets pounded, mortars coughed.
Hearing intense gunfire to the south and seeing smoke
The boys in Pump Station 8 called in arty as a cloak
Battalion heard the calls, and sent Alpha Company
Along with 69th Armor, aboard tank and APC.
Air Force fighter bombers vectored in by FAC
Decimated enemy were bloodily forced back.

Fifteen men quietly left LZ Action just the night before
Fifteen men held out against one hundred Cong or more
Fifteen men hanging on when Alpha's APCs rolled in,
Fifteen men wanted ammo in case Charlie attacked again
Fifteen men battered, half bloody, some barely still alive.
Quick medivac and surgeon's care saw every man survive.
SRAP accomplished more than their number may suggest
They had a bastard of a job, but each gave all his best.
Ably led by Rangers and comprised of special troops
Holloway's Raiders - just one of many little groups.


Ray Sarlin


---------------------------------------

A Hero with no Name
© Ray Sarlin, 2002. All rights reserved.

Was there ever meaning truer
Than that one from Viet Nam,
From a young man I remember
Who lay dying in Binh Thuan.
Old eyes staring far away,
Past dead and dying friends,
Dying alone amongst a crowd,
While his body slowly mends.

Drifting far away from them,
Into a vast and dark unknown
Nothing to tell waiting parents
Or friends and love at home,
Purple shade dropped o'er his eyes
As youth slowly slipped away
Courage and duty didn't desert him
But his future died that day.

He went to Nam a young man, standing tall to play the game
A year's hard yards for Uncle Sam, came home his place to claim.

"It was like…" he started saying
Voice fraught with pain and grief,
But there were none who listened
To his tangled feelings or beliefs.
Mother cooked her apple pies
In pretense he'd never left
While dad avoided questioning
The ghosts he tried to heft.

Friends still speaking to him
Closed their ears to words he'd say
His girlfriend married another man
Twelve months too long not to stray.
Hollow silence echoed in his mind
Time to simply drift away,
Out into the dark, alone again
With no reason left to stay.

He went to Nam a young man, standing tall to play the game
A year's hard yards for Uncle Sam, but home was not the same.

Married once or twice or more
Still alone amongst the crowd
Future becoming present, then past
Hiding that he'd once been proud
Until a time the dam was breached,
Hallowed ground stained red again
Memories flooding back he cried,
"I was once a better man."

Was there ever meaning truer
Than that one from Viet Nam,
From a young man I remember
Who lay dying in Binh Thuan.
Old eyes staring far away,
Past dead and dying friends,
Dying alone amongst a crowd,
And with God his story ends.

He went to Nam a young man, standing tall to play the game
A year's hard yards for Uncle Sam, he's a hero with no name.


Ray Sarlin


-----------------------------------------

Drive-on Rag
© Richard P. Guthrie, 2002. All rights reserved.



Your Ruck must weigh over sixty pounds
and somewhere a strap has worked loose
letting the load rock with your stride,
pulling you off balance with each step,
making the walk twice as hard.

Then battalion calls to say you need to be another three klicks
straight up the same ridgeline you have humped for the last three hours.
Darkness approaches and you really need to get
Your soldiers set up before all light's gone.
And you don't feel right about hurrying up this narrow trail
So deep in "Indian Territory".

Time to untie, I'd say,
that greasy square of olive drab cotton
from around the neck,
wipe your brow...
and,
DRIVE ON!!!


Dick Guthrie


-----------------------------------

A Moment
© Ray Sarlin, 2002. All rights reserved.



Halt --- I have a feeling
The enemy is ahead,
Take up a fighting position,
My ruck must now be shed
Filthy, wet and weary
Put all out of my mind
Sharply focus my attention
On the tasks I've been assigned.

Trembling, shirking, joking,
No longer have a place,
All my senses fully tuned,
Fear I must erase
In this instant before battle
Kneeling down in muddy sod
Not knowing fate or future
I share a moment with my God.

Ray Sarlin


-------------------------------------  
M.I.A.
© Ray and Marti Sarlin, 2002. All rights reserved.


