Looking a Long Way Back
In the midst of nostalgic thought,
musical memories come to his mind.
So he turns to his computer,
to see what he might find.
As the familiar sounds come to his ear,
he squeezes together his eyes.
And now the tears begin to form,
as the memories soon revive.
Vietnam was a time in his life.
He could never really explain.
“Get those kids while they're still young”
That's how they played that game.
The song he played that brought the tears,
brings back memories of that war.
A crazy time of growth and death.
And wondering what it all was for.
So far away, so long ago.
The tears ease up as the song plays on,
A vague reminder of many things.
Memories of worth live in that song.
Now he smiles as he recalls,
another rock song from that time.
He supposes the music and the war,
for him will be forever entwined.
by Contributing Poet Jim Carpenter Copyright © 2025
VWP 2025 First published in VietnamWarPoetry.com
Images of War
Somewhere now the decades have gone.
But somehow still the memories remain.
Politicians make the decisions.
But it's the young who play the game.
The game was the Vietnam Conflict.
It was never officially a war.
And of all the misery that ever occurred,
we never knew what we were fighting for.
Disgruntled, discouraged, but duty bound,
with home ten thousand miles away.
The men were rocked by culture shock.
While barely old enough to shave.
Heat, humidity, and malaria,
along with the constant danger,
was a continual drain for everyone.
From Army private to Marine major.
For better or worse we persevered.
Wearing false bravado to shield our fear.
Knowing even when eating or sleeping,
Charlie Cong was always quite near.
Many wounds healed but some did not.
Some injuries could never be seen.
There are many still for whom the war,
remains an ongoing bad dream.
by Contributing Poet Jim Carpenter Copyright © 2025
VWP 2025 First published in VietnamWarPoetry.com
What Others Might Carry
Uncommon events should be told,
whether they are good or bad.
when something has a historical note,
though it really might be sad.
My friend and roommate in college,
was a Vietnam veteran like me.
But our duties in that foreign war,
were as different as different could be.
I was in an office structure,
a typewriter the weapon for me.
My buddy was a Army sniper,
perched up high in a tree.
At school while under the influence,
he would talk of things he had done.
Like the time that an enemy soldier,
came under the scope of his gun.
The Asian squatted to do his morning duty.
Can I get more explicit than that?.
It was then my buddy in the tree,
sighted in and pulled the trigger back.
Life presents many struggles for us.
We deal with things that can’t be seen.
And my buddy pulling the trigger that day,
is exactly what I mean.
by Contributing Poet Jim Carpenter Copyright © 2025
VWP 2025 First published in VietnamWarPoetry.com
To Participate in War
Vietnam was a long time ago.
Which would tend to make it old news.
Except for those who still live with it.
They might have a different view.
The war was fought for many years.
Thousands of G.I.'s came and went.
Killing and bombing day after day.
It seemed we hardly made a dent.
But there were many who paid the price.
For a war that couldn't be won.
The price they paid was with their life.
We lost fathers, brothers, and sons.
Discouraged and disgruntled,
many found ways to cope.
With easy access everywhere,
to alcohol, sex and dope.
Physically and mentally,
war is certainly hell.
But when you lose it spiritually,
you're left with an empty shell.
Now it's been a lifetime ago.
They say that time will heal all pain.
But sometimes in those quiet moments,
those wartime memories haunt again.
by Contributing Poet Jim Carpenter Copyright © 2025
VWP 2025 First published in VietnamWarPoetry.com
Nelson. Again
For a reason that is unknown to me,
I've been thinking of an old friend of mine.
A fellow veteran and college roommate.
Who is unfortunately no longer alive.
Although Nelson and I were very close,
he had dark memories from the war.
That he would only share late at night.
And only then behind closed door.
He told me once, that in winter,
the steel plate in his head was unsettling.
To be in a class and feel the metal adjust,
to the warmth in the class he was sitting.
His jaw had been rebuilt,
his own had been blown away.
I guess there was some shrapnel near his heart,
that for some reason had to stay.
He was a rebel but he was smart.
We had adventures, he and I.
And it's too bad we never recorded,
our discussions when we got high!
Nelson died in the spring of '23.
but the memories of our times remain.
His presence was a plus in my life.
And now those stories are my gain.
by Contributing Poet Jim Carpenter Copyright © 2025
VWP 2025 First published in VietnamWarPoetry.com
Nuances of War
In the sad and varied nuances of war,
and the rippling effects of that man-made hell.
Come stories that you might only hear,
from those that were there and could tell.
I don't believe I ever met the guy,
Although he lived in the hootch next to mine.
At a military base camp near Cu Chi.
In the Republic of South Vietnam.
All I heard were the stories,
about this sad and lonely man.
But I know a bit about psychology,
so I think I kind of understand.
The night before they had brought a woman,
into the hootch to share.
But I guess when it came to be his turn,
what he needed just wasn't there.
At this point I can only speculate,
on the mindset of that fragile man.
But in the dark of that lonely night,
he became a statistic of Vietnam.
So long ago, so far away.
Some memories never get lost.
Rinse and repeat, we never learn.
Some lessons aren't worth the cost.
by Contributing Poet Jim Carpenter Copyright © 2024
VWP 2024 First published in VietnamWarPoetry.com
In the midst of nostalgic thought,
musical memories come to his mind.
So he turns to his computer,
to see what he might find.
As the familiar sounds come to his ear,
he squeezes together his eyes.
And now the tears begin to form,
as the memories soon revive.
Vietnam was a time in his life.
He could never really explain.
“Get those kids while they're still young”
That's how they played that game.
The song he played that brought the tears,
brings back memories of that war.
A crazy time of growth and death.
And wondering what it all was for.
So far away, so long ago.
The tears ease up as the song plays on,
A vague reminder of many things.
Memories of worth live in that song.
Now he smiles as he recalls,
another rock song from that time.
He supposes the music and the war,
for him will be forever entwined.
by Contributing Poet Jim Carpenter Copyright © 2025
VWP 2025 First published in VietnamWarPoetry.com
Images of War
Somewhere now the decades have gone.
But somehow still the memories remain.
Politicians make the decisions.
But it's the young who play the game.
The game was the Vietnam Conflict.
It was never officially a war.
And of all the misery that ever occurred,
we never knew what we were fighting for.
Disgruntled, discouraged, but duty bound,
with home ten thousand miles away.
The men were rocked by culture shock.
While barely old enough to shave.
Heat, humidity, and malaria,
along with the constant danger,
was a continual drain for everyone.
From Army private to Marine major.
For better or worse we persevered.
Wearing false bravado to shield our fear.
Knowing even when eating or sleeping,
Charlie Cong was always quite near.
Many wounds healed but some did not.
Some injuries could never be seen.
There are many still for whom the war,
remains an ongoing bad dream.
by Contributing Poet Jim Carpenter Copyright © 2025
VWP 2025 First published in VietnamWarPoetry.com
What Others Might Carry
Uncommon events should be told,
whether they are good or bad.
when something has a historical note,
though it really might be sad.
My friend and roommate in college,
was a Vietnam veteran like me.
But our duties in that foreign war,
were as different as different could be.
I was in an office structure,
a typewriter the weapon for me.
My buddy was a Army sniper,
perched up high in a tree.
At school while under the influence,
he would talk of things he had done.
Like the time that an enemy soldier,
came under the scope of his gun.
The Asian squatted to do his morning duty.
Can I get more explicit than that?.
It was then my buddy in the tree,
sighted in and pulled the trigger back.
Life presents many struggles for us.
We deal with things that can’t be seen.
And my buddy pulling the trigger that day,
is exactly what I mean.
by Contributing Poet Jim Carpenter Copyright © 2025
VWP 2025 First published in VietnamWarPoetry.com
To Participate in War
Vietnam was a long time ago.
Which would tend to make it old news.
Except for those who still live with it.
They might have a different view.
The war was fought for many years.
Thousands of G.I.'s came and went.
Killing and bombing day after day.
It seemed we hardly made a dent.
But there were many who paid the price.
For a war that couldn't be won.
The price they paid was with their life.
We lost fathers, brothers, and sons.
Discouraged and disgruntled,
many found ways to cope.
With easy access everywhere,
to alcohol, sex and dope.
Physically and mentally,
war is certainly hell.
But when you lose it spiritually,
you're left with an empty shell.
Now it's been a lifetime ago.
They say that time will heal all pain.
But sometimes in those quiet moments,
those wartime memories haunt again.
by Contributing Poet Jim Carpenter Copyright © 2025
VWP 2025 First published in VietnamWarPoetry.com
Nelson. Again
For a reason that is unknown to me,
I've been thinking of an old friend of mine.
A fellow veteran and college roommate.
Who is unfortunately no longer alive.
Although Nelson and I were very close,
he had dark memories from the war.
That he would only share late at night.
And only then behind closed door.
He told me once, that in winter,
the steel plate in his head was unsettling.
To be in a class and feel the metal adjust,
to the warmth in the class he was sitting.
His jaw had been rebuilt,
his own had been blown away.
I guess there was some shrapnel near his heart,
that for some reason had to stay.
He was a rebel but he was smart.
We had adventures, he and I.
And it's too bad we never recorded,
our discussions when we got high!
Nelson died in the spring of '23.
but the memories of our times remain.
His presence was a plus in my life.
And now those stories are my gain.
by Contributing Poet Jim Carpenter Copyright © 2025
VWP 2025 First published in VietnamWarPoetry.com
Nuances of War
In the sad and varied nuances of war,
and the rippling effects of that man-made hell.
Come stories that you might only hear,
from those that were there and could tell.
I don't believe I ever met the guy,
Although he lived in the hootch next to mine.
At a military base camp near Cu Chi.
In the Republic of South Vietnam.
All I heard were the stories,
about this sad and lonely man.
But I know a bit about psychology,
so I think I kind of understand.
The night before they had brought a woman,
into the hootch to share.
But I guess when it came to be his turn,
what he needed just wasn't there.
At this point I can only speculate,
on the mindset of that fragile man.
But in the dark of that lonely night,
he became a statistic of Vietnam.
So long ago, so far away.
Some memories never get lost.
Rinse and repeat, we never learn.
Some lessons aren't worth the cost.
by Contributing Poet Jim Carpenter Copyright © 2024
VWP 2024 First published in VietnamWarPoetry.com
Bio: Jim Carpenter has been writing about Vietnam for a number of years but has not been published until VietnamWarPoetry.com.
He was in Vietnam from 1970-71 with the combat engineers as a clerk.
He has been retired for a number of years and enjoys his grandkids and writing about old age.
He was in Vietnam from 1970-71 with the combat engineers as a clerk.
He has been retired for a number of years and enjoys his grandkids and writing about old age.
Except where otherwise attributed, all pages & content herein
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Westerly, Rhode Island, USA