Dog Days - A Blast from the Past

by Penny Deere

Prose


Going South

by William Greenhut

Prose


Drifting Wood

by William Snead

Poem


Why We Stand

by kimberly green

Poem


We Never Learn

by John Swainston

Poem


A Red Alert

by Williams Kurrle

Poem


Four Flags

By Pat Jakylovich, Army

Writing Type: Prose

Deep in the boot heel of Missouri, a beige brick house sits proudly on a steep hill. On the porch that reaches across the front of the house are four flag holders. Every day, 365 days a year (weather permitting) the short, stout, gray-haired lady would hang four flags.

The first flag was in honor of her father, who had fought in both the South Pacific and the European Theater during World War II. His immigrant parents were mighty proud of their first son going off to defend their new country. He returned home a hero, bringing with him a chest full of medals.

The second flag was for her brother, the baby, who was raised by his mother and two sisters. With his high school graduation came an invitation from “Uncle Sam” to join up. This young, fun-loving country boy was sent to Vietnam. He came back in one piece, but different. The horror of Vietnam never left him. You ask him to talk about it, and you get, “Heck, that happened 40 years ago. What difference does it make?”

His panacea is work. He has his farm, a car wash and he is on call 24/7 for the railroad. Sleep? Two to three hours a night keeps the enemy away.

The third flag was for the gray-haired lady, one of the few who could say “I was a WAC.” She served during the Vietnam era, taking care of the wounded bodies and mangled minds that returned from Southeast Asia. For years, she did not hang her flag, because being a Vietnam veteran was not the thing to be. She was not ashamed of her service, but afraid of the unkind, wagging tongues.

It’s different now, though, because she’s learned to turn a deaf ear to the negativity. She has learned to be proud, not only of her country, but of her service to it.

The fourth flag is for Kyle, her brother’s son. He was sent to Afghanistan, with the 10th Mountain Division, where his tank was hit by a roadside bomb that left him with a severely mangled body and mind. He is recovering now, if that’s possible. It’s still early, too early to see the true scars of his war.

Four flags waving, each telling its own story, each holding its own secrets, its own pain and its own glory, as a parade of life passes by.

Endeavor

by Penny Deere

Art


Memories of a Battlefield Nurse

by Louise Eisenbrandt

Poem


Lonely Soldier

by Jason Bartley

Array


When You Wish Upon a Star

by Scott Sjostrand

Poem


Respect

by Lawrence Langman

Poem


Haiku for Spring

by Gene Groner

Poem