Best Sergeants Poems
It was the summer - August 4
When England joined the First World War
1914 the very year
Before wives and children shed their bitter tears
‘The war to end wars’ was the battle cry
Before there had been one widow’s sigh
The men lined up by the score
To enlist, sacrifice themselves to this bitter war
Friends and families made their mark
Pals regiments were formed in town and park
From factories, clubs, offices and farms
They became privates, sergeants, men at arms
And off they went through the streets
Not knowing that they were cannon meat
Cheered and applauded as they marched
Toward war’s verdant fields not yet parched
“It’ll be over by Christmas” came the call
“Get over there one and all”
No one of them, home or abroad
Had ever heard of “Total War”
Posters beckoned from every wall
Poets wrote of war’s enthrall
Songs and stories came thick and fast
Glorifying war and our heroic past
But very soon came the acrid truth
Millions dead - “Anthem of Doomed Youth”
Trial by ordeal and fire and zeal
A generation gone through war’s sharp steel
The sombre, bitter, vile death-calls
Quickly killed the tunes of the music halls
Wounded, dead, disfigured men
Many mutilated beyond any ken
At the end it was all for naught
That carnage in each battle fought
Kings deposed and Empires lost
But the worst thing was the human cost
One hundred years to this very day
Like then we shake our heads and say
Still in wars our sons and daughters die
To all that is holy, why? oh why?
Form:
The glamorous uniform looked sharp in the posters about town.
Recruiters convinced the lad to join the Marines of great renown!
Reveille called, sergeants screamed, another tortuous day had begun!
He cried, "Lord, have mercy on me! What in the world have I done!"
The giddy lad proposed marriage to his beautiful young miss.
She happily concurred and he looked forward to years of bliss!
Now he has a common scold for a wife and a paucity of fun.
He lamented, "Lord, have mercy! What in the world have I done!"
The president-elect anticipated the perks and leading the nation,
And the dream of his dubious promises sailing through legislation.
He inherited unemployment, recession, wars and things left undone.
He puzzled, "Lord, have mercy! What in the world have I done!"
Assailed on all sides by savages and with things looking grim,
The impetuous Custer found himself hanging on to a sagging limb!
His last words might have been upon nearing life's setting sun:
"Oh, Lord! Have mercy on me! What in the world have I done!"
When we near the end of life's treacherous and rocky trail,
And are about to enter eternity through that mysterious veil,
We are apt to reflect on things we've done or left undone,
By pleading, "Oh, Lord have Mercy! What MIGHT I have done?"
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
'Tis know wander nor em aye telling yew anything gnu,
Hour tongue is awash with homophones confounding me end ewe.
Ah, two sea thee broad expenses from a towering mountain peek;
Thee pristeen see, thee rolling veil end meandering creak.
Watt a thrill two watch thee eagle as it sores threw thee heir;
With incisive ayes it seeks its pray with indomitable flare!
Sergeants ar knowted four naming voluntears write out of thee blew,
With that knot sew subtle commend, "Eye knead you, ewe end yew!"
Watt they were volunteared fore, they haven't thee slightest clew,
Butt that is a part of army life, beeing tolled watt two dew!
Wee're tolled inn thee Good Book that inn thee grate buy-end-bye,
Wee shell awl return two dust wen it comes hour our too dye.
It can bee etched upon my stone wen my life comes two a cease:
"Though he maid grate youse of homophones, Mae he lye inn piece!"
In little towns the big events are locally presented,
and every family in the town is usually represented.
Shopkeepers shut their doors when a pioneer curls his toes,
and if someone’s up to mischief, then everybody knows.
Every sporting club is well supported, right down to the wire,
they are the social hubs of towns to set the youth on fire,
through footy clubs and netball clubs combining into one
to sing and dance the night away, promoting local fun.
Of course when youth is mixed with party love can fill the air,
so Cupid’s firing arrows through the hearts of those who care.
This sometimes leads to earnestness when love gets in the way;
the town is now preparing for there’ll be a wedding day.
There’s heaps of preparation from the family of the bride;
flower girls and pretty maids to stand right by her side.
There’s the minister and invitations; the caterers are right.
All the groom must think about - “Are you coming to the bucks night?”
It’s half past five and dawn is breaking; we’re coming back to town.
