OLD WAR POEM FOR OUR TIME by Anthony Tripi
Tu Fu made his way through fields of bones,
weeds pushing through the mud of bodies,
soldiers rotting where they fell, shrill of hawks,
wild cats, rats running the trampled earth.
Near dawn in rain sounds the quiet grieving of old ghosts,
no one has come to get their bones.
In Vietnam we bundled the dead in their own ponchos,
lugged bodies out of the field, threw away boots,
junked fatigues, scrubbed off the tattoos of war,
sprayed and medaled the wasted, washed their feet,
got rid of the rot, quick shit and a shave, fast trim,
packed them in aluminum frozen in rank and shipped out
for the whiplash of flags, ceremonial words
spitshining the gash in his flesh, years of a life
bunched in a body bag, flag draped stumps
bugled into the ground, no reason to moan
like Tu Fu’s dead whose bones under the clash
of wind and rain cracked to dust
until at last ghost sounds quieted.
from the book STARE INTO HER CRY, a volume of poems about war, spanning from Vietnam to the present, by Anthony Tripi, U.S. veteran.
Anthony Tripi is one of the most talented poets of our time. He brings to life the horrid and surreal conditions of war.
Everyone should be exposed to his poetry, so he or she can vicariously witness the reality of war. Sad to say, George W. Bush (a Vietnam draft dodger)is in denial and would never understand.
The talented Dr. Anthony Tripi vividly exposes the horrific realities of war. One,who has not lived through the abominable and ghastly conditions, may vicariously comprehend the true substance of war by reading Dr. Tripi's works.
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