COWBOY RHYMES: FLAG 'N COUNTRY

Rough Riders - "On Their Way"
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HIDDEN HEROES

They wore no uniform, they fired no weapon, they told no story.

With secret silence, their's was a hidden glory

Strangers to the many and unknown to the rest

Foiling the enemy, they stood the test.

They sought no thanks, no accolades, no pay

Thousands were saved and millions more are alive today

Independently, they formed a massive resistance

With thousands of counterfeit documents, they forged through a new existence

Gentle people with no pride, no ego, no plume.

Filling vessels and cargo holds, until there was no room

Like magicians they made the wretched horrors disappear

Millions of miracles today have no clue just why they are here.

With keen understanding and suffering in proxy

They held a completely disagreeing orthodoxy

Claiming no honors, their heroic deeds went mute

We heirs of the Greatest Generation owe them a salute.

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MY FATHER'S FLAG

Forty eight stars has my father's flag

Around his neck, a silver chain with ID tags

A woolen blanket of white, on his cot

Whatever he saw, he never said a lot

Never the same, was he, after the war

Some days good and some a chore

A high price it is, the cost that freedom requires

Those who paid are burning in the fires

A hell of a life to live, after war has ended

You can't unsee that which men did

To return but envy the dead

A living hell that can't be shed

A hard task it is, to fully comprehend

Only those who witnessed can contend

From the outside, everything looks ordinary

What he copes with is just too scary

A shame for every star, has my father

Lying still with a flag flying over

Freedom's cost is paid endlessly

By all who carry wartime PTSD

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NUMBERS

Six and seven are numbers important to me

They're associated with our right to be free

They stand for a lot more than that

They remind us of those who never came back

Seven was first on a early Sunday morn

When the enemy didn't forewarn

Christmas wasn't too bright that year

As we didn't even know who to fear

Six came next but many years later

Twas the beginning of the end for the dictator

A lot of dreams ended that day in early Spring

For flag and country and king.

From different shores across the globe

The blood spilled out over the hope

The sacrifices made by those we never knew

Gave us the freedom we pursue

Let us treasure the gift they gave

Let us never forget the love of the brave

Love for the right to be free

Six and seven equal the original thirteen

Eleven and thirteen are numbers important for two reasons more

Thirteen came first on the Atlantic shore

The original stars on the red, white and blue

How much does thirteen mean to you?

Eleven came a century and a half post

When we tried to end all wars but didn't come close

But eleven made a reprise in twenty-oh-one

From an enemy far more treacherous than the Hun.

Eleven and thirteen equal twenty-four

The number of hours every day to abhor war

Twenty-four karats is pure gold

The quality of the brave and the bold

The numbers keep adding up

And the death score takes a jump

Well over a million now and headed toward infinity

Numbers that dictate a level of profound asininity

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REMEMBER THEM ALL

He was from the "Ragtime Cowboy Joe from Ol' Wyo." state.

The one with the bucking bronc on the license plate.

He served in the war, not once, but twice.

You can't buy service like that for any price.

First on-board ship in the Pacific Ocean.

After Germany he was laid to rest in Goshen.

He left school early to join the war.

He was too young or he would have gone before.

His brother followed the very same year.

Back home, the family worried with fear.

Two sons gone who may not return.

Each day they waited in fear of what they may learn.

I asked his youngest sister many years post.

What it was she remembered most.

What stood out in her mind above all?

She gave me a quote from the Apostle Paul.

"Hope does not disappoint," she said,

"We knew every day we lived they could be dead."

The guilt was heavy, but we did our part

We saved scrap metal, old tires and bacon fat

Ration stamps and limitations were in

We did without so our boys could win

"We lived in perpetual fear of the knock on the door"

"So, my greatest memory," she said, "was the end of the war."

It was then I knew that Memorial Day

Is not just for those who passed away

It's also for those who stayed behind

Those who's fear and worry consumed their mind.

It's for those who died a little each day as they lived and waited

Hoping the life they knew would not be dissipated

But even if they never get the dreaded telegram,

Too much water goes over the dam

So when you remember all those who served

Remember also those at home, whom war unnerved

Their wounds may not be perceptible

But their endurance is beyond commendable.

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STAR SPANGLED HONOR

The Continental soldiers knew not who I am

They stood and died to give us all a gift

Given openly, without exam

To any and all who followed their drift

Liberty and freedom for all, they cried

Without limitations or exceptions

Rights for one and all, cannot be denied

A mighty vision from the inception.

Still more died again in two score minus four

A man named Key wrote down the description

With heads held high and proud, we sing them evermore

In war or peace, harmony or friction.

Tested time and again, but always strong

Yet, more and more have died defending the vision

Many more scarred for life but still they sang the song

So we could enjoy and forward the provision.

Abe's soul and being was dedicated to our liberty

He too, died defending our privileges

Black Jack Pershing's boys displayed their wizardry

But some lay cold and still in foreign villages

The greatest generation stepped up proud

Guaranteeing our freedom from domination

When dictators around the globe seeded the war clouds

While the persecuted and refugees died of starvation

Asian communism back to back cost us dear

Muslim discontent backed by Soviet aid

Airborne terrorists with no need for landing gear

When civilians paid for their unholy crusade

The debt we owe can never be repaid

But gratitude and appreciation can be shown

Honor them with a Star Spangled Serenade

With sincerity, from the heart and deep down in our bones

Sing the anthem with pride, with love and with reverence

Sing it true. Hold it dear with admiration and respect

Fly the banner, fifty stars and thirteen broad stipes in preference

Salute it and the breeze that fluffs it for effect.

