Memorial Day Weekend….

(“American Eagle”, Jane Kohut-Bartels, 2004, watercolor)

 

Memorial Day Weekend. My father, my cousin Donnie, my mother in law Betty, my father in law Hap, our son Christopher and those who have served our country, I am grateful. We take for granted their sacrifice, and they and so many others, are the backbone of our defense and safety of our Nation. We are one of the few in our neighborhood that fly the flag, and this just isn’t enough.  Our Nation is under stress /attack from many quarters. We salute them and their sacrifices.

Many people feel that patriotism is old fashioned, out of step with multiculturalism, etc.  It is not a situation  of “my country, right or wrong’.  It is a look back at all the struggles and sacrifice that has been given by so many to build this nation and for us to enjoy the freedoms we have today.  If you think these freedoms are just something in our constitution, think again.  I have a very dear friend across the globe who got in a lot of trouble for his posts on the internet.  His employer tried to fire him and he had to obtain an attorney. A four month battle and suspension, and the place of employment is demanding that he never use social media again.  On or off the job.  This is draconian and outrageous, but it makes me understand our freedoms, and especially our freedom of speech better.  We take so much for granted in this country.  We think that things fall from Heaven but they don’t.  They are hard won by the labors and sacrifice of lives.

I live and have for almost 50 years in a part of Atlanta where fully 70% of the young men have destroyed their future of any service by drugs, crime, gangs.  So many just rent their citizenship.  They do nothing but destroy the nation with their behavior.  Then there are others who serve and die in wars and this is a great tragedy that they don’t get to live out their lives that they have done the hard labor to protect our rights in this Nation.  We must honor these last men and women.  The Devil take the others.

Make Memorial Day a celebration of those who have served and sacrificed and not just a three day holiday of food. We are going to find something to attend or do, Fred and I, this weekend that makes Memorial Day become what it is supposed to be. Bless our Nation and our future.

Jane Kohut-Bartels

Copyrighted, 2017

The Lady Nyo, with glitter

GALLIPOLI, 1915….For All Memorial Days, regardless which War.

 

GALLIPOLI, 1915….

 

“Are you joining up, mate?”

“Why? It’s the Brit’s war”.

“Cause Aussies are part of the empire, ‘one for all’…you know the drill”.

Both young men soon in the trenches, barely eight meters from the enemy.

 

 ****************************************** 

 

“Hasim, leave off the plowing, we all go to fight the British.”

“My wheat will not be planted in time for the rains.”

“Forget the planting…leave the plowing to the women.  If you don’t go, the infidels will take your fields… Once more our country will be invaded.” 

Both young men crawled into their trenches, pushing past bodies bobbing like apples in gore.

The slaughter was horrific.  New men replaced dying men. Then, within hours, they too were dead. 

The trenches filled with blood, guts, madness – a stinking circle of Hell serving all faiths, welcoming all comers.  Plenty of seating.

 

The Aussie mates and the Turkish farm boys didn’t last the night.  Their bodies, shoved aside by a seemingly endless supply, sank in the mud.

 

These were the “Founding myths” of nations, claimed with pride by politicians who never saw the muck or gave their lives in battle.

 

 

Beautiful Gallipoli.

 

 Turkish soil and streams nourished by the mixed fruit of the dead.

To All Mothers, your children rest in the now gentle bosom of the land. They sleep as brothers. Your tears feed the oceans– forever.

 

 

Jane Kohut-Bartels

Copyright, 2007, 2012, 2014 and into the future as war doesn’t seem to quit.

 

 

“Gallipoli, 1915” … For All Memorial Days, regardless which War.

Daniel Wood, 2004

–
“Are you joining up, mate?”
“Why? It’s the Brit’s war”.
“Cause Aussies are part of the empire, ‘one for all’…you know the drill”.

–

Both young men soon in the trenches, barely eight meters from the enemy.

–

“Hasim, leave off the plowing, we all go to fight the British.”
“My wheat will not be planted in time for the rains.”
“Forget the planting…leave the plowing to the women. If you don’t go, the infidels will take your fields… Once more our country will be invaded.”

