Poems of War

By Sarah Patricia Condor

As war rages overseas, many Americans strive to understand the pain and suffering of the courageous troops, fighting for our freedom. Poet Sarah Patricia Condor is one of these Americans, and she believes it is necessary to tell their story. She has read their letters, heard their stories, and seen their families in pain; but for Condor, the pain is much more personal.

She is a child of the Cold War. Her family members have served in every major conflict in the twentieth century, from World War I to Afghanistan. She has seen the turmoil of the distraught wife, waiting for her soldier to return, and heard stories of the homesick young men, who long to hug their mothers one last time.

Poems of War is a brash recollection of tumultuous days past. It is an ode to the heroes who seek no recognitionthe ones who walk by unnoticed and unrecognized. For their sake, Condor has given them a voice in her collection of true war tales. She praises courage, reveres the brave man, and respects faith in what is good. Soldiers are no longer faceless once their stories have been told.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Aug 10, 2010
• ISBN: 9781450246057

Sarah Patricia Condor

Sarah Patricia Condor grew up listening to the Russian-jammed Radio Free Europe, dreaming of the freedom that so many American youth take for granted. She sought shelter in the pages of books, where she learned to free the past pains in her heart and soul through the written word.

Book preview

I Trust in US

I know why you are reluctant to read –

It is that evanescent feeling that the pages

Are still blank and the eyes

Cannot focus and your whole being

Is lost in between the lines

The lines that flow like the waves

Upon the ocean far far away from the shore

The shore you left behind and now

Long for it to turn back and feel

That steady and firm ground under your feet…

Long for the people to meet who

May have missed you all this time

And fill their lives with love and emotion

Whatever the result may be –

Not like this with the head buried

In between the undeciphered thread of him

Who is dead now and knows not

Of your sufferings and pains and premonitions

Because you have your dreams and

Hopes that are larger than his –

And I understand and close the book and

Will dream with you because

I trust in You I trust in your Dream I trust in US.

A Fallen Star

He sat there behind the bars

Like a fallen star, devoid of sparks and shine

Like yesteryear’s Valentine

Somber, slumbering, slurping from a bowl

A soup of dreams – that’s all

All that he had was a pair of sunshades

A spotted cat that came and went

As the Sun faded and returned

Over an aged typewriter bent

He yearned for another day…

Perhaps because there was something there to say

Someone there to live for –

He saw life in the eye of the cat

The life he had never had, because

He lived by the sword

Without remorse, without a word of love to spare –

And now? Heavy the bar falls

The warden calls – ; and he?

The man behind the bars

Is not to be…

The Real Ones Do Die

Ashamed and tamed they came

Back from the Middle East

Not all returned – some are still missed

Some had to go, but they who stay

They know the truth of war…

And in one war there are many truths

As many as the fallen youths

As many as their wishes and desires

As the fires on the Fourth of July

In many-colored visions burst…

The White House of indecisions

A Master-Reader on a master stage

Hallows lies to eager ears

While another soldier fades away

And no-one knows, and no-one hears…

The orders come from Beyond

To the man who fits the bill

Who meets the demands of the command

He who does the kill –

He who was too young to fade away

Too young to fade away on a sunny day

Somewhere far, far away from home

In the field, all alone – there!

There is where the buck stops – there

Where the Duty to the Land is done –

So even those that came, left again

Ashamed, but tame no more

For the second, third, fourth time –

They knew full well who they were

And what they were going for…

While at home their mothers weep

And a mainstream host keeps his interview

With a fat-mouthed politician with no clue

Who had voted for your son to die

And now – will not even cry…

He will not hear you asking Why?

For he has a home to go to, a family

A hot bath, a restaurant dinner, quiet night

For he has his big fat seat, crony friends

Twining their macaroni hands, pulling –

Pulling strings, pulling – around and around

Each word a sound of a makeshift emotion

Each word a locomotion to the Land

They can neither feel nor understand

They can neither win nor possess with Pride…

A snide smile upon the upper lip – they

Think the same of him who is to sleep forever

Him, who came back to leave again, to die

To do his Duty, by-and-by, by his Belief

That is much larger than you or I –

Or those up there who will not say Why

And if – it is just another scheme, the same old lie

Dressed up to kill in a billion-buck gown

Unashamed, untamed – almost, one would think,

Like a brand new recruit – pampered, smooth…

Not ready for a drink of Scotch – not yet

Not having had his fill of youth – not yet

Unspent dreams, an i-pod in his ear –

All Heart and Soul and fear To Be

As good and brave as he only can:

An American Soldier, the American Man –

The one is for real, the other – ? A show.

Inexplicable show…

Why does the first one have to die?

I cannot tell. I do not know.

A Wake-Up Call

To Walt’s Drumtaps I wake up

A train running through my mind

La guerre that I have to venture:

Speak of Life! My dear, speak

To me as I speak to You – not

Of adventure, trying out your Fear

Like Miss Fortune a new gown, perhaps

Then? – a Good-Bye – God Bless…

And help those who help themselves –

To the sounds of War I awake

My first thought belongs to death

My second, as I take my breath,

Stays dedicated to what shall remain

Of this pain, sweat and fortitude –

Perhaps a solitary pair of boots, or

A pair of eyes staring at the sky…

No more? I shall be happy then

Lucky to have lived as a Man –

As a Human Being with dreams galore

With someone to love, though far away

And much desired and craved for

Here, and theneverafter – through blood,

Through sweat and tears and cries

That no-one hears but I – the lucky I

The stalwart I, marching to die perhaps

To preserve the tradition, to honor the past

To bless my Country and You, my