Best Sarge Poems
"Sweet child in time,
you'll see the line
the line that's drawn between
good and bad"
Having cold sweats again in this godforsaken ninety degree heat. Shivering uncontrollably. God, what I'd do for a warm comforter right now. Zombies all around me mumbling incoherent poetry no one understands or even cares to hear. Young people half my age or less without souls, without heart, without vision.
Nam 1968. The nightmares won't stop even now, fifty-six years later. Nineteen years old. Just a kid. What did I know about good and bad, right from wrong? I did what I was told just like everyone else. When I was young, I used to dream of Eden.
"See the blind man
shooting at the world
bullets flying
taking toll"
Deep in the jungle, trying to rest but sleep is elusive. Out of the corner of my eye I espy a young child, a girl I think. Or is it just a dream? She looks ragged, hungry, sad. Tears are streaming down her cheeks as she stumbles through the brush toward us. The air is suffocating, a train is rolling through my head when suddenly I hear a blast from an M16. Sarge yells "Everyone down!" Then an explosion, but this time I can't hear a thing, just debris flying everywhere. And then the child is no more. When I open my eyes, a tiny hand lay two feet away. So delicate, so precious. What the hell am I doing here?
"You'd better close your eyes
bow your head
wait for the ricochet"
Kensington avenue is hell in the real world. It is here I exist and it is here I will die, homeless, sick and alone. The needle is my one last and true friend, for when I am high I am free. It is then that the dreams of Eden reappear, if but for a moment. I am seventy-five years old now, but I never really got to grow up. For you see, back there, in '68, I was just a child in time.
dreams are illusions
white lady offers solace
forgiveness denied
*Kensington Ave, Philadelphia PA
**Song lyrics from Child in Time by Deep Purple
Categories:
sarge, emotions,
Form:
Haibun
Based on a quote from Watership Down:
"He fought because he actually felt safer fighting than running."
His experience in fighting battles
had been friendly games of Monopoly
Rolling dice across a colorful board
after shaking, to hear them rattle.
Those were serious acts of aggression
and hotels were POWs, taken in possession
Weapons were a top hat, thimble or boot
Men built houses, not blew them up
Winner, the one accumulating the most loot
Snake eyes moved him two spaces forward,
instead of sniper eyes on roofs of Park Place
resulting in blood dripping from a man's face
He wished he was only playing a game
But shots were fired from somewhere near
Bullets seeking men to kill and maim
War is fought with emotions of courage and fear
It was time to clear his squadron out
That kind of move is what wars are about
With rifle ready he led the charge
Run through a mine field, though weary and tired
He heard a man cry out, "I've been hit, Sarge!"
Without a free space they could'nt stop to rest
No Short Line Railroad upon which to ride
No fox holes dug, in which to hide
Amid shots fired, he passed down the word, "GO!"
only stopping to collect dog tags of his dead men
This time the battle was fought and won
From a shrapnel wound his blood took flow
It was never bravery that he lacked
It was being interred with a bullet in his back.
When asked why he hadn't turned to run,
knowing his platoon was badly overpowered,
He sighed and replied, "I'm not a coward,
So I rolled the dice and landed on Chance.
The top card said Be brave and attack!
So we fought until we took our property back."
Categories:
sarge, war,
Form:
Rhyme
"I never travel without my diary - One should have something sensational to read"
...Oscar Wilde, 1891
30 May 48: I graduated from high school today now thank God I'm free!
No more doggone homework, perplexing algebra or teachers bugging me!
7 Jul 48: Enlisted in the Air Force today! Good Lord! What have I done!
The sarge said, "Forget Mom, Dad and Susie Q! You're now mine, my son!"
21 Oct 48: Finished basic training today with about a hundred other guys.
I thought it'd be more like a Boy Scout Camp! Boy, was I in for a surprise!
15 Feb 49: Graduated tech school at Fort Warren and sent to the Bermuda Isles.
Quite a change for a country boy! Water, water everywhere for miles and miles!
12 Oct 52: Was married tonight at Perrin AFB with Vera as my beautiful bride!
She was very pert and calm, but diary, I was somewhat nervous I must confide!
23 Aug 54: Our family grew by one today! Leanna, a little girl, my fondest wish!
She was measured by a nurse holding her by the heels! Just like measuring a fish!
