Posted by
Lucky1346 on Saturday, November 10, 2007 7:53:29 AM
My grandmother, Florence Burlingame Taylor, was a gifted writer, and poetess. Poetry was popular back in the old days and Gramma was never without poetic thoughts on hundreds of subjects.
But her poetry that means the most to me are the sometimes angry and often soothing rhymes about her soldiers off fighting the German and Japanese war machines in World War II.
Her poem "Apathy" could have been written today.
Gram was one of those women in the 40's who left the home to go and work in the factory to help with the war effort. She was one of the most sincere patriots I ever knew and it shows in her poetry.
I know Gr T would be pleased to know that I am sharing some of her poetry with you. (If you want to read more, Gram is published at http://www.rufusputnam.com/byways/poems.html).
God Bless our Troops!!
Apathy
11/11/43
Pearl Harbor is slipping too far out of sight
In the softening mists of time;
The cries of the innocent at Lidice
Fall on dull ears - accustomed to crime.
We're smug, with our jobs, and a fat pocket- book,
Home cooking and fireside ease;
The freedom to go to a game or a show,
Or to do just about as we please.
While our boys were dying in strange Sicily,
I witnessed - with burning shame
Some husky young men in a perky war plant
Camouflaging a poker game.
A woman - without any hostage to give -
Was decrying a pay check too lean,
And threatened to make all her drill pieces scrap
'Til they'd give her a lighter machine.
Yes, freedom for all has always been bought
By a few - in this land of the free;
But DON'T LET OUR PRECIOUS BOYS BE CRUCIFIED
ON THE CROSS OF OUR OWN APATHY
For Memorial Day - KEEPING FAITH
5/28/42
Across the years we are calling back to the "Minute Men" at Lexington,
To the gallant souls at Bunker Hill, who lost the fight, but laurels won
To the ragged men at Valley Forge, whose bloody footprints in the snow
Are crystallized into marble steps that lead to Freedom's high chateau. -
To all who died in order that a fine, free nation might have birth:
We promise you we'll keep intact the greatest nation on this earth.
To those who clashed at Gettysburg the men in blue, and men in gray:
Because you fought a noble fight, the Union stands like rock today.
To those who sank with the big ship, "Maine;" to those who lie in Flanders' Field:
We must justify your sacrifice. To a ruthless foe we will never yield.
To the Kiski boy, whom Saltsburg loved - whose watery grave is far away:
We cannot - will not - let you die in vain. This is our pledge today. -
And may the Everlasting arms safe-guard your brother - where he be.
God comfort Kenneth Woodle's folks - That gallant flyer - lost at sea.
Behold the heroes of Bataan! Corregidor! And the Coral Sea!
They have carried high bright Freedom's torch - For all the wondering world to see
We have kept the faith. We will carry on. We will cast our all into this fray.
With faith undying we'll keep flying the flag you loved, and love today.
Florence B. Taylor
SILVER STAR FOR PRIVATE PAINTER
3/22/45
The portals of Heaven stand open these days -
So steady - so terribly steady -
The march of young feet - in the mud-laden boots -
And the beat of brave hearts.
Lord, make ready
Your worthless mansions on Liberty Hill,
"With good hunting and fishing, (for zest).
And please give Harry V. Painter, dear Lord,
One of your biggest and best.
"He that loseth his life... shall find it again" -
In that Land where the blessed are,
Since he hurried away, with no thought for himself,
We are shipping his Silver Star. - Florence B. Taylor
(Cleveland Ohio)
Red Cross
3/8/45
Red should mark initial letter -
Emblem color of Red Cross;
D for dollars given gladly.
Counting selfish gain but dross,
Ravaging the shot and shell fire
Over in the battle zone,
Send the Red Cross to our wounded;
Save their lives. We must atone.
By Florence Burlingame Taylor, Cleveland Ohio
G.I. Christmas
12/9/43
Dear Mother and Dad:
It is late Christmas Eve. I've been to the U.S.O.,
Where we sang all the carols -
and Finklestein's Band put on a wonderful show.
