Private Johnson

from by Joan Burch

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Two letters came,
Signed with his name.
Message was clear,
War is Hell.

Private Johnson’s, private letters.
No one knew it wasn’t gettin’ any better.
If we would have read the letters,
Johnson, didn’t have much time.

Things I’ve seen like a bad dream.
Captain’s Kong Killer, five foot tall.
Doesn’t look like a killer at all,
He’s so skinny and small.

My combat partner Riveras’, was killed.
A grenade exploded in his hand, but still,
They accounted for his clothes, more than for him.
Now I’m sleepin’ in the bed he laid in.

Chances in twelve months of me getting killed.
Same as the next forty civilian, God will.
If I make it out and I return,
Buy me a motorcycle, I can churn.

Did my duty, wasn’t for free.
Even though, all supplies were given to me.
There was a cost indeed.
Everything was lost, in those rice paddies.

Toughen up myself, get out the door.
Time for a round, of killin’ some more.
If you ask me, Private Maxwell Johnson,
That ain’t what I came here for.
Private Johnson’s, Private letters, no, it wasn‘t getting any better.


from Admit One, released November 28, 2015



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Joan Burch Rochester, New York

I started writing songs in 2007. I released, "Taking Flight", a CD of 13 original songs, in 2012. My first songs were written on keys. Then I expanded my performance style by learning to play the guitar. Inspired by the guitar's voice, I wrote some new songs. "Admit One", highlights some of those “guitar” songs. I continue to write and perform new songs - Nov. 2015. ... more

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