"Home. It's not far away.": by John Puzzo

Home.  It's not far away
by John Puzzo

The shadows are lengthening for me.
I listen with thirsty ear 

for days gone past, 

where faint bugles sound Reveille 

over the cold, damp marsh
And call the Last Post 

over the mournful sounds 

of battlefields grown distant.
I'm just going home. 

It's not far, just close by...
my friends are there, 

mother and father, too.
Jesus is the door.
Don't be sad...that's not me, 

lying there. I am already gone.
At the shore of the river 

the boatman waits for his coin.
I shall not disappoint him.
Across the other side 

Sentinels watch for to welcome me,
and as they all were called, beckon
“Brother, home my brother. 

The load you bore is left 

for others to carry, yet over there…
So hang your cap upon this tree
and wait not long, You Sentinel.
In time you, too will see
another coming to these gates…
That others will be free.”

“I am only one, but I am one. I can't do everything, but I can do something. The something I ought to do, I can do, and by the grace of God, I will.” ~Everett Hale


Feel free to comment on this post. You are also invited to write about anything you feel comfortable sharing. Memoirs From Nam is YOUR blog. You are writing America's history, sharing the truth about the Vietnam veteran, and what it was like in Our War.

A Soldier's Poems: by Mihanel Pabon

Mihanel Pabon

Intrusive Thoughts

by Mihanel Pabon

It's a memory embedded 

in your brain

that's not so much a memory

as it is a stain.

No matter how long ago it was

when most will say, let it pass

You are not trying to remember it

you're trying to dismember it.

Normalcy becomes an illusion

for when everything seems to be all right,

when it appears you're winning the fight,

BOOM, a trigger appears.

Unfortunately, you never know 

when, 

where, 

or what

a trigger could be,

a smell, 

a sound, 

or something you see.

I could go on writing for untold pages

and write a manifesto for the ages,

but I just want you to understand

that I'm really trying

 against this intrusion

to take a stand.

I'm going to go straight to the core.

You see, I want to enjoy

this precious moment of normalcy.

It was all caused

by war.

Why I Am

Mihanel Pabon

I Am, so you can be

What you choose to be

I am, so no one in your way can get

And in comfort, your roots you may set

I am forever in your service

Sometimes I do get nervous

But that's part of who I am

That's my humanity

Which does not include vanity

I will do everything I've learned

To stop inhumanity

It's not in vain

To be proud of who you are

And from where you came

To always be true to the cause

Never ever seeking, or wanting applause

It's who I am

So you can be

Above all things, happy and free

My family I love very much

But as a human being

In one way, or another, everyone's life we touch

Thank God

They understand who I am

So the old can be happy and free

And the same way the young grow older

Is why I fulfill my destiny

I am

Soldier

About the Author:

Mihanel Pabon was 11 Bravo (grunt) and in Vietnam from January 27 to December 20, 1970.

He lives in Brooklyn, New York, with Elaine, his wife of forty years.  As he says, "Talk about deserving a medal -- I mean Congressional -- I was fortunate to find someone so strong."

Mihanel and Elaine have two daughters, Mandy and Tara, and a four month-old granddaughter, Lei-Lani Olivia. 

A lot of Mihanel's writings were the direct result of requests, which he customized. If you need the right words for anyone, or any situation, feel free to leave him a comment with your email address, so he can contact you.  He will be happy to try and help.

“I am only one, but I am one. I can't do everything, but I can do something. The something I ought to do, I can do, and by the grace of God, I will.” ~Everett Hale


Feel free to comment on this post. You are also invited to write about anything you feel comfortable sharing. Memoirs From Nam is YOUR blog. You are writing America's history, sharing the truth about the Vietnam veteran, and what it was like in Our War.

The Sentinel at the Gates: by John Puzzo

The Sentinel at the Gates

The Sentinel At the Gates

Alumni et Patriae Asto © John Puzzo 2002

Without them Standing Sentinel,

as ever must they be,
not one American would be free.

I know they're all still out there,

together evermore,
From the Continental Army 

or maybe long before

When the 1st American casualty fell,

on these now ancient shores.

They wear tri corner hats, 

coonskin caps and kepis,
wide-brimmed Western cowboy hats, 

helmets and berets.

But no matter what they wear,
They belong to us.
It is from us they came
Through distant mists of time and place.

They’ve come and gone to stand and wait

and come they will,

To the Sentinels at the gates.

Father, son, husband, brother,
Important things these are,
But to stand with men of honor,
Is a better thing by far.

For without such men of honor,
ready to give their most,
what father, son, or brother,
would be left with any hope,

That there would be tomorrow 

for this Nation proud?
Lest men as these we find, 

fit America for a shroud.

Yes there they all are waiting, 

they’re all together now.
From every war and conflict, 

shot and shell they found.

At peace, eternal wait they now,
On holy, hallowed ground.

How can we ever thank them, 

these selfless angels past?

Thanks are but such trifling things

Instead we must dedicate
our every waking moment

…To the Sentinels at the gate,

For there they all stand waiting,
watching how well we do.

Will we let slip away,
That which they loved so well?

Their full measured honored duty,
Will we so cheaply sell?

Yes there they all stand waiting,
All together now,

They know some soldier stands at ready.
He will show them how.

Then they’ll welcome him 

as they once all were called:

“Brother, home my brother, 

See your name upon this wall?