God knows who is driving but their foot is going down.
There’s nugget, sauce and butter, smeared over everything;
the bucks party is over now - it’s ten hours ‘til the wedding.
And now coming up behind us is a mass of flashing light,
when a siren started blaring; we thought it better to take flight.
We shot around some back streets trying to lose this cop,
then someone with a drunken slur, said “I think we better stop.”
Popularity is not the word that I would say is spoken next.
This angry cop took any plea completely out of context.
He wouldn’t listen to a word that’s said, repeating “That’s enough!”
before I heard the second click of a closing set of handcuffs.”
In a cell back at the station there’s a pall of doom and gloom.
And there’s a hint of panic when it’s mentioned in the room,
by the cop who indicated strongly that by giving him some flack,
we’re gunna stay locked up until his Sergeant arrives back.
I made every kind of plea I could, but this cop avoids my dreading.
He said “Young lad you’re lucky; my Sergeants at his daughters wedding,
so he’ll be in a good mood when he greets you in this room.”
“Don’t bloody count on it” I said - “Because I’m the flamin’ groom!”
There are eminent personages among the enlisted grades,
Who deserve the utmost in respect and well-earned accolades.
These are the dedicated Sergeants of whom I speak,
Who guide the strong and encourage the weak!
Steadfast leaders whom commanders rely upon,
When they need to get the tough jobs done.
Never-bending sturdy oaks in the face of adversity,
Possessing traits held by few - loyalty and integrity!
Sergeants descend from a long and distinguished tradition,
Following those who faithfully served with great distinction.
Proudly wearing chevrons bestowed upon a privileged few,
And setting high standards for generations that will ensue!
From time immemorial through the present generation,
Brave men and women were led by Sergeants with dedication.
Dreadful loss of life and limb was, alas, sustained,
To ensure that our precious liberties were maintained!
I'm a proud member of this elite fraternity and brotherhood,
Ever marching arm in arm for the nation's common good.
Molding young patriots to defend our glorious heritage.
All serving this great nation with indomitable courage!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
All are feeling anxious on the old camp ground this night.
Weary Yanks are girding for tomorrow's awful fight.
Young soldiers loll about, staring blankly into slowly dying embers,
Dreaming of home, recalling happier times that each remembers.
Supper is finished, the usual rancid coffee, hardtack and beans.
The sentries call out, "All Is Well!", one of their hourly routines.
Sergeants huddle with comrades, offering solace to their platoon.
From across the way is heard a harmonica's melancholy tune.
From afar, Rebel cannon is heard, a portent of things to come.
Men in gray are readied for battle to the beat of muffled drum.
The ebon sky is aglow with the cannons' awesome display,
Competing with the moon, overshadowing its mellow ray.
Here and there a Bible is opened to the Twenty-third Psalm,
To once again be comforted by that eternal message of calm.
Pensive eyes that on the 'morrow may be forever sealed,
Gaze upward, imploring God's embrace as their guardian shield.
Hastily penned notes read, "If I should be borne to heaven above,
Know that we will be reunited in The Father's gracious love!"
Gallant men draw upon their innate will, apprehensions to allay.
The dulcet strains of "Taps" lowers the curtain on another day.
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(© All Rights Reserved)
Military and civilian linguists and intelligence analysts, my colleagues and I were monitoring the Balkans troubles, supporting our troops in theater 'down range'. We were working the 'Mids' shift from 11 pm till 7 am at Bad Aibling Station--formerly a military intelligence site. I had read that we were in the western European zone that would experience a total eclipse of the sun that morning. One of the other Serbo-Croatian linguists had a car on post. I voiced the thought "wouldn't it be cool if we drove out to Mount Wendelstein and saw the eclipse from up there?!". He and another agreed. After shift we drove to the base of the mountain, and decided to hike the trail to the top rather than pay to ride the cable car up. Many Bavarians had the same idea, and it was somewhat crowded on the summit. When the eclipse was finally full, it was like standing on shadowy clouds surrounded by a large ring of light--eery, bizarre, and colder than anticipated both due to the elevation and darkness. Two minutes and twenty-six seconds of totality. I had goose bumps for several reasons, and could understand why primitive man would have been so terrified of the experience. Returning back to base, we learned that it had been overcast down there; so local people only saw it get dark, but missed the actual eclipse. However, three Sergeants had been in the right place at the right time, to see the first total eclipse in Europe in forty years, and last one of the twentieth century....August 11th, 1999.
