counting

for my uncle sam.

I watched alone the "Vietnam" series for comprehension.

42 years from the fall of Saigon. 43 since the Buddhist monks

set themselves aflame.

44

since the ARVIN turned and ran from

battle after battle. Time does not hold our apprehension

at bay like the thorns of the blackberry bush.

Extraordinary events happen faster

than fictional space.

My uncle who wanted to visit the old battlefield before he

died but at 73 was afraid to fly again, had to be convinced

that the war was, in fact, over. You cannot lift

the glow shaped words from the minds of the dead. No more

than you can will the children burned to unforgiving, their blazing

Hooches back; straw roof and comfortable, barefooted  and snake infested.

I kneeled at the Vietnam memorial in DC only to find next to me

an old man in battle fatigues saluting into the granite of names. "It's

Kapernickean" I try to explain. The homage we give to those

who followed the trail to ambush: the beautiful teenager with the long

black hair by the river. The blue sky above the rice fields. The flash

of napalm skinning the forest of bird and foliage.

The hyperborean smoke of the burning monks.

Reviews

[CD Campbell]

As a child born in that era, I'm still trying to understand the aftermath. All I can see is that the working poor got fucked again while the college hippies and the wealthy elite got the oppertunity to ponder social change. My stepdad is a biggot who still has shrapnel in his back and doesnt realize he is fulfilling a tired old role that's been forced on him as a dancing bear for the amusement of others. Eh. Your words are like that ole voodoo magic that scares and delights. That last line for me was like an exclamation point. Live long dana. CD

[h d e rushin]

thank you dearest CD for this moving review. Hope all is well and that you had a happy thanksgiving.../ always a pleasure....dana

[3X3MPLER]

i had to read it twice haha i love how you were able to paint such vivid picture with your words

[h d e rushin]

thank you dearest brother for those kind words....much happiness to you on this /thanksgiving weekend....dana

[Nipplegrinder]

This is beautiful poetry. Beautiful, and heartbreaking. So very well done.

[h d e rushin]

thank you my dear friend for those kind words...dana

[Beccy]

Dear Dana. This is poetry of the highest order. No in your face language, no zealot zeal, just almost gentle observation; that nevertheless, when I reached those final four lines, hit with the force of Thor's hammer.

You bring to life that beautiful teenager with the black hair, make me recoil at the flash of napalm, the stench of burning flesh; and you also make me understand, (sadly,) that mankind may never learn the lesson it should.

Beccy.

[h d e rushin]

thank you my dearest love Beccy for those kind remarks my friend...much love...dana

[emmajoy]

' No more than you can will the children burned '..

Need to read this over, then, turn to those history books sans tears dripped on their pages - if there are any. Seems to an ignorant Brit that that war scarred a hellish number of American hearts and spirits... left scars too many - in spite of once upon a time passed. No fairy tale, at all, at all.

You, with your usual skill, raw yet sensitive, spread layers of how it was, no apologies, but red
war as was at the time.

[h d e rushin]

thank you my love..I just wish I had a poem in my heart every day like yourself.....dana

[jacob erin-cilberto]

for many who were there, it is never over---the worst war---the worst repercussions...

i had friends who came back from there, different...i feel this, dana.
j.

[h d e rushin]

I had friends who came back from there different humans too my friend. Nothing is right for them because, let them tell it, nothing is the comradeship that cannot in this busy world be achieve again. I try to understand but I really don't. thanks my friend for those words....dana