Long Sergeant Poems
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A Dragon Squirrel Brigade
Dragon got home from the Army, wanting to be totally, in control.
He wanted to be a Drill Sergeant, to teach the recruits, to be bold.
He gave them all a blankie, and a binkie they could keep, I am told.
They’d throw a rock, and shoot in a blink, like the knight’s of old.
He’d practice the squirrels, now, waging a fight, in an old Hawk War.
A sling shot army, his name to fame, who could dare ask for more?
An army waiting, as they fly at our birds, yep, here’d come the corps.
The gumball tree is ready, yes, ammunition does abound, in galore!
Yep, they’re better than those darn possums, I say, sleeping in the day.
They’d Shoot, hanging upside down, slingshots and gumballs, into play.
Dragon marched them up and down, the trunk, and limbs, in the array.
They’d find the perfect spots, to shoot from, at their whim, in the foray.
Seems, they also learned to jump, into an amazing flying squirrel act.
The flying squirrel missed his target, got caught, in a boy’s hair, for a fact!
A kid then threw rocks at the troops, as the hawks were forgot, you think!
Unfortunately, they are squirrels, and some times, do some squirrelly things.
They closed the town down, with a hornet’s nest in every Road. That stings!
Nobody dared go down the streets, a curfew had been struck, in a blink.
Yep, at that moment, the Hawk decided to stealthfully, swoop in for a bird.
A gutter frog jumped on the hawk’s back, forcing him, to the ground, I heard.
At that, our first hero was made, as gutter frogs joined the squirrel brigade.
As the squirrel was removed from the boys’ hair, the barbershop became…
A place for squirrel nesting supplies, so the curfew was lifted, fast as it came.
A gutter frog offering this advice, became the new General, in this war game.
Squirrels, were tired of marching, and being yelled at by Dragon, that night.
They replaced him with the gutter frog, with less smoke and fire. Alright!
But Dragon’s work was done that day, as the troops were ready to fight.
Finally he was a Hero, for he had turned the tide… He was so very proud.
The moral to my story is:
The troops got a Drill Sergeant, but didn’t need him any more.
A General is enough to carry on, for a Generals’ planning is better…
Than a young Dragon’s power and fire… as, yes, Dragon went off to play.
Written by Carol Eastman 2-8-2015
Visions of you
I see a knight in armour – one of King Arthur’s – ready to do battle
at the drop of a word – for Queen, country, god and ego.
I see Babe Ruth, knocking balls out of the game,
in order to be the winning team – for god country and soul.
I see Amelia Earhart, taking on the air, the skies, the world
– for ego, spirit, soul, heart and the abused child / woman in her.
I see Muhammad Ali, putting on the gloves in order to knock out
all wood be challengers to her position, control, power, rightness.
I see a chess pro, taking out the pawns, the knights, the bishops,
rooks, the queen – check mating the king – putting him in his place,
- under her thumb, under her queen - winning the game.
I see a friend chocking up in the crunch – makes the wrong choices –
ends up missing, sinking the eight ball that she is now behind.
Never winning the game she so desperately wants to play well.
I see a friend who needs so much more than she is,
who needs so much more than she ever gets,
who needs to be a lover and loved,
who needs to be loved as a lover.
B. J. “A” 2
July 29th, 2003
Visions of you
Part Two
De ja vu - I see a sergeant, major, barking out orders, to all,
as if this world were her own private army.
I see a little Hitler, – mustache and all – trying to rule
her tiny, little universe – make it fit her ideal dream.
I see a Johnnie Cochran, and his dream team ( your demons ),
O J Simpson, the defendant, convincing herself and the world
she is truth, she is right, she is might, and as Jonnie Cochran,
the lawyer, the mouth piece shooting down - all reason, all logic,
all attempts – by denying, by lying, by deception, by trying
to baffle brains with bull ****, by throwing every irrelevant
- verbal diarrhoeaed – thought and word into the fray,
in order to distract, avoid the issues, the truths, to be right.
