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
Responses
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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!!
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This is a wonderful poem!!!!! “a name I can run my fingers on like braille” is so evocative!
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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.
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Just like you took a shot and transpired it into words, nicely done!
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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..
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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/
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Thank you all so much for your comments~ I'm excited to check out your poetry as well!
Poetry by JC Snyder 
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