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This Is A Place Of Remembrance
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The Vietnam Years
It's the year two thousand three
And it still hasn't left me
This nightmare called South Vietnam
Thirty-five years
And three million tears
Still smelling the stench of napalm
Four hundred and twenty months
Keep hitting all at once
One hell of a weight to carry
Three hundred eighty two days
Doing it Uncle Sam's way
Got thousands of my brothers buried
Twenty-four hours a day
Livin' in a drug induced haze
Another war called PTSD
There must be a better way
I'd rather just fade away
But there's loved ones depending on me
Got a band of Brothers
We depend on each other
Recognizable by the look in our eyes
We all look the same
We all shoulder the blame
We spent time under the Vietnam sky
All the monsoon rains
Can't wash away the pain
As we stare at that black granite Wall
And if in weakness we stumble
Because our knees start to crumble
There are Brothers to help you stand tall
I've found time knows no limits
Seconds turn to minutes
While months turn into years
Soon it will be time to sky up
Drink from the blessed silver cup
And leave behind the Vietnam fears
Leave behind the Vietnam years
Leave behind the Vietnam years
Leave behind the Vietnam years
Boon
©July 27, 2003 Richard Preston
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 Wars are so different...
yet somehow the same
by Gary Jacobson © 2003
Different wars from beginning of time
Still voice the same common combat rhyme
Borne in raucous fever across different horizons
Boasting of different grisly weapons
Across a score of years
Reminiscent of history's cares
Every one designed to dissipate humanity
Perpetuate the insanity.
My Father Never Told Me A Lie
When I was young and following my father around
He pointed out the things I should know in the world that abound
My father never told me a lie.
As I grew and started to school
He often reminded me about the golden rule
My father never told me a lie.
Through the teenage years and when I thought I knew it all
My father was strict but loving, as I would often fall
My father never told me a lie.
Then when my time to enter the military
His advice was straight to the point and never arbitrary
My father never told me a lie.
Then came the time for me to go to war
My dad being a combat veteran told me many things of the blood and gore
My father never told me a lie.
When once in the field myself and would often forget
But once things got bad I could always look back to the ole vet
My father never told me a lie.
Upon my return to the country of my birth
My father met me and I saw what the fight was worth
My father never told me a lie.
As he grew older and more sick by the day
His advice was slow in coming but pointed out there was always time to pray
My father never told me a lie.
Now that I have grow older and my time maybe coming nigh
I remember the things he told me and sometimes I even sigh
My father never told me a lie.
My father told me the day before his death
Have no sorrow my son for God will give me breath
My father never told me a lie.
Now I can gaze at the sky and wonder how he is, happy or glum
Does he look down upon us and he pleased with the outcome? He must be happy because
My father never told me a lie.
©David R. Alexander
July 27, 2003
All Rights Reserved
What Was It Like In The War Daddy?
Hot, thirsty, dirty and scared
Those that were not scared were impaired
What is this place I have been sent?
Hell? No just Vietnam.
Mile after mile of endless patrols
Searching for an enemy that we hope we dont find their holes.
No shelter, no fresh water and Cs if we can get them.
Hell? No just Vietnam.
Jungle, wait-a-minute briars, bugs each playing a roll
Each taking their toll,
Leeches as big as a long pencil and jet black
Hell? No just Vietnam
Wet feet, unknown rashes, death traps
Red ants the size of roaches perhaps
Snakes, sure name one they are probably here
Hell? No just Vietnam.
Tired aching back, filth everywhere, why are we taking this path?
Three weeks sense I had anything called a bath
Water from a polluted stream and quinine tables added
Hell? No just Vietnam.
No rest, no sleep, no end in sight
Charlie hitting us when he is most unexpected, maybe tonight.
Another brother down and more miles to go
Hell? No just Vietnam.
Wounded, bleeding and dieing in this mud
Not enough dry bandage to stop the blood
Slowly bleeding to death
Hell? No Vietnam.
Trying to get out of this jungle darkness
Maybe a chopper to carry us to a better medical access
Not a chance from in here
Hell? No Vietnam.
Carrying out the wounded and the dead
No one to be left behind, carry them with us instead
Only we find no help in site
Hell? No Vietnam.
