The Poems of "ArmyMom," Christina Sharik

Introduction and Bio

Most of my "war" poetry has been inspired by people I knew who started going to VietNam in 1963, when I was 16, through to the end of the VietNam war. Some were friends, some were boyfriends, and one was my husband - we divorced later. The POW poems were mostly inspired by the man whose bracelet I wore--Maj. Jon Reynolds--and my imagination.

I also write poems about my son, Michael T. Ream, who is a Sgt. in the Army, presently on his second "tour" in Germany. He has also served in Somalia, Korea, and just returned to Germany from Bosnia. It sometimes seems that I have been sending care packages forever!

I'm married; live in Florida with husband, Scott, and two dogs and three cats; and am a legal secretary. I like to read and crochet and write letters and poetry. I'm researching my father's service in China during WWII, and I'm on the DAL Net "vietnamvets" channel as "ArmyMom."


Since I first had the good fortune to have had my poems published on the VVHP, the following things have occurred:

Anything that has come to pass for me began here, on the VVHP. I thought no one would want to read these poems. They were more like a journal begun in the past and continuing to this day. Through the encouragement of veterans on the Net and Deanna and Mike's nice words when I contacted them, I have fulfilled some long-time dreams. I thank you all.

April 1998

Caskets at Ton San Nhut

Rows of silver caskets Glinting in the sun - In the background of a photo Of a soldier with a gun. An extra-added bonus In the picture that he sent - It spiralled me to sadness Which wasn't what he meant. He's smiling in the photo And though it's black and white - I'm blinded by the caskets Gleaming in the light. Christina Sharik 1997

(inspired by recently looking at an old photograph)

The Wheelchair Dancer

Way back in the disco days I first became aware, Of the daring Dancin' Soldier In the VA wheelchair. He'd roll right in, get a drink Then look around and grin, And when a favorite song came on He'd start to roll and spin. He'd sometimes ask me for a dance And we would twirl around - Him in that old wheelchair (And me, so earthly bound.) He never lacked for partners He glided like a bird, And as for bravery, my friend, He gave meaning to the word. Christina Sharik 1997 ("ArmyMom")

The Waiting

It seemed forever, all the waiting It's so very hard to do - When the person that you love the most Is far away from you. In me, there was an anger And with it, awful fear Would something dreadful happen To the one that I held dear? What will it be like, I thought When he finally makes it home Will it be the same or will it be Worse than being alone? I waited, I prayed, I wrote And God, I was so scared I was the one who dreamed of you I was the one who cared. But you never really did come home And I finally came to see That you were staying over there There was nothing left for me. 1980

Here are three for Michael:

No Vietnam

No Vietnam for you, my son, No brutal wars No foreign shores - No war at all for you... No whistling shells No awful smells, No bitter ends No dying friends - No Vietnam for you. No lonely wife, No worried mom - No frightening nights Or firefights, No Vietnam Is what I wish for you. 1987


Veterans' Day 1996

Here's to you, son Though you're so far away - I think of you always, But especially today. You're part of the millions Who've gone on before Millions of soldiers In peace and in war - Their spirits watch over All soldiers like you And comfort the mothers of soldier-sons, too. Some of us are gone And some are just far - All of us are proud Of just who you are. So when you feel tired Or lonely or blue, Remember that someone Is thinking of you.... It won't ever matter The place or the day - There's somebody with you Each step of the way. cs 1996


Mothers of Soldiers

My father served in World War II, Grandfather, World War I - Your father served in Viet Nam And then I sent you, son - Off to join the Army And I was filled with pride - But I also knew I'd miss you And when you left I cried. Well, you've been in the Army now Ten long, eventful years I'm filled with joy when you come home, And when you leave, more tears. You see, when you are "somewhere" I feel that I'm there, too In my heart I walk in front To help you make it through - I live for calls and letters I wait for each of those - And sometimes in the dark of night I'd like to hold you close - That's the sacrifice we make, We mothers of the sons Who march with head held high And carry deadly guns - For we remember little things like playing in the sand - We remember walks in parks When you would take our hand - You are the boys we took such care of The ones we rocked to sleep Those are the memories we carry And the ones we need to keep. 1997

The Beat Goes On.....

Wrote to Nixon and Bush - Heard from them - Wrote to Clinton - heard from him. First my husband Then my son - Vietnam to Bosnia - The beat goes on and on ....... 1997


What If?