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
I went straight from High school into the service,
I was feeling proud but extremely nervous.
My mother cried with tears of joy,
she said, “I will try to stop referring to you as my little boy.”
I arrived at Basic Training with a bus load of candidates,
we were greeted quite loudly at the main entry gates.
The Drill Sergeants called us everything they could think of,
we knew, at least from them, we would receive no love.
We were too young to drink and barely able to vote,
we were all different races, but we were in the same boat.
We had eight weeks to learn how to work as a team,
we started to believe that it was all a bad dream!
We went to bed late but were up before dawn,
we do more before nine is definitely right on!
Basic Training was tough but we all got through it,
things would get worst and we pretty much knew it.
We would be on the front lines as Infantry Soldiers,
there would be a lot of responsibility put on our shoulders.
The first orders we received took us to the Middle East,
our primary mission was to bring about peace.
For the first time in our lives we were in a foreign land,
the things we saw you could never understand.
The precision bombings caused so much destruction,
the whole place looks like it needs reconstruction.
We are under attack on a regular basis,
our so-called enemy is in more and more places.
Perhaps we are acquiring more and more enemies,
the hate for us here is like an infectious disease.
We were instrumental in removing a terrible dictator,
but the level of danger here has gotten even greater.
Nobody wants to admit that we are in a civil war,
many of us are now on our second or third tour.
I have lost some of my comrades along the way,
we all know the risks and that is all I can say.
We will defend our country from all enemies, foreign and domestic,
we are a force to be reckoned with and we are not to be messed with!
We will win this so-called war on terror,
messing with the United States was their biggest error!
A successful completion of our mission would be a thing of beauty,
we are proud we answered “the call to duty.”
I suspect in my feckless youth my folks thought me rather slovenly,
Obnoxious, averse to work and associated with dubious company,
But Air Force sergeants dealt discipline with lingo at times unsweet,
Convincing me that life is easier if things are regular and complete!
They taught me to hang my clothes on hangers all facing the same way,
With buttons buttoned and shoes shined which I observe to this very day.
I prefer button-down collars; my pants must have a crease and pleat,
Because you see, I insist on things being regular and complete!
The Caddie DTS must be washed and waxed to a perfect sheen,
And when dining out, woe to the chef who screws up my cuisine!
My lawn must at all times be the best manicured on the street,
Because you see, I insist on things being regular and complete!
My barber must see that my eyebrows and hair are neatly trimmed.
The barkeep must serve my beer ice cold with all the suds skimmed.
I like folks who keep their word, show up on time and are discreet,
Because you see, I insist on things being regular and complete!
I detest cell phones and the 'magpies' who on them endlessly blather,
Especially when driving or dining; they work me into a seething lather!
I reckon some folks think me an old curmudgeon and rather off-beat,
But dad gum it, I insist on things being regular and complete!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) 2015 All Rights Reserved
2 a.m. Another Mother's Day morning. Today I'm going to relate army life to some ladies in my life. This past Thursday my Infantry company conducted a training meeting. Weeks ago I had thought about using helicopters to transport the majority of the company out to gunnery instead of using buses, borrowing other vehicles or using solely sole power since our combat vehicles have to be transported because of money reasons. Keep in mind, the two star general mentioned leaders should implement all systems into our training a few months earlier. Kinda amazing we need to be told these things, but I was never a believer in training non-thinkers. Some of the specialists sitting in for platoon sergeants eyes enlarged with excitement, other members of the team thought, "yeah right," while others laughed as I had said it jokingly, even though I was as serious as, Yolanda Linn checking corners after her oldest got done scrubbing floors.
Anyways, the XO comes back the next day and says, "1sg, so I ran that idea by the Battalion XO, and he thought that was a great idea. It'll save money on buses because helicopter fuel is already budgeted and our Soldiers will enjoy it." What my company didn't know was that my reasoning went beyond the stupidity of taking buses to training. If you think my mom would allow me to ride a bus in Afghanistan, you are outside of your god-given mind!
