During my three years in Vietnam, I certainly heard plenty of last words by dying American footsoldiers. Not one of them, however, had illusions that he had somehow accomplished something worthwhile in the process of making the Supreme Sacrifice.
quote by Kurt Vonnegut
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Related quotes
Have no illusions
Have no illusions –
Life is challenging
Have no illusions –
Marriage is not easy
Have no illusions –
Sometimes you’ll question
Have no illusions –
You will find fault
Have no illusions –
This is marriage
Have no illusions –
You will work it out
Have no illusions –
Hardship brings strength
Have no illusions –
You are each other’s rock
Have no illusions –
Love will endure.
poem by Melanie James
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The Wars of Kenny Marchant and George W. Bush
Hiding during the Vietnam War,
You are now both supporters of Iraq gore!
Perfectly content,
Others' lives to be spent!
Course America now must stay,
Real American values you both betray!
Into another hopeless morass,
Totally ignoring your own obscure Vietnam pasts!
Expect history not to be kind,
Sidesteppeing Vietnam service to later have America maligned!
poem by Hubert Wilson
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More than half the combat deaths in Vietnam occurred after Richard Nixon was elected on a promise to bring the war to an end, and after the American people had already decided that they did not want one more soldier to die in Vietnam.
quote by Raul Grijalva
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Vietnam
The runway rushed up at me, I felt the wheels touch down
Stood out on the blacktop, and took a taxi into town
Got off down on Main Street, to see what I recognized
All I seen was strange faces, watching a stranger passin' by
Vietnam, Vietnam, I don't man
Back in Vietnam
Went for my job back at the factory, down at the factory
The only thing I heard from the man at the desk
Is, "Son, understand if it was up to me"
'bout half the town's out of work
Ain't nothin' for you here
From the assembly line to the front-line
But I guess you didn't hear"
You died in Vietnam, you died in Vietnam
Now don't you understand, you died in Vietnam
Drive down my neighborhood
See the flags out on the porch
So I went to see my old baby
Down at First and Grand
Her mama told me she ran off
With a singer in a rock 'n' roll band
????
I can see me passin' by
You died in Vietnam, you died in Vietnam
Boy, don't you understand, you died in Vietnam
The runway rushed up at me, I felt the wheels hit down
I stood out on the blacktop, and took a taxi into town
Got off down on Main Street, to see what I could see
All I seen was strangers, watchin' a stranger pass by
And that stranger was me
Vietnam, Vietnam, oh-no man
Vietnam
Went to see my baby, down on First and Grand
To tell her I'd come home from away in Vietnam
Her mama came to the door and told me
Her mama told me she ran away
With a singer in a rock 'n' roll band
She said, "I'm sorry son, but we understand"
You died in Vietnam, you died in Vietnam
Now don't you understand, you died in Vietnam
song performed by by Bruce Springsteen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Much has been accomplished during the last year in the campaign against terrorism. This struggle will require vigilance, perseverance and sacrifice for many years to come.
quote by Paul Cellucci
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Four Small 'End' Poems
FOUR SMALL ‘END’ POEMS
OH SADNESS
Oh Sadness
At the End of Time
The Life will end,
The Poem won’t Rhyme.
WORDS STILL COME TO ME
Words still come to me
So many years of words,
One day they will not-
Words still come to me.
HOW WILL MY DYING GO?
How will my Dying go?
Will it be slow?
How much Pain will I know?
How will my Dying go?
GOD HAS BEEN SO GOOD TO ME
God has been so good to me;
God will always Be.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Dying Words
My words to her
There dying
It was a warning
I made that so clear
But every time
She Ignores them
I don't want to help
But I must
I don't like to see her in pain
So I listen
No matter what its about
I will listen
These dying words
Where a warning
That I didn't want to
But these words
I spoke of
Are dying
I may say them again
But I cant handle seeing her in pain
Why could you just see
That I warned you
You did it again
And now these words
are dying
Just lost in the past
So these are my dying words
I'm not helping you
If you get hurt this time'
You just laughed at the now dying words
I guess now you must learn
There are no happy endings
At least not yet
These are my dying words...
