Best Paddies Poems
VETERANS ARE PEOPLE
I fought in the trenches of World War I
In the foxholes of World War II
I was in the Korean Conflict
And the rice paddies of Vietnam too
I've been to Afghanistan
Kuwait and Iraq
Spent long months away from home
I've been to hell and back
But the stars and stripes will forever wave
In honor of those who went to their grave
To ensure that America will always be
The home of the brave and the land of the free
The bells of freedom will continue to ring
All across the USA
And it can be said, without a doubt
Our veterans paved the way
24 August 2018
For the contest sponsored by July Morning
Mist feathery drifts
last night’s breath loosening
above basalt slopes of Huatung
Pacific swallows trace morning brushwork
over Fuli’s rice paddies
new green scented with rain.
Xiuguluan River flows jade mountain-born
among ancestral stones
white willows in Ruisui weep
dew-kissed
cycad fronds catching first sunlight
Leaf pearls gather on my thatched sandals
Walami earth holds stories in its coolness.
Bihe Pond rests hidden in Wanrong’s stillness
waters reflecting the tribe’s quiet prayers
Bamboo leaves in green and gold
crested mynas gather in quiet repose
wind moves with the chime of a temple bell.
Ancestral path wanders into the Central Range
oolong tea clouds drift
above Qilai’s blue ridges
A white egret lifts over Guangfu’s terraces
air clear as poured Longjing.
A bulbul calls
blue magpie glides
the slow unlayering of day
Huatung Calligrapher’s span warm to newborn light
time unspools—
bright
unmeasured.
Light widens
dawn follows Yu Shan’s shadowed valleys
the world in quiet promise
soft light
drifting into morning.
Come along with me as I journey East
where fragile cherry blossoms flutter
before raining down from cloudless skies.
Let's climb majestic mountains whose crests
are always laced with crowns of snow.
Here, the scent of jasmine is caught in a breeze.
Bonsai forests hold ancient secrets of long past civilizations.
We will see dragons who seem to soar beyond the moon,
then take the shape of koi with the rising sun.
Listen as bamboo chimes sing in windswept percussion.
Their hollow voices reach across Tokachi River.
Legend says it was etched by the flowing tears
of a young Geisha who cried all night
when she saw her red-budded lips mirrored in a lake.
It's now a sacred place where lovers often meet
when the hint of a sanguine sunset fills the sky.
Their whispered words of passion's promises
are drowned in roars of towering waterfalls.
Say you'll come and we'll fly amid flocks of crane,
across paddies and valleys of lush green,
then feast upon crispy roasted duck
before we lick our fingers clean of Hoisin.
Sleep will find us beneath a blanket of willows,
and we'll gaze in awed wonder when we wake,
at the most exotic land of splendors we've ever seen.
We'll surrender promises that one day we will return,
for this is where our hearts now wish to dwell.
Give us brushes and canvas; paints of boldest oils
to capture the Oriental beauty, naked before our eyes.
July 1st, 2017
Exotic Places
by Debbie Guzzi
Seventeenth of March is St Patrick’s Day
Great day for the Irish I can honestly say
Paddies' the world over will want to be seen
Wearing Leprechaun hats and a sprig of green.
Loud colourful parades up and down the lands
Drums, tin whistles and the skirl of pipe bands
Sample some Guinness or a glass of potcheen
Be the best street party you've ever seen.
But if you're not Irish still join in the fun
St Patrick’s day parades are for everyone
But make sure you go, you'll enjoy the craic
And I guarantee that next year you'll be back
It happens once a year so come and have a ball
A very happy St Patrick's day to one and all.
Written 16/02/2019.
Poitin anglicized as Potcheen
( Irish moonshine )
~
Sprig of green is the shamrock associated
With St Patrick who used it to explain the blessed trinity, God the father, son and holy spirit.
~
The craic is news, gossip, enjoyable conversation and having fun.
The winning touchdown scored that fall – lingered,
As fresh a memory of that night,
As when the sound of the crowd filled his ears,
And her kisses were warm and deep.
Only to have all that was planned and lay ahead,
Turned upside down and changed forever,
By a draw with no heart or conscience,
And the power to hurl him a world away.
To an ancient land turned killing-field,
A Grunt – slogging through jungles and paddies,
Always scared, yet true to his duty and buddies,
Amid a carnage that numbs his every fiber,
And with every letter, package or paper from home,
Compounding his hurt and feelings of loss,
His thoughts turn to why he is here,
But he is here; so, he will do what is asked of him.