15 Aug 55: Boarded a crowded troopship in New York and set sail for Morocco.
Was beset with a bit of mal de mer since the ship was wallowing to and fro!
17 Oct 57: Our little 'arab' Leslie was born today near Casablanca! What a dolly!
She has a hearty set of lungs, but that's OK, she's a healthy little dude, by golly!
11 Jan 68: Son Mark was born at the Air Force Academy and seemed a healthy tot!
9 Apr 68: Alas, we buried Mark today at Evergreen. Boy, do we miss him a lot!
24 Jun 71: My family and I arrived in Tokyo, Japan, to begin our three-year tour!
Japanese is foreign! For "good morning" do I say, "ohio gazamus" or "bon jour?"
1 May 74: Chaplain Porter notified me that I had been promoted to Chief!
Happy day, dear diary! I've reached the highest rank! What a blessed relief!
1 Aug 78: I retired today at Offutt AFB, after 30 wonderful years of service!
After wearing the 'blue suit' all those years, wearing civvies makes me nervous!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Placed No. 3 in Constance La France's "The Diary" Contest - April 2011
Categories:
sarge, funnyschool, family, family, may,
Form:
Couplet
My life has been adventurous and very far from mundane,
Though at times I've held the short end of the stick, to my disdain.
If there was any dirty work or heavy lifting to be done,
Guess who had to do it? Yep - I was usually the one!
Even as a kid I usually received the short end of the stick.
Guess who in choosing sides was usually the last one to pick!
When teachers asked for raised hands for our knowledge to grill,
Guess who was never called upon to display his cognitive skill!
In the service I had more than my share of onerous KP.
Guess who scrubbed pots and pans? Yep - it was usually me!
I made myself scarce when bodies for guard duty were needed;
Guess whose plea of inconvenience with the Sarge went unheeded!
I never volunteered for anything in the service - that was taboo,
But Sarge always said, "I want you and you and guess who!"
At times when drilling, the Sarge I didn't always endear.
Guess who he chewed on to get in step, gnawing on my ear!
I'm a little wiser as I near the end of life's treacherous trail.
Some still try to hand me short shrift but more often than not they fail!
When I was much younger, such things I really did deplore,
But now I've mellowed somewhat and it doesn't bother me anymore!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(© All Rights Reserved)
Categories:
sarge, funnyme,
Form:
Rhyme
Sammy Taylor was a good kid, as everyone could see
He was destined for greatness unknown to you and me.
From the hills of West Virginia, a place called Whittlers’ Bend.
He left one day in ’66 never to return again.
Folks all remember Sammy for the goodness in his soul.
A smile and sparkle in his eyes glittered just like gold.
Sammy considered all the people as family to him.
When he was called to fight for peace in a place called simply, 'Nam'.
He grew up a hunter and loved his fishin’ too
So things the outdoors offered Sammy weren’t all that new.
‘Nam' was not the West Virginia Mountains that he knew.
The morning he woke up on a hill called 14 Blue.
Charlie had been active there just the day before
And signs that he was very close could not be ignored.
While all remained quiet throughout that August day
Little did anybody know that night would bring hell to pay.
It was just about a quarter to three, and all was strangely quiet,
When the chatter of an M16 broke the silence of the night.
There was a pop and then a flare gave vision to the night….
A voice was heard to say, “Charlie’s on his way and he’s coming here to fight.”
Now, Sammy had already seen his share of hell on earth
And Charlie’s demons gave him one more chance to prove his worth.
A dedicated VC soldier was always an awesome foe
But nothing will surpass the courage Sammy would soon show.
Sammy found himself in front of an insane VC charge
He barely had the time to yell, “They’re comin’, Look Out, Sarge!”
A VC grenade proved to be his last courageous test
When a West Virginia mountain boy covered it with his chest.
Now, there’s a house in Whittlers’ Bend with a medal on a wall.
But the plaque hanging there beside it cannot tell it all---
How Sammy Taylor went outside, one morning, just to play,
Then, some years later, gave his all, in a place so far away.
Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends.
John 15:13
Written By John Posey
05/18/13
Categories:
sarge, memorial day, tribute,
Form:
Ballad
MILITARY LIFE
Sergeants
They rants!
Slit trench
Big stench!
