Long Nam Poems
Long Nam Poems. Below are the most popular long Nam by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Nam poems by poem length and keyword.
SAT NAM
I am rose in sunlight breathing
Buddha in middle of balm bathing
beckoning my Heart leavening lively
I am a loop in Love cathedral of pure
passion where two beanpoles
dance dare devils deafening
I am wolf wandering in wild weather
finding a fabulous feathered feed
mesmerising messages of marvellous magic
I am darling dove in Dover
watching wedded buy woven wonders
my wings widen their purse-strings wonkily
I am ant anticipating bald-headed eagle
escorting a co-op car to labour ward
fetching mother and new bursting born
I am bardy breeze trying a tango
in coralled coloured church chinks
witnessing choristers sing new comely chords
I am quint quilt on forked farmyard fence
damp dough in toddler tweaks
forte fingers on trebled trumpet tumbling
I am sage steaming vapour soothing stomach
Salomon’s battle stoned and sprung
mirroring his victory on glass floors glimmering
I am tiger in Tibetan temple tempered
monks on my turf as they deserve
stroke my striking countenance smoothly
I am silhouetted stallion in South Sea surf
galloping my gay freedom song
whilst scientists girdle genomes googling
I am witch of weathered spirits
witnessing zigzag zaps down
lithe legs as learnings of latent timelines
I am grandpa goat gambling
another term of gum boot dancing
Lady Nada gifting a hymn for Beatles ballooning
I am Goddess of the Moon
inspiring mortals to seek
Sat Nam Sat Nam Sat Nam !
Saaaaat Naaaaaaammm…
©GhairoDanielsPoetry&Song
2008
by Robert (Bob) Moore © 2015
In ’68 I drove a cab, here in Sydney town,
with R & R from Vietnam, Americans were around
they were young and far from home, about to blow a fuse
and Kings Cross was the place they’d go for gambling, girls and booze
I’d pick them up in George St, they just wanted fun you know
I told them that it was not far, they could walk, but they said no
will not be long before we walk, in jungles dark and green
until then it’s just luxury, and to see what’s to be seen
Sometimes a trip across the Bridge, was their idea of fun
so they could tell their friends back home, that’s just what they had done
but it was true, that soon for them, it was off and back to war
and if they made it home again, they’d remember what they saw
A Poem [ Viet Nam]
By Patrick Kelly
The last minutes of evening yields to the moon’s shadowed night,
giving me a few moments to nibble the last of my “Band Of Brothers,”
of boned chicken, cheese and crackers before I throw the empty cans
to join the others in my little trash pile. nothing left for the rats. The twinkle of stars touch and caress the rice paddy in pure silence. A board game, where lives are played out on a stage among many actors.
Where silent nights are ambushed by flares shooting up, only to descend
in lazy, floating spears of light, awaking each contestant, in rapid flashes and sound.
Gunships filling the air with lead, tracing their paths in bouncing streaks and
Helicopters with their figure 8 patterns spewing death, rockets streaking
through the night, stopping the birds in their flight, tracers racers back and forth daring to run into each other, someone walked into an ambush, then back to silence. We are jealous of our war and have been cut out again with “Stand Down.”
Then there’s that one little tracer shooting up like a little heal biter shaking its
puny paw at his antagonists.
I think nothing of my trash or that fire- fight carried out on these acres of “No Man’s Land,” under a moon and scattered clouds. We have become jealous of our war, we were left out again. I think nothing of the blood spent. I see, I hear, I do not speak.
Another body count to send to the folks back home of our success.
It was the early 70's
Viet Nam was in full swing.
Tommy fell out of his seat in class,
Amusing us, making us laugh
"Even the army would not take you," a teacher said.
Making us laugh harder
For that was when the draft was in full swing also.
Tommy called his mother before we graduated
"This is for you, Mom," he said.
He was under the throes of alcohol,
Fully aware that he had been her only throw away child.
She had kept his two siblings.
However, she was too angry with him
For he had arrived when she was only fifteen,
making her mad.
His grandparents had done the best they could.
But they could not be his mother,
So alcohol became his mother.
His mother shrugged, hearing the gun go off.
Not concerned.
She never liked him anyway.
He was the first casualty of war in my graduating class.
