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Ej Sansam Poem
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.
Copyright © Ej Sansam | Year Posted 2018
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Ej Sansam Poem
with Aunt Sophie's clothes
Aunt Sophie left some old dark clothes
and a small battered tin
an old silver locket and chain
grey and tarnished
hiding within
wrapped in a shred of faded blue cloth
inside of a tattered cotton bag
along with a few rings and some small pearl earrings
with screw-on backs wrapped up in rags
and in the locket
a faded photograph
of a silver haired man
a seafarer by his clothes
a hardened face
looking through the decades
staring at me
each deeply hewed line a tale of
long voyages and storms
and many days spent out to sea
we knew nothing of him
for she never said a word
she lived and died alone
in a shambling old house
set back off the road
a heavy load
for one old woman to bear
what do we do with Aunt Sophie's clothes
Copyright © Ej Sansam | Year Posted 2018
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Ej Sansam Poem
growing up untitled 16
my Dad’s boat was smaller than his car
no motor
just a sail
didn’t go far
my Dad’s car was bigger than his boat
no sail
just a motor
couldn’t float
He raised my brothers and me
some old dogs
and a cat or three
His friends were few
but steadfast and true
the kind who had His back
when times were lean and thin
or good and fat
we could all count on Him
and that
as they say
was that
when Dad had the notion
we would head down to the ocean
with slabs of bologna
and day old bread
jugs full of water
that we pulled
on an old plastic sled
hand in hand
hand to mouth
such was living
in my Father’s south
this is who we were
this is how we lived
not much taking
just a whole lot of give
Copyright © Ej Sansam | Year Posted 2018
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Ej Sansam Poem
Iwo Jima reflection 1
10 December 2015
old shufflin' man aged ninety two
creaks out of bed
slides his feet into old shufflin' shoes
draggin' ass
passin' gas
eyes his aging cat
stretching on the vent
"and this is how my life has went"
"not too bad for an old fart like me"
no one comes or calls
no one wants to hear
about his loves or
his needs or his fears
she died when he was eighty five
they were quite a pair
very much alive
said she'd wait for him
"on the other side"
told him not to hurry
she had nothing but time
an army uniform hangs on the door
heavy with medals
his boots on the floor
"hell yes i'd do it again
i'd go for my family
and country and friends"
"those were my living times"
he said so often before
and now his years are gone
the darkness has settled
the shadows lengthen
too many years alone
the body failed and worn
old shufflin' man
will shuffle no longer
he met his maker at ten past four
Copyright © Ej Sansam | Year Posted 2018
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Ej Sansam Poem
vietnam reflections 220
in triplicate
1st day 0500 hours...
we trod silently
unobserved
just inside the edge of the tree line
until we found an old tree scrub
whose branches brushed the earth
at the very edge of the clearing
this would be our observation point
for our time here
we immediately set about
bolstering our perimeter
with branches and foliage
making us invisible
from even five feet away
we had just four days
to find what we had to find and
to do what we had to do
we’re hoping the heavy rains will continue
and literally drown out errant noise
and help keep us concealed
we will rest by day
and venture out by night
with utmost care
sounds carry far across open fields
we communicate mostly with gestures and hand signals
2nd day 1500 hours...
we have observed increased activity in the opposite tree line approximately a half klick straight across from our position. about twenty individuals moving about freely.
we can see them
we can hear them
we can smell them
we must now be even more careful and observant.
3rd day 0700 hours...
their force has doubled overnight. they are making excursions into the open field sweeping the area 200 meters in front of their camp probing for mines and tripwires and searching the tree line for any sign of movement. these are NVA regulars, a highly trained and efficient force to contend with. we did not expect this.
3rd day 1100 hours...
the NVA have all moved back into the tree line with seven of their number spread out on perimeter guard. they still do not know we are here.
Copyright © Ej Sansam | Year Posted 2018
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Ej Sansam Poem
vietnam reflections 40
the doors are harder to open
now that i am getting old
my clothes are wearing thin and
the icy winds blow cold
upon my pallored skin
leaving it pale and drawn
i remember days gone by
when the sun shone bright
and we lived high
atop the world
me and my girl
in a frenzied swirl
of loving life and all it’s gifts
then the floes began to drift
into our world of warm content
our raiment torn and rent
our bodies worn and spent
we were strong once when
we were again cast upon foreign shores
into a needless winless war
without a single word spoken
a hell from which we would never return
where bones of the children lie broken
Copyright © Ej Sansam | Year Posted 2018
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Ej Sansam Poem
old man friend of mine
old man friend of mine
skin of leather
heart of stone
sits alone
a dying old thing
in an age old chair wearing his old man clothes
two decades of sweaters buttoned up to his chin
heavy wool pants cover his thin
bony knees
and through all his wrappings he sees
his world spread before him in memories and in dreams
of days when she stood smiling before him
old man friend of mine
views me us all
through rheumy sight
and speaks in a high shrilled pitch
and has old age wisdom
and old age ways
he feels death coming for him
and senses his end of days
old man friend of mine
lives in a gray house
even the windows and ceiling and walls
are colored like clay
the floors are covered with dust and decay
old man friend of mine
we have been here before
stood on this porch
passed through this door
the first time for me
we did it together
we ran into the house
out of the storm
of rainy windy weather
all too soon
old man friend of mine
won't answer the phone when i call
or come to the door when i ring
i am already thinking
"what do we do with his rags and things"
old man friend of mine
this time i am alone
my heart is broken
feels like a stone
weighing in my chest
it's best
for me not to come here again
opening this door
will only draw out the pain
but i will come again
tomorrow
Copyright © Ej Sansam | Year Posted 2018
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Ej Sansam Poem
the fire
He didn’t die straight off…the flames seared his flesh and burned his hair. The Nomex flight suit he was wearing melted in spots as the fire grew hotter. They held me off as I screamed and clawed to get free. He finally stopped moving and drew rigid in death and those eyes bored into me right to my soul. I stopped struggling and fell forward in the most terrible pain that I have ever known possible for a human being to endure. They still held me. I guess they thought that I would try to pull him out of the chopper again and started pulling me back. They were probably afraid of another explosion which never came. The first one burned up the fuel. The other pilot got free somehow and lived six days in misery with awful burns. I never saw his eyes but I could feel him looking at life and death at the same time trying to figure out the best path to take. The crew chief and gunners only had a few scrapes and bruises among them but were visibly shaken from the crash. My own hands are cut and bleeding and slightly burned from tearing at the jagged pilot door.
My hands still shake
sometimes they bleed
as I relive those days when
I paid no heed
to a living soul and
no one was safe
from the likes of me.
Pilot Error would be the cause in the final analysis. Too little flying time, too much war. No VC bullets or rockets. Pilot Error. This should make his wife and family feel a little better. Pilot Error. Not the fact that this flying wreck should probably have been grounded with all the rest of the flying and rolling and floating and human wrecks. Poor equipment, poor maintenance, too young, too much war. Pilot Error. The perfect catchall and cover up. Makes the reports look and read better. Perfect, precise, in triplicate. Burned and torn and dead in triplicate.
28Mar…the first day.
I miss him being my friend
and every now and then
I catch him staring back at me
from across a fence
or from behind a tree
he is always with the other two
the ones I didn’t know very well
it doesn’t matter
we’ll become well acquainted
when we all end up at home in hell.
I miss them all…those boys turned to men and those men grown up before they should. Those who lived carry heavy burdens in their hearts and souls. It is a very strange thing how some are not utwardly affected by what they did or saw. I do not understand (and I am very envious) how some individuals walk as though nothing happened to them. Can one repress loss this deeply? Please if there is a higher power show me how…please show me how to get through even one day without living with the myself that I know. Is there another deeper self that can slough off the blood and the smell and the faces that pervade my every waking hour and day. I do miss them. We drew close one to the other and then grew apart to try to not remember the ones we lost.
I am afraid to close my eyes
I am afraid to sleep
they are waiting for me
they are not buried deep
pray these demons you never see.
Some I may pass daily as they try to blend into the earth and hide in plain sight in the bricks and pavement of dirty streets. These are heroes who wish each day to die but for some reason cling to life at least for one more day. We are all one in the same. And I weep for us all.
Copyright © Ej Sansam | Year Posted 2018
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Ej Sansam Poem
Where the road ends
The road ends
by the edge of the woods
at the end of the shortest day
when there is no place left to travel to
and no place left for us to stay.
The way narrows slowly
‘til it falls onto a path
and at long last
it lessens still
where it leads down
the valley
to the bottom of a hill
crossing a vine laden stream
hidden from the sun
and there it ends
in the waning
hours of dreams
as if it
had never begun.
Copyright © Ej Sansam | Year Posted 2018
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Ej Sansam Poem
i saw her the other day
once bright and beautiful
now beaten and worn
as if the years and folks
had not been kind
she tried to avoid my eyes
but could not
and we touched hands in an
old familiar way and the same
shock ran up my arm
we withdrew quickly
and scanned the ground
for nothing there
we stood still in ackward silence
for a moment
with her glancing around nervously
and she looked
"i've got to go, he'll be looking for me"
i slipped her my number and whispered
"anytime"
Copyright © Ej Sansam | Year Posted 2018
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