Poems by Regina M. Elliott

When I met the tall and amiable Vietnam War veteran,
my shyness showed,
yet, my throat dried and tightened when he softly
spoke the words, "The war never goes away."
All these humanity destroying wars never cease,
soldier's names, faces, their eyes so well-worn.
Their love letters sent home never faded in their
immortality,
the soldiers who made it home alive weren't
given a hero's welcome.

Their nightmares flashing as they wake up
sweating in their sheets in the dark,
yelling for respite from still hearing and being
in the firefight,
still seeing the VC,
and witnessing the life breaths leaving mortally
wounded brothers.
Descending into the night's loneliness,
the blue-gray of the t.v. on low volume,
the sobbing of a loyal wife.
Some marriages, families split apart with
crushing sadness,
many veterans homeless on U.S. streets,
such a heartbreaking shame shadowing over
the face of America the beauty.

Surviving veteran's hair becomes snow-white,
war wounds achingly arthritic,
memories of their war buddies still sweetly
preserved in their mind's images.
Vietnam War veteran's reunions as their
bones stiffen,
but still salute their brothers and sisters in arms,
their hats with the name of the war,
the pride of their service.

Many barely out of high school with brothers
of the same town,
the same state,
so much youth called up,
joining brothers from other regions of the U.S.
Blessed by God in their fraternity,
their bravery.
The deep red poppies represent their
precious blood.
I remember the 1960's-70's searing scars in
my mind,
weeping for the loss, the hurt in our hearts
over the Vietnam War.

MIA's, POW's,
disappeared as aging families still pray,
still wait.
In the local Veterans Cemetery,
I met a woman in her eighties,
she was a little confused,
couldn't recall where her Vietnam Veteran
son's grave was located.
She told me her daughter-in-law couldn't
bear to visit his grave.
We found his grave,
his name glistening in the dew of that gentle
May morning,
as wrens and sparrows sang on blossomed
boughs.
A chance encounter became such a gift to
honor her son,
and his mother.
To let her know he was not forgotten,
but cherished.
Welcome Home.

As the empathic moon pales of lustre of life,
and the downcast stars fall in the hour of lamentation,
unforgiveness has its own realm of misery.
Our anger and resentment strickens our lives,
smothers our love.

Still absent from one another,
we grow grayer into white.
The evefall speaks of barren dreams,
of words unsaid that could of professed
a healing pardon.
The unforgiveness borne on a catafalque,
yet, not unburdened, and still unburied.

Summer lover's moon shyly enclosed in
silvered clouds,
a honeyed recollection-
white caps of memory waves,
cresting, curling dreamily,
a tide under eve's star canopy,
coupled in enchantment,
entwined on the beach.

On a sweltering humid July morning,
she was escorted by her best friend,
as they walked through whispered prayers
into a beige brick one story building.
She laid on a padded table in a cool
gray room.
She didn't want this, she felt coerced-
in youthful vulnerability she obeyed
her abandoning boyfriend.

Her goosebumps rose as she waited
in a mint-green cotton gown,
her shallow breath in and out,
her mouth and throat parched.
She looked up at overhead glaring
lights,
God's own.

She felt she just couldn't tell
her Mom,
the words wouldn't come forth,
a searing secret bitter on her tongue.
Fragments of jagged thoughts cutting
her psyche,
she was sweating cold through
her forehead.

The abortionist was as if an
anonymous shadow,
his voice distant,
flashes of kindergarten in her
eighteen year old's mind.
Waves of utter pain,
her heart pounding,
her ears thunderous with throbbing,
a sudden stillness,
God's own-
another of God's own,
returned to Him.

Arriving in June's rose dawn hope
Nuanced with morning stars crowning the moon
Gliding in iridescent robes of light
Enveloping me, capturing my dreams
Lilting songs gentle as baby sighs

Kissing my cheek on a summertide Sunday
Intricate patterns of silver lacy wings
Sweet misty smiles
Sojourn of God's comforters

i dreamt passing through eden's bidding gates....
walking down glittering roads

a gathering of charity's lifted souls....yuletide
hearts rejoiced glad

angels praised his goodness....poinsettias
circled round his blessed presence

Of humanity's many members,
of smoky mountains standing in the clouds,
of the heavens You sprinkled with an infinity
of stars,
and valleys of the goodness of crops and
the moonlit magnolia trees,
oceans, lakes, rivers, and streams came
to life from You.
Of the joy of birds at the feeder,
I love You first.

My Jesus, my Christ,
the bats whoosh out of their caves at
twilight in their hunting of insects,
my grandchildren play on summer's
lawns with buttercups dotting the
expanse,
whilst autumn stirs in his slumber,
as the days age more for me,
I love You first.

You're my morning star,
my evening comfort,
I adore You most sweetly,
You came for me when others didn't,
to rescue me from the hurt and the
mourning for the earth and her people,
her animals,
as hatred, as war, as pollution mars
her glorious face,
I love You first.

You, Dearest Redeemer, Deliverer,
sent some of Your angels to watch
over us-
in frosted nights,
and in spring's awaited rebirth,
Truest One, my heart in reverence
to You,
I love You, always first.

To my dearest mother and father,
I was your only child,
you both desired that I go to college.
But I joined the Army right after I
finished high school.
There you were at my boot camp
graduation,
clapping in the stands,
your eyes were welling,
so proud of me.

Mom, your warm homemade bread
scent filled our farmhouse with comfort,
it tasted so heavenly with our own
churned butter.
Dad, I wish I could shoot baskets with
you again,
the Middle East wars claimed so many
of us,
yet, our valor and honor survives.

Please, don't feel the painful aching in
your chests anymore,
please don't weep,
as I still feel summer timothy beneath
my bare feet in the purest of dew.
I hadn't a betrothed to carry in my
heart,
but, then again, I was only nineteen.

At the Veterans Cemetery with family
and friends in an ebony clothed sea of
mournful humanity,
Mom, the folded flag of our America
was placed gently in your hands.
I know your souls have a brokenness
over the loss,
yet, God has me for the ages.

I miss working our dairy farm,
the cow's mooing is sweet music
to me.
There are other fallen soldiers midst
us,
it is sad to say some didn't hear
from home.
Our spirits are here with you,
my beloved parents.
We are standing watch over our
farm of many acres.
And, dear Mom,
we can smell your homemade
bread,
that fills our afterlives with love.

starlight and raven waters
silence white of eyes
shadows nearing shore