Best Bugle Poems
I hear the clarion bugle calls at Fort Carson when conditions are just right,
Sounding "Reveille" at break of dawn to the mournful sound of "Taps" at night!
"Reveille" 'wakes soldiers from their well-deserved rest to begin another day
Of training to protect our freedoms, though they do it for very meager pay!
The bugle sounds "Chow Call" at noon for lunch, the most welcome of calls!
The dining facilities peal with laughter, Yankee twang and Texas drawls!
The bugle calls "Retreat" and the roar of cannon is heard to end the day.
Old Glory is slowly lowered, solemnly folded and tenderly stowed away.
The plaintive sound of "Taps" is played at ten PM echoing as clearly as a bell!
Its peaceful call heralds, "You've earned your rest, God is nigh and all is well!"
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Categories:
bugle, nostalgia, sound, sound,
Form:
Couplet
I said, "Son, you look too young
To wear that uniform.
You ought to be home with your ma,
There, by the fireside warm.
"That bugle hanging 'round your neck,
You sure can blow it fine,
But you'd be home, singing in the choir
Were you a boy of mine."
The bugle boy's blue eyes flashed fire;
His freckled face blushed red.
He slowly shuffled his booted feet
And cleared his throat, and said,
"I guess I'm older than I look.
I'm kind o' thin and lean,
But I'm not "son" by a damn long site!
I'm goin' on fifteen.
"My ma, she died when I was born;
The Rebs, they killed my pa,
On a battle field called Prairie Grove,
Out west, in Arkansas.
"One brother died at Chancellorsville.
He got in a cannon's way.
Another was lost at Gettysburg,
In Pickett's Charge, they say.
"Well, that leaves only two of us--
Just me and brother Phil.
He's with the troops on the forward line,
In the woods, just down the hill.
"They don't let me tote a rifle;
Guess I don't shoot so well.
But I can sound a bugle call
That'd send a charge through hell."
The bugler's story ended there.
No time for more to tell,
For, the midday quiet was shattered
By that awful rebel yell.
The cold air rang with musket fire
And cannon, from both sides.
Soon the sparkling snow was crimson stained
Where the fallen bled and died.
The blue line held; the Rebel thrust
Was slowly turned away.
Now the boy was told to sound the charge
In the fading light of day.
The blackness of the winter night
Brought fighting to an end.
The moaning of departing souls
Mounted up the wailing wind.
The bury detail found the boy,
On their grim, morning beat,
The bugle grasped in his frozen hand,
He had never blown retreat.
"Why, sonny, you look peaceful there
In that blue uniform.
I guess you're home, now, with your ma,
There, by the fireside warm."
Categories:
bugle, death, history, people, social,
Form:
A slight mist of fog is caught in the act of being by the light of the early morning
sun. Sometime during the dark of night it crept along from whence it came to the base of
the hundreds of cabbage palms spread out over the acreage of the brown grassy pastures across the county road where we reside. It slowly lifts
and dissipates as the earth turns her face to the ancient sun.
The new morn shows the Spanish moss dripping from grandfather Oaks and any other
trees close enough to share their hanging tattered ponchos of silvery moss.
This new light of 1/o1/11 reveals a faded blue sky with wisps of Cirrus clouds
forming above our little pond. Turtles raise their heads from the protection of their
shells to watch the flock of Sand hill Cranes flying to their planned feeding destinations
for this glorious day. A family of three land by the big pond across the road and begin
their long legged, leisurely patient hunt for the present day’s vittles. The rest of the
flock separates and all call to each other from different locations as they settle in for
the day as if to let each family know where they are and to reinforce that though they are
separated by distance: they are still of one flock and together.
This evening of 1/o1/11 these huge majestic birds will call each other back together
with loud raucous voices into one flock and parade back over and around our little house,
palms, palmettos and pastures in a grand and glorious flight, announcing their strength of
togetherness with the triumphant sounds of their staccato bugling for all of nature to
stand in awe of. And as part of this nature: I do. And it lifts me in faith, hope and
wonder of God and His creation.
Let this little message be our bugle call to you all. Happy New Year everyone, from
your fellow Humans in the natural wonderland of Okeechobee, Florida. God bless us all!
Categories:
bugle, familygod, family, light, family,
Form:
Free verse
go, blow the bugle,
a monkey-eating eagle
just snatched our beagle !
Categories:
bugle, adventure, animals, nature,
Form:
Haiku
Bugle boy,
little boy blew
A lot of white noise
have got many red necks
following you
That horn of consternation
wails loud and angry
Those temper tantrum toots
dead air cryo empty
Bugle boy,
little boy blue
Your scarlet letter tone
has got the murmuring crowd
idolizing you
Porcelain notes blown vex indiscreet,
wax smoke signal coldly
Pigeon drop carrier pox
gets Oval puffery sent by a trill tweet
Bugle boy,
little boy blew
Play the dirge Taps for democracy,
as a jingo strident blare
deafly accrue
Moody move the retrograde ears
with vacuum suction ease
Orchestrate billowy primal fears
on a nether octave breeze
Bugle boy,
a portrait of scorn
paints your little horn blue
Bugle boy,
so indigo dark is the sound
spreading ‘cross the pestilent plain
Fallow be yore golden amber grain,
as rasp bury berate pain
drips hollow noise of purple reign —
Void lips echoes disdain
Bugle boy,
little boy blew
A hateful horn of pulse penury
has cast hope askew
Bugle boy,
little boy blew
Seeds of doubt
upon the dying winds of liberty
Categories:
bugle, allegory, perspective, sound, word
Form:
Ode
Toy Ukele not a Bellowing Bugle
What it certainly surely seemed like to me
Trump thinks he's a character cute as can be
And if of him you had a herd or battalion
Probably would appear as if a rapscallion.
Only thing to do that he feels compelling
Is, of course, the truth never be telling
Also latest thing all of us recently found
He enjoys bouncing big numbers around.
What will he want to please us with today?
Completely ridiculous what all he did say
Heard something about him that was swell
Bible he brought with him is from his hotel.
Then we really liked at him with a scowl
When all he wore was a Trump Hotel towel
And from of course we knew where it came
In many places bright towel bore his name.
He even had brought us towels by the batch
And just like his fair hair they all did match
Also we could tell he had been being frugal
Bought toy ukulele with him instead of bugle.
We were told that wherever he would go
He was sure to put on a really big show
What we wish he would have done instead
Be lead by Ed Sullivan but he is now dead.
Ho Ho.
Jim Horn
Categories:
bugle, humorous, , cute,
Form:
Couplet
Reveille called to the sound of a bugle
The regiment called to duty
The soldiers rally to the call
Its Politian’s that make the call
And pick the tune to bugle
Thier morals you're duty
A soldier as no choice but duty
And must answer the Politian’s call
And die at the call of the bugle
The mournful bugle called you to duty , and you answered the grim reapers call .
24/02/2019
Categories:
bugle, war,
Form:
Tritina
Each day remains a struggle, through the chaos in his mind
A simple thank you goes a long way, towards possibly helping him find
His place among the living, when all he knows is war
It's changed him way down deep, some say even to his core
He struggles with his purpose, contemplates on his self worth
Sometimes wonders why he made it home, while so many more deserved
Lost his best friend he met in training camp, had to leave his wife behind
Came home to an empty house one day, the Dear John letter still reminds
When you hear Taps on a bugle, another hero's earned his wings
We can argue about the right or wrong, but what good will it bring
Leaving grief and loss and misery, and another family torn
He walked through deaths shadowed valley, yet went headfirst towards the storm
There goes a fallen soldier, but he didn't die alone
Like the millions gone before him, they'll welcome him on home
Knows he didn't die in vain, cause freedom was the cost
They'll always be remembered, and we'll always struggle with the loss
So give thanks to all the soldiers, as you go and wave your signs
But disrespect the flag they died for, and we won't take it kind
Someone has lost a son, a husband or a dad, a very special person, they never can get back
Respect the fallen soldier
Categories:
bugle, patriotic,
Form:
A long the shore back in
1942 met her there,
she was just talking
with some of her
friends, asked her
to go for a walk,
coming from this
dance hall was the
tune, Boogie, Woogie,
Bugle Boy,
we went inside,
to dance to it,
later we went
and had a coke
at the corner drug store,
she was a swell
girl, it was a
night ,never to forget,
got her address,
said would
write her,
never did, as
I lost it,
wonder what ever
happened to that
Boogie, Woogie,
Bugle Boy, Girl ?
wrote 8-11-08
Categories:
bugle, adventure, imagination
Form:
Free verse
We found ourselves being quite frugal;
Hired priest who played a blaring bugle;
To our alarm;
Had no charm;
Hearing his sermon had been brutal.
With all of the donuts would finagle;
She wanted one covered with maple;
Sorted through;
Did see view;
Not any so I brought her a bagel.
Categories:
bugle, allegory, analogy,
Form:
Limerick
My ancestors were Vikings and,
Their blood runs thru my veins.
They follow me in this life as,
I am a present day warrior.
I have a dream where I was a shield,
Maiden and fought with my father,
Brothers and sister shield maidens.
I am guided by Odin.
Odin bugle calls me to war.
He has visons and dreams that,
Shows us the future.
The future is Valhalla.
When we die an honorable death,
We are taken in the arms of the,
Valkyrie to our paradise, Odin's great hall,
In Valhalla, or the the chosen to fight.
We dream of where our spirits,
Become one with the love of Odin.
We praise of Odin and he shows us a,
Life that is better in Valhalla.
Categories:
bugle, death, destiny, fantasy, inspiration,
Form:
Free verse
little boy bugle come blow your horn
the sheep are in the coffee, they need shaved and shorn
Don’t you mean little boy blue? I asked my friend, Mrs. McDorn.
I don’t shave people she said, giving me a glare of scorn.
Categories:
bugle, 1st grade, 2nd grade,
Form:
Monorhyme
Regardless the battlefield,
one fight rages on
Regardless the outcome
—a warriors song
Regardless the politics,
the brave fight and die
Regardless the questioner
—blood telling no lies
(Villanova Pennsylvania: June, 2016)
Categories:
bugle, war,
Form:
Rhyme
A lone bugle wept as it wrapped
its plaintive message ‘round her heart
Why relentless drumbeats for another
raised hope anew for her brother
Is not ours to fathom unless
we close our eyes to death
Categories:
bugle, emotions, funeral, music, psychological,
Form:
Couplet