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Frederick Moore Poem
Memories of a Green Beret
“Where have all the soldiers gone, Long time passing,
Where have all the soldiers gone, Long long time ago,
Where have all the soldiers gone,
Gone to graveyards, every one.
When will they ever learn?
When will they ever learn?"
(an old anti-war folk song from the 60's)
Ho Chi Mihn Trail....'68
Ten warriors camouflaged in wait
Prepared to deal a grisly fate
Hunkered down in jungled hell
Assured they've set the ambush well.
In silence they lay upon the route
When 'Charles' walks in…. he won't walk out.
A cacophony of fire and screams
Laid down with deadly skills, this team;
With claymore mines and booby traps
Left fifteen fragged and torn or zapped.
A trail once quiet, now instead,
Was piled with black pajama'ed dead
A kill zone full of empty life,
From M16 and combat knives.
Metallic smells of blood and gore….
Back to the bush, fear to the core;
On the run, escape, evade
This area where the trap was laid.
Bust thru brush at breakneck speed
Thru swamp and bramble, cutting reeds.
They're on your ass, their voices near
Being captured is your highest fear.
If you're caught you won't survive.
They'll disembowel you, flayed alive.
Your final screams, heard near and far,
The price you pay for what you are.
In time you finally get away,
But it was the VC's judgment day
Praise God we lived, is what you pray.
Old memories of a Green Beret
As on and on this game of chess,
Your mind starts crumbling with the stress.
More bloody trails and bloody hunts
And soon gone thirteen bloody months.
You pack for home and say a prayer
For those you know that's still back there.
The sights and smells flash on and on
Though fifty years have come and gone.
They steal your brain and steal your calm
Sometimes you think you're back in 'Nam.
And still today played o'er and o'er
Are vivid flashbacks of the war:
Young warrior's lives, gone much too soon
Dying moans and pumping wounds
Flashing guns in hot fire fights
In wet and frigid jungle nights.
Camps attacked in human waves
Death piled high in bulldozed graves
Fear like ice picks in your brain
Comes with horrid scenes and pain
Prisoners tossed from chopper flights
Blood smeared chaplains give last rites
Green bags filled with body parts
Images not for faint of heart
Fear that drives you up the wall
Soothed by weed and alcohol
Village kids all blown apart
Blood and guts served 'a la carte '
Air support with steel and flames
Dog tag heaps with buddies names
Rot gut beer, Saigon whores
Seeping rotten jungle sores
Now, most are gone, long died away.
While others here are silver gray
Their comrades gone, now mostly dead,
They fight the fight still, in their heads
Late of night, in sleep they shout.
"Medic here, he's bleeding out.
Call in support--lay down some fire,
God help us all, they're in the wire."
I pen these words and I decree
They were ten times best what I could be.
My praise and prayers I'll not detract
For the many who never made it back.
From long ago and far away........
These memories of an old Green Beret
Author's Note: to all my old comrades, MANY WHOM never made it back
...De Oppresso Leber....rest in peace old friends-- Sergeant First Class Frederick Moore
, 6th SF, 7th SF, and 46th SF Thailand......
Copyright © Frederick Moore | Year Posted 2014
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Frederick Moore Poem
As a country boy, up in the hills,
Life was tough, not much for frills.
I remember it well, yes, even now,
When spring time came and it was time to plow.
Afore sun up came, I was out of bed,
And pull the harness down, in the shed.
Then to the barn, for that dreaded chore,
To battle that four legged man-of-war.
A Missouri mule named Jezebel,
A demonic fiend than was spawned in hell.
She was Lucifer?s daughter, to say the least.
(That?s a compliment for that retched beast.)
While I woke her up and got her fed,
She gave me a look that could spook the dead.
I knew right then there would be a fight,
Just to plow up Momma'?s garden site.
So I hitched her up, set a goodly pace,
When her tail whips out, right across my face.
You gotta watch out, as a general rule,
When you?re at the south end of a north bound mule.
Made a sharp left turn, and sank that plow,
Wondering what that monster was up to now.
When she lifts her tail, with a bestial flair,
And the field?s consumed by exploding air.
With a stench of hell and fermented hay,
I knew I?d kill that mule today.
I swear I saw that jackass smile,
While I choked on her fumes, so vile.
So I turned my plow, got around the bend,
That?s when she started up again.
She let go a noxious blast,
Nearly thirty seconds, it seemed to last.
But you gotta be tough, as a general rule,
At the south end of a north bound mule.
Well, I had my fill of that horrid witch,
So I smacked her hard with a willow switch.
When I thought that took her down a peg,
She bit a chunk, clean outa my leg.
Spurtin'? blood, like a stupid fool.
At the south end of a northbound mule
It was living hell along that rout,
Trying to control that repugnant brute,
She would first give me a rearward glance,
Then a blast of old mule flatulence.
If I had an axe, I would have done her in.
I got stepped on, time and time again,
Got bit four times, left me bloody and hurt.
She even sprayed manure on my best plowing shirt.
It?s been sixty years, but I remember the fight,
With her wicked ways, and her nasty bite.
And I hope old Jezzy went to jackass hell
For what she dished out, she?ll do quite well.
As for me, I took a solemn vow,
That these hands would never again touch a plow.
So I joined the Army, but to my alarm,
I MET MORE JACKASSES THERE,
THAN DOWN ON THE FARM!!!
Yet plows and mules still give me the chills,
From that horrid event, up in them hills.
?Cause ya gotta to be a masochist, and a gol-darn fool,
To get behind an old Missouri plowing mule
Copyright © Frederick Moore | Year Posted 2014
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Frederick Moore Poem
?I thought that I would never see
Another macho man like me.
Ex-green Beret and Airborne Ranger,
Who never shirked in face of danger.
But that ancient myth was soon dissolved,
When my wife asked me to get involved,
And accompany her, one fine day,
In search for her new negligee.
Now stout of frame and grey of hair,
My soldier?s past could not compare.
With apprehension to my core,
As she walked me thru that boutique door.
A boutique filled from aisle to walls,
With thongy-things and camisoles,
Fish net wonders full of holes,
And spandex stuff (to hide the rolls).
Now, I?m not bashful, or a prude.
I have a pretty fair attitude.
But all that frill and all that lace,
Man, did I feel out of place.
I soon began to overdose
On too much womens underclothes.
And then I thought my eyes would cross,
They had bikinis made of dental floss.
The salesgirls garb was quite unique,
Why, she?s displaying EVERY cheek,
She walked to me (My brain?s a whir)
And said, " May I help you sir?
?How ?bout a Wonderbra or beauty mark
We've got panties that glow in the dark.
Teddies, in every color hued,
And falsies by the multitude "
I stammered like a stupid snook,
" II..Im .ju..just here to look.
I don?t know what you assume
My wife is in the dressing room."
Then I knew I couldn't win,
When suddenly to my chagrin,
I was totally taken in,
By this dressing gown ?in leopard skin..
"?Miss,..... do you have this in extra big?
And for me too, a brunette wig?
I ask you do you think it wise,
For a bit of shadow for these old eyes "
And WOW!! Im getting such a rush.
I think I'll try a little blush,
With gloves, of course, nice and soft,
Plus a simple purse, to top it off.
?Why, this is the new me, I declare.
When suddenly, my wife is standing there.
She stares at me and says, " Heavenly Father,
This old fart ain't got both oars in the water "
Well, I explained, (Man, shes tough)
That I kinda liked this woman stuff.
She said " Its OK......When hell would freeze!!!
And keep your fat ass outa MY BVDs "
So, now we buy in vast amounts,
?course we got separate charge accounts.
I just asked my wife if we could
Go visit Fredericks of Hollywood.
And if we can?t get to the coast,
Chicago is still pretty close,
'cause there is one thing that I know?..
They?ll love me on the Springer Show!!!!!
But fools are made of poets like me,
But it?s more fun in lingerie..
Copyright © Frederick Moore | Year Posted 2014
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Frederick Moore Poem
In a midland Drive-In, ‘neath an August moon.
The feature was “The Creature from the Black Lagoon”.
Sat two young kids, with young passions hewn.
Young at love, just neophytes,
Just being alone was their pure delight.
She was my brand new Queen of the dashboard lights.
She was a delicate creature of a different type;
Just turned eighteen, long legged and ripe.
Six months before, who’d recognized
This once guawky girl, now feminized.
She grew so quick, right in my sight,
As I saw her beauty come to light.
I was destined, as was Cervantes’s Don
Quixote was to Dulcinea drawn.
Not just to love her from afar,
But by the dashboard lights of my old first car.
A mini skirt high up her thighs,
Her perfume that makes you agonize,
Caused bulging stress in your Levi’s.
Your mind and body’s full inflamed,
Like a Centaur’s lust, wild, untamed.
Fiery kisses, hot foreplay,
Young lust and passion lead the way
Silky skin, clothes disarrayed,
Torn Trojan packs, tossed lingerie;
Bodies locked in swing and sway;
The smell of love’s divine bouquet.
Soft sounds and gasps drown out the night
With our coupling ‘neath those dashboard lights.
