Sixth Marine Division

Poetry

The Forgotten Soldiers by Susan Fruin Brovont

The Forgotten Soldiers
We live in a Country that is free,
But many people go about each day unthankfully.
Forgetting those brave and young healthy men;
Who signed up to fight in a land, foreign.
That we might live in a Country, free!

We live in a Country that is free,
While disabled veterans live in their hospitals, often lonely.
They were wounded soldiers, decorated for their bravery;
In pain, they gave up their entire futures for you and for me.
That we might live in a Country, free!

We live in a Country that is free,
But these young, wounded soldiers are now growing elderly.
Sadly forgotten by their own sons and daughters today.
Thankless, free people just go about their own selfish way.
Forgetting why we live in a Country, free!

I thank God we live in a Country that is free!
So, my friend, sometime throughout this year wouldn't it be
Good to visit these wartime heroes who gave unselfishly.
Talk with the forgotten soldiers, and thank them personally!
Because we live in America, Land of the Free!
by Susan Fruin Brovont
In loving memory of her Dad, Cpl. Alden "C" Fruin,
(Sixth Marine Division 22nd Mar-2-F,
Purple Heart, June 9, 1945, Okinawa,
also served with Special Weapons Group, 8th Defense Bn)

Note from Susan:

I wrote this poem with great honor, respect and love for my father, Cpl. Alden "C" Fruin (22nd Mar-2-F), following his death in 1996. Thankfully, when he was in the VA Hospital my Dad had very frequent visitors, including my Mom (who I took to see Dad faithfully), my husband, my sons, and many other family members. During our many visits with Dad, we noticed there were MANY hospitalized veterans who NEVER received any visitors at all, and it made my heart so very SAD.

We can never give enough thanks to all the Marines that gave so much during World War II, along with all the Marines
and other servicemen and women of all wars past and present that have helped keep our treasured freedoms here in America.
God Bless each of them and God Bless America!
Corpsman’s Poem by Marine Cpl Joseph J. Cornish III

Corpsman’s Poem
Corpsman…corpsman, he’s really badly hit.
Damn, where did that shot come from?
Corpsman! Corpsman, up here just a bit.
I know that there’s got to be someone.

Corpsman…corpsman, he’s right over here.
We’re really taking it now.
Corpsman…corpsman, he’s out in the clear.
I think there’s another man down.

OK…OK, I’m coming on in.
Which one to pick, who’s hit worst?
OK…OK, they hit him again.
I’m going to take that one first.

Coming, I’m coming, it’s not very far.
Jesus, I just took one too.
I won’t be coming… that’s all of my war.
Without me, what will they do?
by Marine Cpl Joseph J. Cornish III (29th Mar-Wpns)
submitted by his friend, Bill Pierce (29th Mar-Wpns)
Went the Day Well? by John Maxwell Edmonds

Went the Day Well?
Went the day well?
We died and never knew.
But, well or ill,
Freedom, we died for you.

Went the day well?
When you go home,
Tell them of us and say,
“For your tomorrows,
These gave their todays.”
by John Maxwell Edmonds (1875-1958)
Monuments and Memories by Robert A. Gannon

Monuments and Memories
(For those who never came home)
Some people say I should not waste
The hours of my life
On monuments and memories
Recalling times of strife.

They seem to think it only is
A name upon a stone
While I reflect that easily
That name could be my own

Should I forget those men I knew
Who stood and fell by me?
Should I forget those torrid isles
Upon that sultry sea?

Should I forget that smiling lad
From Arizona's plain
Who fought along beside me
Though wounded and in pain?

Or should I just forget about
That Corpsman standing fast
Who put his body over mine
And took that mortar blast?

Should I forget those countless men
Who waded into shore
And gave their lives defending
My country and my Corps?

I can't forget one single name;
Those men are with me still.
If I do not remember them
I ask you then, who will?
by Robert A. Gannon
We've Drunk from the Same Canteen by Charles Graham Halpine

We've Drunk from the Same Canteen
There are bonds of all sorts in this world of ours,
Fetters of friendship and ties of flowers,
And true lover’s knots, I ween;
The girl and the boy are bound by a kiss,
But there’s never a bond, old friend, like this,
We have drunk from the same Canteen!

It was sometimes water, and sometimes milk,
And sometimes apple-jack “fine as silk;”
But whatever the tipple has been
We shared it together in bane or bliss,
And I warm to you, friend, when I think of this,
We drank from the same Canteen!

The rich and great sit down to dine,
They quaff to each other in sparkling wine,
From glasses of crystal and green;
But I guess in their golden potations they miss
The warmth of regard to be found in this,
We drank from the same Canteen!

