The grandkids are heading to sleepaway camp,
Their clothing all labeled and packed,
Plus all of the extras they may or not need -
Way too much, as a matter of fact.
They bring pillows and blankets and flashlights and fans
And shin guards and sandals and cleats
And towels and bug spray and sunscreen and stamps
And shampoo, toothbrush, toothpaste and sheets.
They need rain gear and sleeping bags, books and canteens,
A laundry bag, backpack and socks,
Plus sweatshirts and jackets and underwear (lots!)
And their sneakers and rain boots and Crocs.
Of course there are bathing suits, t-shirts and shorts
And sweatpants and PJ’s and fleece,
But there are no iPads or Switches or phones
So some wonders, I guess, never cease.
The days spent at camp will fly quickly until
All that stuff gets repacked to go home,
With some missing or ruined or filthy, but that
Is a topic for some future poem.
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.
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.
held captive
his fleshy lips
quiver
in an oasis of
rusted
canteens
Once, I was there to check a tall Zaki
And it became reason to meet khaki,
Very clean but most offices tacky:
A cop could turn one into a lackey!
I know The Police is for the Nation
But I shan’t again a Police Station;
A world plainly paramilitary,
Safer, not better than Solitary,
In every station, obvious gyration;
Canteens that could serve one large ration,
The environment is quite sanitary
But should not clinch The Best Commentary…
Where one runs into AK47,
There holders more than Forty Seven:
Men who could catch rogues but their eyes roguish;
A lot of money make but still languish…
No good guarantee of non-harassment,
A chesty cough attracts embarrassment:
A fat envelope and one reports a case;
A much fatter one to clean and face!
Vibram lugs 2 inches thick
for edge work back when
I was so young
with mountains to climb
the leather uppers
with mink oil spread
in the oven baked
again and again
Mountains I climbed
and dusty trails walked
like friends of old
they still remain
in dark of night
as I do cry
in fear I tremble
and wonder why
dreams of youth
in spring of years
golden sunshine
that could never and
a orange back pack
on aluminum frame
4000 cubes
that so much held
Baseball mitts
and skiing wax
holstered canteens
and hammocks of string
wonder I now
just what it will hold
if the long road
my feet will find
when does come
new dawn breaks
life begins again
and death flees away
a sleeping bag filled
with hollofil II
will it then replace
my King size bed
nightmares were then
a distant unfelt thing
words on the news
unknown to me
if healthy lived
kept active mind
dreams then could grow
keep nightmares at bay
yet dreams now do end
golden sun does set
dark of night will fall
cannot be held at bay
again take up my staff
and the backpack fill
sturdy boots again to wear
and on the road go away
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
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
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
Little brook of childhood,
your water flowed and stayed always cold,
I traveled far to reach that scented, steep hill
as winter ended with chill.
And listening to the babbling sound,
mist rose from the rocks and ground...
it seemed to make music without an instrument,
in fact, I wrote my first hymn at that very moment.
Like those travelers who took the same road,
I found it exciting to walk and move forward...
to be amazed at the magnificence and realize
the divine hand that made Nature so very nice.
Little brook of childhood,
you were as precious as a friend's word;
drooping willows seemed angels descending with wide wings,
offering shade to those who came to fill up their empty canteens.
Written by Andrew Crisci
on September 25, 2011
for Francine Robert's contest,
" Flowing Water "
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
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.
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