Kings of the Green Jelly Moon: The Book, Volume 1.5
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About this ebook
KINGS of the GREEN JELLY MOON presents a searing collection of poetry written by a group of Vietnam veteranseach successful in their craft, all award-winning poets in their own right. The title Kings of the Green Jelly Moon recalls the innocence of childhood, a time when children believed the moon was made of green cheese. Then Vietnam changed an innocent generation as truth of war became their reality. From the impact of war on young men and how they are forever changed to the stark reality that ?ghting in a foreign country, the poems in the collection o?er, in verse, a Vietnam veterans reunion.
These soldiers were forever changed by the experience that war forces upon those who ?ght and return from battle. Those who were lost can never be forgotten.
Kings of the Green Jelly Moon bares the still aching soul of the Vietnam veteran. Whether the writers pick at the scab, pour salt into a still bleeding wound, or lave on cooling salve to ease the hurt, the poetry herein will make a lasting impression the reader will not soon forget.
D. H. Brown, award-winning author of Honor Defended and Honor Due
Jim Greenwald
Lloyd King lives in Lafayette, Louisiana; Jim Greenwald resides in New Paris, Pennsylvania; James J. Jellerson lives in Hawaii; and Mike “Moon” Mullins divides his time between Tennessee and Indiana. All are members of the Military Writers Society of America, working to preserve the memories of those who fought for this great land.
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Kings of the Green Jelly Moon - Jim Greenwald
Wishing I Could Not See
The air is different here.
Tension clings to you like
a glove two sizes too small.
I try not looking into their
eyes…for fear of seeing their
terror, their fear.
Loud noises causing panic in
their reactions, indecision in
their movements.
The intermixed smells of fear
and death invade the pores of
the body, leaving an unsettled feeling.
Sleep comes far more easily
than rest…if at all.
At times thoughts turn to later,
to home, and what it would be
like now to be there.
Thoughts quickly banished from
the mind if one wants to stay
sharp…stay alive.
Combat is only a game before
you become a teenager.
Then you die for real.
Isn’t It Strange
Lord, I was born into a poor home.
I grew up quick, I was left alone.
It hurt inside…isn’t it strange?
I became a soldier and picked up a gun.
I was moving around having lots of fun,
‘til the killing began…isn’t it strange?
Remember in school, the Golden Rule
"Do unto others; don’t judge a book by its cover
or a man by his skin"…isn’t it strange?
Black and white, yellow and red,
killing each other over words that were said.
Such a child’s game…isn’t it strange?
The world today is like a child at play,
country killing neighbor because
they never learned to say, Maybe I’m wrong.
Isn’t it strange?
They don’t like us, we don’t like them,
let’s push the button, bring our world to an end.
We’ll spend eternity…together as one.
A Young Soldier’s Fancy
When the night allowed any luxury
It was a folded, smelly, flak jacket
‘Neath his weary head
Covered by a silky poncho liner
On the ground, damp and clammy wet.
Mother Earth was his bed.
The young soldier’s fancy sailed home,
His future e’er and always the same to him,
Including the car he’d have.
College or a good job were in the dream,
The open arms of a round-eyed girl too…
A welcome from a home he left.
Each night when Lady Luck on him smiled and
A young soldier laid, arms folded, eyes upward,
Visiting his naïve dreamland.
When he boarded that Silver Bird, made the trip,
And had one of those things come true, Hoorah!
I guess one out of three ain’t bad!
First Kill
[5/24/68]
I was a squad leader and I’d only been in the jungle eleven days.
A fully trained buck sergeant, but feeling lost in so many ways.
I couldn’t stop shaking and my heart was pounding in my chest
Knowing that I had to prove myself worthy, like passing a test.
We’d been humping in the steep mountains ever since I arrived.
The company had been in a firefight and most of them survived.
But, after the firefight, there were only six men left in my squad.
Everyone said it was a miracle they were alive…an act of God.
Two were wounded seriously and two others had tragically died.
The survivors had to pull the weight of ten, as the order implied.
I was a nervous wreck finding out about my squad’s recent fate.
New replacements was a moot issue, we’d simply have to wait.
Stand-to was at 0600, and unbelievably I was told we had point.
Fast Eddie, my automatic rifleman, promptly rolled another joint
Then informed me he couldn’t function unless he was on a high.
I told him No,
took his hash, and thought he was going to cry.
I decided to walk point knowing I had personal issues to prove.
I struggled forward, but the dense jungle made it tough to move.
I kept climbing the steep slope until I finally reached the crest
Soaked with sweat, breathing heavy, burning pains in my chest.
I signaled halt…spread the guys out, so I could recon a clearing.
I didn’t like the eerie feeling and unknown sounds I was