It’s no small thing, sacrifice,
Yet we see it all too often.
Some pay the ultimate price,
Carried home in a coffin.


Many veterans are maimed,
Their lives forever altered.
Heroes, these fallen are named,
Whose service never faltered.


Veterans earn full respect,
When a uniform they don,
For it is us they protect,
While into danger they’ve gone.


How might any nation fare,
If, when faced with martial plight,
Willing warriors weren’t there,
To stand firm for what is right?


© RickMack (jotoma@bellsouth.net)






As a boy, as a child, as a young teenager, Veterans Day, to me, was recognition of all of those who had served. Those who had their lives, those of whom, to me, were the heroes of my realm: an old black man, who in the Spanish American war did fight, Clark, an orphan who a big hero became, then all of my relatives who had served. They came back and lived their lives, asking not of anyone.

However, back then, way back in my youth, my big heroes were the men of Gray who in the Civil War had fought. Fought for their state, fought for what they thought was right. Many had died, but the others did pick up the pieces.

Then when I turned eighteen, into the military I went. Joined the Marines I did, for I wanted to serve my country. After five years in the Corps, out I got to go to school; but it was the wrong job in the wrong place. Then to the Air Force they sent me. Twenty-four years after I turned eighteen, I retired from the military. Now I smile and sometimes grin, as of the veterans I do think, for I am one of them. And so not just on Veterans Day, but every day of the year, as I walk about and look around, all of these gallant men I see, men who served our Uncle Sam. Now there are men and ladies too, for now it is genderless.

So to all of you, I do doff my hat, pull myself erect, and to you I give a joyous hand salute.



© Tom (tomWYO@aol.com)






I was too young to remember songs of World War 2. I was born in 1943. My father and uncles were all in the big war. Fortuantely they came home alive and intact. None of them talk about it. It must have been horrible, the sights they saw.

My brothers and my husband served our country. My husband just missed being sent to Laos, due to the fact his ship had broken down and they had returned to San Diego. He lost an uncle in World War 2. Two good friends who went from Kindergarten to graduating from high school with me, died in Viet Nam.

I feel that all service men, if they went to war or not, are heros. All of us in the United States, and world wide, owe them thanks, though I know many do not thank them. Without these great and courageous men, our world would be a different place, and I would not like to think what it would be like.

Thank you to all the vets who served. And thank you to the men and women doing their duty in this horrible war they are fighting. All wars are horrible. But they happen and the people who fight them to help others are great people. To the movie stars who complain, grumble, and rail against these great people, just think about it: You would not be able to do the things you do without the men and women who keep our country free and try to help other's live a free life.



© Sharon (Sunyskys1943@aol.com)






What do we remember of wars we never fought?
Just things learned in the history we were taught.
Some in my family were in World War II
Never did they speak of what they had to do.


My Uncle was a sailor, he saw death upon the sea
Was hardly even mentioned or explained to me.
He had a bunch of medals he kept them in a box.
I found them by chance, when putting away his socks.


I asked him, "Uncle John? What do the medals mean?"
He said "Something to remind me of where I have been."
"But I don't want to remember the places in the past."
"And how the days, couldn't go by too fast."


He spoke of some of the fellas, he never would forget.
Some of the greatest guys that he had ever met.
And some of their adventures on a isle named Guam.
And how some knew they were never going home.


He showed me some old photos, "That's Jim and Will"
And that's when I noticed his voice had grown very still.
He touched the pictures but his hand began to shake.
I glanced at his face, and saw all his heart ache.


I learned something about war that day.
Not from what he had to say.
There were some things he would always remember.
Not just on a day in May and another in November.



© Swampetta (SWAMPETTA@aol.com)








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