Don't sass
The brass!
Long march
Sore arch!
Payday
Yea! Yea!
Discharge
Bye, Sarge!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
Entry for Timothy Hicks' "March Of The Footle" Contest
Categories:
sarge, humorous, military,
Form:
Footle
Sixty-Six years ago today a very naïve farm-boy left the Hoosier farm,
To seek adventure beyond the horizon since farming had lost its charm.
He enlisted in the Air Force, a knight in blue to keep the nation free.
My gosh! Come to think about it, that unsophisticated lad was me!
Since I was only seventeen, I had to get my reluctant Ma to sign for me.
She came from a Quaker background and abhorred all strife, you see.
Pa was ambivalent about the matter - just one less mouth to feed, said he.
I marched off to face the future, another warrior for our family tree!
Harassment began once I arrived at the inhospitable induction station.
Docs had me bend over, then stand, turn my head and cough for observation.
They probed and prodded and stuck needles in my arms for inoculation.
Oh! The abject misery and humiliation of it all just to serve my nation!
Next came the swearing-in where I vowed to uphold the Constitution.
A fiendish sarge then assumed command and began his nasty persecution.
"Fergit yer Mom, Dad and Maggie Mae" said he, "Yer butt belongs to me!"
Just hours on duty and I was homesick for the farm, pining to be free!
They put me on a choo-choo to Lackland AFB, Texas, for my basic training.
I was shorn of all hair - by now my enthusiasm and patriotism was waning.
Ah! But when I donned that Air Force suit of blue, I stood proud and tall!
If my pals behind a plow and mule could see me now! I was having a ball!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) 2014 All Rights Reserved
That naïve farm boy went on to serve 30 years in the Air Force, retiring
1 August 1978.
Categories:
sarge, humorous, military,
Form:
Rhyme
The Army was getting desperate in nineteen-forty-three,
For warm bodies to fill vacancies in the good old infantry.
Alas, the draft board beckoned causing his heart to sink.
Thus, began the notorious career of Private Roscoe D. Schlink!
He was a naive country boy from Bean Blossom, Indiana.
They sent him for training to Fort Fumble in Louisiana.
Only five-feet-four, he was issued clothes much too large.
"Don't worry, I'll make a man of you, son!" said old sarge!
At marching and drilling he proved less than deft.
He could never figure out his right foot from his left!
Sergeants growled at him with uncouth elocution.
Roscoe just couldn't do anything with sharp execution!
On long treks he was in the rear running to catch up.
Petulant sergeants ever screaming, "Closeup! Closeup!"
During inspections he amassed reams of damning demerits,
And spent many weekends paring heaps of taters and carrots!
Later in the heat of battle he reached deep within his soul.
When those with lesser mettle faltered, he assumed control.
That day his gallantry overshadowed others by far.
For his courage he was awarded the coveted Silver Star!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired (© All Rights Reserved)
Categories:
sarge, funnyold, old,
Form:
Rhyme
June 01/1916
So it’s off to war!
By they were glad
Singing and whistling a tune every lad
With a swing of their arms
and a smile on their lips
And a shine in their eyes
For the gals in white slips
So it’s march down to the station
To board for the front
With a hiss and a whistle
And pull and a shunt
Then just one last look
At the girls with a tear in their eyes
We will be home for Christmas
So no need to cry
The Germans can’t shoot straight
Their bullets are rubber
So hold your tears girl
There is no need to blubber
At the front ONE MONTH LATER July 01-1916
Battle of the Somme
So we will dig our trenches
And sleep in the mud
The weather’s quite cold
And the food’s not that good
Sarge blows a whistle
And over we go
One at a time or all in a row
The noise is quite deafening
The bullets whiz by
A strange sort of noise hearing men die
Some they go quickly with not even a whimper
Some take all night caught in the moons
glimmer
Trapped in the wire, trod in the mud
Guts lay beside them leaking life’s blood.
Screams and cry’s
They cut through the cold night air
For a man to end his life this way just don’t seem fair
Please Don’t leave me alone
OH MOTHER PLEASE HELP ME!
I want to go home!
