Long Airman Poems
Long Airman Poems. Below are the most popular long Airman by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Airman poems by poem length and keyword.
Another day is o'er, the sun sinks slowly in the west.
I stroll upon hallowed ground, where heroes lie at rest.
The clarion, yet somber notes of "Taps" echoes across the way.
I pause to contemplate the serene expanse where brave soldiers lay.
Marble stones perfectly arrayed, each etched with a patriot's name,
In remembrance of his service, each deserving the nation's acclaim.
Others contain the poignant phrase, "Known But To God Alone."
'Twill be en scribed in The Book Of Life, "He died for wrongs to atone."
Yonder lies a soldier who stormed Normandy in June of forty-four.
Near him a young marine, who died on Iwo Jima's shore.
I kneel at the grave of an airman who died flying his fighter plane.
There's a coast guard lass who guarded our shores plying the briny main.
On yon knoll lies a sailor who died in the Pearl Harbor affair.
As I stroll about and ponder, for each I offer a thankful prayer.
Heroes of all creeds lie side by side in manicured plot,
All a brave band of brothers and sisters, rank here matters not.
Myriad untold stories are buried with these guardians so brave,
Now forfeited with the young lives they so freely gave.
Treasured memories that their children and grandchildren will never hear.
They sacrificed all on the Altar of Honor for all we hold so dear.
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired (© All Rights Reserved)
US Army
I'm a soldier, on the ground I stand
A defender of the land, throughout the land
I march through the mud, I climb the steep hill
My strength is tested, my spirit is still.
We are the defenders, the guardians of our land
United in purpose, hand in hand
We'll fight for freedom, till the very end
Our loyalty's unwavering, our resolve will transcend.
US Marine Corps
I'm a Marine, forged in the fires of war
A warrior spirit, forevermore
I charge into battle, with courage and might
A force to be reckoned with, a fearsome sight.
We are the defenders, the guardians of our land
United in purpose, hand in hand
We'll fight for freedom, till the very end
Our loyalty's unwavering, our resolve will transcend.
US Navy
Yo, I'm a sailor, born to roam the sea
From the deck of a ship, I'm wild and free
I face the tempest, brave the stormy night
A guardian of the ocean, a beacon of light.
We are the defenders, the guardians of our land
United in purpose, hand in hand
We'll fight for freedom, till the very end
Our loyalty's unwavering, our resolve will transcend.
US Air Force
I'm an Airman, soaring through the sky
A master of technology, I'll reach for the sky
With precision strikes, I'll strike from afar
A guardian of the heavens, a shining star.
We are the defenders, the guardians of our land
United in purpose, hand in hand
We'll fight for freedom, till the very end
Our loyalty's unwavering, our resolve will transcend.
US Space Force
I'm a Guardian, securing the cosmic domain
A protector of our interests, a force to maintain
I defend our nation, from threats above
A sentinel of space, a symbol of love.
We are the defenders, the guardians of our land
United in purpose, hand in hand
We'll fight for freedom, till the very end
Our loyalty's unwavering, our resolve will transcend.
US Coast Guard
I'm a Coast Guardsman, on the sea I patrol
A protector of our shores, both big and small
I rescue the lost, I fight the sea's might
A force for good, day and night.
We are the defenders, the guardians of our land
United in purpose, hand in hand
We'll fight for freedom, till the very end
Our loyalty's unwavering, our resolve will transcend.
I am a Taurean Girl
Adorned in strength of character’s veil
Valour and grace held as a scepter
Born in a month named after Maia
Nurtured in the magnificent land of Gaia
I am a Taurean Girl
Rare and fearfully made as a clear pearl
Exuding confidence in mauve Louboutins
Blessed with the gift of gab and soul
Wherein lies the passion that makes me whole
I am a Taurean Girl
Madly in love with a Capricorn gentleman
Whose dreams resemble that of an airman
Strong, passionate, he makes the heart airlift
And brings with the blessing of two precious Libran gifts
I am a Taurean Girl
Endowed with the rich blessing of Abraham
Ever smiling, cheerful, intelligent, quirky in nature
Like red wine, maturing, getting better with age
Eager to continue writing fresh memories on life's priceless page...
