History Through Poetry

Editor's Note: this month I received Memorial Day submission from a poet who goes by the name Ben. He wrote,

"I live in Sackets Harbor and graduated from Indian River Central having grown up in Evans Mills. Since retiring I have discovered a talent for rhyme. I write poems. I have a poem that combines personal experience with Sackets Harbor/American history in a rather strong way by the time it finishes.

This editor is smiling as "Ben" asked if this was something we would like to include in our May issue. The answer is below. It is long, but it is powerful and I can't think of a better way to remember events and/or read history. Enjoy.

Cemeteries and War and Cemeteries

They killed my president when I'z
just past three.
I'd just learned his name,
John Fitzgerald Kennedy
So Momma took me
across the street.
It was my first trip
to a cemetery.
A field of rocks.
A field of trees
and in between
memories.
Dates and names
hidden from me.
I didn't know the secret
I hadn't found the key
The writing on the stones
I couldn't yet read.
That was my first taste
of melancholy.

In 4th grade,
With reading bestowed.
A field of stone
once more across the road.
I looked, I saw and it showed
their names, dates and loves.
Seeds they had sown.
There's holes in their story.
How did they die?
The stones didn't tell.
The stones didn't lie.
Their hand's work
I couldn't find.
But I read their names
I'm so much less blind.
And I said their names.
I asked them out loud.
None of them answered.
Though they must of been proud
of the work of their hands
before they were put in the ground.

In a different place
when i was no longer a boy.
I got a job.
I became employed.
I would chauffeur.
And we would enjoy
a quiet spot in our cemetery
where we would deploy
and share a 6 pack.
Making no noise.
We'd fire one up
and pass it around.
Enjoying the spot
Making no sound.
Sharing with those
in hallowed ground.

I'm an old man now,
and I have returned,
to visit the friends,
for whom I still yearn.
Staring at a grave.
It's a sombre thing.
It's to past memories
we tend to cling.
Read their names
through your tears
and tender their praise.
Their names don't get said
near enough these days.
So say their name!
Say it right now!
Say their name!
Say it out loud!
Stop reading this stupid poem.
Stop reading it now!
Stand up and say their name.
Do it right now.
It's the most important thing
you can do today.
Do it now.
Stand up and say.
The name of a person
who'se passed away.
And left a hole in your heart
To this very day.
Say it.
Don’t be afraid.
Bring them back
Bring them back today.
All it takes is for
you to just say their name.

At the east end
of Lake Ontario.
Down to the south.
Sits a little town
where the Black
has it's mouth.
War with England
again and again.
To Sackets Harbor
the government did send
military equipment
and thousands of men.
To build ships
and then to lend
their hands to fight war.
Our land to defend.
The british had a plan.
An attack took place.
Their forces were repelled.
All safe for today.
We kept building ships.
But the british still hate
and returned again
to retaliate.
They came onto Horse Island
from our inland sea.
And took our militia
from Albany.
They killed us
and we killed them.
They took their dead
and wounded to sea.
It was too much for them,
too many casualties.
They asked can they bring
their wounded ashore.
We told 'em no.
They die aboard.
They had no choice.
Too many wounded to flee.
So they surrendered
to deal with injuries
and bury their dead. Not all at sea.

Our boys came from everywhere
All over the state.
They did it for nothing.
Many didn't get paid.
They got their own plot.
They were given a grave.
In a military cemetery
set back outa the way.
The thing about war
is you hope it'll take
a lot less lives
than the amount that it saves.
War is war.
It don't matter when.
It is horror for
families. Women and men.
The Band Played
Waltzing Matilda
again and again.
When will we learn that
we're better off friends.
But war will return
to this very land.
And i just hope
we can find one man to stand
and speak for the dead,
who today have live hands.
But tomorrow will be buried
6 feet in the sand.
Your sons and your brothers
from all over this land
will fight in their own towns
till they fall, can't stand.
Bones will break,
blood will flow,
guts will spill.
We'll bury our kids deep,
on top of the hill.
War is fought by the poor.
The rich have bad feet.
Your children will die.
Theirs wont even see
anything to distress them,
less their stung by a bee.
They'll be safe in their castle,
in desert or sea,
and hate on the rest of us.
Yes, you and me.
War ain’t over, it hasn't begun.
It may get bright soon
but it wont be the sun.
It'll be a population reducing
son of a gun.
So its agreed.
The deal is done.
Another world war brewing.
This won't be fun.
So say their names now.
Whether daughter or son.
And keep saying it forever
until war's done.
It wont bring them back
just memory.
But maybe they'll hear us
wherever they be.
Say their name
Before they're in the ground
Say their name.
Before they're name
can't be found.

This tome ain’t done.
I’ve been to that cemetery.
It made tears run.
Shouting at the sky,
Not knowing why
all the gravestones
said Soldier Unknown.
More than just one.
Row upon row
They died on our soil
Their blood soaked our loam.
Their families wait
but the boy never came home.
They didn’t know his fate
He died all alone.

So say their names now.
Whether daughter or son.
And keep saying it forever
until war's done.
It wont bring them back
just memory.
But maybe they'll hear us
wherever they be.
Say their name
Before they're in the ground
Say their name.
Before they're name
can't be found.

Say their name
Again and again.
Say their name
to remember them.
Say their name
in all that you do
Say their name
and they wont forget you.

By Ben

Ben has evolved from a retired gentleman who discovered he loves to put rhyme on paper. His friends know him as a prolific poet and we are meeting him for the first time today.

Editor's Note: Header photo used with permission from Internment.net. Military Cemetery, Sackets Harbor, Jefferson County, New York, GPS: 43.94852, -76.10543. These pages provide the location and history of cemeteries.