True Tribute

True Tribute

(by R.P.Edwards)

We wave the flag

And bow the head

And whisper thanks

To the honored dead

But a better tribute

Would be instead

To preserve the nation

For which they bled

I wish they had fought one more battle. I’m talking about the World War two generation or, as many rightly call them, the greatest generation. I understand they were tired after saving the world from tyrants and  tyranny but, if they could have just united one more time to focus inward; to push through a needed correction. 

But, they were busy, and the poison was slow in coming, and besides, who would expect evil from high places? I’m talking, of course, of the Supreme Court. Yeah, I know, I’m supposed to be reverential, and I want to be. But, consider this; when the war was reaping hundreds of thousands and kids in public schools across the land were openly praying for dads and brothers, well, the Supreme Court now says that kind of thing is unconstitutional.  Rubbish. And, when the GI’s walked through the concentration camps and saw what the Nazis did to those considered less than human, they had no idea the Supreme Court would authorize the same kind of thing done to the nearly born; to the tune of over 55 million. And now, the unelected over us are considering the complete overthrow of nature’s God by redefining marriage.   

So, what’s the solution? Impeachment? Civil war? No, the Constitution itself has the answer: Article 5, the convention of States.  Two things that are desperately needed are judicial term limits and overrides. For, you see, in America we have no kings; and apparently it’s up to this generation to defend the republic. 

Following is a tribute to the Greatest Generation. I hope their sacrifice was not ultimately...in vain.

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The Forgotten Flag

Forgotten Flag
(by R.P.Edwards)

Tattered
Torn
Wearied
Worn
Frayed
Forgotten
Flag
Wafting wordless warnings
Treated, as a rag
And I wonder as I watch
This dying from neglect
If “it” reflects our nation
Our dying…from…forget

It’s an indicator.  A sign of direction, and strength.  One way means headwind…and struggle.  The other way means tailwind…and ease.  And, I suppose, I really don’t need the flag to tell me what’s coming, for I must go, regardless.  But there’s a steeling with the knowledge; a tightening of the innards and the will when you know of coming opposition.  And, for this, I am grateful for the heads up.  Grateful to the old, tattered banner; the graying stars and stripes; dying…from neglect.

You know, I suppose it’s been there for years.  Unassuming, unpretentious, simple of display, silent in testimony; and I, literally thousands of times over these past fifteen years, have gone by without recognition.  That is, until recently.  You see, this flag used to be a footnote to a larger establishment; an eatery; a diner that serviced the downtown area and, in particular, the largest employer in the region; a steel mill whose parent resides in Pittsburgh.  Yes, this “almost landmark” fed generations but, for whatever reason, the property changed hands. And, in a day, it was gone.  And, it was the absence that caught my attention.  For, as I scanned the empty--as if nothing had ever been there--space, I eventually saw the rusty pole, and the tattered flag, wafting unattended…and alone.

As is always the case, this time of year--the transition from spring to summer--is the time for flags.  Memorial Day on one end, and the glorious Fourth on the other and, in the middle…Flag Day.  It’s a time for parades, and solemn assemblies, and jubilant celebrations and, as is always the case, some, many, will view the flag with indifference bordering on disdain, and others will view it through tears born of great loss, and great gain.  Yes, it’s a time for flags. 

Now, I suppose, years ago when the burden of liberty was borne by most--for most had lost someone to it’s cause--I suppose back then there was a kind of reverence attached to the symbol.  Some, associating the red with patriots blood, would swell with emotion at it’s waving, and others, with eyes aloft and lungs full of freedom’s breath; would see the stars of liberty on a field of blue, and these, too, could not restrain their sentiment.  But now, with so few knowing of the owing, the flags are often neglected, ignored.  And, this lone, dying memorial; well, it has become a testament of what we have become.  And, please understand, I don’t begrudge the steel giant, the owner of the land, for the fabrics neglect.  For, it goes without saying that patriotism and love of country have little or no place at corporate tables.  And certainly, in these lean years, it would be almost too much to expect that executive eyes pause, for just a moment, from their constant pursuit of advantage.  But, it would be nice if an exception, just this once, was made.

So, as Flag Day quickly approaches, perhaps a Gold Star Mother; one who has lost a son or daughter in the service of their country; perhaps they’ll see…and whisper a word.  Or, perhaps a wounded vet, imprisoned in a body sacrificed on the alter of vigilance; perhaps he or she…will utter a plea.  Or, perhaps, and heaven forbid, perhaps the Plant Manager will pass by…and remember a flag draped coffin of a loved one.  Then, with a simple call to the American Legion, or a Boy Scout troop; then perhaps this old, tired soldier can finally be laid to rest.  But, in the meantime, this frayed, forgotten flag, shows me direction; the direction of the wind…and the direction of …the country.

