Patron Poet's Corner
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Winter 2025 Poetry Contest Winners!!
Congratulations to...
Alexander R. Stewart (U.S. Army Veteran) and Mark Bigham (U.S. Army Veteran) who each won a $50 gift card, social media exposure, and a well-earned shout out in our monthly newsletter (March).
Alarm
They’ve raised the alarm .
I reach for my gear .
Stumbling, racing, ignoring my fear .
I throw my armor up onto my back
While another voice screams, “We are under attack!”
I start to run, rushing toward my door,
But then a loud noise throws me onto the floor .
What is this ringing, and pain in my head?
I cannot stand up, paralyzed as the dead .
A hand reaches out, I’m dragged cross the floor .
The hand guiding me safely up out of my door .
Another loud noise, and a large blinding light
Takes the hand guiding me out of my sight .
I hear my Sergeant take count of our heads,
It is then that I see that my best friend is dead .
He lies on the ground filthy, covered in blood
His image misty, blurry, like water stirred up with mud .
My friend was the hand guiding me out of my door,
My friend who just saved me, now lies dead on the floor .
My eyes fill with tears as I scream out his name
Wanting reply, which of course never came .
I watched as they loaded him onto that bird,
And out of me uttered, not one single word .
We pack up his things, his letters and gear,
Heads hanging low knowing he is not here .
The battle is over and we must go on,
Forever knowing that our friend is now gone .
With a heavy heart, I lay back down my head,
And with all of my might, try to go back to bed .
……They’ve raised the alarm
SFC Alexander R. Stewart has made a profound impact as a mental health advocate, author, and public speaker, directly intervening to save the lives of 17 service members in crisis. Through his writing, he has provided a voice to those struggling, donating over 180 copies of his book to organizations supporting military and first responder mental health. He has been featured in nine video podcasts, eight radio shows, and 13 live speaking engagements, where he raises awareness of soldier and first responder suicide prevention. As the host of The SITREP, a free monthly veteran forum, he brings together experts to provide resources and guidance for those in need. Additionally, his monthly 22 Challenge fitness events honor the 22 veterans lost to suicide daily, ensuring their memory lives on while promoting mental health awareness. His ongoing work continues to bridge the gap between military and civilian understanding of the mental health struggles faced by service members.
The Burden
As I refused to condone evil,
I made a big decision to not retreat.
Cost me a broken neck,
Elevated to surgery.
I lay on my back for a month,
Re-evaluating life’s bumps.
But protected the one I loved,
My best friend in the world, Dunk.
The burden of protecting someone, is bigger than your needs.
The burden of protecting someone, is bigger than you can see.
The price you pay is not a thought but an action,
It’s not about being a hero but being one’s protection.
My best friend in the world was my dad,
The one who tried to attack him was just mad.
My dad, once a Fire Fighter had evolved into a delicate position,
The one who tried to attack him wanted to transform into some friction.
Transition changed my life, as I searched for the real,
A peace that surpasses all understanding to feel.
I began to seek more of how to help others,
As becoming a Police Officer, better understanding their struggles.
Now, things make more sense,
Thinking how others may feel in their indecisiveness.
We all struggle to make our way,
Be a change, to make for others a better day.
Mark Bigham is a United States Army Veteran who embarked on a remarkable journey of service later in life, joining the Army at the age of 40 and dedicating eight years as a petroleum supply specialist. Following his military service, he pursued a career in law enforcement, graduating from the police academy at 45 and serving as a police officer for seven and a half years. Beyond his commitment to public service, Bigham has long found creative expression through writing, painting, and woodworking—passions he has nurtured since his youth. He treasures time spent with his fiancée and seven-year-old daughter, balancing his dedication to family, artistry, and a lifetime of service.
Over Half a Century Ago...
Over Half a Century Ago, Georgia Governor James Earl Carter Jr. Proclaimed April 5th,
1971 as “American Fighting Man’s Day,”
Asked State Residents to Drive with Their Headlights on During Daylight for a Week to
Show Support
for Second Lieutenant William L. Calley Jr. After Army Officers Announced His Sentence
of Life Imprisonment for 22 Counts of Murder at My Lai 4
Time: that tonic for guilt. That
is the way I like it: guilt blinded by the light
of unreason. Time: blinded and gagged.
Now, I’m building houses for the poor. Now,
I’m swinging a hammer. I’m just a humble farmer, just
a man you thought different
about the world: a hammer in my hand,
nails between my teeth.
I’m wearing a hardhat.
Because the world doesn’t need me,
I build one in my image: smiling, kindhearted
to the meek and widows. The orphans:
they adore me.
