Best Vietnam Poems
There is the calm before the rain
It’s almost silent all around
The clouds expectant in the sky
Foreboding birds are homeward bound.
The soldiers stare at looming clouds
There is the calm before the rain
And yet there’s tension in the air
Will all this waiting be in vain?
They know the feeling well enough
The sun gets left out in the cold
There is the calm before the rain
They have to be prepared and bold.
The sound of planes will soon be heard
Torrential bombs will fall again
But ‘til the heavens burst in floods
There is the calm before the rain.
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Inspired by the song “Have you ever seen the rain?”
Sung by Credence Clearwater Revival.
With underlying reference to the Vietnam War.
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Contest: Screwed (Mar 2015)
Sponsor: Rob Carmack
Placed: 7th
Rock N' Roll Contest sponsored by Kelly Deschler. NA
I flew,
a modern man in a steel bird,
with all the arrogance of
ancient Icarus, but my wings
did not melt nor I swoon.
I flew high, very, very high
over Asian lands and homes,
and below me, very, very far
down where the bombs fell
like the rains of hell...
I saw the face of the moon.
Emotions flooded my very soul as I viewed that Sacred Wall.
Etched for all eternity are hero's names who sacrificed their all.
I sensed that I was on hallowed soil as I knelt on bended knee.
I touched The Wall today, but more than that, The Wall touched me.
I offered a silent prayer for each of the names that I caressed.
Tho' their time here was brief, by them we were truly blessed.
They placed national destiny above their own defending liberty.
I touched The Wall today, but more than that, The Wall touched me.
They were ordinary Americans who performed extraordinary things,
Such grand and noble acts to ensure that freedom's bell yet rings!
They gave their full measure that humankind might live free.
I touched The Wall today, but more than that, The Wall touched me.
What might they have become, I muse, had fate not dealt them so,
A teacher, doctor, a farmer? Alas, we shall never know.
To teach nations The Golden Rule, I suspect would be their plea.
I touched The Wall today, but more than that, The Wall touched me.
Tho' grander monuments have been built for those of greater fame,
This simple yet powerful memorial will keep alive the flame,
Of humanity's quest for brotherhood, peace and dignity.
I touched The Wall today, but more than that, The Wall touched me.
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(© All Rights Reserved)
Anne Murray did have quite the flurry, voice as a brook without crooks
Canadian born, songs of forlorn, beautiful vibes, I subscribed
Such singing as a bird, the world has never heard, she splurged
“O Little Snow Bird”, in the words I heard, calming of Vietnam
O spread your wings and fly away, words of God’s love I heard
Mind level love, forever untrue, so what’s new, `Tis festering spew
O but little snow bird, an alpine of cleansing snow, God’s Love
Spread your wings that brings, renewing, from festered spewing
Providing for me a way to go, by a cleansing snow
Innocence, a purity, of life’s promising security
Some leaders said only fate, this atrocity of hate
Maimed, lamed and defamed they came, to claim their bitter fame
State side they now abide, holding inside, Our leaders lied
Leaving the lamb of their souls in Nam, for uncle Sam
Atrocities, of hate, never abate, mind’s sickening fate
The Vietnam of late, laid at the mind’s creation of hell’s gate
O beauty of little snow birds, spread your wings, fly back this way
Cleans again, the glean of mind’s sin called fate, lain at heart’s gate
Like an alpine of purity, Love from Anne’s heart was sung
Maybe only to ease her own pain, but her timing was plain
The answer is blowing in the wings, of even a little snow bird
The such of which the mind of itself has never learn or heard
All humanity will not learn, but precious few will return
By their trust in Love, the snow white Dove, spewed forth from above
Anne Murray sang away I know, some of my own heart’s pain
Honoring all Vietnam veterans, be you not in fretters
From your hearts of security your love is your surety
Let your Alpine of pure snow bird, be Love’s word you’ve heard
Dane I am sure you’ve at least heard this song that this poem is about.
It somehow caused me to think of you, as I was writing it. Therefore
I dedicate it to you and all veterans for your service to our country.
Sincerely, Love, Moses
12-19-09 [email protected]
They're getting old now.
They congregate only a few blocks south of where I live.
40 to 50 years ago they were in Vietnam.
Among the homeless they usually move slower,
The weariness of age and of other things,
of drug use and alcohol,
lost loves and families,
bent and broken paths.
You hear about the "thousand yard stare,"
where blank verse and silence show they're not actively seeing,
though now most of the immediate trauma is gone,
they are just lives forever changed,
eyes both hardened and softened,
former aspects compromised,
the hand of war still upon them.
My family had a big house in Youngstown, Ohio,
with a room rented to a nice young guy named Dale.
It was cool because he would throw the football
with me and my brothers, and talk to us.
He had short hair and a little bit of acne.
In 1967 he went to Vietnam, killed within a week.
They tell stories of night patrols, moving through water,
streams rivers rain, mud and sodden clothes,
100 degrees in the shade, bugs, infection, panic,
running through the jungle firing their M-16 behind them,
of the Vietnamese people suffering, the dead lying along the road.
Arriving in-country, the heat blasting you
when you get off the plane, you are told
look left, look right, and then that one of the two men
you just saw will not return.
Our country was then conflicted, and it was harder coming home,
even though the orange fires and the smoke were far away,
you lost a limb and they didn't appreciate it.
There were a lot of booby-traps set,
by the enemy, by the bureaucracy, by the times.
I wasn't old enough to go and I'm not sorry.
Dedicated to my Father, (R)Colonel US Army, 1931-1998, with endless love
Leaving for a year
for nightmares and fear
he came to say goodbye
or at least to try.
I did not speak,
didn’t open my eyes,
an unknown fear
had me paralyzed.
Daddy long stood in uniform
watching me tucked in warm.
My silence is memory that haunts -
there is a fulfillment I still want.
My pretend sleep,
him standing above.
we should have spoken,
held and shown love.
I only, barely, peaked
at my Daddy’s face.
This regret won’t leave,
I mourn that lost embrace.
Did he know, did he realize,
his nine-year-old was alert
behind closed eyes?
He had always known
when I was in possum mode.
We should have hugged,
shown each other our love.
Did Dad live with regret
over what I cannot forget?
LETTERS FROM VIETNAM.........Volume One......
November and December...1967/68.......
I drove by your house...several times...In hopes of seeing you......but then I had to go
away....
Dearest Sharon,
I missed your Prom....I had other commitments....
Hemingway...was the very first American causality of WWI...in Italy....a young man. He fell
in love...with his nurse....and his love was not denied....but it was not taken either...
because of the riches of an Italian Duke....she left him....his words did not persuade
her.....as he had prayed.
Jack Riley......Sat in a mud hole....it was still raining.....
He had just called in a Air Strike Mission!. This was going to be close...It had to be.....He
needed time to get to them out..........FUBAR.....!!!!!!
The Jets' screamed down the Valley at dusk!........The first Fighter Jet dived low and
slow.....to draw enemy fire ..hopefully...then the second Fighter Jet would come in.....and
destroy the target.....at my command.....again...hopefully....
Randall Smith.....Vietnam
Vietnam War Memorial Wall
58,318
Victory
Into
End
The
Names
At
Memorial
Worshiping
Americans
Remembering
Meaningful
Everlasting
Memory
Of
Real
Individuals
A
Love
Written
All
Lost
Lives
Contest Two: Your Best Poem that is trophy worthy Two
Sponsored by: Tania Kitchin
Dated Entered: 10/01/2019
I believe this poem is trophy worthy for the meaning behind it, a trophy is only a symbol, this is a true story that needs to be kept alive for the 58,318 lives who died for this country and the freedom to have theses contest.
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.
vietnam reflections 1
i think that ihave madness
it shines through
most of what i see
and much of what i do.
lunacy pocks my being
some of what i am seeing
does not exist at all
maybe this is sanity
that goes before my fall.
Within my breast I carry ancient death;
Its face is pale and white as marbled clay.