We have shared our blankets and tents together,
And have marched and fought in all kinds of weather,
And hungry and full we have been;
Had days of battle and days of rest,
But this memory I cling to and love the best,
We drank from the same Canteen!

For when wounded I lay on the center slope,
With my blood flowing fast and so little hope
Upon which my faint spirit could lean;
Oh! then I remember you crawled to my side,
And bleeding so fast it seemed both must have died,
We drank from the same Canteen!
from Life and Adventures, Songs, Services and Speeches of Private Miles O'Reilly
by Charles Graham Halpine, 1864

The General

In walked the general
perfectly straight
immaculately groomed
and the prescribed weight.
He said all the right things
and kept others in line
he knew when to eat
and when rather to dine.

But he came to a place
to be with men he'd not led,
but with who he had fought
and he had bled.
Then no matter the ribbons
he was nineteen again,
simply a Marine
with many an old friend.

I watched him from a distance
as the layers came away;
he was no longer the General
just Cpl. Jim Day.
He taught me a lesson
that I should have already seen
that even the best Generals
will first be a Marine.

by Laura Lacey, November 1998

Gentlemen by Laura Lacey

Gentlemen

I sit in a room surrounded by men
Who make me wish I was seven again
And could climb on their laps
And listen to the stories they'd tell.

Gentle Men,
Each with weathered faces
With life's wisdom and living in their eyes.
Look closely though, for if instead of seven
I were a young man beginning life's journey
They might tell a tale, for other ears…
Of strangely named places
On foreign soil.

And if I listen carefully
Without the impatience of youth
I might hear Kakazu and Yomatan
And above all, I'd hear of Sugar Loaf.
They'd speak of heroic deeds in a muddy land
Of rain and soil and blood and sand
They could tell you of places that changed them forever.
These Gentle Men

Wouldn't boast about themselves
But about those with whom they served
They'd laugh at hardships and you'd know
That you looked into the faces of heroes.

These grandfathers and husbands
Were once sons and brothers.
These Gentle Men
These Gentle Men
My Heroes

Laura Lacey, November 1998

The Final Inspection by Harry McKnight (29th Mar-3-H)

The Final Inspection

They stood before their Maker and thus it came to pass.
They hoped their shoes were shining just as brightly as their brass.
“Step forward now Marines,” He said, “how shall I deal with you?
Have you kept all my commandments, to your duty were you true?”

We didn’t like the things we did, but had to make a choice.
For those of us who carried guns, we tried to hear your voice.
We seldom had a place to sleep or had a quiet meal.
We were bound to do our duty, no matter how we feel.

We’ve had to fight on Sundays and at times our talk was rough.
Sometimes our acts were violent, because wars are always tough.
We’ve never missed a cry for help, at times we’ve shed some tears.
We protected little children and tried to calm their fears.

We know we don’t deserve a place among your faithful here.
Their many years of service show how they were more sincere.
So if you have a place for us, it need not be so grand.
We never expected so very much, if not, we’ll understand.

A silence fell all around the Throne, where Saints have often trod
As all Marines wait quietly, for the judgment of their God.
“Enter now Marines,” He said, “you have borne your burdens well
Guard peacefully on these golden streets, You served your time in Hell.”

by Harry McKnight (29th Mar-3-H)

Immortality by Harry McKnight (29th Mar-3-H)

Immortality

There is a plan
Much greater than the one we know.
There is a landscape
Much broader than the one we see.
There is a heaven
Where storm tossed souls may go.
Some call it death
We, Immortality.

Farewell my friend, life's river winds and turns
The echo of your voice
Rings clear to me.
And now you know what all must learn
There is no death,
Just, Immortality.

And when you stand before Him
With your life before His gaze
And hear of all what you have done
Throughout your mortal days,
He'll say to you, "Well done, my son,
Now this is what I see,
As you have done it to one, you've done it unto me.

Enter now into my rest
In your mansion here above
And live throughout eternity with all the ones you love."
Life's river never really stops,
But flows on out to sea.
For you, Marine, there's no more death.
Just, Immortality

by Harry McKnight (29th Mar-3-H) (1875-1958)

Taps for an Older Marine by Harry McKnight (29th Mar-3-H)

Taps for an Older Marine

Many times we've heard those notes to signal "Day is done,"
Or over hallowed ground where sleeps tearful mother's son
Mid battles lull as shadows fell, we'd rest, but did not sleep,
And prayed the battle quickly won, and loved ones never weep.

But when the war was over, our homes would have to wait,
For then we sailed to China, and not the Golden Gate.
It doesn't seem that long ago we walked those ancient streets,
To give those hungry children some gum and candy treats.

With shaking hands and promises, we went our separate ways,
And told our friends and family all about those trying days.
That urgent call was shocking of your passing from our Corps,
Nowe we join to honor you with family, friends and more.

