Best Flak Poems
Vera Lynn's, "There'll Be Bluebirds Over, The White Cliffs Of Dover",
Keeps streaming through my brain like a wafting zephyr over and over!
'Tis a poignant reminder of sad and cheerless days during World War Two,
Yet, the Cliffs themselves were a beacon of hope when things were looking blue.
What a beautiful sight for weary bomber crews returning from flak-filled skies!
Seeing those venerable Cliffs, thanking God for their safe return with joyous cries!
Brave young men would live another day to carry on the battle with wings of flight;
On the 'morrow some to live, some to die to rid the world of tyranny's blight!
Royal Air Force pilots clashed in battle o'er the Cliffs - so very few, the very brave,
Defending Britain's shores as enemy planes flew from France in wave after wave!
Alas, many forfeited their lives on The Altar of Honor defending precious liberty.
They placed national destiny above their own that their countrymen might live free.
On a clear day the Cliffs could be seen gleaming from across the Dover Straits.
'Twas surely a beacon of hope for those across the sea facing uncertain fates.
They placed their hope in God praying that their comrades from across the way,
Would come to carry the Torch of Freedom to their shores one glorious day!
The magnificent South Foreland Lighthouse above the Cliffs today stands tall,
And brave men lie in hallowed graves awaiting Gabriel's clarion bugle call.
And Vera Lynn's "There'll Be Bluebirds Over, The White Cliffs Of Dover",
Yet streams through my brain like a wafting zephyr over and over and over!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Categories:
flak, wargod, world, day, god,
Form:
Rhyme
The publisher of Roald Dahl’s books
Thought changes should be made
To make the books “inclusive,”
But attention has been paid
With many writers speaking out
To criticize the plan
(Despite the fact that Dahl’s ideas
Made many not a fan).
An example that I read of
Would remove the use of “fat”
If a character was overweight –
Now what’s the use of that?
What they’d substitute, I wonder;
Still, most children are aware
Of dishonesty in writing
As in life, which isn’t fair.
Yet another word replacement
Would be “parent” used instead
Of both “mother” and of “father,”
If one’s gone – divorced or dead.
Or if someone has two mommies
Or two dads, perhaps they mused
That by substituting “parent,”
Kids would not then be confused.
Still, a writer’s words are sacred
And reflective of the times,
Therefore, posthumous replacements
Feel like literary crimes.
Now the publisher’s decided,
After unexpected flak,
There’ll be two competing versions,
Which, to me, seems out of whack.
Categories:
flak, books, change, writing,
Form:
Rhyme
~
There once was a young Brit, Robin Hood,
Plundered bad folks and gave to the good,
He loved armor and knights,
But was quite fond of tights,
And decided to wear them for good ...
Now, sweet Nottingham, taken aback,
For his pantyhose took too much flak,
Thus dressed like a fairy,
With men, far too merry,
And not near enough gold ... in his sack.
~
~ 5th Place ~ in the "A Limerick, Old Or New: Your Personal Favorite" Poetry Contest, Andrea Dietrich, Judge & Sponsor.
~ 1st Place ~ in the "Limerick 3" Poetry Contest, Joseph May, Judge & Sponsor.
(Syllable count = 9,9,6,6,9 x 2, counted @ HowManySyllables.com)
Categories:
flak, analogy, funny, history, humor,
Form:
Limerick
Bagels have holes in, my garden has moles in
Some teeth have gold in and some text has bold in
Teeth, moles and text is a song no one sings
But holes must be some of my favourite things
Donuts have holes in, the ocean has shoals in
I’ve got a door that is letting the cold in
Seas, fish and doors to my life no joy brings
But holes must be some of my favourite things
Swiss cheese has holes in, a toy box has dolls in
It seems my TikTok has got many trolls in
Tik Tok, trolls and dolls do not give me wings
But holes must be some of my favourite things
When I get dirt
On a new shirt
Or when I’ve been had
I think about holes and the joy each one brings
And then I know I’m……. not mad
My hand was unhurried, I typed this unworried
Had I been fearful, I might well have scurried
But I shall accept any flak that it brings
When I say that holes are my favourite things
I secretly hope that I’ve driven you nutty
You only read this cos it might be smutty
Yet sometimes a writer has tongue-in-cheek goals
But I truly love to suck mints that have holes
I call them Polos; you call them Lifesavers
Mints that have holes in and candies; five flavours
When I feel nervous or fear what life brings
Those holes must be one of my favourite things
When I get dirt
On a new shirt
Or when I’ve been had
I think about holes and the joy each one brings
And then I know I’m……..
…………..
Not mad!
