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I LEARNED ABOUT WAR LAST NIGHT
I learned about war
Last night
And I killed you
You looked
Through your eyes
Last night
And you saw me
You and I
Are only
Government pawns
Upon a voyage
That could only be rehearsed
In nightmares
My breast-fed-friend
By whose design
Have we fallen prey?
#
December 28, 1966
Phu Loi South Vietnam
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NAPALMED VILLAGE –
SOUTH VIETNAM
While some general
Prearranges our collective liquidation
(like a reverse metamorphosis)
in mosaic bamboo killing fields,
hidden next to bombed out
Buddhist temples.
I see through the thick flames,
A pair of
Vacant, paralyzed, oriental eyes
Dancing to death
Accompanied only by
the muttering sounds
Of his boneless, fleshless self
Suffocating in his own
Sewage dust remains
And red syrup skies
Yet somewhere,
Someplace,
Within our very being,
A profile-photographic image
Of God
Whispers unfocused
And unheard.
#
January 16, 1967
- Hobo Woods, South Vietnam
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ENTERTAINMENT
TV news crews
Film our every move
For the folks back home.
Their cameras held like
Magic wands
While death is transformed
into nightly entertainment
They stand there waiting
Smiling inside
In hopes
of some suicide assault
or a blaze of bloody abortions
From boy-men extras
In their war movie lives,
Where the only reward
Is to remain alive
for another day.
"Hey son,
Can you move a little to the right,
You are blocking the camera’s view
And can you smile a little
for
The folks back home?"
#
April 3, 1967 - Unknown LZ , South Vietnam
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FUNERAL FIRES
Gun fire and fear
Grew bigger
With each moment
We laid there,
Covered by an umbrella of terror.
Where not even the blue sky
could touch us
or give us courage
We lay there
Listening to the rhythmic bombings
Of Elysian Fields
By angels
Flying
B-52s
while
We dreamed
Of voyages beyond
This corpse-filled moment
But I also knew
For sure,
I was not ready
For any funeral fires.
I just had too many more
Desires!
#
August 17, 1967 -
War Zone C, South Vietnam
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A POET HAS HOPE
A poet has hope
And not much else
Sometimes.
When governments
Come and take your youth
And wrestle for your very soul
Leaving nightmares
In place of dreams
What more can they do?
For a poet
Lives on hope and dreams
And
Sometimes even
That is not enough
#
August 12, 1967 - War Zone C, South Vietnam
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A
LITTLE GIRL BEGGED US NOT TO KILL HER FAMILY’S FARM
She begged us,
With her child like screams
Not to kill or harm
The earth
With all our bombs
And hate.
But it was too late
The sky was filled
With so much rage.
Darkness
Had replaced the blue skies
Her eyes
Had already seen
This transformation.
And I was helpless
To defend her
From this assault
on her heart.
I could see the captain,
His battle hardened face,
Glistened with wet cheeks.
I had to close
My own eyes,
So as to shelter me,
From her look
That tore holes
In my soul.
#
July 15, 1967 - An
Unidentified LZ South Vietnam
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