UncleBacon
OTz original V.I.P
a collection of navy poems I saw on the web
Aboard a Vessel Far
Tranquility of waves that dance,
horizons peak and fall.
Illuminating lights below,
as currents flash at night.
Above the stars, again to say,
sailor rest and dream.
Set down your worries,
calm be your soul.
Your vessel's safe upon the sea.
Giant engines hum a song,
of power to be released.
Shadows eerie from guns at rest,
Silenced thunder ready to call.
Dolphins do come to play,
against the wake that follows.
Friends of the seas,
bring peaceful thoughts.
as nature and man do speak.
Teardrop falls,
from a seasoned sailor,
clutching a photo of a child.
So strong the love left at port,
So strong the love desired.
Closer to heaven,
one does not get,
as when at sea at night.
For there, God's hand
embraces man.
As those ashore,
in peace do rest.
A warrior dreams of loves on land.
GSMC (SW) Jose G. Acosta USN (Ret)
"From Fear to Hope & Back Again"
©2000 Jose G. Acosta
The Price of Freedom
So many shouts against our FLAG,
so many screams of hate and rage.
As with their freedom they do yell,
against the wars of past present days.
A flame erupts among the crowd,
Red, White and Blue does burn.
More shouts by those so naïve,
to blind, to young to ever learn.
Then in the midst a soldier stands,
with medals pale with time and pride.
Scars of wars on his face do show,
upon a steel chariot he does ride.
"Know you not of men that died,
of women sent to early graves.
As for your freedom they did stand,
so many heroes so many braves.
Rows of stones with forgotten names,
proud soldiers laid to peaceful rest.
Did die for that FLAG you so burn,
with their life they gave their best."
Silence came upon the raging crowd,
as this soldier stood in pain,
He rendered one more sharp salute,
as heaven's angels came.
A broken heart stopped that day,
too much for one to silently bear.
Memories of friends past that fell,
so strong the past so still unfair.
So if you do not know the price,
of freedom you do so use to rave.
Look beneath at yonder rows of stone,
for that price they Proudly gave.
GSMC (SW) Jose G. Acosta USN (Ret)
"From Fear to Hope & Back Again"
©2000 Jose G. Acosta
Veteran’s Pride
Sailed I have many oceans,
above the stormiest of waves.
Visited land with castles tall,
seen the many hues of man.
For twenty years I served my Flag,
with pride and honor too.
But was once at home,
where I saw the price
of what our freedom took.
A veteran from long
forgotten wars, a hero
quiet and proud.
He did not labor
on what freedom cost,
or scars he carried within,
the limb he had lost.
He spoke of pride,
honor,
Flag.
Of the country he did so love.
His eyes did gleam
when night skies flared,
slight twitch from memories past.
Freedom bells glared with sound,
many people cheered.
A silent tear
from a hero fell.
For comrades lost through years.
Smile my friend,
enjoy the night.
For when to bed you go,
know your freedom
shall be in hands,
of heroes laid in rows.
GSMC (SW) Jose G. Acosta USN (Ret)
©2002 Jose G. Acosta
A Folded Flag
Thunderous sound of rifles echo,
winter winds whistling through bare trees.
First falling flakes so ever slowly,
gliding upon such colors bright.
Darkened suits with solemn faces,
one sharp salute as trumpet sounds.
A folded flag of stars and colors,
a grieving mother falls to her knees.
Across the pond are voices glaring,
against wars they never saw.
They march for peace,
yet do not fear their voices silenced.
As one more hero
gave up his life,
for the very right,
with which they shout.
One sharp salute,
a thankful nation.
A flag stained with tears,
a fallen son, soldier laid to rest.
GSMC (SW) Jose G. Acosta USN (Ret)
©2003 Jose G. Acosta
Website
The Pier
The lines are cast i'm on my way to places
new and far away.
Six months will pass till i return, another
sea service ribbon earned.
She stands alone on that Norfolk pier and i
watch her till we disappear.
The tug boats blow and the sea gulls cry
its always tough to say goodbye.
A navy wife is a special breed she fills so
many special needs, like being dad while i'm
away she always knows just what to say.
And now the pier is far from sight but i know
that things will be alright.