Lost in a memory...
poem by Lizzy Henry
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I Got Plenty O Nuttin
I got plenty of nothing
And nothings plenty for me
I got no car - got no mule
I got no misery
Folks with plenty of plenty
Theyve got a lock on the door
Afraid somebodys gonna rob em
While there out (a) making more - what for
I got no lock on the door - thats no way to be
They can steal the rug from the floor - thats ok with me
cause the things that I prize - like the stars in the skies - are all free
I got plenty of nothing
And nothings plenty for me
I got my gal - got my song
(I) got heaven the whole day long
- got my gal - got my love - got my song
song performed by by Ella Fitzgerald
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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poem by Phong Nguyen Ngoc
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It Isn't With Ease
It isn't with ease,
A success accomplished is achieved.
Nor is one 'lucky'...
To experience with initiative AND sacrifice,
With a doing what one does...
Day and night.
And continue to do,
Whatever it takes for most of one's life.
While witnessing others doing what they like...
To then decide they have changed appetites,
For something someone else has done.
With beliefs their requests should be prioritized,
By the one who has sacrificed most of their life...
To finally see after years realized.
It isn't with ease,
A success accomplished is achieved.
'How long did it take you to do what you've done? '
~I would say...
Maybe fifty or more years.~
'Seriously?
And you can't show me,
In a few minutes how you did it?
I aint got that kind of time to waste.'
~Time, patience and tears.
And criticism from peers.
That's what it takes,
My friend.~
'Well...
Like I said.
I aint got time for all that.
I gotta get my groove on.'
~Until it's gone,
Huh? ~
'Whatever.'
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The problem that faces our country today, the last 30 years we have lived off the future, and the bill is coming due. So there cannot be anything that is not put on the table. There will not be one American that will not be called to sacrifice. Those that are more well-to-do will be called to sacrifice to a greater extent.
quote by Tom Coburn
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Language Of The Suprreme God
The Supreme God has no freedom
to taste the hymns and idylls
of the classical, lively Tamil.
The people’s tongue is denied the right
to be sung in the abodes of the Lord.
India has got freedom but its tongues not!
When I prayed to God to teach me some words
of the tongue He heard for a thousand years,
“ Sorry, I have been deaf all these years
to what these priests blabbered about! ”
He said and hid in his abode.
poem by Rajendran Muthiah
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Promoted and Religiously Defended
The look and feel of it...
Are illusions.
Those participating in exchange,
Are illusions.
Even the illusions themselves,
Can be concluded to be exclusively...
Illusions.
With or without perceptions needed.
And yet...
God is the exception of this conception.
And He, She or It,
Can not be seen at all.
Although we remain devoted.
To keep what isn't real in our lives,
Promoted and religiously defended.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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However, from the very beginning of the program, we made it perfectly clear that we would be out of Europe in four years; that whatever was to be accomplished had to be accomplished in that period of time.
