Etched name in silver reflects a man
engraved in a fight not his own,
a name i can run
my fingers on like Braille,
it is all i know —
of his uniform stained or how
the sweat of the jungle
may have flowed
between the stubble on his lip.
What could it have been
but a deafening thunder that rose
into clouds disappearing
as certain as smoke.
Capt. F. A. Rhodes Jr. 1/3/71, POW
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oh I like this! I like it a lot – it's like a snapshot and I particularly enjoyed how you worded it – “a name i can run
my fingers on like Braille,” – the mix of tangible and not – and loved the last few lines too – nice job! OT
Thank you very much OT ~ appreciate it!!
This is a wonderful poem!!!!! “a name I can run my fingers on like braille” is so evocative!
Succinct and very well captured brief flashing images make this work like a silent film–gestures so poignant the meaning is inescapable. Good work here.
Just like you took a shot and transpired it into words, nicely done!
nice…this is trimmed to just what it is…and the running of the fingers across it like braille that carries the emotion for me…nice..
This is stunning when it's meaning is suddenly realized. Horrifying to think of what those names on a wall represent. What it must have been like for them.
http://charleslmashburn.wordpress.com/2012/01/10/the-sun-came-up-again-4/
Thank you all so much for your comments~ I'm excited to check out your poetry as well!