'Tis well-known that military blokes speak a lingo of their own,
But it has served them well over the years, it has been shown!
To a General or a Private, such jargon is totally sensible,
But to ordinary citizens, 'tis utterly incomprehensible!
"Yard birds" know all about "policing the area" and "kitchen police."
A seasoned "grunt" knows what it means to "clean his piece."
The "head" is a sanctuary for musing to a sailor or marine,
But to an airman or soldier, 'tis better known as the "latrine."
When on the firing line the Sergeant yells, "Fire at will!"
Guys aim not to kill Will but to improve their shooting skill!
When a Corporal invites his squad to a "GI Party" on Friday night,
There'll be no beer but you'll scrub the floor and do it right!
From the dreaded "Reveille" to "Retreat" (when troops must salute),
Bugle calls herald tidings quickly learned by even the rawest recruit!
Everyone scans the "Daily Bulletin" for the latest "scuttlebutt."
On parade, troopers snicker watching "second louies" strut!
Essential to national defense, the brass concoct acronyms galore,
And there are geniuses in the Pentagon always begetting more,
Word forms from (A)WACS to (Z)ULU and betwixt ad infinitum!
Ah! Those handy acronyms! How could we fight a war without 'em!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(© All Rights Reserved)
Eleventh of November is armistice day
A day in the year where we remember
Remember what I hear you say
The sacrifice of many far far away
They fought for freedom
Did not die in vain
Our lives would have changed
Those survivors still suffer the pain
The symbol is iconic
A red poppy is worn
This is a real topic
To remember those who's lives were torn
A sailor a soldier an airman involved
Whether supporting or on the front line
Thier stories must remain being told
They all signed up and hoped to be fine
Casualties fall in conflict
This is a fact of war
Surviving there is no trick
Heads up and do your tour
So when you see them marching through your town
With shiny boots and medals on thier chest
Give them respect and don't be a clown
These women and men have fought there best
Remember there not doing it for glory
It's for friends from conflicts they have lost
If you ask them of their story
Don't be offended if they don't host
Some may discuss there times away
Others may just clam up
Rest assured they remember everyday
If they do, please don't interrupt
This year remembrance falls on the twelfth
So when they are out and about
Salute and pray for good health
You may hear the Parade Marshall shout
British Legion FALL OUT
The Air Force
By Franklin Price
1/18/2017
The Air Force means so much to me
Started nineteen-sixty-five
Left college and enlisted
To mature and survive
Received an education
I would use throughout my days
The discipline I learned back then
Not just another phase
A career for me was not to be
Left at the end of four
Took along what I had learned
To search for something more
The years have gone and flown away
Now through another's eyes
New memories provided
By a legacy who flies
I was but enlisted
She wears lieutenant's bars
Looking to the future
Striving for the stars
So proud of my granddaughter
She carries on for me
She is the kind of airman
I always strove to be
It had something to do with American hostages in Iran was all I knew.
Some political complication that required a showing of the flag.
But Iran had been our ally? I’d seen their sailors train at our base,
And their uniforms looked even nicer than ours.
Now they were the enemy? OK. I don’t ask questions.
It hadn’t been my habit to think above my pay grade,
Or grasp beyond the sphere of parochial concerns.
I was there to serve my country. “Ask not…” and all that nonsense.
Nor had I questioned the tenure of Ferdinand Marcos,
With his beautiful island nation under martial law,
His wife holding all their shoes hostage.
Like the Shah, I’d been told he was one of the good guys.
It was a cold war.
I hadn’t yet questioned a lot of things.
I was there to serve my country,
Not a common motivation in the post-Vietnam disco era,
When civilians didn’t thank you for your service,
But rather branded you a loser
For giving up your freedom in order to take orders from others.
