I Remember Carlos
I remember Carlos
a quiet boy who rarely spoke
in the early morning
freshman English class
I taught in my first year
at the junior college.
He often entered late
but I remember his smile and bright eyes.
His perceptive mind
was a sponge, absorbing thoughts, ideas,
reading books to expand his horizon,
to be different from his friends in the barrio
where he had grown up.
Not mush younger that I,
he told me in mid semester
he was leaving school
his girl-friend was pregnant
they were going to be married.
Rather than wait for his number
he had volunteered
and would be going
to Viet Nam.
Years later, I saw him in a restaurant
seated with his wife and child.
He thanked me for the times
I'd helped him and for the books
I sent him, but in his eyes
I saw the anger and the fear
knowing the violence
of which he was capable.
by Contributing Poet Mel Goldberg Copyright © 2017
VWP 2017 First published in VietnamWarPoetry.com
~
The War Was Televised
The war was televised
you heard about it on NBC
the United States brought
brought democracy
to people in rice fields
who could not read and write
The war was televised
each night on the news between
the hours of 9 and 10
when the talking heads
made pronouncements about
the righteousness of killing communists
especially if they are Asian
The war was televised
and talked about by guests
on the Dick Cavett show
and Edward R. Murrow mentioned it
between ads for cigarettes.
The war was televised
the generals and politicians
told us we had driven back the Cong
for proof Dave Brinkley mentioned
the daily body count
between ads for Psycho
and Clint Eastwood’s new movie
by Contributing Poet Mel Goldberg Copyright © 2015
VWP 2015 First published in VietnamWarPoetry.com
Old Men Dream of War
Too many dead. I saw their bodies rot
like sick cows slaughtered and I felt the shame
that unprepared, they perished where they fought
in Inchon or in Chosin just to name
two fights against a far-off Asian gang.
Our leaders did not learn. So to the jungle
sent us to fight at Khe Sanh and La Drang.
We died but old men said they did not bungle.
Then they sent us to fight in Muslim lands
with Shiite tribes who never could agree
with other ancient Muslim Sunni bands.
Our leaders said we’d bring democracy.
History shows that ancient hatreds churn
But old men dream of war and never learn.
by Contributing Poet Mel Goldberg Copyright © 2015
VWP 2015 First published in VietnamWarPoetry.com
I remember Carlos
a quiet boy who rarely spoke
in the early morning
freshman English class
I taught in my first year
at the junior college.
He often entered late
but I remember his smile and bright eyes.
His perceptive mind
was a sponge, absorbing thoughts, ideas,
reading books to expand his horizon,
to be different from his friends in the barrio
where he had grown up.
Not mush younger that I,
he told me in mid semester
he was leaving school
his girl-friend was pregnant
they were going to be married.
Rather than wait for his number
he had volunteered
and would be going
to Viet Nam.
Years later, I saw him in a restaurant
seated with his wife and child.
He thanked me for the times
I'd helped him and for the books
I sent him, but in his eyes
I saw the anger and the fear
knowing the violence
of which he was capable.
by Contributing Poet Mel Goldberg Copyright © 2017
VWP 2017 First published in VietnamWarPoetry.com
~
The War Was Televised
The war was televised
you heard about it on NBC
the United States brought
brought democracy
to people in rice fields
who could not read and write
The war was televised
each night on the news between
the hours of 9 and 10
when the talking heads
made pronouncements about
the righteousness of killing communists
especially if they are Asian
The war was televised
and talked about by guests
on the Dick Cavett show
and Edward R. Murrow mentioned it
between ads for cigarettes.
The war was televised
the generals and politicians
told us we had driven back the Cong
for proof Dave Brinkley mentioned
the daily body count
between ads for Psycho
and Clint Eastwood’s new movie
by Contributing Poet Mel Goldberg Copyright © 2015
VWP 2015 First published in VietnamWarPoetry.com
Old Men Dream of War
Too many dead. I saw their bodies rot
like sick cows slaughtered and I felt the shame
that unprepared, they perished where they fought
in Inchon or in Chosin just to name
two fights against a far-off Asian gang.
Our leaders did not learn. So to the jungle
sent us to fight at Khe Sanh and La Drang.
We died but old men said they did not bungle.
Then they sent us to fight in Muslim lands
with Shiite tribes who never could agree
with other ancient Muslim Sunni bands.
Our leaders said we’d bring democracy.
History shows that ancient hatreds churn
But old men dream of war and never learn.
by Contributing Poet Mel Goldberg Copyright © 2015
VWP 2015 First published in VietnamWarPoetry.com
Bio: Mel Goldberg after earning an MA in English, taught high school and college literature
and writing in California, Illinois, Arizona and as a Fulbright Exchange Teacher
at Stanground College in Cambridgeshire, England.
His writing has appeared online & in print magazines in The United Kingdom, The United States,
Mexico, New Zealand and Australia.
During the Viet Nam war, he counseled young men who professed to be conscientious objectors.
He quit teaching, bought a small motor home & traveled throughout the US, Canada, & Mexico
for seven years, working at RV parks for his space and a little extra money.
After selling his motor home, he moved to the village of Ajijic, in the state of Jalisco, Mexico,
and joined a small group of ex-pat writers.
and writing in California, Illinois, Arizona and as a Fulbright Exchange Teacher
at Stanground College in Cambridgeshire, England.
His writing has appeared online & in print magazines in The United Kingdom, The United States,
Mexico, New Zealand and Australia.
During the Viet Nam war, he counseled young men who professed to be conscientious objectors.
He quit teaching, bought a small motor home & traveled throughout the US, Canada, & Mexico
for seven years, working at RV parks for his space and a little extra money.
After selling his motor home, he moved to the village of Ajijic, in the state of Jalisco, Mexico,
and joined a small group of ex-pat writers.
Except where otherwise attributed, all pages & content herein
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Westerly, Rhode Island, USA