Best Gunny Poems
Blue-checkered curtains are faded and drawn,..
after the years since she made them from gunny-sack cloth
The Singer, long idle, now gathers more dust,
with its needle still threaded and the treadle at rest
As I clear out the room, I think of long hours
of foot-peddled power, and strength in her soul.
She would unroll the fabric of roses and flowers,
with determined resilience in dark circled eyes.
But prudence, endurance, would salvage a way
Abandoned and left in a sea of lost dreams
She picked up the pieces, of patterns and hems
Making a living, and raising her kin,
didn't come easy, but she had to win
A life left unraveled, she must sew up again.
Working past midnight. Spindles would spin. Somehow rekindled
to live once again.
Making ends meet. Selvedge edges and hems
Sowing her heart, sowing her skill, and sowing her soul
Sewn together again
______________________________________________________
4/20/18
Ambling thro' the museum today an object caught my eye,
Inviting me to pause and reminisce about a time gone by.
'Twas an old oaken icebox standing there on display.
That ancient relic served as the family refrigerator in its day.
I recollected that we had one like it when I was a tyke,
Growing up on the Hoosier farm on fabled Farmer's Pike.
It cooled the milk and cream and butter that Mom made,
To spread on fresh-baked bread with a tad of marmalade!
What a refreshing sight on a sweltering summer's day,
To see the iceman's truck slowly meandering our way,
Along Farmer's Pike, crystal-clear ice stacked on the truck,
And anticipating a sliver of ice to chomp on and suck!
Mom put a card in the window to show the amount of ice required.
The iceman took note of this and delivered the ice desired.
He'd carry a hundred-pound block of ice on his burly back,
As nonchalantly as if toting feathers in a gunny sack!
Iceboxes served their purpose and in museums they now repose.
Once in awhile you'll find them at flea-markets and antique shows.
Fancy refrigerators now cool the grub and make the ice.
The iceman's logo I yet recall, "Iceman's Ice Is Twice As Nice!"
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(© All Rights Reserved)
Tropical quadra plateau, Amazing bright sunny,
Glided waterfall Carrying happiness in their gunny.
Long nodding flower's joyously plumed,
Everbody waving happily, the herald bloomed.
Eureka, I love this heaven on earth!
Hazy perished hills, houses trenching at the outskirts,
Swaning over to the fluctuating peak of mountains, roosted with struts.
Orchid waftured, Clinging on to the cluster of flowers,
Precipitated rain was about to shower.
Gosh, it Stimulated my soul!
King of beast, sucking the sweet tempting fragranced juices,
Solitary alienate species including Honey bees mused badly abuses.
Fluttered wings, Struggling with them, Leisurely travelling my journey.
Fitnessed physically as if I am in an defensing army.
Situation turned to be horribly muddle,
Tremendously, I wanted to sort and excitedly cuddle!
Proud to have an Airfoiled wings of mine,
Antennate feature you prissily shine.
Rainbowis passion lying inside me,
Resourcefully mingled with music and dance, happening besides me.
Whoa,People got entranced!
People jeopardize the innate beauty,
Relishingly wanna do my duty.
Actuating my arms, Ventured to fly high.
Intended inspiration wanted to reach the sky.
Weaving the web spiderman thirstily trying me to catch.
Escaping from them I ran, prevented myself from getting snatched.
Ohhh,They had a Hostile faction accord!
Nature's beauty aspiringly propelled me.
Blowing wind, tactily sensisizing my skin,
Blushing cheeks, spilled the bean.
Nocturnal creatures will wake in the dark,
Aerophilically dangling around the shruby bed,before they bark
Stopping by sayonara, continuing my next stigmatic destiny!
By Madhavi
Old tin roof, plastered adobe walls that were melting
Two big Cottonwood trees, junk cars in the back
Cracked concrete floor, covered with oil and grease
Mexican kids running in and out, playing and screaming
Couple of water jugs, covered with gunny sack
In all of this was some sort of peace
Joes Montes was the owner, we just called him Joe
Joe spoke good broken English, had a little accent
Talked a lot with his hands, pointing at this and that
Did not advertise, everyone knew Old Joe
Been there for years, did not pay any rent
Always wore a greasy cap, never wore a hat
Farmers up and down the valley swore by Joe
When a tractor was down, they knew who to call
Jump in his old truck and he was there
Been known to use bailing wire, he would make them go
Cotton pickers to a hale bailer, he worked on them all
Never charged much, was always fair
Adobe wall have melted, Joe has passed away
In that old shop where a lot of memories were made
No telling how many tractors Joe made run
Tractors now have computers, not in Joe's day
The Cottonwood trees make no more shade
Joe was a tractor fixing son of a gun
Found alone and scared on the streets of LA
A kill shelter is where she would stay
Sitting alone and cold in the dark
Nobody around to hear her bark
Until Jolene came to save the day
A nice rescue is where she would now stay
Villalobos Rescue put her on TV
Two years later, Louise brought her to me
Syndee Lou now sleeps in a warm cozy bed
All the bad memories are now gone from her head
I love her because she is cute, smart and funny
She likes to play ball with my other dog Gunny
Pit bulls have gotten such bad raps
All my dogs do is lick and take naps
Puppies are cute, but training's not fun
Getting a rescue dog is the best thing I've done
By: Josh Albertson
7th grade
Mrs McMurry
< once was an cuckoo bird named Sonny
tagging along gramps as first gunny
shooting up cereal bowls
with dark puffs @@@ nice ~ and ~ slow
Oh how trix rabbit did so runny
Entry For Poets Destroyer 's
Your Favorite Cereal Limerick
GL All
Born here girl, I swear I’m never coming back,
Too light town got lost beside a railroad track,
Rhythm of the rails inside my gunny sack,
There may be no cure for what it is I lack,
Promises to be my nymphomaniac,
Sugar pills can’t cure the pain of lumberjack,
And I’m gone, Whoo Hooooo, so gone!
