Nam

4 Comments

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  • Life

    Poem Commentary

    Much the same as the ice fields errode, integrity in journalism has receeded with the passing of Walter Cronkite.

    Nam

    Nam - (Remembering Walter)



    Stringed flight

    Ceaseless haze

    A dance of dragon’s

    Hell rays

    Battered hope

    Frayed mind

    Death approaches

    From behind

    Earthen trails

    Underground

    Is the reason

    No one’s found

    Yellow kids

    Blank stares

    Defending country

    Saying prayers

    Orders sent

    Fire foam

    A sniper’s bullet

    Sends him home

    Purple heart

    Kingdom come

    Doesn’t matter

    Where you’re from

    Laid to rest

    Like a tree

    Land of death

    Still living free

    Poem Comments

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    wheelsal commented on Nam

    08-06-2009

    A beautiful tribute to lost journalism and a great life. "Land of death, still living free". I believe this and love this. Sally
    Reply to Comment

    NevillePark

    08/09/2009

    Life is such a relative thing Sal. To the native New Yorker facing the high cost of living it's all about survival. To the Vietnamese field hand or the Afghan breadwinner life is all about survival.'Same word.Each finds time to enjoy living in between pain and pressure. An indeterminate quality of life is maintained in the tenants of honor and power to decide ones own fate, and it's God given.

    RHPeat commented on Nam

    07-25-2009

    It looks like you are really getting into the list poem recently. The order and the flow are vital to the list coming to fruition. I see it is well done here, the movement from one image to the next is quite striking. And very powerful images as well. enjoyed the read and the intent here. A poet friend// RH Peat
    Reply to Comment

    NevillePark

    07/27/2009

    Funny thing ... when your pen is chasing the words coming you can can often not know what your writing down until you stop. It's like fast reps with light weights at the gym.

    Poetry is when an emotion has found its thought and the thought has found words.

    Robert Frost (1875-1963) American Poet.

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