Propellers Keep Spinning Poem, by Kurt Philip Behm, at My poetic side

The sound of a

Huey

the tick of

a clock

Both signal

a warning

what is and

what’s not

The flight from

DaNang

that hour till

dawn

Your life in

the balance

to die or

hang on

And leave for

the bush

face painted

and dark

Second hand

motion

that tells you

to start

As medics

unload

both the wounded

and dead

Propellers

keep spinning

these moments

— of dread

(Dreamsleep: June, 2026)

Comments +

sorenbarrett June 6th, 2026 10:57
Flashes from the past and the Viet Nam war the anxiety of a soldier and the turmoil of noise and wounded and dead. Well written Kurt

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