What if the Generals all said "Go!" But the Mothers of the World all said "No!" CS 2/98

My Lance Corporal

(for John) I got the letter just today - You didn't have too much to say - You were depressed From lack of home and lack of rest - You've been there such a long, long time The months are numbering nearly nine - You still don't speak much of the War And I've never known a War before - But I'll be here if you want to talk Or dance, or run, or simply walk. You spoke of past and future dreams The "World" - and then the way it seems unfair. You said you're lost and sad And so confused about yourself And where you stand. You were a boy when you left; you have since become a man. No one wants to fight and die - No man wants to hurt - or cry - I do not want to have to grieve. But I was proud when I watched you leave. CS...1966

THE BOY - for John

This year a boy felt jungle rain And saw brave men in deepest pain - The boy knew mud and sweat and guns - What a soldier feels when he runs Toward the bullets racing by. The boy learned what it is to cry - And he learned just what letters mean - And saw things he had never seen; He stopped and fought, though he almost ran - This year the boy became a man. 1966

VietNam Poems 1969-1970:

I miss you. I don't know what to do On nights like this. I think about you And I wonder if you've changed And what you feel for me. Vietnam was so far to go To learn we cannot leave each other. 1969


Miles Between

The pain of disillusionment Is hard enough to bear When I may call your name And know that you are there. But oh, the agony I feel When the burden is too much And you are nowehere to be found Too far away to touch. 1969


The Night

I love the night. I wrap it all around myself And do my thinking and my weeping - It seems a shame to waste the night ..... Just sleeping. cs 1969



I hate this war. I hate the napalm The amputations and the screams The ruined dreams I hate the awful, empty look in children's eyes The planes that tear apart the skies - I hate this war - And I'm not even there. 1970


Viet Nam (for Rod)

At night I hug you I hold you and kiss you - I love you and need you And most of all, miss you - And when I awaken the following day - I close my eyes tight and silently pray - And I keep you with me the rest of the day While you are living a whole world away. 1970


Strange Fascination (the unknown)

They tell me not to ask you Anything About the war, I mean. But I find some strange fascination with what you'd have to tell me. 1970


Ten Days and A Wakeup

Ten Days and a wakeup Until you're home again Ten days and a wakeup And darling, until then I'll do the same as I have done For nearly one whole year - I'll say a prayer and kiss our son And keep you ever near. 1970


The Returning

Well, now you're home. After the hugs and handshakes And the pot roast dinner We are alone. Or are we? I find you strange. I cannot put a name to it. I KNOW you're home (But are you, really?) I think you are in some strange place I've never been And will never be able to see. It frightens me. You came by plane - and Kissed your son and me - You hugged your Dad and Mom - Am I the only one who knows You're still in Vietnam? cs 1970

The End

After months of acting strangely after 'Nam You saw the Chaplain on the base You went along, you spoke to him Put on your "normal" face - But you and I both knew How wrong it all became I didn't know how to fix "it" It didn't have a name. I was advised to leave To go home to Mom and Dad Give you a chance to rest a bit Things might not seem so bad. Once on the plane, I think I knew It was all over - you weren't "you" I went away remembering how it once had been. And I have never seen you or held you again. 1972


I, who was never afraid Am now afraid to love If I could ask one thing of you It would be this: Be gentle with me - For I am bruised and broken In places you will never see. 1972


The man I loved was left behind The same as if he'd died. He made a prison in his mind And locked himself inside. No amount of talking Fighting, love or crying Could bring my husband back to me And our love started dying. I waited and I waited Until I began to see That what I really wanted Would never come to be. So I packed my things and left the father of my son Went home to mom and dad And left my love in Viet Nam. 1974


We were closer when you were in Viet Nam Than we were when you came home. You have a son you haven't seen In nearly 13 years. I hardly ever think of you, but It isn't fair that we had a child And you went away for a year That stretched to years of tears. Don't you wonder what he looks like? I can't believe you're the one I wrote all those poems for So very long ago. 1984


Yesterday was our anniversary.. I thought of you - Did you think of me? So many hopes and dreams Almost a lifetime ago, it seems. I would have liked some Small acknowledgment for what I've done. Some small token for having been your wife, and the mother of your son. 1984


When you got home you locked us out You wouldn't talk You would not let me understand. It's nearly 12 years later And it's only from reading That I have finally begun to understand. But your son and I were wounded In this ugly war Just as surely as if we'd been there, too Along with you. Your pain is catching And we've endured 12 years of loneliness. He wonders what he ever did to make you stay away. 1985


