All Good Things

All the good things

in my past are gone,

there is no music

no longer a song.

The future is a void

so empty to me,

too tired to fight

too lost to flee.

No hopes or dreams

like I’m dead inside,

slowly getting weaker

like an outgoing tide.

Looking to the future

I don’t see a light,

just dark emptiness

losing life’s sight.

The fear runs deep

of me dying alone,

mind and body waning

with no vital tone.

My past hides there

in shadows haunting,

effecting each moment

so very undaunting.

Spinning out of control

what do I do,

trying to stop it

wanting to renew.

The holidays are here

little to celebrate,

one day like the rest

just another to hate.

I was recently told

I like how I am,

not a chance in Hell

that’s a real sham.

Accused of the fact

that I like the attention,

what demented soul

would crave such tension?

I’ve been told

I’m in a dark hole,

resisting a ladder

to attain a new goal.

Believing it’s not true

what I do accept,

I lack the technique

to find the right step.

I’ve tried to show

I have a full plate,

but some proclaim

that’s a false state.

Where do I turn

what should I do,

to find the right path

happiness to pursue.

Wanting to be happy

laughs and smiles,

to have a partner

to walk remaining miles.

All the good things

in my past are gone,

there is no music

no longer a song.

Gary R. Cramer

November 27, 2019

Endless Days and Nights

Endless days and nights

surviving jungle fights.

Boys trying to be men

hearts whispering amen.

The ever constant beat

of low flying choppers.

All too often trailed

by Agent Orange mists

The ever present smell

of pungent diesel fuel.

That ever annoying growl

of emergency generators.

Day and night a damp smell

trying not to stay in hell.

Back from patrols covered in blood

mixed and caked in evil mud.

Gathered together around a fire

some in ripped and torn attire.

Amongst them there stood

upended rifles topped with helmets.

Some were silent and some cried

for their comrades who had died.

As more beers were downed

they stared blankly at the ground.

Shared times good and bad

now over ridden and sad.

Each reflecting on the next day

will they survive in some way.

Survivors guilt is so real

it’s hard to learn how to deal.

Some nights the sky lights up

star-shells exploding and abrupt.

Illuminated by the drifting parachutes

soldiers scramble for their rifles.

So many muzzle flashes

it looks like fireflies.

Intermittent streaks trail

from tracer rounds.

Fueling future nightmares

now familiar war sounds.

Terrorized calls for Corpsmen and Medics

mostly shadowed by screams of pain.

The next night comes

the gathering smaller

Replaced again by new

upended rifles topped with helmets.

Throughout day and night

hoping no children to sight.

So many are seriously thin

to be that hungry a sin.

We can’t allow them too close

they sometimes have a grenade.

They would approach in

a tiny wooden bowl boat.

Leaving you to wonder

how can that even float.

Even when a rifle was pointed

they would smile and wave.

So little we knew

when we signed our names.

Who was the maniac

who coined, “War Games”?

Endless days and nights

surviving jungle fights.

Boys trying to be men

hearts whispering amen

Gary R. Cramer

March 11, 2022

Here I Am On a Sunday Afternoon

Here I am on a Sunday afternoon trying to gather myself together enough to venture under the house into the crawl space to redirect the two 40 amp circuits the electrician had pulled for the new kitchen island several months ago. I was there last week squeezing between the dirt and subfloor and floor joists on my belly. During that time I kept thinking about my high school buddies Gary and Richard and all the others who had served in the U.S. Army and U.S. Marines during the Vietnam War. At one point I just stopped and wept in deep grief and respect for all that they had witnessed and endured over there in-country. I must have lain there for 30 minutes before I could collect myself enough to continue and exit too exhausted from the emotional ordeal.

The incident left me shaken with the thought of retuning under my house in my mind. So I retreated to the living room where I turned on the TV only to find an airing of a movie called, We Were Soldiers (2002) with Mel Gibson and Sam Elliot among the actors. It’s about 1965 when a U.S. lieutenant colonel brings his unit to Vietnam, unaware that their assignment will turn out to be the first major battle of the Vietnam War in the La Drang valley involving the 1st Battallion, 7th Cavalary Regiment.

It depicts the Hell all those combat veterans experienced over there and in other wars. It also brings out the heartbreak of those left at home as they received notices of their loved ones being killed and how they persevered through their grief. So once again I’m here sobbing from deep within my soul for so many lost and the survivors. I didn’t think much about until I saw this movie.

Now most would ask what the fuck I’m doing watching such a movie after having enlisted at the age of 17 into the U.S. Navy and serving two years in Vietnam on LST’s in “brown water with boots on the ground”. For years I’ve carried the guilt of having been declared a veteran with PTSD. Sure, my ship was attacked on the beach, an LST following us into the beach on another occasion was hit by an enemy rocket, and on several occasions I was forced to point a loaded rifle at begging children that approached our ship to keep them away. But what I experienced was a cakewalk compared to what my friends experienced. Yes, I’ve been told repeatedly that it’s not a competition and it’s unreasonable to compare the experiences. I suppose it’s a lot like having survivors’ guilt for those who lived through battles on the ground when their fellow soldiers died in combat. It’s a good thing until

So to answer the above question of, “Why watch such movies about war?”, I guess in part it’s about a reminder of what others endured and to show respect for that. Sure it leaves me shaken and upset more often than not in tears. But I feel like I owe it to all of them. It’s a lot like drinking too much or over eating. You shouldn’t but sometimes you just can’t help yourself.

Bottom line is “Thank you” to Lee, Gary and Richard as well as all the others who served. You are heros in my book.

Gary R. Cramer

December 2, 2018