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THE FLAG WENT UP

Many guys went down before the flag went up

Some never left the ship while others fell on the beach

Surprise awaits as bullets make the sand jump

The objective so close but just not within reach

Families back home praying when it's already too late

News is slow to those who care

Your son has fallen and has now entered the gate

News that no one wishes to share

Wounded leave the beach, homeward bound

Parts left behind, an arm, a leg, a heart, an eye

Looking back, they see the reason it's sacred ground

High above their fallen friends, Old Glory waves goodbye

Written March 2025 in honor of the 80th anniversary of the battle of Iwo Jima

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WHAT MAKES A HERO?

We don't seem to have many heroes today

Too many think that two wrongs can make a right

Black and white have given way to the gray

Never the case for a man named Dwight

A hero is one who does what is right

Exampled by the man hanging on the cross

"Man is what he believes," said the playwright*

Exactly befitting a World War II veteran named Doss

Many confuse celebrities and athletes with heroes

In the abscense of the real deal, they are only substitutes

Just as a dandelion can not be a tea rose

Courage, honor and sacrifice are the hero's attributes.

A hero thinks of others first

Regardless of consequences to self

To a hero, death is not the worst

You can ask the family of Wesley Phelps

You can't set out to become one

You can only do what must be

A hero can be you, or me or anyone

Just follow the man from Galilee

*Anton Chekhov

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WHAT MEMORIAL DAY IS ALL ABOUT

That hotdog you're eatin' today,

Was paid for by a very special feller.

A cowboy in a sorta unfamiliar way.

A guy who counts freedoms like a bank teller.

Rounding up freedoms is not an easy chore.

They like to hide on the far-out ranges.

Places you and I would deplore or ignore.

If it wasn't for the freedom rider, you wouldn't like the changes.

While he's out there in the wild.

Roundin' up freedom so it won't stray.

We're eatin' beans and potato salad unreconciled,

To the real importance of the day.

Friends and family gathered to celebrate.

But it's a day of remembrance, a day to be respected

The sacrifices most of us would not care to duplicate.

We take a lot for granted and our freedoms get neglected

Fly your flag today, fly it high and proud but then,

Lower it to half staff to honor the departed

Salute it cowboys and equestriennes

Knowing that our freedoms are guarded.

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WHO REMEMBERS THEM?

He was from Nebraska, Montana and Oklahoma

He had shipmates from Albuquerque, Witchita and Point Loma

Hundreds who fought the battles of Pearl Harbor, Normandy and Bastogne

Now interred in God's green earth with stones marked "unknown"

Who remembers them and quietly whispers their name?

Who salues them, carries their torch and sees their flame

Service and sacrifice for God and country now forgotten

Final goodbyes in suspense for those whose graves are trodden

The agony of loved ones in limbo with uncertainty replacing comfort

Families in denial, protecting hope with some effort

He knows their names and remembers every one of their deeds

Lord, please help the generations of families in their perplexity and grief

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A COWBOY IN VIETNAM

It was springtime, 1970, just after high school.
Ten thousand miles from my abode.
Two years to serve was the rule.
I was hoofin' it down the G.I. infantry road.

We was heardin' a breed they called "Gooks" up the Ho Chi Minh trail,
Cuttin' sign for mavericks cuttin' out on their own.
When the radio man from Alabama said: "Oh hail,"
"The damn transmitter has blown."

The ranchers were about to spray down from above -
Agent orange, so we pulled our ponchos out.
No way to ask the choppers for some brotherly love.
Over the drone of the rotors, they couldn't hear us shout.

The herd we was chasin' disappeared in the thick.
I thought they was just bushed up and waitin'.
But "Pyro" said "no they ain't" and then he flicked his bic.
That flamethrower introduced 'em all to Satan.

Some of 'em made it down the hole.
But the Tunnel Rats followed right behind.
Did they get away or just become charcoal?
Some wanted to know but I was somewhat disinclined.

The NFG from Utah was shakin' like an epileptic.
His first smell of death didn't sit well
Being unused to it can make you anorectic.
And we wonder why they say, "war is hell."

LT got a letter from home back in Ohio and read aloud.
His girl had taken up with a war protester.
His heart was broken but that wasn't allowed.
In the boonies you can't let that hurt fester.

Nighttime dropped down on us.
I had first watch along with Jonesy from a Texas border town,
A smart-alecky kid who looked like Adonis.
He was dozin' off and missed the mortar rounds.

All hell broke loose and the Gooks were everywhere.
Sleep don't come easy on nights like this.
Most of us weren't sleepin' with death in the air.
But they still caught us by surprise with our guard amiss.

Doc, from Dodge City, Kansas, took inventory and counted wounds.
All survived but no longer in any shape to fight.
Without a radio we had lost our platoon.
Just hope and luck would get us through to daylight.

The next day, May 4th, we made it back, black and blue and blood red.
We got the news that shots rang out back home in the U.S.A.
Four students on the Kent State campus were dead.
Just who the enemy is, no one can say.

Saving their country was paramount.
Stopping the war was their uproar.
Four more to add to the body count.
Four more casualties of the damn Vietnam war.

What's it mean when we didn't lose a man but they lost four?
What's it all about, I ask my Uncle Sam?
What's it all about, this foreign war?
What's a cowboy doin' in Vietnam?

© 2024 Brian McNeal

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In Memoriam

Allison Krause, April 23, 1951 – May 4, 1970
Jeffrey Miller, March 28, 1950 – May 4, 1970
Sandra Scheuer, August 11, 1949 – May 4, 1970
William Schroeder, July 20, 1950 – May 4, 1970

– and those wounded –

Alan Canfora, John Cleary, Thomas Grace, Dean Kahler, Joseph Lewis, Donald Mackenzie, James Russell, Robert Stamps and Douglas Wrentmore

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