July 4, 1985

Our town is having a parade today in honor of Viet Nam vets. I think it's time and I have no regrets. Your son wanted to wear your jacket The one with the map, the one with all the strange names sewn on the back Ton Son Nhut, Khe San, Da Nang Green silk sewn with black. So we took our flags, your son and I, and got ourselves a spot. I felt my throat constrict Anticipating what and who we'll see Remembering how it was for you and me. Then it began. The horses, fire trucks Majorettes marched by - The Brownies and the Boy Scouts, too The ladies' auxiliary, the Golden Agers - The men from World War II - and finally, police cars, and kids on bikes But there were none of "you." No vets, no vets from 'Nam - How could there be none? Every little town had some Someone must have gone. We hung the coat in the closet and I was sad. I went to bed and then you called - "Too little, too late" you said. I disagree. There were people there to honor vets - and one of them was me. 1985


Sometimes it seems that all these things Just happened yesterday Now Michael's grown and married and very far away. My mother's gone and so is dad I miss the times we might have had. I miss the friends and family I used to know back then. Just for a while, a little while, I'd like to go back again. 1994

Who Are "You?"

Someone said I shouldn't write poems for "you" Or act as if I knew you - Because I hadn't "been there" - But that's untrue - I did know you. You were David - my friend's boyfriend - we were 16 and you were 18 - When you left you gave me a letter for me to give her "in case" - I hid the letter in my jewelry box - And lived in fear For one whole year - So for me it all began When you left for Viet Nam. ... I remember "you" - You were the black guy On the bus in Philadelphia - in uniform - staring out the window - I spoke to you - And you said you were leaving for Viet Nam - again. I wished you well - You smiled at me and winked. I wrote a poem for you. You never knew. ... You were my high school boyfriend until I moved away. Years later, divorced I thought of you one day. I called and got your mom. She said you were wounded in Viet Nam - You didn't seem to remember me But I remember you. ... You were my friend's baby brother We were catching up on old times A couple years ago - He said "my little brother's dead - Did you know?" He'd been a medic - two tours in 'Nam But he was killed at home. ... You're the POW I wore a silver bracelet for - I watched you get off a plane Come home Come back from war. ... You were my lover, My penpals My friend - I carry you with me now As I did then - With pride and awe, respect and sadness; with heartfelt admiration, and sometimes silent tears - I will remember "you" always For all of my years. cs 1996

Caskets II

Rows of silver caskets Silver caskets in a row Who is in the caskets? I will never know. But here's the horror of it all Neatly wrapped and tied Some who left will Come back home And some, they will have died. cs 1997

No One Died Alone

In the jungle of my heart No one died alone No one died in fear and pain Thinking of his home. In the graveyards of my memory Each one has a cross For every one who perished there I seem to feel the loss. Every brother, sister, father, son - They all belonged to Everyone - And in the shadows of the night When all is dark and calm - I say goodnight to all of those Who served in Vietnam. cs. 1997

My Vietnam Connection

"What's your connection with Vietnam?" he asked. He'd read my poems you see He wondered what that Terrible time could have to do with me. Well, I was the one who waited when everyone went away I sent the letters and the words of good cheer To people a whole world away. My connection seemed to be through words, through what I had to say Until my husband went and everything changed and my whole life was rearranged. It was my war The war of our land But no one seemed to understand. I didn't ask questions then. I protested once. Not the men - the war. And I would never be the same as I had been before. What's my connection? Well, where were you back then? I didn't do much - just stayed in touch - I worried and waited and prayed. And I'm proud of my "connection" with the brave young men who fought; the ones who came home and the far too many who stayed. 10/97

"24 Hours from Hell to Home"

"24 hours from hell to home" - He said that line hit the nail on the head. He wrote to thank me for caring and then he said that it had been a long time since he had thought of the Vietnam War, what he is now, and what he was before. My poems took him back all those years and caused some tears. It was just a simple thank you from an anonymous vet - and though it warmed my heart, it made me realize that It isn't over ... yet. 10/97

POW/MIA POEMS: The Homecoming

They're tapping out a rumor On the side of my cell wall The rumor that I'm hearing Whispered down the hall - Is that freedom will be coming Freedom for us all. Excitement first - but then the fear That makes us all uneasy here. We've heard the rumors all before And heard the clanging of the door Swinging shut and cutting off Our dreams and hopes once more. But this time guards are coming They have told us that it's true They've let us out to set us free I'm coming home to you! We're very loud once on the plane Until the fear begins to play Will our loved ones still be waiting Or will they stay away? We've missed so very many years How many holidays gone by - How many nights has she wept tears and has she ceased to cry? We're afraid - our hearts are pounding Landing time is near - Now the plane is slowing I'm overcome with fear I cannot let it beat me Not after all that I've been through I have faith in God and country And I believe in you. Then all my fears fall fast away - I can see her by the gate - I need to hurry now, you understand I cannot make her wait - Those lovely eyes are sparkling She's running; brown eyes streaming - She's here to meet me, here to greet me As in all my nights of dreaming. I'm home at last In every sense and way - I shall have peace forever after I shall have Christmas every day. 1994


My (imaginary) P.O.W.