Categories:
flak, parody, song,
Form:
Rhyme
In the witness box
pathologist Cox
a seasoned witness quick on the draw
the lawyer, no rookie
a rather tough cookie
with a weak defense was clutching at straw
As a last resort:
"Your post-mortem report
shows the deceased resisted attack."
"Surprisingly, M'Lord
he looked rather bored
and certainly gave me no flak.
"His eyes were closed
he pretended to doze
or already in Dead People's Land."
As laughter erupted
the judge interrupted
amused, he held up his hand:
"Devoid of breath
he still feigned death
you must have freaked him with scalpel in hand
for due corroboration
and a full explanation
should not we call the corpse to the stand?"
Categories:
flak, funny,
Form:
Rhyme
Somewhere over Europe
A B-17 flies
Strafed and damaged
In her enemies skies
The flak has taken
Its toll on the plane
This crew so brave
In this theatre of war campaign
Many hours have passed
With no sight of the channel
Only land ahead
Is it our instrument panel
A shout is heard from the rear of the plane
A Messerschmitt ME-109, beside us flies
We are sitting targets for another kill
The pilot turns his head, as i look into his eyes
He is making a gesture
For us to turn 180 degrees
Do we believe our enemy
But we eventually agree
He continues to fly
Like an escort of question
Were we right to agree
His degree of suggestion
For up ahead we see
The glint of blue water
Our horizon of hope
Are we saved from slaughter
Moments later
As i turn my head again
A wave from the German
As he banks his fighter plane
We are now well over the channel
As we sight the white cliffs of Dover
Our B-17 in struggle
This mission near over
On the runway at Kimbolton
The fire crews stand ready
Will our plane take the landing
Is our undercarriage steady
Touch down we make
As we talk of our flight back
About the German fighter pilot
Who refused to attack
It is now many years later
For we were lucky, we grew old
As we assembled on anniversary
Our story could now be told
For he had kept it his secret
But now we have to say
Franz Stigler and his German fighter
Is why we are before you today
He was scrambled to intercept
The enemy that we were then
When he arrived we awaited
The fate of us men
When he viewed our plane
He couldn't believe his eyes
Why something so shot up
Still flew in his skies
When he returned to base
In his reports he states
It went down over the sea
And sealed our fate
After all these years
I am so happy we have met
We have lived many years
While our lost colleagues have slept
I thank you Sir
For sparing the lives of my crew
As we stand together for peace
We salute you
This is a true story from WWII, written by request for Sara Kendrick,
who loves to challenge me, and i thank Sara kindly for the opportunity
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/war-6.php
Categories:
flak, anniversary, friendship, history, life,
Form:
Rhyme
Gawd! I awoke this morning wondering what I'm doing in this miserable place!
I thought the oath I took was to defend America's shores, not a foreign race!
The French made a mess and ran, now, America has to straighten things out.
It's a civil war and personally I don't give a damn what the politicians tout!
The president and his minions are making millions off my miserable back,
While I wade through these gawd-forsaken paddies dodging shells and flak!
Maybe I should've gone to Canada but I would have let my father down,
Who fought in another war and returned with honor to his hometown.
Colonels and generals sit on their butts in Saigon adding medals to their collection,
Enjoying air conditioning, steak, ice cream and the finest whiskey selection.
I dine on C-rations, get a shower once a month and a warm beer now and then.
I hear the screams of wounded buddies and weep at the agony of dying men.
I hear back home that peaceniks call us baby killers and spit on returning heroes!
If I ever get back home and that happens to me, I'll punch the SOBs in the nose!
Nams don't appreciate what we're doing and its a shame our people have to die,
While a lot of their young guys avoid the gore of war hoping it'll pass them by.
As I sit here in this filthy foxhole with water up to my knees, I fervently pray,
I can make it through my tour without a scratch and get home to a better day.
Will America ever learn from history and stay out of other people's wars,
And learn from the futility of war while the loss of our blood and treasure soars?
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF
© All Rights Reserved
Honorable Mention in Miranda Lambert's "World of War: Vietnam" Contest
Apr 2011
Categories:
flak, warwar, home, america, home,
Form:
Rhyme
A blooper of yours
Is a lesson for others
Be careful when people say they are with you
People are of good and bad, what are you?
It's easy to say "I am a good" but within who are you?
Remember, human will always be human
Perfection is for only MAN
Human are element
Within a minute conversation can lost
But count it as a Benedicite
Every outward has a limit
Secrets are not to broadcast
Action also do have a limit
Those that seem to be friends
Might not be friends
Battalions of soldier laid siege for you to fall
Prepare yourself very well, you must not fall
Be human in your speech
Be a dove------a bridge of peace
Please feel free to criticize to this, I need a flak critique.
Thanks
Categories:
flak, abuse, addiction, adventure, allegory,
Form:
"You will miss the best thing if you keep your eyes shut"
TIME passes a pleasant soft waft,
Seems to be slow but not,
it fast as a mega aircraft.
The GLOBE gyrates like a wheel, however it's not,
Event and people within are metamorphosis.
Some generations have come and gone, now ours,
We are the new changing of clothes
Time forever survives.
Our journey here in life is for a while, in fact,
You almost reach your end, just a wee minute.
Yes, you have heard the fact.
But note; have you ever count
your years, how far have you grown? Perhaps
You may forecast what times it remains
For you and can you live long
Till you double your present age?
We all pray to live long,
While SHE and TIME the enemy laid siege.
Her love for you is lust,
Just to wear as cloth, but
something within you can never
Die if you plan to use it wise. Have you ever
Think or plan how to maintain
And protect you name?
Billions of men and women
Have come and gone without heard of them.
Have you ever anticipate how the Globe
Will see you as an eye?
There are a lot of great men and women
in history which their names are ringing from then
Till now like Maya Angelou, shel Sliversterin,
Emily Dickinson, Waft Whitman,
Williem Shakespere, Ben Jonson,
Robert Frost, etc. Name is a sky that is without an
End if it's being used perfect
If not, it's like a fire ablaze and then retreat
The sun that glows symbolized your present
Reflect to the moon that shines at night
Symbolized when you are defunct
If you use your name wise and perfect.
Please feel free to criticize to this, I need a flak critique. Thanks
Categories:
flak, addiction, adventure, age, allegory,
Form:
Rhyme
3.28 parsec out
We’re making an impromptu flight change
Windstar is gonna have to make
a low-grav burn and turn
towards the Big Rocky asteroid belt border
It’s a risky nav maneuver for sure,
but every space outlaw has faced that situation before
We got pesky corporate police on our tail,
time to power down, run silent on dual trilitium cells
Pai-du Jerah
I’m the drawn short-straw captain of this motley crew,
they respect me with a razor edge
I’ve sacrificed my life a time or two for them,
I get the necessary begrudge ... but no flak,
when I tell them what we gotta do
My number one right hand is a woman
I wouldn’t look too hard at her, pal,
if you know what’s best for your health
Vydrikia, she’s a long purple-haired, gen-eng vixen,
with tripwire anger issues
She smiles dismissively at me,
as she unstraps her NB (nuke blast) pulse gun
Says the next time I mess with her,
she just might not have it set on stun
I know the crew is prickly raw, that they want a little r & r ...
but we’ve got an interstellar new gov hush-hush delivery to make
And this nasty job, we gotta see it through —
if we wanna get paid that five zil Galaxian credit
Don’t wanna hear none of that mission impossible talk
Our motto is:
Evade or pear starjuice cajole
Be prepared for any planetary orbital patrol
We’re space outlaws
When we drop out of hyperspace —
whatever you do,
vigilante solar citizens ...
don’t get in our way!
That’s one reward that ain’t worth dying for
We wear both hats;
sometimes we’re the good guys,
sometimes we’re on the other side
It depends on what the pay is,
depends on what the fight is too
Some say we ain’t nothing but paid mercs
When swiping the untraceable credit disk,
we love giving the mean smirks
We can be your best friend,
we can be your worst enemy
But oft times, we’re in the middle somewhere
Space outlaws don’t much care
Categories:
flak, adventure, science fiction, space,
Form:
Free verse
There were many unsavory jobs during the Second World War.
Some required guys to hunker down just a wee bit more!
None more so than "Tail-end Charlie" in the back of that old queen,
Known affectionately as the Flying Fortress, the B-Seven-teen!
Usually the smallest member of the ten-man bomber crew,
He was probably the most vulnerable target that ever flew!
Isolated in the tail end, genuflecting on his knees;
An appropriate position, imploring God with his fervent pleas!
Awakened from his reverie to face a day in the terror-filled sky,
Today's mission over the fatherland, nearly six miles high!
A Messerschmitt slides in to attack directly out of the sun;
"Charlie" sends him to eternity with a short burst from his gun!
Flak and shell around him would whistle, zing and hiss.
In his training days he was told there'd be thrilling days like this!
Nearly freezing, tho' he wore a bulky heated flying suit,
Ever alert, watching his six-o'clock for that enemy pursuit!
Jaunty but brave, this warrior winging thro' God's celestial dome,
Praying that he can fly his twenty-five missions and get safely home.
A grateful nation bestowing awards for laurels won upon his breast,
Home to his beloved America for a well-deserved rest!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(© All Rights Reserved)
Categories:
flak, warflying,
Form:
Rhyme
The Southern Cross’ trajectory across
the night sky marks the hours that come to pass.
