Subj: Re: Poetry - Adult language in a couple of them.

Date: 97-12-24 02:28:42 EST

From: Tarak THB

To: erblist@beginners.net

I can't believe I've signed on, and it's two hours after "48 hours" and I only see one post. Whew. The following is one of my own contributions, which I hope someone will enjoy.

The following are poems, most of which aren't that good, but a few of which I still like, particularly the last two, which are the only non-Vietnam ones. I could of course edit all of them, but I've left them with their flaws. They, in some ways, tell a story from my own perspective, which perhaps only I can read, since they encompass in some ways the ways I felt and thought just before Vietnam, and during. Perhaps they are a window through which one can look at Vietnam, from the perspective of one soldier. They are not that good, but they do make statements. I was in love, not surprisingly, with some girl when I went over there, and that is evident from the earlier ones. Eventually, the war and facets of the war changed me. These have some "adult language, but I've edited the words a bit. These are personal bits of my life, and except for one person, nobody outside my G.I. buddies has ever read any of these. Enough time has passed, though, that I don't mind sharing them, and I hope someone finds some pleasure, or learns something, from at least one of them.

(This first one is from someone who is two days from shipping out to Vietnam)

A life is torn asunder,

Uprooted, drawn far away,

To face new life, and death,

Alone, for how long to stay?

The values long cherished

Are less than worthless now,

Where the very absence of such

Is the sanction, for a year; the how.

A year only, but perhaps a lifetime,

As have so many gone by,

No more to taste the sweetness of life,

But to greet death, with a bitter sigh.

Or what lesser change may be

Fashioned by time and death,

What life within one man may go

With another's dying breath?

What taste has one for loving,

For friendship, for social tie,

When these are turned against him,

As he says his last goodbye.

R.A.W. 13 May, 1971, Fort Dix, N.J. two days before leaving for Vietnam.

I sit alone, and try to think,

But beauty clouds my mind,

Where lofty logic once did dwell,

Pure feeling now I find.

Her velvet skin, her silken hair,

Her loving, knowing eyes,

Her Everything, betrays my thought,

My once proud words, are sighs.

I'll end this suffocation,

I tell myself each day,

And yet I always know the truth,

She'll never fade away.

Her memories will never die,

My bondage looms complete,

Her wishes ever rule my life,

My heart lies at her feet.

My independence, shattered now,

Will ever cease to move,

Its raging thirst for freedom's kiss

Was quelled in battling love.

And so, my thoughts, I bid farewell,

Much knowledge did we hatch,

But now my friend, our ways must part,

For we have met out match.

R.A.W. 22Jul71, Bearcat, Vietnam (And it's not about Tara)

The clearing skies are silent,

The breathless night stills all,

As I sit, and think, and wonder,

Now in Summer, soon in Fall.

In time I'll ponder Winter,

Till finally Spring will come,

And with it growing, hoping dreams

That June will find me home.

To breathe the air of freedom,

To know this nightmare's end,

To share again, those moments,

To see again, a friend.

One single year, and yet how long

A time to be alone,

With others spending hours, now,

But thinking of those gone.

Those simple, complex hours spent

With friends, now far away,

Are countless miles and months ago,

And only memories, today.

How many empty days must pass,

How many nights must hide,

How many feelings, here will die

Before that bird I ride?

That wildly soaring, joyous flight

Across the world I'll move,

To priceless freedom thus regained,

And life again to love.

But now the nights move far too slow,

Too many days I see,

Yet sadly count them, one by one,

I shall, until I'm free.

R.A.W. July, 1971, Vietnam

My love for you is timeless,

No beginning, and no end,

It neither grows, nor withers,

It cannot break, or bend.

It's merely there, that feeling,

Mine evermore to bear,

And thought its taste is bittersweet

I'll suffer, as I care.

And if I meet another, free,

Her pattern will be you,

I could not feel a lesser love,

When ours had been so true.

But if there is no other,

As well you prove supreme,

I'll have not loved for nothing,

For you shall feed my dream.

Yes always I shall love you,

My heart will never mend,

For more than being just a love,

I loved you as a friend.

R.A.W. July, 1971, Bearcat, Vietnam

(Tawny has changed as of October, as the following poems indicate, in language, in contempt for style, and in other ways)

To love is to suffer,

But how sweet is this sorrow

Which binds your heart,

And how noble you are

In your melancholy.

