In history of long ago
of flying aces heroes
their is a name forgotten today
happily it remains that way
The Yellow Baron he was known
but as a pilot he never flown
The Yellow Baron was afraid of heights
so during battle he never once took flight
Medals of valor so many did he receive
saluting he slapped himself making his nose bleed
And when they pin a metal on his chest
he would faint and fall in a tangle mess
His plane always a mean clean machine
for in battle it was never seen
First in his plane ready to go
but on the runway his plane so slow
when he finally got to the end
the battle was over before his flight begin
His uniform always neat and pressed
eating in the mess hall he was the best
Mumbles of cowardice and a yellow spine
if asked to dual he would faint so decline
When war was over and victory won
promoted for not a shot hit his plane not one
And so the heroic tale of the Yellow Baron ends
in truth known to all it never once begin.
Nagasaki
There are nights when things become clear
when the Pacific Ocean lived up to its name
I sat on deck, listened to the heartbeat of
the vessel, which ticked faster when an engineer
opened a door and came out on the deck
Laughter in the mess hall, no, I was not at ease
in their company, too old at sixty
I have tried the swagger, the misogyny, where
Women were either whores or mothers
The ship was bound for Nagasaki, and I had
been here before when looking for a graveyard
where Portuguese sailors had died when
Japan was an unknown land
When walking down the gangway, didn't
to say goodbye, it was dinner time anyway
before flying back to Europe
Revenge of sort
The old ship has four cranes for loading
Also, unlading has anchored in
the bay
For four days.
It must be hot all portholes are open and the cook
Sweats in the galley it drips onto the dough
Moreover, into the food, cooks transpire a lot and it
Has to go somewhere.
They call him a fool but eat his sweat a sweet
Revenge a secret he keeps to himself.
The crew pick rust and paint a little but most
Of the time they sit in the mess hall waiting for
Something to eat.
Dinner is served, the cook wash pots and pan
Goes into his cabin lays down on the couch the one
Under the porthole, and sleeps till it is time
To prepare the evening meal.
The forenoon Show
There is a ship anchored close to the shore
in the bay, I wonder what the cook is doing now
perhaps he is chopping onions for frying
with a bit of meat from lunch or maybe he is
washing pots and pans while the officers who have
nothing to do play cards in the mess hall.
The crew stand by the railing looking at the shore
and the bright light, eyeing at their watches
when is the cook ready to serve them some grub?
I turn my thought to Julia apparently she was not
funny enough, a day time hostess has to be relentlessly
hilarious, facile, pretty and dumb.
I wonder how long she will last before a burnout
there many young females dying to get the job.
Exposure, the name in coloured magazines, the interview
by a sycophantic journalist who let the object prattle one
about their childhood which was hard, interfered with
by an uncle, endless is the navel-gazing, but the question
how they got there so fast is not mentioned whatever it was
it has little to do with talent.
The Pacific
The ship was going down a water mountain
only to be met with another mountain and
going up and up, this dizzying dance no rest
only holding on for life hoping the Typhon
would blow itself out.
Towards morning the see was simmering
down leaving us to try working, but the talk
in the mess hall was subdued.
Elitist school hovering;
Hummingbird-like wind laden migrating.
Evening mess hall dining;
Past the locked gate.
Jayne in a Man’s Field
I wrote on a Porsche “Take the Jayne Train”
How long in the mess hall would she remain
She came out and saw
She smiled, I said duh
Took a photo with her less my brain
Name Dropper Limerick Contest
Sponsored by Kevin Shaw September 19, 2017
*I actually took a photo with Jayne Mansfield
at an airbase in Holland when she was doing a touring promotion back in ’58. Lovely lady!
"Jack and Jill and Company"
Jack and Jill were on their way to the unknown
talking many hours on the telephone
They never could say good bye
with thoughts leaving them high
Now they're never alone living the same zone
Their friends Miss Piggy and Kermit placed a call
hoping to visit before any rainfall
They traveled under the blue
all red lights they passed through
Now all four are together at the mess hall
SkyWatcher - 05-08-17
note
ok all you Limerick experts
you can be honest and true
this was my attempt at the Limerick
this entry is one out of three
I've only practiced this twice privately
I somehow now had the courage to post
I have seen so many floating around in this format
have a wonderful day
thank you
Reflection in sunlight
I`m sitting in the sun in the yard it is getting its strength back
and I try to get a tan, you see when I was young I blushed easily
this was because I lived in fear of being found out be sent back
as the intruder, I was the one who escaped poverty.
