Canadian Nam Vets

Canadian Viet Nam Veterans

As a retired American serviceman and Viet Nam veteran, I would like to express my gratitude to our Neighbors to the North who also served in Viet Nam and to wish them a sincere "Welcome Home." The poems below are from Viet Nam veterans from America and Australia, their friends and families. More are coming and all are welcome.

My Dad…A Canadian Vietnam Veteran

Hello, you do not know me but I am the son of a Canadian Vietnam Veteran…and Proud of it. It is hard some days when Dad gets depressed and sinks back into situations that he has from when he was in the war, but when he was there it was “kill or be killed” and that takes a toll on any person, man or woman.
I know that Dad loves us boys but he sometimes sits by himself and stares into space thinking about those that he has killed, not by choice but by the law of the jungle, since it was a jungle that he was fighting in back then. Even now that he is home here in Canada where he was born, people sometimes make cracks to him about being a child killer and a Freedom fighter. Dad says that if he did not do this, someone worse than he might have gotten in there and more blood shed would have been spilled than what was.
My Dad has come to meet our Lord and now he goes around helping veterans and their families where he can, and people do not laugh at him as much as before and there are not as many jokes made. But where ever Dad goes our Lord travels with him and a smile has finally come across my father's face instead of fear.
Dad still cannot go into large department stores without me watching his back; he still asks me to do this but it seems to be getting better now God has Dad in his hands. I know that God will not allow anyone to harm him because as Dad always says, he is doing God's work in Jesus' name. Jesus is always on Dad’s lips now, not the language that he used to speak all the time so I know that things are better. If tomorrow God took him, Dad would be up there standing guard for God and Jesus in Jesus' Army fighting the Devil that plagues us here on earth at this time.
I am proud of my Dad he has fought a battle and has come out of it not as a whole person as before but as a person knowing where he is going and not letting anyone stop him in his quest for Freedom and what our Lord has asked him to do for Him, Jesus.
I also want to thank you people in Australia and all Dad’s friends in the United States for the support that you have given to him. Just contacting him as you do has brightened his everyday life so God bless you.
I am sorry, I forgot to tell you who I am.
I am Thomas R. Milne Jr, Robie for short, the son of Thomas R. Milne Sr. Dad’s other son is John P. Milne and he also is Proud of our father. We both would like to join the Military but Dad says that we should only do this if it is what we want and not because of what he did. We must live our own lives and not live like he did; he is correct and we love him for this also.
Our mother, Dad says, is even more of a veteran than he is since she has put up with all his nightmares and flashbacks now for the last 23 years. For this she should get more than a Medal of Honor.
I will go for now but once again thank you all for what no other people could or would do stand with Dad when he needed someone.
God bless you all.
His son,
©Thomas R. Milne, Jr.
“Robie”
2000

Autumn Fall

Have you ever seen a tree just before the fall;
as green and lush as memories of times before the war?
But just a short time later, red and orange fire the scene;
it seems those trees will never be lush and green again.

And saplings struggle bravely to survive out in the cold
with no sun to warm their hearts under drifts of killing snow
And still they struggle feebly, roots clinging to the soil,
to hold on with one heart-beat; death’s dark beckoning to foil.

The toll is only counted when the sun begins to shine;
when all is safe and warm and the cold is far behind.
And those who do the counting are amazed at what they find;
species changed their foliage - became a completely different kind.

I am that lonely tree, and the sapling could be you
We did what nature taught us, we fought and died for truth
We were planted in an alien place, far from the chosen soil
And underneath a foreign sun as killers madly toiled.

The green-ness of our youth was changed by red and orange fire.
The blackness of our souls found its way in to the mire.
No more the pure white innocence of laughter or of joy.
Now these burnt and fragile people are no longer boys.

Changed by the fires of war and freezing chill at home
Not even our friends or family could see what we’d become
But we can never ever blame them for what they did not see;
Because we didn’t know ourselves, what we had come to be!

And time secretes the memories into dim and darkened vaults
never to see the light of day, so we can charge no fault.
When we test the living water but see no warmth or light
we shut the vaults back up again to ensure that we survive.

We do write and tell our stories, but from a very different place;
a cold and hardened structure with no personal interface
but every now and then, the truth creeps quietly in
and allows us time to cry at this, humanity’s greatest sin!

©Anthony W. Pahl 13th July 2000

(Australia)

WELCOME HOME

They watch as each brother comes along,

Over the hill to victory where they can sing a song.

Brothers marching to a different drum,

The old ones watch and in silence they succumb.

New brothers are on their way,

A new body, mind and soul will they get today.

Through the valley and to a golden arch,

Across the gorge to a small knoll they march.

For years, no one was there to ease the lingering pain,

For years, they drifted through a mental haze mixed with tears that fell like rain.

But today they will be met by brothers that have gone on before:

Navy, Army, Air Force and the Marine Corps.

Today they will be welcomed home to the fold,

Their pain, hurt and injury will be healed, and no sad stories will be told,

The brothers that have gone before will be there with open arms,

Never again will they be afraid to sleep, and forever fear no harm.

The one oldest soldier standing there with golden wings,

Will be there to greet them and no bad memories will he bring.

A choir of angels will sing the ballad of peace and love,

And their Heavenly Father will usher them to their mansion up above.

28 August 2002

(United States of America)

BE KIND TO ONE ANOTHER

It is not who I am that matters most,
Tis more the work I do that brings reward
To others who are tethered to a post,
Or weep as victims of the bloodied sword.
If all we do is seek our own sweet fame
In order to stand high above the rest,
Then all we’ll have is emptiness to claim,
For love will not have been part of our Quest.
It is from loving others that we find
The true self which makes us what we are,
For there are great rewards in being kind,
And self important people walk not far.
So find yourselves in doing good for others,
That strangers become your sisters and your brothers.

(Australia)

Helping Hands

I read my friend’s anguish with pained heart:
stark words on a monitor screen bleeding living grief,

and search for words of my own to ease the hurting,
to offer some measure of relief.

I wonder why they are so slow in coming, these words,
so laggard in forming when the glib responses used to be
so quickly done. They rolled so easily off my tongue.

It’s as if such eloquent pain mutes and shames
my response by the depth of its intensity.

Its genuineness demands an equally honest passion in reply.

This is real pain, palpable sorrow, pure regret;
an almost unbearable desire to alter what
can’t be changed, what is forever absolute.

How do I ease this amalgam of emotions…
grief, anger, bone deep sorrow, mixed with just
a little shame and an aching, endless feeling of loss?
The need to Just Stop Remembering, if only for today.

What can I say?

And I read on, the words of comfort lying stillborn
in my brain, unable to energize the still fingers of
my hands lying quiescent on the keyboard.

Helpless, helpless.
©2002 Thurman P. Woodfork
(United States of America)

REMEMBER THEM

The cold stellar winds are blowing again
I can feel them in my heart very surely
They are rushing through my hair as I ride
For I am a Dragon Rider, a lover of freedom

Once again I have taken to the starry skies
I fly to be free, to seek eternity, to touch God
I take to the stars to regain my lost youth
Alas, I shall not do that, it flies too swiftly

My body now older, my hair now gray
My bones more brittle than ever my back bowed
Eyes that cannot see like an eagle anymore
Ears that cannot hear like the fox does anymore

My mind is the only thing that is still young
My memories are dim at times but also sharp at others
I remember the many that rode the Dragons to war
We were young then, seemingly invincible

But we found we were not, 58,000 on the Wall
Brothers and Sisters who saw the elephant and died
I ride my Dragon for those who have gone on
My task is to remember and make others do so also

My freedom is given to those who haven’t returned
Keeping their memories alive and fresh
The cold stellar winds are still reaching for us
They take more and more each day
I want to go, to ride them past eternity
But my job is not yet done here
I have to bring solace to my brothers still alive
To bring my captive brothers back from there

I would ride my Dragon there, give my life
To bring my brothers home again
The Brothers the government has abandoned
Those whose existence they deny for politics

Ó Charles S. Johnson
(United States of America)
July 20, 2000
All rights reserved

Serenity Secured

A train whistle's lonely call in the distance
In the dark a whip-poor-will's insistence
Big wheels singing way over on the highway
The bells calling the ending of another day

Last drops of rain sliding off the trees
These sounds are all soothing to me
They speak to me of the safety of home
The canopy of night overhead like a dome

For those who fought and died for this security
I would like to say these grateful words from me
Without your sacrifices we would not be free
The sounds of the night would not peaceful be.

I can sit here in the dark with no fear you see
Because, glorious soldiers, you secured it for me
Words cannot tell how grateful I am for your part
Just feel and know the true thanksgiving of my heart

©Faye Sizemore September 2002

(United States of America)

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