–
Both young men crawled into their trenches, pushing past bodies bobbing like apples in gore.

The slaughter was horrific. New men replaced dying men. Then, within hours, they too were dead.

The trenches filled with blood, guts, madness – a stinking circle of Hell serving all faiths, welcoming all comers. Plenty of seating.

The Aussie mates and the Turkish farm boys didn’t last the night. Their bodies, shoved aside by a seemingly endless supply, sank in the mud.

These were the “Founding myths” of nations, claimed with pride by politicians who never saw the muck or gave their lives in battle.

–

Beautiful Gallipoli.

Turkish soil and streams nourished by the mixed fruit of the dead.

To All Mothers: your children rest in the now gentle bosom of the land. They sleep as brothers. Your tears feed the oceans– forever.

–
Jane Kohut-Bartels
Copyright, 2007, 2012, 2013 and into the future as war doesn’t seem to quit.

“Gallipoli, 1915”

Five years ago I wrote this for Memorial Day. It is anti-war, as a mother I have a 24 year old son in the US Navy, now somewhere in the Horn of Africa.  I post this in tribute to my father, my deceased in-laws and to my belief that war brings no good to any nation.

Lady Nyo 

–

“Are you joining up, mate?”

“Why? It’s the Brit’s war”.

“Cause Aussies are part of the empire, ‘one for all’…you know the drill”.

Both young men soon in the trenches, barely eight meters from the enemy.

————- 

“Hasim, leave off the plowing, we all go to fight the British.”

“My wheat will not be planted in time for the rains.”

“Forget the planting…leave the plowing to the women.  If you don’t go, the infidels will take your fields… Once more our country will be invaded.”

Both young men crawled into their trenches, pushing past bodies bobbing like apples in gore.

The slaughter was horrific.  New men replaced dying men. Then, within hours, they too were dead.

The trenches filled with blood, guts, madness – a stinking circle of Hell serving all faiths, welcoming all comers.  Plenty of seating.

The Aussie mates and the Turkish farm boys didn’t last the night.  Their bodies, shoved aside by a seemingly endless supply, sank in the mud.

These were the “Founding myths” of nations, claimed with pride by politicians who never saw the muck up close or personally.

 

***************************** 

Beautiful Gallipoli.

 Turkish soil and streams nourished by the mixed fruit of the dead.  

All Mothers, your children rest in the now gentle bosom of the land. They sleep as brothers. Your tears feed the oceans forever.

Jane Kohut-Bartels

Copyright, 2007, 2012

“Gallipoli, 1915”, posted for Oneshotpoetry

 

Daniel Wood, 2004

 

Gallipoli, 1915 

“Are you joining up, mate?”

“Why? It’s the Brit’s war”.

“Cause Aussies are part of the empire, ‘one for all’…you know the drill”.

Both young men soon in the trenches, barely eight meters from the enemy.

*********

“Hasim, leave off the plowing, we all go to fight the British.”

“My wheat will not be planted in time for the rains.”

“Forget the planting…leave the plowing to the women.  If you don’t go, the infidels will take your fields… Once more our country will be invaded.”

Both young men crawled into their trenches, pushing past bodies bobbing like apples in gore.

The slaughter was horrific.  New men replaced dying men. Then, within hours, they  too were dead.

The trenches filled with blood, guts, madness – a stinking circle of Hell serving all faiths, welcoming all comers.  Plenty of seating.

The Aussie mates and the Turkish farm boys didn’t last the night.  Their bodies, shoved aside by a seemingly endless supply, sank in the mud.

These were the “Founding myths” of nations, claimed with pride by politicians who never saw the muck up close or personally.

***********

Beautiful Gallipoli.

 Turkish soil and streams nourished by the mixed fruit of the dead.  

Mothers, your children rest in the now gentle bosom of the land. They sleep as brothers. Your tears feed the oceans forever.

Jane Kohut-Bartels

Copyright, 2007, 2011

Veteran’s Day, and a short piece: “Gallipoli, 1915”

In the US it’s Veteran’s Day today, originating I believe on November 11, 1919….from the war that was supposed to end all wars, WWI.  It didn’t but people were hopeful back then.

