Cadre, thou art quincurion.
Five pointed star says sight, scion.
One in the center, mighty strong.
Four on the sides to greet the throng.
Clamber right o'er that wall, burglar.
Prize in thy eyes, shoot past the par.
Combination lock, face of safe.
O machine gunner, time to strafe.
Quinnat, move thy force in quinnet?
Pincer formation wins the bet.
However, salmon, wedge has wings.
Beware the spinneret. It stings.
Coalacanth, in the glassy lake.
Life is a rogue with thirst to slake?
Turmoil and trial? Fresh ocean blue?
Red rabbit, river, run straight through.
Quoddity, haunt the quadlibet?
Placard, plinth alabaster. Yet:
Relevance, where do you stake claim?
Pertinent, prosper. Fling, O flame.
Entelechy, thy entalpy.
Reason, heat up and sing in me!
Tangle, my thought-spark! Lightning falls!
Blistering broadsides by the balls!
Salve of diviner, vision weird.
Cel animation leered and jeered.
Alien skies and faces strange.
Jagged pulsation, range the change.
Electric shock, fire furious eyes.
Bring back the bolt that fastest flies.
Whirlpool, hum and whir. Broken bow.
Whippoorwill, swallow, undertow.
plaster walls full of holes
explosives high and low
paper soldiers imagine their roles
machine-gunner to a shallow grave goes
NATO leaders pour over war maps
like children watching cartoons
Upon commencement of real firing
they raise a glass
~ rattle their silver spoons
I used to dream of a distant future,
A path in which once walked before
by those who carry our existence and rest in the struggle which once was.
I heard the stories of some boys ,
Distant but not so distant ,
Optimistic yet not cowardice,
Their sacrifice a priceless , priceless debt
I can recall my grandfather mentioning
The war and his late father's stories .
Lancaster tail gunner ,
He was 17 .
Today as I march on the parade square
In loose - fitting ATC wedgewoods .
I no longer dream of that distant future
But a path that I can forge.
Gunner
What has woken you, Gunner? What is it you hear?
Can you sense the beat of heavy engines drawing near?
There’s been no alert, Gunner, the lads are all at ease.
But you know something’s up, don’t you? Won’t you tell us please?
I heard that little growl, Gunner, low and in your chest.
Is the time right now, Gunner? Should we end our rest?
You’re straining at the sky now Gunner. What is it you see?
A skein of passing geese, or our dreaded enemy?
I see your hackles raised Gunner, it’s time to ring the bell.
The other guns will follow suit, they trust your instincts well.
The crews are all closed up, Gunner, before the siren’s wail,
We all know you were right from the twitching of your tail.
There they are above, Gunner, just like your growl predicted,
And thanks to you, we’ve limited the damage they’ve inflicted.
The enemy has fled, Gunner, they’ve turned around and run.
Now go and get your well-earned rest, underneath our gun.
Warren William Zevon
weird themes his music touched on
without a care or bother
he gave us Roland the Headless Thompson Gunner
Off to the sea in ships we all go,
Untested, but cock sure, as iron to a forge
Deck apes, snipes and gunners are we,
Salt spray, steam and gun smoke to deal
Up early and turning to ‘til late,
While pilfered horse cock, cards and dice await
Down to the bilges and up to the bridge,
Or off to clean the head each day begins
Gunnery drills and damage control,
A well-oiled fightin’ machine we all have become
Man Overboard! Gunner to the bridge,
Seems ole Oscar has taken a dip
A catnap before we take on fuel,
Heavy seas and darkness again to duel
Heave around lads, hand over hand!
Get the rig on deck the bos’n demands
Finally completed and soaked to the skin,
No rack for me, I’ve got the mid
Reveille! Reveille! Up at first light,
Clampdown awaits then I’ll grab a bite
In port tomorrow and liberty awaits,
But first there’s a washdown and lots to paint
All is secured and the Chief’s in good cheer,
So it’s off to the gut for some titties and beer
Back before sunrise no Shore Patrol required,
A run through the rain locker before liberty expires
Breakfast and quarters a new day begins,
I’ll borrow a $20 so I can do it again
Fu#king hell, I can’t hear - these screaming shells, this banging everywhere!
Jesus Christ I can’t even see the enemy over there!
Lock and load, squeeze the trigger and go these streets of brick and rubble, no cover or safety anywhere!
I can’t see or hear or be a fighter in this hell, what the hell am I doing here?
The thunder bangs, machine gun rounds, smoke and screaming everywhere..