Mother, thank you for discipline, for teaching me humility. For months on end, I watched you make ends. Thank you for making me think. I remember asking you questions and you would never tell me directly, you'd point to a dictionary. You were the first step in self discovery. I'm reminded of a Curtis Mayfield song "The Makings of You" when I think of you: a little bit of sugar... Undoubtedly, the infantry will thank me, but it will be in honor of the goddess who named me her first born baby. Love you from the depths of the ocean to the most distant star the human eye can see. Happy Mother's day too you, and too the woman who loves a deep reflecting man.
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)
From the very moment my Mom taught me how to use a spoon,
From her mouth was uttered that old familiar tune:
"The kids in Asia are starving, now Bobby, clean your plate!"
Her admonition was final and left no tolerance for debate!
I tried to foist upon the hapless dog a helping of bony fish.
Even he would gag trying to swallow that vapid dish!
I'd toy with them and try to hide the tasteless peas.
I could barely abide them, even in bites of twos and threes!
Even tho' Mom concealed them with cheese, I had my doubts,
About a malodorous little veggie called Brussels sprouts!
I'd surreptitiously sneak them on to the plate of little brother,
Thereby, avoiding the reproof to clean my plate by my Mother!
There was the delicate matter of dealing with broccoli and beets,
Okra, spinach, turnips, hominy and other such disgusting eats.
In my feckless youth I thought such fare rather untoward,
But soon learned that to survive, you ate what was on the board!
When side-stepping along the chow line in the military service,
They often slopped mysterious stuff on my tray, making me nervous.
When I joined the service, I hoped never again to hear Mom's old cliche,
But, even those mean old sergeants screamed, "Private! Clean your tray!"
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Tied for No. 1 in PD's "Any Random Poem" Contest - July 2011
Is it any wonder that on a recruit's first day of service he is befuddled?
From day one he's told to do things by the numbers and his brain is muddled!
From the moment he stepped off the bus, mean ol' sergeants began to yell!
Sergeants, it seemed, were born to make life for raw recruits a living 'ell!
He was herded to the barbershop where he was shorn of all his hair!
He was as bald as a billiard ball, but the barbers didn't seem to care!
Next on his rite of passage was to strip bare as the day he was delivered,
To be poked, prodded and given shots as he moved along and shivered!
Sergeants double-timed him to the quartermaster to be issued all his gear,
Still smarting from all those shots he'd just received in his arms and rear!
He drew a gun, socks, drawers, uniforms and a couple of pairs of boots,
Then the sergeants taught him close order drill and how to make salutes!
The next stop was at the mess hall where cooks concocted dubious fare,
Mysterious vittles that in no way with his mom's cooking would compare!
He was double-timed to his barracks where he was assigned a sagging cot.
Along with fifty snoring and snorting troops, this was to be his hapless lot!
He aspired to be a fighter pilot but the tests he couldn't comprehend,
So he was assigned to the good ol' ground pounding infantry in the end!
At the sound of "Taps" he felt mighty blue as he collapsed on his bunk.
He was disillusioned with the whole affair and was in a dreadful funk!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Dear Ma and Pa: I'm now a proud United States Marine!
I've found it purty easy to slip into their tough routine.
Some of them city fellers think things is really rough,
But growin' up on the farm has really made me tough!
Why, they even let us sleep-in 'til almost five o'clock,
Then, sergeants rant and rave to awaken us hapless flock!
You make your bunk and shine your shoes, if time will allow,
And then march to the dinin' mess for some hearty chow!
On the firin' range I've got three medals for aimin' true,
And though I'm only a hundred pounds and am but five foot two,
I can out-run and out-jump anyone on the obstacle course,
And flip them macho guys to the ground with but little force!
Pa, this shore beats sloppin' hogs and shuckin' corn,
And gazin' at mules' rumps a-plowin' at the break of morn,
Or milkin' cows, tendin' goats or hoein' rows of taters,
Or sweatin' under the Hoosier sun pickin' pecks of maters!
There's even an indoor outhouse and all the hot water you crave.
This shore does make it handy when the fellers need to shave!
Shucks, I'm a-thinkin' about makin' a career as a Marine.
That's all for now, as ever, your lovin' daughter, Darlene.
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved