This child of war, who stood the wall for others, lays in glory.
There are no soldiers in Hell! They adorn the heaven,
as decoration for the sacrifice of one human’s spirit, for another’s.

War!

You are the book of death; you have no other purpose.
We open your pages every day, and we never finish reading.
You are that enigma, binding humans of honor, to those of another way.
One human is another’s enemy; the other is another’s enemy.
Why are you always, and still, in us?
Why do you torment us so? Why do you never end?
No amount of hurt can seem to stop you; no compassionate justice can prevent you.
We have resigned our souls to your impending, unwanted, need.
We give our cherished lights to you; your sheets filled with names, endless.
The flaws of men, who dictate this, fill the dreaded void,
with the soldier.


Soldier!

You are the voice of the world; you are the face of centuries.
War cannot be done without you. You paste the binding of the book of death!
You have stood on that wall so long, you have become use to dedication.
You are there because we are here. You merely thought you could end it!
Though your mind has been changed, you are still, and ever, that boy.
You became the smiling face, handing candy to the child,
as you walk through this hostile world.
With gun in hand, sheepish grin on face, helmet on head, and love in your every eye,
you try to find reason in those of another way.
The many nights of flash dancing with bullets are routine, like a sore toe!
You hold our gun, you guard our back, you live our lives.
Life, to you, has become more than a Play Station game.
The games you played then, are the stark reality of now.
You whistle through the nights, hoping for someone to say...
“Stop this insanity!”
It’s more than you wished it to be; it’s far from your home; it is insane!
Now, you are gone from your life. It is over, and you have been laid to your victory.
You have won because you gave yourself to others.
It is you, son, who have dedicated your last breath to us.

Son!

The Mother who brought you, lives in silent regret;
it is she who gave you life; it is she who lent that perfect love, one to another.
The Father who first saw you, cries in the garage, with the tools you used.
Your car is that special thing because you drove it;
the baseball glove in your room is special because you wore it;
the special memories of you will transcend the times.
The pain will subside, but never be gone.
The pain, of a loss, always stays with us.
We, who are left, will laugh again, only to cry at the mention of your ever-present name.
You are the son, cut from the herd, who dared open the book.
You are the face we saw everyday, sullen, at the desk of school;
you were the loud music we heard in your walk through life.
You may have disturbed us at times, but we never question your perfect passion,
for it is also ours.
You were that perfect child; all children are.
You were our light, laughing, smearing food to your face,
throwing snowballs, skipping rocks, joking, always joking,
with eyes that needed ours to guide you.
We nourished you, we nurtured you, we loved you, flaws and all.
We didn’t bring you into this world, only to lose you, so young;
you were our child, our son, our daughter.
Let no man take from us, your loving gift. Let the reason be seen.

Reason!

A war, any war, can happen when men turn away from each other.
You were never meant to send to it; you were not meant to go to it;
you were never meant to die, because of it.
Now, you are the one who has stood on those walls for others.
You have become the soldier of the world, son.
May all of God grant you a promise to be remembered,
the humble, grateful presence to be understood,
and the dignity to end with honor.
We, who have gone before stand and salute you for what you have done.
The perplexing horror that you saw, is shared by us.
We saw that horror also. We were with you in your every thought.
Even those of us who disagree with the reason you were there,
prayed for your safety.
It’s not you; it’s the book of death-this war, that we object to.
As the bullet flew, we prayed for it to pass.
As the bomb exploded, we hoped for no one to receive it’s unforgivable reason.
Every soldier is son to someone; each to weep when they fall;
each to be remembered by those, who have gone before.
We are your humble memory; take us with you in your journey.
Use us to get you passed the gates of heaven,
for you have seen the hell that comes when men do not understand the possibilities for peace.
It was you who took the sword; it was you who fought the battle;
it was you who defended those of us with the freedom to disagree.
You were the soldier to the world. You were the one sent, to stop this madness.
Your gift has been received. Your legacy will transcend the ages.
We, who are left behind, dedicate your life to seeking a peace with others.
The question abounds, why?

Why did you go?
You thought that the moral quest of you and others could bring on a book burning.
You went because you thought you could end it-this book of death!
With the understanding that no one has done that, you went anyway.
All soldiers think they can be the one to close the book.
You have died with honor, and we will never forget what you have done.
The book continues, and you have given the valiant effort;
for that alone, we praise you.
You are soldier to the world, the son of all man, the face of centuries.
May all Gods grant you passage to a special place;
a place where those who have given, nothing but everything,
can finally find what it is that we all seek.
As you walk abreast of those, who have also given their final time,
may all Gods give you the peaceful rest you deserve.

Joe Coleman
There is no reason for the book, yet it stays open 24-7. He was young, and vibrant in his life; he was loved and remembered in his death. Sorrow falls with him. The book continues.

I have a candle lit, incence burning, and I sneaking a smoke in the basement, while my wife sleeps. She suspects, and accuses me, but hasn't caught me yet. I am just that good at it!
She came down one morning and said: "Joseph, are you smoking down here?" I said "no". I had just put one out. Hey, it was the truth!
If she'd have said "were you smoking down here" I'd have had to admit my transgression. Try as I might, I can not lie to my wife! Yikes, I can hardly get away with ANYTHING! Lying is a ball-buster for me. And, now that she saved my sorry ass from the cold heat of hell, I owe her big time. It's even worse. I've had to figure devious ways to skirt the truth. It's not lying-it's, ah, well, it's skirting!
It's a pretty, Winter, Sunday here in Heaven, on the shores of the Mississippi. The Great Spirit has blessed the day with Sun. The man rides a 'true' Horse today. I'm playing the Eagles this morning; it fits. Oh, oh! The prophets of rock are singing "Lying eyes"! Is that psychic or what?
May all of you have a brilliant day. Don't mind the storms that come. A storm brings the hope for calm,
Joe

