Most all of the poems on the following pages came from the offical publication of the KOREAN WAR VETERANS ASSOCIATION. That publication is known as "THE GRAYBEARDS". For all KOREAN war veterans that visit this site and are not already members of the KOREAN WAR VETERANS ASSOCIATION, I urge you to join.For more information on this organization click on the Combat Infantry Badge below. This will take you to the KOREAN WAR VETERANS ASSOCIATION web page.

(If any one has a poem that they would like to see on this page or for that matter if any one has a poem that they would like to share, please image

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(Author: A.Lawrence Vaincourt)

He was getting old and paunchy,
And his hair was falling fast,
And he sat around the Legion,
Telling stories of the past.

Of a war that he had fought in,
And the deeds that he had done,
In his exploits with his buddies,
They were heros,everyone.

And 'tho sometimes, to his neighbors,
His tales became a joke,
All his buddies listened,
For they knew whereof he spoke.

But we'll hear his tales no longer,
For ol'Bob has passed away,
And the world's a little poorer,
For a soldier died today.

He won't be mourned by many,
Just his children and his wife,
For he lived an ordinary,
Very quite sort of life.

He held a job and raised a family,
Quietly going on his way,
And the world won't know his passing,
Tho a soldier died today.

When politicians leave this earth,
Their bodies lie in state,
While thousands note their passing,
And proclaim that they were great.

Papers tell of their life stories,
From the time that they were young,
But the passing of a soldier,
Goes unnoticed, and unsung.

Is the greatest contribution,
To the welfare of our land,
Some jerk who breaks his promise,
And cons his fellow man.

Or the ordinary fellow,
Who in times of war and strife,
Goes off to serve his country,
And offers up his life.

The politician's stipend,
And the style in which he lives,
Are sometimes disproportionate,
To the service he gives.

While the ordinary soldier,
Who offered up his all,
Is paid off with a medal,
And perhaps a pension,small.

It's so easy to forget them,
For it is so long ago,
That our Bobs and Jims and Johnnys,
Went to battle,but we know.

It was not the politicians,
With their compromise and ploys,
Who won for us the freedom,
That our country now enjoys.

Should you find yourself in danger,
With your enemies at hand,
Would you really want some copout,
With his ever waffling stand.

Or would you want a soldier,
Who has sworn to defend,
His home, his kin, and country,
And would fight until the end.

He was just a common soldier,
And his ranks are growing thin,
But his presence should remind us,
We may need his like again.

For when countries are in conflict,
Then we find the soldiers part,
Is to clean up all the troubles,
That the politicians start.

If we can not do him honor,
While he's here to hear the praise,
Then at least let's give him homage,
At the ending of his days.

Perhaps just a simple headline,
In the paper that might say,



(Poem submited by Francis M. Macy)

We didn't do much talking,
We didn't raise a fuss,
But Korea really happened,
So please-remember us,

We all just did our duty,
But we didn't win or lose,
A victory was denied us,
But we never got to choose,

We all roasted in the summer,
In the winter, damm near froze,
Walking back from near the Yalu,
With our blackened, frozen toes.

Like the surf the enemy kept coming,
With their bugles in the night,
And we fired in to their masses
Praying for the morning light,

All of us just had to be there,
And so many of us died,
But now we're all but half forgotten,
No one remembers how we tried,

We grow fewer with the years now,
And we still don't raise a fuss,
But Korea really happened,
So please-remember us.



(By Arnold A.Muniz)

Forgotten fields of dirt and snow,
Of lands so far away,
Where mountain winds still chilly blow,
And only chance holds death at bay.

Forgotten hell across the sea,
That land of snow and mud,
It lives today in memory,
In graves unmarked except by blood.

Forgotten graves, forgotten land,
Where MIA's in glory rest,
Remembered only by kin or clan,
And fellow warriors home at last.

Forgotten by a country inclined,
To put the war away,
No marching band, no welcome sign,
No thank you sir, just go your way.