They came from all across the land,
Forged bonds in blood and sweat,
Then quickly went their separate ways,
Though memories bind them yet.

Some aren’t around to reminisce,
Attrition there was high,
Tom Pipkin was the first to fall,
Cokley last in Nam to die.

Over two hundred of our brethren
Didn’t see the States again,
Others came back wounded
In spirit, head or limb.

Most made it back to fight
Humdrum battles every day,
Going through the motions
With a heart still M.I.A.
Ray and Marti Sarlin


----------------------------------

Muggy Afternoon
© Richard P. Guthrie, 2002. All rights reserved.



All it takes is a muggy afternoon
When you seem to feel before you hear, the wop-wop-wop
Of main rotors slap-flapping on damp air, and the high-pitched whine,
To launch a jumble of fast-forwarded film clips three decades old.
Sharp images of other muggy afternoons race by,
Other flights of Hueys :


The resupply bird inbound,
'Hots' for supper, ammunition, grenades, fresh water,
And maybe even mail at last,
With promised picture of the new firstborn
I pray I'll live to see.

A MEDEVAC bird
Rushing to take away our brothers,
Youngsters we'd shared a joke and a smoke with
Minutes before, and who now lie
Dazed, bloodied, maimed, stunned
At the edge of the clearing
We frantically cut for a Pickup Zone.

A flight of "Six, Two and Two"
Hauling on Combat Assault yet again, the Bravo Braves.
Jaws clenched, knuckles white,
Their lips recite prayers unheard above the turbine scream,
While eyes bulging with fear dart and comb every inch
Of the bald pockmarked knob that dances and shudders in the distance
Under artillery "Prep Fires" and aerial rockets.
If only fires and collective will could assure a 'cold' Landing Zone.

On this muggy afternoon,
My mind takes me again among those brave, sweaty, sleep-deprived heroes.
Fighting terror, boredom, relentless fear, unseen foe, hidden mines.
They slogged on, defending:

The "whole fuckin' free world against Godless Communism...
Ain't that what the man said we was here for, Jim?"

On an adventure they had not asked for -- one uglier by far
Than any a clueless Walter Cronkite ever could describe --
Our soldiers gave of themselves day in and day out,
With valor and dignity their countrymen still won't acknowledge.
So this muggy Monterey afternoon, I sing again their praises.
Then return to my current mission,
First giving thanks to my Maker for the fact that,
The only weapon I heft at 'high-port' today
Is a Brush, Anti-cobweb, M-1,
With ten-foot telescoping handle.


Dick Guthrie


------------------------------------------- The Guns
© Private Baldrick, 2002. All rights reserved.With a little help from the Webmaster converting lyrics to Haiku.

Boom, boom, boom, boom, boom
Boom, boom, boom, boom, boom, boom, boom,
Boom, boom, boom, boom, boom


Private S. Baldrick, originally titled "The German Guns" 

----------------------------------------


Memory of a Fallen Ranger
© Ray Sarlin, 2002. All rights reserved.



I'd like to think I knew him,
Since in my arms he died...
Shredded by tiny fragments,
God knows the medics tried.

That he lived so long at all
Once the explosives blew...
Testifies to God knows what,
I wish that I knew too.

Thirty-two years later on
I can't recall his name...
Though I swore to not forget
My God, I feel such shame.

But if his name has vanished,
And God knows that is real...
His heroism hasn't dimmed,
His mem'ry stirs me still.

But my real disgrace I fear
Not his forgotten name,
But other's expectations
I tried but couldn't claim.
He'd written wife and children
Cheap Charlie had his pic
To draw a velvet painting
And make them less heartsick.

Reply to my condolence
Came as this simple plea
If I didn't mind too much
Send his picture cross the sea.

I wrote back that I would try...
And try we did in vain....
Days aall his name
Though thirty years have passed.
May his actions give me strength
To write his kin at last.

I'd like to think I knew him,
Since in my arms he died...
Shredded by tiny fragments,
God, help my pain subside.

Ray Sarlin


---------------------------------------