Vietcong
sank restaurant
critics
Vietcong
bombed movie
not that bad
Wham-o’s old Pluto Platter,
gets a brand-new name.
Fred and Ethel say farewell,
Dick Clarke gets his fame.
The Cat in the Hat is born,
Bogie has moved on.
Hurricane Audrey rages,
while Paul meets with John.
Sputnik said that space is now,
the brand new frontier.
Russia’s I. C. B. M makes,
their intentions clear.
Four hundred officials killed,
by Vietcong hands.
Elvis starts his life behind,
the walls of Graceland.
Seventy thousand more lives,
lost to Asian flu.
We were losing the space race,
as Vanguard dies too.
In Arkansas the guard blocks,
the Little Rock Nine.
Eisenhower sends his troops,
to settle the times.
McGovern points a finger,
says they're Commie Reds.
Soviets test the H Bomb,
brings ultimate dread.
Laika makes it into space,
U.S. is grounded.
Great Britain test their bomb and,
alarms are sounded.
Great innovations in births,
and technology.
Electric watch, Edsel,
Jayne Torvill and me.
They were once young warriors well trained Marines
Trained by their government...mean green killing machines...
They tromped through the jungles looking to kill,
Hoping to avoid dying with an ineffable feel!
For deep in the jungle Vietcong all around.
Waiting to ambush and placed us prone on the ground
At the precise moment they opened fire on the point man
But though they show power; as best as they can
Shined on the tempest wake, their wondering hours done!
Their plight to remember...But what is their remedy? None!
It was for freedom or so they were told
Under the glow of the Vietnam sun; dead...stone cold!
On a cold and grey Mississippi morn
a poor little baby boy was born
in the ghetto
His mama and daddy were just so poor
no money to feed and clothe one more
and his mama cried
Afraid her babe would get cold in a storm
she made a quilt of rags just to keep him warm
and her baby smiled
Her boy gave the world some rock n roll songs
was drafted in the war to fight the Vietcong
and his mama died
He couldn't stay around though he really tried
and everybody cried the day that Elvis died
alone at Graceland
His quilt of rags was found in an old oak chest
a week after he died and was laid to rest
and his daddy cried
His daddy kept the quilt of his only firstborn
till he met up with his family on a cold grey morn
where the angels fly
A million bucks will buy the quilt his mama made
that Elvis used so long until the ends were frayed
and the angels cry
For Auction Contest
VietGodnam
The red white and blue
Not always right, but always true
Men of valor
Men of the draft
Men of the poor
Men who spilled their blood for country
Those who died
Those who lived
Those who live inside their nightmares
I humbly thank you
It is I who must walk in shame
That we did not play our role
Supporting our nations heroes
Supporting those who deserve the most
Now years later wisdoms become the truth
As Vietcong and War Vets, hold hands
Drinking tea and sharing peace
Ask any soldier, for what value he would fight the most
He will tell you very clearly
I will fight, to end all wars
He who has fought
Knows that the battlefield leaves no winner
Only orphans to roam the streets
My long time friend Bill enlisted in 1962
Back then he said, "It's the right thing to do!"
He served his country with vigor and pride
Fought in the jungle and watched his friend die
A machine gun severed three fourths of Bill's leg
He cut off the remainder though never begged
as the enemy stood over him, machetes in hand
Bill's company blew Vietcong all over that land.
He was then sent home, wheelchair bound
but Bill O Hara you just couldn't keep down
He opened a law office, put his "smarts" to the test
And that damn machine gun stayed screwed to his desk
His favorite passion was to set sail to sea
Forgetting his problems for there he was free
40 years passed since he left Vietnam
and no matter the day, he still hears that bomb!
***
Contest: World of War : Vietnam
Sponsor: Miranda Lambert
Submitted by: Judy Konos
My given destiny, a meanderer…
Saigon bloomed in endless joy
To see its colors faded, a mournful night,
Yellow flags with three red stripes,
Lowered by the southern dwellers,
Succumbed a war to the heroic Vietcong,
Vietnam, north and south, I stood in the middle.
London dwelt in my heart, ever…
Her soul, destroyed by the terrorists,
Had nothing left but yesterday’ scars;
Her face, a rose less rosary.
Huntington beach wandered without me,
Searching for cyan joy,
But once a storm had wrecked her pier,
Her heart held the souvenir that ever lingered.
In the vortexes of three continents, I called my god.
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