But I hurried back to my own little bunk - to the annual rendezvous
With old Santa Claus - when we hang up our socks -
just as you did, and taught us to do
There's no open fireplace, no chimney for Nick,
no mantel to pin to at all;
But just for old times' sake I've pinned my big socks -
G.I. socks - up here on the wall
They look funny now - almost like bags
- disconsolate, empty you know;
But tonight, as I dream my pet dreams -
for you folks, and the Christmases of long ago,
They'll fill up to bursting, and then overflow,
transforming our bare barracks room
To a real Christmas wonderland -
two thousand miles from the war and its grimness and gloom.
The very first Christmas that I can remember
- lolly pop down in the toe;
A shiny blue ball - and a fuzzy wee dog,
who yipped when I squeezed him - so.
The next year a Ford truck in miniature;
a red fire engine following soon.-
The compass, the Ingersoll watch - Boy Scout knife
(then and now such a wonderful boon).
These were but the tangible tokens, of course,
that were seized upon with avid glee-
But now I look back - and I realize all
those Christmases stored up in me;
The hush of the twilight, the lights on the snow,
and the story of Jesus' birth;
The light in your eyes as you tucked me in bed
- and the carolers' song, "Peace on Earth",
My storehouse of happiness - hedged all about by your love,
and the lessons you taught;
The Sunday School stories, the sermons, the prayers;
of these my bright armor is wrought.
When I feel rebellious, disgruntled, fed up -
or sometimes spirits get low-
I think of George Washington at Valley Forge -
without socks in the snow
I'll draw from my storehouse of dreams, Dad and Mom
- from out of the lush year of the past:
I want you to know that you gave me the gifts of the spirit -
that surely will last
Through this hideous war - and the lean years to come;
and remember, when I'm far away,
No matter what happened, away down inside, I'm the boy that you raised.
I'm 1-A!
By Florence Burlingame Taylor, Cleveland Ohio
TO OUR BOYS IN THE SERVICE
10/21/43
Across the miles - to your training base,
Or across the vast, deep sea, -
To the ice-bound hut, or the tropic swamp;
To the gates of the enemy. -
To the farthest outpost we stretch out
Our hands, to draw you home;
Our hearts reach out, to bring you cheer -
No matter where you roam.
As God - with sacrificial love -
Gave us His Prince of Peace,
So you make untold sacrifice,
That war and hate may cease.
We'll keep our Christmas candles lit
And think of you with pride;
With hope that you will bring world peace
Before next Christmas-tide.
----- As you sort all the much-looked-for
letters from home
To the boys and the men "over there,"
We hope you discover this message for you -
For it's letting you know that we care,
So here's to a home-loving boy far away;
And though we are oceans apart,
We know you will hear our sweet Christmas bells ring,
For Christmas is found in the heart.
----- In the hot desert sands of our Valley of Death
Our Bill meets the grueling best.
Of all the fine lads in our wonderful church
He is certainly one of the best.
This training is foreign to his gentle ways;
Such orders we long to revoke, -
But, dear Bill, 'tis the lash of the wind and the storm
That develops the sturdiest oak.
Christmas Greetings and love from .....
By Florence Burlingame Taylor, Cleveland OH
The Casualties are Light
7/8/43
"The casualties are light," the news line reads,
As blazoned headlines tell of allied victories -
"The beginning of the end," our President
And others say; the cynic disagrees.
"The casualties are light," a mother reads -
Then meets the dreaded knock at her front door -
"The War Department... (steady now!) ... regrets ..."
The morning sun is dimmed ... forevermore.
"My son a 'casualty'? He is our world -
His father's radiant sun ... my star of hope ...
The bright fulfillment of our earthly dreams.
How dare the god of War thus interlope!"
Dear God in Heaven, take him safely home,
While outraged comrades carry on the fight, -
While every man and woman, youth, and child
Work valiantly - to keep the death list light.
By Florence Burlingame Taylor, Cleveland Oh
Priorities
5/7/42
There are priorities on steel
And many other metals;
No chromium for gadgets, nor
Aluminum for kettles.
We must use rubber sparingly;
'Tis allocated for
Air bombers, tanks, and trucks, and ships
The instruments of war.
We ration sugar, limit tea,
And save our precious wool
For soldier's blankets, uniforms, -
Our silk for rip-cord's pull.
In time of war, in time of peace
There is no priority
On kindness; no one holds on grace
A sure monopoly.
We need not allocate good deeds -
The steps in Heaven above;
There is no limit put on faith,
No rationing of love.
By Florence Burlingame Taylor, Cleveland Oh
http://www.rufusputnam.com/byways/poems.html