Trapped between these walls the Tiger Tank seals the exit hole, I’ve emptied my gun on steel - the gunner turns his sights on me. Have I used up all nine lives… I watch his barrel turn, this god damn broken ankle hurts…
Oh my Jesus Christ..
…this is the end of me!
Battalion column coup de grace;
It’s what was planned, but didn’t work that way.
We’ve bled all our embarrassments
At bayonet point and now must cede the day.
God damn the blasted cavalry;
They’ve left this muddy field a bloody pool.
All hell for the artillery;
I’d like to face one gunner in a duel.
It’s over, done and finished with.
The very best withdraw in disarray.
La Garde reculé.
Wile E. Coyote
would wear Acme “floatie”
wings so he could swoop from mountain bluffs,
but always crashed below to silent puffs.
The Road Runner,
like a tail gunner,
would down Wile E. into the deep
valley floor with his trademark “meep meep!”
September 5, 2021
Cleritoons Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Joseph May
By degrees is the hard rock
Hewn with tired chisel tips,
Witnessed by worn-out eyes
Above over-taut crimson lips.
In teary bits is the banner
Minaretted by hands sore,
Fatigued by fitful rites of war
Against hell's vicious gunner.
Three decades of searing toil
Have lapsed since earliest throes,
And still does the battle pierce
Through years of noisome woes.
Fears yet beset though the coast
Be clear and ridden of robbing ills,
And though Hades' gates boast
All horizons nigh promise hope.
Thoughts streak across my mind.
Like the gunner laying out flak.
It’s quite the disturbing
light show.
No peace here.
It’s war.
Weekend starts to close
And the football shows
Lily in her white
Invites the gunner for a bite
Granted she is one point behind
Needs to move up in the line
Being very nice gives a goal to him
Lily in white calls good friend Min
He puts one in
Score looks the same, identical twin
As they go to break
Lily in white took all she could bake
Near the end to this match
There was a Spur catch
Lilywhites enthusiasm was pumping
Before going table jumping
Gunners walk away gentlemen
Chivalry today shown and defend
As for Mr. Bourne he had a mouth
Really upset about potential plans to go south
Then the foxes came to pick the cherries
Getting a netter in a hurry
This did not sit well
Or gel
Instead it sounded a bell
Picking up his rake
A scene he did make
Scoring four
He was not going to be ignored
When things were done
Foxes were stun
Cherries over taking Aston relaxing
In his villa after a day that was taxing
Two upsets kept the plot going
In which team was lowering
Their competitive degree
When being relegated to another league
There is rumbling in the skies
It’s not thunder
Babies sound a chorus of cries
Where is mother?
They have mastered the drill
To take cover
Prayer the only sanctuary, they stay still
Survive or wander
There is no heat to keep them warm
There is just rapid fire
They are used to the sound of a bomb
Aftermaths are never familiar
Tears are falling and dust is rising
There’s a mass murder
Aircraft engines rolling, shrilling crying
A heartless gunner
Cable television breaks the news
Airs oblivious pretenders
Victims silenced, war-mongers with more views
Superpowers slumber
The sound of war is the inaction of peace
Blind, deaf and afar
Creating a vacuum that thirsts for violence
So hush
And listen to the sound of war as you wonder
Strong hands who held me up to the sun
A harbinger of knowledge so hard won
By his side I felt so good
Safe and sound like a son should
He fought the Japanese during the war
As a gunner on a destroyer he knew the score
A hard worker who didn’t always win
He taught me the truth and for me always a grin
We lost him early from cancer then
And he suffered right up to the end
It’s hard to think of him and I miss him each day
Wanting him back and wishing he’d stayed
But we play the cards we are dealt
When I see him again my heart will melt
So now I work it out each day
With a thought “What would my father say?”
© Paul Warren Poetry
In tilshead I met a good guy
Unfortunately he has now gone
Taken to the angels in the sky
His name was Steve baron
A North Eastern lad thats for sure
A kind heart all so pure
Talented linguist speaking pashtu
Your family and friends now miss you
A gunner was capbadge of choice
We will miss that geordie voice
Saddened to hear about your demise
Look after us left from the skies
At last my friend you can rest
You've earnt your medals on your chest
Sleep tight big man demons are gone
Your legacy will live on
Condolences to friends and family
You've left a massive void
You'll always be a drop short Steve
Banter you can't avoid
R.i.p brother in that sky
I hope you hear the lullaby
No more noise for you young man
Angel music and a beer can
R.i.p Steve baron
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