But that’s why it’s called the service, duh!
Thank you, America. Thank you all to hell.
Well, during our time on Gonzo Station,
Records were set for time underway.
Kelly’s wife divorced him.
Thompson’s had a kid that wasn’t his.
Jimmy Liquor lived up to his name
And was ordered into drydock, just like so many others.
Gypsy Joe Pilotti died of an overdose.
Airman Dillon was sentenced to life for dealing.
Operation Eagle Claw ended up
With Desert One a total cluster f*ck.
I had the feeling things weren’t on the level.
I felt I’d earned the right to ask questions and seek answers.
So, my Iliad was ended, and my Odyssey began.
World wars 1 and 2
The wars to end all wars
But for some, they couldn't fight for the country
Because of the color of their skin
They weren't wanted
Even though they could enlist
Segregation ran rampant
Treated like second class citizens
Not afforded the respect of soldiers
Or as men
Eugene Bullard
A pilot, not a just a ***** pilot
Not wanted by his country, he flew for France
Nicknamed "Black Swallow of Death"
He did for them what he couldn't do for us
Fight for a country
The Tuskegee Airman
The 99th pursuit squadron
First African American unit deployed
The best and the brightest
The red tailed angels
Spit Fire!
The 369th Harlem Hellfighters
Racism at its worst, Blacks wanted to fight
But turned away
But as with the Airmen
They too proved their courage under fire
The 761st Tank battalion
Patton's panthers
"Don't let your people down
Hell, don't let me down"
The point of the spear
Sgt Ruben Rogers, Medal of Honor
Fighting the war on 2 fronts
On the battlefield
And at home
No matter what was done
They still weren't wanted
(c)kingpen2021
The church's steeple was a beacon for that rural countryside.
He'd gone to Sunday School there, there he'd wed his bride.
The young hero returned to church, alas, to be borne to his rest;
Young, all too very young, his precious life was wrest.
The farm where he was born and raised was just across the way.
The fields abutted the graveyard where the gallant airman lay.
Fields that were faithfully tilled by his Dad and Granddad,
Fields that would one day all be his, hoped his doting Dad.
His Dad introduced him to the putt-putting of the old John Deere,
And sat with him on the steel seat teaching him how to steer.
He toiled and sweated beneath the broiling Hoosier sun,
Busy from dawn to dusk, it seemed his work was never done.
As teenage years sped by, farming had lost its charm.
He dreamed of flight as planes streaked across the farm.
He left the old farmstead to pursue a career in aviation.
Alas, a terrible crash curtailed his lifetime aspiration.
He felt obligated to serve as his Dad and Grandpa had done.
Now, sleek fighter planes flew over to honor him for laurels won.
The plaintive notes of "Taps" echoed across the prairie surreal.
Lowered in his grave, the church bell tolled a doleful peal.
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired (© All Rights Reserved)
The enlistment oath he took gravely to fulfill his obligation,
To defend the Constitution and to honorably serve his nation
He always looked sharp, wearing the Air Force blue with pride,
Adhering to the values of God and country was his constant guide.
He always prepared meticulously for every stand-by inspection.
From head to toe he was a model of military perfection.
For this inspection his accessories were carefully selected.
Everything must be perfect, not one detail was neglected.
It took a great deal of time to see that he was properly dressed.
Sharp military creases for his long-sleeved shirt were pressed.
His jacket and trousers were professionally steamed and cleaned.
Strings and lint from his uniform were carefully gleaned.
The creases in his trousers were as sharp as a razor blade.
Rows of ribbons for honors won were upon his breast displayed.
His metal insignia were polished, and, oh, how they glowed!
Now, all was in readiness for inspection and in its proper mode.
The gallant airman was not preparing to march in a parade.
Alas, he was dressed in funereal clothes and in his coffin laid.
For this, his final inspection, he was immaculately dressed.
'Tis for certain that his Creator will surely be impressed!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired (© All Rights Reserved)