Consumed with guilt, I struggle for each breath
Still sour with napalm death of yesterday.
The fractured colors formed behind my lids
Are monumental rainbows round a pit
Where hues of crimson-reds crisscross the grids
Profuse in bloody lines and squares to fit.
Profanely perfect patterned memories
Of riddled bodies huddled on the ground,
Where bloated skin slips off fatalities
As ragged maggots slither-squirm around.
The jungle flora breathes forth mystic sighs
As soldiers wander through symbology.
They see suspended phantoms' floating eyes;
A catapult to horrid memory.
No temple of communion colonnades!
No transubstantiation in the heat!
No priestly servants hidden in the glades!
No promises of paradise wrapped neat!
The slickness of a blade
pressing against a throat....
the cold steel meeting tender flesh
blood drips and a body tumbles
the taste.... the sight... the sound....
all quite euphoric.....
Ripped clothes, smashed items,
echo screams, and the raging fires that glow throughout the night
The beauty.... the savagery.... the destruction
all quite euphoric....
Do you still carry it with you,
the rifle of the fight?
Are you absolved in your bravery
even though you did not die?
Do you see worth
for what you risked?
I could not smell your perspiration
as we danced the boogaloo at home.
We were all so young;
all of us;
no chance to think;
each in a different reality.
And there are those who are forever young
prisoners of the mind, of the soul,
of the earth framed in heartache by loved ones.
© revised May 26, 2012
Kathryn McL. Collins
I Was Very Eager to Go with Him,
My Most Trusted Friend.
Even I Was a Bit Surprised
At How Trusted He Was in the End.
We Went out on Patrol Each Night.
You Would Always See Us Together.
I Couldn’t Tell You How Much I Loved Him,
If I Could, I Would Sleep at His Feet Forever.
Now, You May Think That Strange,
But I’m a German Shepard Named “Jack”.
And If it Hadn’t Been for Me
My Friend Would Not Have Gone Back.
He Went Home to His Family...
To His Two Little Girls and Wife.
If I Had it to Do All over Again..
Yes...I Would Still Have Given My Life.
That Is What I Was Trained to Do,
I Was a War Dog in Vietnam.
Some of Us Lived to Come Home.
But Others like Me...didn’t Live So Long.
But I Don’t Think I Am Forgotten,
My Friend Stayed with Me to the End.
That Is Why I Would Do it Again...
He Called Me Jack.....And He Was My Friend
The black wall reflected my white-washed skin
and disheveled jacket, above the chattering din...
Loosly lopsided glasses hang limply on my face,
Cold, dark, black, they somehow seemed to fit this place.
The smooth memorial seemed to stretch on,
Longer than death itself;a banner, a chord, an unsung hero's song.
...
Memories race through my unsettled mind,
The dense rainforest reverberates right behind...
Exploding artillery, I see several comrades fall down.
They lay moaning or silently still on the densely foliaged ground.
Like tin soldiers, “Playing dead,” I force myself to believe
Trying to dam the tide of fear, for death is all I see.
“Will, help!" a young and bloodied soldier calls to me.
Hands gruffly grabbed my shoulder; I meet my commander’s steely eyes,
Torn, bruised, and bloody... I could see he wasn't surprised.
“We won’t survive with extra baggage. Retreat to the copter, now!”
He hollered hollowly, his featured in a ragged, downcast bow.
Pondering quickly: Die a hero? Or forever regret today?
Without a hesitation, I hoisted that young man up right away.
He seemed light, until I picked up another, fallen on the beaten path.
The odds were all against me; flying bullets unfurled their wrath.
Lifting yet another, I wrapped him silently around my tired arm.
The day I died, two comarades were saved and taken away from harm.
...
And for a single breathless moment, I thought that I had seen myself,
In the teary-eyed man reading these lost names all by himself.
Now and forever, my name will be a simple written sprawl.
An etching in a stone, a memoir to this black unyielding wall.
Beth Watkins
3/7/11
~Dedicated to those heroes who have died to defend our freedom.~