Just Posted to Photo Gallery

Mineral Springs, Red Sandstone Forms

Photos are now posted on my Photo Gallery link at the top of this page describing a recent trip to Glenwood Springs, and Moab, Utah.

Quick Link: to Photo Gallery

Memorial Day in Poems, Prayers, Essays

"...gather around their sacred remains and garland the passionless mounds above them with choicest flowers of springtime....let us in this solemn presence renew our pledges to aid and assist those they have left among us as sacred charges upon the Nation's gratitude,--the soldier's and sailor's widow and orphan."
--Gen. John Logan, General Order 11, 5 May 1868

The bivouac of the dead
By Theodore O’Hara

The muffled drum's sad roll has beat.
The soldier's last tattoo
'No more on life's parade shall meet
That brave and fallen few;
On Fame's eternal camping ground
Their silent tents are spread;
But Glory guards with solemn round
The bivouac of the dead.


Taps- The words

Day is done, gone the sun,
From the hills, from the lake,
From the skies.

All is well, safely rest<
God is nigh. Go to sleep,
peaceful sleep,

May the soldieror, sailor, God keep.
On the landor the deep,
Safe in sleep.

Love, good night, Must thou go,
When the day, And the night
Need thee so?

All is well. Speedeth all
To their rest. Fades the light;
And afarGoeth day,

And the star. Shineth bright,
Fare thee well; Day has gone,
Night is on. Thanks and praise,
For our days,

'Neath the sun,
'Neath the sky,
'Neath the stars.

I Am A Navy Corpsman
by Mark A. Wright, HMC(SS) USN

I am a navy corpsman. I possess the stamina and enthusiasm of youth and the wisdom and experience of an old man.

I am 3 parts doctor, 1 part nurse, 2 parts marine, 1 part yeoman and 3 parts mom, yet I am 100% sailor.

I am unemployable to the civilian world in my given profession yet have been the very life line for countless marines, soldiers and sailors since 1778.

I have carried marines from the battle field ... and have ben carried reverently myself by marines who mourned my passing like that of a brother or sister.

I am young. I am old. brave, scared and scarred. my title has changed over the years: loblolly boy, surgeons stewart, pharmacist mate, hospital corpsman, IDC, yet with all the changes I am still simply know as "doc".

I have celebrated peace; yet felt the sting of war on the seas, in jungles, in foreign cities, in Washington D.C. and on beaches of every shade of sand... white, tan, coral and black.
I have raised hell on liberty; hope in the midst of battle .... and Old Glory on Iwo Jima.

I have removed appendixes on submarines and limbs in the midst of battle and many other procedures far above and beyond what I am expected to do by the normal practice of medicine because it had to be done in order to save the life of a marine or sailor in battle or under the ice, far from a doctors care.

I have ignored my own wounds to the point of death in order to stay at my station treating the wounded of my nations navy, marine corp, army and air force. I have the highest number of medal of honors of any corp in the Navy .....most of them presented to my wife, child or mother because I was already in heaven at the time.

I am proud to know in my heart that every marine who has ever fought and every sailor who has gone to sea on ships owe their very lives to those they simply, yet respectfully know as "doc" .


Arlington
By Marian H. Neudel 1990
The bloodied sun sinks in the west
And lights us all with glory;
Here sleep the brave in honored rest;
The bugler tells our story;

O dulce et decorum est pro patria mori;
O dulce et decorum est pro patria mori.

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Go tell the people, passer-by,
Read the stone before ye,
Tis sweet and fitting that we die
For our country's glory;

Obedient to your will we lie
Pro patria mori; O dulce et decorum
est pro patria mori.
From under stone we've often seen
These lures to empty glory;

We know what deaths these words can mean,
Lonely, cold and gory;
We find these Latin words obscene,
Pro patria mori,
O dulce et decorum est, pro patria mori.

We have no country of our own,
We who sleep in glory;
We died your hatreds to atone,
Still you shun our story;

Oh write no more on any stone,
Pro patria mori;
O dulce et decorum est,
pro patria mori.


The Navy Hymn
Audio at: http://www.navy.mil/palib/questions/eternal.html

Eternal Father, strong to save
Whose arm hath bound the restless wave
Who bidd'st the mighty ocean deep
Its own appointed limits keep:
O hear us when we cry to thee
For those in peril on the sea.

O Christ, whose voice the waters heard,
And hushed their raging at thy word
Who walkedst on the foaming deep
And calm amid the storm didst sleep:
O hear us when we cry to thee
For those in peril on the sea.

O Holy Spirit, who didst brood
Upon the chaos dark and rude
And bid the angry tumult cease
And give for wild confusion peace:
O hear us when we cry to thee
For those in peril on the sea.

Blonds With Guns!

John’s note: These two reporters did an excellent, and extensive, job on this biography. But, it’s too long for this ex-journalist turned blogger. So I edited it to my liking.

The full story at: http://www.jewishjournal.com/home/preview.php?id=14570




She’s Armed and President
NRA’s new Jewish leader shoots holes in stereotypes.
by Joshua Runyan and Idan Ivri, Contributing Writers


As a Jewish woman and Harvard-educated lawyer who practiced law in Los Angeles, Sandra Froman admits that, at least on paper, she doesn’t seem a natural choice to lead the National Rifle Association (NRA). But the Second Amendment, she said, is all about empowerment.