quote by Paul Hoffman
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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poem by Nhung Dinh Thi Hong
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Gertrude Stein is interviewed on American poetry
and there was the knocking on the door
that we were expecting
and it was the man
that we were expecting
with the questions we were expecting
to which answers were expected
by those who expect answers
as if life were like that
which for writers it is not
yes, tea was drunk
and after tea the tape recorder set up
so that what I said
I would continue to say
somewhere else
even when I changed my mind
here and nowhere else
and he said Ms Stein
what do you think of American poetry
and we said well it's American
and it's poetry
that's as it should be
and really that's all there is to say
and the man looked disappointed
so we asked him did he read poetry
and he said poetry no I dont read poetry
but my editor does
so I said it's really about Americans
living their lives
that's what American poetry is really about
because Americans move around
and so their words move around and
words in English have lost their intensity
but American words are always on the move
and they are more intense
yes, Americans living among Americans
and talking to their neighbours
if it's not about that
it's not really American poetry at all is it
if it's not about that
then why bother writing poetry
and the man was asking about a rose
being a rose being a rose and we said
for a hundred years the rose
has not been red in poetry
but now for the first time in a hundred years
the rose is red again
and the man looked at his watch
and said thank you Ms Stein
and was switching off his tape recorder
and a month later that
was what we said
in a magazine much read
by Americans who mostly
are not poets no very few but we said it
we know that this is so
because we read it there
and we think that really
that was all there was to say
because that was all we think
is really important
about American Poetry
that the words move like Americans move
and that is exciting for a writer
and that is the important thing about
American Poetry
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Four Billion Years
Four Billion Years
Four billion years of evolution,
Maybe more,
And we've come to this:
Abstractly desiring an intangible wad of green paper
That holds no intrinsic value—
Other than perhaps as a modicum of power and influence.
Four billion years—
And what have we accomplished?
We've burned down the rain forest
To make room for cattle farms
That are operated by colored people
That aren't paid enough to eat—
Yes, that's right, the white man still owns slaves—
So that we can grow morbidly obese,
Grease dripping from our mouths
Down the folds of fat that line our chins
To caress the curvature of our stomachs—
Circumference ever expanding.
We've made our children stupid,
Forcing them down the assembly line
Of public education; teaching them
To become disinterested in the world around them;
Telling them that what they like has no value
To society and that their lives lack meaning
If they lack surplus.
Our kids idolize the wealthy because they have things,
And things—I have been told—
Are more important than progress.
We're making oily bonfires in the desert
To illuminate upon our indifferences.
We destroy what we are told to destroy
Without considering the consequences,
Without realizing the dialectics we avoid,
The logic we could accrue from listening.
We believe a national identity
Is more essential than our relationship to species,
Thinking that we can only gain
Through our taking.
Four billion years,
Four billion years,
And we are looking at the end of the world,
Hoping for Rapture,
Praying that we go to heaven,
Granted a second life,
Because we've wasted the ones we've already had—
And wasted the lived of others.
Regardless if the end is coming,
Why don't we make the process of dying more comfortable?
Why don't we put the effort into saying we're worth
Another four billion years.
God, if you exist,
Would you extend our warranty because we're trying?
He wouldn't though.
We're not trying—
Or at least not hard enough.
Four billion years of evolution,
And people are asking to die at the end of the year.
If that's how we are,
We deserve it.
Let's not deserve it.
poem by Tim Stensloff
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Process continues
All the eggs don’t hatch.
All the seeds don’t burst.
All the loves don’t spark.
Yet the process continues.
All the chicks don’t live.
All the sprouts don’t grow.
All the loves don’t bloom.
But the process continues.
Pest takes toll of the siblings.
Drought takes the toll of the seedlings.
Fate stalls many loves in making.
Still the process continues.
The process spurts the hope.
The process spurs the heart.
The process thrills the senses.
Evolution, thus, continues.
03.10.2000, Pkmdi
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Once That Little Boy
To be grateful and feel blessed,
To have accomplished 'something'...
I can look upon and be proud of the doing,
Is an achievement...
A little boy with a dream,
Who was told many years ago...
Could never be done,
Since no one else had done it before.
Is?
Well...
To be grateful and feel blessed,
To have accomplished 'something'...
I can look upon and be proud of the doing,
Is an achievement...
A grown man,
Once that little boy...
Could never say in words,
What that feeling is to make sense.
It's...?
Well,
Unexplainable.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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As this long and difficult war ends, I would like to address a few special words to ... the American people Your steadfastness in supporting our insistence on peace with honor has made peace with honor possible. (On the Vietnam War)
quote by Richard Milhous Nixon
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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