Best Berets Poems
BOUND
We’re bound from birth, our path too clear
Conformity reigns, we dare to veer
Play it straight and fall in place
Buckle down, you’ll win the race
Need for expression, no need for that
Everyone needs to wear the same hat
Wander off course or stray from path
You’re ostracized, beware the wrath
Creative types, you know the ones
Their unkempt hair and lack of funds
The artsy crowd without a care
Berets worn black, causeless flair
Yet abstract form and deviceful eye
Radiate light on gray streaked sky
Without free thought we play the fools
We must transcend archaic rules
Linear thinking it has its place
In modern times it makes a case
But if one dares to lose one’s face
I just might love this human race
Summer sight
Ripples of the river, in addition, current of the slope
And canoe's shake, ahead lover's smiley face
Foam like milky run, sprinkles of icy flakes
Scatters of cold drops, and sprinters of river's
Funniest on earth I was the monarch in the moment
Greenery of the bank, chirps of the birds
Fisherman's' net in cold water, hung baits in the strings
Livelihood for life how to celebrate remembering events.
Different case, separate face, writing poems in open space
Blue water on wade, ship's glade on that, mind blowing taste
Different tongues, hands on waists, berets on heads
Blue pace on space, thin white rope of jetliner's trace
On sky, blue ocean far and wide no boundary limitless
Lines of poetry were heading on, no wish for ends
Far from bank, in mid of sea, a bird on mast how it came!
Patches of clouds, below of sun, seems gliders from heaven
Smiling face, touched my heart, as bliss landed from heaven
Response from there, dignified the heart, add more line of poem
In one corner, the day of summer, a sight of humor was on
Two shadows of beau and lassie,was erecting as if pillar one
Drawing eyes of gentlemen and ladies inadvertently to them
The day was bright, guys in that, imbibing fun of summer season
Dance of sharks, delights of dolphins, far in sea reminisce remained.
(for those in Kwangju: May 18, 1980)*
after Dante
Taking this peach within the mouth, the tongue
hovers around its sunset skin like a lover
and its Sappho sweet bite is heaven. A song
of honeysuckled rivers is like your
kiss… The night is in July. At once
Platonic love is redemption or
when the world is beyond our Kwangju…Please
let the streets be freed from anticipation
of the bayonet and gun… Let litter seize
this street or any avenue… Plan
my kiss and we will be happy and free.
The night is the peach---the dead sun…
Recall the dress you wore as a weapon, me
wearing---I forgot… Your raven hair, soft
yet sharp by its embroidery
of strands being held by one silver pin. The left
hand of God and right hands of angels
must have done it… It was my dry throat
drinking from Styx River which made the chills
even more pronounced at the sight of you.
The dress’ print was you. It was petals
of prints within splotches of orange, gold, red, too…
and white--- bandages… Horrible bandages.
I’m wearing black/white. Suddenly we choose
to hug underneath those flickering pages
of streetlights… we an arrow’s color shot through bodies---Rage…
*Excerpted from Chalmers Johnson’s Blowback : The Costs and Consequences of the
American Empire: “General Chun did not wait long after talking with Gleysteen (US
Ambassador to South Korea) to complete the coup d’etat he had begun the previous
December…On May 18, 1980, a few hundred demonstrators in Kwangju took to the streets to
protest the imposition of martial law. They were met by the paratroopers of the 7th Brigade
of the Korean special forces, known as the “black berets,” who had a well known reputation
for brutality going back to their service on the American side in the Vietnam War…Gleysteen
wrote, “Rumors reaching Seoul of Kwangju rioting say special forces used fixed bayonets and
inflicted many casualties on students… Some in Kwangju are reported to have said that
troops are being more ruthless than North Koreans ever were.” [When asked of the decision]
Gleysteen replied, “I grant it was the controversial decision, but it was the correct one. Do I
regret? I don’t think so.” (112-113)
Two grizzled master sergeants repaired to the NCO Club to cry in their beer.
Their jawing invariably turned to discussing the 'old army' of yesteryear.
They grew up in the 'brown shoe' army and of it they liked to reminisce.
'Twas 'happy hour', beer was cheap and their gripes went a lot like this:
"By gawd! Used to be I could take a kid behind the barracks and kick his ass!
Now, ever' time ya turn around they're buggin' ya fer a three-day pass!"
"Yep, they think they can git away with anything jesh 'cause they're a volunteer!
Ya won't believe what I shaw today! An earring danglin' from a soldier's ear!"
"We ate C-rations in our day without all them fanchy frills they have today.
Today, if a kid don't git schteak and lobster on hish plate there's 'ell to pay!"
"It wassh called a 'mesh hall' in the old army and we ate off'n schteel trays.
Now, it's a 'dinin'' facility' and, yesh, we schlept on cots in open bays!"
"Yesh. Things was so schimple when all we dealt with was mornin' reports.
I'm scared of them computin' things that is invadin' all the army forts!"
"In the old days I'd tell a kid what to do and he wouldn't give me no shass!
In the new army if I chew out mommy's boy he goes schlobberin' to the brass!"
"Now, they make us wear them silly lookin' berets jesh like them blimey Brits!"
"Yesh. I don't know about you but I schtink it's time I called it quits!"
"Yesh. I agree. I schtink it's time to retire and end this miserable career!"
"But jush a minute, old pal. Before happy hour ends lesh have 'nother beer!"
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Malice police injustice
This is a career choice
Not a choice to be a criminal
A profession just normal
Like any other
Tell me if the police have power?
Over the residents of own motherland?
How will strangers be treated?
Tell me if the police trained to have a criminal eye?
Cook up cases for innocent passersbys
offence
Drunk and disorderly
Assaulted an officer
With no identity
A handcuff and a gun
pay or inside you stay
Such a shameful decay
In mY motherland today
Suffer youth of today
to court nothing you say
that is Kenya today
That is my motherland
My birthplace
My right
My home
Where is it?
Who robbed me of my freedom
In the Nation I so much tire to build
‘I find you guilty’ yet nothing you did
Why the greed
Yet I’m human and you too
Why are some with the head of a vulture and the body parts of a hyena
Why must you be most hungry
Then mwananchi must never be angry
pray Above that our soil receive a proper laundry
For blood has been shed
And the soil is rotting
Time is clocking
Change is knocking.
No more arrests for berets
No more brutality with impunity
No more guns.Just humans
Just us.just reason of purpose
Reforms and transformations
I have swallowed the bitter concoction
See no more in this condition
I will speak, speak whether weak
Maybe it has just been a bad week
Maybe there are better ones with hearts without hurt.
I stand to be I have got tales
Only if you have suffered this fate
If you are the master then this is case closed.
This Note is saved.
I have got tales to tell
Of heaven and hell
Of a city so sick
The blues so thick
And the law so weak
I’ve got tales to tell*3
Of heaven and hell
Heaven will win
Repent my sin
My whole is clean
I have got tales to tell*3
Of heaven and hell
I wake up this morning and look up to my Lord
Say Lord help me out get what can afford
I pray to my Lord
Father come on board
Sail with your son
Yes we can
Ive got tales to tell
Of heaven and hell
Twas the day before Christmas and out on the range
Some strange guys were shooting some things that were strange
There were Springfields and Mausers and parkerized pistols
And a guy in a trench who was blowing a whistle:
“Get up and get out! Get over the top!”
He yelled and he fell, the machineguns won’t stop
The soldiers pushed their friends up in despair
“Whatever you do, don’t you leave me here!”
Thirty years later, it was the same shout:
“Hang on, old buddy, you’re going to get out!
You got your bloody ticket and I’ll get mine
We’ll be home for Christmas, there’s not any doubt.”
In 1950 they were back for more
This time at the Chosin Reservoir
Just one month to Christmas, we’ll soon be home soon.
General Douglas MacArthur says so.
Vietnam split us apart. Some men wanted to be soldiers,
Others wanted to sit in San Francisco and smoke dope
And spit on our returning soldiers.
Barry Sadler wrote the “Ballad of the Green Berets”
and John Wayne played it out. And our soldiers came home
and took up their lives again, some prosperous, some living on the street.
And a memorial wall brought us together again.
Back in childhood days we played in the sandbox
Pushing around tractors, and tanks and toy soldiers
Toys that we had gotten as gifts and we had no idea
That those toy soldiers were our fathers and uncles and grandfathers.
Twas the night before Christmas and all through the house
My father’s nightmares came to me as quiet as a mouse
Of battlefields and a snow-packed prison camp and a far-off family at home
And stockings waiting by the chimney with care.
Dedicated to my father, Donald J. Craig, 1921-1998, a soldier.
In the morning I heard howling in the air,
The most rooted oak bows in awe and swear,
In the prior gleam of sunset, were greeted with pride,
In perilous fights, our flags and stars never hide.
What induces a nation's pillars strong?
How is it gifted to fend off such a throng?
Never neglect those who fought and died,
Or those we never recalled whom some cried.
Grieving older men salute the flag,
Ladies around tombs shout in anguish and pride,
Kids hoist bitty banners and are dressed in drag,
When the honor-bound penance is tied.
Let's commemorate our unknown troops,
Whose loyalty to our nation doesn't loop,
Let's respect their zeal; they crave to do right,
Defend America, so we may rest easier at night.
Veritably, I assumed a secure homecoming,
From the fighting zones of our soldiers,
I pray for the return of each hero by drumming,
Our young men's war is on our shoulders.
Let's respect our heroes, who suffer hardship,
Their rigor we can't fathom, that's a sharp tip,
Defending what it proves to be an American,
Depict the colors aiming to induce a comparison.
Who oversees our freedom and chance?
Armed boots showed our assertiveness,
Not our blood kin, but a lady's tendance
Family pain, heart, soul, and brain toughness.
O, courageous fighters, hunt out the blight,
Of furious rebels, we'll sing the eulogy of plight,
Your green Berets are prized with high esteem,
Impede your goals as you shout and scream.
Written: July 23, 2022
To Honor My Hero Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Anoucheka Gangabissoon
“Is Fashion Modern?” MOMA* asks
And so, in its new show,
The items on display are there
To let us know it’s so.
A pair of Levi’s, baseball caps,
Bikinis and berets,
A Wonderbra, dashikis, kilts
And suits from prior days.
A Rolex watch, Adidas, Nikes,
Mao jackets, too,
A leotard by Danskin,
Polo shirts (but not J. Crew).
Lipstick, flip flops, saris, Speedos,
Ties, stilettos, Spanx,
Jumpsuits, hoodies, Snuglis
(For which new moms owed their thanks).
My friend and I did reminisce,
While strolling the exhibit,
About the clothes like those we wore
When age did not inhibit.
*Museum of Modern Art (NYC)
the humid thick air of a July 10 evening
streets of new york city in july
heat that invites two wretched souls
into the beatnik hall
coffee pouring- smell of tobacco burning
a squares mistake of showing up and thinking he is in paris because the men with their
old ladies berets are donned and wearing the personality of that such cat
sunglasses omitting the last of the natural light through that lone large pane of glass that outlooks the street ad the lamps illuminate
the death of the smoke will not kill them tonight
there bodies are still young and lean
they think their destiny is darkened as misplaced tweeners
movement of the fan of iron and tin blowing across the floor of tables and mugs
its cooling methods of no use and remorse it just keeps turning those fans no grateful
no on caring.
black girl sitting alone at a table in the corner trying to blend into the corner that gives dark not to be seen by her last lover as he runs his hand through the golden hair of latest old lady
white guy standing at the rear not more of two feet from the girl in the corner his eyes seething with his lost love sitting with the mature black fellow with the eyeglasses and sharp goatee running his hand through that golden hair.
the tow of them strangers since her time here, depart different doors broken hearts.
evening of walking for them both one walking one way the other another.
but that cool wind of the river is a non-conforming consoler of the two he leads them down to dark waters illuminated before the blue clear water. Suddenly one pair of eyes meets with the other.
attraction of the two as no other that have both felt.
one walks over to introduce to the other
which one it never mattered
their eyes meeting souls touching
wounds of the heart healing
doors to the homes of separate houses reopened with new vista of a greater American journey
my beatnik attempt
Form:
Renown
There was a pub in Taunton known world over
And boy did it ever hop, good live music
uplifted the spirits of the motley crew
or was it the smell from the clouds of smoke?
I tell you guys you could get stoned
without ever smoking a joint yourself.
The landlord known as Hopitty due to
a gammy leg was a most fine host.
An eclectic crowd from far and wide
that normally would not rub shoulders
Yet the Wood Street Inn bonded us together
Gays openly welcome, bankers and the such.
All some how fitted into its rare mix
Aussie's made it a port of call not to
be disappointed judging from the repeat
visits, no that is not a Frenchman.
That's Tim he can speak some French
but he just loves berets and baggy pants
not to forget his striped scarf trailing
greatly missed, rest in peace old friend.
Sadly it is closed down now and converted
into two houses. It closed on New Years Eve
2006 and what a party it was. Hopitty gave
me a small police bell from behind the bar.
A fair few of us have now passed on
yet the friendships always remains alive.
It will be a fair while yet before
the memories of the Woody die in minds.
it’s not its striking unique slate of tones
as if vincent had risen from his century
long sleep
it is not nature’s rich hypnotic melodies
or the slim fingers of gusts touches our
very cores
stirs emotions in the coldest of humans or the
crackling sound under our new walking shoes
it is not the acorn berets chipmunks discard below
white oaks once they devour its scrumptious meat
not the wagon rides or the hot chocolates that
stamps its marker on children’s innocent faces
it’s not the bliss(greater than any gift) our kids
ingratiates us in displaying their unadulterated
love returned continuously and unconditionally
this adventure reminds us of our blessings
a welcomed little something beyond cities
however it’s not any one single happening
of this season which fills our hearts warm
it’s the multitude of many moments
the ones greater than any reality or
of all the fantasies found in dreams
deep within our fortresses built
it’s all the endearing memories
autumn leaves
armand~
D Daisy plays, and Violet bathes in a sudden evening rain
A Anointed too, is Rosie's face, with every gentle drop
N Narcissus squeals with laughter, too, and sings a sweet refrain
C Crickets dance, wear plaid berets, and do a Celtic hop!
I In the mud we’ll find two weeds, they flop about a lot!
N Nanny Mum, and Granny Plum , play banjos in the band
G Gardenia's cheeks are white and sleek, she scrubs from end to end
R Rabbits hear the jubilee, and from their holes they pop
A A squirrel or two, come down the tree, where all the fuss began
I In spite of fear, the little mouse, looks out to see what’s up
N Nearby, the cat, just waves his hat, allows the mice some fun!
D Dogs join in, start chasing cats, they splash, and play like kids
R Rainbows fill the evening sky, where now the sun peeks in
O Overhead, the clouds are tinged, in greens, and blues and reds
P Pretty is the world tonight, refreshed, and smelling good
S Softly now the pitter-pat upon on the evening’s hood
________________________
Submitted for PD's Acrostic Contest:7/3/14
This may seem a vacuous subject upon which to muse,
But ain't it amazin' the myriad of hats from which to choose?
Browsin' through the haberdashery or millinery shop in town,
You're bound to find the perfect lid to place upon your crown!
There is everything from snoods to keep the ladies' hair in place,
To fanciful bonnets trimmed with flowers, ribbons and lace.
Even pert veiled chapeaus appropriate for crumpets and tea,
For society dames as they balance cup and saucer on the knee!
For the sportin' bloke there's a selection of deerstalker caps,
And a vast array of domed derbys for the more debonair chaps.
Available for the dapper gentleman is quite a plethora,
Of the ever-popular, colorful and rakish felt fedora!
A cowpoke can select a ten-gallon Stetson to match his boots,
Makin' a fashion statement among his feller galoots.
For summer, the discriminatin' gent can opt for a Panama,
Or choose a flat-topped skimmer or boater made of straw!
Berets are obtainable for guys wishin' a military mien,
And a jaunty Alpine hat is available called a tyrolean.
But classy hats aside, no matter whether lass or lad,
Seems that wearing a baseball cap (backwards) is the latest fad!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(© All Rights Reserved)
A boy King was born in Bethlehem piquing the interest of three very wise guys.
They came from the East guided by a mysterious Star streaming from the skies!
They got a fix on the Star with their GPS and with AAA aid, planned their route,
To make the trek to that unlikely place to see what the hoopla was all about!
They mounted their royal camels named Chrysler, Lincoln and Cadillax.
(Lesser breeds named Chevy, Honda, Kia and VW toted MREs and packs!)
Reservations were made to stay at Oases Embassy Suites along the way,
Ensuring they provided swimming pools and golf courses on which to play!
They took along a generous supply of gold, frankincense and myrrh,
And platoons of Green Berets as guards should any funny stuff occur!
Their route took them o'er mount and vale and through dunes of shifting sand.
Sans their GPS and I-pods they would've become lost in that desolate land!
As they neared Bethlehem, they enquired, "Where is this King of the Jews?"
They were told, "Take a left on Palm Mews, then a right to Holy Mews!
There you'll find Him wrapped in swaddling cloths in a modest shed.
There was no room for Him at Holiday Inn so He was born there instead!"
They paid their respects and presented their gifts as they knelt in adoration.
Learning in a dream of Herod's plan, they high-tailed it East in a new direction!
Herod tried to find where the sweet Babe lay and his innocent life destroy,
But he lived to become King of Kings regardless of Herod's nefarious ploy!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
clad in black berets and boots
all camouflaged with heavy guns
their armoured jeeps in Indian file
like obedient dogs they march along
faces pale from the burning sun
peasants tender, weak and poor
gaze helpless at the peacekeepers:
what begets this act of war?
give them a chance to make their bread
lend them a voice to sing their song
show them love, let them dream
that’s how peacekeeping is done!