Grandpa was born a Corn Husker
before the market crashed.
One of nine, he grew
tall, lanky
a cornstalk topped
with dark tassels,
eyes like rich soil.
From cornfields to battlefields,
he mopped up Omaha Beach
before the ocean could rinse
the blood away.
In combat boots he toured
the arid sands of North Africa
and the stony ridges of Italy.
A grenade tore through
his best friend, like a combine
through a field,
planting kernels of steel
deep beneath his flesh,
which left
nightandaymares of war
cropping up
to boar through stem of peace
he fought so hard to cultivate.
Saving freedom overseas
he lost a son
on a stateside base,
a child playing army.
Leukemia tried to lay siege
his strength,
but he charged the battle lines
and forced it to retreat.
He secured smooth landings
for the early space shuttles,
drove a CAT in fields owned
by a Fortune 500,
as his family grew thin
in the shadow of fields
that once belonged to him.
Grandpa has outlived
his children and wife,
but he lives in 1945, and
it’s been ten years
since he knew my name.
Today fluid surrounds
Grandpa’s purple heart
as I wheel him through
the hospital wing.
It stopped beating once,
twenty years ago,
but Grandpa refused
to surrender in defeat.
He wears his rank insignia
proudly displayed on his cap.
The hospital guard
snaps to attention
saluting as we roll past.
Without a moment’s hesitation,
Grandpa salutes him back.
A contest entry
- shrapnel by Melissa Gayle.
400 points, ended October 21, 2007, 7 entries
Honorable mention
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest - Life of a Veteran. by Me a poet-maybe.
1750 points, ended December 25, 2007, 15 entries
Honorable mention
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Comments
1 - 6 of 6
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Powerful. The poem uses imagery and allusion, rather than (as if so often the case in such personal utterances) being used by them. Each stanza moves us closer to the bitter conclusion.
I watched my grandmother die in much the same way; and my father, too, although he served in Australia and the Philippines rather than Omaha Beach. I watched farming weaken and finally kill my grandfather; and my mother living already twenty years beyond my father.
Each of these experiences makes me understand the poem better, I think, and appreciate the control, the care, the difficulty of transmuting emotion into art that the poem displays. I've not read the other pieces in the contests, but they must really have been something to place ahead of this one.
Well done.
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Thank You
Thank you so much for sharing this poem with us.
He wears his rank insignia
proudly displayed on his cap.
The hospital guard
snaps to attention
saluting as we roll past.
Without a moment’s hesitation,
Grandpa salutes him back.
The above lines really got to me and brought tears to my eyes. This is very well penned.
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Thank you
Thanks for the poem, wish you the best with it.
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nightandaymares
bac
Two typo's I found in this piece, This is a great tribute to your grandfather, very descriptive of his time in the service, I wish you the best of luck in this contest
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you told a story. this was very well done.
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