Take Time To Thank A Veteran Tomorrow by John McClellan (This article was previously published fifteen years ago in the Hudson Sun.)

I read in the paper today about the death of a man who never knew me, even though our paths and crossed on more than one occasion. I found out through his obituary some things that I never would have known about this man if I hadn't read it in the paper.

I first saw Joe "The Hook" about twenty-three years ago when my life was all about struggling through school, "hanging the Main," and trying to come to terms with my country's involvement in the Vietnam War. After school most days my friends and I would go down-town to sit on the wall or the town hall lawn to just enjoy the day and our youth. Once in a while Joe, a guy who looked much like Jimmy Durante, would come by and play a tune on the spoons or his harmonica for us. He really wasn't one of us, but he wasn't one of the regular establishment of adults, either. He was a nice guy, and never seemed to bother any-one.

Back on the home-front I had two brothers in the military, Paul in the Army, and Dan in the Marines. Both had enlisted voluntarily in the service of their country during a time when other guys their age were dodging an unfair, unjust draft system. They even signed up to each do a tour of duty in Vietnam. I had a hard time understanding their logic, as I was active in the movement to end this horrible, terrible war. I was as active as a fifteen year old could be. I went to the anti-war rallies, wrote letters to the government, and showed support for the anti-war movement whenever I could. I felt so strongly that the United States was totally wrong about this war that I did not even stand up for the Pledge of Allegiance or participate in the singing of the National Anthem at school or anywhere else. My brothers and their friends shouldn't have been in Vietnam,and I felt that it was my country's fault they were.

Well, the war ended, and both of my brothers came home physically unharmed from the war. Unfortunately, some of their friends did not. I was still bitter about the whole Vietnam thing, but happy to have my brothers back.

We all got older. Dan did his duty and moved on to a regular life. Paul remained in the service, and another brother, Tom and my sister Margaret joined the military. I quit hanging the Main; and started going to bars and clubs and drove my motorcycle and enjoyed the freedoms that my brothers and my father fought for. I ran across Joe "The Hook" now and again, and by now just considered him a regular part of the Hudson scene, like so many other people I see, but don't know.

One day my brother Paul and I were watching a military formations marching past us, flags flying, and veterans in uniform, with a whole patriotic feel to the event. I was sitting on the sidelines on a bale of hay, when Paul bent down and whispered in my ear "Stand up when the flag goes by." I didn't stand up, nor did I think of standing up. I just shrugged it off as "Paul's thing" while I was doing "my thing." Paul never raised his voice to me in his life before, and always would try to understand my feelings and ideas, but after this event, back at home, Paul and I got into the biggest argument that I had even gotten into with anyone in my life. He convinced me that day of the importance of Patriotism and Love for country. Since that day, I have never remained seated when the flag went by.

Today I read in the paper that Joe was a veteran of World War II, had received the Purple Heart Medal and four Bronze Stars and had served his country honorably. This got me to thinking about all of the times I could have told "The Hook," and all the other who never made it back to their hometowns "Thanks, thanks for having what it takes to join your fellow veterans to keep America safe and free for me and my friends."

My brother Paul is gone now, and so is Joe, and Dave Palmieri, and Kenny Thibault and my Father-in-law. I'll never be able to say thanks to them, but on Nov. 11, Veterans' Day, I'm going to observe the local Veterans' Day Services, rain or shine, and I;m going to stand up when the flag goes by, and I'll make sure that my kids do, too. I will also be thanking every veteran from the bottom of my heart, and I hope and pray that if you know a veteran you will do them a favor and let them know that you appreciate what they've done for us. Please thank them in person, before they're gone.

Thank you, Veterans everywhere, and God Bless America.

Light by John McLean

Movement;
A spark glowing in the transcendent light
Moving through one's body
Across the wood.

Dancing along the words
Singing on the limbs
Words being expressed through
Jump, kick, lift, run.

Spot;
Damned spot!
Showing flaw,
Showing pain.
All in the spotlight.

Baked Potatoes by Catherine Zacchilli

Poking holes in the top and the sides of the
raw potato makes my stomach growl.
I open the door to the black microwave,
and hit the baked potato button hoping it will be
done soon.
Having the potato going around in
circles, on the glass plate in the
microwave, makes me go insane.
I just have to walk away, until
I hear the microwave make a sound.
Which sounds like,
BEEP!

The butter inside the cut backed potato
slowly begins to melt.
Topped with sour cream, melted cheese, and
bacon bites.

I stab my fork on the end of the potato
to get a piece of the
irresistible
baked potato.

As I keep eating the baked potato,
it keeps getting smaller and smaller.
I use the last few pieces to clean
the sour cream up from my plate.
The last bite makes me sad,
because its gone.
Once I finish the baked potato,
I am stuffed from the loaded baked potato.
The baked potato can not last forever.

Nightfall by Ashley Osmecki

A hint of air, imagine
a bright daisy in a shattered field.
Crickets breathed cruel and brittle musk.
I've been cheated; I've been choked,
and could not breathe in good words.
These thoughts ultimately bring such darkness.
There will be no traffic in me. The shame is
to torch and to teach.
Defenselessness haunts me.
I argue casually, with chills,
despite my arrogance. Go,
no need for such corruption.
Burdened again, dressed and grouchy,
no situation changes me,
material as lace.

Sacred by Andrea Fahey

Today my mother gave me a church-
Be good to it Mollie, it is sacred

It's a white church that sits on Beth Hill-
a quart of mud and marble on bread.
Saints and hail rain on this month of March.

Preacher, please help me.
Her breath reaches its height-
Go right now and fetch me some tea, amen.

I watched Mother dance down the aisle,
her hands touching in prayer position.
My heart aches for her.

Thunder in the distance smells magnificent.
Mother is gone. I kneel to pray.

Transformation by Lauren Costedio

No thoughts of me
at summertime. It's a total liberation.
Sure, or not healing,
I rest my shy face.
Change me,
teach me to go.
Oh the lighting says, "Love you goodly,
love always."
I gain peace when there is detachment
which I choose at once.
I sigh,
everything detaches.
I begin dreaming, something
gained in the time and space.
Ache to see. I am
creating. See I am
light.

Careless Mollie By Karleen Delorme

Brittle Mollie, who's so careless
plays in the mud
She doesn't hear her cries
the cries that made a creek
the creek that turned into a river
a river that flows around the mountain.

It's as if Mollie
is ignoring the music that crosses her ears.

Mollie create your dream cloud
and the stairs to stop your cries.