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Steve Harris Poem
The mighty 3rd to the north did steam,
Chasing a ghost not to be seen
Guard the landing your task assigned,
Quiet the day is to be benign
At dawn the Imperial fleet does appear,
Surprise complete, ranging fire splashes near
Outnumbered and out gunned, duty is clear,
Close the range you must in spite of your fear
Laying smoke, a jagged course you take,
An account of yourselves you will make
Steel your heart and make sure your eye,
For each salvo keeps you alive
Toe-to-toe the battle, you exchange mighty blows,
Triumph impossible, yet into the fray you all go
In perfect rhythm, the mad dance goes on,
As smoke filled gunhouse loads powder and shot
Decks strewn with the dead and dying,
Teams repair to keep the ensign flying
Struck and struck again, yet to point blank you steam,
Hard to port, you cross the “T”
“All guns to fire at the turn, torpedoes away!”
The enemy scatters in disarray
Too late, mortal blows you take
To the deep, no more your enemy to rake
One final salute their captain does render,
For you fought to the death and did not surrender
On this all men do still agree,
These were the finest two hours of Taffy 3
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On October 25th, 1944, 3 destroyers and 4 destroyer escorts of Task Force
Taffy 3 engaged a combined force of Imperial Japanese Navy battleships and
cruisers in a 2 hour running gun battle to protect the escort carriers and troop
transports taking part in the Leyte Gulf landings in the Philippines. Two of the
three destroyers and one of the escorts were sunk while sinking three
Japanese heavy cruisers and damaged three more. Due to the fierceness of
the attack, the Japanese fleet retired from the area thinking they had been
attacked by a much larger force. At the outset of the battle, the commanding
officers of these 7 ships, without orders, individually decided to attack and
headed at flank speed to the fight all knowing they would most likely not
survive the day. Almost 1600 did not. In a final act of respect, the commander
of one Japanese cruiser saluted the crew of an American ship that had just
sunk as his ship passed them floating in the water.
Copyright © Steve Harris | Year Posted 2014
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Steve Harris Poem
From a rigid world of concrete and steel,
Angles exact and order absolute;
Of darkness complete and shadowless light,
Unseparated by dusk and dawn;
Of primary colors and round positive numbers
Where symmetry rules and the blemish flees comprehension;
Of good and evil,
No quarter given and none asked.
Waking to the imperfect,
Terrified at that which is not whole.
Shades innumerable fill awkward angles
And fashion beings in gray tone.
Where is this place? I ask,
As absent order I am lost.
What mad scheme creates such hell?
Perfect in its imperfection
Ordered in its chaos;
Unfinished yet complete,
The partial becomes the whole.
Light brushes darkness as the kaleidoscope turns,
All form transitory, all without judgment,
All free to assume the shape most pleasing,
Then disperse to assume another.
Unbound, life and beauty pass harmless to every reach.
I the fool arrive late, yet here am I.
Copyright © Steve Harris | Year Posted 2014
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Steve Harris Poem
There once was a Lass from up around Mass
Who ventured down south for some schoolin’
The boys were all giddy because she was so pretty,
But none caught the young lady’s fancy
Her suitors opined, but she was resigned
An old maid certain she’d be
Deep in her books, she gave none a look
But her grandpa weren’t without hope
Each day by the gates he stood with his hook
A young prince hoping to spy
No prince did appear, but against all fear
A gay minstrel did saunter by
Into the keep and down the main street
He passed in the blink of an eye
Off to the tower to find his fair flower
The bonny maiden he’d spotted afar
Our hero it seems was livin’ a dream
For crushed by the Ice Maiden he would certainly be
Onlookers wager the fool’s errand end
“Two Quid he’ll jump when she’s through with him!”
Onward he trod, his prize to hold
Journey at end and heart ever bold
“Come down to me!” he beckoned
The Ice Maiden unmoved
Outside her window, his love song to begin
Each day returnin’ to serenade again
Finally emergin’, the Ice Maiden relents
“Marry you will I, given one thing”
“Sing no more my love till the end of time,
For your tone deaf caterwaul drives me out of my mind.”
Copyright © Steve Harris | Year Posted 2016
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Steve Harris Poem
Every step gently moves smooth contours under sheer concealment,
Luring the passerby to imagine the form beneath.
Eyes avert while gaze strains to peer beyond the veil,
Mind drinks in the image,
Wondering who could be granted audience.
Scene repeats as days pass.
Every form unique, each anticipation the same,
But the naked breast eludes.
Hope rises as necklines fall,
Side glimpses inspire,
Traces of silk and lace taunt.
Lift demands attention.
But the naked breast eludes.
Adolescent obsession possesses every age.
Each interlude like the first,
All consuming, then forgotten once out of sight.
The joy of the naked breast not,
But the joy of the promise.
For it is the promise, renewed at each encounter,
That gives pause, eclipsing all but the moment.
Pure essence ascribed as form in Plato’s Cave.
A candid look into the male mind by Steve Harris.
Thank you Kathryn Ramirez - your boldness inspired me to post this piece.
Copyright © Steve Harris | Year Posted 2014
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Steve Harris Poem
The klaxon sounds and off we do scurry
Up to the gun house we head in a hurry
Through narrow p-ways and up noisy stairs
We pass each other with far away glares
What threat to meet, all do wonder
We’re well trained and there’ll be no blunder
Hatches closed and scuttles secured
Drive motors humming, we speak not a word
Ammo to the hoist, battle dress in place
Flash hoods cover all but our face
“Mt 51 manned and ready!”
Gas eject air pressure is holding steady
“Air action port!” our circuits align
Gun slews, the target to find
“On target aircraft!” the checksight declares
Our peril confirmed, no drill, all just a deep inhale
“Right and left guns load!” first powder then shot
To the mad dance, cast we all our lot
Guns loaded, we track knowing not when
Waiting the salvo alarm, the dance soon to begin
Fourteen men poised, ready for the show
Bound to each other, not for their own glory they do go
Gong! Gong! Fire! The first stanza a roar
Then rapid and continuous we feed each bore
“Bore clear!” signals to load the next round
As hot-case men pitch spent brass to the ground
Practiced harmony, each motion robotic
Load!, Ram!, Fire!, Eject! the cadence hypnotic
Smoke and flareback, gases choking
Onward we whirl, and curse the foe attacking
“Foul bore left gun!”
A stuck case has us undone
Pry bar in hand, the Gunner appears
The extractors are broken, confirming worst fears
Casing removed and the gun finally clear
Up all night we’ll be, fixing this gear
“Cease fire!” all safely emerge
Realize we now, our fears to purge
Destruction averted, another hour to draw breath
Till the enemy returns, seeking our death
“Police up that brass and swab out those barrels!”
The chief keeps us all intent on the peril
They will come again, or we will seek them out
So little rest we take, while the issue is in doubt
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This describes a live shoot from the prospective of
the men manning a twin 5 inch gun aboard a destroyer.
These ships were common in our Navy from 1944 through
about 1980. The "old salts" out there will find this very familiar.
This is a spinoff from my "Tin Can Sailors" write even though
the ships in that story were single mounts. Same gun, but
with just one barrel. Those were before my time.
Copyright © Steve Harris | Year Posted 2015
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Steve Harris Poem
Peering out as from behind a veil, seeing, but not seen.
Feeling, but not felt.
A faint shadow noticed, yet unrecognized.
As a gentle wind drifts across the shape of a more solid soul,
Conformed, yet having no form.
Ache though I do to step from the shadow, there it is I remain until
summoned,
My existence, my worth, to be bestowed by the one who calls.
Physical form offers fleeting hope of life whole, but to behind the veil I will be
returned.
Callous indifference the cause of my condition, possibly.
Benign familiarity though seems the more likely culprit.
Unknowing, both summoned and summoner are imprisoned, sedated on the
monochrome tapestry of rote daily life. Complacent in ignorance, can escape
be found with captivity unrecognized?
Realization visits but one. Blame not, for what binds one binds the other.
Wake to our state and give name to our bonds. Grieve for our captivity,
Let us then run together as one toward the light.
Copyright © Steve Harris | Year Posted 2014
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Steve Harris Poem
Raiding hoards assemble to make the attack;
Aerodromes on high alert, we’ll fight them back.
Brave souls scramble to cockpits everyone;
Awaiting the final vector to where the deed is done.
Away boys! Away!
And off they take to meet their fate,
The dwindling few do not hesitate.
Some to return and some to not;
Together forward they meet the onslaught.
Sirens blare the target is sure,
To your guns lads! We’ll give’em a cure.
Barrage balloons aloft, we’ll keep’em up high,
The gunners are ready, waiting the spotter’s eye.
Run from your flat to the safe tube below,
Gas mask at the ready, you just never know.
The old man leads us in songs of good cheer,
Knowing all the while that our end could be near.
Bombs drop and the guns blaze,
Another neighborhood disappears with a haze.
The docks are burning a bright orange hue,
Damn you bloody bastards, our boys will take care of you!
Swirling trails against blue skies,
Belie the deadly dance taking place before our eyes.
Flaming wreckage, another early grave,
More mothers grieve, have we all gone insane?
Finally all clear, we creep from our boroughs,
Shattered buildings surround, but the Jack’s still unfurled.
Mr. Churchill walks the rubble to buck up our faith,
On the beaches, in the fields and in the streets he says,
We’re standing alone, but to persevere is our fate.
This one is for my dear friend Gladys. She was 11 and living in London during
the blitz.
Copyright © Steve Harris | Year Posted 2014
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Steve Harris Poem
A vessel for the dreams of humanity,
Both beacon of hope and valley of despair.
Your paradox of silken strength breaks the mighty and humbles the proud,
The fibers of your essence blend in perfection across the contours of our universe.
You are a proud banner of self-sacrifice and badge of personal achievement,
In you we find the image of Platonian perfection.
In you we wrestle with our own mortality.
A crowning jewel of science and industry,
In perfect relief, you expose that which was previously hidden
And make real that which could only be imagined.
Sweeping colors highlight sacred hills and valleys,
And hold that most precious out for hope unreal.
Oh Spandex, I do curse thee in all thy forms.
For you have taken me where I would not have willing gone.
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92/8 Nylon/Spandex the formula on the tag of my wife's leggings.
Copyright © Steve Harris | Year Posted 2016
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Steve Harris Poem
Illicit, so you say. Well I’ll have to think on that a while.
Maybe later though, after I smoke this next bowl.
The wife will be home soon and my time is tight;
The neighbor is on her way for some afternoon delight.
Have everything ready, my instructions are clear,
Lunch time has started so they will both be near
Through the back door she bounds with such glee,
Her clothes on the floor, she is ready for me
Blindfolded and strapped to our four poster bed,
We’ve done this before, so there is nothing to dread
Now where are my nipple clamps and how about that lube,
My wife is here now and obviously in the mood.
A flat-handed slap on their raised bare asses,
Will certainly get things going fastest.
Now what were you saying? Some question you raised,
I’ve only a moment, but your fears I can allay.
Illicit your concern, but oh how could that be;
We’re all three cousins, so it’s strictly family.
Copyright © Steve Harris | Year Posted 2014
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Steve Harris Poem
In a tiny green house, through the door she appeared
With a new little brother holding so dear
In the house down the street, walls not nearly complete
Off the front porch into the snow with bare feet
Of walking the trail near garden and wood
We passed to a lane where the Ben Franklin stood
To Papa's Coney Island, behind an apron she served
Hopeful of coins for the carnival we yearned
Off to the neighbors, we all filed with dread
We knew she would gab until the full moon was dead
Trapped on a sofa, no rescue in sight
We started to sing to highlight our plight
"I wanna go home," the words rang out clear
Finally relenting we would all disappear
Of warm summer days, in a yard out back
Where purple violets in a small cup we did stack
Of towels warmed on the furnace each day
Wrapped our small feet to get us back in the fray
Lightning shows, through the big window watched we in awe
Arrayed across the old sofa, past our bedtime we saw
Parading from our room, we entertain
Our antics your delight did sustain
Together we grew, then went our own way
Returning to find very little did change
It's hard to remember those years in between
Now here we stand, our memories so keen
Of warm summer days and a cold winters blow
Where mom's loving touch is what we all know
Good-bye Ma
I found out last yesterday that my mother will be passing very soon. I wrote
this to read at her funeral.
Copyright © Steve Harris | Year Posted 2014
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