You have done what was your duty.

The load you proudly carried 

is left for them to bear,
those others over there.

“So take your place beside us, 

hang your cap upon this tree.
And wait not long, you Sentinel.

In time you too will see
others coming to these gates,

That America will be…free.”


[Written for the Memorial Day Project, 

National Cemetery at Arlington, in 2003] 

John Puzzo

John J. Puzzo
K Company (Ranger)
75th Infantry (Airborne)
United States Army 1968 - 1971

Other Articles by John Puzzo:

Poem, "Waves"
Humor in Vietnam
The Lantern


“I am only one, but I am one. I can't do everything, but I can do something. The something I ought to do, I can do, and by the grace of God, I will.” ~Everett Hale


Feel free to comment on this post. You are also invited to write about anything you feel comfortable sharing. Memoirs From Nam is YOUR blog. You are writing America's history, sharing the truth about the Vietnam veteran, and what it was like in Our War.

"Right or Wrong": by Jim Van Doren

Our Country - Right or Wrong

“Right or Wrong”

Jim Van Doren (2004)

“My country, right or wrong”?

It might be the title of a song

But for our People to be Strong

They need to know what’s Right, what’s Wrong.

Defending our Country is our absolute right.

But imposing our will – based on our might – 

Declares to the world that “Might makes Right”.

It puts our armed forces in an undeserved plight

As they question the instinct: “Fight or Flight”?

As a Citizen, what is my task?

As a Patriot, it’s my duty to ask.

As a Veteran, I will not only plead – 

I will demand of those elected to Lead:

What business have we in launching attacks

Based on suspicion, not founded on facts?

“Actionable Intelligence” must bear correlation

To hard Evidence with proven Corroboration.

Before launching any “pre-emptive” invasion,

We need hard proof, not just a persuasion

That the threat is more than a handy excuse

To sanctify our own “righteous” forms of abuse.

To question a leader who acts like royalty

Is our daily imperative, of utmost loyalty – 

To our Country, its People, and its Laws,

And to our culture, with all its flaws

But especially to those who’ve answered the call – 

Because they ... “All gave some, and some gave All”.

Jim Van Doren 

Dustoff Medic

Vietnam '65-'66

Also by Jim Van Doren:

Again and Again

"I was born in Ohio, but grew up in Vietnam."

“I am only one, but I am one. I can't do everything, but I can do something. The something I ought to do, I can do, and by the grace of God, I will.” ~Everett Hale


Feel free to comment on this post. You are also invited to write about anything you want to share. Memoirs From Nam is YOUR blog. You are writing America's history.

"Merry Christmas, My Friend"

Marine Christmas Santa

Merry Christmas, My Friend

By Lance Corporal James M. Schmidt

Twas the night before Christmas, he lived all alone,
In a one bedroom house made of plaster & stone.
I had come down the chimney, with presents to give,
And to see just who in this home did live.

As I looked all about, a strange sight I did see,
No tinsel, no presents, not even a tree.
No stocking by the fire, just boots filled with sand,
On the wall hung pictures of a far distant land.

With medals and badges, awards of all kind,
A sobering thought soon came to my mind.
For this house was different, unlike any I'd seen,
This was the home of a U.S. Marine.

I'd heard stories about them, I had to see more,
So I walked down the hall and pushed open the door.
And there he lay sleeping, silent, alone,
Curled up on the floor in his one-bedroom home.

He seemed so gentle, his face so serene,
Not how I pictured a U.S. Marine.
Was this the hero, of whom I'd just read,
Curled up in his poncho, a floor for his bed?

His head was clean-shaven, his weathered face tan,
I soon understood, this was more than a man.
For I realized the families that I saw that night,
Owed their lives to these men, who were willing to fight.

Soon around the Nation, the children would play,
And grown-ups would celebrate on a bright Christmas day.
They all enjoyed freedom, each month and all year,
Because of Marines like this one lying here.

I couldn't help wonder how many lay alone,
On a cold Christmas Eve, in a land far from home.
Just the very thought brought a tear to my eye,
I dropped to my knees and I started to cry.

He must have awoken, for I heard a rough voice,
"Santa, don't cry, this life is my choice.
I fight for freedom, I don't ask for more,
My life is my God, my country, my Corps."

With that he rolled over, drifted off into sleep,
I couldn't control it, I continued to weep.
I watched him for hours, so silent and still,
I noticed he shivered from the cold night's chill.

So I took off my jacket, the one made of red,
And covered this Marine from his toes to his head.
Then I put on his T-shirt of scarlet and gold,
With eagle, globe and anchor emblazoned so bold.

Although it barely fit me, I began to swell with pride,
And for one shining moment, I was Marine Corps deep inside.
I didn't want to leave him so quiet in the night,
This guardian of honor so willing to fight.

But half asleep he rolled over, and in a voice clean and pure,
Said "Carry on, Santa, it's Christmas Day, all's secure."
One look at my watch and I knew he was right,
"Merry Christmas, my friend, Semper Fi and goodnight."

About the Author:

James M. Schmidt wrote this poem back in 1986 while a Lance Corporal stationed in Washington, D.C., serving as Battalion Counter Sniper at the Marine Barracks 8th & I under Commandant P.X. Kelly and Battalion Commander D.J. Myers [in 1986]. 

Schmidt hung this poem on the door of the Gym in the BEQ. When Colonel Myers came upon it, he read it and immediately had copies sent to each department at the Barracks and promptly dismissed the entire Battalion early for Christmas leave. 

The poem was placed that day in the Marine Corps Gazette, distributed worldwide, and later submitted to Leatherneck Magazine. 

Schmidt's original version, entitled Merry Christmas, My Friend, was published in Leatherneck (Magazine of the Marines) in December 1991, "Gyrene Gyngles," Page 79. 

As Leatherneck wrote of the poem's author in 2003: 

"Merry Christmas, My Friend has been a holiday favorite among 'leatherneckphiles' for nearly the time it takes to complete a Marine Corps career." 

After leaving the Corps, Schmidt earned a law degree and now serves as an entertainment attorney in Los Angeles and is director of operations for a security consulting firm.

“I am only one, but I am one. I can't do everything, but I can do something. The something I ought to do, I can do, and by the grace of God, I will.” ~Everett Hale


Feel free to comment on this post. You are also invited to write about anything you want to share. Memoirs From Nam is YOUR blog. You are writing America's history.

The Christmas War: by James M. Hopkins

Our Side of the Christmas War 

The Christmas War

by James M. Hopkins

On Christmas Eve in '69
I watched our tracer bullets fly;

And in their flight

Their bright red light
Lit up the earth and sky.

Then from the dark,
From guns unseen,
Their shots flew back at us
Bright green!

And back and forth,
Throughout the night,
We fought the Christmas-colored fight...

(...back home, the happy children
Unwrapped gifts of toys...
Barbie dolls and little toy cars...)

...while we killed our brothers
In The Christmas War.


Copyright © 1995 James M. Hopkins



“I am only one, but I am one. I can't do everything, but I can do something. The something I ought to do, I can do, and by the grace of God, I will.” ~Everett Hale


Feel free to comment on this post. You are also invited to write about anything you want to share. Memoirs From Nam is YOUR blog. You are writing America's history.

Enough: by Lance Pinamonte

Reverence ... or Shame?

Hope you like, CJ...

Enough ...

For the people who give their lives to this nation,
then watch the same war in different name take more
For it's not enough ...

To those who die from the chemicals we lay down,
then we ignore the death for the profit
For it's not enough ...

When the waters rise above our heads, lands lost,
we shun those with the reason
For it's not enough ...

The wealthy grow to hate the poor, grow richer,
to where they hold the future of all
For it's not enough ...

A place where lies and hate take the place
all for the promotion of fear
For it is not enough ...

So we ask the question that lies in wait,
"When will we be free of these things?
When will it be ... enough?"

God bless America.

Lance

Lance L. Pinamonte

U.S. Army - 1967 to 1970
67N30 Crewchief/Doorgunner Helicopter Mech.
Champagne Flight

Other Articles by Lance:

A Fearful America

A Nation Unwilling to Change

“I am only one, but I am one. I can't do everything, but I can do something. The something I ought to do, I can do, and by the grace of God, I will.” ~Everett Hale


Feel free to comment on this post. You are also invited to write about anything you want to share. Memoirs From Nam is YOUR blog. You are writing America's history.

Send it to me in an e-mail and I will be proud to post it for you.

A Flag’s Declaration: by Doyle Watters

Betsy Ross and George Washington

A Flag’s Declaration

My nickname is Old Glory I’ve existed for over two hundred years.
The Star Spangled Banner described my story well at its creation.
Only I have observed every moment, from beginning to present.
The Boston Massacre marked the first casualty of our revolution.
A witness to blood, death and destruction beyond comprehension.
Duty, honor and country have remained foremost in my existence.
I embrace the wind and enshroud the spirits of those fallen for freedom. 

I am not merely a piece of cloth, I stand for liberty and justice. 

Red, White and Blue are my colors, chosen by my forefathers.
Valor and sacrifice, purity and innocence are woven into my stripes.
Vigilance, perseverance and justice lay deep in my bosom of blue.
Freedom of speech, religion and the press are my birthright.
These principles of the common man can make a nation great. 

My history is very young when compared to others. 

I have seen the brave generations of timeless defenders.
Those willing to sacrifice for a cause they might not be able to realize.
To this day my soldiers continue to overcome adversities at will.
Through suffering and death they pledge utmost loyalty and trust.
With the grave knowledge that war consumes souls and haunts spirits.

Those who carry me into battle best understand the price paid. 

Draping the caskets of my youth, I am aware of freedom’s cost.
Disrespected by world citizens, I fervently offer respite from tyranny.
I shall not waver, for I keep a watchful eye on that which surrounds me.
My strength can not be destroyed for it lies in the hearts of my people.
Peace is all I strive to accomplish, as history continues its march. 

I ask that you honor, respect and be faithful to me in times of uncertainty.

Never be afraid of expressing your love for me openly and willingly.
Think of those that made your freedom a reality, the Veterans of America.
In return I will be a symbol, letting mankind know democracy lives.
I’ll be strong when faced with calamity, offering solidarity for peace.
I am an idea, a physical entity representing hope, opportunity and freedom.

CSM Doyle Watters 

Vietnam Veteran
US Army Retired

Other Articles by Doyle Watters

Sharing the Burden, Vet to Vet

Saving Tears

The Defender

“I am only one, but I am one. I can't do everything, but I can do something. The something I ought to do, I can do, and by the grace of God, I will.” ~Everett Hale


Feel free to comment on this post. You are also invited to write about anything you feel comfortable sharing. Memoirs From Nam is YOUR blog. You are writing America's history, sharing the truth about the Vietnam veteran, and what it was like in Our War.

