Long Platoons Poems
Long Platoons Poems. Below are the most popular long Platoons by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Platoons poems by poem length and keyword.
A boy King was born in Bethlehem piquing the interest of three very wise guys.
They came from the East guided by a mysterious Star streaming from the skies!
They got a fix on the Star with their GPS and with AAA aid, planned their route,
To make the trek to that unlikely place to see what the hoopla was all about!
They mounted their royal camels named Chrysler, Lincoln and Cadillax.
(Lesser breeds named Chevy, Honda, Kia and VW toted MREs and packs!)
Reservations were made to stay at Oases Embassy Suites along the way,
Ensuring they provided swimming pools and golf courses on which to play!
They took along a generous supply of gold, frankincense and myrrh,
And platoons of Green Berets as guards should any funny stuff occur!
Their route took them o'er mount and vale and through dunes of shifting sand.
Sans their GPS and I-pods they would've become lost in that desolate land!
As they neared Bethlehem, they enquired, "Where is this King of the Jews?"
They were told, "Take a left on Palm Mews, then a right to Holy Mews!
There you'll find Him wrapped in swaddling cloths in a modest shed.
There was no room for Him at Holiday Inn so He was born there instead!"
They paid their respects and presented their gifts as they knelt in adoration.
Learning in a dream of Herod's plan, they high-tailed it East in a new direction!
Herod tried to find where the sweet Babe lay and his innocent life destroy,
But he lived to become King of Kings regardless of Herod's nefarious ploy!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Old Caleb Trotter had great plans for his town in Colorado.
For years he'd roamed the Rockies, finally finding his El Dorado!
He discovered glittering gold that would surely make him flush!
He founded Trotter's Gulch and soon there was a frenzied rush!
Cabins were built on plots that prospective miners selected.
Why, there was even a school and three churches were erected!
'Twas a bawdy place with the usual brawls and seedy saloons.
Soiled doves and gamblers invaded the town by platoons!
Time moved on and Caleb established a general store,
Figuring that the mining game wasn't for him anymore.
He made his fortune catering shovels, overalls and boots,
To hard-rock prospectors and other such galoots!
The population reached ten thousand and showed great potential.
It boasted a railroad station and other services essential.
It included three undertakers, five blacksmiths and ten preachers,
Four doctors, two newspapers and twelve well-respected teachers!
Alas, the pay dirt around Trotter's Gulch soon petered out.
The future of the town was left very much in doubt.
'Twas soon abandoned and another ghost town was born.
'Tis no longer on the map - it now lies desolate and forlorn!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(© All Rights Reserved)
A parade requires a horde of supporting cast to put on a show:
Platoons of committees plus cops to control the traffic flow.
But an indispensable element of any successful parade,
Is the ever-viligant crew of the poop and scoop brigade!
A parade ain't complete without John Deere and Farmall tractors,
And a legion of politicians and other such obnoxious detractors.
There's the usual haughty equestrians riding prancing steeds,
Followed by the scoop brigade disposing of equine misdeeds!
Members of the marching bands must be careful where they tread,
Being very alert for unforeseen obstacles that may lie ahead.
But with a crack poop and scoop brigade that is really on the ball,
They can march with resolute stride stepping in nothing at all!
A parade must have silly clowns and a queen of something or other,
Colorful floats, fire engines and classic cars trailing one another.
Some even feature giraffes and elephants plodding down the street,
Posing a special challenge to the brigade but they won't concede defeat!
You've got to tip your fedora to those stalwart scoop brigades.
Without their attention to detail and participation in parades,
And dealing with emergencies without the slightest cue,
Many awkward and stinky situations could very well ensue!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
It was my birthday; only God knows the year
we played 8-ball, downed platoons of whiskey and beer
After last call, things got a little hazy
The next day my buddy Jake filled in the blanks.
Seems I begged him to drive me to the sinful silver state...
Instead, he pacified me with a fifth of 180 proof.
The last thing I remember was tugging at my shoes.
The next morning, I found a shoe between two panes of glass.
Looking like a pair of patent leather jets that had run out of gas.
The landlord just shook his head, said Get to work then laughed.
With head filled with neon mist and a fist filled with glaze...
I climbed up Jake's ladder and squared up with the pane.
Based on a true story-the name was changed to protect the guilty
The farmer sent his son to agricultural school for an education,
To see if he could learn anything about an agrarian vocation.
Professors filled his head with ideas about operating a farm.
Such nonsense caused the old man raging headaches and alarm!
"Son, when it comes to farmin', them perfessors ain't got a clue.
I've been farmin' nigh on fifty years and I'm a-tellin' you,
Yer book-larnin' and them silly ideas is all outta whack;
This here farm is run by the moon and the Farmer's Almanac!"
"Now, when you plant pertaters, one thing is very plain.
You plow and sow 'em when the moon is on the wane.
When it comes to makin' hay, don't never cut it too soon;
Wait til it's a-bloomin' and mow in the full of the moon."
"When butcherin' hogs, you must do it when it's opportune,
And that means you kill 'em at the right time of the moon.
Let the Farmer's Almanac be yer guide when plantin' seeds.
It's also helpful fer prunin' trees and killin' noxious weeds."
"There'll be platoons of county agents a-tellin' me what to do.
Them fellers can talk all they want til their face is blue!
They'll try to change my ways, but I ain't hummin' that old tune.
This here place is run by the Almanac and hangin' of the moon!"
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired (© All Rights Reserved)
Moonchild
I held him dying in my arms
As he whispered hoarsely
‘Don’t let them forget;
Remember me
And show them how wrong
That right can be.’
In a second he was gone
His place removed
From the table.
No one would ever know
His talents or how far
His influence could have gone.