Her prone figure no longer an hourglass;
by the silvery light of Phoebe’s* gloss.
I cling to the edge of the bed, toss
and turn—my reminiscing turns to farce.
Hebe† has long since fled and passion is sparse.
As inscriptions on wedding rings embossed:
‘May our love last forever and a day.’
Eos, turn me into a cicada black!‡
Unlike lovesick Orpheus,** I’m not fey
and I would definitely not turn back
for another round of intimate play.
As lover, she had given me the sack!
I endure constant flak
from my mates down at the pub over pint
that I’m in a terrific moral bind;
inspiration is slack.
If only we could turn back aging clock:
Oh, Selene,†† you might espy lovers who flock
to her bed and lose track.
Categories:
flak, mythology, romance,
Form:
Sonnet
A contest of word lists - the subject of winter
Make up a good poem - then send to the printer
But nothing says nothing 'bout giving a twist
By splitting and sageing - might get a slapped wrist
Digging for riches but finding a fossil
Verbosely scream curses and break the left tonsil
Brand Google spelt badly - the word is googol
Do wordsmith pedantics abuse alcohol
Outdoor camp fires all start from a spark
Lingering light ships on oceans of dark
Political, cynical, critical flak
Essentially yakity yak-yak yak-yak
Key "here key" right here into Google translate
Gives French "ici clé" phrase - without a mistake
Out of date foodstuff upsets the midriff
Tsunami of turd quakes - unwise to sniff sniff
Bumblebees, hornets, the much hated wasp
Adequate hostiles - so don't make them cross
So maybe this verse neither winter nor cold
The task has been questioned, the poetry's holed
But maybe this contest's not held by hijackers
Print out the rhyme pairs for jokes Christmas crackers
Entry for "a winter poem" contest - uses words (sort of): silver, gold, sparkling, flakes, icicles, drifts, spades - 30th November 2016
Categories:
flak, funny, humor, humorous, word
Form:
Verse
Let me tell you about a bold and brave man
he no doubt took the Fatherland by storm
his mighty Afrika Corps never broke form
North Africa The Desert Fox made his stand
chorus
the Fox could never be caught
guts and glory is what he sought
The Field Marshall was loyal to the end
his honor we must defend
He was the Fuhrers favorite general
outwitted Mongomery at every turn
the Flak 88 made British armor burn
from Tripoli to Tobruk the Panzers roll
chorus
short on supplies victory after victory was won
in retreat this mans brilliance was shown
at Kasserine pass allied advance was blown
he fell ill before the job could be done
chorus
fought valiantly in the Normandy attack
now critically wounded in an air raid
falsely accused as traitor the ultimate price was paid
Speidel and Stauffenberg courage they lack
chorus
he's forever linked to the yellow stain
scam implicating for post war power
Field Marshall Rommel would never betray at zero hour
this man was loyal no matter the pride and pain
chorus(2)
Categories:
flak, history,
Form:
Lyric
Start
I’m sure you’ve heard his name before
From stories of knights in days of yore
Born in village La Mancha in Spain
Was enthralled of knights, he chose to feign
After resurrection, to America he came
In search of adventures and fame
As legend goes, every knight must have a lady- love
To bestow his “victories” to her as it behoove
He chose Princess Melania as the apple of his eye
And began his quest with her name as the battle-cry
He persuaded a ‘Sancho’ to be his faithful squire
With promise of an island to govern as his gift to aspire
Obsessed by the chivalrous deeds of knights he read
He decided to ride a horse which was almost dead
In search of the helpless to defend and the wicked to punish
He began his knighthood with a resolve to fight to the finish
He soon discovered that times have changed
There weren’t any country sides where Kings reigned
Nor castles to conquer or giants to attack
His weird armor and battle cries only drew flak
Nevertheless, he charged at a parked garbage truck
Struck it with his lance using all his pluck
Construing it to be an enemy out to destroy him
But, he fell to the ground with a broken limb
Bruised and battered, Sancho helped him up
Took him to a hospital for a thorough checkup
The doctors patched him up and examined his head
Found its content deficient, but permitted him to go ahead
Resuming his journey he saw a kitten hidden in a bush
“Let’s grope for the pussy,” he yelled at his horse with a push
The horse galloped fast but stumbled as it fell
The kitten got panicky and fled like hell
It’s enough for the day, felt the Don and returned to his lady love
He took a ‘selfie’ with her sitting on the statue of a dove
He knelt before her and said, “Here are my trophies for you”
Presented the broken lance and smashed helmet, before bidding her adieu.
End
Categories:
flak, humor,
Form:
Rhyme