Whoo Hooooo, no tears, Whoo Hooooo!
Where I’m going girl you cannot come along,
Barely have the room for even Country song,
Never really meant to ever treat you wrong,
Though this may seem mean I ain’t no Vietcong,
Trying hard to never be your enemy,
Truth just isn’t always what we want to see,
And I’m gone, Whoo Hooooo, so gone!
Whoo Hooooo, no tears, Whoo Hooooo!
Trains just keep on rollin’ don’t care what they do,
Following steel ribbons till the day is thru,
Hope I can do better choosing my guru,
Life can sometimes steer us down wrong avenue,
Still a song could be the way to set things right,
Music that comes on to me without a fight,
And I’m gone, Whoo Hooooo, so gone!
Whoo Hooooo, no tears, Whoo Hooooo!
Homeless boy just singing what he feels inside,
I ain’t asking no one to give me a ride,
Not too proud to make use of a coming tide,
Don’t give a rat’s ass for life that’s amplified,
No need to extoll a lie that’s right for you,
Caring for my own is all I need to do,
And I’m gone, Whoo Hooooo, so gone!
Whoo Hooooo, no tears, Whoo Hooooo!
Brian Johnston
June 5, 2015
His name was John Manty,
Who hailed from a shanty
A shanty where slums;
Were not at all scanty.
He had a big dream,
Every day he used to scream
He was singing a nice song like;
Neapolitan ice cream…!!!
He wanted to be a star,
And drive his own car
One day at the bar;
He heard of “super star”.
He went for the audition,
Of the " super star" competition
He won it and then became;
A rich and pop musician.
He earned alot of money,
And spent on things so funny
When debtors came for money;
he hid himself under the gunny!
He could not pay his rent,
And he had not even a cent
He gave the key to the owner;
And to his shanty off he went......
"How can I go back to the shanty"?,
Wondered ex-star poor John Manty
He jumped from the Great old bridge;
And that ends the story of Manty.......!!!
Look at this new rear gunny,
his uniform sure fits funny
Are your sure, he’s one of us?
Put him at the back of the sub,
six decks below
Begging your pardon, Admiral,
that is where
she was assigned to go
Gunny has
top merit of her class
Torpedo ordinance expertise,
pure marksman target release
But I don’t like
the salute of his hand
It don’t look navy masculine
I care not for his name:
Natasha is Russian feminine
Gunny Mad Dog Maddux
We were hanging out at 3rd Marine Air Wing
And we knew we had it good
No bloused boot, always soft cover
No marching and plenty of food.
Then Headquarters in its wisdom
Threw a shark into our pool.
One look at our new Gunny
And we knew this Marine was no fool.
Gunny Mad Dog Maddux was his name
Came to us from the MPs,
But he let us know right off the bat
That he wasn't there to please.
Hair bristle black with white sidewalls,
Tall and straight he stood.
And he said when we thought we couldn't
He knew d**n well that we could.
Said it didn't matter the job
Or what our training stood for
We owed it to ourselves to do
Our best for God, Country and Corps.
But more than that, said Mad Dog
You have a duty to get it right.
Because getting it wrong might mean the life
Of the Marine on your left and your right.
It's been fifty some years and then some
Since Gunny Mad Dog came our way.
But I doubt if any of us
Have ever forgotten that day.
It was right what he taught us then,
And living it has opened many a door.
"You've got a duty to get it right,
Do your best for God, Country and Corps."
So here's a toast to our Gunny Mad Dog
Gone now for many a year and more,
You had a duty, you got it right,
For God, for Country, for Corps.
by E. Marshall Evans
A barefoot boy on an old dirt road
Kicking dust up as he went
His lips all puckered, whistling a tune
He was happy and content
He carried a bucket by the bail
Had a cane pole on his back
And under his arm, all wrapped up tight
Was a burlap gunny sack
“Where are you going with all that stuff?”
