Best Airman Poems
With his hand over his faded heartbeat
Tuskegee airman, Ohio’s son,
Takes off in a flight plan for eternal terminals
This living aviator legend –
Whose heart looked up to soar on metal wings -
Flew through skies torn by warring clouds
And kissed the earth when landing once again
Knew only well discrimination’s determination to clip his wings
This December child, forever linked in birth to a day of infamy
When battleships lay impotent at the bottom of a harbor’s pearl,
Logs his last flight plan -
A general with a single star to grace his epaulettes -
Salutes his heavenly commander in chief
To leave jet trails of victory across Heaven’s pure air of blue–
Wearing on his tribute stone a Distinguished Flying Cross –
A Bronze Star –
Flies through all barriers of race above the slurs
After launching younger dreams of flight in a life of service
As his last mission takes him home –
No mission impossible -
Past the jealous bonds of earth soaring into eternity,
Into the welcome caress of God who takes the controls
Who was and always will be his Heaven sent co-pilot.
Tribute to General Charles McGee – a Tuskegee Airman who never let discrimination clip the wings of his dreams to become a military pilot during WWII. He flew over 400 mission in WWII, Korea and Vietnam. Born December 7, 1919. Flew home January 16, 2022 at the age of 102.
Twas a lovely day in May.
A red-haired Grandmother, with her daughter and
grandchild strolled the soft, still grass.
Under a large pine tree, she unwrapped a beautiful pot of flowers.
In the center~ a flag waved softly in the gentle, Midwest winds.
They proceeded to a marble headstone with a gentle walk.
Not one of them had the need to talk.
Kneeling at the headstone~ she placed her head upon it.
Telling her husband, his family was all here for a visit.
Assuring him that they missed and loved him.
She then spoke....angelically:
" Brian, thank you for keeping our country so wonderfully free!
But alas at breakfast now, it's only me!
Brian, my Airman and eagle of my soul.
I miss your dark eyes that sparkled like anthracite coal."
She kissed the headstone as if herway to say,
She would be back soon~another day!
May 30, 2020
7:30am PST
Poem# 1,306
One morning, when I was stationed at base operations in Subic, I had a
telephone call. A Filipino shipyard worker had died during the night-shift,
on the job at the navy repair facility, apparently of natural causes. But to
cover our backsides, the shipyard wanted to fly the body to Clark Air Force
Base for autopsy by a pathologist. Just to make sure.
So I called one of the many helicopter pilots I had become acquainted
with to set the flight up. The pilot said “No problem, just put the body in
a body bag, and we’ll strap him into one of the UH-I’s seats (the helicopter
workhorse of Vietnam), call it a training flight, and do the deal.” So, I called the
shipyard, told them what to do, and went back to my morning cup of coffee.
A few minutes later, the admiral’s Aid called, to tell me that the admiral’s
driver, a marine corps sergeant with three Purple Hearts from combat in
Vietnam, was going to be charged with some minor legal offense by his
Philippine girlfriend, in order to keep him in the Philippines, instead of
returning to his wife in the US. The admiral wanted to get him to Clark and
en route home ASAP to avoid bi-lateral US-Philippine embarrassment.
So I called the pilot to tell him he would have a second passenger. No
problem, I went back to my coffee.
A few minutes later, I got a call from the marine corps captain who was
in charge of the brig. He had a soldier stressed out from combat in Nam,
high on unknown drugs, and violent. He wanted to get him out of the brig,
and send him back to the US.
So I called the helicopter pilot again to inform him of his third passenger.
He agreed to take him, if he was put in a straight jacket and leg irons, and
accompanied by a an armed guard. A reasonable requirement, because
passengers had access to the pilots in UH1 “Hueys”.
I still wonder what the air force airman thought as he slid open the door
of that Huey when it landed at Clark.
How I'd relish standing Obama at a brace and show him how to salute!
He's shown zero respect to the Marines and I suppose he thinks he's cute.
No one salutes with a coffee cup in hand, not even the rawest, dumbest recruit!
Should a soldier, sailor, airman or marine do such, he'd suffer the toe of a boot!
He's been seen on camera saluting the flag with his left hand over his chest;
With hands over his crotch or no salute at all with neither hand on his breast.
If the president is interested in gaining the respect of those who keep us free,
I'd volunteer to teach him the rudiments of saluting as learned by this old retiree!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) 2014 All Rights Reserved
There have been times in our land
When our nation has had to take a stand.
It first began at Bunker's Hill
Where so many men were then killed.
All through that war with the British King
Men here in America were fighting and dying.
They were the first "Veterans" of the US,
When duty calls, there was always a surplus.
Always men of courage it takes it seems
Like those with Jackson at New Orleans.
There were "Veterans" who fought both South and North
When the country was split, her sons poured forth.
Healing those wounds would take some time
But in the end it came in line.
Of course no one remembers the row with Spain
Where America sent her men once again.
The "War to End All Wars" was more than a saying
As loved ones and sweethearts were left home praying.
Oh, Chateau Thierry, the Argonne, Belleau Wood and more
Are now in our history as battles of that war.
Then came the biggest war of all
When the world went crazy in '39's Fall.
Our "Veterans" were there too,
In Africa, Europe, and the Katmandu.
From Casablanca and Casserein on Africa's shore,
To Sicily, Anzio, Normandy, and the Bastogne's of that war.
The Pacific saw its share of death and hell
From the first bombs at Pearl Harbor to Gaudalcanal.
Many "Veterans" died at Iwo Jima, Saipan, Okinawa too,
They shed their blood for me and you.
After the end, we thought we might have some order,
Until the Communists in Korea crossed the border.
The Vietnam era was one of upheaval and race,
Some "Veterans" coming home even received a spit in the face.
For their part the "Veterans" were not to blame,
And for our country, it was a time of shame.
Dessert Storm and Dessert Shield put them in the MidEast
Where terror reigns with sate for a feast.
Yet, the soldier, sailor, or airman know,
If his country calls, he must go.
They follow the traditions of other "Veterans" you see,
They put their lives on the line for both you and me.
To the ones who have worn our country's uniform I say
"Thank You, Veteran", we should honor you with more than one day!
Limerick : Once an Airman who couldn’t stand his wife
Once an Airman who couldn’t stand his wife
Was going out of his mind with strife
Took to the clouds with spouse
Called her names like : »Leech ! Louse ! »
Then jumped out plane to sentence for life.
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2013.
The Air Force
By Franklin Price
1/18/2017
The Air Force means so much to me
Started nineteen-sixty-five
Left college and enlisted
To mature and survive
Received an education
I would use throughout my days
The discipline I learned back then
Not just another phase
A career for me was not to be
Left at the end of four
Took along what I had learned
To search for something more
The years have gone and flown away
Now through another's eyes
New memories provided
By a legacy who flies
I was but enlisted
She wears lieutenant's bars
Looking to the future
Striving for the stars
So proud of my granddaughter
She carries on for me
She is the kind of airman
I always strove to be
Long lines of vapour split blue skies asunder
Fly vengeful raptors, one thousand in number
Headlong they go, to brave death or glory
Stratosphere flight, part of war's brutal story
Last year a schoolboy but this year an ace
Did I see the twitch of fear on his face?
Fly like a God, so untouchably high
The monster of war, clawing youth from the sky
A thin shaky finger feels the button of death
A payload of sorrow leaves his care in a breath
A rain of destruction whistling down out of tune
As it plummets to earth snuffing life out too soon
Mortality strikes with a roar just as thunder
A maelstrom of steel slices metal from under
His world now in turmoil, at the end of a gun
Now a casualty, a victim, the fall of a son.
Plentiful the storeroom as I return my kit
Everything an Airman needed for a career
Returned this last day
Air Force veteran is my new name
Retired medically for service injuries
Duty to Queen and Country
Until I could no more
And still it hurts to walk away
Aviation was my life’s passion
Destined to this career
Administrative duties
School, and a new beginning
Training and development consultant
Reinvented myself again
Airman always in my heart, until my life’s end.
© 2014 CM Davidson
Note (for the contest "Beginnings Matter" (Richard Lamoureux):
This first poem was somewhat intimidating, as I had not written in several years (almost two decades) for personal reasons. Deciding to submit this poem was actually quite cathartic (once I finally hit the submit button), as it signified that I had moved beyond what silenced my pen. Not only that, but the content of the poem signified a large portion of my life having come to a close and with closure came reality. That was more intimidating than putting proverbial pen to paper; reality is, once I came to that realization, I felt pretty good about posting this initial poem to "the Soup".
The conductor stopped by my seat and advised me that we would soon be entering the Philadelphia rail-yards where the baggage car would be added to another train. He would advise the engineer to have it opened so I could enter.
I thanked him and walked to the end of the car, stepping out onto the platform. When the train came to a stop, I stepped down and walked along the tracks until I reached the baggage car. I was met there by a brakeman who opened the car and allowed me entrance.
Soon I felt a jolt, and the car began moving on it's own through the yard until, it slowed and connected with another string of cars. I jumped down and waited until the brakeman had again secured the car door, assuring that my cargo would not be removed accidentally.
In a few hours, we arrived at Bethlehem Pa, and I repeated the process. This time however, I waited and observed as the flag draped casket was removed and placed in a waiting hearse.
I was eighteen and had been an airman for less then a year. We were not at war, and I was safely stationed in Maine. But this was a friend. A fellow airman who had died in an automobile accident. His wife had asked for a military escort home, and that was my job, made harder by the fact I knew them both so well.
The hearse carried the body to his hometown, a little mining town about an hour away. I met the family and they offered me a place to stay, continuously questioning me about their son and his demise, trying to make some sense of his loss.
The following day, he was laid to rest in a military funeral. A reverend spoke, a salute was fired, and taps was played. His sister threw herself on the casket, sobbing uncontrollably. The honor guard tri-folded the flag and gave it to me to present to his mother, who wept silently.
To this day, I still relive the emotion of that moment. I think of the extreme hurt and sorrow experienced by the families of our young men and women who come home to say goodbye. The circumstances change, but the result is always the same. And it never hurts any less.
haibun
her heart's overwhelmed
as her Valentine returns
from Afghanistan
In cahoots with the local mailman, Airman Louis Patrillos hides out-of-sight as the postman returns the special valentine his wife had sent him. Then quickly Lou appears, announcing, "Honey, I'm Home!" just as she bursts into tears.
Another day is o'er, the sun sinks slowly in the west.
I stroll upon hallowed ground, where heroes lie at rest.
The clarion, yet somber notes of "Taps" echoes across the way.
I pause to contemplate the serene expanse where brave soldiers lay.
Marble stones perfectly arrayed, each etched with a patriot's name,
In remembrance of his service, each deserving the nation's acclaim.
Others contain the poignant phrase, "Known But To God Alone."
'Twill be en scribed in The Book Of Life, "He died for wrongs to atone."
Yonder lies a soldier who stormed Normandy in June of forty-four.
Near him a young marine, who died on Iwo Jima's shore.
I kneel at the grave of an airman who died flying his fighter plane.
There's a coast guard lass who guarded our shores plying the briny main.
On yon knoll lies a sailor who died in the Pearl Harbor affair.
As I stroll about and ponder, for each I offer a thankful prayer.
Heroes of all creeds lie side by side in manicured plot,
All a brave band of brothers and sisters, rank here matters not.
Myriad untold stories are buried with these guardians so brave,
Now forfeited with the young lives they so freely gave.
Treasured memories that their children and grandchildren will never hear.
They sacrificed all on the Altar of Honor for all we hold so dear.
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired (© All Rights Reserved)
Thinker,
failure,
soldier,
sailor,
airman,
dead man,
grief.
Politician,
preacher,
blind man,
teacher,
banker,
usurer,
thief.
'Tis well-known that military blokes speak a lingo of their own,
But it has served them well over the years, it has been shown!
To a General or a Private, such jargon is totally sensible,
But to ordinary citizens, 'tis utterly incomprehensible!
"Yard birds" know all about "policing the area" and "kitchen police."
A seasoned "grunt" knows what it means to "clean his piece."
The "head" is a sanctuary for musing to a sailor or marine,
But to an airman or soldier, 'tis better known as the "latrine."
When on the firing line the Sergeant yells, "Fire at will!"
Guys aim not to kill Will but to improve their shooting skill!
When a Corporal invites his squad to a "GI Party" on Friday night,
There'll be no beer but you'll scrub the floor and do it right!
From the dreaded "Reveille" to "Retreat" (when troops must salute),
Bugle calls herald tidings quickly learned by even the rawest recruit!
Everyone scans the "Daily Bulletin" for the latest "scuttlebutt."
On parade, troopers snicker watching "second louies" strut!
Essential to national defense, the brass concoct acronyms galore,
And there are geniuses in the Pentagon always begetting more,
Word forms from (A)WACS to (Z)ULU and betwixt ad infinitum!
Ah! Those handy acronyms! How could we fight a war without 'em!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(© All Rights Reserved)
A long long time ago
Before digital took over the planet.
My grandfather was n airman in WW2.
He never dropped a single bomb
or even fired a weapon in that war..
He was a bit of a pacifist
live and let live was his way.
Instead he aimed camera lenses
at the Germans snapping their country
on his belly lay on the planes belly.
At the airbase in the UK he printed his photographs.
enough to cover a airfield.
He met an English lady in the darkroom.
They printed their photographs together
mixing fixer and develop[er.
She got used to his crooked smile and big hands
He got used to her being there.
When the war ended he returned to the states
and opened a camera and photography shop.
He built a darkroom by hand
when it was finished he went back to England
on a cargo ship
and found the lady in darkroom.
he asked her to marry him
and she accepted.
when they returned to New York
he showed her the darkroom he built for them.
On the door was a note
held by a thumbtack
It said I fell in love with you
in the dark
but I want you to follow the light
with me for the rest of our lives.
A year later my dad was born
with a crooked smile and big hands
and also his love of photography.
He had the eye for
color and shadow and light.
After I was born I did not follow the
love of photography.
But would get into trouble at school
for writing poems in the margins
of my work books.
I found grandmas note that was
pinned on the darkroom door
she passed a way a few weeks ago.
And I was moved to tell this story.
Follow the light Grandma love.
look for a big man with crooked smile
and big hands hes waiting for you.