When I saw Calley, I knew
he killed those children
because he didn’t get what he wanted: no glory,
just guts. Just guts and brains and intestines
and open wounds and tourniquets and severed limbs,
boobie traps and punji sticks.
Once, there was The Light of the World.
Once, we drove with headlights on all day
because there had to be light in the world I made.
There had to be innocence in war. And children:
all those children were there for killing.
Paul David Adkins (he/him) served in the US Army from 1991-2013. He holds a MA in Writing and Oral Tradition from The Graduate Institute, Bethany, CT. He counsels soldiers and teaches scholars in a correctional facility. Publications include Barzakh, The Mark, Crab Creek, Kissing Dynamite, Badwater, and Spillway.
Maybe I'm An Alcoholic
Omar Reatiga
Maybe I'm an alcoholic
Maybe I'm not
Maybe I love the warmth and the flavor
Maybe...
Or perhaps it's because
It takes away my anger
It lets it ebb away and subside
It makes me feel again
It lets me reminisce and cry
...Maybe
It could be that alcohol
Makes me happy
Jump up and dance
Shake my hips and wave my hands
Like in an ecstatic trance
Maybe...
I think it's the taste
It doesn't matter if straight or mixed
Whether bitter or sweet
I drink them fast
And soon I feel complete
Maybe...
Maybe I'll be honest...
When around people
Alcohol quiets my senses
Eases my trembling hand
Deafens the screams
And the pain from the past
Honesty...
When I'm driving
Alcohol blinds my nerves
To snipers and threats
Roadside trash aren't IEDs
My anxiety is easier to suppress
Honesty...
When I get home
Alcohol clears my mind
From seeing an enemy cave
I'm not walking into danger
It's just my door not my grave
And once inside my place
I sit and relax with a drink
And on my recliner I contemplate
Maybe I'm an alcoholic...
Maybe I'm not
Omar Reatiga is an Air Force and a disabled veteran. He is currently enrolled at CUNY Hunter College earning his MA/PhD in Art History. In his free time, Reatiga likes to write, paint, go for a hike, visit museums, and he appreciates the live entertainment of NYC's Broadway district.
71, 88, 12
Vinny Maher
Entered the scene in the 1, 9, 7, 1
Running the streets in the 7, 1, 8, til 88
It was fun in the 2 _ Zero century especially during the 7’s and 8’s
I grew up on the 1-5-0 and UTP to the age of 1-7
And by that time I had gotten, not 1, not 2, but 3 rides in a 107. All ending with a message, resulting in some limping and some swelling. The year was 1-9-8-8, things were done different.
It’s not because I was mad or crazy or even an adrenaline junkie, it’s just that when we had to run I was the anchor for the team, for all the wrong reasons. I know now that I was just the flunky, and they only kept me around to be the slow lamb for slaughter at the altar.
Catching cases at 1-7 ain’t no good, what the fuck I’m gonna do, who gonna want me by the time I’m 2-1
Moms and Pops are all but done with their child who has cost them their sleep and their bread. They say figure your shit out cause at 1-8 your ticket is punched, and a change of address card is what you’ll get.
Knowing it’s time for a reboot, I take the Q64 to 1-6-8 and JAM, where I meet a man in a uniform who says he has a plan, to turn this boy into a man. I say where do I sign, the man says take a test and then sign right here on the dotted line……………………. But wait he says, there’s a problem I see, your only 1-7 so you still need Mom and Pop to agree.
We all meet at the C-9 inside the 79-25, look over the contract, line for line, and that same Mom and Pop now seem hesitant to put me out. I thought they be happy, figured there be no doubt.
I tell them look, I want this, let me go, so I can show you all that me is not your fault, that I get it now. Theres a man out there waiting for me to become him and if I wait too long then I just might miss him.
So sign they did and away I went……….
And for twenty four years ending in 1-2, I had a good run with stints in the 4-2, 4-8, 77th and the 3rd, and of course can’t forget that year under the blazing sun with bombs bursting in air where we all got medals pinned for our troubles……. Well not everyone ……. Some were handed to moms and pops, sons and daughters, husbands and wives with flags and plaques saying Thank You For Your Soldiers Service.
Looking back, only one half of me really came back………….
Would I ever do it again? Most definitely, this old man would love to go back
If God forbid there was ever another attack……
Vincent J “Vinny” Maher is a Retired Army Veteran who served 24-years, retiring as an E-6. He also served for 27 years as a NYPD Detective, now retired. His service to his country still continues as an Armed Guard with the Defense Health Agency (DHA). Maher has 4 kids, of which one is an Navy veteran. In his free time, Maher enjoys stand-up comedy and hanging out with his girlfriend, Lisa.
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