Miles Below Our Boots

A good memory of Vietnam.

dreary, gray, our days of pain

relentless hours of falling rain

fighting a serious case of blues

with wet slick clothes we pay the dues

 

in an unloved, misdirected war

our youth at risk, we are the poor

we train with powerful weapons and toys

and follow orders not meant for boys

 

my pilot finally draws a mission

and we start to smile instead of wish’n

with only a few hours of sleep

we spot our chopper from our jeep

 

it sits forlorn in sandbagged berth

our ticket to freedom above the earth

fueled and ready to serve our needs

it’s shiny skin covered with rain beads

 

it’s one full hour before first light

and ground visibility is slight 

the Nam monsoon is in full swing

every surface with rain does ring

 

shoulder harness and lap belt snaps

he twists the stick and jet engine raps

rifle and pack strapped in the back

my camera rings my neck with strap

 

the tail boon rotor begins to spin

with the hissing sound of gears within

gauges, lever and commo. check

we dream of space above the deck

we don our helmets and finally speak

as the chopper blades begin to shriek

the headphones block most outside sounds

including the convective rain that pounds

 

‘are you experienced’ from cassette plays

it rocks and rolls us into a daze

the treble of jet and bass of blades

thrill and thump our bones in spades

 

it won’t be too cold we’re hope’n

so we leave both side doors open

front bubble splatters with streaked rain

zero visibility is faced with disdain

 

we accelerate up and east

riding the steel jet-engined beast

pressed down and back into our seat

the thrill and blood-rush can’t be beat

 

we rock and rise in violent cross winds 

ears pop, time passes, reality bends

a tiny cabin, electric guitar, and dash light

our whole world within sound and sight

 

we watch our height as the air grows thin

outside our bubble, color changes begin

our mood is beginning to mellow

at 9,000 feet gray turns to pale yellow

 

suddenly, we burst through the deck

I grab my camera and crane my neck

cotton balls rise around us at first

then, in a light wind slowly disperse

on top of a turbulent puffy sea 

of multi-colored cotton candy

the rapid change makes us almost ill

we sit humbled, small and very still

 

a neon blanket of color and light

stretching out to the edge of sight

the sun orb rising with dark orange glow

brings purple, green, blue, and yellow

 

into the absolute stillness and cold

we raise our visors and are so bold

I light our pipe even knowing the law

and pass it to him with reverent awe

 

we absorb the moment in a daze

the first open sky in many days

as ‘Hey Joe’ ends and ‘Stone Free’ starts

the sun is full and the choppy sea parts

 

with palm cupped over, I take a draw

forty years later to exactly recall

the rainbow colors of the cloudy sea

an answer to our inward plea

for a momentary escape

from the hateful landscape

miles below our boots

Reviews

[Siddartha Beth Pierce]

What a poignant and beautifully described tale of something that must have truly been hideous and difficult to be part of - although you should always be honored for your service to our country. Thank you for sharing this story - the description and rhythm are truly Sublime. Well done.
Light,
Siddartha

[Rick Puetter]

Dear papaed,

Another vivid story felt in the bones. A wonderful chronicle of life's experience. Again the words fall away, leaving only the story with the faint beat of the rhyme and meter merging with the beat and drone of the helicopter.

Very best regards,

Rick

[Nick Erickson]

"with wet slick clothes we pay the dues

in an unloved, misdirected war
our youth at risk, we are the poor
we train with powerful weapons and toys
and follow orders not meant for boys"

Very vivid lines, very true. Always the youth at risk, paying for the mistakes of the elders. Always has been and always will be true.
Another excellent piece, your description and imagery so well written that it takes the reader there.
Again, thanks for sharing.

[Buffi]

Ed, you know how I so adore this piece. I am honored for what you did for our freedom.

[Chillbear Latrigue]

This is a very poignant set of stanzas indeed. I like the message that regardless of how we feel about the particular conflict that the men involved deserve our repsect and gratitude.

[James Watts]

very powerful and an absolute excellent write. Very nice work.

[M I N D Y]

Thank you.

i was a child, but i remember my friends brothers being taken away and newsreel images on a small black and white.

this poem is powerful. the tension... the slow calming... the relief and joy at seeing something as beautiful as cloud cover over a hell on earth. simple. memorable.

[Emily B]

What a story! Years later, it seems every detail is crystal clear. Thanks for sharing your memories. Those who don't remember the past are doomed to re-live it is one of my favorite quotes.

[avgogh]

I loved the matter-of-fact quality of this poem; that the reader can take it or leave it is well worked. I choose to take it. It has great imagry. Thanks for writing it.

[BrightEyes]

a poignant tale wonderfully expressed....painting pictures of a war I don't remember well (being young), sharing the emotions of that time...a masterful write....I'll add my "thank you" for your service to your country along with the rest. well done.

laura

[All faded blue]

You take us there, feeling, seeing, hearing and smelling the way it was for those of you who had to be there.