My tummy’s hurting
Please don’t leave me alone
So I lay in my trench, hands over my ears
The rain on my face hiding my tears
While somebody’s father somebody’s son
Somebody’s sweetheart
Who’s life’s just begun
Pleads for his mother to stop his pain
And hold him in her arms
Just once again
But she will never hear
Her boys last request
She will never again see his boyish zest
never to hold him in her arms again
Or ruffle his hair or soothe his pain
‘Whistle Whistle‘
Well there’s no time to day dream
And no time to dither
‘Cause the Sergeant is calling
And so through the mud we must slither
Over the top keep your head down
Try not to trod on those laying down
Past little Jimmy stuck on the fence
This bloody war don’t make any sense
I feel a slight tingle running down my spine
My legs are numb they don’t feel like mine
It’s all going dark now
I think I’ll just lay down here
Feel really tired but mam will soon be here
To tuck me in and ruffle my hair
And tell me a story about ‘Rabbit Brer’
Lights fading fast now
Time to sleep
Good night sweet Jesus
My soul pray you keep
Categories:
sarge, warme, night, time, me,
Form:
Verse
a debate between
Tim Pawlenty and Mitt Romney--
Gomer Pyle and Sarge?
Categories:
sarge, funny, imagination, political, satire,
Form:
Haiku
They're known by many names - taters, potatos, pertaters and spuds.
As a Hoosier lad I toiled hoein' taters and flickin' bugs off their buds!
So I was very well qualified when I entered the service, by and large,
When 'volunteered' for kitchen police to peel taters by a mean old sarge!
There's even a National Potato Day observed with tumultuous celebration,
With a Potato Queen, parades and other such nonsense across the nation!
Politicos pontificate about the virtues of taters 'specially in Idaho and Maine,
Where they transport them to our kitchen tables by truck, plane and train.
There was a national debate on how to spell potato with or sans an 'e'!
Dan Quayle didn't know how but I would've spelled it 'tater' if it were up to me!
Some taters have a patriotic bent since some are called reds, whites and blues!
Other varieties are yellows, fingers and russets from which you may choose.
To fill a feller's paunch the lowly tater can be mashed, diced or sliced.
You can make a tater salad or tater soup though you'll want them lightly spiced!
Taters roasted on the grille or scalloped tater casseroles will go with anything.
Barbeque tater chips or French fried taters with hamburgers are just the thing!
Mom would've been horrified to find lumps in her taters when company came!
In cafes today lumps are cela va sans dire s'il vous plait and is their claim to fame!
No matter how you slice 'em, taters are savored by commoner and king as well!
And you can argue 'bout the spellin' of 'potato' but 'tater' you can easily spell!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Categories:
sarge, food, funny,
Form:
Rhyme
I've had many honors bestowed upon me throughout the years.
Accolades and titles were heaped upon me by my peers.
Citations I've received and medals were pinned upon my breast,
But the title "Dad" I cherish more than all the rest!
I was honored to be called "Sarge" by men I was to lead,
And was priviliged to command that extraordinary breed
But there is nothing that can compare or is more dear to me,
Than to be called "Dad" and be the best that I can be!
Those in authority thought I had some leadership abilities,
And promoted me to "Chief" with increased responsibilities.
To be called "Chief" boosts one's ego somewhat I suppose,
But to be called "Dad" is very special, I proudly disclose!
I carried the prestigious label of "Bailiff" for a time,
And though it was an influential moniker and was held sublime,
This nor any other exalted title meant as much to me,
As being called "Dad" dangling my little ones upon my knee!
Though there are many things as a Dad I'll never comprehend,
Lord, I pray for wisdom as I extend a guiding hand.
There are honeyed words and other things that make me glad,
Bu there ain't nothin' I'd rather hear than, "I love you, Dad!"
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Categories:
sarge, father, me, me,
Form:
Rhyme
Don't go calling baby-boomers no heroes
Our legacy won't be much above zero
What GRAND contributions we've made
We blessed you with cocaine and aids!
All pop wanted when he survived the war
Was a quaint little family of four
But reality busted their bubble
What they got was truck-load a' trouble
We grew up too coddled and cozy
Running rings around po' little Rosie
Whatcha' get for paid college tuition?
A spoiled brat who can't do addition
Staging sit-ins to protect the masses
With pillows for tender little asses
No Vietnam or bust for THIS Joe
(My congressman will intervene, you know)
So go stuff your damn draft notice order!
