Strange Meeting ~Wilfred Owen

It seemed that out of battle I escaped
Down some profound dull tunnel, long since scooped
Through granites which titanic wars had groined.

Yet also there encumbered sleepers groaned,
Too fast in thought or death to be bestirred.
Then, as I probed them, one sprang up, and stared
With piteous recognition in fixed eyes,
Lifting distressful hands, as if to bless.
And by his smile, I knew that sullen hall,-
By his dead smile I knew we stood in Hell.

With a thousand pains that vision's face was grained;
Yet no blood reached there from the upper ground,
And no guns thumped, or down the flues made moan.
"Strange friend," I said, "here is no cause to mourn."
"None," said that other, "save the undone years,
The hopelessness. Whatever hope is yours,
Was my life also, I went hunting wild
After the wildest beauty in the world,
Which lies not calm in eyes, or braided hair,
But mocks the steady running of the hour,
And if it grieves, grieves richlier than here.
For by my glee might many men have laughed,
And of my weeping something had been left,
Which must die now I mean the truth untold,
The pity of war, the pity war distilled.
Now men will go content with what we spoiled,
Or, discontent, boil bloody, and be spilled.
They will be swift with swiftness of the tigress.
None will break ranks, though nations trek from progress.
Courage was mine, and I had mystery,
Wisdom was mine, and I had mastery:
To miss the march of this retreating world
Into vain citadels that are not walled.
Then, when much blood had clogged their chariot-wheels,
I would go up and wash them from sweet wells,
Even with truths that lie too deep for taint.
I would have poured my spirit without stint
But not through wounds; not on the cess of war.
Foreheads of men have bled where no wounds were.
I am the enemy you killed, my friend.
I knew you in this dark: for so you frowned
Yesterday through me as you jabbed and killed.
I parried; but my hands were loath and cold.
Let us sleep now . . ."

The Parable of The Old Man and The Young

So Abram rose, and clave the wood, and went,
And took the fire with him, and a knife.
And as they sojourned, both of them together,
Isaac the first-born spake, and said, My Father,
Behold the preparations, fire and iron,
But where the lamb for this burnt-offering?
Then Abram bound the youth with belts and straps,
And builded parapets the trenches there,
And stretched forth the knife to slay his son.
When lo! an angel called him out of heaven,
Saying, Lay not thy hand upon the lad,
Neither do anything to him. Behold,
A ram, caught in a thicket by its horns;
Offer the Ram of Pride instead of him.

But the old man would not so, but slew his son,
And half the seed of Europe, one by one.

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My Vietnam Related Websites: Women in Vietnam ~ Read about ALL the women who served . . . The Irish on the Wall ~ An effort to locate the Irish who died in Vietnam Tim O'Brien's Home Page ~ National Book Award Winner and Americal Vet Emily's Poetry ~ By a Red Cross Donut Dolly All About Vietnam ~ An annotated bibliography of books about Vietnam for sale thru Amazon Worldwide! Photos from a Holts' Military History Tour ~ My trip to Vietnam, February 1998
My Other Websites: Maybe Later . . . ~ My Creative Nonfiction Irish in Korea ~ Irish men and women who gave their lives in the Korean War Literature of the Korean War ~ Don't let the literature be forgotten Samuel Pepys ~ One of my favorite authors Chicago Theatre Z - A ~ This is the best theater town in the country! Soccer Literature ~ I'm a fan and I read O'Leary Lantern ~ Fire! Fire! Fire! Gil Thorp ~ THE Coach (apologies to The General!) Poetry of the First World War ~ Owen, Hardy and others Chi-COW-go ~ Cowz plus Commentary (this used to be a cow town) Graham Fulton, Scottish Poet ~ Charles Manson Auditions for the Monkees
Other Important Websites: The Truth About Caroline ~ a *really good* Young Adult book by my niece, Stacey M. Lane Grosh Remember Oklahoma City ~ The Civil Service and Military will NEVER forget! Milton L. Olive III ~ Posthumous Medal of Honor Recipient