Long Deployment Poems
Long Deployment Poems. Below are the most popular long Deployment by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Deployment poems by poem length and keyword.
He made them in a hurry, He made them in the night.
He had other things on His mind, and forgot to paint them white.
A woman planned to fix this error - she was a woman of notoriety.
She saw the problems that this mistake had caused in society.
She beckoned to her female counterparts, to help her if they can.
Medical practitioners and scientists, between them not one man.
Now to decide what colour this future race should be.
Lets not make them blue, they wont be happy.
If we make them green or yellow, they may be jealous or cowardly.
We cant make them black, else they will have to fight to be free.
They pondered. They cant be red, others will take their land.
All colours were suggested, white was rejected as being too bland.
It was decided by unanimous vote the next generation you see,
will be of a delightful purple hue and all the ladies did agree.
They toiled for years to create a race of purple people to inhabit the earth.
Purple mothers everywhere having purple babies when they gave birth.
By the time all humans were of the same colour, peace now reined.
Harmony befell upon the human race and no bigotry remained.
It seemed they had found the answer, but Utopia is hard to uphold.
Soon discontent and aggravation among the population did unfold.
It wasn't long before rebels demanded to be different and not the same.
People demanded a choice of rainbow colours which seemed a shame.
Unrest developed within the race and soon the movement grew.
People stated that they were tired of being all just the same purple hue.
They began to chant a ditty from the lesson learned from a story.
by a young writer named Mary Shelley who found fame and glory.
Everything seemed quite amiss,
And their chant went like this:
A ghostly apparition?
An ill-reputed disposition,
A legacy to educate?
For all to meditate.
His ghost may be heard.
Frankenstein utters this word.
Notorious as a creator,
Of the monster, nothing greater.
A total disappointment,
After its deployment.
He showed it no respect.
It was a victim of his neglect.
His health declined during his search.
He left his monster in the lurch.
His ghost will forever teach us.
The lesson is there to beseech us.
Leave nature to do the creating.
A ghostly message, with no debating.
The evening air spreading its soft chill,
Playing with the blue mountain to nature's will,
New snow flakes engulfs the barren hills,
Taming my heart with tender warmth and thrills.
At the inn the keeper holds a lighted candle,
For us to follow with our packaged bundle,
With grace I wish to avoid a scandal,
Watch my man close the lone door by its handle.
Firewood burns in the wooded homestead,
Spreads it warmth over the snug cushioned bed,
Waits to partake in our action unsaid,
Melting moments for me to love or dread.
Delightful face turns to look up to me,
Candid sensuality in phantoms plea,
Urges me to be forthwith naked and free,
Passion denudes barriers under siege.
Anticipation now burns to aspire,
Taut space between our naked bodies perspire,
And I blush in its heat with hot desire,
Keep my eyes closed as he sets me afire.
Intoxicants flame touched by libations
Sequesters inflamed wet-lip deviations,
Within pleasure kiss gratification,
Outraging tongue's in communication.
Open my eyes to his tactile fondness,
Soon hands engage the spherical hardness,
Force me to opt with resoluteness,
And lie on my back touched by tenderness.
My desperate palms crawl over his back,
Nuptial quivers awake rapture's with knack,
Crazy teeth dig and wildly bite his neck,
Betwixt the legs he performs his attack.
In anticipation I surrender,
As he sets to probes the naked blunder,
Rave’s down the silky valley to plunder,
Unzipped by the latent strike, I thunder.
Reeling from the quick fervent thrusts I cry,
With rage responding to his sadist try,
As he pulls back to enter and defy,
Totally exposed I shudder and sigh.
Quaking with delirious pleasure I cuddle,
Both legs entrapped within the carnal struggle,
Brace quivering bottom in the muddles,
As petals rock within the moist puddles.
Smiling at my denuded enslavement,
Holding my arms in ardent deployment,
Torments my frail defiance with enjoyment,
While his knee's direct steady placement.
Seething with resistance his hardness grows,
Raw power sustaining his taming blows,
Ecstasy mows the bulging heat to sow,
Freely we climax in its cosmic flow.
Begs reprieve for his ebbed shrunken demands;
While in love he obeys all my commands.
