- The Sniper
-
- The Sniper
The Sniper
The sun beat like a hammer, not a cloud was in the sky.
The mid-day air ran thick with dust, my throat was parched and dry.
With microphone clutched tight in hand and cameraman in tow,
I ducked beneath a fallen roof, surprised to hear "Stay low."
My eyes blinked several times before in shadow I could see,
The figure stretched across the rubble, several steps away from me.
He wore a cloak of burlap strips, all shades of gray and brown,
That hung in tatters till he seemed to melt into the ground.
He never turned his head or took his eye from off the scope,
But pointed through the broken wall and down the rocky slope.
"About eight hundred yards," he said, his whispered words concise,
Beneath the baggy jacket he is wearing a device.
A chill ran up my spine despite the swelter of the heat,
"You think he's going to set if off along the crowded street?"
The sniper gave a weary sigh and said "I wouldn't doubt it,
Unless there's something this old gun and I can do about it."
A thunder clap, a tongue of flame, the still abruptly shattered:
While citizens that walked the street were just as quickly scattered.
Till only one remained, a body crumpled on the ground,
The threat to oh so many ended by a single round.
And yet the sniper had no cheer, no hint of any gloat,
Instead he took a logbook out and quietly he wrote.
"Hey I could put you on TV, that shot was quite a story!"
But he surprised me once again- "I got no wish for glory."
"Are you for real?" I asked in awe, "You don't want fame or credit?"
He looked at me with saddened eyes and said "You just don't get it.
"You see that shot-up length of wall, the one without a door?
Before a mortar hit it, it was a grocery store."
"But don't go thinking that to Bomb a store is all that cruel,
The rubble just across the street -it used to be a school.
The little kids played soccer in the field out by the road,"
His head hung low, they never ever thought a car would just explode.
" As bad as all this is though, it could be a whole lot worse,"
He swallowed hard, the words came from his mouth just like a curse.
"Today the fights on foreign land, on streets that aren't my own,"
"I'm here today 'cause if I fail , the next fights back at home."
"And I won't let my Safeway burn, my neighbors dead inside,
Don't want to get a call from school that says my daughter died;
I pray that not a one of them will know the things I see,
Nor have the work of terrorists etched in their memory."
"So you can keep your trophies and your fleeting bit of fame,
I don't care if I make the news, or if they speak my name."
He glanced toward the camera and his brow began to knot,
"If you're looking for a story, why not give this one a shot."
"Just tell the truth of what you see, without the slant or spin:
That most of us are OK and we're coming home again.
And why not tell our folks back home about the good we've done,
How when they see Americans, the kids come at a run."
You tell 'em what it means to folks here just to speak their mind,
Without the fear that that tyranny is just a step behind:
Describe the desert miles they walk in their first chance to vote,
Or ask a soldier if he's proud, I'm sure you'll get a quote."
He turned and slid the rifle in a drag bag thickly padded ,
Then looked again with eyes of steel as quietly he added:
"And maybe just remind the few, if ill of us they speak,
That we are all that stands between the monsters and the weak.
By Michael Marks - A Marine 2006source
To: "aaaCITADEL/New" CC: "vvaBob Johnson" "VFW USMC Fred & Susan Carr"
From: "gengreb" 
Add to Address Book 
Add Mobile Alert pixsource
Harry BerndtWhy Wait? Move to EarthLink.If I die before you wake...
Back home now I know you're probably sleepin'
Over here it's the middle of the day
I finally found the time to write a letter
Sittin' here a half a world away
I heard about all them folks protestin'
As if I really want this war
But that don't stop me from believin'
There's just some things worth fightin' forCHORUS
And if I die before you wake,
I pray the world will take
A good look at what God's given us
That we could only understand,
everything is in his hands
All we need is a little faith and trust
I want you to know it ain't too high a price to pay
If I die before you wakeTell everybody that I miss them
And I can't wait to get back home
But until then I'll serve my country
And be proud to wear this uniformCHORUS
No it ain't too high a price to pay
If I die before you wake
Ads by GoooooogleChrist-The hunger for Him
And the adoring of Him. Everything He can do for Man and Woman.
www.hallvworthington.comRevlelation 17 Reveals
Identity of Next Pope. He Will be The Last Pope. Learn Bible Prophecy
www.worldslastchance.comAdvertise on this site source:<>Date: Thu, 22 Feb 2007 19:47:53 -0800 (PST) From: "Lynn Seals"
View Contact Details Add Mobile Alert
Yahoo! DomainKeys has confirmed that this message was sent by yahoo.com. Learn moreSubject: 
Fwd: thank a soldiermore
Binh V
Tags: | Edit Tags Sunday June 10, 2007 - 07:27am (EDT) Edit | Delete | Permanent Link | 0 Comments - Think of them...
-
- Think of them...
