Charles L. Weatherford: Tribute to a Warrior

Charles L. “Charley” Weatherford

Charley hails from Michigan in the USA. He is a writer and poet

TOR

Hard-bitten sailor, Special Forces, rough life lived,
a man hard used by his country and profession,
healing in hospital, physical and mental,
exorcising demons his only possession.

Memories of friends long dead, he had watched them all die.
Memories of enemies killed, come to haunt in nightmares
with pleading eyes asking mercy they had not shown.
He takes up poetry and his holy soul bares.

What burdens do our protectors carry with them?
Burdens born long after their service has ended:
haunting attempts to sleep and waking up their wives.
The horrors they saw can never be rescinded.

Tor sits in his hospital bed, awake, writing,
trying to convey the horror and banish it.
His ghosts gather around him, peering o’er his shoulder,
reminding him of the laughs, as well as the bad shit.

He gets a little bit better every day.
Nightmares still visit him, bringing screams in the night,
but they come less often, the poet’s magic works.
He puts on needed weight, healing of war’s hard bite.

YOU GET WHAT YOU GIVE

“You get what you give,”
tall soldier speaking harshly,
uniform bloody,
as he watches his friends’ ghosts
filing past him on parade.

Salutes in passing
showing honor and respect:
the quick and the dead.
Bloody badges of death wounds
pumping lifeblood endlessly.

The parade circles.
Furiously lively death
turns then to dancing.
Ring around the live soldier
dead flesh melts to skeleton.

Bones sink into earth.
Death dance done as spring sun shines.
Trees grow where men lie.
Everything blooms and renews.
The soldier sees life ahead.

No longer bloody,
scarred soldier walks wearily.
“You get what you give.”
He has given his future,
his future, he will yet have.

Friends,

A very dear friend of mine wrote a poem that really opened my eyes the other day. I’ve asked, and he’s agreed lo let me share it with you all.

“You get what you give” is my family’s motto, and it is something I have come to understand countless times in my life. If you give respect and love, this is what you get back. And if you turn angry and pour your hate out, it will come back and kick you in the head. Somehow, I needed to be reminded of it when it came to my fallen brothers though. I gave them love and respect, and I know they gave it back. The fact that I lived and they died does not change that, for they all know I’d change places with them in a second if I could. The memories of our friendships and the values they taught me is nourishment for the trees that make up my future.

Thank you Charley, for opening my eyes to this.

Your friend always,

Toralf
10 May 2002

A PRAYER TO ODIN

Odin, Allfather, one of your own needs watching over this night.
He is a warrior of your people, a poet and skald, and a sailor.
He has weathered many storms and battles.
His six best friends are in your company in Valhalla or with Freyr.
They each died in battle, and he suffers of wounds received in battle, also.

Odin, Allfather, save Tor for another battle.
Let his poetry ring forth from his strong lips for years to come.
Let him know some happiness with wife and children.
He will come to you in time, let it not be soon.
God of poets, battles, sailors and storms, watch over him.

Odin, Allfather, god of seafarers, guide him through the fever this night.
Send forth Geri and Freki to devour death if it should come to him.
Let Hugin and Munin perch upon his shoulders whispering words,
words of the good life he has had, and the good life to come.

Odin, Allfather, father of the Valkyries, do not take him from Suzu,
a strong woman herself, who is fit to be one of your own daughters.
Don’t break her heart. She has seen enough already.
Do not take him from his brother and parents at such a young age.
He has been your warrior; give him some years as your poet.

Odin, Allfather, should you not heed this prayer,
should you take him for Valhalla now,
let the world tremble beneath the feet of his shade.
Let not his passing go unnoticed!
So be it!

©Copyright May 22, 2002 by Charles L. Weatherford

ECHOING FOOTSTEPS

Footsteps echo through the great hall.
The fire burning in the massive fireplace crackles.
Nigh on one hundred forty-four thousand warriors stand in silence.
As one, they salute their new companion.
The warrior-skald is welcomed into their midst.
Odin’s favorite son has arrived in Valhalla.

©Copyright June 8, 2002 by Charles L. Weatherford

Author’s Note: Thank you, Toralf! Just, thank you

Dear Per,

For the first time since yesterday evening, about an hour before you posted, I came on-line this afternoon, knowing what I would find.

Tor has blessed so many lives with his presence. I’ll always treasure the laughs and the serious discussions, as will so many others here on the Internet whom you have gotten to know in these last eight months since Toralf told you where to come and find his friends. Your brother has helped so many by his presence and his wit alone.

Toralf will probably rest awhile, but at some point, he will come back to tell you and Suzu things are all right. Keep your eyes and ears open for a sign from him. He may come in a dream. You may actually see and talk with him, if he can get through to you. You might see a light in the room out of the corner of your eye, and when you turn to look, there will be nothing. You may feel his presence looking out through your eyes when you are skiing. He may send a message through others. It may just be that you’ll think of him at an unexpected moment. He will be there then. Know joy at his presence when this happens. He will be back to visit. If I hear from him, I will tell you.

Give Suzanne a great big Teddy Bear hug from me, brother, and tell her to return it to you. I wish I could be there to deliver them in person. My respects and regards to the rest of the Cod clan.

Blessings,

Charley
June 8, 2002

LIVING ON BORROWED TIME

He might have died with his friends,
but he had a little more to do,
in touching hearts and writing poems,
before he was really through.

He was living on borrowed time
smiling through the pain and tears
bringing laughter to his new friends,
while facing his nightmare fears.

He was a dead man seeking health,
his splintered soul seeking solace,
as the reaper stayed his hand
awaiting metamorphosis.

He was given six more months
after Death first wounded him,
his prognosis up and down
until they went beyond slim.

What lessons he learned in that time
is something we’ll never know.
What lessons we have learned from him
is something only time will show.

Tor, we thank you for laughs and smiles,
for memories that will help us through,
for your bravery and courage.
Rest in peace, brother, we love you!

INTERNET FRIEND

In flesh never met,
still strong bonds were forged between
brothers in spirit.
Free-flowing conversations
shared through world-spanning wires.

Smiles and laughs and tears;
all passed through our friendship’s door.
He grew in wisdom.
A bizarrely funny man,
never to be forgotten.

Author’s Note: A funeral started a little bit ago to bury a soldier, a poet, a good friend, and a very funny man.

PAYING TRIBUTE

Laughter
Humor
Joking
Frivolous
Sly
Dry
Playful
Ribbing all comers
I remember you.

Serious
Sage
Wisdom hard-earned
Earnest
Warrior
Doing what’s right
Combat veteran
Special Forces
Hunter
“You get what you give!”
I remember you.

Poet
Linguist
Magus
I remember you.

THE STEAMSHIP TALKING BLUES

I’ve been on paddle-wheel steamboats,
but never on a grand old steamship.
A friend suggested writing a poem
to describe such an ocean crossing trip.

My friend’s been gone nigh a year
on a different sort of passage.
I’ve yet to write that poem,
or many another he suggested.

He suggested poems about the navy,
submarines, and sailing, but then
my friend was a sailor, Special Forces,
in a navy across the sea.

I have yet to honor these requests
for poems on subjects he knew.
Maybe I don’t know them so well,
and he didn’t stick around to ask.

So, I’m left wondering what it’s like
to take passage on a steamship,
and how my friend the sailor
has fared on his own far trip.

I guess I’ll have to research the subject,
so I can do a proper writing job.
But, dear old Tor, will you ever read it?
Will you know I finally did it?

I reckon you will somehow,
even though I haven’t heard from you
since the day after you died.
I still think of you, friend, so keep in touch.