And soon these months will turn to days, and
then i will be home to stay, and spend my
years with the ones most dear and forget
the sight of that Norfolk pier.
DCC (SW) Marc A. Reyes, USN
©2000 Marc Reyes
Andy
It is said that he works in mysterious ways,
he created the earth and all of its days.
But today I wish the power was mine,
and I could turn back the hands of time.
Because on this day I will lose my brother,
he was my friend, and like no other.
Why did this happen, who can say,
god why did you take him this warm Georgia day?
But now years have passed since we laid him to rest
and all I can do is remember his best.
The sounds of his voice are alive in my head
while I'm here on the ship, or lying in bed.
Now I wish I had seen him more
but we both grew older and took life's tour.
He joined the navy and so did I,
and so many good times passed us by.
We spent our lives apart at sea,
and I often wondered if he thought of me.
But now years have passed and things have changed,
but sometimes the waves will say his name,
and my mind drifts back to through all of the years,
I remember the laughs and some of the tears,
why did it happen who can say
why did God take him that warm Georgia day.
DCC (SW) Marc A. Reyes, USN
©2000 Marc Reyes
The Voice of the Sea
Now, The Voice of the Sea flows clear to me,
With a restless peace resounding fast and free,
Those billowy depths rolling out with a bubbling groan,
Like mirrored glass changed suddenly in tempests flown,
Calm, convulsed by breeze, gale, then thrust in storm and time,
From icing poles it floods into that settled, heavy torrid clime,
Vast, powerful, swirling, dark heaving; boundless, endless, yet sublime,
Like the image of eternity, its throne shown through the visible maritime,
Since each ocean obeys Him who moves in those fathomless depths unknown,
Waves shouting, The Voice of the Sea argues, and then proves One Holy God alone.
Ronald L. Dotson email
From "To Glorify God in a Ministry of Poetry"
©2002 Ronald L. Dotson
Shore Duty, 1966
Waiting for her on the library
grass. I could smell the ocean.
Sandals, madras bathing suit
under my jeans, an oyster
colored London Fog jacket
soft against my young, tanned
back, I was as cool as the
Marlboros I smoked,
the coffeehouses
I frequented and the pop
wines I savored after dark
on the beach with her.
Sailor-short hair and a ball
of socks in my pocket
tilted my summer balance.
(You couldn’t get back
on base without your feet
fully covered.)
I read poetry
like it was a manual
and sometimes she’d find
me asleep on that Virginia
Beach lawn, fingers
bookmarking poems exactly
the way they now do pages GI poets
wrote about their service in Vietnam.
Thomas Michael McDade
©2003 Thomas Michael McDade
Cinderella Sailors
I spent boot camp
Cinderella liberty in
Kenosha at a bowling
alley for some reason
I’m trying to sort out
on the flying bridge
of a destroyer
playing war games.
In raw wind and
rain that stings
like paper cuts,
lightning bolts
scribble scores.
I barely wet my lips
with coffee
I wish was the first
rum I ever tasted
on a warped ten pin
lane in Kenosha.
Man, the sky is
a company of
gutterballing drunken
recruits as I think of guys
who took the train
to Chicago with Cinderella
to get tattooed.
This is my first
sea gale and I feel
so alone and terrified
I imagine Christ,
his angels and saints
needled in my back
to keep my league
affiliation clear.
