GOOIE'S POETRY
My Links
More of My Writings
Forgiven
I forgive you for spending more time caring about the enemy, than you did for our men in uniform. I forgive you for burying our dead without honor. I forgive you for not welcoming us after all the wrong you sent us to do for you. I forgive you for spitting on my uniform. I forgive you for trampling and burning my Flag. I forgive you for hating me. I forgive you for all the names you called me. I forgive you for putting all the blame on me, and telling me I'd lost a war. I forgive you for running off to Canada, Mexico, England, and even as far off as Russia. I forgive you for not forgiving me. I forgive you for turning my parents against me. I forgive you for not writing to me when I stood my post. I forgive you for all the things you did trying to prove that we were wrong and you were right.
Now I ask you to forgive me, because I still cannot forget.
Ernesto Gomez mos-6320
Rains
It seems to rain a lot over here in Nam. This country
gets more than it's share.
They were so friendly and bowed to us at first, gave us their trust, it was more than I could bare. My grandmother acted much like them. She would fold her hands when speaking to a stranger, look into the eyes, smile and gently bow her head as if accepting. She was an old lady with many years of wear and tear.
She taught me her manners and I tried hard to use those manners until the rains and the mud eroded them bare. I was taught to love mankind, but having sworn allegiance, to fight for my country, I now had learned the opposite. As a young man I learned it all too well. You don't have to agree.
The men around me did the same, slowly at first, it
grows and gains momentum.
Twenty Piasters for a wash of clothes, so much less for
a whole lot more. I'd like to turn the clock back, but it's too late
for this gray head. And yes they shot back. They tortured and maimed. Ernesto Gomez USMC 65-70, Vietnam 66-69, MOS-6320 Fear There is nothing shameful about fear. How we chose to deal with it is another story. You acted in a moments notice, and no one saw you do it. I have to remember as in a dream, this is happened so
long ago. Ernesto Gomez- USMC L/Cpl. "America" Interview with a Psyc. I cannot handle this Doc. I don't want to see the whole picture. What
is that which I seek for? Why do I constantly seek? What is it I need to
hear? It's not about life or death, the meaning or the answer to something
important. I've forgotten. Something I once owned but lost. Something that I
just can't regain. It nags at me so hard at times that I think of myself as less than. I'm
about to blow a fuse. I've thought of retaliation but I know if I fail, I would also hurt
those who still count on me. I've loved them for so long. A doctor I've admired for years now once asked me. "Explain it to
me, Gooie. Perhaps I can help." And so I explain it simply, in the manner that I thought he might see
clearly, as to a child. I said, "Doctor my time in Vietnam is of importance to me. However
there are times, when I could have done much better but I chose instead to
simply not survive." I had a girl I loved. When I returned, after doing my duty, she asked
me to leave her alone. Her name you ask? She was America Doc. She called herself America The
Beautiful Ernesto Gomez USMC 65-70 Support Choppers To support the 0311 in the field. Ones heart goes out to the ground troops. I Push out five gallon cans of water on pallets as we
leave with wounded aboard. Red bundles of mail I hand out to waiting hands and tons
of c-rations. Marines returning from R.&R. slowly leave the red cargo seats of my bird. They look
under my dark visor. Probably wanting to borrow my m-79 which I clutch
with a death grip. I'm an old marine now at twenty two years of age. I've been here two tours. I'm trying to complete a
third. The odds are against me to finish this tour. I love the corps, so many lives at stake. If they only knew how hard it is to not count the dead.
Why is that always so up front in my thoughts. Now in
dreams I count day and night. My little brother Al is in Vietnam now. I hope some crew
chief out there is being kind to him. It is a blessing to bring assistance
the grunt. These young men in their teens counting days to their date of
rotation. GOD be gentle with their spirits their souls they are so
tattered. May it be Thy Will. Ernesto Gomez USMC mos-6320 SANDBAGS They were used. Children walking, Rockets Light Up The Night There was a lot of talk of Tet, The grunts are on high
alert Jan.22nd of 69, my bird is the emergency med-evac package. Things
were quiet . Way too quiet. The chopper stands ready her guns in place pilots
reassured one another looking at maps. I see it before I hear it. It
screams as it comes to earth. I hear a loud muffled explosion. I feel the vibrations.
I fight not to grab my ears. It splashes out red flames. You can hear the
metal whizzing by you. I hear people running. We run to the chopper. I hear heavy breathing; I
bump into a Corpsman he tells me to "move it". I'm pumping hard
at the handle of the APP. I have to get 1800 psi before the pilots are
seated. More rockets hitting. I crouch. "Damn, these
people are trying for the fuel bladders". I think out loud, "How
smart they are." "Fucking bastards," someone breaks radio
silence. "Easy guys," the pilot takes charge of the radio. The runway lights twinkled out. The runways slip into
darkness. "Tower come in. Tower come in. This is Swift
medevac," Lt. Donnovan tries in vain. "Don't bother to
taxi", I tell him. "Lift up sir, get us over the bay." More
rockets are hitting. Is that my voice so shrill and loud? "I copy
that," says Donnovan "Let’s leave this place." We quickly climb, I feel safer up here. "Tis better
to give than to receive," I recall reading this someplace. I shiver,
hot sweat has turned cold my cloths are damp. The emergency frequency is
now dialed in. My chopper will be filled with wounded tonight. We
descend, just North of Da Nang, where our Marines are embraced in a
struggle with death. They have been over-run. C + U = X Dear Jane, I love you so much. Dear Jane, I just got my Dear John. Dear Jane you don't know the rules. Dear Jane, Charlie doesn't follow the rules either. Dear Jane, Charlie + you =Bad News Charlie Ridge A wounded lieutenant was ready to be lifted, My hoist was down below tree tops, he'd soon be flown to safety. My gunners were ready their eye's upon the jungle, I heard
my wounded chopper moan as fifty's ripped through her,
Sounds of
tearing fire eating at my bird. I lay there hurting. I lay there bleeding, Please God, help my friends, they're lying inside. They're burning.
The jungle's cooled. I feel soft rain. The deed was done. The suffering
ended. And now another Purple Fox appears to mourn four dead, and lift out its
three wounded. Day of shoot down. April-14-69 Thank you Maj. E. Cunningham Thank you Col. E. Brady L/Cpl. Ernesto (Gooie) Gomez - Crewchief Hmm
364
Kent M. Herrick, Editor in Chief, 2007
HERRICKREPORT.COM
HERRICKREPORT.COM
Copyright � 2007 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Rep of Vietnam 66-69
MOS-6320 Crew Chief CH-46
old men and women talking.
The adults were aware.
But they trudged on without care.
They knew they'd die. They had to,
any thing for chairman Ho.
By day they'd shoot at ours.
We'd fill theirs full of holes.
We'd fill ours up with sand again,
they'd go to a village, and recruit again.
Again to serve as sand bags.
To put our men in body bags.
Ernesto Gomez
I've put my can on the line for you.
We disagree on certain issues, but I still love you.
I see you've met Charlie.
My problem. I signed the paper. I'll finish my duty
PS. I love you
My chopper was steady and little had she drifted.
The Purple Fox were here, he knew, to guarantee his safety.
Their thumbs upon their butterflies intense above the rumble.
I saw my wounded gunners fall and die, still trying to defend her.
Confetti thrown at me from holes made by their fifty's.
Small arms
chatter and fifty's thunder, noises louder than my engines.
Day of writing. April-14-98
Ernesto Gomez USMC
Cpl. Gomez Passed away October 23, 2007.
We will miss him and we salute him.
Freddy and Kent