That’s what I think.  How about you?  Click comments below…and say.

"Observed"

 

From “The Stone”
(by R.P.Edwards)

Then I speak of God
And I speak of faith
And the truth that will not bend
Of how compromise destroys this land
That they died…to defend
Of how manhood starts
On bended knees
With a humble heart
With but one to please
Then to stand and fight
And act as men
And by this we will…remember them

You look on the calendar.  There are two mentions of “Memorial Day.”  The actual “day,” and “observed.”  Today is “observed.”  This whole “move it to Monday” thing came about from a little Washington magic called the “Uniform Monday Holiday Act,” which took effect January 1, 1971.  I suppose there are many  these days (especially among the under fifty crowd) who think it has always been so, but, like so many things…it has not always been…so.

The “poem” lead-in is a lyric portion from the song, “The Stone,” which, if you haven’t heard it, is listed in the video bar (to your left).  Dedicated to all our fallen heroes, but especially those of World War II, this verse is my personal lament over a nation that has, in many ways, drifted away from the values, beliefs, groundings…of those who fell at Iwo Jima, Normandy, Okinawa, and a thousand other named and unnamed places.  And I wonder; if they could be reborn among us; if these, the hundreds of thousands, could step into our society as they were; before the bullet or the bomb or the bayonet; I wonder; knowing what they knew, and believing what they believed; I wonder what they would think of what we have done with the “freedom” they afforded us?  I wonder if they would question our stewardship of the “Liberty” they passed on?  Would they smile as they walked past the abortion clinics, and strip clubs, and casinos?  Would they nod approvingly at the revelation that “God” has been banished from the classroom and the courthouse?  Would they applaud the redefining of marriage and morality? 

Here’s my point:  I am extremely grateful for every American who has sacrificed all…for us.  I mourn, and appreciate them.  It is only right to honor them; it is only fitting to take special notice of and offer tender care to their loved ones.  But our greatest responsibility; our greatest act of devotion by far…is to preserve these United States.  To preserve this nation…for which they so willingly died.

That’s what I think.  How about you?  Click comments below…and say.

The Stone

From “The Stone”
(by R.P.Edwards)

At last I learn
What I’ve been told
That “treasure” lives
But not in gold
So to the stone
I come to see
And hear the words
“Remember me!”

The journey of the song began nearly twenty years ago. A recent arrival to “flyover country” my young family (just four of us then) joined a church that would, a couple times a year, rent a “memorial hall” for the purpose of holiday gatherings. On one such occasion (perhaps the first) I noticed the plaques, the inscriptions…and the stones. I don’t know what steered me, ever so slightly, away from my obsession with “self,” --perhaps the benefit of age, or some lesson my “Pop” had dropped into my subconscious decades earlier-- whatever the reason, I began to be somewhat appreciative that these names, these many, many names…represented young men whose lives were cut short…deprived of family, fortune, heritage…that I, bloated from a Thanksgiving plate, could carry on. I remember, vaguely, trying to convey some of this sentiment to my two young men. How much they heard…I know not.

Fast forward a few years. The fiftieth anniversary of the end of World War II was quickly approaching. I picked up my Appalachian instrument (autoharp) and composed a song that expressed my diluted sentiment (diluted, because my motives are not always “pure”). Well, nothing came of it (perhaps nothing was supposed to) and now, fourteen years later, with the aid of a technology not easily accessible at that time, “The Stone” is born anew. If you haven’t viewed it yet…now would be a good time.

This entry will be posted on Memorial Day . I probably won’t watch the parade…but I will remember them. I, most likely, won’t attend the ceremonies…but I will remember them. I won’t be terribly caught up with the “feelings” of the moment…but I will remember them. Instead of pausing this one brief season, I will, as God enables, stand daily--in their stead-- for their “values.” No, not the manufactured and massaged values of Academia, or Hollywood, or a wayward Judiciary. But the values of the Marine who, clutching his pierced chest, knelt into the black sands of Iwo Jima and then stood up to take the hand of his Lord. The values of the sailors whose lifeless bodies sank beneath the waves at the Battle of Coral Sea. Their bodies succumbed to the depths, but their spirits rose unhindered. The values of the thousands, upon thousands, upon thousands who knew that courage began at an alter with a bowed head and a resolute heart. Yes, it “is” time to remember them. But more than that…it is time…to “be” them.