Subject: FW: Please do not delete photos but send them on]I HOPE I DO NOT HEAR OF ANYONE BREAKING THIS ONE OR SEE DELETEDThis is a ribbon for soldiers fighting in Iraq . Pass it on to everyone and pray.SLEEP LAST NIGHT?
Bed a little lumpy...
Toss and turn any...
Wish the heat was higher...
Maybe the a/c wasn't on...
Had to go to the john...
Need a drink of water...
?
?
?
Scroll downYes.. It is like that!
Count your blessings, pray for them,
Talk to your Creator
and
the next time when...
the other car cuts you off and you must hit the brakes,
or you have to park a little further from Walmart than you want to be,
or you're served slightly warm food at the restaurant,
or you're sitting and cursing the traffic in front of you,
or the shower runs out of hot water,
Think of them...
Protecting your freedom!DO NOT DELETE-PLS PASS ON -Message from Iraq
The proud warriors of Baker Company wanted to do something to pay tribute To our fallen comrades. So since we are part of the only Marine Infantry Battalion left in Iraq the one way that we could think of doing that is By taking a picture of Baker Company saying the way we feel. It would be awesome if you could find a way to share this with our fellow countrymen. I
was wondering if there was any way to get this into your papers to let the world know that "WE HAVE NOT FORGOTTEN" and are proud to serve our country." Semper Fi
1stSgt Dave Jobe
The attached photo was forwarded from one of the last U.S. Marine companies in Iraq . They would like to have it passed to as many people as possible, to let the folks back home know that they re member why they're there and that they remember those who've been lost.source:catmanTop Page | Blog | Friends | Lists | Groups
- Kevin Allen, 43
- Lees Summit, Missouri US
- Work: American Crane And Tractor
- School: Pueblo Comunity Collage
-
catman is your Friend.
Date: Wed, 23 May 2007 07:14:26 -0700 (PDT) From: "Kevin Allen"
Add to Address Book Add Mobile Alert Subject: Fwd: [Fwd: Please do not delete]
Send this to 13 people in the next 15 minutes. Go.Tags: | Edit Tags Sunday June 10, 2007 - 07:18am (EDT) Edit | Delete | Permanent Link | 0 Comments - Remembering those left behind
-
- Remembering those left behind
Remembering those left behind
<http://media. philly.com/ images/20070525_ inq_vorsini25b. jpg>
By Denise Orsini
My father is a Vietnam veteran, but unless you were part of our family, you
probably wouldn't know that. He doesn't talk about it - ever. If you bring
up his military service, he'll acknowledge it, but he has never, in my
memory, talked about it openly and without invitation.
He was wounded there, and for his wounds he received the Purple Heart, which
he keeps in a dusty box in the back of his dresser. I saw it once, when I
was young and snooping around as kids do. My mom yelled at me to leave it
alone, as it was Daddy's medal and very important. I remember asking my dad
what was so important about it. He wouldn't answer me.
In 1995, my parents came from New Mexico to visit me here in Pennsylvania
for the first time. As part of their visit, we spent a day in Washington,
where Dad was wowed by the Smithsonian National Air and Space Museum, and
Mom got the thrill of her life going inside the Washington Monument.
We made our way down the mall to the Vietnam Veterans Memorial, where my
father stood silent and staring at the wall inscribed with names. I asked
him if he wanted to take pictures, since he'd been videotaping and snapping
away all day. No, he simply said. I didn't push it. Finally, I got up the
nerve to ask him if he had any friends on the wall. He replied that, no, he
was pretty lucky. Almost all his unit made it back alive.
He paused, then looked down. "I suppose Jim is up there."
"Jim?"
"He was my sergeant."
I got Jim's last name, then I went to the memorial's guidebook to look up
the reference, and found the panel his name was inscribed on. As I pointed
it out, I saw Dad's eyes move over the name, and I waited - for the tears,
for the story, for whatever he wanted to share.
What I got was anger. A muscle in his jaw started twitching and his lips
thinned to nonexistent lines as he went stone silent.
"C'mon," he finally spat out. "Let's go." He turned on his heel and walked
brusquely away. I followed him, shooting quizzical glances at my mother, who
wisely stayed silent as we all walked toward the Lincoln Memorial.
Dad didn't speak again for more than an hour, and that jaw didn't stop
flexing. We finally sat down for lunch somewhere, and while Dad was up
getting our food with my husband, Mom leaned across the table. "Jim was
Daddy's sergeant," she said in a hushed tone.
"I know. I guess it's kind of painful for him to remember," I said.
"It's not just that, honey. Jim was killed in the same attack that got your
Daddy wounded. He was due to go home three weeks after that."
"How awful!"
"He didn't die right away, so he was in the hospital next to your Daddy for
awhile. When he finally died, his seat on the plane was given to your Daddy,
who was next in line to rotate out. So you see?" she said. "Daddy got to go
home because he got Jim's seat."
