Night of the Radioman – Hawk Hill

Night of the Radioman   Hawk Hill prose poem

Up here, the indecipherable universe
Unfolds into a trillion starry mysteries
Spreading light-years above
The crowded frequencies of Earth
Crackling in the atmosphere
Transmitting to ten thousand towers of Babel
Scattered across the hills like spores of static
And the humming of the radio
Probing the polar ends
Of the collective subconscious mind
As I receive the undistorted song
Of crickets rising from the ruins of a village
At the foot of the hill
Awash in the white ash waste of moonlight
In a wilderness of weeds springing from the scars
Of napalm and craters of artillery
Where the weary heirs of war have drawn
The warm moist earth across their faces
Closing their dead-tired eyes with dirt to sleep
To smooth their gaping wounds
And broken limbs into the soil
The flesh dissolving from their souls
Releasing them into the dewy darkness
To rest forever at the verge of birth
Perpetually changing forms
Whispering their terrible secrets in my ear

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Bill Peeler

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My wife, Noy and I are Protestant missionaries in Cambodia. We met in a border refugee camp in Thailand back in 1979 while I was a refugee relief worker. She was a refugee. I lived and worked in Mairut Refugee Camp for three years. We have three grown kids. I was drafted into the Army in 1969, served in Vietnam from 1970 to 1971 and honorably discharged at the end of my military obligation. Writing prose and poetry is how I document the life I'm living and how I map out the mental landscape inside my head.
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A radioman’s routine told as a beautiful tale …amazing!


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