I see a Jim Jones, a Joseph Smith, preaching her gospel,
a gospel according to her - designed to have the sheep,
the blind, the week, the lost souls of this planet
to follow her path without question, and in the end,
sacrifice “ ALL ” for the sake of her fragile soul,
her floundering, lost spirit, her ill ego.
I see a friend, with a heart of gold, if truth be told.
More of a friend to those who have done her wrong.
then to those who truly care, about her welfare.
B. J. “A ” 2
July 29th, 2003
Johnny always wanted to follow in his father’s footsteps,
as soon as he turned 18 he joined the US Army-
He wanted to live of life of honor, free of regret,
so he joined the one and only Mechanized Infantry.
To the world he wanted to make a difference,
and he only wanted to make his mamma proud-
He soon advanced to sergeant in deep reverence,
you could see Johnny’s honor through a crowd.
So humbly he fought the good fight on the front line,
used strong weaponry and all the fine resources,
Unfortunately, there was this one disastrous time,
he was wounded in combat and traded soldier courses.
It was about six months later he went back to Irag,
for he still longed to be the one to make us free-
He knew he had to get his life back on track,
so that one day he could tell his children a proud story.
Back at home his wife was pregnant with their first,
so he fought with more dignity and more strength,
Even though holding he dreamed of holding her at birth,
he still would fight for his troop at any length.
Nobility became his future and a General he became,
he had soldiers who looked upon him with respect-
This man was at a high rank and Johnny was his name,
but he still didn’t know what honestly expect.
In the US Army, you can be all you can be,
but sometimes soldiers by your side isn't enough,
Johnny was barricaded and suffered a brain injury,
ended up in Germany for surgery, and it was tough.
He lost his arm from a grenade that hit him hard,
after he healed he was sent home to his daughter and wife,
He wondered if his decisions had played the wrong card,
but was able to hold sweet Ellie for the first time in his life.
With adversity he struggled at home to come to terms,
with all the traumatic things he had seen and done-
But continued a strict regimen of therapy very firm,
and deep inside he knew the United States had won.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
When we see a wounded soldier and look away,
we should be ashamed and hold them with admiration-
Even though we may not have the right words to say,
those heros are one of the reasons for...
...our country’s emancipation.
JPContest 6: WAR AND HEROISM - Poetry Contest
August 19, 2017
Being a household hero
and laying in my hammock,
is the only reason.
Summer in my backyard,
is my favorite season.
I love a soft warm southern breeze.
As I lay I the shade of Red dogwood trees...
The only Hurricane in the forecast,
is swirling with ice in my tall glass.
As I enjoy the lay of the land,
lounging here all day is only part of my plan.
Quietly protecting the peace,
my silent sentinel of serenity.
Man’s best friend, a full grown
three-pound chocolate chihuahua
asleep under my feet.
A beautiful woman enters my view,
and she has a list of chores for me to do.
Seeing the way, she’s dressed and
headed in my direction I thought
maybe she’d like to help me
with my now rising (wish it was bigger).
She strolls toward me singing my name.
She sings a song of why I’m at the top of her list
for the lazy man’s hall of fame.
Her velvety voice is music to my ears.
If you like the sound of a drill sergeant,
commanding troops for a number of years.
It is from my lovely wife
where I catch hell.
Because she knows her husband,
dose nothing very well.
A wonderful woman, soft as silk,
but when she’s in a mood her voice
has been known to curdle milk.
Lift that bail! tote that barge!
Trim those bushes! And wash the Car!
She says
Honey when are you going to cut the grass?
And I say
Right now, my riding mower seems to be out of gas.
She says
then you could put together the new barbecue grill.
I pictured the unopened box in my garage,
and say
Honey I checked the parts and its missing a wheel.
She says
OK! When are you going to start building the back deck?
And I said
Yesterday I talked to a contractor but he wouldn’t take a check.
She says
The grand kids are looking forward
to playing on the new swings.
And I said
Well I think I’ll have that together
by some time, next spring.
She says
Well when are you going to walk this ole dog
that pays me no mind?
And I said
If you look honey, she’s got four legs
and I think she walk’s just fine.
She says
you can at least wash the car and trim the bushes!
I take a sip from my drink,
and took a half minute to think...
I looked in her beautiful brown eyes.
Knowing this isn’t what she wants to do.
She climbs into my arms, you see,
my hammock is very comfortable.
It was made for two.
June 01/1916
So it’s off to war!
By they were glad
Singing and whistling a tune every lad
With a swing of their arms
and a smile on their lips
And a shine in their eyes
For the gals in white slips
So it’s march down to the station
To board for the front
With a hiss and a whistle
And pull and a shunt
Then just one last look
At the girls with a tear in their eyes
We will be home for Christmas
So no need to cry
The Germans can’t shoot straight
Their bullets are rubber
So hold your tears girl
There is no need to blubber
At the front ONE MONTH LATER July 01-1916
Battle of the Somme
So we will dig our trenches
And sleep in the mud
The weather’s quite cold
And the food’s not that good
Sarge blows a whistle
And over we go
One at a time or all in a row
The noise is quite deafening
The bullets whiz by
A strange sort of noise hearing men die
Some they go quickly with not even a whimper
Some take all night caught in the moons
glimmer
Trapped in the wire, trod in the mud
Guts lay beside them leaking life’s blood.
Screams and cry’s
They cut through the cold night air
For a man to end his life this way just don’t seem fair
Please Don’t leave me alone
OH MOTHER PLEASE HELP ME!
I want to go home!
My tummy’s hurting
Please don’t leave me alone
So I lay in my trench, hands over my ears
The rain on my face hiding my tears
While somebody’s father somebody’s son
Somebody’s sweetheart
Who’s life’s just begun
Pleads for his mother to stop his pain
And hold him in her arms
Just once again
But she will never hear
Her boys last request
She will never again see his boyish zest
never to hold him in her arms again
Or ruffle his hair or soothe his pain
‘Whistle Whistle‘
Well there’s no time to day dream
And no time to dither
‘Cause the Sergeant is calling
And so through the mud we must slither
Over the top keep your head down
Try not to trod on those laying down
Past little Jimmy stuck on the fence
This bloody war don’t make any sense
I feel a slight tingle running down my spine
My legs are numb they don’t feel like mine
It’s all going dark now
I think I’ll just lay down here
Feel really tired but mam will soon be here
To tuck me in and ruffle my hair
And tell me a story about ‘Rabbit Brer’
Lights fading fast now
Time to sleep
Good night sweet Jesus
My soul pray you keep
African-American and abusive, my late step-dad
was a reverse racist:
an army sergeant; a Vietnam vet; and, a backhand,
face-hitting sadist.
I once bemoaned that I was a white child
(as if it were my fault!?)
and that he was black and resentful of me.
So, once in reckless revolt
against his ongoing abuse,
I rebelled under my breath
and uttered the "n" word at him
(so he beat me nearly to death).
Bruised, I never uttered that word again;
then mom and he divorced
as I grew older (which freed us at last!):
now unrivaled (with no remorse),
I suddenly was the man of the house; and life
for us seemed less stormy.
For the first time in years we lived without abuse;
and, at last, we were a family.
Then I got religion and met God;
and gave myself to Christ.
It was the best thing I ever did!
Born again, I thus was sufficed.
So the scars of my step-dad's abuse which
for years I had repressed
began to heal and disappear; and so I became
less and less oppressed.
Now old, my erstwhile step-dad developed
advanced swelling of the lung;
I had not forgiven him yet (back when
I was still angry and young).
Not yet able to forgive him for the abuse that
made our lives so unbearably grim,
I nevertheless still realized that the weight
of still having hatred for him
was far worse than my pain. I recognized
that in life we all transgress
and come short of God's glory: so, moved by
His grace and forgiveness,
I made the right choice to forgive him;
for me a daily, ongoing process,
I at last began to let go of the anger
and truly begin to move past the mess
that was my step-dad's legacy to me. Also, I
began to forgive God;
for He was not to blame for him (whose own
father, too, did not spare the rod).
Still, tho' I had chosen to forgive (him) and let go,
he was unmoved and unchanged as ever:
but I, however, realized that what truly mattered
was that forgiveness set me free forever!
When at last he died, I had already completely
let go (so that he was forgiven).
Now I can only ask of God whether my step-dad
was changed from his glimpse of heaven?
In little towns the big events are locally presented,
and every family in the town is usually represented.
Shopkeepers shut their doors when a pioneer curls his toes,
and if someone’s up to mischief, then everybody knows.
Every sporting club is well supported, right down to the wire,
they are the social hubs of towns to set the youth on fire,
through footy clubs and netball clubs combining into one
to sing and dance the night away, promoting local fun.
Of course when youth is mixed with party love can fill the air,
so Cupid’s firing arrows through the hearts of those who care.
This sometimes leads to earnestness when love gets in the way;
the town is now preparing for there’ll be a wedding day.
There’s heaps of preparation from the family of the bride;
flower girls and pretty maids to stand right by her side.
There’s the minister and invitations; the caterers are right.
All the groom must think about - “Are you coming to the bucks night?”
It’s half past five and dawn is breaking; we’re coming back to town.
God knows who is driving but their foot is going down.
There’s nugget, sauce and butter, smeared over everything;
the bucks party is over now - it’s ten hours ‘til the wedding.
And now coming up behind us is a mass of flashing light,
when a siren started blaring; we thought it better to take flight.
We shot around some back streets trying to lose this cop,
then someone with a drunken slur, said “I think we better stop.”
Popularity is not the word that I would say is spoken next.
This angry cop took any plea completely out of context.
He wouldn’t listen to a word that’s said, repeating “That’s enough!”
before I heard the second click of a closing set of handcuffs.”
In a cell back at the station there’s a pall of doom and gloom.
And there’s a hint of panic when it’s mentioned in the room,
by the cop who indicated strongly that by giving him some flack,
we’re gunna stay locked up until his Sergeant arrives back.
I made every kind of plea I could, but this cop avoids my dreading.
He said “Young lad you’re lucky; my Sergeants at his daughters wedding,
so he’ll be in a good mood when he greets you in this room.”
“Don’t bloody count on it” I said - “Because I’m the flamin’ groom!”
That dormant feeling of insecurity arose,
when travel journal got thrust adjacent
to my tattered (holey tattooed) clothes
while I knew with crossed eyes
aroused anger from peaceful doze
my younger sister felt about her
globe trotting exploits, an over expose
jour ever since voyaging out on her own
after graduating top of her class
where mine hatred glows
indirectly snidely sneering
at ma dough less brother hoboes
(a 1979 Methacton High School alumni),
unanimously chosen valedictorian
dressed in Calvin Klein
Harris tweed, couture
and silk panty hose
like me prolonging, promoting
on par with quasi staff sergeant, who knows
artful disciplinarian gingerly launching rules,
asper formerly commanding G.I. Joes
and pronouncing, predilection
exhaling natural highs no lows
traveling solo, with surviving Wilburys,
or just mows
zing nonchalantly
(though a foreigner) with swarthy skin color
easily camouflaging as civilian
all points on the compass,
where minute needle doth nose
upon returning home (being honorably feted
at once glorious estate of Glen Elm,
where she did propose
to the Lord Taylor (swiftly), which location
situated at 324 Level Road, Collegeville,
Pennsylvania 19426),
thence a great huzzah a rose
an immediate nauseousness welled
within from me head tummy smelly toes
I did not want to here, or see any details,
which would accentuate personal woes
popping, snapping, and smarting,
and slapping skin raw tib bits,
ache'n to yanked strings
of mama's heirloom yo-yos!
Poet Script:
trials and tribulations,
visited upon head of young
concocted ("FAKE") gusty and gutsy
kid sister enterprising ingenue,
christened easy on the tongue
Sharodd (not her real name),
to top off talents sung
like a professional opera singer, which rung
a shiver along small hairs of spine did tingle
heard all the way to Lake Woebegone
where bachelor farmers did mingle
every Christmas, a decreasing
number donned Kris Kringle
hit with blitzkrieg of yawping brats
hoof pranced to bell weather jingle!