Now, long in tooth, the end invites,
Yet you still rethink that starry night.
Just on the edge of your memory’s site
Like a candle, burning warm and bright.
Its glow distracts you time on time,
With thoughts of you and her entwined.
Like a moth flies to that lovely flame,
As your lips once more murmur her name.
Old memories clear, and your heart ignites,
As you relive those erotic youthful rites,
When two young kids climbed passioned heights.
In the glow of an old car’s dashboard lights.
You awake alone, in an empty bed,
With sweet youthful memories still in your head,
So real, but only dreams instead.
Your brain’s awhirl from her mystique
Yet your hands can’t find her, when they seek.
You feel warm tears run down your cheeks.
Missed lips that dripped of honeydew,
That fired your passions up, anew.
Tucked in so warm and close to you.
Curly hair, and eyes so bright,
And velvet laughter, pure delight
That soothed your demons in the night.
Now lies my Queen, an empty shell,
This grey haired vixen, I loved so well.
For fifty years she wove her spell
With eyes and smiles, she tantalized
And kept my heart pure magnetized.
Her memories now immortalized.
Today, her casket drops from sight,
Thus ends what began on that August night.
Two kids in love couldn’t have been more right,
Farewell, my Queen of the dashboard lights
Copyright © Frederick Moore | Year Posted 2014
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Frederick Moore Poem
My Pa warn't much for music,
Not like ya hear today.
Them tune he learnt and taught me,
Were from a bygone day.
But Saturday nights were special;
At least they were to me.
Cause that was when we'd play them songs
I learnt at Daddy's knee.
Bald headed as a cue ball,
A grin from ear to ear.
He'd hum and play, and out would come
That music I'd revere.
He'd plunk his old five-stringer,
I'd make my old blues harp sing.
Ole Blue would start a-howling,
Till you couldn?t hear a thing.
Then Ma sung "Rock of Ages"
Her voice was pure delight.
The cats and dogs got terrorized,
And ran off into the night.
We'd continue our commotion,
Then really harmonize.
You knew the blend was perfect,
'Cause there'd be tears in Papa's eye.
Them old songs, sad and poignant,
Would soak you to the bone.
You could hear an old train whistle,
Or feel the chain gang moan.
Stooped right there with the slave man,
As he toiled out in the sun.
Or I'd sense the wild Missouri,
Watch it ripple, see it run.
We'd walk streets of Laredo,
A poor cowboy in the dirt,
His last request while dying,
With blood caked on his shirt.
Special words and music,
At least they were to me.
Sad old songs, just known to us,
Learnt there at Daddy's knee.
Well, Pa's been gone for ages,
Though it seems like yesterday,
When we would play together,
The world would flow away.
There's night your mind just wanders back,
On how it used to be.
So long ago, in simple times,
And the music at his knee.
I'll grasp my old harmonica,
Now cracked and full of rust.
Then squeak and squawk a couple notes,
And soon there's only us.
Out'a nowhere comes the fragrance
Of heady mountain dew.
Smoke rolling in an old wood stove,
As it dances up the flue.
As I fall back to Laredo,
The chain gang hammers ring,
I Taste dust from Georgia cotton fields,
As my harp begins to sing.
And then I hear his banjo,
I sense his presence near,
Oh God, I loved this music,
That only I can hear.
While in my head we're playing
And truly harmonize.
It must be close to perfect,
Tears mist my weathered eyes.
Again, we play together,
Just like it used to be.
For only I now know the songs
I learned at Daddy's knee....
Copyright © Frederick Moore | Year Posted 2014
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Frederick Moore Poem
My lady friend living far away wrote a HOT poem about a sensual shower ( Squeaky Clean) and I had to answer........
Having read a little ditty,
that really made me very giddy,
'bout a lady who relieves her tension
with a special shower wand extension.
T'was both erotic and quite witty
changed her shower into 'Fun City"
How I fantasized this bathing beauty
soaping down from head to booty.
My envy's drove by hedonism
of her super hand-held mechanism,
All on which she can explore
the buttons and controls galore.
Controls from softest to extreme,
to hit high C, or even scream.
In my mind's eye, I can see
her hit all the spots, from "A" to "G"
I'm getting older, long in tooth,
body crumbling, mind uncouth.
I've known the reaper, and sure that he
could shortly take a trip with me.
Although you feel that I'm obsessed
I'd like to make one last request......
To the Power that oversees
reincarnate me if you please.
Let me come back from the dead,
as this Lady's "Razzle-Dazzle" shower head.......
Copyright © Frederick Moore | Year Posted 2014
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