And to return to the states is his greatest wish,
But he sees the lists of MIAs and KIAs,
And does what he must do,
To ease his pain and struggle on through.
He might make it home and pick up the pieces,
Of a life so drastically altered,
Or his final glory just might be, those “Friday Night Lights”,
Pale pink lipstick and warm fall kisses.
An amulet of peace hung ‘round my neck,
An AR16 rifle in my hands….
Seemed like such a paradox,
In the paddies and jungles of Vietnam.
An amulet of peace hung ‘round my neck,
A man’s life was in my hands….
That life was not only mine,
While trying to survive in Vietnam.
An amulet of peace hung ‘round my neck,
Hoping for guidance by God’s hand….
Ignore our sin, keep us alive and safe,
While fighting in Vietnam.
An amulet of peace hung ‘round my neck,
My duffel bag in my hand….
After 13 months, I was going home,
No more to fight in Vietnam.
An amulet of peace hung ‘round my neck,
An Honorable Discharge in my hand….
Only to be spat upon, called ‘baby killer’,
By ‘peaceniks’ against the war in Vietnam.
An amulet of peace no longer hung ‘round my neck,
The challenge of a new life was at hand….
Found love, happiness and some success,
And tried not to think of Vietnam.
Again, that same amulet of peace hangs ‘round my neck;
And I hope my friends all understand….
I want our courageous young men and women
Out of Iraq and Afghanistan.
Stilled again across the canals broadening
Girth;
Mesh cages of rock-filled Gabions
Reinforcing patches of exposed and arid earth,
Reflecting the glints that gleefully
Twist and dance in the hot glare of the sun...
Provoking images and stirring indefinable feelings
That begin to irrevocably up and run;
Pictures and voices crowding into my mind:
Immersing me in the flooding moments
To which i am briefly resigned.
Now momentarily staid by the shimmering
Instance
In which i find myself inextricably caught,
Perplexed by something rather intangible,
Seeming almost to tease and laugh
Whilst confounding upon my evasive and
Fleeting thoughts;
As glancing across at the opposite bank
Where drawn up a line of densely packed trees..
I swore...I heard the reel of a high squealing
Fiddle -
Playing ever so briefly alongside a tricky little
Breeze.
For stood there I, wondering,
On a grey painted swing-bridge:
Of brightly painted Steamers, dirty Trampers
And of double masted white canvassed Brigs.
Oh! The everlasting glory of a New World order
Redefined:
Entrusted to those instructed in her Majesties
Construction of sprawling Victorian sublimes!
The men who heroically dug, picked, blasted and
Strove:
To securely fasten an Iron cast girdle around
An ever diminishing blue globe.
Dreaming of long ago, dutiful, Golden-Age days
Rigorously pursued down, what are now,
Weed strewn, abandoned byways.
Faustian clothing and a Velveteens cap;
The thick buckled leather gaiters held about
By the strap.
Many the word spoken in a soft southern brogue:
All hail the glorious navigators -
The navvies of old!
Staunch and desperate men forced to resign
Their native Gaelic shores
And burden unto themselves with
Mattocks, shovels and garishly painted-up whores.
Under the high flaming beacons
And over the obscure little brow -
They carved out the new waterways
To float the laden down prow.
Yes! Men of the Emerald Isles
I salute you and your kinsfolk
From lands cast westwards afar:
The magnificent "Paddies" from the verdant island -
Of Erin-Go-Bragh!
Gawd! I awoke this morning wondering what I'm doing in this miserable place!
I thought the oath I took was to defend America's shores, not a foreign race!
The French made a mess and ran, now, America has to straighten things out.
It's a civil war and personally I don't give a damn what the politicians tout!
The president and his minions are making millions off my miserable back,
While I wade through these gawd-forsaken paddies dodging shells and flak!
Maybe I should've gone to Canada but I would have let my father down,
Who fought in another war and returned with honor to his hometown.
Colonels and generals sit on their butts in Saigon adding medals to their collection,
Enjoying air conditioning, steak, ice cream and the finest whiskey selection.
I dine on C-rations, get a shower once a month and a warm beer now and then.
I hear the screams of wounded buddies and weep at the agony of dying men.
I hear back home that peaceniks call us baby killers and spit on returning heroes!
If I ever get back home and that happens to me, I'll punch the SOBs in the nose!
Nams don't appreciate what we're doing and its a shame our people have to die,
While a lot of their young guys avoid the gore of war hoping it'll pass them by.