She slid back into her seat as Dad and my husband returned. I saw that my
father's jaw had stopped ticking, and he was actually joking around again,
which was good. But I also saw something in my father I never thought to
look for before. He wasn't just Dad anymore. He was an angry, wounded man
who carried with him - for more than 30 years - the guilt of taking a dead
man's seat on a plane.
My father is only one of many who, on Memorial Day, will remember those who
didn't make it home. Or those who did make it home, but left a large piece
of themselves (literally or figuratively) behind in a foxhole somewhere.
For Dad, and for all those who fight still today, I remember. And I'll
always remember how my father looked, staring up at that name etched into
the marble. One name of so many names, but not just a name to him.
_____
Denise Orsini lives and writes in Morgantown.source
armyr… (1058)
To: "aaaRSRANGERS" From: "gengreb" Add to Address Book Add Mobile Alert Date: Sat, 26 May 2007 23:04:59 -0500 Subject: [Army Rangers] Remembering those left behind Tags: | Edit Tags Sunday June 10, 2007 - 07:09am (EDT) Edit | Delete | Permanent Link | 0 Comments - I Have a Rendezvous with Death"
-
I Have a Rendezvous with Death"
Alan Seegar
(Born 1888, Died at Belloy-en-Santerre on July 4, 1916 serving in the
French Foreign Legion)
I HAVE a rendezvous with Death
At some disputed barricade,
When Spring comes back with rustling shade
And apple-blossoms fill the air-
I have a rendezvous with Death
When Spring brings back blue days and fair.
It may be he shall take my hand
And lead me into his dark land
And close my eyes and quench my breath-
It may be I shall pass him still.
I have a rendezvous with Death
On some scarred slope of battered hill,
When Spring comes round again this year
And the first meadow-flowers appear.
God knows 'twere better to be deep
Pillowed in silk and scented down,
Where love throbs out in blissful sleep,
Pulse nigh to pulse, and breath to breath,
Where hushed awakenings are dear...
But I've a rendezvous with Death
At midnight in some flaming town,
When Spring trips north again this year,
And I to my pledged word am true,
I shall not fail that rendezvous.source
armyr… (1059)
To: "aaaRSRANGERS" From: "gengreb" Add to Address Book Add Mobile Alert Date: Mon, 28 May 2007 15:33:53 -0500 Subject: [Army Rangers] "I Have a Rendezvous with Death" pixsource:catmanTop Page | Blog | Friends | Lists | Groups
- Kevin Allen, 43
- Lees Summit, Missouri US
- Work: American Crane And Tractor
- School: Pueblo Comunity Collage
-
catman is your Friend.
Date: Wed, 23 May 2007 07:14:26 -0700 (PDT) From: Add to Address Book Add Mobile Alert Subject: Fwd: [Fwd: Please do not delete] Tags: | Edit Tags Sunday June 10, 2007 - 06:55am (EDT) Edit | Delete | Permanent Link | 0 Comments - Roger
-
__._,_.___Roger..
A man walks into the street and just as it starts to sprinkle, he
manages to
get a taxi just as it's passing by. He climbs into the taxi, and the
cabbie
says, "Perfect timing. You're just like Roger."
Passenger: "Who?"
Cabbie: "Roger. He's a guy who did everything right - all the time. Like
my coming along when you needed a cab, things happened like that to
Roger -
every single time."
Passenger: "There are always a few dark clouds over everybody."
Cabbie: "Not Roger. He was a terrific athlete. He could have won the
Grand-Slam at tennis. He could golf with the pros. He sang like an opera
baritone and danced like a Broadway star. And oh you should have heard
him play the
piano."
Passenger: "Sounds like he was something really special."
Cabbie: "There's more... He had a memory like a computer. Could remember
everybody's birthday. He knew all about wine, which foods to order and
which
fork to eat them with.
He could fix anything. Not like me. I change a fuse, and the whole
street
blacks out."
Passenger. "Wow, some guy then."
Cabbie: "He always knew the quickest way to go in traffic and avoid
traffic
jams, not like me, I always seem to get stuck in them. And he knew how to
treat a woman and make her feel good and never answer her back even if
she was
in the wrong; and his clothing was always immaculate, shoes highly
polished
too - the perfect man!"
Passenger: "An amazing fellow. How did you meet him?"
Cabbie: "Well, I never actually met Roger.
Passenger: "Then how do you know so much about him?"
Cabbie: "I married his widow"source
To: "aaaRSRANGERS" From: "gengreb" Add to Address Book Add Mobile Alert Date: Tue, 15 May 2007 08:52:07 -0500 Subject: [Army Rangers] Roger Pic source:
Tags: | Edit Tags Sunday June 10, 2007 - 06:51am (EDT) Edit | Delete | Permanent Link | 0 Comments
Friday 10 July 2009
Remembering those left behind
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment