STUDENT POETRY
Volume Two
Differently
The war touches so many,
in so many ways,
each very differently.
That child knew of no one,
of whom she is aware,
who was involved.
That teenager found out,
that his teacher was in it,
and knew people who died.
That college student knows,
in the back of her mind,
that the uncle she never knew,
was killed in combat.
That elderly man remembers his son,
boarding the plane - reluctantly. . .
not wanting to fight.
That man's wife remembers,
her young cousin working in Nam,
trying to save our soldiers' lives.
That teacher knew someone,
who ran to Canada,
trying to dodge the draft.
That secretary watched,
as her only brother left--
off to serve his tour.
That man watched the war,
from Thailand,
never seeing the war.
That man saw the war,
up close and personal,
and saw his friend die.
That man saw the war,
up close and personal,
and now his girl cries,
over his name on the wall.
The war touches so many,
in so many ways,
each very differently.
-Libby Wasmund
|
copyright © 1996 by Libby Wasmund, all rights reserved
into the earth
i walked up to the
black wall
eleven years old
not too innocent
to know exactly
what those names meant.
i felt out of place
as if i didn't belong
standing there
between
women who had lost
their husbands and
mothers who had buried
their sons
for this war.
i did not have
a name to
look up in the
directory
i could not press my
small fingers against
those
carved letters
i could only read them
one after the other
followed by a diamond
or a cross.
on that april day
the vietnam war
was
not my tragedy
i could watch but
not feel
its sadness.
years later i stand
before the same wall
american flags and flowers
clutter its base.
i realize
the vietnam war
is this
nation's tragedy
whether we lost a father,
a lover, a sister or a son
it belongs
to us all.
we must remember it
for its horror and
injustice.
it belongs
to all
who believe they are
american
we have a responsibility to
the names
carved in
black granite, sinking
into the earth.
it was a september evening
as i turned my back
to the sun setting
behind the
wall.
i could feel its sadness
becoming
my own.
Katharine Walmsley
|
copyright © 1996 by Katharine Walmsley, all rights reserved
Away You'll Go
One, Two, Three, Four,
Is the count off,
Straighter yet you stand,
In your shining boots so black,
Not a crease or wrinkle is to be found
On your suit of green
Your hair is clean, short and coarse
beneath your hat.
Pride is in your eyes,
An air of victory coarses through you,
The pins of your corporal's rank
are straight,
And your ribbon straps tucked neatly
inside your helmet.
Your weapons hang at your side,
clean and loaded.
Though it is fall you see not its colors,
Only blue, white and red,
the red stands out.
As you happen to slightly move your head,
A sweet wind raises the banner,
And a light enters your eyes
As your gaze rests on the object you seek,
Honor swells within you,
and the wind lifts your dog tags,
Like a chime singing a story,
A story for you alone.
Fear is death
And to you in your chaste uniform,
Death is betrayal,
so on you'll go,
A boy in a man's suit,
Away you'll go.
Four, Three, Two, One,
Is the countdown,
You stand so bent and weary,
In your tattered boots, scuffed and gray,
Not a clean, unworn spot is to be found,
Caked on dirt and dried on blood,
Your hair is long and dirty
beneath your bandage,
Pain and longing,
are in your eyes
an air of experience surrounds you,
your rank has changed, yet the pins are meaningless,
and dull.
The torn ribbons from your helmet are tied around the gash in your leg,
Your weapons lay untouched at your feet,
Never to be fired again,
It is winter,
Yet the only color you see is red,
the red stands out.
As you happen to slightly turn your head,
A dry dusty wind raises the banner,
And the light dwindles in your eyes,
your gaze caresses that object,
so long ago forgotten,
Emotion fills your soul,
And the wind lifts your dog tags,
Silver, bent and dull,
The chime is no longer there,
Yet your story is not alone.
Life includes death,
And to you in your "chaste" uniform,
Death is no longer a betrayal,
So on you'll go,
A boy in a man's body,
Away you'll go.
Kristina Bartlett
copyright © 1996 by Kristina Bartlett, all rights reserved
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