“I’ve never met a gun I didn’t like,” said Froman, 55, a California native who moved to Tucson in 1985. “I wish I had more time to practice. My favorite gun is normally the one I was able to take out most recently, but I shoot pistols, rifles, black-powder rifles.”

Froman became the newest president of the almost 4 million-strong NRA in April, immediately presenting a different face for an organization whose vibe has been almost reflexively white and male.

Jewish, female, lawyer and Left Coast is about as unstereotypical as it gets for an NRA leader. But when it comes to gun politics, Froman is as NRA as they come. “Firearms in America today represent freedom,” Froman told The Journal. “They represent the ability to defend yourself individually, and they represent the ability to defend yourself as a country. Firearms are a means of guaranteeing freedom.”

After attending Stanford University, she headed east for Harvard Law School, returning to the Golden State to practice law with firm of Loeb & Loeb. It was at her home 25 years ago that someone attempted to break in while she slept.

“The noise woke me up,” Froman said. “I came downstairs and saw this man trying to use a screwdriver to break through the lock on the door. I banged on the door. He stopped for a minute, and then kept trying to break in. I was scared to death. I didn’t know what to do.”

The would-be intruder didn’t get in, and he left before police arrived, but Froman’s outlook had utterly changed. “Here I am trapped in my house with this man trying to get in — it really frightened me. But they say time slows down, and I began thinking, ‘How dare he try to get into my house,’” she said. “I got angry. Real angry. I decided to take control of the situation.”
The next day, after looking up a gun store in the phone book, Froman signed up for firearms training. Soon after, she bought her first gun.

New Poem Release!

Prairie Verses

The Texas Panhandle
Longhorn steers stagger by blistering sun atop Stove Mesa.
Dry as leather, tongues curling, eyes even sweat.
Once sturdy hooves now soften like melting candle wax.
Blood boiling, backbone baking, it’s a 128 degrees F.

The heat is on in the Texas Panhandle

Sidewinders carving curves across hot sand.
Rodents burrow deep for cool root cellars.
Predator and prey share scarce shade in this swelter.
Finding shelter is urgent business, delay is death.

The heat is up on the Texas Panhandle.

Old cowboys, sag almost prostrate, aching in the saddle
Their steady Appaloosas oozing foamy-white between the flanks.
Tumbleweed and Switch Grass crackle at every hoof-fall.
So hot it will make you cry, feet tinder dry, you’ll want to die..

Kansas Golden Plains
Nose tastes the sweet smell of ripening grain.
Corn, soybean, alfalfa abound in furtive fields.
Vast, fertile acres carefully tilled and tended.
Oh, how beautiful these golden Kansas plains.

America‘s bounty! Harvest for the world!
Sweat shed in the honest labors of generations
Families of farmers toil from rise to set.
Seeding land, tending hearth, affirming self.

Blessed with courage, fortitude and dedication .
They preserver, unheralded heroes, proud citizens.
Pilgrims of the fields, bearing all misfortune, undiminished.
Tilling success with nobleness, loving country above all else.

Confirmed in soul by self-control, every gain divine.
Finding liberty by overcoming strife for their way of life.
Adversity ignored with faith implored, God’s healing grace.
Leaving legacy enduring, reward is merit in the Highest Place.

Dakota Buffalo
Wooly rovers, in millions, roam dominant and unmolested.
Waves of great buffalo spilling over the Dakota landscape.
Pungent with the musk of careless, carefree wandering.
Rumbling hooves beat out an anthem of freedom.

Honored, revered, to sustain the native Lakota Sioux.
The Great Spirit’s gift of food, clothing and shelter.
Slaughtered without regard by wild-eyed white hunters.
Killed for trophy, heads severed, carcass left to rot.

Restored in enlightened times by men of conscience.
Managed by science, penned by fence, housed by man.
Cloistered from those beautiful for spacious skies.
Protected from roaming in amber waves of grain.

It's Elementary, Dr. Watson

Who’s Bloggin’ Who?

My blog tracker tells me that many people are interested in what I write here, but think that they can logon to the site, read, view, and leave anonymously.

Well, think again ! The tracker tells all about you? What-a-y’a afraid of, guys?

So, don’t be shy CJR at IP Address 68.105.74.52 on the Cox.net in Ocala, Fla. You’ve hit my site several times now, the last time was just yesterday May 16 at 11:17.03 a.m. without leaving a comment. Gosh, I though we had a better friendsship than that.

Or, or how about that Irish devil JAC from psu.edu in Dickson City, Pennsylvania at IP Address 146.186.80.46. You were here today for a lengthy 3 minutes, 25 seconds at 11:38.59 A.M. Your hits have been particularly long at 2 minutes, 12 seconds on May 4 at 11:34.12 A.M. Although your first try was a quick hit of 13 seconds on May 4 at 10:59.20 am. Looking at the closeness of the times you have logged on leaves me assume you take lunch between 11 am and noon.

But, who the hell is logging on from an unknown domain in the Ukraine at IP Address 193.19.184.56. The first, and only, so far, was 11:59.59 p.m. on May 4. They viewed the whole site in 2 minutes 33 seconds, again anonymously.

I’m not sure either who is behind IP Address 217.74.19.77 from an unknown domain from Ill du France in Paris. But a mouse-click will get you to their reffering URL at http://noem38skyblog.com/17.html which looks looks like a French dating, or porn site. Go ahead, give it a clock

Well, behave yourselves, folks, but stay up to date. And, come-on , tell me something the next time you visit here.