The Total Price

by Boyd Burke

Poem


Who Am I?

by Deborah Cole

Array


1692 Salem

by Larry Connelly

Poem


Footloose Days

by Anthony Ramirez

Poem


You Were Our “Doc”

by Michael Kuklenski

Poem


Broken Life, the Restoration

by Scott Sjostrand

Prose


HADITHA

By Dean Robinson, M.D., Army

Writing Type: Poem

Perhaps you'd grasp the reasons why
if you had helped a buddy die,
and heard his savage shrieks of pain,
and shoved his guts inside again,
and breathed the stink of burning blood,
first a trickle, then a flood,
--why then, my friend, and only then,
would you know where I have been.
When you have touched his face in death
and felt his final, gasping breath,
and tasted the rancid spit
from clouds of flesh and sundered grit,
and surged with waves of helpless rage
for bombers vanished from the stage
--why then, my friend, and only then,
would you be where I have been.
When you then turn from Him above,
abandon faith in grace or love,
and chose the paths that must descend
to where the demon snarls within,
unleash it to avenge them all,
yet live to witness your own fall,
--why then, my friend, and only then,
would you be what I have been.
So when you're done, and must return
from where such vicious hatreds burn
to just reclaim the life you knew,
but find war's not done with you,
and taunts your thoughts and tortured dreams
with restless dead and silenced screams,
--why then, my friend, and only then,
dare you presume to judge my sin.

Notes: *****Author's Note: As Chief of Mental Health Service at Overton Brooks VAMC, and also from serving as a flight surgeon and psychiatrist with 917th Wing, I have learned from the experiences of many who have returned. This poem reflects the depth of their more private wounds.****

Board Games

by Penny Deere

Prose


Footloose Days

by Anthony Ramirez

Poem


The Doc’s Doc

by Richard Wangard

Prose


The Power of Color

by James Camera

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Squirrel

by Lynn Norton

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Another Wannabe

by Katherine Iwatiw

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