Away on foreign fields they sleep,
Perhaps by mountain plot,
Remembered just by those who weep,
By kin, by veterans, and God.



(By Sgt.James Groves, USMC)

Time to get up, for this is the day,
It happens just once every year
A day to be solemn and proudly say,
We remember, and perhaps shed a tear.

Today we pay tribute to our Nations dead
With salutes, with parade and with song,
Inspiring speeches are faithfully read,
Throughout this land to which we belong.

As I look out over this quite place,
And think about who rests here,
I imagine each person a familiar face,
Or a loved one someone holds dear.

Over there is George, he died at Bull Run,
There's Alex, he was on San Juan Hill,
Here lies Robert, he was killed in Verdun,
And on Iwo,a motar got Bill.

From Korea they finally brought Allen home,
And Brian was brought back from Nam,
From a new operation called Desert Storm,
One of the few who died was Tom.

But where are the people on this special day?
Have they forgotten what this day is for?
In the distance I hear children at play,
But the sound of the parade is no more.

Perhaps they'll come later, their tribute to pay,
Surely they won't forget those who rest here,
Each new generation will respond in its way,
To remember this day every year.

The sun sets now, few people have come,
Seeking names on markers shown,
No one visited me, but I am now home,
On my marker is written, "Unknown"



(By Cpl.Tom Lyons,U S Army, 2nd Inf.Div.)

Why have they forgotten?
Will some one let me know.
A war fought through the summers,
And through the winters snow.

Will any one out there listen,
To what we have to say?
While fighting in Korea,
We lived from day to day.

We were but young Americans,
Sent off to fight that war,
After it had ended,
You heard of us no more.

Many young Americans,
Sacrificed their flesh and blood.
While serving in Korea,
They died while fighting in mud.

Those veterans now lay,
In sacred ground so hallow,
Before this war was over,
Many more GI's did follow.

We were proud to serve our country,
In that far off land,
Why has our nation forgotten,
We shall never understand.



(Author Rev.Charles Fink)

I've played a lot of roles in life,
I've met a lot of men.
I've done some things I'd like to think,
I wouldn't do again.
And though I'm young,I'm old enough,
To know someday I'll die,
And think about what lies beyond,
Beside whom I would lie.

Perhaps it doesn't matter much,
Still, if I had my choice,
I'd want a grave amongst soldiers when,
At last death quells my voice,
I'm sick of the hypocrisy,
Of lectures by the wise,
I'll take the man, with all his flaws,
Who goes, though scared, and dies.

The troops I know are commonplace,
They didn't want the war,
They fought because their fathers and
Their fathers had before.
They cursed and killed and wept-
God knows, they're easy to deride,
But bury me with men like these,
They faced the guns and died.

It's funny, when you think about it,
The way we got along,
We'd come from different worlds,
To live in one no one belongs,
I didn't even like them all,
I'm sure they'd all agree,
Yet, I would give my life for them,
I hope some did for me.

So bury me with soldiers, please,
Though much maliigned they be,
Yes, bury me with soldiers, for
I miss their company.
We'll not soon see their like again,
We've had our fill of war.
But bury me with men like them,
Till someone else does more.



(Submitted by Thomas Lynn)

I walked among my comrades brave,
Upon that bloody hill,
And saw no movement,none at all,
For it was deathly still.

There were no cries from trembling lips,
No soldier's blasphemy,
I called their names out, every one,
But no one answered me.

I know each rock, each clump of tree's,
That marks this hallowed ground.
For in my mind I see them fall,
And I hear the battle sound.

Now the silence takes my breath,
For all that I can see,
Are rows on rows of crosses,
Where old comrades used to be.



(By Dillon Staas)

Oh gentle, loving people of the land of morning calm,
Hold sacred your new freedom, and listen to my psalm,
The seed of many nations came from far across the sea,
And paid a price on your behalf, for freedom isn't free.

