PEARL HARBOR POETRY
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PEARL HARBOR POETRY
When the poetry was on our original website, each poem had its own page and a wonderful background picture to go with it. These different backgrounds images on websites have since gone "out of style" but were missed by many people. So, in bringing back the poetry, I have included the original background that appeared with each poem back in 1999. Enjoy!
All poetry on this page is the property of the author, and may not be reprinted or used for any purpose without the written consent of the author.
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MEMORIAL TO THE U.S.S. ARIZONA
Beneath the waves, upon the sands,
down fathoms in the deep,
sunken men, in silent ships,
find refuge fast asleep,
exempted from
the challenge of,
victory or defeat ...
where flesh and steel rest as one,
beyond the reaches of conceit.
Beneath a mirror of twinkling light,
upon a brilliant sea,
gallant men in stalwart ships,
on a voyage not to be,
wait at their posts, in eternal patience,
without anxiety;
In a world of liquid echos and muted hostility,
where a delicate lace of ocean life
adorns the mighty guns
and consumes their awesome appearance
in the filtered light of the sun.
Glen Clay Booher
Copyright 1986
A MESSAGE TO THE VISITOR
The sacrifice of death cannot be sealed into antiquity by the date on a calendar, for it is ongoing, passing through all generations on its way to the end of time!
Please remember that as the last visitor leaves the memorial at the end of this day, over eleven hundred men must remain behind to sacrifice yet another evening, having made but one more days payment to eternity!
They ask for nothing but your remembrance from their place of silence beneath the waves, as darkness again falls over them, their dreams and their ship!
G C Booher
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Written in honor of a good friend of mine when I was a kid, USS Arizona survivor Guy S. Flanagan Jr. ~ Richard A. Krebes
To Guy Flanagan
Survivor, USS Arizona
I did not know him well
But this about him I can tell
He was kind of person you would like to meet
For he was quite friendly caring and understanding.
He was a World War Two veteran
Who long ago walked the Arizona's decks
Survived her violent death
And served on until war's end.
He had been a young ensign
Assigned to her third division
And on the day the Imperial Navy came striking
To his battle station on the Arizona he went running.
Among the ranks of heroes unsung
From that Sunday morning of the Rising Sun
My friend is forever standing
Lives of shipmates that day he was destined to be saving.
Taking charge of a group of sailors deep below decks
Trapped outside the dogged down door to
Turret number three's lower powder handling room
He saved them all from the cold hand of doom.
Calming the excited and frightened men
He tapped out with the watch on his wrist 'SOS'
To signal to those within that succour was needed
And said aloud prayers well chosen.
Those inside heard him praying and his Morse code signal taps
And undogged the door for those who were trapped
And at their head leading them inside was this young ensign
For his prayers the men later nicknamed him "Father Flanagan".
And as the waters of Pearl began to finally flood inside
Guy Flanagan and a fellow ensign ordered the men topside
He and his brother officer the last to be leaving
Closing the watertight hatches behind them as they were ascending.
After hiding inside Arizona's silent turret number three
Guy sent a runner outside to see what was happening
And when the man retured with news the ship was burning
Onto the fantail they came pouring.
They beheld sights quite grisly
That of men staggering out of the flames so deadly
But they tried to help them by manning the fire hoses
Upon Lieutenant Commander Fuqua's orders.
Yet there was not a drop of water in the mains
So when Fuqua gave the only order that remained
Guy joined those abandoning this ship once so beautiful and mighty
Now reduced to a broken burning charnel house so ghastly.
Precious few of his shipboard friends
Survived along with Guy Flanagan
He would always remember and cry for them
His friends who perished on December Seventh.
Guy told me some of his story back in the days of my youth
Days when I first began seeking history's truths
He was the first person I ever met
Who had lived through a famous past event.
And today his ashes are at rest
In the company of fellow shipmates
In the Arizona?'s number four turret
Back with his ship in her final resting place.
Yet still I have yet to make the journey
To Pearl and my friend's last place of resting.
Aboard that ship lost upon that date that will live in infamy
Oh how I wish with ease the Arizona I could be visiting!