1969 was a sad year for those aware of Viet Nam
We were seventeen and eighteen
It was in the news but what did it have to do with us?
Our love was intense
He wore white jeans that made me wild
He knew it, so he wore them often
Driving me crazy
Nothing else mattered, nothing else mattered
We thought no one knew our secret look
Others gave us our illusion
His draft number was thirty-six
He found a loophole
I begged him to use it.
It was daring. On Christmas week his number went to number 1.
Only for a week, then he would get a new number, way back in the two hundreds
Our love was intense
He wanted to please me
Driving his folks crazy
A phone call came on Christmas Day
He had to go; they had pulled his card.
I felt awful. Our love was intense.
Vietnam was real now
He wanted more now before he left.
I was wild but not that wild.
This was the Bible belt
Small town America
His pleas were driving me crazy
At the airport we could not keep our hands off each other.
I told him we could do the things he wanted when he returned.
But he did not last two weeks.
He was killed in a jungle
We did not even care about
My heart blew up in the landmine with his
Driving me crazy
I wish I had done things differently
I would like to see those white jeans again
Yes death was an awakening
We did not realize we carried it with us
Until our smiles were wiped clean
And the laughter had stopped
It did not take long.
Vietnam was life game changer
We had been thrust into jungles
As GI Joe’s, ready to kick some butt
Instead, we were the ones being kicked.
As trigger explosions were going off and our friends were dying
We realized that death was waking us up
Begging for our full attention which we gave
For there is nothing like the horrors of war
To shake an eighteen-year-old out of his cocoon of innocence
To take his invincible attitude and twist it behind his back.
War is hell and death is the rude awakener
You can look back now
being much older
for they had pulled your number
in the lottery
you had won the grand prize
an all expense paid trip
to neverland
courtesy of Uncle Sam
hand me down helmet on head
slightly used peace in hand
in turn....
you marched
others had before you
falling prey to an unforeseen enemy
some....a surface wound....
the others are all dead
shall we hold a funeral
where no one will come
and everyone will cry ?
some surrendered to hallucinations grasp
pseudo-reality for sanity's sake
the sane could have only dreamed reality
but you had won, you had found the answer
you crossed over....the brook beneath you
babbling under the pretense of happiness
crimson from end to end
to no-end
Troops confidently led to Ong Thanh Stream
United States Companies B and D.
Watched as air strikes troubled the VC team.
Later found seventeen killed enemy.
Silver Star presented to Welch that day.
Captain Nguyen Van Lam set up ambush.
First Platoon reported trees were a sway.
A claymore mine exploded in a rush.
US Military put a spin on it.
Ong Thanh was a disastrous battle.
VC Victory we did not admit.
US Soldiers informed not to tattle.
Allen and Dowling were two lost that day.
Hundreds of others, a swamp far away.
Written 12-31-2018 Contest: War Sonnet
Sponsor: Mark Massey
Soldiers Soldier
David J Walker
That Facebook picture I posted is a
Perfecting likeness
of the way I remember you
A soldiers-soldier
1st Sgt … Top
The N C O I C for all occasions
Checking beds &
Checks heads
Checking to make sure we were
Present in the present
And dressed as the best
dress right dress soldiers
The early morning leader of
A three-mile run before chow
There needs to be a panel on the Wall
For soldiers like you who survived it all
In the Nam only to die
of the invisible wounds
Later
When they buried you
I could not be there
But still took my place
on a handle of your casket
and saluted as they played taps
unable to hide my tears
We have since sat together
Sharing many beers in a bar
You quietly listening as I talk about
Old times – Our times
Sometimes
people stare a stop and stare
At the old man mumbling
A chortle alone
Sometimes humming an ancient
Rock n roll song
That Facebook picture haunts my phone
The Vietnam War was on the news when I was in high school
The ones who got sent over to be fodder were from poor counties
Sons of congressmen and senators were not drafted
But other men were readily plucked up and sent over
To morbidly hot jungles full of mosquitos and the enemy
More got blown up or killed than came home intact
If they went over as an officer, they were killed by their own men
Usually in eight minutes
Why? Because if there is no officer to lead, you do not have to fight
Many of these young men were not fighters, they did not want to be soldiers
They had been involuntarily drafted, with little training
If they lasted one year, they could return. Most did not make it.