The gripping fear, the stench of death, no longer fill your mind.
The horrors of the battle field have all been left behind.
Your children, dreaming peaceful dreams, safe in your arms each night,
Wake with a smile of innocence, to face the morning light.

Your homes, secure, on quite streets, bring comfort to the soul,
From verdant hillside terraces to valleys down below.
Your mountain streams, now running clear, without a trace of red,
No sound you hear, no crying from the dying and the dead.

So when good fortune smiles on you and fills your heart with cheer,
Remember those who fought and died and left their futures here.
Give thanks to them and make a special place within your heart,
That you and they, forever friends, shall never drift apart.



(Submitted by Claudie Little, Member of DAV)

A memorial to remember our vets,
The many young men that did their best.
Let them be remembered by a memorial near city hall,
These old vets, some gave their all.

Many years passed since those wars were fought,
Not many remember what they were fighting for.
Ask any old vet, he'll have war stories to tell,
About fighting and dying, and how war was hell.

Most of our vets are old and gray,
Many of them have pased away.
To all the vets who answered the "Call",
There is a memorial near city hall.

Across from city hall near the green grass,
Some will look, some will pass.
Many will stand, many will pause,
And remember the vets, who died for a cause.

A memorial is a place to stand alone,
And think of our vets who didn't make it back home.
This memorial is long overdue,
For all our vets and their loved ones too.

Many will come and many will see,
This five-war Memorial, and all that are free.
We shall always remember, with the memorial near city hall,
And all our veterans, GOD BLESS THEM ALL.



(By Russ Cloer)

Etched in an old soldier's memory,
Are the faces of comrades he knew.
Faces reflecting the terror and suffering,
The exhaustion of endless battles,
And the courage to see them through.

Those long gone faces,
Haunt the old soldiers memory.
And yet, they sustain him too.
They're reminders of the price of freedom,
To we the remaining few.




(By Larry E.Kinard)

Sleep on,oh gallant knights so bold,
Your rest you've surely earned.
Use not for drapes a ground thats cold,
But warm from hearts that learned.

From hearts that learned from what you gave,
And how you stood the test.
That freedom lies not in the grave,
But where the soul shall rest.

How many tears can freedom give,
Or prayers that you may know.
That you have died that we may live,
In a land that we love so.

If only words could reach thine ears,
And tell of all you've done.
Each humble cross a stepping stone,
To peace that you have won.

Yes, sleep my brothers on and on,
In your cold and sacred bed.
Sing birds, sing in best of tone,
For the proudest of the dead.



(Author:Cpl.Tom Lyons, 2nd Inf Div)

We met in Korea you and me,
As in that land death set you free.
I remember when you died my friend,
An incoming round your life did end.

Tears blurred my vision when you were killed,
Upon that hill your blood was spilled.
Brought back home you now sleep alone,
Date of death upon your stone.

The years have come and gone,
It seems they just flew by.
It's called America's forgotten war,
In which my friend did die.


"TAPS KOREA 1950-1953"


(Submitted by Andrew J.Lynch)

I held no dream of fortune vast,
Nor sought undying fame.
I did not ask when life was past,
That many know my name.

I may not have owned the skills to rise,
To glory's topmost height.
Or won a place among the wise,
But I could keep the right.

And I could have lived my life,
On earth contented to the end.
If but a few should have known my worth,
And proudly called me friend.



(Author unknown.)

God looked around His garden,
And found an empty place.
He then looked down upon the earth,
And saw your tired face.

He put His arms around you,
And lifted you to rest.
God's garden must be beautiful,
He always takes the best.

He knew that you were suffering,
He knew that you were in pain.
He knew that you would never,
Get well on earth again.

He saw the road was getting rough,
And the hills were hard to climb.
So He closed your weary eyelids,
And whispered "Peace be thine.

It broke our hearts to lose you,
But you didn't go alone.
For part of us went with you,
The day God called you home.




(By:Loy Lovitt, 8055 MASH)

On this magnificent ash woods site,
Our memorial stands to Lincoln's right.
Here on our nations capital mall,
We honor Korean Veterans who answered the call.