I wonder how long it's been exactly, and I wonder if they know I'm still alive. If she thinks I'm dead, is she still mourning me, or has she found someone else to comfort her? If only I could know! If only I could scream, "I'm here; I'm still alive!" But only the guards would hear. Sometimes I ache to hear a friendly voice, to eat an ice cream cone, to swim, to dance, to pay the bills, to wash the car, to touch my wife, to hold my son. I've remembered everything we ever did and everything we ever said, and places where we went, but it was all so long ago. Sometimes I can't remember what she sounded like. It's night now and I must put remembrances aside. It's time to finish the fireplace of my dream home. I can see the bricks quite clearly by the electric light bulb that burns above me all the night. 1971


My Daddy is a POW

I can't remember Daddy 'cause he's been away too long, and so My Mommy tells me things we did together long ago. And sometimes as she tells me, I think that I can hear His voice, so soft and gentle, and I almost think he's near. I know I don't remember him, except that he was wise I know that Mommy misses him, because at night she cries I can't remember Daddy or how things used to be. I know that I love him, and that he remembers me. 1971


The Silver Bracelet

I wore a bracelet for awhile Inscribed with date and name - I'd never met the missing man I knew him just the same. I wore the bracelet faithfully I never took it off my wrist I prayed for him and wondered If he knew that he was missed. I felt that if I wore it "well" I could somehow make things right.. I tried to imagine where he was So far from home at night. I tried to send my thoughts and prayers Ten thousand miles away - I thought that when he made it home I'd have a chance to say - That I had worn a bracelet And kept him in my heart I sent him hope and sympathy And wished him a new start. One day the prisoners did come home We watched it on TV - I was so proud of all of them So thrilled that they were free. I tried to see the man whose name Was on my silver band - The family thanked me for my thoughts His brother shook my hand. They said he couldn't see me, though - He wasn't quite himself. He stayed upstairs, alone, they said Looking at models on a shelf. The man had made it home, at last But it was my surmising That he was still in prison camp This one of his devising. I put the bracelet in a drawer I have it still, somewhere And when I run aross it I say a little prayer For all of those who made it home And those who are still there. cs 1995


The Forgotten

Home is very far It's where you are It's where I'm not It's all I've got - But I've been gone too long. I'm left behind I'm lame and blind But in my mind I'm tall and strong I'm brave and young - But I've been gone too long. My life is done My hope is gone My cause seems lost I've paid the cost For Freedom. Home - Is very far - It's where you are - It is where I Will never be.


cs 1997


One Small Consolation

No Taps no bugles playing (only birds and bamboo swaying) No Minister no hymn, no funeral home, no casket, no Arlington for him. No small white cross to mark his loss this loved one whom we miss. Still, I am not disturbed by this. Until he's home he's part of Vietnam but he is still my love. The one I always will dream of.... He slumbers now to jungle-sound cradled in Mother Earth's soft embrace- In Holy Ground made thus, because for now, it is His Resting Place. CS 2/98



P.O.W. M.I.A. - Means Missing - Gone - Lost - Not Free - Silver Bracelets Yellow Ribbons 'round the tree - No matter where you are I hope you see that you are not forgottn nor will you ever be. CS 2/98

Welcome Back

"Welcome Back" Some 30 years later They still say that To each other. Back then they came Home one by one On civilian planes Unappreciated and Unknown - 24 hours from Hell to home. (Whatever happened to the Norman Rockwell scenes The ones where all the soldiers sailors and Marines Got off a boat or a train And were met by bands and loved ones and started over again?) With Vietnam it seemed That if "he" wasn't there (That someone really close to you) You didn't have to care. In my heart, I was there At every plane At every ship and train I waved a flag I cried and Hugged them all - And with a kiss, I whispered low "It's all right now - I know, I know." I wished them hope and peace and the knowledge that they weren't alone. Please accept my thanks and this belated

"Welcome Home."

cs 1997


TO CHRIS (ArmyMom) FROM DAN DECKER, TSgt USAF Retired Welcome Home

"Welcome Home," she said and I almost died Something buried broke loose way down deep inside. My Dad came home a hero from World War Number Two I came home despised I thought I was a hero, too. We both fought for our country They sent us "over there" He came home a hero I came home in despair. They put on a big parade for him Bands, confetti, little kids and speeches - They spit on us at the airport Called us "baby killers" and sons of bitches. 27 years later, she said "Welcome Home" and I almost died - something buried broke loose burst past my chains, and I cried. Dan Decker


Dan's Tears (for Dan Decker)

You said you cried when you read my words Perhaps because they made you turn take a look backwards back to the past, back to that other you. Well, please understand that if you cry I will be crying, too, and that you're not alone. I am only two special words away and they are "Welcome Home." CS 2/98

Our Demons

I write for those of you who can't or won't who have been afraid to face the past and now are brave, at last; who can turn and look the horror in the face and in so doing, put the nightmare in its place. As well, I write for me. I didn't realize the things I'd kept inside - my anger at him because he would not confide; my anger at having to be a single mom, my fury when someone asked me: "Why did you guys lose the war in Vietnam?" We all have our demons those who went and those who stayed... So I write for all of us - those who have faced the darkness and those of us still afraid. CS 2/98


My Reasons Why ...

Among the e-mails I've received are these: "Your words made me cry for the first time in 30 years; healing tears - thank you. Keep writing, please." and "Thank you for caring and sharing" "We need you" or "You've read my life" and "Please...keep writing (because) you say, so well, what we feel." I live on those compliments for days but it all still seems a bit unreal that those who served believe my words might heal - One said my words are like a "salve," a healing balm - These are the reasons I write about Vietnam. CS 2/98


The Book

"Why don't you write a book" they ask... these veterans who are faceless, and sometimes nameless. If I did it would not be because I wanted to be famous. I'd dedicate the book to them who donated a part of themselves for us; an irreplaceable part of their youth. I wasn't "there" except through some strange osmosis of having known some people who spent 12 or 13 months away from home. I wasn't "there" but my feelings were some of what I lost at a painful cost; some of what I lost was my own youth - but some of what I gained was truth. CS 2/98

The Casualties of War

I'm 50 now. I was 23 when I became a Casualty of War, his war. I shed enough tears to fill the South China Sea but it didn't stop him from leaving me. He brought his barbed wire fences and his claymores home, and set up his perimeters; I bloodied my hands on razor wire trying to get to him; I had a son - I say "I" because he stayed away too afraid of what we might ask too afraid of what he might say. Well, my son knows him now for which I'm very glad - we understand a little better now but that's what is so sad. and I wonder... how many of you are still in pain; still hung up on the wire? We would have torn our hands to shreds to make you safe and warm you at our fire. Our only crime then was that we stood too close to the open wounds you bore. We'll help you now but you'll have to let us know who and where you are. Count us all as Casualties of War. CS 2/98


For My Father -- Robert Phillips Captain, US Army, WWII, China/Burma/India

My dad ...sat in the dark cried out in the night - never ate rice, had a strong sense of right Hid in a phone booth when he came home straight off the bus and still feeling alone. Not sure quite yet that his family was real not sure, inside, quite how he should feel. fought hand to hand - til a soldier was dead which must have replayed many times in his head. Struck out at my mom thinking she was the foe when she woke him too quickly and he woke too slow. "Don't waste your food when children are dying" (he would have known he'd seen them crying)... I wish he had told us what happened to him, sometimes we were angry when he seemed so grim - Scared of the outbursts he often went through He was my dad and I say this to you - I'm just fitting together the man that I knew with the man who re-lived, in his dreams, World War II. CS 3/98


On Main Street

On Main Street in any town a Wall could be created - marked with flags and floodlights, all the names donated. Someone thought to put it there in honor of the fallen; those local boys, forever young, who answered America's calling. They marched off to foreign lands and never made it home, leaving friends and family more lonely than alone. Remember them forever and hold your children near for on a Wall on Main Street is someone's name; his Mother called him "Dear." FOR ED TOMLINSON CS 2/98


Arlington's Sacred Ground

In Arlington, Grandfather rests Grandmother by his side Rows and rows of crosses Guard the veteran and his bride. He died long before she did she had 20 years to go - before she joined the husband she had married long ago. He had fought somewhere in France In the War to end all Wars (soon to be known as World War I because it came before) Their daughter married a soldier and he became my dad He fought in the Second War the World had ever had. Their daughter married an airman and then they had a son - the Airman went to Vietnam and the daughter was alone. The son then joined the Army and serves the World around - His family knows first-hand what's meant by Arlington's Sacred Ground. CS 11/97 FOR MICHAEL



