Freaky Styley

It's time to write again. This place is slowly infusing me with the will to put pen to paper. Out here, surrounded by all this dark energy and machinations of war and death, I have the urge to bring light.

I've been reading, which is another reason to start up again. It puts me on top of my game, and there's no reason to put my creative flow to waste, to die out here so feebly in the desert. This place will not be the death of me, but a place of baptism.

Now, I do not expect to wite ballads or epics or short stories or limmericks. I do not expect anything at all. I just know that I will put pen to paper and see what happens. Whatever comes forth will be unfiltered, unchoked.

Some may be too personal to post here. Some may be utter nonsense. Some may be deep in a matter unfathomable. But as I look out at all these boys, marching to the drums of war, I see not fine tuned killing machines, but different walks of life.

There are so many stories, here in this desert, waiting to be captured. As I lay on my cot, counting the minutes, I can feel the harsh winds whispering them in my ears. It's time I listened.

For Poppa

The world lost a great man today. My grandfather (who all of us kids affectionately knew as Poppa) has passed away. I'm not much for believing in religion, but if Heaven exists, I know Poppa is up there sitting on a Lay-Z-Boy recliner made of clouds.

I'll be the first to admit that I regrettably don't have too many memories of Poppa. But, for some reason, it comforts me. You see, Poppa was the kind of person that you remembered not for the actions he took, but for the person he was. One of those rare few individuals that would give you the shirt off his back, no questions asked.

In his eyes you would find no judgment, no hesitation. He had a goofy, toothful smile that just beamed with childhood innocence and nostalgia, like a boy who just found his long lost toy. As great of a grandfather as he was, I am more inclined to put him in the friends category.

I don't know what Poppa was like back in his teen years, but I like to believe he was a bit of a rebel. I always thought I could see a little twinkle of mischief in his eyes. Those eyes, they were filled to the brim with soul and kindness and love.

I didn't know too much about his past, not for lack of want, but because Poppa was humble, and didn't care much to talk about himself. I remember his pictures in an Air Force uniform and his medals hung in frames scattered around the house. You wouldn't think it to look at him, but Poppa served over three decades in the armed forces, climbing his way to the rank of Chief Master Sergeant, which is no easy feat by any stretch of the imagination. He survived through three wars as well. As a Marine, I can safely say my Poppa was one of the Few and the Proud, and I would have been honored to have a man like him as my squad leader. Poppa was a fighting man, right up to the very end.

He was also a loving man, and a faithful man. He stayed married to my Omi for over 50 years, and I'm confident he would have stayed with her until the end of time. He was a wonderful father, to my mother, her sisters, and her brother. You raised up one hell of a family Poppa, but I think my Ma got her strictness from Omi, but we'll keep that a secret.

In turn, the grandkids are all grown up Poppa. I hope we made you proud of us, as we were proud of you. When we all have children, and our children have children, we will tell them stories about you, and how you were kind to us, and everybody.

In short Poppa, you were a wonderful grandfather, and an even better person. I wish I would have spent more time with you, but somehow, I don't think you mind too much. You were, and still are, a beautiful example of how a man of virtue should act. The world unknowingly cries over your departure, and your family misses and loves you greatly. And I love you too Poppa. Rest in peace.

Sincerely, Your Grandson,
   Tyler