On a royal navy ship, they had six trainee officers from Ethiopia
who had their own quarter but had no one to cook and look after
them; racism was audible back then, it still is, but it is the Arabs
who get it now.
I, having been brought up by my communist mother, had no such
qualms took the job.
Mind, I also saw it as an escape from the mess hall. Beautiful people
I grew fond of them; the work was easy as they only stayed on board
four days a week. Talking about skin colour having had skin cancer twice,
I no longer sit in the sun, but use a self- tanning cream – it is not only
Trump- but what the hell I look healthy.
The Oceans sailed
I drove down to the coast today, could feel it pull
after all I was in the navy for 30 years and the oceans
treated me well not letting my ship sink, drowning me.
The sea was grey/blue a monster asleep, yet not to
be trusted the marina was full of motor boats
or shall we call them yachts? They all looked alike made
of plastic **** used for summer weather only.
I was not a good seafarer didn`t like to sit in a mess hall playing cards,
but I could sit for hours watching how the beast breathed in and out
and on stormy weather found a place on the deck just to see it rage.
Farewell my oceans I will not see you again nor shall I miss you a lover
that holds no secrets in her embrace but death.
Big Breakers.
Frothing, the colour of spring leaf, a mountain top of ocean
intent on drowning you it is not like crossing a road and just
have time to jump clear of a car.
No, you are totally helpless and your salvation is down to
luck not maritime ability. The beast has gone mad something
we said down in the mess-hall when playing card?
Not to forget the good moment when the sea is flattening out
flecked by light blue. Our promises of not drink and smoke
and to be kind to our mothers vanes.
There is something mesmerizing about it, will the ship be able
to shudder and get up from the tons of water? Are we ghosts
from a past that never was?
I Kingston we drank rum & coke and never spoke about our
inner thoughts, we had survived and lived in the moment.
But what can you expect of a simple seaman when landlubbers
can’t even remember last year’s war.
Fifty Years Ago a Dedication
It was nice day in the Caribbean Sea I was on
a small tank ship called “Saphir” a radio message
the president Kennedy had been assassinated.
Deep silence in the mess hall, because he was
to use a modern vernacular: The Man.
He was the one who could lead us into a bright
future, he energized us and, our trusted brother;
and nothing could go wrong on his watch.
So who was this slayer? The ogre that had killed
our hero? We were soon to know, a weak chinned
misfit called Oswald. There has been conspiracy
theories aplenty over the years, but I still think
Oswald acted alone out of envy and dark hatred;
a loser seeking infamy, to prove something only
his dark mind could understand.
50 years have gone the players are dead or old
but president Kennedy will forever be a beacon
of light for us who loved America.
(L)eatherneck Jugg Butt was detailed to clean the barracks latrine,
(A) humiliatin' prospect for a dedicated United States Marine!
(T)he young jarhead wanted so much to gain Captain Grumpy's affection.
(R)eduction in rank he could face if he failed the captain's urinal inspection!
(I)f he flunked, he could end up in the mess hall scrubbin' pots and pans!
(N)o way he wanted to be assigned to trash detail dumpin' garbage cans!
(E)ndearment for sergeants, officers and the Corps he hath a paucity of!
Weary of the mindless malls,
We journey out to view the scrawls
Etched by the Neanderthals.
And there compelling to us all,
We stand speechless and enthralled
Observing scenes both large and small.
Of grazing beasts in boundless stalls,
Diffused in peaceful, stoic sprawls
Waiting for nothing, nothing at all.
Look, if you dare, upon the next wall.
Where speared brutes bleed waterfalls;
Caught unawares, we were quite appalled.
Now listen closely to hear the squalls
And whoops and cries of Neanderthals;
Wreaking carnage in that bloody brawl.
The natives succeeded to shock and maul,
Then worked together to bring the haul
Into their prehistoric mess-hall.
An eon ago the creatures stood tall,
Walking nobly, since not made to crawl.
Now blood dyed granite, marks their fall.
It’s time to leave but I try to stall
By using my knife to get a spall,
But not today, my name is called.
I was born with Mary
By my side
With thoughts and lockets
As thoughts get mangled
As Time pulls near
Moments flicker, life-like
Through wine and cheer
Sadness sweeps
The shore of souls,
My shore,
As I recall,
Of the holiday mess hall,
I was born
I was born on Christmas Eve
With a locket
With a locket of Her hair.
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