Poetry
by

I took a step and then another and then I heard a scream.
I stepped the more, what’s that for… it got a little louder it seemed.

Down a step and then back up wondering where the noise was from?
Getting louder, thumping soundly, sometimes like a drum.

Listening to the left and then the right a moan, a pop, it’s loud.
Does noone hear it or do they just ignore it, these faceless people in the crowd.

Do they not care how loud it is, does it not fit their noble cause?
Searching, listening, looking, hearing the sharp noise sometimes will pause.

The sound keeps changing like it’s aging.
Sometimes a whisper other times raging.

Time is passing but I’m just pausing, trying to thing about the sound.
It sounds familiar but I can’t quite place it to anyone around.

It presses on my like I’m in a fight, being pushed into the ground.
I push back against the darkness and emptiness, truly eyes without a face.

A flash of light and I have my sight as a mirror the face I see.
Tattered and worn, scars that adorn, the face I see… is me.

I take a step and then another from who can this scream be?
I stop a moment and then I notice… the scream is coming from me.

Inside my heart is screaming loud I try to not let it show.
The pain I hide behind the smile, some will never know.
by

Is there a better way to get your kicks,

Than having your daughter turning 26.

So for this day I though I’d write a rhyme,

As I’ve been known to do from time to time.

 

My Daughter how lovely her name creates sparks,

Cause she got her name from Richard Marx.

Angelia is her name but she has two others,

We couldn’t make up our mind, blame her Mother.

 

When she was three a different song played,

She’d run to the TV and there she stayed;

To watch the ship fly across the screen she’d adore,

Watching as they went where no one had gone before.

 

When not peering into the tv traveling through space,

She would pick up a book and transport to another place.

Mysteries and adventure, buried treasure in the sand,

Reading would be her trek to another land.

 

But now we see as the years have gone past,

Still loving the things that had created a cast.

Those characters, their passion, those places did emboss;

But none so much as when she read of the Cross.

 

My Angelia, my daughter, my treasure and guide,

I see so much of what you placed inside.

Your spirit so calming your willingness to share,

What God has done for you, who can compare.

You give sound to those who cannot hear,

You hands speak peace to those that are near.

You teach little ones to seek and explore,

As you at that age knew and adore.

 

So here at 26 you continue your trek,

Looking for new horizons to explore I suspect.

Here from my window I sit so, so very proud

Maybe sometimes I say it a little too loud

 

But I can’t apologize for what you have become,

I might even say you are quite awesome.

But there is no hiding my infinite pride,

When I see what you have become deep down inside.

 

I hope in your life the Lord continues to bless,

This year, the next year, the next year and the next.

No greater adventure could I ever had flown,

Than to see how much in Christ you’ve grown.

 

At the end of my rhyme you are another year older,

A little wiser, more clever, more creative and bolder.

So when you look at your cake and count the candlesticks,

Remember this is the only time in your life that you’ll be 26.

by

Is there a better way to get your kicks,
Than having your daughter turning 26.
So for this day I though I’d write a rhyme,
As I’ve been known to do from time to time.

My Daughter how lovely her name creates sparks,
Cause she got her name from Richard Marx.
Angelia is her name but she has two others,
We couldn’t make up our mind, blame her Mother.

When she was three a different song played,
She’d run to the TV and there she stayed;
To watch the ship fly across the screen she’d adore,
Watching as they went where no one had gone before.

When not peering into the tv traveling through space,
She would pick up a book and transport to another place.
Mysteries and adventure, buried treasure in the sand,
Reading would be her trek to another land.

But now we see as the years have gone past,
Still loving the things that had created a cast.
Those characters, their passion, those places did emboss;
But none so much as when she read of the Cross.

My Angelia, my daughter, my treasure and guide,
I see so much of what you placed inside.
Your spirit so calming your willingness to share,
What God has done for you, who can compare.
You give sound to those who cannot hear,
You hands speak peace to those that are near.
You teach little ones to seek and explore,
As you at that age knew and adore.

So here at 26 you continue your trek,
Looking for new horizons to explore I suspect.
Here from my window I sit so, so very proud
Maybe sometimes I say it a little too loud

But I can’t apologize for what you have become,
I might even say you are quite awesome.
But there is no hiding my infinite pride,
When I see what you have become deep down inside.

I hope in your life the Lord continues to bless,
This year, the next year, the next year and the next.
No greater adventure could I ever had flown,
Than to see how much in Christ you’ve grown.

At the end of my rhyme you are another year older,
A little wiser, more clever, more creative and bolder.
So when you look at your cake and count the candlesticks,
Remember this is the only time in your life that you’ll be 26.

by

written by the Honorable Kentucky Colonel Rick Brewer (SGT. USAF)

The tomb of the unknown soldier is not unknown to me,
He had a wife, a child, oh yes; a fine family.
He chose to serve his county; the land of the free and brave,
Not knowing that in the process; it would be his own soul to save.

There was orders to follow; work to be done,
Sometimes the chore; sometimes some fun.
Though all the seasons bore down hard on him,
He would bare the snow and the sun; again and again.

They would give his missions some fine names: Endeavor, Storm, Revive
Each one seemed harder than before, but he did them all with pride.
All the while he did not know that the weapons of a government trade,
Were slowly, silently, causing his body to degrade.

As the poison of those many weapons was coursing through his veins,
He pressed on through the mission, smiling, through all his body’s pain.
His wife could see behind the smile; not knowing how it would end,
Seeing now there was a new silent war; one he might not win.

The government he served so bravely; fought him many a year,
Using words like: classified, top secret, security; seeking to create fear.
The media calls him forgotten, misplaced; he just cries “I’m here”.
But now just a page in a history book, on a shelf, in the rear.

The tomb of the unknown soldier is not unknown you see,
For as I strive to live each day, I know that tomb’s reserved for me.
So what do you write on the stone of a man whose life he gave?
He chose to serve his county; the land of the free and brave…

 

by

written by the Honorable Kentucky Colonel Rick Brewer (SGT. USAF)

A nice young man came walkin’ by
He asked, “Why do you fly that flag so high?
Those stars and stripes are tattered and worn
and a new flag would be better adorned…”

I answered back with a smile in place
gleaming through the scars deep on my face.
Why that flag was Grandpa’s, I begun,
He raised and lowered it with the daily sun.

Till he got the call to go to war,
to serve his country on a foreign shore.
You see Grandma refused to let it down
waiting for the day he was safe and sound.

So through the sun, rain and wind it blew,
She said cause that’s what Pappy’s going through.
No one was taking him in each night
as he braved the elements in his long fight.

Till on a sunny day the corner he round,
Grandpa was home safe and sound.
The next day the flag in the sky did soar
then he brought it in at night as he did once before.

For just a few years the flag waved proud
as Grandpa told his stories to the stirring crowd.
No one was more proud than Grandma, no not one
Till the next foreign war called their son.

You see now why this flag is tattered and worn
Grand Fathers, Fathers and Sons now have born,
the responsibility of keeping you free
which is why you see these scars on me.

It didn’t matter what type of harshness it was;
a beach, a jungle, a desert because
this flag has flown while we were gone
and our wives this tradition have carried on.

For three generations this flag has flown
through the rain and snow, wind and sun
Across the world for this country we roamed
This flag meant welcome home son, welcome home.

Written on behalf of My Grandfather, Kenneth Adler (Korea) & My Father, Kenneth Brewer (Vietnam). Their flag, handed down to me, was flown while I was deployed during Desert Storm and given to me upon Grandpa’s passing.

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