I woke up this morning to have my first cigarette. I went out in my shirt sleeves, expecting to be frozen back inside. After two days of -6, and -8, it was like balmy at 23 degrees. I made the kids bacon and Eggs, and shuffled them off to school. They are so cool.
"Grandpa, can we go shopping today after school," Ashleigh said. SHOPPING? ME?
"Okay," I said, "we'll go shopping." I can't believe what a house Mother I've become! Am I turning...oh no! Am I becoming such a.... Mother? Or is it Motha'? Am I not a warrior anymore? Saints be to praise, Jesus!
It has been a great experience for me to do this noble deed of mercy. I will come away from this a better man.
Hey, it could be worse. I could be an Iraqi Father; i could be Bosnian; I could be one of those emaciated African children.
I do have it on good authority that after I pass on, I will be allowed to become an Otter, in Wisconsin. They don't trap Otters there.
To all who read this: have your best day ever,
Joe

The rain came in first, then the rain froze to ice. Then, just to add a bit of irony, the Big One sends down some nice white sleet, to top it off. You think it’s safe to go on that stuff? Just try it, bucko! Irony! God, I love irony! What a great day; there were no cars running, just the occasional street sander; no people were out; it was so peaceful, I could think! I went out to the garage, to smoke my morning cigarette. Annie, my Dog, greeted me at the garage door with that -“Jesus Christ, I gotta piss!”-look on her face. She dashed out, and treated me to one of the funniest scene I’ve seen since the basketball scene from the “Nutty Professor” (The original one-60's). She slid down the garage steps, right onto her nose. I was concerned at first, but then, tickled. She got back up, and went down again. This time I laughed at loud. She got on to the grass; I figured she was safe; she squatted to pee; her back legs slipped out from under, and her dingle-dangle went wangy-wangy, right to the ground. I heard her yelp! She got up spraying pee all over herself and the ground; by this time, I am rolling in uncontrolled hyper-laughing. She eased her way up to the garage. She stared up at me like- “Let me in there, you bastard, or I’m breakin’ it down!”. I love my little baby girl. We got back into the garage; I gave her special scratching for putting on such a great show.
She’s seven months old. My wife said “no more dogs” after we lost our two Dogs last year. One from a brain tumor, and the other from grief over the loss of his one true friend. It was a deeply, traumatic experience. I can’t imagine losing a child!
Annie and I fell in love, the second I saw her. You know, that grateful look a Dog gets when you look at her/him. You know, that- “I sho’ is glad you got me, massa’”-look. Well, she had that look in her eyes. That- “take me home, and feed my sorry ass”-look. That- “but don’t you go throwin’ me in nat brah patch!”-look. That- “can I sleep with you and honey”-look. That- “but let me sleep BETWEEN you”-look!
We had Annie one week when I had to go to Pella, Iowa for a few days. Well, Diane is a...well, she a... a wus, so she had Annie sleep with her every night. When I got home, Annie had taken my place in the bed. (Ya’ know, if this wasn’t about a Dog, you’d get the notion this was smutty stuff!). So, I had to scoot Annie over to make room for me in bed. She dug a few nails into my chest; this aroused me, so I lightly spanked her butt. She licked me. I lean over to kiss Diane goodnight; she came into the threesome, licking and excited! Diane shoved her away. She looked at me that- “Is she crazy? This is what we all dream about!”-look. That- “All slaves want to sleep where their masters sleep”-look, (sometimes, vice versa!). Innuendo! God, I love innuendo!
When, in the sad event that, this Dog dies, we will mourn more than a simple pet. We will mourn the passing of a lover of people.
I love you too, Annie.

joesblog6

The day started out bleak, in a weather sense. There’s nothing wrong with bleak. Why should it always have that depressing stigma placed upon it? I am an earth-tones guy; I love gray. And, doesn’t bleak offer the hope for the Sun? We can have no hope, without first, suffering despair. That sense of hope is implanted in us, by the despair we often see; we must see it first. I agonize for people who have never suffered; the least of happiness never touches them That is why the poor are often happy. They know the least of the happiness. The poor sing, and dance, at the least of the happiness. They know true joy! Their form of world is, usually, a very simple life. Their toil is the basic thing that the wealthy doesn’t do. The poor rich, they don’t even know the joy of simple work. When the old grow older, they go back to the Earth; they garden, take precious care for their ground. It is a natural fact of the life we live; going back to the Earth.
I tried religion all my life, but found no solace in it. Then I studied the Indian Nation’s culture. It was like a diamond, laying upon the ground, that had been there all the time. I found a God. Though I am solid-Irish, the Indian way revealed to me the things that make us, us. The AWE of God!

Air, without which, we cannot live; we have no air-we have no life. The first thing we did, as humans, was breathe the Air. We must protect the air we breathe, or we parish! It’s as simple as that!

Water, we drink to sustain us; we can not live without Water. We are the Water! We come from the Water, of our Mothers. That is why the Water comforts us in times of bleak. If a human is depressed, they often go to Water for comfort. Some even seek the water as a means of ending the bleak. We must protect the Water, or we parish; it’s as simple as that!

Earth is that home we live upon. It is the floor of our world. It grows what we need to sustain our living lives. Without the Earth, where do we stand? The Earth is our Mother; it is she, who has us here; it is the Earth; it is our only home. We must protect our Mother, the Earth, or we parish; it’s as simple as that!
Air, Water, Earth-the AWE of my God.

Joesblog6