Thomas Michael McDade
©2003 Thomas Michael McDade
My Sailor
I love "My Sailor" so deeply and true
He is my husband, my friend and a Daddy too
He chose his fate when he signed that line
to become a Submariner and serve his time
He wears those dolphins on his chest with pride
to be able to dive deep within the oceans big tide
As the Submarine is prepped and the workday ends
He comes home to tell me, "It is that time again"
The night before "The Boat" gets underway
We prepare ourselves for that dreaded day
He packs his sea bag so snug and tight
for it will be time to leave at dawn's early light
With his bag across his shoulder and that look on his face
My stomach gets those knots and the "goodbyes" take place
When I look into his eyes before he walks to that brow
The tears start to fall and my heart aches for now
He takes one last look before he turns to walk away
I say, "I love you," one last time as I already start to pray
While he is gone, I make a subtle transition
with my daily life and "The Boat" out on their mission
I will be lost with him gone but yet wait for his arrival
I will count down the days until I can see his smile
"My Sailor" and his crew are running silent and deep
Protecting our freedom while we are awake or asleep
For our beautiful flag flies freely in the wind
"My Sailor" stands to salute it until the end
Rhonda Lunsford
©2003 Rhonda Lunsford
They've Done Their Part
From World War Two, to the war in Iraq
And for sure, some time to come
They've done their part, and not turned back
Until the battle's done
Though not Army, Air Force nor Marines
And their ranks are seen as few
They stand strong and give their all
So freedom's light shines through
Their jobs don't lead to glory
They're only meant to build
But what they build, they must defend
And refuse to ever yield
They leave their homes to go to war
And do as they were taught
Their blood was shed both far and near
But never shed for naught
While their price was paid on land and sea
Their pride did keep them strong
While families wait and to God plea
The cost was never wrong
In far off lands they may remain
Their loved ones left at home
Of this one thing you can be sure
They were never left alone
Seabees teach, they build, they fight,
But that's not all they do
They, to their brother's hand, cling tight
When his time on earth is through
UT1 T. D. Fisher USN (RET)
© 2004 T. D. Fisher
Ode to the Norris
When first I saw you long ago, nested snug in Sasebo
and saw your mighty 38’s and heard your mournful bell,
your long gray lines ran fore and aft and o'er the nest,
your shadow cast an eerie silhouette as twilight fell.
I stood in awe at what I saw and knew not what to do
when a Bos'n chief on the quarterdeck bid me "join the crew."
A simple boot, a raw recruit, not even yet a man
was called to serve his country on a ship they called "a can."
Was it my youth that I recall, the ship, the crew, the bos'n call,
all faded now on a foggy misty sea?
Reunions now are all that's left and those of us that pass the test
of father time's insistent quest, are not the same as once we used to be.
I heard they changed your duty station, sent you to another nation,
changed your name and the colors that you flew.
It's hard for me to visualize she's in the hands of other guys
and I wonder if she has a worthy crew.
So clean out the coffee bucket guys, and have a cup of joe,
and watch with me on the quarterdeck before I have to go.
And when at last my watch is o'er, and another watch assigned,
I hope to sail through heavens gates on the Norris, the 859.
Bob Moran TM2
1950-54
© 2006 Robert Moran
Given
The battle now is over,
The sailor breathes his last.
His friends and family gather,
As the world just rolls on past.
For God, for cause, for country,
This sailor gave his life.
With pride-with honor-with courage,
He paid the highest price.
There'll be no call to arms,
No putting on of gear,
No waiting for engagement,
No more the taste of fear.
Six men bear him softly
And lay him gently down.
He'll soon be covered over,
And lie beneath the ground.
A folded flag for all to see
The price this sailor paid,
That keeps the fight for freedom
Alive another day.
Some will say he's crazy
To stand and fight and die.
And because they have no courage,
They'll run away and hide.
But some are proud and willing
To serve and give their all,
In glory they become monuments
Or etched names on a wall.
So taps is played and rifles fired,
Loved ones hearts are riven.
Both proud and sad, all do know
This sailor's life was Given.
Ken B. Harper
13 February 2003
© 2003 Ken B. Harper
The Red Nomex Aviator
On the night before Christmas my ship was at sea,
A big flat-top "bird farm" from the land of the free.
Cruising the ocean at "the tip of the spear,"
So everyone home could sleep sound with no fear.
Flight ops had ended hours ago,
The day crew had turned in and gone down below.
Night crew was doin' their maintenance checks,
The aircrews and pilots were gettin' some rest.
The cooks in the galley were fixin' Mid-rats,
The Air Boss and Cap'n could finally relax.
CIC called up said something's inbound,
Prob'ly the mail plane, a C-2 Greyhound.
Stand clear of the foul-line, one to recover,
"Angel" is airborne, to starboard he'll hover.
Spotters see only one red blinkin' light,
No markers on wing-tips, now somethin' ain't right.
All eyes are watching but no one believes,
What comes o'er the round-down, bold as you please.
Nine deer and a sleigh, no tail-hook or tires,
How does Paddles grade a trap with no wire?
