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Author Topic: Poem  (Read 2476 times)

George Potter

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Poem
« on: May 29, 2005, 01:42:18 pm »


To Those Left Behind.

(A Memorial Day poem #3)

I.

God gave her one son.
The State took him away.
To fight a war, it said.
An important war.
Freedom was at stake, it said.
Democracy and liberty, it claimed.
She'd accepted and feared and hoped.

But her son still died,
thousands of miles away
from his mother's arms,
And she'd be damned if
she could tell a difference
other than a broken heart,
and a belly full of hate.

II.

Her name was Quy Hue
but in the singsong patois
of the streets she ran
they just called her Round Eyes.
The round eyes were from her father
a conscript wanderer
Who'd conceived her one night
drunk and desperate for warmth
in a hotel in Saigon.

He died in the jungle a month later.

She never met him, our Quy Hue.
But when she was five
she watched the helicopters
flee the embassy downtown
as the conquerors at last
took the ground they claimed.
She did not know a great nation state
had finally been defeated.
She just thought: "My father is gone forever."

The northerners killed her mother a year later.

Left alone she ran.
She stole and whored and killed three men.
She ate when she could and lived
as best as she could tear from the world.
She learned the ways of the knife,
the quiet step and the empty heart.
But in her dreams her father smiled
down on a precious lily flower,
and she woke herself crying often.

She died in a Saigon gutter at the age of thirteen.

III.

They took my boy,
he often thought.
And sent me back a mad dog.

Chuck screams in his sleep often.
He drinks too much.
He's missing a foot.

Sometimes Chuck stares at the stump.
He stares at the missing foot.
And he just has to hit someone.

It's a sad game,
he often thinks,
for a 65 year old man to make excuses for bruises.

"I killed a little girl."
Chuck sometimes slurs.
"I thought she had a bomb, but it was just an old radio."

Such is life,
he always thinks
but he fought for our freedom.

And the old man goes on
Making excuses for bruises.
Lying to the world and himself.

And Chuck is trapped,
until his last breath,
staring at a dead child and a radio that didn't even work.
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Claire

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Poem
« Reply #1 on: May 29, 2005, 05:10:03 pm »

Wordless. Speechless. George, it's as if you were there, in all three lives.
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Just as the flattery of friends often leads us astray, so the insults of enemies often do us good. -- St. Augustine, Confessions, Book IX, Chapter 8


When faith ceases to be a challenge to the standards of polite society, it is no longer, or has not yet become, faith. -- Donald Spoto, Reluctant Saint:  The Life of Francis of Assisi


My life is my message. -- Gandhi

Junker

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Poem
« Reply #2 on: May 29, 2005, 06:11:44 pm »

x2
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George Potter

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Poem
« Reply #3 on: May 30, 2005, 10:57:35 pm »


Oddly enough, this poem turned into a short story tenatively titled Round Eyes. That's the first time that happened.

BTW: Block is over. I've written 6000 words since day before yesterday. :P
 
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George Potter

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Poem
« Reply #4 on: May 30, 2005, 10:59:20 pm »


PS: If anyone was wondering 'Quy Hue' is pronounced 'Kai Way', and yes, it means 'precious lily flower'.  
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Joel

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Poem
« Reply #5 on: May 30, 2005, 11:28:05 pm »

Quote
Oddly enough, this poem turned into a short story tenatively titled Round Eyes. That's the first time that happened.

BTW: Block is over. I've written 6000 words since day before yesterday. :P
Kewl!  When do we see it?
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Yet another Freedomista blog: The Ultimate Answer to Kings is not a bullet, but a belly laugh.

George Potter

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Poem
« Reply #6 on: May 31, 2005, 09:44:57 pm »

Quote
Quote
Oddly enough, this poem turned into a short story tenatively titled Round Eyes. That's the first time that happened.

BTW: Block is over. I've written 6000 words since day before yesterday. :P
Kewl!  When do we see it?

Just finished it. I don't want to post it publicly since I'm hoping to sell it, but I'd be happy to toss a few PM's about if asked. :)
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Ghost

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Poem
« Reply #7 on: June 02, 2005, 11:00:45 pm »

Wow, simply stunning there brah... :o

 
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