I asked as he skipped on by
“I’m headed down to the Jack-Knife Creek
To catch Crawdads for a pie”
His day began with "Reveille" blaring from within the bowels of the ship.
Sergeants yelled, "Up and at 'em lads! We're takin' a little trip!"
He wearily arose from his bunk to don the accoutrements of war.
He'd survived Guadalcanal, now he faced Iwo Jima's fearsome shore.
They fed him steak and eggs - rookies joked that it may be their final meal.
But the battle-weary Marine was very grim - to him it seemed so surreal.
The chaplain gathered them around and offered a fervent prayer,
Pleading for God's protection and committing them to His care.
The grizzled old "Gunny" yelled, "First platoon over the side!"
"Down those lovely cargo nets, boys! Semper Fi!" he cried!
Bobbing Higgins boats waited below to take him to that perilous strand.
The engines roared as the boat wallowed and rolled t'ward that ebon sand!
He hunkered down with the others, his helmet beating upon his nose.
Others used their helmets to receive bits of breakfast as the boat sank and rose!
Adding to the din of battle so familiar to his ears were shells flying overhead.
As his boat with its precious cargo neared the beach it was hit by zinging lead!
The boat struck a coral reef so they had to wade in water up to their hips.
He struggled with his heavy pack and rifle with a prayer upon his lips.
Brave men fell under withering fire that day as they tried to force a breach.
Brave men forever lost their innocence that day on that hallowed beach!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(© All Rights Reserved)
Alas, we've elected bozos on both sides to again guide the nation!
(Some folks are sobbing in their ale, others are filled with jubilation!)
To rid this great nation of such knaves, here is what I would propose:
Elect retired noncoms who are well qualified to lead, heaven knows!
Noncoms are known for their integrity and by the way, lead from the front!
They don't take shhhtuff from anyone and are known to be rather blunt!
There should be a crusty Master Chief to head the Navy overseeing the fleet,
And a Marine Gunny Sergeant should occupy every congressional seat!
A Staff Sergeant who's been in the trenches should be the Secretary of Defense.
Chief Master Sergeants qualify for the oval office (Obama, take no offense!)
Sergeants First Class would eminently qualify for the Secretary of Labor.
They'd put deadbeats to work so as not to mooch off their neighbor!
There's a horde of Navy Petty Officers who'd qualify for Treasury Secretary,
Who've faithfully paid their taxes unlike some Yale czars to the contrary!
There's a brigade of Sergeants Major who'd excel as the Secretary of State,
Who'd tell other nations where to go if they didn't deal with us straight!
Master and Technical Sergeants are well qualified to occupy a governor's chair.
Their prime concern is the welfare of folks, not just building castles in the air!
Retired Noncoms are a special breed who believe in and uphold the Constitution!
Patriots who'd oust the current clowns, some of whom qualify for a mental institution!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Twas the night before Christmas I went shopping suits,
As shoes looked rat-eaten, needed also warm boots;
Sales girls, in malls displayed suits in variety,
Blown up cost and lean purse grew my anxiety...!
Malls are looters, I thought, like the fox and sour-grapes,
Have proprietors, owing greed, have become apes?
In cool colors and satiny shine they sell soul,
Counting cash at the cost of the poor is their goal...!
Textile showrooms, as less showy, could be better,
They might not put me a perpetual debtor;
Varieties, there could be more, in cost less,
After all, to grace all seasons I need good dress...!
American Giant; Peter England; Rouje;
All internationals seemed like dagger and gouge;
Fashions so funny; rough and gunny; yet the cost,
Summing my few notes repeatedly, I was lost...!
Settling to try local stores, I slowly walked,
Shops were numerous like swarms serially stocked;
Each had limits in my sight; in brand or in grant,
Grade low if price less and vice versa if looked grand...!
Some smiled; some giggled; some, like friends made me convinced;
Some, like hooker-women luring actions evinced;
All these shops and show-rooms, as I narrate, not bad,
Within, I know, lack of notes is what made me sad...!
Street textile vendors will help me out, I believed,
By such sure sincere folks I will not be deceived;
With such thoughts, like an athlete I ran to each street,
Challenges like pain and perspiration, I did beat...!
You are late - they said, they pack up by twelve at night,
On Christmas they feast; though fiscally they are tight;
I went back thinking of suits within my wardrobe,
Though they have many holes, they are best in whole globe...!
25 November 2022
The Night Before 3 Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Joseph May
There was this tough old Marine called Gunny.
Cussin' spewed from him like gurglin' honey.
He ran a very taut ship,
And nobody gave him lip,
'Cept his spouse who addressed him as 'Sonny'!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired