Most of my "war" poetry has been inspired by people I knew who started going to VietNam in 1963, when I was 16, through to the end of the VietNam war. Some were friends, some were boyfriends, and one was my husband - we divorced later. The POW poems were mostly inspired by the man whose bracelet I wore--Maj. Jon Reynolds--and my imagination.
I also write poems about my son, Michael T. Ream, who is a Sgt. in the Army, presently on his second "tour" in Germany. He has also served in Somalia, Korea, and just returned to Germany from Bosnia. It sometimes seems that I have been sending care packages forever!
I'm married; live in Florida with husband, Scott, and two dogs and three cats; and am a legal secretary. I like to read and crochet and write letters and poetry. I'm researching my father's service in China during WWII, and I'm on the DAL Net "vietnamvets" channel as "ArmyMom."
Caskets at Ton San Nhut
Rows of silver caskets Glinting in the sun - In the background of a photo Of a soldier with a gun. An extra-added bonus In the picture that he sent - It spiralled me to sadness Which wasn't what he meant. He's smiling in the photo And though it's black and white - I'm blinded by the caskets Gleaming in the light. Christina Sharik 1997
The Wheelchair Dancer
Way back in the disco days I first became aware, Of the daring Dancin'
Soldier In the VA wheelchair. He'd roll right in, get a drink Then look
around and grin, And when a favorite song came on He'd start to roll and
spin. He'd sometimes ask me for a dance And we would twirl around - Him
in that old wheelchair (And me, so earthly bound.) He never lacked for
partners He glided like a bird, And as for bravery, my friend, He gave
meaning to the word. Christina Sharik 1997 ("ArmyMom")
The Waiting
It seemed forever, all the waiting It's so very hard to do - When the person
that you love the most Is far away from you. In me, there was an anger
And with it, awful fear Would something dreadful happen To the one that
I held dear? What will it be like, I thought When he finally makes it home
Will it be the same or will it be Worse than being alone? I waited, I prayed,
I wrote And God, I was so scared I was the one who dreamed of you I was
the one who cared. But you never really did come home And I finally came
to see That you were staying over there There was nothing left for me.
1980
No Vietnam
No Vietnam for you, my son, No brutal wars No foreign shores - No war at
all for you... No whistling shells No awful smells, No bitter ends No dying
friends - No Vietnam for you. No lonely wife, No worried mom - No frightening
nights Or firefights, No Vietnam Is what I wish for you. 1987
Veterans' Day 1996
Here's to you, son Though you're so far away - I think of you always, But
especially today. You're part of the millions Who've gone on before Millions
of soldiers In peace and in war - Their spirits watch over All soldiers
like you And comfort the mothers of soldier-sons, too. Some of us are gone
And some are just far - All of us are proud Of just who you are. So when
you feel tired Or lonely or blue, Remember that someone Is thinking of
you.... It won't ever matter The place or the day - There's somebody with
you Each step of the way. cs 1996
Mothers of Soldiers
My father served in World War II, Grandfather, World War I - Your father
served in Viet Nam And then I sent you, son - Off to join the Army And
I was filled with pride - But I also knew I'd miss you And when you left
I cried. Well, you've been in the Army now Ten long, eventful years I'm
filled with joy when you come home, And when you leave, more tears. You
see, when you are "somewhere" I feel that I'm there, too In my heart I
walk in front To help you make it through - I live for calls and letters
I wait for each of those - And sometimes in the dark of night I'd like
to hold you close - That's the sacrifice we make, We mothers of the sons
Who march with head held high And carry deadly guns - For we remember little
things like playing in the sand - We remember walks in parks When you would
take our hand - You are the boys we took such care of The ones we rocked
to sleep Those are the memories we carry And the ones we need to keep.
1997
The Beat Goes On.....
Wrote to Nixon and Bush - Heard from them - Wrote to Clinton - heard from
him. First my husband Then my son - Vietnam to Bosnia - The beat goes on
and on ....... 1997
My Lance Corporal
(for John) I got the letter just today - You didn't have too much to say
- You were depressed From lack of home and lack of rest - You've been there
such a long, long time The months are numbering nearly nine - You still
don't speak much of the War And I've never known a War before - But I'll
be here if you want to talk Or dance, or run, or simply walk. You spoke
of past and future dreams The "World" - and then the way it seems unfair.
You said you're lost and sad And so confused about yourself And where you
stand. You were a boy when you left; you have since become a man. No one
wants to fight and die - No man wants to hurt - or cry - I do not want
to have to grieve. But I was proud when I watched you leave. CS...1966
THE BOY - for John
This year a boy felt jungle rain And saw brave men in deepest pain - The
boy knew mud and sweat and guns - What a soldier feels when he runs Toward
the bullets racing by. The boy learned what it is to cry - And he learned
just what letters mean - And saw things he had never seen; He stopped and
fought, though he almost ran - This year the boy became a man. 1966
VietNam Poems 1969-1970:
I miss you. I don't know what to do On nights like this. I think about
you And I wonder if you've changed And what you feel for me. Vietnam was
so far to go To learn we cannot leave each other. 1969
........................................
Miles Between
The pain of disillusionment Is hard enough to bear When I may call your
name And know that you are there. But oh, the agony I feel When the burden
is too much And you are nowehere to be found Too far away to touch. 1969
........................................
The Night
I love the night. I wrap it all around myself And do my thinking and my
weeping - It seems a shame to waste the night ..... Just sleeping. cs 1969
........................................
War
I hate this war. I hate the napalm The amputations and the screams The
ruined dreams I hate the awful, empty look in children's eyes The planes
that tear apart the skies - I hate this war - And I'm not even there. 1970
.........................................
Viet Nam (for Rod)
At night I hug you I hold you and kiss you - I love you and need you And
most of all, miss you - And when I awaken the following day - I close my
eyes tight and silently pray - And I keep you with me the rest of the day
While you are living a whole world away. 1970
.........................................
Strange Fascination (the unknown)
They tell me not to ask you Anything About the war, I mean. But I find
some strange fascination with what you'd have to tell me. 1970
.........................................
Ten Days and A Wakeup
Ten Days and a wakeup Until you're home again Ten days and a wakeup And
darling, until then I'll do the same as I have done For nearly one whole
year - I'll say a prayer and kiss our son And keep you ever near. 1970
..........................................
The Returning
Well, now you're home. After the hugs and handshakes And the pot roast
dinner We are alone. Or are we? I find you strange. I cannot put a name
to it. I KNOW you're home (But are you, really?) I think you are in some
strange place I've never been And will never be able to see. It frightens
me. You came by plane - and Kissed your son and me - You hugged your Dad
and Mom - Am I the only one who knows You're still in Vietnam? cs 1970
The End
After months of acting strangely after 'Nam You saw the Chaplain on the
base You went along, you spoke to him Put on your "normal" face - But you
and I both knew How wrong it all became I didn't know how to fix "it" It
didn't have a name. I was advised to leave To go home to Mom and Dad Give
you a chance to rest a bit Things might not seem so bad. Once on the plane,
I think I knew It was all over - you weren't "you" I went away remembering
how it once had been. And I have never seen you or held you again. 1972
Divorce
I, who was never afraid Am now afraid to love If I could ask one thing
of you It would be this: Be gentle with me - For I am bruised and broken
In places you will never see. 1972
........................
The man I loved was left behind The same as if he'd died. He made a prison
in his mind And locked himself inside. No amount of talking Fighting, love
or crying Could bring my husband back to me And our love started dying.
I waited and I waited Until I began to see That what I really wanted Would
never come to be. So I packed my things and left the father of my son Went
home to mom and dad And left my love in Viet Nam. 1974
Tired
We were closer when you were in Viet Nam Than we were when you came home.
You have a son you haven't seen In nearly 13 years. I hardly ever think
of you, but It isn't fair that we had a child And you went away for a year
That stretched to years of tears. Don't you wonder what he looks like?
I can't believe you're the one I wrote all those poems for So very long
ago. 1984
Anniversary
Yesterday was our anniversary.. I thought of you - Did you think of me?
So many hopes and dreams Almost a lifetime ago, it seems. I would have
liked some Small acknowledgment for what I've done. Some small token for
having been your wife, and the mother of your son. 1984
..............................
When you got home you locked us out You wouldn't talk You would not let
me understand. It's nearly 12 years later And it's only from reading That
I have finally begun to understand. But your son and I were wounded In
this ugly war Just as surely as if we'd been there, too Along with you.
Your pain is catching And we've endured 12 years of loneliness. He wonders
what he ever did to make you stay away. 1985
..................................