Those solemn four and twenty notes now play again for you,
As they have played so many times, for others brave and true.
You lived a life of honor and you served your country well,
Your friends who died in battle, of their stories you did tell.

For loved ones now you leave, of their future do not fret,
For all their lives are guided by the standards you have set.
A final "Semper Fi," my friend, and this I know will be,
For you, Marine, a home above, for all eternity.

by Harry McKnight (29th Mar-3-H)

White Crosses by Harry McKnight (29th Mar-3-H)

White Crosses

We were all so very young in that battle long ago,
On that Island in the sea, against that fearless foe.
The sky was red with tracers when the Kamikazes flew.
Bombs and shells dropped around us from somewhere in the blue.
Our friends were killed and wounded right beside us day by day,
But the Corpsmen saved so many as we fought along our way.

And when the battle ended, we stood to stretch our backs.
We looked so tired and haggard as we emptied out our packs.
We ate what little food was left of rations K’s and C’s,
Then climbed a nearby hill to gaze out at the seas.

We gathered all the gear we had and headed back to port,
But the Navy lost so many ships our wait would not be short.
And when division cemetery came within our view,
We stopped to see if buried there were any that we knew.
We walked among White Crosses, lined up in perfect rows
And found the names of many friends, with tears our eyes did close.

Here's Daily, and here's Haller and there is Charlie Lee,
McDermott, Hall and Miller, and a guy we just called Ski.
Grundell and Boon and Cannon, those names still ring a bell,
But time will dim their faces and the places where they all fell.
We did not find my buddy Bob, his name was not there found.
A letter from his Mom confirmed his place in Hallowed Ground.

How could I forget Marines whose courage there did soar?
Who lost their lives in fighting for our country and our Corps?
My Flag has names and faces of those brave and noble men,
It flies both day and night, for wives that might have been.

Now Don and John and Ben and Ken and those back home again,
Have we lived a life of honor that their gift was not in vain?
And now we’re getting older and our ranks are getting thin,
We pray our friends who guard the Streets of Heaven will let us in.
This brotherhood is special, but for others hard to see,
But not for those who lived it in wars like you and me.

And when our time is up and we join our friends above,
We know our country will be safe for all of those we love.
Sons and daughters will take our place in many battle scenes
In the Army, Navy, Coast Guard, Air Force, and United States Marines.

And May God Bless the United States of America.

by Harry McKnight (29th Mar-3-H)

The Chaplain by Harry M. Stanifer (6th Engineer Bn-C)

The Chaplain

Father John is what they called him, for he was the Chaplin of the troops.
He was a young Lieutenant and new to all these Army groups.
Not too long from Seminary, like a big brother to those young men.
Just a regular guy, he was, and didn’t judge them for their sin.

He seemed to know them all by name when he would come around
And would always try to cheer them up, seldom wearing a frown.
He was always asking how they were and if their hearts were right,
Because he knew where they were going, they were headed for a fight.

Every time he saw a group of guys, he’d tell them straight and true,
“I’m going with you to Hell and back, I’ll always be with you.”
Every man had respect for him, because he didn’t always preach.
But they were sure he would be there when they hit the beach.

Just before the landing came, over the loudspeaker he gave a prayer.
Once more he told them, “I will go where you go, even into the Devil’s lair.
Just remember, I will go where you go,” then they headed for the beach.
He now had to walk the walk, and in school that was something they didn’t teach.

Father John was soon busy, when the Medic left a wounded man,
He would run to comfort him, laying in the mud and sand.
Then one time a sniper got him as he knelt there - then he whispered low,
“Don’t fear the journey over there, son, for with you I will go.”

by Harry M. Stanifer (6th Engineer Bn-C), 2012

Cost of Freedom by Harry M. Stanifer (6th Engineer Bn-C)

Cost of Freedom

There is a cost to freedom as some already know.
Some were able to stay, while others have had to go
To fight our many battles that’ve kept our country free.
Over these many centuries, they did it for you and me.

There is a cost to freedom as some already know.
Some young men have died never having a chance to grow.
They are buried in the sea or in a foreign land.
Some were brought home, and now rest where white crosses stand.

There is a cost to freedom as some already know.
Those whose limbs were lost and in wheelchairs going to and fro.
Some whose lives were shattered by shells and bombs' loud blast,
And cannot get the mind to work right, because of the past.

There is a cost to freedom as some already know.
It is the mother’s anguish that she tries not to show.
Or the wife with little children now home all alone
Waiting for a word from him by letter or by phone.