A red Nomex flight-suit, of course gloves that match,
And S. Claus printed on his aviator patch.
Why, it's old Santa Claus wearin' goggles and leather,
With bags full of Christmas cards, presents and letters.
Don't stand there gawkin' froze in your tracks,
Give him a hand with unloadin' those sacks.
The bags are all carried to the mail room below,
And after a pre-flight, Santa's ready to go.
The cat-crew is wondering now which hold-back pin?
Santa just laughs then he's airborne again.
We didn't hear jingling bells from his sleigh,
Ol'Santa was whistling Anchors Aweigh.
Off the angle-deck, over wave-caps of white,
Even without afterburners he's soon out of sight.
We all stood there doubting what we had just seen,
But the deer left a present, smelly and green.
Over the side with all the deer turds,
Don't want them things fod'in one of our birds.
Tho' that night happened many long years ago,
Santa still travels to our ships on the foam.
Bringing to sailors, women and men,
All kinds of joy, from loved ones and friends.
Ken B. Harper
2 December 2005
Warning Guidon's
Franklin said that "Rattle-Snakes" don’t seek to cause you harm.
But mess with one and you will find out just how well they’re armed.
DON’T TREAD ON ME, it plainly says, for all the world to see,
This yellow flag of Gadsden, come down thru history.
And don’t forget the famous red and white-striped naval jack,
It has an outstretched viper, with diamonds on its back.
These two flags, born long ago, before the fight was won,
Were warning guidon’s held aloft, by liberty’s young sons.
Courageous, visible symbols of the unanimous Declaration.
"Self-evident truths", held by those, desiring a separate nation.
The United States of America, grew from the colonies.
Now from Atlantic to Pacific shores, every inch is the land of the free.
Since Seventeen-hundred Seventy-five, when first these flags unfurled,
We’ve shown our strength and will to fight, the enemies of this world.
The "sleeping giant", once again, has risen to fight back.
Our Navy ships, throughout the world, fly the stri – ped jack.
And soldiers on Iraqi sand, or Afghan mountain sides,
Wave DTOM Jacks or Gadsden flags, no fear is in their eyes.
So hoist up high a "rattle-snake", on freedom’s every breeze,
To show support, for all of those, defending liberty.
Ken B. Harper
13 June 2006
© 2006 Ken B. Harper
Bulletproof
A US Navy “Fighter Jock” , he’s bulletproof.
Traps on a deck that rolls and rocks, he’s bulletproof.
Hit the ‘burners, light up the sky,
Flyin’ to live and livin’ to fly,
F-18 at + Mach 2, he’s bulletproof.
Airborne Ranger on his left bicep, he’s bulletproof.
“Jump wings” there upon his chest, he’s bulletproof.
De Oppresso Liber is his tag,
“Home sweet home” is at Fort Bragg,
A skull and crossed-bones beret flash, he’s bulletproof.
A “Miserable Child” of Uncle Sam, he’s bulletproof.
His footprints left on beach-front sand, he’s bulletproof.
From Montezuma to Tripoli,
The Few and Proud made history,
Immortalized by Joe Rosenthal, he’s bulletproof.
Off he goes in yonder blue, he’s bulletproof.
He does what Icarus couldn’t do, he’s bulletproof.
Fighters and bombers in the sky,
A “Jolly Green” is standing by,
He “…slips the surly bonds of earth…”, he’s bulletproof.
The SCORPION and all of her hands went down
they weren’t bulletproof.
7th Cavalry charged, the Sioux cut ‘em down,
they weren’t bulletproof.
A Globemaster cart-wheeled into the ground,
On Iwo Jima “Uncommon valor…” was found,
For a moment we pause…
And then go on, ‘cause we’re bulletproof.
Ken B. Harper
4 June 2006
© 2006 Ken B. Harper
Sailor Knots
Pacific, Atlantic and Indian Oceans,
The North, Med and South China Seas.
Beneath Polar ice or over the Trench
Adventure begins where are these.
The United States Navy’s canvas sails
Were stowed away long, long ago.
No longer dependant on current or wind
Now reactors decide where we will go.
American oak protecting her crew,
Old Ironsides was built to last.
