Two good men.
Two good men
A Poem by Coyote Poetry
A story of two Soldiers
Two different stories. Both are sad and needed to be written.
Pray for the soldiers today.
Remember men and woman are fighting for us today.
From the land of the Pima Indian
A proud and noble band
Who farmed the Phoenix valley
In Arizona land
Down the ditches for a thousand years
The water grew Ira’s peoples’ crops
‘Till the white man stole the water rights
And the sparklin’ water stopped
Now Ira’s folks were hungry
And their land grew crops of weeds
When war came, Ira volunteered
And forgot the white man’s greed
There they battled up Iwo Jima’s hill,
Two hundred and fifty men
But only twenty-seven lived
To walk back down again
And when the fight was over
And when Old Glory raised
Among the men who held it high
Was the Indian, Ira Hayes
Ira returned a hero
Celebrated through the land
He was wined and speeched and honored
Everybody shook his hand
But he was just a Pima Indian
No water, no crops, no chance
At home nobody cared what Ira’d done
And when did the Indians dance
Then Ira started drinkin’ hard
Jail was often his home
They’d let him raise the flag and lower it
like you’d throw a dog a bone!
He died drunk one mornin’
Alone in the land he fought to save
Two inches of water in a lonely ditch
Was a grave for Ira Hayes
Yeah, call him drunken Ira Hayes
But his land is just as dry
And his ghost is lyin’ thirsty
In the ditch where Ira died
Call him drunken Ira Hayes
He won’t answer anymore
Not the whiskey drinkin’ Indian
Nor the Marine that went to war
Chief Falling Cloud
Just a man.
A Pima Indian.
Born on the dry river of the Gila River.
Volunteers to serve the USA.
A quiet man.
Honored by his brothers and sisters.
When leaving for War.
Became brothers with his fellow Marines.
Fought in terrible battles.
Came home a hero.
His desire was to be with his division.
He found a peace and safeness with soldiers.
Soldiers have a bond.
Celebrate life together.
Cry together for lost comrades.
He was a un-willing hero.
He died a lonely death.
By an abandoned hut
close to his home.
On 24 January 1955.
Death by exposure and alcohol.
I know his brother Marines were waiting.
Had a good seat waiting for him.
Ain’t no hero.
Only fellow soldiers waiting for a friend.
(A good friend died in Iraq on 24 August 2004. I
need to remember him. His beautiful daughters
miss and need him.)
SSG. Donald Neal Davis
A country boy born in northern Michigan.
Always a smile and a hello.
A soldier’s soldier.
If your car broke down.
Night or day.
He would come to your assistance.
24 years as a soldier.
Volunteers for more time.
To teach and help the young soldiers.
Two beautiful daughters.
Would do anything to make them content.
Hard times and good times
I stood with him.
He trusted me with his children.
I trusted him with my family.
When I was deployed.
Soldiers take care of other soldiers families.
He came by one time a year in the Summer.
In 2004 he did not call.
I called his Mother late in November 2004.
She told me he was killed on 24 August 2004.
I grieved for him and his family.
Two young girls lost a Father.
I went to his grave.
His kind parent took me to his gravestone.
I said my good-bye.
I know the old Soldiers were waiting
for one more brother to join their company.
He will be waiting for me.
Soldiers must stay together.
Some scars and wounds are for few
His girls are grown up and beautiful.
He would be a grandfather.
I can see his face with his smile.
He would be a happy man to know his
girls are beautiful and strong.
Remember my friend and so many lost to
Pray for peace.
Pray for the safe return of the soldiers.
Pray for the people in the way of War machine
that has no conscious.
18 August 2009