Danger is silent in the Malay jungle,
blends with both sunlight and dark
stripes of moving shadows,
eyes of fire and predation, waiting.
Kiwi soldier never heard her
till she growled like a lover on his neck,
and pulled back half his scalp.
In searing, frightening pain,
deep in the Malay jungle
danger had him.
He flew a Sycamore lighter than he ever made love,
low over the dense canopy of emerald jungle.
Left family back at the pool when his call came,
now miles away, hovering to load a half-dead Kiwi,
pulled from deadly tiger's embrace to safety, perhaps,
but danger clings like tropic jungle mist, as he keeps her low
and steady....low.....low....eyes now on the fuel gauge.
Stone-faced he radioed base, sitting deeper in the saddle;
from landmark to landmark, watching the needle's fall.
She came down on fumes but damn she landed like a lady,
delivering Kiwi to help and a new life far away from danger
of light and shadow, from silence in the Malay jungle.
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The different voices in your head continue to amaze me, Lorraine. A chorus this morning, and this last one, Jungle '57 RAF 911, is a stunner.
ReplyDeleteI agree with Guy, Lorraine. You've told me stories about your dad and this paints a vibrant picture not to mention the handsome young face above!
ReplyDeleteThis was a true story....and the Kiwi soldier and my father reconnected in the last few years!
ReplyDeleteOh Guy...if you only knew of the voices...LOL!!
Thank you both.
I wish there was a translation button..but more, I wish I could speak all the languages on this planet!
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