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Running the Gauntlet Gap |
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Embroiled in horrendous fight
Far out in the boonies for my countries might
I'm running the warrior's gauntlet gap
Racing explosion's flash to thunderclap
Humping the withered jungle Knoll
Hastening through a rotting elephant grass bowl
Flicking through the belly of incandescent cloud
Peppery cordite wafting in a pungent shroud...
I breathe in sweet-and-sour air
Burns my eyes, burnt blood red in verdant despair
Smelling of bitter sweat and clammy fear
Through sticky leaves clinging with sparkling dew
Pressing the attack to people, hurrying to kill me too
Laboring beside the brave, the proud, the few...
Tasting feckless hatred hanging thick in air
Lost all gung-ho care...
But from this cruel war I'll make it back
Through blackened purgatorial attack
I'll this verdant hell survive
Escaping to come out on the other side alive
Evading dark boogeyman warrior's whose gun's bewitch
With foul specters of death's grim touch
For a long twelve months and a wake-up
Through heat and leaches always heads-up.
To stay alive, keep it on the beaucoup up-and-up
With nary a hiccup or futile screw-up
Through all hostile bang-up
Beat-up...changeup
Just buckle up
Never give up. Just gear up and shut up.
Try not to dinky dau mess up or muck up
Thoughts of home, family, car, girl, give a pick-me-up.
I'll make it in one piece
Praying for the outbreak of indulgent peace
Waiting for a big silver bird home to show-up.
Finally! Xin Loi Viet Cong...
I'm going back home where I belong!
Wave goodbye to this war where I got my kicks
Shout adios to Nam departing out my rear door six:
O Fly me back to the land of the giant PX. |
By
Gary Jacobson
Copyright 2009
Listed
September 27, 2010 |
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About
Author...
In 1966-67, Gary Jacobson served with B Co
2nd/7th 1st Air Cavalry in Vietnam as a combat infantryman and is the recipient of the Purple
Heart.
Gary, who resides in Idaho writes stories he
hopes are never forgotten, perhaps compelled by
a Vietnamese legend that says, "All poets are
full of silver threads that rise inside them as
the moon grows large." So Gary says he
writes because "It is that these silver
threads are words poking at me � I must let them
out. I must! I write for my brothers who cannot
bear to talk of what they've seen and to educate
those who haven't the foggiest idea about the
effect that the horrors of war have on
boys-next-door."
Visit Gary Jacobson's site for more information
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