Best Canteens Poems
What if..
What if; it wasn't a lockdown forenoon
Mommies whisking to kitchenette
Daddy's out with newspaper headlines
Little cubs denned in their late quilt and wishing no schooling today
Rest world racing themselves to indulge in work deadlines
What if; it wasn't a lockdown noon
Chefs busy preparing victuals to serve in eateries
Office canteens loaded with lunch boxes and gossips
Some heading for evening tales
What if; it wasn't a lockdown evening
Coffee shops buzzing with bud pairs, roasted coffee beans and whiffs of smoke
Peeps roaming and returning their abodes before the dark was deep
Little cubs falling asleep in their study and no Surf, no Netflix
What if; it wasn't a lockdown night
Dinner table would filled with traffic and homework folklore
Bedtime would doubly the fairy's list-
Children wishing for no school tomorrow,
Men for hike up his business,
Women emancipation from irons of household chores and society norms
What if; it wasn't a lockdown
Contemporary would have been so lost in it's own bloods and veins
June month would have brought us fruity summer of 2020
And I would have written a poetry of love and lust
A PEACEFUL ARMY
Special soldiers went to war
Some being not so young.
Enlisted to do their duty,
But would never fire a gun.
They wore a different uniform,
Which displayed a red shield.
This was the Salvation Army
On the lines of each battlefield.
They were a different army,
And often would work alone.
A band of Christian soldiers
In a war they didn't condone.
Wherever war was taking place,
The Salvo's were always there.
Red Shield huts would appear,
With ?hop in' signs of care.
They had mobile canteens
To supply soldiers in need,
With water, tea and bickies,
Welcome refreshments indeed.
In Melbourne they celebrated,
In the year two thousand and one,
A hundred years of cuppas,
Thankful for a work well done.
The Red Shield's still in action,
Helps returned soldiers to adjust.
Continues in social welfare,
A peaceful army all can trust.
Copyright Vivien Wade 2015
At last, a refuge from the wind and sand
Afraid of the posse that was still on their heels
Now they could loose themselves in the badlands
Wondering why they had ever decided to steal
The horses worn down something terrible
Not much left of the beans and the bacon
Canteens almost dry since yesterday morn
Their resolve to be outlaws severely shaken
Now Pete knew the badlands inside out
He'll lead them to water in a hidden place
Here they'll rest up and wait for a spell
For surely they have more trouble to face
So they rode down into its deep canyons
Seeing the tracks of the lion and sheep
Past red rocks and carvings from the past
Now the badlands has one more secret to keep
Growin' up on the Hoosier farm, Mom fixed very simple chuck.
(We'd never heard of pate de fois gras or crispy Peking duck!)
But never mind such sophisticated and fanciful cuisines.
I'd much prefer a steamin' bowl of Mom's cornbread 'n beans!
Ah! The aroma waftin' thro' the house, beans boilin' in the pot!
After a weary day of shuckin' corn, they'd surely hit the spot!
Now along with that, of course, you'd need some turnip greens,
And slabs of homemade butter to flavor the cornbread 'n beans!
Bubbly champagne or splendid wines never graced our board.
(Mom thought such things wicked, an abomination unto the Lord!)
She brewed iced tea, tho', to fill our mason jar canteens,
To wash down that delectable meal of cornbread 'n beans!
Now after such a splendid repast you must have dessert.
Cherry pie and homemade ice cream certainly wouldn't hurt!
I've enjoyed fancy fare at the Ritz and other elegant scenes,
But nothin' will ever compare to dinin' on cornbread 'n beans!
I've sampled fancy eats in London, Casablanca and Rome,
But I really prefer the simple fare that my Mom fixed at home!
I don't mean to disparage a great chef's cuisine by any means,
But my simple tastes are sated with savory cornbread 'n beans!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(© All Rights Reserved
Honorable Mention in Food For Soul Contest May 2010
“Let ‘em loose,” came his bellowing yell,
“I got 3,000 head I gotta to sell,
Goin' 1,000 miles in weather that's hell,
You're all gonna sweat and all gonna smell”-
The boss’s eyes on ten cowboys did lay,
With disdain in his words he smirked to say,
“Keep ‘em cattle rollin', don’t let ‘em stray,
If one ends up missing, you’re all gonna pay,”
They worked hard, like good wranglers would,
Never slowing down, even when they could,
Their sleep was short and their food no good,
At the end the boss said, "they'd misunderstood"-
A man doesn’t work for two months on the trail,
Through dust storms, winds, the rains and the gales,
To be told by his boss “You utterly failed,
and if you complained, he’d put you in jail.”
Most walked away, with no money in hand,
The boss was a cheat, like no other man,
Two stayed behind and took a firm stand,
“Give us our pay!” that's our demand!"
They swallowed hard and filled their canteens,
These two rugged cowboys were tough and lean-
“South Dakota Badlands,” neither had seen,
One of them was thirty, the other nineteen-
“Partner,” the younger one said,
“Don’t know if we should’ve fled-“
The other stared, then shook his head,
Saying, “It was either him or us dead!”
The older one, his chaps he unfurled,
His chew on the ground he spat and hurled-
“An old Indian belief,” he said with lips curled,
“There ain't no death, only a change of worlds,”
No one knows if they made it across,
If they found refuge or if they got lost-
Or with their lives, paid the ultimate costs,
All because they had shot their range boss-
Cowboys at home spun their tale that night,
While eating ‘round the campfire light-
‘bout two heroes who weren’t afraid to fight,
And took out the man who’d done none of them right-
A cowboy named Hank joined wagon trails going west on his horse
He rode the outskirts and back trails of cities in search of a home
He would get a piece of land for growing corn near a river’s source
That would ease his restless soul; put an end to all his groans
He recalled the squalor and filth seen in towns he had passed through
So many miles way back when; he had long since lost count
In his mind his plans stayed fresh; persevere was what to do
At each stop he carved the vision while filling his canteens at the fount
As for one regret-he could not read nor could barely write his name
He would teach himself come evenings, from Grandma’s 'Good Book'
Her legacy, tucked in his saddlebag; dusty, yet, still looked the same
She had raised him on her own when his folks passed on, with all it took
To him, success was the only way he could ever pay Grandma back
Vowed he’d find that land near a river, far from the railway tracks
~*~
For Tirzah Conway's, "A Cowboy is" Contest
we gathered our canteens
while coughing up
tar from the hidden gravel
across high terrain
through the mist of Ankara
teal fabric blew in the.breeze
over burnt orange fragments
torn from my temporal
mangled mind of madness
shifting the gates
of emotional tiredness
we'd waited above ground
as the evening roared
past us again in solitude
miles from Augsburg
I catered to the infamous thunder
beside the housing quarters
beneath the wretchid callings
shattered beyond such graveness
that beckoned our soul's to port here
a silence abode within me
amid the character lessons
followed abroad the cold shoulders
hitler had morbidly left behind
as we walk
pots clink against canteens –
squirrels chatter
Mr and Mrs private first class stationed
in Augsburg 15th battalion
second Calvary division canteens and sea rashins
were being distributed while we had four more
court martials. lined outside of the jag office
after a deferred payment plan failed again
der banke of Munich we settled in the
chaplains office to speak with der Bishop
to discuss baq. barracks and housing quarters
allowance why living on a no payment status
allowance covered wodka Cognac and three
kartens of cigarettes food and clothing
not allowances while preparing the family
to relocate again to Berlin havoc broke out
chaos arose thee Iraqi embassy under attack
der wand was stille covered in graffitii I retrieved
three stones as my chanook arrived it read
apo. new York Kennedy our convoy flew over
Kremlin and the eastern shores
Jill and Lucille are two very hungry slugs
They often dine out at their local garden food hubs.
Lettuce, flowers, fruits, sunflowers and beans
These are a few choices from these veggie canteens.
Some clues are noticed from a gardeners view
Slugs are not clever, they often leave one big clue.
Slime trails are generally very clear to see
When they travel for food that they eat greedily.
Flowers without heads and partially eaten veg
It all looks a mess when a gardeners work has been wrecked.
But hedgehogs love slugs that are plump and juicy
That's when Jill lost her friend, who's nick name was Lucy.
Jill left the garden when her best friend became their snack
Near to a hill, is where she met her new friend Jack.
But as with all stories, they change over time
Snails morphed into humans and birthed the Jack and Jill rhyme.
But that is not the first or last of the Jill and Lucille tales
Many more will be published about their life in the Dales.
These girls will be as famous with modern songs for the young
Feminine nursery rhyme rights will never be outdone.
A cavalryman's day was guided by a series of bugle calls,
The dulcet tones reverberating within the palisade walls.
Wanting to hurl a boot at the bugler for "Reveille" at dawn,
Instead he stumbled from his cot at "Assemble" on the lawn.
Before he had breakfast, the horses must be tended to,
So "Stable Call" was sounded to assemble a working crew.
"Breakfast Call" invited him for coffee, bread and bacon.
"Sick Call" was announced ere daily tasks were undertaken.
"Fatigue Call" called for troops to "police" the parade ground trim,
Then, at "Guard Mount" assignments were made at old sarge's whim.
The dreaded "Drill Call" meant many weary hours in the saddle,
As sergeants berated recruits, trying to keep them astraddle!
At last, "Dinner Call" for a repast of pork bellies and beans,
Then "Water Call" to water the horses and fill empty canteens.
Later called to quarters to ready for "Assemble For Dress Parade,"
They paraded their steeds, in uniform with gleaming saber blade!"
"Supper Call" sounded meaning more pork bellies and beans.
After "Roll Call" they entertained themselves by any means.
After the sun slowly descended in the vast reaches of the west,
Plaintive "Taps" closed the day, bringing to them welcome rest!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(© All Rights Reserved)
The old fashioned monsoons
Meant for the flowers and cacti of Arizona California
And New Mexico
Have fled those deserts and dusty reservoirs
To find a new friend instead in Michigan
Up here in the Great Lakes
We’re not used to summer waterfalls
And sweaty doors
Swollen
Refusing to fit their frames
Stair railings sticky to the grab of hands
Hostas
Soaked and dripping
From late afternoon and overnight rain
Shaking their elephant ears
To the canes of a next-day morning sun
Shimmering to the swab of legendary Bumblebees
Lavender born again
We should fill our canteens with this new paradise
Wait at the edge of our frontier with these gifts
For our brother and sister American migrants
Who will crawl here on their knees
At some point
Or we could build a “great beautiful wall
It’ll cool down”
To keep those parched rapists murderers and deniers out
At least
Until this dusty herd of yesteryear
Moves past us and with us
Up the stairs to Canada
And then it will be we
Who knock on that door
Ajar
To see if we are allowed in
From there?
In a someday soon?
It will be like the Earth’s atmosphere itself
Peeling off into space for the barren moon
Mars or Neptune.
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.
Why do you never come to us
Have we no voice
What is the engine of your distrust
It was not our vice
That ran this country to the ground
And we are only energy left around
Since our interest is tied
To what the merchants crucified
Where will you get tax
And we the wealth and leisure to relax
I say, Mr. President, start again
This road now taken is so vain.
I speak not for elephants and radio host
Whose interests disturb me the most
I speak not for the ulterior will
To change status quo upon the hill
I speak for those who voted
Not for long lines at canteens counter
Empty house sprouted
Like children huddled in a messy corner
I speak for fathers tired
Of policies against the poor
That are in slick philosophies mired
Arguments with an empty core.
Come back to us, let us reason again
For even God doth reason still
With sinners, give us voice to ease our pain
Too much thinking chokes the will
O will you hear us, will you love us
Will you share the burden of the day
By meeting us on the bridge of trust
We have little time, brook no delay
There is nothing to graph or calculate
Here, except rising despair
A cold wind blusters a miserly fate
Need is a voice sodden by tear.
O let us arise, and let us build
The citadel promised upon the hill.
So let's see what the laddies need
To charge the guns and not impede
The rate of fire to cut them down
And body bags to go all 'round.
Let's give then picks and shovels
And blamket rolls to boot,
And heavy rolls of barbed wire
To carry for the shoot.
And fancy spats and bayonets
And canteens and trenching tools,
And gas masks and radios
And spy glasses too.
All crammed into the pit each man,
His name and rank unknown!
How bodily well he was supplied!
The banker's wealth---it doth abide.