Long Tour of duty Poems
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We find ourselves cowering from their RPG's
Grown fighting men being brought to their knees
Kandahar is where we are so many miles from our homes
Trying to keep focused but inside we steadily roam
Incessantly we hear the zipping of bulleted lead
Invisible to the eye, for they can bring us near to dead
A silence suddenly falls amidst clouds of ashen grey
As we suffer a direct hit, modern man finally plays
In my peripheral I hear a scream, that I've never heard before
Then I hear a pleading by weaponry in maiming score
Upon the dust lifting, I view a blood stained earth
Limbless my colleague is, is what we're fighting worth
He's nineteen years old, so many miles from his home
His body torn and burnt, where does his mind now roam
"Medics, medics" now deafen the surrounding screams
Shell shocked we are, grown fighting men beside crimson streams
Our tour of duty is now over, us fortunate return to our kin
As we remember he, our fallen, and their roaming in us within
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/war-8.php
Miles past the nightstand
over the plastic water bottle.
the Ambien pill dispenser
and the soul-bruised eye shades,
an arrhythmic clock
ticks like a bombed-out tank.
Of course there is the lampshade
(that lighthouse for the luminescent krill
of submerged consciousness)
that seems attached to my skin
whenever body parts want to cut ties
with a mattresses concave reality.
Secreted like a drugged shark
in the shallow recesses of a snaring drawer
a snubby barrel with six mad prayers
snugs up against a snoring bible.
The raven iridescence
of night-cats prowl a life leaking bed;
occasionally they look up
their eyes shining
as they search for an alien presence.
On its four arthritic legs the nightstand
watches;
its tour of duty still patrolling a far off
conflict of doubt and faith.
Time to turn over the hull of being,
upright any surface
with a legibly printed label,
then haul that address back in
from the far side of an arm’s reach.
Time to shuck whatever shell
still rolls unopened in the surf
of the tossed and blanketed.
My last tour of duty is finally near
To never see again this barren frontier
My heart beats wildly to be with my wife
To live tomorrow and beyond and get on with our lives
I dream of the airport as my plane touches down
To run into her arms in kissing drown
Rushing of home to continue our bliss
Thoughts of our love drives me to wish after wish
Our romantic want starts since many a night
Rose petals, candles and champagne delight
Silk sheets and oils to well into the morn
The delight of our union, in nine months our first born
To love and to cherish my wife forever
Our hearts as one, and never to sever
My entry into Laura's " A Romantic Longing " contest
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/poetry-soup-4.php
Moon night!
Full quarter, half-moon snow bright;
Mid-day, mid noon, such a boom;
a Moon lit Knight;
Son of a Jewish Rabbi;
Birth given name Marc Spector;
Was a professional boxer?
Did a tour of duty, fought as a Marin;
Leaves them to join ops. In CIA!
Later in the parlay
Becomes a vigilante;
A gravity anti-hero;
Mercenary;
Killed by an Egyptian Bushman;
The Egyptian god of Konshu resurrects;
Marc Spector mercenary rich socialite;
Now transformed by this god into;
Moon Knight;
Vigil unto battle mode;
Ready to deal with any ordinary criminals;
Crime fighter dressed in WHITE;
With the crest of the quarter moon on his chest;
Moon night;
Full quarter, half-moon;
Mid-day, mid noon;
A Moon Knight!
8/6/21
10/3/2022 revision©2021, 2022©
"From anthology Marvel Comics Poetry BIOS"
For Moon Knight Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Robert James Liguori
Duty called once again for the warrior brave and true.
His loving family gathered about to wish him a sad adieu.
The somber skies cast a pall upon the poignant scene,
As they bid farewell to their hero, their United States Marine!
He held his parents and they whispered, "God go with you son.
We'll pray for your protection until your tour of duty is done.
Remember well the lessons in Sunday school that you were taught,
And that the Twenty-third Psalm will comfort you when you are distraught!"
He knelt holding Danny saying, "You're the man of the house now.
I love you, son!" and tenderly kissed him upon the brow.
To little Nan he said, "Keep that smile on your pretty face."
His eyes misted as he kissed her and held her in close embrace.
As his children clasped his legs he held his sweet wife near.
They promised eternal love vowing, "I'll always love you dear.
I'll hold you in my heart - I eagerly await a happier day!"
With a final kiss he grasped his duffel and slowly walked away.
'Twas to be his final battle and then he would at last retire,
To regale his children and grandchildren nigh a glowing fire.
Alas, 'twas not to be for on the field of strife he perished,
Sacrificing all for his nation and those he loved and cherished.
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) All Rights Reserved
The local girls are Asian, South Korean, Japanese,
Chinese, Vietnamese.