(Later dude, gotta' run for the border)
Welcome back Sarge, here's your homecoming prize
How 'bout the finger and spit in both eyes?
We stand PROUD may God bless our sweet flag!
(You SALUTING?? Good lord what a drag!)
How we LABORED to set the world free!
Hey, wanna' check out my new SUV?
***Vietnam was of course a tragic mistake and there were many injustices during those times...However many of the protesters and draft dodgers were privileged, insulated rich kids who had no clue about the real world...The ultimate insult was Jane Fonda's visit to North Vietnam in 1972, where she proudly posed on an enemy anti-aircraft gun while POW's were being tortured practically next door..One of those POW's was Senator John McCain who was offered release but refused because those imprisoned earlier were not offered the same...now THAT'S what I'd call a Baby Boomer hero!
To her very small credit, 'Hanoi Jane' later apologized calling her visit a mistake and a betrayal to the troops...ditto to you, Ms. Fondue....
Categories:
sarge, angst, betrayal,
Form:
Couplet
Young…content…seemingly innocent…
With family…and friends…where is their ends…?
He is now hunted…for a crime committed…?
On the run…no pun…a gun...is it any fun…?
At large…what’s the charge…Sarge…?
Possession…looting, or shooting…with intent…
Murder, of Inc.…homicide…who decide...?
Think…no blinks…it may stink…
The evidence…from whence…?
The questions…the fury…the jury…
The details…they’re gory…what is the story…?
With judgment destined…innocence assigned…
The reality…it’s filthy…“until proven guilty” …?
The suspect…any respect…?
The news…the views…the false…the truths…
Plenty of assortments…the system’s intent…
To seek justice, for all...whose call…?
One better stand tall…is it money…is it the lawyers…or the foyers…?
Background…race…colour…who will they devour…?
Facts or lies…maybe assumptions …what are the intentions…?
Legal aid…will it fade…what is the grade…?
The innocent…the guilty…the decisions…in revisions…
Some free…some punished…some fabricated…some just…is it a must…?
The plan…to flee…who will agree...?
Will it be you…me…him…or she…?
So poor…of the ghetto…sub-educated…not yet rated…
My gods…what are the odds…?
Of being branded…to be landed…in a cell…to hell…?
How random…this is no condom…?
Can it burst…before it gets worst…?
The numbers…the chances…for justice…
Life without parole…no stroll…for any man…young…or old…
The electric chair…the accompanying fear…
To die…for the truth…or a lie…
The courtroom…the zoom…the happiness…the gloom…
Body language…this is no sandwich…
The twisting’s of speeches…how far are their reaches…?
The attacks…any lacks in their facts…?
Interpreting the laws…any human flaws…?
Assessments of the press…sobriety or zest…?
As the trial drags…with instances of lags…
The verdict is near…the defendant’s stare…will the decision be fair…?
Prepare…
Categories:
sarge, inspiration, journey,
Form:
ABC
Let not your heart be troubled by the recruiter's garrulous spiel!
After all, he's paid to embellish army life to offer you a fabulous deal!
When he called you 'private' you assumed there'd be privacy in store.
Never mind that you must share the latrine with fifty guys or more!
Make it a policy to eat all the curious grub the cooks slop on your tray!
Compliment the mess sarge - it might defer you from KP for another day!
Tell your sarge his wife is lovely - though she's as homely as Hooligan's goat!
He is certain to acclaim your acumen and a three-day pass he's apt to float!
Always appear busy - walk around with a clipboard in hand wearing a frown.
The captain might promote you to PFC on the spot so don't you let him down.
If a grumpy sergeant should deign to ask what you're doing, you could retort,
"Sarge, the colonel told me to inventory flypaper use on post and submit a report!"
Never volunteer for anything, though it may be an offer you shouldn't refuse!
Arrange things neatly in your footlocker for display and always shine your shoes!
Sergeants like things regular and complete, so don't give them any sass.
Officers' mega-egos are crushed if you don't salute, so always salute the brass!
Scrub the floor, shave your mug and be ready for Saturday morning inspection.
Best you pass the captain's scrutiny else he won't shower you with affection!
Keep your hair cut, a crease in your pants and you'll get along without a glitch.
They might even see fit to promote you to general on your very first hitch!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Categories:
sarge, funny,
Form:
Rhyme