Perhaps as a physician
He would have healed thousands.
As an agrarian wizard
He might have spared Biafra
Those swollen stomachs.
He could have found the True God,
But like billions before him
He was sacrificed
By the manipulators of destiny:
The Apache chiefs on the hill,
Braves dying.
Generals in the command post,
Platoons slaughtered.
The Judas goat
And always the 300 Spartans,
The Light Brigade and Pickett’s Charge.
The shield, to be protector,
Or the death slab,
And more await
Packed in the pens of town and city
Like so much cattle
Awaiting the word of the manipulator
Clothed in the worn-out
Hole-ridden mantle of freedom
And another handshake
And another tear-stained kiss
And another ‘We’re proud of you boy.’
And another ‘You’re doing a fine job.
And another medal.
And another flag
And another and another and another ...
I took my periodic stroll through the local antique store today.
There were the usual horse collars, clocks and various sundries on display.
Havin' no need fer horse collars and sech, I quickly passed them by,
But a paintin' of an abandoned stagecoach really caught my eye!
The artist depicted it in a field overgrown with tumbleweeds and brambles.
It looked so very forlorn, its former glory now in a total shambles!
I contemplated this poignant scene and mused upon its past,
And how it may have helped conquer the western frontier so very vast!
I could picture the cranky driver a-cussin' and crackin' his leather whip,
Stingin' the ears of his cantankerous mules urgin' them on to a faster clip!
As they raced across arid deserts and rounded treacherous mountain curves,
How the passengers must've been jostled, gittin' on each others nerves!
I visualized the characters that old stage must've transported to the west!
There were gamblers seekin' suckers, concealin' ample aces in their vest!
Platoons of preachers clutchin' their Bibles were numbered 'mongst the hosts,
And young and innocent teachers were headin' west to teach at army posts!
Soiled doves, plyin' their trade, were headed fer sawdust saloons.
I wondered if the old stage had ever been sacked by outlaws and their goons.
I reckon the old derelict had earned its repose - its axles no longer squeal.
If only that old stage could speak! My oh my! The secrets it might reveal!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) All Rights Reserved
when Democrats outliers gnashed
teeth, and nonestablishmentarian outlaws
pistol whipped and hashed
tagged traitors who roared America
went bankrupt at sold at fire sale price slashed
when Donald Trump ran the country
into the ground evidenced by Molotov Cocktails residue
in concert with the sulfuric odor of hand grenades trashed
like some sorority or fraternity house
left the sanctified righteous West Wing
with powder puffs sans canisters
of pepper spray, whereby
most docile, humble, and liberal took a page
from playbook of Pandora, and took an aimless swing
at the root cause of melee by hurling objet’s d’art
at the pompous trump ping
Septuagenarian, whose platoons of goons
rent asunder peoples against their king
the donnybrook heathen, whose remarks
against libertarian rubric that made America great
wantonly soup peer egg go whist tickly
reviving prejudices declared dead
from yesteryear and his attempt to bring
back the glory days, when Whistler Blowers
getting water boarded and aching
deigning to implement dictatorship
of the Proletariat as a capital idée fix
weaving together, the salient strengths
viz founding fathers credo gave licks
to King George, and now in an ironic
twist and shout of fate through eclectic mix
basket of deplorables further shamed
by being routed by the New York Nicks
sewed jaws, heads of state, and dignitaries
with limping bodies spent like derricks
Oil used up and no place to go except
to keep Alice in Chains and
Alice Cooper Company with toys in the attics.
Glitterin' gold wuz struck along Alder's Gulch in eighteen sixty-three!
Potential prospectors came frum as fer away as Knoxville, Tenn-o-see!
Hordes uv soiled doves and gamblers migrated to the Gulch as well,
Along with platoons uv ruffians and barkeeps, their potent booze to sell!
Fellers labored hard all week pickin' and a-shovelin' at their claim.
But Sundays wuz set aside to raise 'oly 'ell, much uv it to their shame!
Baptist preachers thumped their Bibles tryin' to preach above the din.
There warn't no churches so they preached in saloons aginst the wages uv sin!
Hurdy-gurdy gals roamed about 'neath the steely-eyed gaze uv their 'madam'.
Guns and bowie knives wuz rife and wuz brandished by the dudes that had 'em!
Brawls erupted resultin' in blackened eyes and numerous bloodied noses,
Leavin' heaps uv rowdies sprawled on sawdust floors in grotesque poses!
Pie-aner players added to the din beltin' out their bawdy songs!
Preachers gave up and said to 'ell with it and joined the festive throngs!
Poker games wuz proceedin' in ever' saloon, usually endin' in a ruckus,
Since there seemed to be an excess uv aces held by some cheatin' cuss!
Fallin' down drunks wuz nuisances that bouncers simply booted out the door,
But they somehow meandered to another pub to imbibe a little more!
On Sundays they had their spree - on Mondays though sick and broke,
They panned fer 'dust fer another Sabbath frolic - the aim uv ever' bloke!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
25 people in a neighbourhood, could really
Impact the area for good' if ten
Committed gardeners keen; could, gave advice to
Others, say a minimum of fifteen? All within
A half-mile square. Gardens on a minimum
Also fifty feet square! To plant some fruit trees
And beds of veg? Rows of corn beside the
Shed to allow a beekeeper, for pollination
It would feed that group; could inspire a
Nation? On large village greens, would what be sown? I can
See possibilities
Almost endless on the growing I say a healthy initiative what say
You?
Could it be aided? Would the government help too?
That might mend
Some fences? and cause cohesion
With some in politics who aren’t just like a
Damaging lesion.'
©Joe Maverick 28-7-2023