Monsoon Delight: by Loyd Cates

Monsoon Season During Vietnam War

This is the peak of the monsoon season in South Vietnam. It is miserable in the jungle.

Monsoon Delight

by Loyd Cates

The rain is relentless day after day
Nothing you do keeps the ringworm away
Jungle rot eats at your crotch
All you can do is scratch and watch

You share your blood with the devious leech
They affix themselves where you can’t reach
While those nasty bastards suck you dry
The relentless rain conceals the sky

Just trying to eat becomes a chore
Go away rain, you relentless whore
The water flows like a flooded creek
I ain’t slept in a friggin’ week

Rusty gear will get you killed
Cleaning your rifle becomes a skill
But you better do it if you want to live
You only have one life to give

Big assed mosquitoes have one hell of a bite
They swarm your body both day and night
You do what you can just to endure
But they are a plague, that’s for damn sure

No matter how wet it’s always hot
This humid air is thick as snot
I am sick of this rain but it don’t matter
The mosquitoes and leeches just keep getting fatter

One of these days I will board that jet
Never again will my ass be wet
This relentless rain, months of it
Monsoon rain, I’m sick of this shit.

SSG Cates RVN '69-'70
199th Light Infantry Brigade D5/12

Also by Loyd Cates:

Maybe Tomorrow

The Sport of Kings

Memorial Day: by Loyd Cates

“I am only one, but I am one. I can't do everything, but I can do something. The something I ought to do, I can do, and by the grace of God, I will.” ~Everett Hale


Add your opinion, thought, or comment, about this post. You are also invited to write about anything you want to share. Send it to me in an e-mail and I will be proud to post it for you.

Memoirs From Nam is YOUR blog.

Maybe Tomorrow: by Loyd Cates

Vietnam Vet Reading a Letter From Home

Perhaps the most overlooked wound of war is a broken heart. 

We all lived for the day we would return to "the world" to be reunited with our spouse or girlfriend, families and life-long friends. It motivated us, we dreamed about it, and it gave us a reason to survive.

I suspect most of us knew someone who received a "Dear John" letter during his tour. I can't imagine what goes on inside the mind of a young man whose entire world is turned upside down by a few written words from the person he lived for. 

I have often wondered what happened to these men. I suspect the majority found someone else and moved on with their lives. 

But what becomes of a man whose world was suspended many years ago, and yet he still lives? 

Maybe Tomorrow

A fragile high school yearbook 

and two fading pictures 

is all that remains. 

These are my treasures 

and most valuable possessions. 

Each day they become more cherished. 

Some would say I am approaching 

the “winter of my life”, but truthfully, 

that began the day you said goodbye. 

On the very last page of the yearbook 

is a long and lovely affirmation 

professing your love for me 

and acknowledging mine for you. 

I can recite it word for word 

yet I often read it aloud 

while pretending 

we are speaking face to face. 

My love is so intense 

I do not hear your words, 

I only delight in your presence.

I have no sense of where you are, 

what you do, or if you are content. 

I realize, I do not have the right 

to know these things, 

but my heart never asks 

for permission to wonder. 

Broken hearts are rebellious. 

As I lazily doze 

in my old threadbare chair, 

I am pleasingly disturbed 

by a waft of your sweet scent 

as it floats on a gentle breeze

outside my window. 

I recognize it without doubt 

and it is like candy to a child.

My memory whispers your name 

and my soul is comforted 

by your presence. 

Yes, it is only a dream, 

but it is mine. 

I cling to it with all I have 

and all I am.

Your image comes into focus 

and I am mesmerized. 

You are even more beautiful than yesterday. 

We touch and I am overcome 

with a serenity that warms my body 

and brings comfort to my marrow. 

My world is absolute 

and my prayers answered. 

Is it possible I am conscious? 

Is this bona fide? 

No, it is all as empty as my arms. 

I must dream harder tomorrow 

and I will.

Each day I waken 

to the Wilderness that is my heart 

and I hope, pray and sometimes mourn. 

And then I do it again tomorrow 

and tomorrow 

and tomorrow.

My need for you grows stronger each day 

but age weakens me and I often tire. 

I will continue my quest 

until my parting breath 

because I must. 

I simply must. 

If I had the opportunity 

to strike a Devil’s bargain 

I would seize it 

like a starving wolf to a bone.

After so many years, 

my thoughts debate my memory 

as to the sound of your voice, 

the softness of your skin, 

or even the sparkle in your eyes. 

I can recall the way you made me feel 

as if it was this morning, 

because it was.

Can one so old remember 

the passion of innocent love 

and youthful wonderment? 

I can, or else I am daft. 

After so many years 

and so many dreams 

I am sometimes confused. 

I will investigate no further today 

as I am tired 

and my mind is teeming 

with pleasing thoughts 

that need not be disturbed. 

And if there is another tomorrow, 

there is another dream 

and that is my deliverance 

Loyd Cates

and my salvation.