July 4, 1985
Our town is having a parade today in honor of Viet Nam vets. I think it's
time and I have no regrets. Your son wanted to wear your jacket The one
with the map, the one with all the strange names sewn on the back Ton Son
Nhut, Khe San, Da Nang Green silk sewn with black. So we took our flags,
your son and I, and got ourselves a spot. I felt my throat constrict Anticipating
what and who we'll see Remembering how it was for you and me. Then it began.
The horses, fire trucks Majorettes marched by - The Brownies and the Boy
Scouts, too The ladies' auxiliary, the Golden Agers - The men from World
War II - and finally, police cars, and kids on bikes But there were none
of "you." No vets, no vets from 'Nam - How could there be none? Every little
town had some Someone must have gone. We hung the coat in the closet and
I was sad. I went to bed and then you called - "Too little, too late" you
said. I disagree. There were people there to honor vets - and one of them
was me. 1985
Later
Sometimes it seems that all these things Just happened yesterday Now Michael's
grown and married and very far away. My mother's gone and so is dad I miss
the times we might have had. I miss the friends and family I used to know
back then. Just for a while, a little while, I'd like to go back again.
1994
Who Are "You?"
Someone said I shouldn't write poems for "you" Or act as if I knew you
- Because I hadn't "been there" - But that's untrue - I did know you. You
were David - my friend's boyfriend - we were 16 and you were 18 - When
you left you gave me a letter for me to give her "in case" - I hid the
letter in my jewelry box - And lived in fear For one whole year - So for
me it all began When you left for Viet Nam. ... I remember "you" - You
were the black guy On the bus in Philadelphia - in uniform - staring out
the window - I spoke to you - And you said you were leaving for Viet Nam
- again. I wished you well - You smiled at me and winked. I wrote a poem
for you. You never knew. ... You were my high school boyfriend until I
moved away. Years later, divorced I thought of you one day. I called and
got your mom. She said you were wounded in Viet Nam - You didn't seem to
remember me But I remember you. ... You were my friend's baby brother We
were catching up on old times A couple years ago - He said "my little brother's
dead - Did you know?" He'd been a medic - two tours in 'Nam But he was
killed at home. ... You're the POW I wore a silver bracelet for - I watched
you get off a plane Come home Come back from war. ... You were my lover,
My penpals My friend - I carry you with me now As I did then - With pride
and awe, respect and sadness; with heartfelt admiration, and sometimes
silent tears - I will remember "you" always For all of my years. cs 1996
Caskets II
Rows of silver caskets Silver caskets in a row Who is in the caskets? I
will never know. But here's the horror of it all Neatly wrapped and tied
Some who left will Come back home And some, they will have died. cs 1997
No One Died Alone
In the jungle of my heart No one died alone No one died in fear and pain
Thinking of his home. In the graveyards of my memory Each one has a cross
For every one who perished there I seem to feel the loss. Every brother,
sister, father, son - They all belonged to Everyone - And in the shadows
of the night When all is dark and calm - I say goodnight to all of those
Who served in Vietnam. cs. 1997
My Vietnam Connection
"What's your connection with Vietnam?" he asked. He'd read my poems you
see He wondered what that Terrible time could have to do with me. Well,
I was the one who waited when everyone went away I sent the letters and
the words of good cheer To people a whole world away. My connection seemed
to be through words, through what I had to say Until my husband went and
everything changed and my whole life was rearranged. It was my war The
war of our land But no one seemed to understand. I didn't ask questions
then. I protested once. Not the men - the war. And I would never be the
same as I had been before. What's my connection? Well, where were you back
then? I didn't do much - just stayed in touch - I worried and waited and
prayed. And I'm proud of my "connection" with the brave young men who fought;
the ones who came home and the far too many who stayed. 10/97
"24 Hours from Hell to Home"
"24 hours from hell to home" - He said that line hit the nail on the head.
He wrote to thank me for caring and then he said that it had been a long
time since he had thought of the Vietnam War, what he is now, and what
he was before. My poems took him back all those years and caused some tears.
It was just a simple thank you from an anonymous vet - and though it warmed
my heart, it made me realize that It isn't over ... yet. 10/97
POW POEMS: The Homecoming
They're tapping out a rumor On the side of my cell wall The rumor that
I'm hearing Whispered down the hall - Is that freedom will be coming Freedom
for us all. Excitement first - but then the fear That makes us all uneasy
here. We've heard the rumors all before And heard the clanging of the door
Swinging shut and cutting off Our dreams and hopes once more. But this
time guards are coming They have told us that it's true They've let us
out to set us free I'm coming home to you! We're very loud once on the
plane Until the fear begins to play Will our loved ones still be waiting
Or will they stay away? We've missed so very many years How many holidays
gone by - How many nights has she wept tears and has she ceased to cry?
