"What dreams / Will be left / undreamed tonight?"
November 11, 2007 11:10 AM Subscribe
posted by orthogonality (8 comments total)
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For 11/11, soldiers' poems of MACV (and interstitial matter):
I can feel traces of my heart / leaving wet rivers / down my manly cheeks.
Stunned now / angry / helpless / bits of torn paper beside / empty red mailbag.
So / You averted looking directly / at their eyes / (That last graveyard / for their fears)
It's getting hard to talk to you, / You don't seem to communicate; / You get upset too easily, / I only asked what it was really like.
∞ (Previously, previously)
More from The Vietnam Experience
by Bill McDonald:
• She begged us, / With her child like screams
• Time slipped past us, standing in separate places / ... / He graduated cum laude / And I flunked Vietnam.
• But children / My dearest children / I’ve killed / Someone else’s / children
And Bill McDonald's "Guest Poets"
• I was nothing more / than U.S. Grade A American meat / used for some bureaucrat's political gain.
• Weird shadows dance against the twisted strands / And men stare anxiously / Until the glare dies down and they relax once more. / It is night in Vietnam
• This weekend is our reunion of the men of the 2/47 Infantry / I won’t be going they remind me of a war fought long ago / It is not memories that I seek but freedom for my sick and weary soul.
• While protestors heaped ridicule upon us / And newspapers treated us with scorn / We did what had to be done / For the nation to which we were born
More from Deserts and Oases: A Veteran's Poetry
, by by Jackson H. Day:
• How can I tell her / about the screaming of the rockets / about the shaking of the ground close by / about the terror in the bunkers / asking if the time had really come;
•I feel such anger. / I rage at all who do not know, / who have not heard, / who do not share / the burden of your pain, / the burden of our shame.
• Infantry commander, eyes moist / against all resistance a tear / conquers stubbled cheek.
But I left my legs in a foreign graveyard / and I leave them now as a memorial to John Wayne./ He is the only American who would have saluted me / as I was rolled unceremoniously down that ramp.
More from Poetry of the Vietnam War
by Curt Bennett:
• In helpless, grim fascination, we watched him go / Plunging down through the quiet morning sun. / At the last moment, he spread his arms out wide, / Like Jesus on a cross, he swan dived and seemed to float, / For a brief moment skimming the clouds
• The men lay still / In the rich, red mud / In awkward configurations. / It was difficult to tell / Which one belonged? / To which nation? / Their stiff arms / Seemed to stretch out / Reaching for each other. / It was almost, as if / Universal brotherhood / Had at last…been realized.