"cong" poems
He floated like a butterfly,
Stang like a bee –
The one and only
Muhammad Ali.
“I’m The Greatest”, he always said,
20th Century Sports Personality,
Put his rivals to bed.
Yes, he WAS the Greatest, that’s for sure.
Above the rest by a massive score.
Faster than a hummingbird,
Slicker than a snake,
Those quick hands of his
They made opponents quake.
He’d get into bed
Before the light went out.
Rarely a whisper,
Usually a shout.
Like a long-distance runner
Ali had the endurance.
Anyone who fought him
Needed lots of insurance.
Ali was great and didn’t he know it.
A witty speaker and amusing poet.
Some of his lines I’ve used right here:
They had his rivals shaking with fear.
No way would Ali fight the Viet Cong.
For that he merits a Nobel Gong.
He was the champion of the oppressed,
A hero with whom we all were blessed.
He had charisma, way beyond sport.
Ali influenced our every thought.
He’ll call into Hell on the way to Heaven,
To knock out Satan, in round seven.
Paul Butters
Jun 8, 2016
Jun 8, 2016 at 6:57 AM UTC
by
rgpage
I never cried in viet nam,
I just seemed to take it in.
The missing limbs and twisted flesh
friends one day and gone the next.
Was I too young to understand?
And need someone to take my hand?
No mother there to hold my hand
no father there to teach me ways.
To lead me through the day by days.
Just left alone, and alone I stayed
Instead I found my bottle friend
to stay my tears and hide my fears.
Back then “charley” felt they owned the night.
With blusterous thud the mortars hit,
Of saying hi it was “charley’s” way
then to be my friend by day.
From no where came the dragon ship,
and tipping his left wing
as a polite executioner saluting his victim just before unleashing hell.
W/ firery tongue lapping up the earth while mini-guns
roared, eagerly devouring all living things,
leaving “charley” w/ no where to run.
All clear, a small visit w/ my bottle friend
and back to sleep in the alcohol deep.
I was no John Wayne, I didn’t fight the war
a target yes for “charley’s” sights
when the sun gave way to night.
But no, I didn’t fight.
I never cried glossary:
Charley=VC=viet cong=enemy: by day he acted like any of the population, some were even employed around the various bases. But at sundown he would turn…
Dragonship=C-47=2 or 3 several barreled mini-guns mounted on left side of the plane capable of firing a few 1000 rounds per minute each w/ a phosphorous round placed at every 6th round a tracer. At night this made it look like a steady stream of fire coming from the plane, hence the name “dragon ship” or “puff the magic dragon.” To aim the pilot had to dip his left wing and fly in a counter clock wise fashion. Very effective weapon…
Written for a special friend A.S.
Apr 26, 2013
Apr 26, 2013 at 12:00 PM UTC
Back in the days of Vietnam
We said: “Make Love, not war.”
No matter how many Cong we killed
Like Doritos, they made more.
Walter Cronkite helped keep score
as the toll grew ever higher.
Foes relentless as the monsoon rains
They made Nam a quagmire.
We killed them all three times at least
Surely all of them were gone.
Then shortly after we had left
They turned up in Saigon!
Now we’re in a forever war
without a likely winner.
A pity we can claim a draw
And bring the boys home for dinner.
May 23, 2013
May 23, 2013 at 7:20 PM UTC
The National Security Advisor
In all his frumpery and trumpery
Waves his combat moustache menacingly
Backed up by each nuclear incisor
He threatens Iran with his “hell to pay”
Word missiles through his bristles - “We will come after you!”
Omitting to say (through his ****** hairdo)
His child will not go, but yours will – hooray!
For his own combat record is no joke:
He bravely fought the Cong around Fort Polk
Sep 26, 2018
Sep 26, 2018 at 8:46 AM UTC
How can I ever explain it?
