Healing Hearts in Hope Veteran's Retreat Center

Writer's Block

Poems and Short Stories

"Virus"

Due to the virus
being spread around
there is a reason
and it is sound
to postpone our event
coming up in May
and even our gathering
on clean-up day.

We'll keep in touch
and let you know
when all is clear
and it's safe to go
until then,
stay safe and sane
If you must go out
please use your brain.

"Combat Vet"

Still with tears,
Still with fears,
We tend to hide
what's inside.
It's hard to be ...
filled with pride,
When you're hated
from both sides.

You can't really know
a combat Vet,
You don't really see
what it is you get.
You see anger,
you see rage,
Distrust and vigilance
are on the next page.
There's hate and confusion,
tears for the dead.
All of us wish
it were us instead.
You'll not really know
and you'll never get
inside the head
of a combat Vet.

Storm Robison

"In Flanders Fields"

In Flanders fields the poppies blow

Between the crosses, row on row,

That mark our place: and in the sky

The larks, still bravely singing, fly

Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago

We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,

Loved and were loved, and now we lie,

In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:

To you from failing hands we throw

The torch: be yours to hold it high.

If ye break faith with us who die

We shall not sleep, though poppies grow

In Flanders fields.

by John McCrae (1872-1918)

"Getting Old"

So, was it me? Did I forget?

I don't know. I did, I bet.

No sign, no sticker,

Not printed in bold.

The crap that happens

when we get old.

Your hair quits growing

on top of your head.

It grows in your ears and nose instead.

Your rear gets flat and squeaks when you sneeze.

Your chest gets soft and droops to your knees.

A dough boy belly, can't see your toes.

loss of hearing and your eye sight goes.

Your body starts leaking from everywhere,

and they're trying to sell us diapers to wear.

They say this happens when we get old,

I don't know, I've never been told.

Storm Robison

My Grandpa

My grandpa, Norm "Storm" Robison is a Vietnam veteran. He was born on May 15th, 1950. After his 18th birthday, he made the decision to join the United States Marine Corps. He thought and believed that it was his duty as an American citizen. When he left on January 1st, 1969, his family was not happy with him. Regardless of their feelings towards it, he thought it was the right thing to do. While he was in the service, he had good days, but he had also had bad ones. He had really enjoyed drills, which consisted of marching and weapons training. He especially liked the marching, due to being a musician he enjoyed the rhythm. Sadly, with the good, there is always bad, he had lost his best friend, Chuck, in the war. May he rest in peace. On September 11th, 1970, he returned home, which was devastating for him. He came home alone. He was not welcomed home as a hero, but instead, he was called names and shunned. All of his belongings were gone and all the money he had saved while being overseas was gone, therefore, he had to start from scratch. Due to the "welcoming" he had gotten, he crawled in a hole and disappeared. Today, he is retired, living in Omak Wa. with his loving wife, Kathy. He has lots of family that are very thankful for what he did. He is vice president of "Healing Hearts in Hope Veteran’s Retreat Center." He also loves that, after all these years, it's nice to feel appreciated for his decision. In my interview with him, he said, “In the 1970s, people hated us when we returned home and that is why we “disappeared” for years. Hide and pretend it didn't happen.” If he had the chance to go back, he would make the same choice. He just wishes that he had not been the only one in his unit to make it home.

Taz Robison

"On Love and War"

By Teresa "Flying Eagle" Baird

Love brought Bill and me together. We were married January 1969. I was 18 and he was 20. The following month he enlisted in the Army. Since the draft was well and alive during that time, he felt he had better options by enlisting.

He did not believe in the war in Vietnam, but he believed in this country. By attending the microwave electronics school in Fort Monmouth NJ, he was told he could avoid Vietnam.

In reality, much to his dismay, soon after he arrived at the school, he was told that most of the men were sent to Vietnam after graduation. In spite of his objections to the Vietnam War, he was shipped out in January 1970 for a tour in Vietnam. Even though he did not want to go to war, he supported his country through service. He was proud to be an American.

After serving in the Army, he enrolled in college. The day he registered was his first day of negative feedback concerning Vietnam. He was told he was a baby killer. I remember the pale look of horror on his face when he returned home from the University. "I didn't kill babies, I kept radio systems up so people could get out of harm's way. I saved lives."

That shrinking horror secretly haunted him for decades. In July of 1987 delayed stress finally overcame him. Like Alzheimer's disease, it chased his spirit away and eventually destroyed his body. He died by suicide that fateful July day in 1987.

The tragedy has lingered with my family for years. Being in need of a wheelchair for mobility, due to multiple sclerosis, has given me time to sit, observe the world and to think. I have come to realize that everything is based on love.

I have experienced many forms of internal and external war. The struggles of life reach out for love. Human beings yearn for love, but many of us appear to be confused on how to get it. War is a desperate attempt to find love.

Love cannot be found by control. Love cannot be found through hate, power or greed. Only through the enlightenment of projecting love can we receive it.

I have heard both viewpoints for and against war in Iraq. I have tried to listen and be objective. I have observed protests against the war and support of our troops. The body counts remind me of newscasts during the Vietnam War.

I do not want this war. I do not want any war. I do support our military, however. Through experience, I realize they are doing their job. To demolish war we need to all project not only prayers for peace but love.

Teresa "Flying Eagle" Baird

Editorial published in early April 2003.