If you approach anyone
Remember always
There is seven metres
To be safe
From a blade
He was a violent offender
Who beat his girlfriend often
And he broke the law
Acts his community would always defend
He caused the Medical Centre
To be closed down
And the staff were evacuated
Away from the town
He confronted police
And brandished an axe
So he ran into the bush
Not taking a look back
So reinforcements were sent to the town
To bring him into custody was the plan
The police found him in a house
He gave a false name knowing he was a wanted man
But Sergeant Eberl and Constable Rolfe weren’t fooled
And arrested Walker as a wanted man
But Walker struggled and stabbed both with scissors
Wanting to escape them as his demand
Rolfe in defence shot Walker
Then Eberl and Walker fell down
Eberl was fighting for his life
And Rolfe fired twice defending Eberl on the ground
The scissors were taken from Walker
And he was rendered first aid
Then taken to the Police Station
Where Walker’s life away did fade
The story took a twist for the worst
And Zach Rolfe was charged with murder and more
The first shot was within the law
But the second and third were an unlawful score
Chief Minister Gunner said
there’d be consequences
And Zach Rolfe was put through
Two years of hell waiting for his day
When the truth would be told too
The trial started and time and again
It was shown that Rolfe took action by his training
But the Prosecution tried hard
And finally Zach Rolfe was found not guilty with the jury acquitting
But the story did not end
The Yuendumu Community still wanted
An eye for an eye and cried out
For revenge for Walker was shouted
Commissioner Chalker still wanted his pound of flesh
And put Zach Rolfe on annual leave
Serving him with breaches of regulation
So the story continues on to the Coroners Court if you please
So the court jury process acquitted Rolfe
But questions remain
In whether Gunner and Chalker interfered with process
In charging Rolfe with murder
Most think that justice has been done
When Zach Rolfe was acquitted in the Supreme Court
But now it seems the process carries on
So where does the truth lie?
© Paul Warren Poetry
BIG HANDS DON
I s’pose I’ve been a cowboy since I was just a ‘teen
But I was herd’n bad guys, see I cowboy’d for the queen
I rode with lots of partners up and down the asphalt trail
Those that cut the corners and those that wouldn’t fail
Some were rough and ready and a few just down right tricky
One sticks in my memories, he’s Big Hands Don Molicki
Now Big Hands wore a smile that surely was no bluff
It didn’t seem to phase him when customers got rough
His presence was imposing, a draft horse in the stable
When muscle was required Big Hands was more than able
He was who ya wanted to back ya in the bar
Or wrestling ornery critters into a police car
But after all the action of solving crime and caper
We’d head back to the office and put it down on paper
Well this is where the smile just melted off his face
His hands were hardly suited for a secretary’s place
Fat fingers on the keyboard, the letters surely flew
But when he’d aim for W he’d hit E S and Q
One late night as he toiled to fix his shift report
The waste pail full beside him with pages he’d abort
His mighty fist then crashed down hard upon the keys
And he cursed so that we knew this wern’t no time to tease
The rest of us were busy putt’n guns and cuffs away
When one went over to him and entered in the frey
He thought his gun unloaded when he aimed at that machine
And said “I’ll solve your troubles” then pulled the trigger clean
We stood there in a dither when we heard that pistol bark
While the bullet pierced the heart of the exclamation mark
When eardrums quit their ringing and smoke commenced to clear
Our minds turned to excuses for the questions sure to hear
When mounties fire their side arms, reports they have to make
We figured this was one we’d probably have to fake
But every new rendition of the lie that we would give
Seemed just about a shaky and water in a sieve
It finally was decided in the middle of the night
We’d call the Sarge and fess-up, not a pretty sight
With courage fully mustered, the Sergeant home in bed
Was told the gruesome details, he asked “ya think it’s dead!!”
The month or so that followed slipped by without no gripin’
Big Hands did all our bull work, we did all his typin’