As I sit here in this filthy foxhole with water up to my knees, I fervently pray,
I can make it through my tour without a scratch and get home to a better day.
Will America ever learn from history and stay out of other people's wars,
And learn from the futility of war while the loss of our blood and treasure soars?
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF
© All Rights Reserved
Honorable Mention in Miranda Lambert's "World of War: Vietnam" Contest
Apr 2011
The Sounds of Korea
I hear the familiar sounds of Korea,
Of the crowing of roosters in the morning,
Of the fields, streams and marketplaces.
The tunes of shamanistic music band
The swirling of fire-lit cans of Jwibul nori,
The soup boiling sounds in a huge pot,
A crisp “tak, tak” sound of soybean burning
And the crackling sounds of dry branches.
Chanting at planting & threshing paddies
The singing of Hori and Gyeori songs
The striking of the bronze bell of Sangwonsa
Chanting-Beompae to Daeung Amitabh.
In the far-flung village of Sangyu
The flames of the daljips in the rice fields
Soars high in the sky on Jeongwol Daeboreum
Higher the flames, the greater is the harvest
Promising bounteous year and good health.
People dance Pansori at the tunes of Nongak
A feast is being prepared there,
The full moon catches people’s prayers
And spreads it to the high heaven.
Jwibul nori’-Mice burning game is on
Somewhere yet in another village.
The traditional burning of the rice paddies
To chase away the mice from the fields.
With crackling sounds of fireworks,
Warming and fertilizing the frozen fields.
=================================
Third Placement
Contest: Sounds Familiar
Hear them rattle, a joyful song they sing,
Rejoicing in the rain's refreshing grace,
Amidst rice fields, thirst-quenching drops bring,
Four-legged dwellers welcome rain's embrace.
In the coolness of the rainy season's call,
They captivate a wanderer's delight,
Talking amidst paddies, where they stand tall,
Karr karr karr kokakok, their voices unite.
Mingling with the breeze, rural nights they fill,
Their chorus resonates, joyous and free,
Gratitude to heaven's love, they instill,
For a life that humans oft overlook and flee.
Happily hopping, leaping through time,
Seasons change, but hope remains,
Ever ready for the next rain's rhyme,
Embracing the life we often disdain.
golden paddies sway in sync as soft wind strokes their
cheeks ~ white herons squawk
Date: 08/15/2021
For A Brian Strand 1,2,3,4, or 5 Line Poetry Contest
…New In Farming
-------------------------------
My Dad is showing me these days
Our walnuts in the forest,
The willows by the brook,
And the boundary marks of all our pastures, and paddies.
Teaching me to arc around the apples
As deep as a full-spade
To keep away the roots eating rats.
Water the trees in summers’ heat,
Apply white latex to prevent the stems from sunburn.
Spray the trees with well-timed pesti’des,
Fungi’des and insecti’des,
Because the sensitive trees are to too many diseases very prone.
Remember! Nitrogen encourages good growth,
Phosphorus, root growth,
Potassium, fruit and flower.
Since I am the second senior in the three-men-family,
Newly married, newly laid-off, New in farming;
And he, an asthma patient,
Is not feeling well, nowadays, often.
(Last day at Harwan, Dhara, I saw an aged man stumbled,
Falling faceward on his knees, and then down.
And was helped by two youngmen walking in the street,
As a child trying to stand on his feet.)
'in rice paddies'
that is my name Tanaka
nothing but common
planting
the staple of life
new beginnings
seedlings
nurtured by natures flow
future hopes
nestling
in the loam and water
sustenance
farmers
weeding the paddies
a crane forages
greens arise
to greet morning rays
honking geese
thrashing
out tiny grains
happy tummies
See this now:
Easter 1916
Two
roads dissapated from
blacktop to
gravel to
dirt.
Two roads driving through the Emerald Isle parralell to one
another-
or was it X and why?
a perverse axis, perpendicular, split in
the tumultuous fit?
Its almost like the rising never happened, its
almost like the battle wasn't won.
A bloody easter, a bloody nation,
freedom bought by fusillade and flame, fear flown
from the muzzle of a patriot's gun.
And now a new flag rises in hope of victory and final peace.
It is an Irish banner
a radiant pennon of Green, of
Orange,
of White,
A flag of dreams for paddies just like me,
waiting for the call to arms,
the march towards victory.
Clan-na-Gael at your doorstep, baby!
Clan-na-Gael armed and ready!
You can wash that down with a protestant cake!