SSG Cates RVN '69-'70
199th Light Infantry Brigade


Also by Loyd Cates:

The Sport of Kings

Memorial Day: by Loyd Cates



“I am only one, but I am one. I can't do everything, but I can do something. The something I ought to do, I can do, and by the grace of God, I will.” ~Everett Hale


Add your opinion, thought, or comment, about this post. You are also invited to write about anything you want to share. Send it to me in an e-mail and I will be proud to post it for you.

Memoirs From Nam is YOUR blog.

A Shau Ripcord: by Gary Jacobson

A Shau Valley at Daybreak

A Shau Valley is what comes to mind when you think of dark, imposing jungle. 

The beautiful A Shau Valley with leech infested streams, jungle cliffs, meager animal trails covered with rotted tree roots, 60-degree slopes, 140 varieties of poisonous snakes, the most unusual insects in the world, and jungle so dense at the bottom of the ridge lines that you could not see more than a few feet in front of you.

Perhaps because it was so inaccessible, this was "key terrain" for the North Vietnamese Army (NVA), and one of the North's major supply lines into the South for much of the war. Nicknamed “Ah Shit Valley,” this was the setting for some of the war's bloodiest operations.

Ripcord was a Firebase that the 101st Airborne attempted to establish near the end of the war, in a bold offensive planned to destroy NVA supply bases in the mountains overlooking the A Shau Valley.

Fought during the American withdrawal from Vietnam, the Battle for Ripcord turned out to be the last multi-battalion, high-casualty engagement between infantry units of the U.S. Army and North Vietnamese Army.

Ripcord was the biggest single battle of 1970, and an engagement even more costly to the division than the infamous Hamburger Hill action of 1969.

The NVA, by taking the fight to Ripcord before the 101st could launch its offensive, were able not only to disrupt the planned offensive, but to inflict heavy casualties on the rifle companies operating around Ripcord.

NVA mortarmen inflicted heavy casualties among the artillery batteries positioned atop the firebase, and enemy anti-aircraft crews played havoc with medevac and resupply helicopters.

The 101st finally withdrew, and B-52’s bombed Ripcord into oblivion.

Creek in A Shau Valley

A Shau Valley

Death walks this shadowed alley
Where the rain never stops
Fierce
In rustic tangled wood
Inaccessible
Nigh impenetrable
Wall-to-wall
Dense obstructive green
Concealing well the malignant
Virulent rebel
Malevolent NVA
Warriors in the jungled screen
Sprayed with toxins obscene
Leach infested streams
101st Airborne
Enveloped by the valley
Searching
For hostiles...

Hostile
Men look to kill men
Enmeshed in hate
Murderously filled with it
Boys from both sides secreting furies
To poisonously harm
Boys on the other side
Conducting half-blind
Clashes contending for the right
To life
Snarled by evil
Fierce nose to nose
So quickly lost
In the darkning wild lair
Setting the knotty jungle snare
Initiating each other into hell.
Battling for the A Shau throne

Ripcord
Twisted forest whipcord
Is the rain never going to stop?
Obsessed generals,
In pitched battle for control
Vying for one last victory
One last gasp
Last chance for glory in this war
To hone their skills
In the Nam’s last dance
Before the war is through
To themselves console
Before withdrawal
Before Vietnamization.

Obsessed generals,
Playing God, by God!
Pumping technology
Into gnarled greenwood
Seeking an edge they thought
They’d win
A grunt’s life catapult
Flung into the fray
In the midst of infantry foes
With Charley
Slugging it out toe to toe...
Filling the road
On the pathway to hell...
“Whatcha gonna do,
Send me to Nam?”
If we only knew
Life there in Hell
Known as the A Shau
Was dependant on the gun
Under a blistering sun...
Blistering our innocence...

Look to skies supernal
For rescue by the eternal...
But find no relief infernal
As in multifaceted battalions
Sneakin' and peekin',
The latest in a series
Of Long
Hot
miserable
Days...
In verdant jungle dark
Many men lay slaughtered
Thrown at each other
Torn from sacred life
Unto sanctified death
Down in the valley
Mid matted corkscrew
With a considerable body of troops...
Not ours
Where life could vanish
In a twinkling...

Is the rain ever going to stop?
Patrolling the dark A Shau
Slip and slide up one hill
Skim down the other side
In fevered breath
Awaiting
Fated death
Ah shit...
Fresh prints in the muddy track
Everyone on edge
Sniff the air for waiting ambush
Could this be the day we die?
Is the rain ever going to stop?

Is the rain ever going to stop?
Running in rivulets red
Flowing
Everywhere endless
Pop, pop, pop,
Pesky VietCong
Fire a couple rounds and di di
Harassment maddening
Frustrated
Taut jawed
Barbed wire lips...
Clash and dash
Get adrenalin roaring
Then bring it back down
No one around
Charley
Blends with the shadows
Until the next turn in the trail
Frustrated...
Waiting for “show time...”

Secure another LZ
On the highground
Nestled in rocks on the ridgeline
Before fast closing dark
Just another wet miserable day
As a grunt
A groundpounder
My God...a shortimer...
Listening to cricket rhythms
Hearing something small
Moving in underbrush
Harsh alarm of a monkey
Nightbirds singing low
Trembling rage still eats at me
Protected
Under the surface below...

I hate the quiet time
Too much time
For thinking
For fearing
Rivulets of sweat merging
With tears from my eyes
Trying to discern
The deadly sounds....
Again adrenalin pumping...
Be absolutely quiet
In this life or death moment...
Can anyone hear
My primal scream?
Is the rain never going to stop?
Napalm blossom
Good morning Vietnam!
Another routine morning
Check for leeches
Dislodge other crawlies
Tend your jungle rot
No such thing as dry
Clear booby traps
And trips
Check claymores
See if they've been turned
By those practical jokers
Tricky VietCong

Try to calm
Stark fear stifling
Set jangled nerves
To survive another day
Saddle up that heavy pack
Loaded with lots of things
That go boom...
Clean the mud off your rifle
Y’wanta make it home?
It’s going to be a long
Long day
Expecting the enemy to open up
On every rise
At every bend in the trail
To bring on the hurt
Make boiling blood pump...
Another adrenalin dump...

Still we make the turn
Take each forsaken step
Past trembling bush
Over muddied ground
Past silent sound
God only knows why...
Or how...
Each minute dragging by
Seems like a year...
Playing hide and seek with the Cong
The stakes in this game
So high....

Heroic grunts
Negotiating hell and shadow.
Good men
Brave men
Beloved men
Brothers...
Lost in obsidian thoughts
Slowly dying as former companions
Omnipresent jungle closing in
Chilling hot
Sweet and sour
Surrounded within...
Napalm
In this bamboo wood
You can't find the Vietcong
Unless he wants to find us.
Napalm will ferret him out...
I’d rather be in Hell
Can’t be any hotter than this
But perhaps we’re already there
Knocking at the southern gates...
Look at the FNG
How long is this one gonna last?
Oh how fragile
These men of war...

As NVA assaulted
Sloping mountaintop
Left no choice but to bail
Out of the fiasco
Now as we left
That blood soaked ground
Picked up by the Huey’s
Wearied unto death...

Turn out the lights
The parties over...
Look out your six
Charley hates to see you go...
Wave goodbye
It’s closing time...
As gunships blast surrounding hills
Watch Uncle Sam’s parting gift
Given by high-flying B52’s
Leaving nothing for the enemy
Bombing Ripcord into extinction
Napalming it
Like it never was...

Gary Jacobson

Gary Jacobson
Combat Infantryman
1st platoon
B Co 2nd/7th 1st Air Cavalry
Vietnam '66 - '67







“I am only one, but I am one. I can't do everything, but I can do something. The something I ought to do, I can do, and by the grace of God, I will.” ~Everett Hale

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My Vietnam Story: by Gary Jacobson

Gary Jacobson - Vietnam '66-'67

I am Gary Jacobson, The Vietnam Bard.  Some call me the Vietnam Poet Laureate. I'm also an author, Just a Walk in the Park, a poet, (My Thousand Yard Stare), and I am a Vietnam combat vet.

Forty years ago, I was sent by my rich uncle to work in his vineyards in a land all white and ready to harvest ~ hereinafter referred to as Vietnam.

I served with 1st platoon, B Co 2nd/7th 1st Air Cavalry '66 - '67, as a combat infantryman.  We called ourselves 'Grunts', operating out of LZ Betty near beautiful downtown Phan Thiet, Vietnam.

My unit was the same unit that was depicted in the Mel Gibson movie, "We Were Soldiers," only I came along one year later.

Vietnam changed all who served, indelibly and forever. I'm now on a 100% disability rating with an extra hole in my head, covered by a 3x4 inch plate.

Shrapnel the size of a quarter is currently embedded three inches into my brain.  This traumatic brain injury was compliments of a tripwire booby trap that triggered a grenade, that in turn detonated an artillery round ... and in the process, it completely ruined my whole day on April, 22, 1967, during a combat operation in the boonies near Phan Rang, Vietnam, April 28, ‘67.

My greatest motivating desire in writing about Vietnam was first, a cathartic one, to heal the demons of war within me where I'd stashed them so long ago.  Writing brought them out, so I could confront and deal with them face-to-face, looking them in the eye.

I know everyone is not the same, and everyone is not ready for this, but writing about Vietnam helped me heal.  

I have received so many letters from brothers-in-arms, like the one telling me, "Damn.  You tell it just as I feel it, but cannot express. You echo the words in my head that I can't get out. I didn't know anyone else thought the way I did." 

Many tell me my words are also healing to them, too.  Like the tough Marine tank sergeant who called and told me he was crying like a baby, because someone else understood, and he thanked me. 

I have also had several write, after viewing my site, saying they were able to talk about "The Nam" for the first time with their families. Before that, they had not been able to talk about what they had seen and experienced in Vietnam. 

They told me they pulled their entire family in front of the computer, went through my pictures and words to show them what Nam was like for them. What a humbling experience.  I write for them!

Parents, brothers, sisters, children of vets, write to thank me for helping them to know their loved one better. Now they understand why he acts the way he does, why he won’t talk, where he'd been and why he'd changed, what he'd experienced.  He would not, or could not, talk about it.  My writing helped them connect and feel closer to their veteran.  As a writer, that is always humbling. I write for them!

I write because I feel a great need to promote a better understanding about the realities of war in those that haven't the foggiest idea of what war is really all about. There is no glory in war! War isn't the clean and antiseptic fare we see in the movies.  War is a deep fear of lingering death in the mud and blood (ours and theirs) that stays and haunts soldiers  for the rest of their lives. 

A Vietnamese legend says, "All poets are full of silver threads that rise inside them as the moon grows large."  So, when I write, it is because these silver thread words are poking at me, and I must let them out. 

Gary Jacobson

Walk the Point of the Spear

WALK THE POINT OF THE SPEAR
by Gary Jacobson © 2013

Today I walk the point of the spear
First to hear
What’s lurking in shadowed dark
Waiting for you…
Just you
Walking the park.

On point
In this jive jungle joint,
I’m first to see… Lucky me
Who or what waits for me
Be he good time Charlie
To kill me… maybe just maim me.

Sniper in the tree
Can’t you see
Or Mr. Charles gift without warning sound
Booby tramp tamped in the ground
When it goes boom… somebody will die
Somebody will cry.

See his tripwire across the trail
Quick transport to hell
Oh well!
Somebody’s got to do it
Be first in line to meet the sh__
Uh, er, welcoming surprise.

Besides… be ye Sinner or Saint
How quaint
You don’t want to live forever,
Do you? You do!
Too bad, so sad…
No joy! Zin loi!



“I am only one, but I am one. I can't do everything, but I can do something. The something I ought to do, I can do, and by the grace of God, I will.” ~Everett Hale

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Sayings and Poems: by Michael Lansford

Michael Lansford in Country - Cobra

Here are a few sayings, poems, and verses I've had with me all these years.

Some are my writings, some borrowed, but all are profound thoughts.

PATTERNS

The night is setting softly
with the hush of falling leaves;
the light from a street lamp
paints a pattern on the wall;
Like the pieces of a puzzle
or a child's uneven scrawl;
Up a narrow flight of stairs
in a narrow little room;
as I lie upon my bed
in the early evening gloom;
From the moment of my birth
to the instant of my death;
there are patterns I must follow
just as I must breathe each breath;
and the pattern still remains
on the wall where darkness fell;
and it's fitting that  it should be
for in darkness I must dwell;
Impaled there on my Wall,
my eyes can dimly see;
the Patterns of my life
and the puzzle that is me;
Like a rat within a maze;
the path before me lays;
and the pattern never alters;
Until the rat dies.
Like the color of my skin;
or the day that I grow old,
My life is made of Patterns
that can scarcely be controlled.



JUST A MAN

Take man, put him alone,
put him 12,000 miles from home.
Empty his heart of all but blood,
Make him live in sweat and mud.
This is the life that I too live
and why my soul to the Devil I give.
You Peace Boys,
not in your easy chairs,
but you don't know
what it's like over here.
You have a ball without near trying,
while over here your boys are dying.
You burn your draft cards,
march at dawn, plant your signs
on the White House lawn.
You want to ban the bomb;
There's no war in Vietnam.
Use your drugs, have more fun,
and then refuse to use the guns.
There's nothing else for you to do,
and I'm suppose to die for you?
I'll hate you til the day I die,
You make me hear my buddy cry.
I saw his arm a bloody shred,
I hear them say, "This Man is Dead".
It's a hard price he had to pay
not to live another day.
He had the guts to fight and die.
He paid the price,
but what did he buy?
He bought your life by losing his,
But who cares what a soldier gives?
His wife does, parents, and even sons,
But they're about the only ones.



WHAT WE REALLY WANT

We want people to remember
we fought for our country.
and never forget it;
We Won't.
When we get out of uniform
we want to go home
to more than nothing,
We don't want sympathy
or charity.
We want a decent job.
We want to be able to get married
and support a family.
We don't expect miracles,
but we won't settle for a broom.
If people think there's nothing
they can do to help
they should think harder.
Because we thought enough
of our people and country
to come over here.
Some don't agree with this war
and our being here,
But the majority are on our side.
Our fathers and forefathers before us
had the courage
to stand up for what was right
and we don't think we're so good
that we don't have to do our part.
We don't ask for glory or praise.
All we want
is to be treated equal
and stand among the bravest men.



AND THE WAR GOES ON

People march, picket signs in hand,
Yet Vietnam is not a free land.
They'd rather protest
and march in vain.
instead of stand up and fight
for our country's name.
They'd rather pay the price of a beer,
than spend a year for the price
of freedom which is so dear.
They fight their battles
on campus streets,
while the soldier must fight
in the jungle heat.
The cost of freedom
is ever so high,
but why care a protester,
he doesn't have to die.
War is Hell
as the saying goes,
but burning a draft card
is all he knows.
He marches with sign
from dark til dawn.
But to us over here
the war goes on.
We sit and wonder
day and night,
somewhere back home
someone is right.
We fight the war
so everyone will be shown
that it's hard to be free
and be left alone.
We didn't ask for this war over here
Now we know what freedom is
so why don't you care?
Why condemn what we do,
Be glad we're here in place of you.
We're the ones who fight and die,
and protesters will never know why.
We fought for freedom
this very day
with hopes this war will end soon
so we can go away.

10 July 69.



THE VIETNAM WAR

People of the world talk about this place,
to them it's just a political race.
They laugh and scorn the Viet Cong.
They're not here, what could be wrong?
You read the news from day to day,
and hardly notice
a soldiers life was taken away.
He fought the war and played the game,
but win or lose, he died the same.
Rockets, mortars are still coming down,
they don't care where they hit the ground.
You hear them fall from the sky and pray,
Dear God, don't let me die today.
You dig in the ground for a place to stay
and hope the falling death will pass away.
Peace talks go on but all in vain.
The war only slows for the rain.
Men are still dying in this war,
and you think, "What am I really fighting for?"
To the politicians it's just a game,
but to us Vets here it's war just the same.
You sit and watch your buddies die.
But you're a man now so you can't cry.
No one knows why he was killed.
But who cares, his place will be filled.
So each one that dies over here
gives us more hate and a little less fear.
You learn to kill and never cry,
then you stop to think, "Why, God, Why?
Why should I take his life in my hand,
just because I was put in this mans land?"
But they want to kill us anyway,
they couldn't do it yesterday
so they'll try again today.
He's getting smarter than a Fox.
We want to go home alive,
he wants us in a box.
So you politicians
take notice to this place,
It's no game or political race.
It's war, man, as far as you can see,
that's the way we feel, the enemy and me.
Each day the politicians grow bigger,
they just use us to pull the trigger.
So for now we'll fight
for our so-called government at home.
But all we want is peace and quiet,
and to be left alone.
So laugh at this place
while you still can
and be glad friend this war
isn't in your own land.

18 June 69


Michael "Surfer" Lansford
2nd Batallion
"Bravo" Battery
11th Artillery
155 split trails
101st Airborne
Viet Nam 68-69
Hamburger Hill 10 May-21 May 69.



“I am only one, but I am one. I can't do everything, but I can do something. The something I ought to do, I can do, and by the grace of God, I will.” ~Everett Hale

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Lost But Not Forgotten

Anguish and Wonder

Lost But Not Forgotten

by William A. Christie

"It was war, you won't come home,"

are the thoughts you leave home with.

You hear the shots, smell the powder.

The smoke and dust clears.

You look down.

He's gone, and you're still here.

Did I do the right thing,

or was it wrong?

Did I do enough, or too much?

His eyes stare with a far away look.

Oh My God,

he's my friend.

How do I go on?

Guilt fills my life; shame rules it.

Wishing it was me, and glad it wasn't.

Why just one and not both?

I'll remember this forever

in the day and in the nightmares.

Did it hurt?

Did he suffer?

Holding him for what seemed like forever,

knowing it was just a moment,

but feeling it forever ...

Written by Sgt. William A. Christie

a Vietnam Combat Veteran with PTSD

U.S. Army, 299th Combat Engineers

D/A Company

1968/1969

Dak To Defenders

Dak To Vietnam

“I am only one, but I am one. I can't do everything, but I can do something. The something I ought to do, I can do, and by the grace of God, I will.” ~Everett Hale

Currahee Soldier

Currahee Soldier

I was that which others did not want to be,
I went where others feared to go,
and did what others failed to do.

I asked nothing from those who gave nothing,
and reluctantly accepted the thought of eternal loneliness...
should I fail.

I have seen the face of terror, felt the stinging cold of fear,
and enjoyed the sweet taste of a moment's love.

I have cried, pained, and hoped, but most of all,
I have lived times others would say were best forgotten.

At least some day I will be able to say that I was proud of
what I was...a Currahee Soldier
of the 506th Infantry Regiment
(Airborne - Airmobile - Air Assault)

Author Unknown


“I am only one, but I am one. I can't do everything, but I can do something. The something I ought to do, I can do, and by the grace of God, I will.” ~Everett Hale

Poem: "Waves", by John Puzzo

Please play the video while you read ...

Waves

by John Puzzo

They are like the waves washing on shore,

58,237 of them. 

They just keep coming from way out there, 

until they wash up over your feet

and gently remind you of who they are

and who they were.

Sometimes the storms come 

and the waves are not so gentle.

That’s when they’re grabbing us, and shaking us,

to make us remember.

Then they slide back into the ocean.

But they’ll be back.

They never really left.

Sometimes they leave something behind

and it takes your breath away.

“Here comes mine. There he is.”

And just as quickly he comes to 

Fill your heart again, reaching you there 

on the shore.

Then he recedes once again. Back into the sea. 

58,237 others are making their way back to the shore

to meet theirs.

It takes a long time for 58,237 waves 

to come against the shores of our memory, 

where we wait to greet them.

But that’s alright. They’ll be back.

They don’t ever really leave us.

It would be like the sea itself suddenly evaporating.

They are the sea.

Those who only knew them on these shores,

the ones who sent them off –

“Be Safe. I will miss you. Write to me? 

Let me know if you need anything.”

And you never forget that face. 

Out there in the sea, with others of his kind 

he looks back at you,

still there, on the shore, with your feet in the sand.

You are the last thing he sees, too.

They share something very precious 

in the sea of sacrifice where they live now.

The ocean will never die. 

It will keep sending them back to us

to remember.

Waves.

Add caption

John J. Puzzo

K Company (Ranger)

75th Infantry (Airborne)

United States Army 1968 - 1971

John is the published author of two books about Vietnam.  He is a brilliant public speaker, and an all-around good guy from Connecticut.  

"The Highlanders In the Viet Nam War"

"Vietnam and Hollywood"

Other Articles by John Puzzo:

Humor in Vietnam

The Lantern

“I am only one, but I am one. I can't do everything, but I can do something. The something I ought to do, I can do, and by the grace of God, I will.” ~Everett Hale

Feel free to comment on this post. You are also invited to write about anything you feel comfortable sharing. Memoirs From Nam is YOUR blog. You are writing America's history, sharing the truth about the Vietnam veteran, and what it was like in Our War.