I pray I will not be too late to visit the Arizona in her last resting place
Before she simply rusts away to the point none of her remains
To visit the ship over which in my heart always hovers my friend's face
My friend the first person I ever knew who was at Pearl on that tragic Sunday.
My friend whom I wish I could have known him better
That more often we could have talked together
Oh Guy what more could you have told me
Of your time on the Arizona and the day she met her destiny?
And so in closing here's to you Guy Flanagan
You were a kind person I will always be remembering
You the first Pearl Harbor survivor and World War Two vet I ever met
Thank you so much for your service to my country!
Copyright 2007 Richard A. Krebes
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DEDICATED to Every man who served aboard the USS Arizona BB-39 - 1916-1941
A DAY REMEMBERED
The Navy launch slowly pulled away from the USS ARIZONA MEMORIAL pier and proceeded to the glistening white edifice in the distance. As we approached, emotions overwhelmed me. I gazed upon the waters covering the broken hull of the USS ARIZONA BB-39 and my thoughts returned to 7 December 1941.
I heard the cries of every man who died.
I felt the pain they felt.
I cried the tears shed in longing for the loved one that will never be seen or heard again.
As their souls left their earthly bonds,
I felt the omnipresence of the ALMIGHTY.
50 years have passed and the pain remains.
I looked down on the weathered deck of the ARIZONA and did not see the rusting hulk but the teakwood deck bleached white from holy stoning with sand, brick and salt water. The glistening brass was flawless from many hours of 'bright work' by her crew. I saw the spotless superstructure, foremast and the mainmast. I felt the same "Espirit de Corps" her crew still feels.
I felt a part of her was a part of me.
The foremast was the heart of ARIZONA. The life blood flowed from the Captain's bridge through every division from the 'deck apes' to the 'black gang'.
As the Day of Infamy dawned, the USS ARIZONA was calm. It was the beginning of the normal Sunday routine. The old girl was relaxing in the early morning sunlight along with her crew except for those on duty. On the fantail, the ship's band prepared to play for the raising of the National Ensign - - AND THEN - - devastation and tragedy decended upon our grey lady and she fought back. SHE DID FIGHT BACK!
Captain Franklin Van Valkenburg and RADM Issac C. Kidd were on their respective bridges. Men were at their battle stations. She was strafed and bombed. The final death dealing projectile struck the starboard side of the number 2 turret, penetrated the steel deck and ignited the black powder in the magazine below. The massive blast shook the 34,000 ton, 608 ft. super dreadnought from stem to stern, raised her 40 feet into the air - - she shuddered - - burning she settled back into the mud of Pearl Harbor, her back broken, taking 1177 young lives with her.
The steel of her forward deck peeled back like the petals of a flower.
The foremast, the heart of the ship, looked down on the inferno and her dead crew. Her heart broken, she bowed her head - - and died.
ARIZONA still bleeds.
One drop of oil every few seconds emerges from her hull, slowly floats to the surface and bursts into a rainbow of irridecent hues that spread over her water covered deck. Her hull cradles in her womb the crew still aboard.
ARIZONA will live on in our hearts, souls and minds.
Copyright 1992 Lorraine E. Marks
Poem courtesy of Lorraine E. Marks-Haislip
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Remember Pearl Harbor
God's eyes, I saw through today
As our ship sank deep
The bullets raced, I lost my pace
Where my comrades now do sleep
A morning's to be beautiful
But today she doesn't sing
For her bow lay sunken beneath the reef
Where she cannot mend her wing
I followed a cry of my brethern
Only to find him gone
His body lay beaten by defeat
And my own soul is not my own
I ran so far to escape the smoke
That claimed too many men
I held my breath above the waters
And prayed for it to end
I swam away from burning screams
I tried to reach the shore
But death creeped up and creeped behind
Every shipyards door
My body, untouched by flames of hate
Grasped for Graces hand
But as my own be scared unharmed
I could not bear to stand
Oh, where to turn, I am not burned
Can I offer up my life?
Can I find my commander for some strength?
And finalize this strife
No, the day not begun, I'm in the dark
And mercy is far behind
The powerful rush in the ocean's mouth
Swallows my mankind
I swam awhile, a thousand miles
Without identity
My dizzy head searched the land
But found no tranquility
A panoramic view, I took
A picture never to die
Will no man see its color
And no one really know why
I saw them dead, I saw them live
I saw black in morn's light
I saw some strange, some familiar
But none knew me by sight
I prayed to aid those with some hope
And those without as well
I gave without a second thought
Through that unearthly hell
This is where I stand, my friends
I have escaped my death
From bombs, bullets, and gunpowder
I have a second breath
I could never express what happened
That day of infamy
But what I could ever tell you
May complete this history
My heart, it aches, my eyes, they cry
For those soldiers taken that day
We tried like hell to survive
But with our own, we paid
I never will forget that day
That cold day in December
For those who gave and continue to give
Pearl Harbor, I will remember...
Copyright 1999 by Trina R. McCurdy
Grand-Daughter of Survivor
Russell J. McCurdy
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My name is Alan Anthony Brando.
I am 40 years old.
I was born & raised in Brooklyn, New York.
I have served in the USN for 61/2 years (1978-84), onboard the:
U.S.S. John Paul Jones (San Diego 32nd Street Naval Station)
U.S.S. Lockwood (forward deployed in Yokosuka, Japan 1981-83)
U.S.S. Barbey (Long Beach Naval Shipyard).
I am currently a Chef, catering in the Dallas/Fort Worth area of Texas.
I also write for our weekly town newspaper, The Justin Whistler. My column is titled: 'Chef Anthony's- View From The Kitchen'. Last year, I felt deeply moved (as an artist...ex-sailor...human being) to create a literary work that would convey to those who know, as well as to those who have no idea just what took place 59 years ago. One note of interest: my older twin brothers were born on December 7th.
It is with a spirit of humility & honor that I submit the following which is a reflection of my first visit to Pearl Harbor almost 20 years ago, aboard the USN Destroyer U.S.S. John Paul Jones. It is also a dedication to those members of our Armed Forces who were there 59 years ago, one early Sunday morning.
Tomorrow Never Comes, For Them
The quiet calm surrounded me, as the waters moved without splashing.
Slowly...slowly...slower now.
Nearing the mouth of the harbor; Pearl Harbor, Hawaii.
No wordswere spoken, only the crackling of the air
like power lines in the midst of a storm.
A mental reminder of the bursts of gun fire, and
exploding bombs, as life slipped away that day; December 7, 1941.
Dressed in white, along the rail we stood.
Knowing soon we would tow the line and secure this
massive piece of floating steel to a concrete pier.
Neither of which could withstand for very long the
bombardment of man's own evil intentions.
Planes in quick descent once raped the land of every form of life.
Stealing away all existence, leaving behind the flames of death
and the cries of twisted flesh.
An empire bent on dominion, from the land of the rising sun.
In time they would come to know of pain on a much larger scale,
but for now the liquid graves lie hauntingly.
Calling out to anyone and receiving hope from no one.
In the morning light and in a caption of time came the changes
of the day that would last much longer still.
My vision blurred and with trembling hands I saluted.
Giving honor to my fallen comrades.
Deep within the very bowels of me I felt the waves of shame and disgrace.
Coursing through me to the very tips of my fingers.
To only stain my chest with tears.
"Why?" my mind cried out! "Why?"
No sense of time nor reasons for beingsimply emotions.
The shame and disgrace replaced by
anger and the desire to lash out, but no, not today......not today.
The bugle call resounded, like the waking of the dawn.
As light paints its way across the sky
signifying it is day, the notes rang out with a somber chill.
No movement......only stillness.
It is then that the reality of man's ability to utterly destroy became evident.
Yes, the once gasping victims scratching steel doors until their fingers bled.
Seeking higher ground while oxygen is no more.
They slump forward as the water reaches critical mass
and tomorrow never comes, for them.
No......tomorrow never comes, for them.
In the morning light hang the 'Stars and Stripes'.
Occasionally lifting its head in the breeze, but not for long, not for long.
For now, it is a reminder of the sorrow and the eternity to come.
"Oh, where shall I be when the last trumpet sounds,
where shall I be when it sounds?"
Anthony Brando
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