Now all-welded steel painted haze-gray
On stem, stern, ladder and mast.
Bonhomme Richard, Ranger, Constitution,
Our first Sloops and Frigate’s-of-war.
Monitor, Hunley, Maine, Arizona,
Sunk to patrol nevermore.
Holystoned decks and tar on the lines
Square sails taut in the breeze.
Rubberized coatings now help ships to hide
On top and down deep in the sea.
Roundshot, canister, grape, bar and chain,
From 32-pound cast iron guns.
Phoenix, Harpoon, Sparrow, Sidewinder,
And bombs that are no longer dumb.
Broadside exchanges sent cannonballs flyin’
While muskets were fired by Marines.
With today’s jets and radar, missiles and subs,
The enemy might never be seen.
The crow’s nest mounted upon the main mast
Was high as a man could go.
Now sailors in aircraft launched out of this world
On shuttles see earth down below.
One nautical mile is equal one knot,
How fast a ship travels 6,076 feet.
Bowline, half hitch, figure eight, square,
Sailor knots not known for speed.
Sea legs and bo’sun, Master-At-Arms,
Fathom and anchor’s aweigh.
Like Davy Jones’ Locker, home port and tattoo,
The lingo hangs on still today.
From whaleboat to carrier, E-1 to O-10
Sky-high or submerged down below.
Defending, assisting, by SEa, Air or Land
24 – 7 ‘round the globe.
Ken B. Harper
18 November 2005
© Ken B. Harper
Aboard a Vessel Far
Tranquility of waves that dance,
horizons peak and fall.
Illuminating lights below,
as currents flash at night.
Above the stars, again to say,
sailor rest and dream.
Set down your worries,
calm be your soul.
Your vessel's safe upon the sea.
Giant engines hum a song,
of power to be released.
Shadows eerie from guns at rest,
Silenced thunder ready to call.
Dolphins do come to play,
against the wake that follows.
Friends of the seas,
bring peaceful thoughts.
as nature and man do speak.
Teardrop falls,
from a seasoned sailor,
clutching a photo of a child.
So strong the love left at port,
So strong the love desired.
Closer to heaven,
one does not get,
as when at sea at night.
For there, God's hand
embraces man.
As those ashore,
in peace do rest.
A warrior dreams of loves on land.
GSMC (SW) Jose G. Acosta USN (Ret)
"From Fear to Hope & Back Again"
©2000 Jose G. Acosta
The Price of Freedom
So many shouts against our FLAG,
so many screams of hate and rage.
As with their freedom they do yell,
against the wars of past present days.
A flame erupts among the crowd,
Red, White and Blue does burn.
More shouts by those so naïve,
to blind, to young to ever learn.
Then in the midst a soldier stands,
with medals pale with time and pride.
Scars of wars on his face do show,
upon a steel chariot he does ride.
"Know you not of men that died,
of women sent to early graves.
As for your freedom they did stand,
so many heroes so many braves.
Rows of stones with forgotten names,
proud soldiers laid to peaceful rest.
Did die for that FLAG you so burn,
with their life they gave their best."
Silence came upon the raging crowd,
as this soldier stood in pain,
He rendered one more sharp salute,
as heaven's angels came.
A broken heart stopped that day,
too much for one to silently bear.
Memories of friends past that fell,
so strong the past so still unfair.
So if you do not know the price,
of freedom you do so use to rave.
Look beneath at yonder rows of stone,
for that price they Proudly gave.
GSMC (SW) Jose G. Acosta USN (Ret)
"From Fear to Hope & Back Again"
©2000 Jose G. Acosta
Veteran’s Pride
Sailed I have many oceans,
above the stormiest of waves.
Visited land with castles tall,
seen the many hues of man.
For twenty years I served my Flag,
with pride and honor too.
But was once at home,
where I saw the price
of what our freedom took.
A veteran from long
forgotten wars, a hero
quiet and proud.
He did not labor
on what freedom cost,
or scars he carried within,
the limb he had lost.
He spoke of pride,
honor,
Flag.
Of the country he did so love.
His eyes did gleam
when night skies flared,
slight twitch from memories past.
Freedom bells glared with sound,
many people cheered.
A silent tear
from a hero fell.