Think Ill just lie down and sleep
Not for long just a few minutes let me creep
Cant do that, Charlie is all around
Hell? No Vietnam.
So it goes day after day and not a sound
We are just grunts on the ground
Will we ever find rest and peace?
Hell no this is Vietnam.
©David R. Alexander
July 27, 2003
All Rights Reserved |  Some Men Died
Time
is nothing but distance
from here,
to the end of our lives.
In Vietnam,
time ended
screaming,
moaning,
and staring into my eyes.
Time!
Wounded and dying...!
Morphine time.
Young faces
desperate to live,
..gasping for breath
as they died.
....And so we killed,
and killed our way home.
Killing,
as death remained in our eyes.
Now,
we grow old,
.....sleeping between today
and memory.
...and the mirror of morning remains
at war,
..alone,
and always.
Our eyes remain at war.
We grow old....
there.
Caliber
©Jul 29 03
Death Of A Soldier
Night time
and silence.
A telephone ringing.
Driving
across Georgia...
and moments alone.
Eyes of a a Brother.... dying......
a Brother!
...a Black child dying of so long
ago!
Not Alone..Bro
Not!........alone.
Highway is raining
tears
....and not alone.
I
Am the one who is lost.
rain drivin and comin home.....!
I see the rain
upon my windshield
as tears
in my eyes.
Rain for my Brothers.
I shall always drive home
....alone.
Caliber
©Jul 03LJKlaiber
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Wish You Were Here!
Steam rising from the rice patty
. Steam rising from the blood left there.
. Does anyone care?
Half of the unit either dead or wounded
. Choppers coming in for them
. Heck sometimes I wish it were me.
Charlie hit and run, hit again
. Messy thing they do
. Cruel maybe, but to only us.
Writing letters to widows and mothers back home
. What the Hell do I say?
. Climb up on the ledge and jump, easy way out.
Orders from those above
. They could care less, they dont have to go
. I take that back, the pain of command is a real pain also.
Kill or be killed?
. I didnt learn this in High School
I wonder if Mr. Phelps thinks of me sometimes.
High School?
.. That must have been a hundred years ago
. Safety of the class room, I didnt even have a clue.
Time to go
No more time to think about this crap
. Damn, another night patrol?
Hey you at home
Having a great time
Wish you were here.
©David R. Alexander
July 29, 2003
All Rights Reserved
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Compassion
As I read your words tonight...
the feelings come so alive...
My friend...it is a losing fight...
Tears that will not stop... begin to flow
...Pain and grief in my heart
...does start to grow
even though ...of it ... I had no part...
...a sinking hopeless feeling... deep inside...
Are these your fears and grief... come to bide
In my mind... I hear your hopeless sighs...
in the mirror... I see... your tears... running... from my eyes
©Faye Sizemore 7/29/03
Uncounted Casualty
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Many say that only truth is sought
They say that the stories must be told
Stories of Soldiers brave and bold
They say they must be told or be all for naught
Soldiers who fought and held their dying brother
Soldiers who had to tell the expectant mother
No more will he come home to you, no more
Your child will never know the face of my brother
Your child will never hear his voice
Your child will know only the love of you ,her darling mother
His child born in the crisp fall air of his desert home
His child never to know what it would be like to see him home
His child to know only that he died in a far away land
Died for something called Freedom and just doing his job
His child to be raised by a man, his blood brother
His child to know only love and trust and adoration
His child raised by a man with horrible memories
His child an orphan because he could not protect her mother
His child raised to know honor, to love freedom
His child raised to honor those who have fought and died
His child told of the horrors of war, of the terrible pain
His child told of how he died, of his last fight
Their child raised know the disgust most felt for her Daddies
Their child hearing them called Baby Killers and Murderers
Their child knowing that he was visited nightly
Their child knowing that no one cared, no one wanted to know
The child now grown writes words of her fathers
The child now grown, vows that their Grand-daughters will know
The child now no longer able to trust as once she did.
The child now questions all around her, asks why?
The child asks No one cared before, why do they care now
The child asks No one trusted them, why should i now trust you
The child is an uncounted casualty of a long ago war.
©Becky
July 29, 2003 |
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