Not without a full disclosure
I will tell you every bit
Your kindness to which I demure
Soldiers fight their own private war
Mine to protect the Hill Tribes
Willing to suffer all the gore
All credit to them I ascribe
Upon arrival in Da Nang
I gathered my field gear and rifle
A mission with Colonel Vang
Preparation seemed but a trifle
My kind mountain Hmong Tribal ladies
Give a great gift to me, your sons
I will escort them through Hades
I'll teach them to ****** with guns
Wet their tongues in cobra's blood
I have come to save you from doom
The coming communist red flood
Boys already made their own tomb
We shall fly the flags of the Hmong
We'll rally boys from the villes
We must slaughter the Minh and Cong
The Hmong will have their own Bastille
I will take a dragon to wife
Boys will nurture in her foul breath
They will worship their ****** knife
We'll dance the ritual of death
I’m the lost soul forest monster
Others have come before today
They are pathetic impostors
We will flow through the night to slay
Other boys born beneath the palm
They have come to steal your life's breath
It's them that we target to bomb
I'll walk among you as Macbeth
My Duncan is among your kin
Banquo will haunt me til I rot
I will be fixed with mortal sin
Unable to wash away the spot
I will hide my hands from Odin
A conundrum in which I'm caught
Future will be among the Jinn
My destiny from this foul plot
Your sons buried in sacred ground
They'll not be stained with my darkness
Peace for them will be so profound
How many thanks can I express
Those boys in valor's selfless crown
From gallantry, their future gone
Sins I keep and can't beat down
For many years, I must atone.
I, far removed from battles roar
Do fondly remember those boys
Their smiles and laughter before
Stand out among life's greatest joys
No more the fierce warrior am I
Just an old man with memories
I am needing to just say goodbye
And maybe, maybe my conscience appeases
Mar 18, 2017
Mar 18, 2017 at 6:33 PM UTC
Policy or personal
questions? In the poem Two White Wines
a child adopted from Cambodia
is a thing of beauty, and so she is
as she showed herself to be yesterday. Lovely. However
the poet implies market, i.e. economic, forces brought her
to America
when, as her parents know, it was war,
the sad Vietnam War or the War with America
as I think the Vietnamese remember it.
Honor and bravery
equal courage. Reed Whittemore's poem about
a photo of Viet Cong prisoners, stoic, defiant
under an American officer's boot
expresses admiration for the enemy. Then and now
a dangerous sentiment. Your fellow citizens, denizens
of convenience stores, even your family,
may come to see you as the enemy. Once ostracized,
the other,
not belonging to the loved ones, you're not long for
this world of dew.
**** and ***
Ken says, describes America's culture, not its poets
or jazz. What's worth fighting for?
Your land, your right to be stupid on your land.
Now there is one large land, one people
and many. The vote is a crude, monosyllabic grunt,
no way to express the subtle degrees of experience
our long lives represent. Thus,
it is good, when the family gathers, to talk,
each person speak
of what has been forgotten, forgiven and forgone.
Trading or taking
every family must be tithed or taxed.
Every man who finds his meaning in war
will be pained into wisdom and gentleness.
Who comes home
comes home to a future that bypassed the fighting, or did it?
The oil must be sold,
even Saddam or Osama cannot withhold it.
You can drink your quota of water
and still your heart can ache.
Empire or democracy
of nations? We can choose to be the reigning kings
between the last empire and the next
or we can implement a vision
of collective deliberation.
America the seeing-eye dog,
not America the junkyard dog.
Going question by question
toward predictable, transparent governance.
Example: How can a people become a nation
without resorting to violence or incurring violent reaction?
Aug 10, 2015
Aug 10, 2015 at 8:31 AM UTC
I lay down on my living room floor
Convinced that the world would end.
A crisis off Cuba with missiles in route.
Yes, I am a Child of Then.
A lady in pink with blood on her dress.
A President shot in the head
I remember where I was exactly that day
Yes, I am a Child of Then.
Police battle Blacks, Watts is in flames
Protests rage on without end.
King is dead at the hand of a bigoted man
Yes, I am a Child of Then.
Camelots heir sought to bind up the wounds
Then Sirhan Sirhan shot him dead.
Bobby bled out on the kitchen tiled floor
Yes, I am a Child of Then.
Asian girl running, naked, on a dirt country road.
A Viet Cong man shot in the head
Fifty Eight Thousand names on a wall
Yes, I am a Child of Then.
May 27, 2012
May 27, 2012 at 10:03 AM UTC
He said in blazing truth
" No Viet Cong Ever Called Me ******
yet in arrogance and hatred they cancelled him for years
for only them knows what's right
He said in just pious light he had a dream
"now is the time to make justice a reality
for all of God's children."
yet in ill wind and oppressive race hate they cancelled him for years
till finally they put a bullet in his head
He said solemnly amidst raging injustices
“No one is born hating another person because of the colour of his skin, or his background, or his religion. People must learn to hate, and if they can learn to hate, they can be taught to love, for love comes more naturally to the human heart than its opposite.”
yet for demanding what was rightly his they cancelled him
for twenty seven hellish years
All I said was
" We gave to you, we borrowed you money when in need
we never troubled or bothered you, yet you broke into our home
and stole our property then you demanded money with threats.
I will not pay a penny and I shall others about your thieving"
In race hate and grievous anger they have cancelled me
ruined my reputation, my career, my marriage and my health
They say this is their democracy
they say this is their justice, their revolution, their people power
For such people power cancelled the lives and future of millions
as they were herded on slave ships never to know homes again
And Economies, resources, treasures and territories were cancelled
out of legitimate owners
for CANCELLING is Might
and the cancellers are gods and goddesses who decides
what is right and what is wrong
I stay cancelled......
Oct 5, 2020
Oct 5, 2020 at 11:20 PM UTC
What has remained where memory was lost or stolen?
Effacing years replaced what had been felt,
the child adept at stealth and isolation
becoming stranger than the life he left
behind in absence, which was both gone and forgotten.
An echo of a voice in an empty silo rings
because he heard it answer him with words
instead of bruises; the man and child grins.
Remembering selectively, the man
recalls the carcass of a red Case tractor
thigh high in grass; and Viet Nam,
a water buffalo dead in a paddy after
the Viet Cong, like willful parents, spanked
the area with small arms fire. Hell
was neither here nor there but something stank.
The mood rolled over as an odor will
disperse in time, a transient effect
of mind, but an abyss of remembrance haunts
wherever ghosts have congregated, cleft
from the wanton interval of thwarted wants.
Feb 19, 2013
Feb 19, 2013 at 12:53 AM UTC
Napoleon stayed in Elba,
Pulling his bone apart;
Lenin was in Siberia,
So deep, none heard him ****
Adolph passed his time in Landsburg,
Hardening his heart;
And Don's in Mar-a-Lago
Perfecting his Con art.
He's no Monte Cristo,
Righting perceived wrongs;
He'll fleece all his believers,
In stealth, like Viet Cong.
Jun 16, 2022
Jun 16, 2022 at 9:10 AM UTC
Its possible to imagine reading this on you tube live,
it can happen, it aint Wutang wu wei woo woo dangle
bait, bait, betcha
ready
betcha did, betcha won and didn't know it,
down to the dimple in the chin, a Haps
pers happenstance of time and chance, all we know
it gets thrown in the mix and out comes
happen,
that's what's happening. Roll the bones.
The lot is cast into the lap, but the whole dis
posing
there
of... the lot, the die, the rolled filipped coing coing cong
{stop} re en state
What was the last co-gent, co-gentle, thought?
Religrelegreligreleg etaoinshrdlu to you. FS.
AH, fightin' words, kettle drums, Tibetan gongs,
Hopi Kokapelli flute,
sweet, a turkey gobbled outside my window
and I laughed, and that did good,
like a medicine.