Bill Penrose, a good friend and excellent writer, is up in Canada attending to his father-in-law who is 95 years old.  He’s doing fine, both of them,  and tells me today is Memorial Day in Canada. Old men are wearing their uniforms, or parts of them, and metals are prominent.  Bless them all.

Our only child, a son,  is in the Navy, now almost a year.  We haven’t seen him since early December, and hope he will be home for Christmas.  He’s been in Glasgow, Scotland, the last time we heard from him, and should be back in Norfolk soon.

Gallipoli was horrific enough, and I post this piece, what is called a ‘flasher’ of 200 words here in remembrance of all veterans…living and dead.

Lady Nyo

GALLIPOLI, 1915

“Are you joining up, mate?”

“Why? It’s the Brit’s war”.

“Cause Aussies are part of the empire, ‘one for all’…you know the drill”.

Both young men soon in the trenches, barely eight meters from the enemy.

“Hasim, leave off the plowing, we all go to fight the British.”

“My wheat will not be planted in time for the rains.”

“Forget the planting…leave the plowing to the women.  If you don’t go, the infidels will take your fields… Once more our country will be invaded.”

Both young men crawled into their trenches, pushing past bodies bobbing like apples in gore.

The slaughter was horrific.  New men replaced dying men. Then, within hours, they  too were dead.

The trenches filled with blood, guts, madness – a stinking circle of Hell serving all faiths, welcoming all comers.  Plenty of seating.

The Aussie mates and the Turkish farm boys didn’t last the night.  Their bodies, shoved aside by a seemingly endless supply, sank in the mud.

These were the “Founding myths” of nations, claimed with pride by politicians who never saw the muck up close or personally.

*********************************************************

Beautiful Gallipoli.

Turkish soil and streams nourished by the mixed fruit of the dead.

All Mothers, your children rest in the now gentle bosom of the land. They sleep as brothers. Your tears feed the oceans forever.

Jane Kohut-Bartels

Copyright, 2007, 2010

Gallipoli, 1915

This was written three years ago, coming out of  a discussion about war in general.  Monday is Memorial Day in the US.  Our only child is now in the US Navy and we pray for the safety of all soldiers, regardless of nation.

Most of us know little about World War I, and I confess to be one. There were many campaigns and the reference of “Founding Myths” relates to this two-fold:  In Turkey, it was an overthrow of the old Ottoman Empire and the establishment of the independence of Turkey as a nation.  In Australia and New Zealand, it was the first conflict that they, a part of the British Empire, were involved in WWI.

In a campaign that lasted for  nine months, the casualties were horrific on both sides:  220,000 (50%) on the British forces side, 253,000 (60%) on the Turkish alliance side.

-Lady Nyo

Gallipoli, 1915

“Are you joining up, mate?”

“Why? It’s the Brit’s war”.

“Cause Aussies are part of the empire, ‘one for all’…you know the drill”.

Both young men soon in the trenches, barely eight meters from the enemy.

—

“Hasim, leave off the plowing, we all go to fight the British.”

“My wheat will not be planted in time for the rains.”

“Forget the planting…leave the plowing to the women.  If you don’t go, the infidels will take your fields… Once more our country will be invaded.”

Both young men crawled into their trenches, pushing past bodies bobbing like apples in the gore.

The slaughter was horrific.  New men replaced dying men. Then, within hour, they were dead, too.

The trenches filled with blood, guts, madness – a stinking circle of Hell serving all faiths, welcoming all comers.  Plenty of seating.

The Aussie mates and the Turkish farm boys didn’t last the night.  Their bodies, shoved aside by a seemingly endless supply, sank in the mud.

These were the “Founding Myths” of nations, claimed with pride by politicians who never saw the muck up close or personally.

—

Beautiful Gallipoli.

Turkish soil and streams nourished by the mixed fruit of the dead.

All Mothers, your children rest in the now gentle bosom of the land. They sleep as brothers. Your tears feed the oceans forever.

Jane Kohut-Bartels,

Copyright, 2007