Sgt Grit is a place where Marines can come and meet other Marines, share tattoos and stories, keep up with Marine Corps news, or shop for USMC gear.
The Marine stood and faced God,
Which must always come to pass.
He hoped his shoes were shining,
Just as brightly as his brass.
“Step forward now, you soldier,
How shall I deal with you?
Have you always turned the other cheek?
To my Church have you been true?”
I laughed while receiving much love,
harbored memories sent to me from above
children and grandchildren showering me with hugs,
while at my heart I could feel a tug.
Out of the blue I could again see you,
I remember Korea, honor to you was due,
thought of freedom and the price you did pay.
I cried as I remembered you never had a Fathers Day.
This is for all of my brothers and sisters still in the "sand box".
It's by the Dropkick Murphy's.
I think it epitomizes what we all go through.
LCpl Lutz USMC
"Far Away Coast"
Here in the trenches the fist of the Beast.
For fear of an atmosphere poisoned deceased.
With a gas mask to keep me from breathing my death.
It's American soil I hope for at best.
But the duty I serve can't begin to compare.
To my ancestors battles and wars through the years.
Though the loneliness strikes like an enemy shell.
I pray for my home but still sit here in hell.
Sail away to a place that's unknown.
Taken away from my friends and my home.
To a place they call sacred, a place I call hell.
I long for that corner I once knew so well.
Go to the grind it's all that I have.
Work on and on with nothing to show,
But a graying face in this dying place.
That's a lock in my solitude.
I think of a place on a faraway coast.
Where friends are so dear and there's reason to toast.
A cloudy, dark image of a Middle East land.
Comes down and wrecks my hopeful thoughts.
Sail away to a place that's unknown.
Taken away from my friends and my home.
To a place they call sacred a place I call hell.
I long for that corner I once knew so well.
On Saturday the 13th of August the Fairmont Christian Center in Pasadena, Texas unveiled a memorial monument to Fallen heroes from Texas. Although this is not such a special event in itself because so many people and organizations are doing the same type of thing all across the nation, there is one part of this I felt you might like to share with your readers. Mr. Steve Walters, the stepfather of PFC. Leroy Sandoval, Jr., KIA in Fallujah, Iraq on March 26, 2004.
I heard of you today, not in a usual way,
I heard of the courage you displayed today.
Then I heard of your death that has come at such an early age,
Leaving us to weep and be full of rage.
You gave the highest gift that anyone can ever present,
And with your gift we know why you were sent.
We were warriors once,
you and I;
shar’d the same fears,
torment’d by same anxieties.
From time to time,
shar’d same
earthen shelter,
with sterile earthen walls,
ornamented with tools of mortal conflict.
Between battles, we regained our shatter’d minds
listening to each other’s narratives of
youthful interludes.
Dedicated to the past and present Men and Women
of the United States Marine Corps.
Many years ago, in 1969
I was a load of 19, doing mighty fine.
Out of school and working, for United States Steel
Pockets full of money, going for every meal.
Driving my 67 Chevy, with a worked 396
Getting pretty popular with all the local chicks.
When a Great One falls on the battlefield of life
Like the din of thousands of cymbals struck as one
It will be heard round the world
The frenzy now begins as though by demand
Those who hated the fallen warrior suddenly
And inexplicably find paragraphs of praise
Now that he can no longer hear them
Last week, my nephew perished from a drowning accident on Lake Michigan. He put his life on the line by first saving his girlfriend from a riptide.
Unfortunately, both he and his grandfather ? my brother in lawlost their lives.
Ethan was 16 years old and counting the days until he could join the Marines. He kept a notebook describing all his Marine plans. He often spoke to me about Viet Nam and to two other Marine war veterans from Afghanistan and Korea.
My first grandson, Eric B. Forehand, returned to Camp Pendleton
for additional training after his 10 day boot camp leave.
It had been nine months since the terrorist attack.
Eric was on his boot camp leave but now he was going back.
He had spent some time with his Mother, he had hardly been here.
But he packed up his sea bag and kept out the uniform that he would wear.
He had his Marine dress greens cleaned and ready to don.
His garrison cap fit exactly right when he put it on.
Two fingers were under the brim but you could still see the gaze
That only smiled rarely since his boot camp days.
The Kelly green uniform had been pressed so spick
That you could shave on the crease with nary a nick.
Even without the uniform you knew this was a Marine
For he marched instead of walking and was serious and keen.
But in his class A dress there wasn’t any doubt
Here was a Marine and he was going out.
Now Oceanside and San Diego see Marines every day
They are inured to seeing men march that special way
But Houston seldom sees Marines in green uniform
In South-east Texas this was surely not the norm.
So when Eric marched into Hobby Airport that fine day
The traveling crowd did more than just give way.
It was like Moses crossing the Red Sea as the crowds split asunder
And the waiting room grew quieter like after a clap of thunder.
After a period of time like in a movie scene
A voice spoke up and said: “Look, a Marine!”
The ticket agents rushed to him and put him first in line.
The people waiting nodded like for them that was just fine.
He didn’t seem so big and strong to raise up such a scene
But he stood straight and proud, because he was a Marine.
They checked his bags and gave him a boarding card to keep
They turned off the security machine because the Marine emblem would make it beep.
“I’ll feel safer if he is on our flight.” You could hear some people say
While he marched the aisle in cadence to his loading gateway.
Well Eric has gone now and he has called to say
That he made it to Camp Pendleton and everything is OK.
But here in El Lago we miss him every day
And a voice inside keeps saying, “Our Marine has gone away!”