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.
Too far across the sea
in a place I'd rather not be,
on the winds of war ...
another day slips into forever.
I keep my head low,
pray Charlie doesn't know;
once again I'm running for cover.
The napalm flames get higher,
like an effigy on fire ...
burning down my high school memories.
I wonder if love still resides
in the places we used to hide,
or have they disappeared
into a jungle another world away.
The rapid beating of my heart
means another fire-fight is about to start;
the M16's fire through the dark
like a semi-automatic snare drum.
Another battle has begun
“Screw this hell hole” rolls of my tongue;
this is no way to treat any mother's son …
Today have I learned what it means to die?
As mortar leaves the sky ...
the enemy have given their reply;
I listen to other men die
seems life all around me is failing.
If I ever make it home,
I plan never again to roam …
get lost in her forever charms ...
and on the winds of love,
I promise we'll be sailing.
Gary returned to his small town with a plate in his head.
He had been bright but was not quite that much now.
A gung-ho soldier who had survived a year in Nam.
He spent the next year painting his car red white and blue.
He drove pretty girls around in parades after that.
A changed man, a soldier, who was never the same.
The entire town was proud of him and his car.
“He’s the guy who came back changed” we told each other.
Respecting his sacrifice and appreciating our freedom.
A pretty girl
Posting a letter
In November
Sending it to young soldier
The wind sent her skirts swirling
Expectations were in the air
No one would ever know
How much this act of kindness would mean
To a soldier in Viet Nam on his last day
He dreams day dreams of horror.
He could be anywhere,
But in his mind he’s instantly
Back inside that village there.
He hears those jungle sounds
Again and again and again,
Just one of that platoon of
Tired and frightened men.
He smells again that smell;
Napalm that kisses and clings,
Turning living feeling bodies
Into writhing screaming things.
He senses again the movement
At the very edge of his sight
That sends his reflex fire out
Into the dawn’s breaking light.
He sees once again the shock
And pain on that child’s face
And then his mind in horror
Drags him back from that place,
And he awaits his next visit
With anguish and despair.
He can’t run from daydreams
Trapped in his invalid’s chair
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
steamy jungle
dense undergrowth
viny overgrowth
thickets abound --
monkeys chatter
foretelling doom
snakes hissing
eerie sirens --
bamboo sticks
in the ground
spiked with poison
puncture unsure feet...
all to protect
an unseen enemy
raining bullets down
from nowhere
~ Viet Nam, 1966 ~
viet nam is happening
his leg is gone
i am sorry i say
and thank you
for your sacrifice
it is not enough
but it is all i have
Watching the lushness pass below me
Rivers lazy, paddies verdant
Crater ringlets there to show me
Wanton murder too often fervent
Young men dying, futures slaughtered
An idiotic, absurd endeavor
Unborn sons and unborn daughters
Our loss, their loss, gone forever
Who remembers, who considers
Those whose dreams that ended there?
Souls for sale to highest bidders
My soul, their souls, shared despair
Time will heal us, time a buffer
Every year as memories fade
Lest we forget those boys who suffered
Too high the price that they all paid
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.
monkey
playful friend
from Viet Nam
sent by loving soldier
60's
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
(Machine gun bullets, or is that rain?
Mud spackled riv'lets down the drain.)
Did you ever think that the truth was funny?
Same old joke for any Money.
Burns are red, bruises blue.
Enemies here in their village stew;
And with the same old same old thing to do.
© Ben Burton 5/30/2016
"Paw-paw," the young man asked, "how come you never talk about the war
The one Dad told me you fought in, in 1964?"
The gray-haired man replied, through dejection in his eyes
"Some things are better left unsaid, except of those who bled and died
Which war it was should bear no weight, they died fighting for us
My battle scars all lie within, too hurtful to discuss
For many who lost mind and limb were mocked, spit at, and cursed
And made to feel like aliens in this land of their birth
No time before had soldiers fought and come back home to ridicule
Those boys fought just as hard and true as did GIs in World War II
That's why you never hear me speak about those days, my dear grandson
What should have been our glory days were spent in Viet Nam
I might not speak, but I do pray...for every single one"
There are other things besides the years That make the young grow old I 'v learned that bullets hurt worse than football knees or broken noses Or even slaps from pretty girls I'v learned there's no way home without some kind of private crucifix That just might be for now Another year of solitude.
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