As we gather here, tears will shed,
For the blood of our buddies, our honored dead.
We ask God in heaven to give them rest,
America knows they gave their best.

President Truman was right, when he sent us to fight,
The United States would stop Communist might.
Battles raged from south to west, north to east,
In the end, Communists gained the least.

On the hills and mountains, valleys and coast,
The U.S.A. and South Korea gained the most.
We stopped Communism, kept South Korea free,
Thanks to Korean Veterans like you and me.

Before we leave our memorial here today, let us pray aloud,
We are all Korean Vets, we are very, very proud.
Our mission was accomplished, to build our memorial was a must,
Freedom was victorious because our cause was so just.



By:Bob Hammond 7th Div

In the hills of North Korea,
By a lake of azure blue.
Rides a farmer in his ox-cart,
On the road to Hagaru.

He is singing songs of history,
That his father taught to him.
As his eyes survey the scenery,
That's no longer gray and grim.

In his mind he hears the cannons,
The recoiless rifle's roar.
And the chatter of the Burp guns,
All around the reservoir.

Mortars crashing, carbines flashing,
Screaming men and boys.
Bugles, flares and howitzers,
A symphony of noise.

He is thinking of his childhood,
When he saw the soldiers come.
To this peaceful mountain valley,
That had never heard a gun.

And he's never understood it,
He will always wonder why.
Why so many men had come there,
From so far away, to die.

How they fought with savage fury,
Agonizing through the snow.
Fingers turning black with frostbite,
Death was sweeping to and fro.

MacLean and Faith, Commanders,
Hodge, and thousands more.
Fought and froze, and bled to death,
At The Chosin Reservoir.

In the hills of North Korea,
By a lake of icy blue.
There's no monument to witness,
And no crosses are in view.

Just some land of little value,
Covered well by falling snow.
But they say to listen carefully,
When the wind begins to blow.

And you will hear the ghostly bugles.
From the mountain pass, nearby.
You may hear the battle spreading,
From the mountains to the sky.

Lives were ending, futures pending,
Fate was casting dice.
Some would live, and some will die,
Karma, carved in ice.

The battle long is over now,
But fought each night anew.
In dreams of those who can't forget,
They're called"The Chosin Few".

So, let the veterans tell the stories,
Let the legend live and grow.
Let the Chosin be remembered,
With the men of Alamo.

With Bastogne and with Wake Island,
And the Bunker Hill command.
And wherever there's courageous men,
To take a valiant stand.

Once they fought to save a nation,
They could not have offered more.
Than the sacrifices made there,
At The Chosin Reservoir.

In the bitter bloody battles,
At The Chosin Reservoir.



Author:Sgt.Bill Bussey-Able Co. 1st Bn 5th Marines--1951

They said his name was Larry,a grubby, dirty, little man
He looked up when I drew near, then back to his c-ration can
I dropped my pack and sat down beside him, glad to get the rest.
He looked at me with eyes that asked, can he stand the test.

My name's Bill I said, waiting for him to speak, I lit up a smoke.
He looked at me a moment, smiled a little and spoke.
Hi he said, my name's Herschkowitz, that going to be ok with you?
I looked back at him and said,sure. What else can I do.

The squad was short handed, two fire teams instead of three. Four men to a team, but this is about Larry and me.
You see there were thousands of men over there, This is about how an Irishman and a Jew, became a pair

For eleven months, in that forsaken land, we did whatonly young men can.
And during those long hard days, I learned to love that, grubby, dirty little man.
I have many pictures of the two of us, Mutt and Jeff was what we were named,
But I see him most clear, holding a dead friends hand, crying, unashamed.

We finally came home, he a month before I,
And one of the hardest things I've ever done, was tell him goodbye.
I tried to be macho, but I could hardly speak, my emotions played hell with my plan,
I could only watch as he walked away, that wonderful,grubby, dirty little man.



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