We're afraid - our hearts are pounding Landing time is near - Now the plane
is slowing I'm overcome with fear I cannot let it beat me Not after all
that I've been through I have faith in God and country And I believe in
you. Then all my fears fall fast away - I can see her by the gate - I need
to hurry now, you understand I cannot make her wait - Those lovely eyes
are sparkling She's running; brown eyes streaming - She's here to meet
me, here to greet me As in all my nights of dreaming. I'm home at last
In every sense and way - I shall have peace forever after I shall have
Christmas every day. 1994
....................
My (imaginary) P.O.W.
I wonder how long it's been exactly, and I wonder if they know I'm still
alive. If she thinks I'm dead, is she still mourning me, or has she found
someone else to comfort her? If only I could know! If only I could scream,
"I'm here; I'm still alive!" But only the guards would hear. Sometimes
I ache to hear a friendly voice, to eat an ice cream cone, to swim, to
dance, to pay the bills, to wash the car, to touch my wife, to hold my
son. I've remembered everything we ever did and everything we ever said,
and places where we went, but it was all so long ago. Sometimes I can't
remember what she sounded like. It's night now and I must put remembrances
aside. It's time to finish the fireplace of my dream home. I can see the
bricks quite clearly by the electric light bulb that burns above me all
the night. 1971
......................
My Daddy is a POW
I can't remember Daddy 'cause he's been away too long, and so My Mommy
tells me things we did together long ago. And sometimes as she tells me,
I think that I can hear His voice, so soft and gentle, and I almost think
he's near. I know I don't remember him, except that he was wise I know
that Mommy misses him, because at night she cries I can't remember Daddy
or how things used to be. I know that I love him, and that he remembers
me. 1971
......................
The Silver Bracelet
I wore a bracelet for awhile Inscribed with date and name - I'd never met
the missing man I knew him just the same. I wore the bracelet faithfully
I never took it off my wrist I prayed for him and wondered If he knew that
he was missed. I felt that if I wore it "well" I could somehow make things
right.. I tried to imagine where he was So far from home at night. I tried
to send my thoughts and prayers Ten thousand miles away - I thought that
when he made it home I'd have a chance to say - That I had worn a bracelet
And kept him in my heart I sent him hope and sympathy And wished him a
new start. One day the prisoners did come home We watched it on TV - I
was so proud of all of them So thrilled that they were free. I tried to
see the man whose name Was on my silver band - The family thanked me for
my thoughts His brother shook my hand. They said he couldn't see me, though
- He wasn't quite himself. He stayed upstairs, alone, they said Looking
at models on a shelf. The man had made it home, at last But it was my surmising
That he was still in prison camp This one of his devising. I put the bracelet
in a drawer I have it still, somewhere And when I run aross it I say a
little prayer For all of those who made it home And those who are still
there. cs 1995
...................................
The Forgotten
Home is very far It's where you are It's where I'm not It's all I've got
- But I've been gone too long. I'm left behind I'm lame and blind But in
my mind I'm tall and strong I'm brave and young - But I've been gone too
long. My life is done My hope is gone My cause seems lost I've paid the
cost For Freedom. Home - Is very far - It's where you are - It is where
I Will never be.
*REMEMBER ME*
Welcome Back
"Welcome Back" Some 30 years later They still say that To each other. Back
then they came Home one by one On civilian planes Unappreciated and Unknown
- 24 hours from Hell to home. (Whatever happened to the Norman Rockwell
scenes The ones where all the soldiers sailors and Marines Got off a boat
or a train And were met by bands and loved ones and started over again?)
With Vietnam it seemed That if "he" wasn't there (That someone really close
to you) You didn't have to care. In my heart, I was there At every plane
At every ship and train I waved a flag I cried and Hugged them all - And
with a kiss, I whispered low "It's all right now - I know, I know." I wished
them hope and peace and the knowledge that they weren't alone. Please accept
my thanks and this belated
Here are three for Michael:
cs 1997
"Welcome Home."
cs 1997
Editor's NOTE: More of "ArmyMom's" poetry about her son can be read on the "From The Battlefield" Web Site.
