This poem was very popular on FB with over 5700 views. I wrote this poem right
before my 80th birthday, two years ago. As I turned 82, it was still relevant to me.
(Picture licensed through depositphotos.com.)
Six years ago, I shared this rather lengthy poem. I thought it was worth sharing again on Memorial Day 2026. I wrote the draft as if dictated to me when I stood before a numbered grave marker at the Punchbowl National Cemetery in Honolulu.
The picture above was taken at the Punchbowl.
Unknown at the National Memorial Cemetery of the Pacific
I lie here amidst the tropical beauty, the warm sun,
and the shade of the nearby monkeypod tree.
In ’41 I joined the Marines
to fight for country and freedom.
Tears welled within my eyes
when I said goodbye to family and friends.
Mother cried, and Dad shook my hand.
He said in a halting voice,
“Be safe, my son.”
With the bravado of youth,
I joked that I would return soon.
Now, already battle-hardened
with the horrors of Guadalcanal
and most recently, Saipan,
I am sent to another place, Guam.
In August of ’44,
storming the beach,
shrapnel tore my body apart
in the warm waters
of this unknown island.
No one recognized me
when recovered–
this farm boy from Kansas–
dog tags consumed by the sea.
My family and three sisters
would always wonder,
“What happened to their son and brother?”
No matter how loud I screamed,
they could not hear.
This Punchbowl,
so peaceful, quiet,
a magnificent place to rest.
Not far away, the spirit of an ancient Hawaiian roams,
sacrificed in 1726 for a Kapu* violation.
We speak often in the universal language of death.
Oh, how I wanted to live.
* code of conduct or taboo violation