I hate the sound the word in my ears hate the meaning the connotation of pain and tears - I hate the word "Remains." Bits of bone and shreds of cloth perhaps a piece of plane physical remnants of someone's life - "Beloved" was his name; Someone brave who died amid the chaos and the flames someone young someone strong he is not "remains." ...and though he slumbers far away he lives on in someone's heart as real today as yesterday though they've been long apart... he smiles out of yearbooks and grins from picture frames Oh, he is so much more to her than a simple word "Remains" CS 3/98


Sorrow (how I might feel)

I felt so blessed so alive so filled with pride to be carrying you inside... Both of us separate and yet, as one your life, son had just begun. But then? The opposite of all my care came true Someone's child was hunting you - They called it "War" I asked "What for?" My fear was real but nothing compared to what I soon would feel - It doesn't matter how I got the word I curse the day, the way I heard that you were gone, not coming back My world stopped short and then turned black. Then horror was mingled with ashen pride - and I thought this is a house of mourning now - not one, but two have died. .... and "someone's" child? Does he think of you when the nights are dark and cold? I think he'll dream of you every night of his life - and I pray he shall live to be old. CS 3/98

Heroes II

Here's to the heroes of Vietnam who answered their country's call - who slept in the mud and the jungle and gave up their youth one and all --- Here's to the ones who feel guilty and here's to the ones who feel sad - here's to the nurses and medics and here's to the MIA dad.... None of them wanted to die there none of them wanted to go - yet off they went, alone and unknown ages and ages ago. Well, here's to my heroes the Veterans and here's to their families, too May heaven watch over them always, those other heroes and you.... CS 2/97


Brass Bands and Parades I, II, and III -I-

I went to work every long and lonely day with a baby at home and my husband away - I used to write poems watch the news at night visions of mud, running men choppers in mid-flight - Little bits and pieces of fighting and of gore - just enough to make you think, and worry a little more. Who would want to be the last to die, so far from home and family in a dirty, muddy War? My husband came home alone, to no parade, you see - Just one lonely airman and his brass band was me.


The bands aren't as silent as they were before 30 years ago in that other strange War - (No thank you for them, No parades or brass band Only loved ones waiting - not the rest of the land.... their youth taken from them when they went to War) No more to be young men No more "before" - Only the since the future the now - they're coming to grips but I wonder how. .... Now my son, in the Army went off to Somalia was sniped at and taunted before he came home - then he called from a payphone he wasn't alone the townspeople met them late in the night a marching band played and the town was alight - they served coffee and donuts and I was grateful to them for I hadn't wanted "no brass bands" for him.


(A Tribute to Our Men and Women In Uniform) Most of the time they come and they go Most people don't care and most people don't know who guards their freedom every day of the year - someone's awake in the cold and the hot - Most people at home don't give them a thought - What are their names what do they dream of - are they lonely and tired are they falling in love? How far from home are they what are their fears? Every day they are due brass bands and our cheers. CS 11/97


I sit here in this little room and spin out simple rhymes for people whom I knew back then in complicated times... I write for some I've never met nor likely ever will; the ones who fought so bravely on some multi-numbered Hill... ...and all the ones who went away and never came back at all; and soldiers, SEALS and sailors and some now on the Wall. I don't attend reunions I'm not a "joiner" or a "member" the best that I can ever do is help us all remember. My dad hid in a phone booth when he came home from war and watched his family waiting for the man he was no more. My husband locked my son and me out of his life for years - what he went through affected us and caused so many tears - through it all I spun my rhymes to help me make it through though rarely shown to anyone they helped when I was blue. Then one vet said "Keep writing - you might just save us yet" so that's just what I'm doing I'm honoring the vet... the only way to show my thanks is through my simple rhymes for the vets I knew, or never met in complicated times.... CS 3/27/98

All Poems Copyrighted © By Christina Sharik, All Rights Reserved

Christina can be contacted at:

Or at:

Christina Sharik
P.O. Box 7435
St. Petersburg, FL 33734-7435

Web Site:
"ArmyMom's Safe Haven -- Vietnam Tributes and Poetry"

Editor's NOTE: More of "ArmyMom's" poetry about her son can be read on the "From The Battlefield" Web Site. Access the link from the Site title, and then click on "Somalia."