Mine dad in the 1940’s was an organ grinder huh!, in the high seas in the Navy. In the 1940’s
Lo, the clanging, bopping, banging of prepare containers foods. Large coppers pans and pots.
Put together meals by combining and heating the ingredients in various ways. Prepared bake fix knock up grub rustle up food meshing and mashing,
a preparing organ grinder hun!
See he tampered with seasonings and sauces interfere with manipulate forging, fiddling embossing be happening as to planned Navel foods.
Was an organ grinder
Most food was boiled in the and liquid was run out via taps sort of an Entertainer of meals
Clanging, clinging, metal spoons, forks, plates, pots and pans
Happen go on in the galley. Like he was a one who played a barrel organ in the streets. kinging and clanging pots and pans sounds.
An unimportant person who does what he is told to do would cook so the seamen could eat...
chef in the Navy
my dad was galley organ
grinder Navy Chef
Keeping the craft alive twas a Navy Chef Barrel organist.
Comes and gets it a handful of cooks wheel-turners are keeping the craft alive.
There was an open fire at the back for spit-roasting and seamen
So could apply to use it if they caught a fish three-legged pots were stood in the embers.
Navy dinner time be on sail onboard personnel three main meals per day
.Breakfast: *0600–0700 lunch: 1100– 1230; dinner: *1600–1800
Chef organ grinder played the galley
The galley food is cooked and prepared
It can also refer to a land-based kitchen on a naval base,
Point of view, gourmet to beef stew to a straight design of the kitchen layout.
(CS) with ranks
culinary Specialist
organ grinder chef
“Fair winds and following seas”, food prep and served seamen for those in the United States Navy. Where they have to say farewell to mommy’s and grands meals. In 1940’s World War 2 tolls. To those retiring or leaving for deployment to cut, munch, and eat now from the galley. Of the chefs in the Navy organ grinder manning. Said the galley a method of saluting rendering honors works in galleys the seaman Chef food prep.
My dad Galley organ grinder
11/01/23
The Last Organ Grinder Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Silent One
I woke up very early this morning, restless and bothered, itchy for the day to happen. As dawn broke orange, the city was revealed. I’ll never get tired of watching that. The snow was gone but a gloss over the city streets indicated ice. I scanned the landscape for movement - for life - like a predator.
Lisa and I are headed back to school today, at 11am, by air, which our parents feel is the best way to avoid our old, holiday nemesis omicron (doesn’t that make us sound like secret agents?).
Once everyone was finally up, Lisa and I got our busy-on, doing the last load of laundry and final packing. Lisa, packs a suitcase, by throwing clothes in without bothering to fold them, while I meticulously fold and roll my clothes, like a marine headed for deployment.
As Lisa and I worked, Leeza (12) was lying on Lisa’s bed, on her back with her head hanging over the edge - watching us pack upside down. Her red hair looked like a thrown plate of spaghetti.
Leeza was talk, talk, talking and gnawing on a toasted bagel at the same time. “How do you feel about going back to school?” she asked us. “OH, feelings!” I gasped, “A free therapy session!” “No, really,” she said, grown serious and rolling right side up.
Leeza is cute as a button and vulnerable - I could almost feel her anxiety. As the youngest sibling I’d been left behind too - you don’t want the holiday to end and your big sister to leave - it’s a singularly lonesome feeling. I wanted to grab her, like a puppy, wrestle her and tell her I love her and I’d miss her - like my sister used to do with me. I decided that as soon as we were done packing, I would.
“My GOD,” Lisa said to Leeza, “will you PLEASE shut up! I have to think.” Leeza blushed and shrugged “I’m just making conversation, grump-face, you’ve packed a million times before haven’t you?” “Does counting to 10 make murder premeditated?” Lisa asked the ceiling.
Suddenly, Lisa dropped the blouse she’d been holding and pounced on Leeza, tickling her as she squealed with delight. In a second they’d become a ball of flailing arms, legs, hair and playful noise. I slunk out of the room to give them their sister’s goodbye.
Besides, I smelled bacon.
(For Contest: Foreign War)
There you are...face to face with me...on Skype...
thousands of miles away. A soldier, but still my son;
Lieutenant Colonel, US Army, Iraq War, February 2004.
You tell me you are safe. After all, you are an officer;
Brigade Commander, an engineer...you have guards.
You are ready...trained so well for survival. But still...
things can happen, and they have, even to officers.*
Each day haunts us: are you a target on that helicopter?
Are you directing military feats near the war zones?
Will there be hidden roadside bombs on your paths?
Will suicide bombers breach the green zone at night?
Too many scenarios; too many bad stories in the news.
As an officer, you have to send out those sad letters
about your lost soldiers...your men, your comrades...
to families...now in deep shock with broken hearts.
Too many sons...some daughters...not coming home.
Our hearts ache for them; their waiting is now over.
Dad and I, your sisters, your wife, and children wait.
The days, weeks, months...years, drag by slowly;
many missed Thanksgivings, Christmases, birthdays.
Finally...your deployment ends; prayers are answered.
Safely, you come home from the war, September 2006;
two years and seven months of worry...missing...waiting.
Now...fourteen years later...many others...still waiting.**
Sandra M. Haight
~2nd Place~
Premiere Contest: Foreign War
Sponsor: Lewis Raynes
Judged: 05/29/2017
(Revision of a poem posted September 6, 2015)
*Operation Iraqi Freedom: Officers Killed In Action: 427, Wounded: 1,880
**March 19, 2003: President Bush launches the invasion of Iraq
December 15, 2011: President Obama declares an 'end' to the Iraq War.
However, now in 2017, many more soldiers are still being deployed to Iraq...
no real end...and 'war' continues with casualties. The Iraq War is listed as
America's 3rd longest foreign war.
It was August 1st,
Army Day in China—
when I was escorted through concrete arteries
deep beneath the pulse of the city.
No cameras. No phones.
Just retinal scans, encrypted codes,
and a silence that pressed
like gravity.
They called it:
Project Wraith.
Rows of suits—no ordinary armor—
but fabrics interlaced with nano-carbon filaments,
reactive polymers,
and strands of bio-electric mesh
that shift molecular frequency
on command.
These were not soldiers.
They were phantoms,
encased in electrostatic cloaks,
their AI cores learning faster
than human instinct could fire.
Their bodies phased—
in and out of visibility,
through steel, through matter,
through perception itself.
One passed through me.
I felt nothing
but a drop in temperature,
like history brushing against the skin.
“We’ve weaponized light,” said the scientist beside me,
his voice cold, brilliant—
like an algorithm made flesh.
“Quantum-threaded suits sync with the cerebrum.
Cognitive field maps adjust in microseconds.
They think at the speed of war.
No lag. No doubt. No conscience.”
They spoke of field modulation,
time-split optics,
phase states.
Displacement theory had reached
deployment.
And in their brilliance,
I saw the fall—
the eclipse of soul by signal.
How far have we come?
We’ve bypassed sight,
rewritten space,
coded war into silence.
But who decides when the unseen strikes?
When the ghosts we built
turn on the living?
I left that tunnel changed.
The light above looked artificial,
the air too honest.
We have crossed into a war
without sound,
without shadow,
without warning.
And somewhere in the distance,
the last cry of humanity
echoed without echo—
heard only by
those still
fully human.
Things ain't that good
mankind tells me just
where is the Brotherhood
I know that your policies your politics are not anything like the Republic
It's all about understood not bet your ways
are not to be subjected not caught running away
ain't going to help me no
Things ain't that good
keeping it to yourself just won't work out yo
we all know that shoveling once a day won't get rid of the snow oh no
things ain't that good
what we need brother is National Brotherhood I know
that things ain't that good
it's not quite what it should
and seems to be in the ghetto
things ain't that good
and they're not going to get any better
I know that things ain't that good for you or me brother
tell me people why all the wars
pimps out on the corners of the streets at night
why all the whores
I know at your policies are not and that you rather not be subjected or caught running away ain't going to help none of us
know keeping it to yourself just won't work out no
we all know that somebody wants to hate
you won't get rid of the snow oh
things ain't that good brother what do we need is National Brotherhood Universal love I know
that things ain't that good
Deep depression
detention
Things ain't that good
hatred
not to mention poverty
Things ain't that good
Dispension
contention
Things ain't that good
unemployment
War deployment
Things ain't that good
it's not quite what it seems to be
in the ghetto
things ain't that good
I know that for you and
for me brother
things ain't that good
3/27/74
Written words by James Edward Lee
Arranged music by Alton Adkins
Armchair Warriors are watching
Ever ready to react and criticise.
They know all the theory but not
Looked through a soldier’e eyes.
Young people who were,
For various reasons, willing
To sign away years of life
And take the Queens Shilling.
The training’s hard and tough
But it’s not quite the same,
Deep down inside they know
It’s just a dangerous game,
Preparation for deployment
Out into a combat zone
One of a field unit
Never ever on their own.
Part of that team
Reliant on each other
Shared experience turning
Each member into a brother.
And, until that first action
Not quite sure what they’ll do,
Will that training kick in
And see them safely through.
A tense situation whether
They see action or not.
Training and comradeship
Are all that each has got,
Until, safely back at base,
Until back on safer ground
It’s tine to unwind and
The unit can stand down.
Kit checking and kipping,
Just waiting for the call, then
It’s back out on patrol
And they’ll do it all again.
Decisions made in split seconds
Can later be held to be wrong
But out there at the sharp end
A split second’s not so very long.
And the watchers are watching
That no win no fee legal bunch
Waxing fat on litigation and
The expense account lunch.
Watching and calculating
Just how much they might make
When a frightened soldier
Makes a stress driven mistake.
Out in combat situations
Where the danger is live
And the natural reaction is
Just to want to survive
And those guardians of society
Judge things they’ve not known
And, with hands on their wallets
Calmly cast that first stone.
.
Your uniforms are all
Lined up in order
I noticed the blood stripe that had been added
Along time ago
I heard your medals clinking together
As you tucked them all away
I stepped back in time
You once stood
On yellow footprints of those before you
Chaos surrounding your new world
A flashing moment's thought,
“What have I done?”
Went through your mind
In 13 weeks you were broken down
Rebuilt back up
As a United States Marine
30 days of field training
Never ending
Rolling into years
Deployment
Seeing the world
Seeing more then you will ever say
4 years ago on top of the Reaper
The Eagle, Globe and Anchor
Was placed in your hand
Forever in your heart
Today you stepped off those footprints
You have been following
While serving our Country
Taking a step forward into the civilian world
Creating your own footprints
Each step of the way
You wear no medals
Nothing shouting “I am a Marine”
But anyone can see
From the way you stand
Taking in your surroundings
The manner in which you hold yourself
Prepared to face any challenges ahead
My simple word to you my son
Remain the same as the as the day you first left
“Spread your wings and soar,
never let anything stop you on your life’s journey.
If ever in doubt look to the sky
as the Eagle circles above
Letting you see the possibilities ahead of you.”
You are now a
United States Marine Veteran
Your heartbeats
Once a Marine, Always a Marine
My heart beats
Once my Son, Always my Son.
Jennifer Kiesling (c)2017
Form:
We're out here in the Land of Sand.
We came to take a stand, and lend a helping hand.
But every hand I see is shooting back at me.
It's hard to feel too welcome when all the shot and shell come.
This isn't working out much like we planned.
I cannot wait to leave the Land of Sand.
We're out here in the Land of Mud.
It's nasty and its wet, and I've got the raging crud.
There's water to my knees and snipers in the trees.
I don't smell like a flower,
It's months I had a shower.
Our CO is a clone of Elmer Fudd.
I cannot wait to leave the Land of Mud.
Oh, home, sweet home.
I dream of hot dogs in the Astrodome.
It's where my heart is turning.
I'm yearning for home.
We're out here in the Land of Bugs.
They buzz around my head like a thousand thirsty thugs.
The skeeters and the fleas are worse than enemies.
It's hot here as a sauna and all the local fauna
Bounce around like they are high on drugs.
I cannot wait to leave the Land of Bugs.
Oh, home, sweet home.
I finally got my orders to go home
It's where my babe is bedding,
I'm heading for home.
So now I'm back at home at last.
The mud and sand and bugs are all back in the past.
But kids are screaming, neighbors scheming
Wife is pouting, bills are mounting.
Home life is really dull,
I'm bored right out of my skull.
I think I'll put my papers in again,
And go off to the Land of Ice -
Seems nice.
I think it will suffice.