There is a cost to freedom as some already know.
We pray to God for our safety and that peaceful breezes blow.
As we salute those brave men and women while singing our patriotic songs,
Our flag is carried to the fray bringing freedom and righting wrongs.

by Harry M. Stanifer (6th Engineer Bn-C), 2013

Taps (a Tribute to Len Gerdeman) by Harry M. Stanifer (6th Engineer Bn-C)

Taps (a Tribute to Len Gerdeman)

An old Marine died last night,
he’s now at Heaven’s door,
he wasn’t lost at sea or on
some far distant shore.
For he died in bed, you see,
his age caught up to him,
he could no longer reason right
or stand upon his limb.

An old Marine died last night,
he’s now at Heaven’s door,
he wasn’t just a kid, you know,
but part of the “old corps.”
'Twas the 1930’s when he first wore
those blues and shoes that shine,
and the eagle, globe, and anchor,
on his hat he wore just fine.

An old Marine died last night,
he’s now at Heaven’s door,
he had that certain swagger and
aplomb as he walked across the floor.
Though age had bowed him just a bit,
that discipline was still there,
but near the end he had trouble
getting out of his chair.

An old Marine died last night,
he’s now at Heaven’s door,
he could tell you of what he’d
seen without being a bore.
For he’d been places from Paris Island
to the Pacific Isles,
even to the land of China,
it’s all right there in his files.

An old Marine died last night,
he’s now at Heaven’s door,
he’s been a civilian for many years
but he loved that old corps.
Get out your bugle and play Taps
for this Veteran of old,
there’s one more Marine recruited by God
to guard those streets of gold.

An old Marine died last night,
he’s now at Heaven’s door,
he was welcomed there, I’m sure,
by other Marines, with a mighty roar.
He reported for duty with a sharp salute
to St. Peter’s crew.
An old Marine died last night
and now he’s with the chosen few.

by Harry M. Stanifer (6th Engineer Bn-C), 2008

The Rusty Marine by Jennifer Wallace

The Rusty Marine

The rusty Marine, born gallant and brave,
To his country, his allegiance was raised.

He served in war to honor and protect,
While in battle, he did not defect.

Through foxholes, trenches, gunfire and hell,
His honor and pride never fell.

For in his heart, his faith was strong,
And yet for home, he did long.

Our great land protects the free,
For this he fought; for you and me.

Now he sits, tired, and worn,
For his youth, he does mourn.

Because it ran so quickly by,
He often thinks, "How time did fly."

Then he dons his old dress blues,
And in his spirit, a change of hues.

He straightens up and stands with pride,
His great honor, he cannot hide.

Gently then, he begins to weep,
The memories come, pile upon heap.

A single tear falls from his eye,
As he whispers, "Semper Fi."

by Jennifer Wallace

I Saw the Sea author unknown

I Saw the Sea

I joined the navy to see the world,
And what did I see?
I saw the sea.

I saw the Atlantic and the Pacific,
But the Pacific wasn't so terrific,
And the Atlantic ain't
What it was cracked up to be.

McArthur Says No author unknown

McArthur Says No

We asked for the army to come to Tulagi,
But Douglas MacArthur said, "No."
He gave for a reason, it isn't the season,
Besides there is no USO."

Weep Not For Me, I Am A Marine author unknown

Weep Not For Me, I Am A Marine

Do not stand at my grave weeping.
I am not there; I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds drifting gently over the land.
I am God's diamond, a light glistening through the skies,
His snow crystal riding winds, caring not where fate takes me,
happy to flow through endless beauty.
I rise, I soar, I change, gently.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain;
I am the seasons that call to the earth,
becoming the gentle autumn rain caressing land.
You awaken to the dawn hush;
I am the swift, uplifting warmth of the morning breeze.

At night, I am the stars that shine.
I was old, yet you see me,
able to run once again as I shoot through the night sky.
I am the splendor of the harvest moon.
Do not stand at my grave and cry.
I am not there; my spirit soars on the wind.
I did not die the way you think.

Because...

All Marines die in the red flash of battle
or the cold loneliness of a nursing home,
their bodies broken, aged because of war.
In the vigor of youth or the infirmity of years, all eventually cross over.
But our Marine Corps lives on.
Every Marine who ever existed is living still
through our young Marines who claim our title today.

It is the sense of brotherhood that outlives our mortality.
It is belonging to our Marine Corps, which gives us light to live by,
our honor to uphold, traditions to pass on,
our warrior code to give our new generation...

The Forgotten Soldiers

Corpsman’s Poem

Went the Day Well?

Monuments and Memories

We've Drunk from the Same Canteen

The General

Gentlemen

The Final Inspection

Immortality

Taps for an Older Marine

White Crosses

The Chaplain

Cost of Freedom

Taps (a Tribute to Len Gerdeman)

The Rusty Marine

I Saw the Sea

McArthur Says No

Weep Not For Me, I Am A Marine