A few runaway Muslim chicks.
War is a man-shaped demon.
War is booze and guns, fistfights,
Humvees and frying, flying limbs.
What's a young man to do?
He does it, then lives to die later.
Madam Butterfly has a missile launcher.
Flower-drum songs and whistling bombs,
'agent orange' sing-alongs.
It’s all an edge of the grave rave.
Rosie the riveter has got herself a flamethrower.
Napalm blooms in the garden of sin.
What's a young man to do
to save you?
If he makes it, if he comes through,
treat him gently
while he holds his head and screams
or more likely, he goes quiet
way too quiet.
then he just might be the next explosion
in your new foxhole.
Local girls go and come home also,
she that stayed,
her long tour of duty has just begun.
"Tour of Duty"
go forth and conquer
go forth and multiply
we are taught like
good little madams,
it’s fed to us right
(not left) from the get go
down our throats,
it’s ingrained
in the majority of us,
then, rank and file,
off we go, deligently
we march towards
that evocative thing promised,
Love calls us keenly,
Love calls us softly,
Love like communion,
green gardens wild daisies
crowns worn like halos,
loves me, loves me not,
loves me not, loves me,
planted and naively bedded,
we dance that dance,
into the seductive arms
of faith and chance, a wanton war
romancing our womanhood,
we roll over like puppies
our upturned faces
and stomachs stroked,
being fed red apples
like simpletons in a
moist ripe bed of roses,
sprinkled with the holy water
of keeping the win for keepsakes
framed and parked on a wall
like stag horns, momentos
of a past well worn,
our competitive
strip poker smiling faces
the blue ribbons adorned
and mounted like
miss congeniality,
good girls
wagging tails,
then feeding
children spoonfuls
of honey,
to do it all
over again
obedience
only lasts so
long
so long
tours of duties
so long
good girls
take notes
(LadyLabyrinth / 2023)
In honor of Remembrance Day and those that serve.
Tour of Duty©
I awaken from a fitful sleep
One where slumber was not very deep
The night before after counting many a sheep
My eyes closed and they did meet
A dream was had that made me sneep
You and I were there in a jeep
As I mentioned another tour you said nary a peep
But in your eyes I capture “what the bleep”
We both know the long stay at an outkeep
The enemy would be nearby and they are prone to creep
The sacrifice again would require a big leap
Is this a mistake or am I being wheep
Once again into our love my duty does seep
For a promise I knew I could not keep
Is the price for going to war really this cheap
The returns not guaranteed and the climb out steep
Or maybe we need to stop and make a clean sweep
And throw our relationship onto the scrapheap
Hearing those words make us both weep
For a promise I knew I could not keep
Andreas Simic©
I lie in this bed,
That resembles a coffin.
Hearing sounds from the,
Box on the stand.
Glancing down at this mangled body,
Thinking I've given everything,
That was asked of me.
Yet, many gave the ultimate sacrifice,
They were the lucky ones.
I remember those days of yesteryear.
I remember my brother's and sisters,
No longer here as I see them,
Dying in my arms.
I pay tribute to the fallen,
As I continue to have nightmares at night.
I see a shadow come thru my door.
A smile I haven't seen for years.
More shadows, more faces and more smiles.
He tells me, "Come on Sarge,
It's time to go home."
I get up out of bed disappearing,
As if we were never there.
I hear the slight humming,
Of the Alarm in the distant.
Yet, all I see are my brothers and sisters,
At the end of the tunnel,
Waiting for me.
I hear, " Sarge, your Tour Of Duty is over.
Were going home."
Once, in America
I saw a wonderful picture of a female soldier coming home
after a tour of duty defending America against the enemy
In Syria or some other contested country.
She embraces her daughter, a perfect moment; we did not
ask any awkward questions about why invading a country is
defending America.
The USA is a country divided; we get news from Washington
and Wall Street and what the president says
but of real America, we know, not very much and what
we think we know, is usually mythical in western movies.
The Americans are generally very polite and welcoming
people, which makes sense since so many are armed
I met many people in Texas, Alabama, Virginia California
and New York; a city I didn’t care for as it was full
of undesirable folks, given the feel of fake Levantine.
For a seaman, going ashore in America was a pleasure so much
to see and buy, as always, the people were courteous.
Some of them had the weird idea of Europe as a half
a communist system, treating people with a loss of freedom.
But let’s put this aside, people are wrongly informed due to
a willfully ignorant press, so we spoke of John Wayne
and how beautiful America is, where anyone can become
President, working hard enough.
Yes, I miss this fine country that, on her way to greatness
lost its way, but I still think America is beautiful