Dec 25, 2022
Dec 25, 2022 at 1:02 PM UTC
Revisiting caricatures held in green grass ,
Super heroes and Presidents , monsters that defy description
Chasing crane flies and grasshoppers , battling the Viet Cong
with a broom stick , running for quick relief from summer heat ,
selling Kool Aid by the Dixie Cup on Empire street ..
Period cars with teenagers fly by to the music of Jimi Hendrix
My time will be soon , very soon indeed ...
Mar 18, 2016
Mar 18, 2016 at 3:24 PM UTC
I lay down on my living room floor
Convinced that the world would end.
A crisis off Cuba with missiles enroute.
Yes, I am a Child of Then.
A lady in pink with blood on her dress.
A President shot in the head.
I remember where I was exactly that day
for I am a Child of Then.
Police battle Blacks, Watts is in flames
Protests rage on without end.
King is dead at the hand of a bigoted man
Yes, I am a Child of Then.
Camelots heir sought to bind up the wounds
Then Sirhan Sirhan shot him dead.
Bobby bled out on the kitchen tiled floor
for I am a Child of Then.
Asian girl running, naked, on a dirt country road.
A Viet Cong man shot in the head.
Fifty Eight Thousand names on a wall
Yes, I am a Child of Then.
Jun 27, 2014
Jun 27, 2014 at 9:18 PM UTC
the tide, a never-ending olive green
the advance made silently in
the pitch black night,
dark as the leather on their feet.
wading through the water
a muddy yellow tinged with blood
dripping like machine gun fire
opened fire in the jungle thicket
the river is full of them
treading panic water to escape
treading on landmines -
little pots of death leaving crates,
cutting arms, legs, limbs gone,
lost in the panic water
soldiers in the river,
men in the panic water,
friends in the throes of death
clinging to each other,
kissing olive canvas with red lips
"Tell my girl I love her if I don't make it back!"
holding each other while holding their breath
listening, listening for the next agent to fall
like rain
and orange the rain on viet cong,
the american hatred dropping like bombs,
on ferns and palm trees losing their green
on children losing their voices from all the screaming and crying
their fathers tired of fighting and hanging loose
like landmine limbs,
in the reeds by the river,
waiting for death.
Apr 9, 2020
Apr 9, 2020 at 1:51 PM UTC
I lay down on my living room floor
Convinced that the world would end.
A crisis off Cuba with missiles enroute.
Yes, I am a Child of Then.
A lady in pink with blood on her dress.
A President shot in the head.
I remember where I was exactly that day
for I am a Child of Then.
Police battle Blacks, Watts is in flames
Protests rage on without end.
King is dead at the hand of a bigoted man
Yes, I am a Child of Then.
Camelots heir sought to bind up the wounds
Then Sirhan Sirhan shot him dead.
Bobby bled out on the kitchen tiled floor
for I am a Child of Then.
Asian girl running, naked, on a dirt country road.
A Viet Cong man shot in the head.
Fifty Eight Thousand names on a wall
Yes, I am a Child of Then.
Jul 26, 2018
Jul 26, 2018 at 6:03 PM UTC
That is the same one I like –
the beat to Shotgun by Jr. Walker
and the All Stars
It makes me feel militant
like I’m attacking the Cong
or leaning on
the 4th of July celebration
for “the dudes” in front
to attack the bang-a-gong crown
if they throw Molotov
cocktails at
‘em
and brissel with pigtails
Blockbuster wasn’t like this.
The DVD business seems sick
compared to Dead-Eye ****
who harks back to a character names
Ben.
Why because I love you*
Shy because I help few.
Why Gentle Ben and **** Nixon
maybe -
to go along with a certain beat.
I just want to savor
the past I guess
and think I did my best.
*from the Frankie Avalon song “Why”
Oct 19, 2016
Oct 19, 2016 at 11:34 AM UTC