Ft Leonard Wood Mo.1961
Combat Engineers
Miracle Man
10/18/2024
Most days we awoke feeling quite asinine,
choice wasn’t to get up or remain supine.
The bugle was telling us rise and shine,
fall in formation “cruits” and ditch the whine.
After a five mile hike you’ll be feeling fine,
with their way of thinking we wouldn’t align.
Our canteens contained water tasting like brine,
with spit shined boots each cleaned his carbine.
K.P. and cleaning grease traps is hard to define,
another duty intended to harass but was benign.
Just one lousy gig got us a barracks confine,
but finally after 9 weeks we were on cloud nine.
All this happened with purpose and by design,
to make men of boys that would toe the line.
Robert Lloyd Sherriff - Australian Poet, Author, Actor, and Model: American Historian.
Robert Sherriff - 'ME' 1961
In the shadows of a childhood lost,
Where crows cawed with voices crossed,
Robert Sheriff bore the weight of pain,
In a family's silence, cruelty reigned.
Father's fists, like a tempest wild,
Mother's eyes turned, averted, mild,
In the darkness, young Robert stood,
A soul consumed by violence's flood.
The crows outside, their watchful eyes,
Echoed the screams, the silent cries,
As society's grip tightened strongly,
Institutional abuse is a ghastly song.
But Robert stood against the tide,
His voice a beacon, no longer to hide,
Injustice rendered, cruelty slain,
His story is a testament, a survivor's gain.
The crows may caw, the shadows loom,
But Robert Sheriff, in his strength, consumes
The darkness, the violence, the unjust night,
With courage and resilience, he stands in the light.
What a stupid situation
Twenty foot above the ground
But when I reach the bottom
I’m nearly half way round
It was Ronnie Hatchard said it
Hey boys lets have some fun
Go back to camp and do
The assault course run
Nobody had the senses
To say stupid idea
Just picked up his glass
And finished off his beer
And now it’s after midnight
And it’s cold and it’s dark
And what seemed like such fun
Now just aint much of a lark
There’s somebody up above me
And I think he feels the same
He’s steadily pouring curses on
Old Ronnie Hatchard’s name
My stomach’s feeling queasy
There’s a pounding in my head
Instead of hanging here
I should be in my bed
But I bet when we finish
There’ll be no beery stagger
Just a walk to the billet
Full of pride and swagger
With Old Ronnie Hatchard
Man of the day
Sure as night is night
Proudly leading the way
IWAN FALS born VIRGIAWAN LISTANTO ON September 3, 1961-
I am Iwan Fals an Indonesian singer-songwriter Times™Magazine named me “A Great Asian Hero”.
While I was 18 formed a group band named Amburadul, released an album “Perjalanan”
Associated acts were so Kantata Takwa, Swami reprised reputation as a Country Protest singer
Name at born really “Virgiawan Listanto” from within Jakarta, Indonesia
Forward first son, Galang Rambu Anarki born. One of Fals' best-known songs, Galang Rambu Anarki, was written for his son's birth.
Anak Wayang song (1994) (as part of Amburadul group)first song Perjalanan (1979)
Lyrica themes been compared to Bob Dylan, a key influences songs observational and or political
Sing Sarjana Muda descriptive documentary lyrics, heavy use of harmonica also features country-style banjo and violin
Iwan Fals is an Indonesian singer– Born: September 3, 1961 (age 57 years)
8/24/19
For My Upcoming Birthday (09-03) Celebrity - Any Form Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: William Kekaula
To me there is not justice in this world,
and no God awaiting us either.
So who, therefore, could freely harm an innocent soul,
and then each night sleep in peace for ever after?
For though many things that a man has done,
may well lie dormant through the passing years,
as if safe in a long-forgotten silence,
on some calm morning,
say in magic Spring,
with Nature beautiful and moving,
memories of scars on others that he made,
they will suddenly weep and break open,
sending shivers running down the spine
to haunt and torment with knowing.
And oh thus would that I,
from my cradle to my grave,
tried so not to have left on a person,
as in my goodbye to Pat,
the cuts of human pain,
and the hurt of my thoughtless actions,
when in truth I was crying out for the love she offered me,
even in the moment I last saw her.
Because your heart may never, ever, be given a chance again,
to express your regret to them and your deep sorrow.
A handsome man, a valiant son,
John Kennedy was he.
A man who rose to President
with civil rights the key.
Who can forget the many days
like Camelot they seemed,
when all eyes were on Washington,
they passed just like a dream.
Ah, we remember Jacqueline
a Vassar deb was she,
who walked with grace on his right side
through fame and infamy.
One thousand days was all we had
of this great President
before a gunshot took his life
for all the world to see.
We mourn him still, we miss his smile
his knowledge and his grit
for he and Martin dreamed a dream,
we reaped the best of it.
XMAS EVE 1961
Five teenaged lads late on Christmas Eve,
quit playing cards and took their leave.
Got into a car and off we drove
to a hamburger joint with a greasy stove.
After a bowl of chili, one got sick.
The owner yelled out and three left quick.
After he messed the bathroom sink and floor,
I carried the fifth out the back alley door.
The police were waiting when we hit the curb,
booked for underage drinking in their little burb.
They put us in a klink called the Homewood jail,
the accommodations had a bible for those who fail.
They turned out the lights and the locks went klank,
tried looking around but the cells were dark and dank.
There wasn’t a mattress on the steel strapped bunks,
we resigned ourselves to our increasing mental funks.
No one tried to be brave; no one tried to be proud,
time for soul searching and we began crying out loud.
Our demeanor changed after that minor crime,
not one of us in 50 yrs has done anymore time.
For the BEHIND BARS BLUES contest
They were there ...
in a jar ... floating ...
Dark and mysterious.
A shaft of sunlight fell on the table
and into the jar
illuminating Nahautl Pyotl Mexcalli nectar.
Cactus buds staring
with buttoned eyes and spiny tufts
like the heart of an artichoke
floating in brine.
Picked in Texas
and sent through the mail
to be shared ceremonially ...
without drums ...
in a Victorian home on Sutter Street.
Once eaten, the journey began
to mystic melodies of merriment.
Eaten slowly as if in reverence
to the power of sacrament.
Blood and wine.
Bone and wafer.
Before and after.
Alpha and Omega.
A shaft of sunlight fell ....
while the sounds of the cosmos
and the colors of eternity were
gifts given from the Spirit of the Universe.
Given to an unfolding soul
no longer locked in a prison of false beliefs,
the bondage of every Other ...
now free to be ...
in the sunlight ...
with her own drum.
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