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Literature Text
I have forgotten to listen to the poem, as thoughts of a story fill my mind.
I am stuck on the idea of not moving forward but of moving away, of leaving loved ones behind. The poem is lost to me as I think of my parents, newly wed, and living in Saigon. Soon my father goes away to fight the war in humid jungles and broken cities. Disappearing with no contact with his new wife and now adopted son.
Already widowed because of the war, my mother is left to worry about her husband, taking care of her son, keeping a brave face with other military wives. The longer the months move away, the more she worries of being a widow again. Then the war has declared her husband missing in action.
The long months continue to move away. Believed dead, her husband returns from the war. He fought battles in the jungles and the streets, one arm carries his rifle, the other holds an IV. He can not hold anything in, so he fights without pants. He returns just skin, bone, and dysentery.
My father returns to Saigon after fighting the war and soon after, those who will be my family leave Vietnam and familiar faces for new faces in America.
I have forgotten to listen to the poem, but I think it was a good poem to hear.
I am stuck on the idea of not moving forward but of moving away, of leaving loved ones behind. The poem is lost to me as I think of my parents, newly wed, and living in Saigon. Soon my father goes away to fight the war in humid jungles and broken cities. Disappearing with no contact with his new wife and now adopted son.
Already widowed because of the war, my mother is left to worry about her husband, taking care of her son, keeping a brave face with other military wives. The longer the months move away, the more she worries of being a widow again. Then the war has declared her husband missing in action.
The long months continue to move away. Believed dead, her husband returns from the war. He fought battles in the jungles and the streets, one arm carries his rifle, the other holds an IV. He can not hold anything in, so he fights without pants. He returns just skin, bone, and dysentery.
My father returns to Saigon after fighting the war and soon after, those who will be my family leave Vietnam and familiar faces for new faces in America.
I have forgotten to listen to the poem, but I think it was a good poem to hear.
Literature
The Need
The Need
I want.
I lie on cushions of leather and lace, and
I want.
I sit here in comfort of this
High-backed seventeenth-century Chesterfield
Smoking sweet Cuban cigars and
Sipping rich Oriental teas.
I stare blindly into
The burning hearth.
This yearning heart.
Phantom shadows of laughter
Pitter-patter across
The walls and ceiling.
I am a man of misery and wealth,
Jealous of the men of empty pockets
And children.
These glasses that frame my sight
Are of the color gold, not rose.
Old paintings adorn my walls whose
Time-worn canvases I would gladly rend
For a cheap Kodak of a family.
When seen by society, I am
A man of no needs.
But I want.
gw
Literature
The Traveling Man
He walks upon this earth, detached from his root in the ground,
Only what he can carry on his back, he totes,
The Traveling Man finds no use for the material,
Traversing the gauntlets of the world,
Exploring the labyrinth of life,
Doting questions of man’s role in nature,
For going out to seek the truth is the only way
Literature
Mr. Rude
Two round headlights pierced the darkness as the solitary car made its way along a lonely stretch of highway, the asphalt artery of a sleeping countryside. Cold, blue moonlight sporadically peeked from behind the rolling onyx clouds, illuminating temporarily the encroaching, shadowed rows of gnarled trees that loomed on either side of the road. Powdered snow slithered away before the oncoming car like rivulets of mist in a sturdy wind; white, ethereal snakes writhing before the pallid parallel lights that heralded the approaching vehicle. The road was alive and pulsing with its own frigid heartbeat. Snow began to fall again, heavier and ha...