I have lived,

And I have loved,

And I have fought,

And I shall die;

But knowing life in all its moods;

And there it is.

R.A.W. 28 Oct. 71, Bearcat, Vietnam

("There it is" rivaled "F--k it" as one of our favorite expressions in Vietnam. It's hard to explain all the meanings this phrase had)

BEARCAT

Silent, windswept streets

Lie unused, useless

Testimony to your power.

Empty barracks, lifeless,

Lean before the specter of the wind.

Each morning greets your silence,

Indifferent, as each evening ray

Highlights your demise.

That solid berm, unyielding,

Impenetrable, shielded many,

Spewed death from its bowels

Across the countryside;

Now a lonely mount of broken earth,

It lies helpless

Against the fading life within..

Half a year my home,

Your power was mine,

And mine yours.

But now your time draws near,

The war is dying,

And you must perish with it,

That men may live again

In peace.

A thankless killer, and unloved;

A dead killer,

But many will remember,

And your might will kindle

In their memories.

But now, as the jungle

Grows against you,

Reclaiming nature,

And life springs up, anew,

Goodbye.

R.A.W. 3 Nov 71 Bearcat, Vietnam ( I stayed there another month, being one of the last to leave. This is a pretty lousy poem, but I will never forget Bearcat, and so included it)

(I'll never forget this next one. It's another pretty lousy poem, but memorable in that it's title is "183" meaning I had survived 183 days, and was half-way done. Obviously I was buzzed on some exotic substance when I wrote this.)

Fourteen November, I feel

Like a cloud,

And half-way home,

Today.

Fourteen May it will be,

and newbie no longer, me.

The days stretch out,

Rungs on a ladder,

Steps to the sky,

Highway to Heaven,

Why?

How peaceful this,

How idyllic,

And childllike.

See the children

Gather and sing,

And play and smoke

Their minds away.

I've lost my mind, you know,

But I don't care

For caring needs a source,

And sweet euphoria,

However induced,

And over the hump

Now I slide.

Gracefully,

Towards whatever will be,

And war is hell.

Tom and Joe sitting there,

Each alone,

And me, alone,

Too.

But all together,

Bonded, sharing

Enjoyment, pleasantness.

The music

Moves me like power,

And I feel good.

How beautifully I could write,

Symbolically, and with taste,

Patterned words to please,

And pride would be,

Each time;

But a one-shot-deal can

Have some value, too.

Whatever you choose to say,

I will have said this,

Not really meaning it,

Entirely,

But enjoying it,

And I am older now,

And see the errors of my ways

Through wizened eyes,

And experience,

And time.

Tonight I have changed

A few times,

But always I wrap up

That weakness,

And always will.

Enough of the old,

But into the sweet,

Dull, tedious, counting

World of a

Short-Timer.

I transgress now.

Someday is closer,

The light is in sight.

Half-way, you bastard.

Short.

(No word quite compares with "short" when you are in the service. For those who don't know, short means you are getting near the end of your service time. In Vietnam, anyone who had less than a half year left, in my experience, could tell you precisely how many days, and many knew right from the start.)

R.A.W. 14 Nov 71 Bearcat, Vietnam.

WAR IS HELL (My buddies liked this one)

The 222nd, personnel,

See the weirdo's living hell,

Reality, no one can tell,

War is hell.

Sony, see, has died a bit,

Lonesome for a bit of tit,

Ulcers, and a G.I. shit,

War is hell.

Randy loves this girl, you know,

Doesn't know which way to go,

Mind is failing, spirits low,

War is hell.

Mimms, the seeds of drugs have sown,

A world all of his very own,

Watch his mind drift up and down,

War is hell.

Paul don't worry about the Cong,

Just give him a log of old U Dong

Let him smoke it through a bong,

War is hell.

Lockwood wanders, in and out,

Doesn't mumble, doesn't shout,

Wonder what he's all about,

War is hell.

Gary shows up, sometimes, now,

Don't know why, or where, or how,

Finally short, the world he'll know,

War is hell.

Hobbs' mind on dope is stuck,

But with a little bit of luck,

Smoke, smoke, smoke, and f--k, f--k, f--k,

War is hell.

Woodley's mind has gone away,

Problems never linger, stay,

Wastes tomorrow, wastes, today,

War is hell.

R.A.W. 20 Nov 71 Bearcat, Vietnam.

(Soldiers called the United States "The World" when in Vietnam, to help you understand the next one)

CHRISTMAS

The girls walk briskly,

Fresh and beautiful,

Crisp in their December clothes.

