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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
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
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
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
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
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
vietnam reflections 38
days were younger then
longer and sweeter
we lazed forever
by the ocean's ebb
oblivious
of the web
being woven
by old men
in dark clothes
behind darker doors
pushing us past the
brink of war
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
in memoriam
we build monuments portraying our frail mortality…using bits of glass or stone or wood or bone we mount or stack or connect or carve or somehow enhance these pieces to make them our own…we try to embellish our totems with as much of our likeness as we can to insure that part of our existence will make it through the coming storms and ravages of time and tide and emerge in some creature’s hand or paw or hook and hope that they will look back through the ages and see us standing upright looking happy or serene or learned. but perhaps a bit of footing will erode or paper will crumble or wood will return to dust to dust to dust and that accomplishment will topple into nondescript rubble blending in so well with the surrounding rubble so as not to elicit even a glance. but try we will and try we must even as we face decline, decay, erosion and rust…we fashion covers and shades and after we have made them fit we discard them for yet another trend… after all trials we blend into the mass…we strive for oneness which becomes sameness as we merge one with the other…we become our peers, our Father and our Mother…we dance slowly to the edge of what we should be and turn and run and hide behind the safety of our fence and to what we really are…hence we have not moved at all…we peer slowly and longingly into what was and what might have been then we retreat back into our own reality and back to the reality that we have created for self. We sit high above the light or down below the dark looking for even the briefest spark of belonging...but that is not to be…there is 0nly me and the ones who reside within me…I am content with that.
Copyright © Ej Sansam | Year Posted 2018
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Ej Sansam Poem
vietnam reflections 19
we are heading north toward the high country
light footfalls on the thickly carpeted jungle floor
laying miles of ground behind us
heading to where we were before
not one word is spoken
not one leaf is broken
our silence intact
we are all of one mind
this time no one will be left behind
we are heading back
to where it all began
before we so hastily departed
we are going back
battle scarred and hardened
we are of one mind
and that being
that this time
we will finish what was started.
Copyright © Ej Sansam | Year Posted 2018
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