JUNGLE BLUES. A POEM BY M.STEWART.

 

Vietnam…Vietnam.

What a war, what a sham.

GI Joe big and strong.

Could not beat the Vietcong.

Rain and mud, mud and rain.

Take the strain, take the pain.

Leaches stick, Leaches suck.

Carry that prick, carry that ruck.

Soaking feet, soaking boots.

Tripping over, wet tree roots.

 

Coming under heavy fire.

Look out for that thin trip wire.

Booby traps that can kill.

Climbing up that slippery hill.

Bouncing Betty, Pungi pits.

Keep your nerve, keep your wits.

Venomous snakes, Ants that bite.

Are against you when you fight.

Hit the deck, in coming round.

Keep your head close to the ground.

Sgt shouts, take some cover.

All you want is your mother.

 

Dig a foxhole, dig it deep.

For your life, you want to keep.

In the darkness of the night.

The Vietcong control the fight.

Red and Green Tracers everywhere.

The noise of war fills the air.

Hit the Claymores Click…Click…Click.

The sound of screaming makes you sick.

Flares go up and light the sky.

I see the dead, I ask myself why.

 

Morning comes with the rising sun.

I get up, I pick up my gun.

Off we go down the trail.

Back to camp, must not fail.

Landing zone, up ahead.

Choppers are down, load up the dead.

Dust and dirt, fly all around.

As we leave the battle ground.

Snipers bullets rip through the door.

Into the battle, we go once more.

Take a bullet in the head.

Then you know, you are truly dead.