They smile brightly,

And giggle,

For it is Christmas

In the World.

The lacy crystals of snow

Float gently from the cold, clear sky,

To lie glistening in some front lawn,

Or become an imprint for some tire

On a careening auto

Full of happy people,

For it is Christmas

In the World.

The tree stands, symbolic,

Statuesque, its ornamentation

A glittering reflection

Of the roaring fireplace,

As families gather together,

Exchanging their gifts

And their love,

Each at peace with humanity

For it is Christmas

In the World.

But my bitten skin itches,

And the sweat rolls from my body

To fall unnoticed, in the dirt.

The naked night is alive

With tropical sound,

And I sit here writing, again,

As I did last night, and the night before.

As I will tomorrow,

For it is Christmas

In Vietnam.

R.A.W. 25 Dec 71 Vietnam.

The night eternal blots the sun,

No bird here greets the day,

Lifeless bodies waiting, lie

And waiting still, to rot away.

The children know no childhood,

Grown up before their time,

They stare from tired eyes,

Unknowing, of their crime.

The men in green lie awake,

Laughing harshly in the night,

But softly, yet, for others listen

And watch, for sound, or light.

Too loudly laughs one young man,

Stands; where he should have lain,

And how, half a world away

His girl will wait in vain.

The mortars now begin to pop,

Buttered death for all to see,

A nice display blossoming fully

And from life setting us free.

(unfinished - R.A.W. 4 Jan 72, Vietnam.

(For this next one, "dew" was something we smoked)

Going with a need that I will never know,

Leaving with a haste akin to driven snow,

Falling through the memories of loving so,

Eagerly I wait the morning light.

Borrowing a feeling from a tired book,

Fearing this will plague me though I never look,

Dreams are set against a lovely meadow's brook,

Leave me now my thoughts, and say goodbye.

Many truths I've suffered through the ways I've cared,

Men may not experience what they haven't dared,

What was mine was mine, and what was our we shared,

In every way, I am but what I've done.

Seeking in the heights, a cloud obscures my view,

Bending wide the light of truth in mellow dew,

Burnishing in crimson fire my love for you,

Turn your head, that I may cry alone.

R.A.W. 4 Feb 72, Vietnam

(These next, and last two, are poems I wrote for a girl I dated in the seventies. I loved her most of all the girls I've loved, and she loved these poems I wrote for her. I like them, too.)

I think sometimes I see

The way my future ought to be,

A man of power, and of wealth,

Who lives and laughs, and loves himself,

So every now and then I try

To let my feelings all run dry,

Forgetting all the simple songs,

Forgiving all the little wrongs.

But presently I find

I cannot leave these thoughts behind.

You walked into my life one day,

And all my schemes just blew away.

Each lonely night my dreams you fill,

And when I wake, I see you still,

I see your smile, and hear your sighs,

And feel the magic in your eyes,

And then I long to see you there,

To feel your warmth, and stroke your hair,

And sit beside you, knowing

That my love for you is showing

In each tender, measured touch

Upon the skin I love so much.

And when you go, you leave behind

A man who knows he'll never find

Another girl as sweet as you,

And so a part of him goes, too.

I know perhaps someday I'll see

You only in a memory,

I'll smile a moment, sadly,

For you gave your heart so gladly,

And as a tear begins to trace

A rivulet upon my face,

I'll drink a toast to time and space,

Another day, another place;

I know I never will forget you,

But I never will regret you,

For I've loved you since I met you,

Paula Jean.

R.A.W. 27 Mar 75

(She can still quote from that one, and does, when we have lunch now and then. She liked this next one, too.)

I watched you leave tonight,

Sitting on the sofa, smiling,

Wondering when we'll meet again,

And wondering if you'll leave me then,

Sitting here, my head is shaking,

Feelings rushing through me,

Never have I seen me

Feeling things like this before,

Never has a girl so touched me,

Never have I loved one so.

I watched you go,

Reluctantly,

Though leave you must;

And now I sit in mellow thought,

A smile upon my face,

As your gentle lines I trace

Within my memory.

R.A.W. 26 Mar 75.

That's it from Tawny's poetry corner. Hope someone enjoyed a few of them. Reading them after so many years brought back some memories; these and lots of others I didn't post. They are a part of my life, and I've never shared my poems with anyone before, except for Paula Jean. This was her first name and middle name.

Tarak