For comrades lost through years.
Smile my friend,
enjoy the night.
For when to bed you go,
know your freedom
shall be in hands,
of heroes laid in rows.
GSMC (SW) Jose G. Acosta USN (Ret)
©2002 Jose G. Acosta
A Folded Flag
Thunderous sound of rifles echo,
winter winds whistling through bare trees.
First falling flakes so ever slowly,
gliding upon such colors bright.
Darkened suits with solemn faces,
one sharp salute as trumpet sounds.
A folded flag of stars and colors,
a grieving mother falls to her knees.
Across the pond are voices glaring,
against wars they never saw.
They march for peace,
yet do not fear their voices silenced.
As one more hero
gave up his life,
for the very right,
with which they shout.
One sharp salute,
a thankful nation.
A flag stained with tears,
a fallen son, soldier laid to rest.
GSMC (SW) Jose G. Acosta USN (Ret)
©2003 Jose G. Acosta
Website
The Pier
The lines are cast i'm on my way to places
new and far away.
Six months will pass till i return, another
sea service ribbon earned.
She stands alone on that Norfolk pier and i
watch her till we disappear.
The tug boats blow and the sea gulls cry
its always tough to say goodbye.
A navy wife is a special breed she fills so
many special needs, like being dad while i'm
away she always knows just what to say.
And now the pier is far from sight but i know
that things will be alright.
And soon these months will turn to days, and
then i will be home to stay, and spend my
years with the ones most dear and forget
the sight of that Norfolk pier.
DCC (SW) Marc A. Reyes, USN
©2000 Marc Reyes
Andy
It is said that he works in mysterious ways,
he created the earth and all of its days.
But today I wish the power was mine,
and I could turn back the hands of time.
Because on this day I will lose my brother,
he was my friend, and like no other.
Why did this happen, who can say,
god why did you take him this warm Georgia day?
But now years have passed since we laid him to rest
and all I can do is remember his best.
The sounds of his voice are alive in my head
while I'm here on the ship, or lying in bed.
Now I wish I had seen him more
but we both grew older and took life's tour.
He joined the navy and so did I,
and so many good times passed us by.
We spent our lives apart at sea,
and I often wondered if he thought of me.
But now years have passed and things have changed,
but sometimes the waves will say his name,
and my mind drifts back to through all of the years,
I remember the laughs and some of the tears,
why did it happen who can say
why did God take him that warm Georgia day.
DCC (SW) Marc A. Reyes, USN
©2000 Marc Reyes
The Voice of the Sea
Now, The Voice of the Sea flows clear to me,
With a restless peace resounding fast and free,
Those billowy depths rolling out with a bubbling groan,
Like mirrored glass changed suddenly in tempests flown,
Calm, convulsed by breeze, gale, then thrust in storm and time,
From icing poles it floods into that settled, heavy torrid clime,
Vast, powerful, swirling, dark heaving; boundless, endless, yet sublime,
Like the image of eternity, its throne shown through the visible maritime,
Since each ocean obeys Him who moves in those fathomless depths unknown,
Waves shouting, The Voice of the Sea argues, and then proves One Holy God alone.
Ronald L. Dotson email
From "To Glorify God in a Ministry of Poetry"
©2002 Ronald L. Dotson
Shore Duty, 1966
Waiting for her on the library
grass. I could smell the ocean.
Sandals, madras bathing suit
under my jeans, an oyster
colored London Fog jacket
soft against my young, tanned
back, I was as cool as the
Marlboros I smoked,
the coffeehouses
I frequented and the pop
wines I savored after dark
on the beach with her.
Sailor-short hair and a ball
of socks in my pocket
tilted my summer balance.
(You couldn’t get back
on base without your feet
fully covered.)
I read poetry
like it was a manual
and sometimes she’d find
me asleep on that Virginia
Beach lawn, fingers
bookmarking poems exactly
the way they now do pages GI poets
wrote about their service in Vietnam.
Thomas Michael McDade
©2003 Thomas Michael McDade
Cinderella Sailors
I spent boot camp
Cinderella liberty in
Kenosha at a bowling
alley for some reason
I’m trying to sort out
on the flying bridge
of a destroyer
playing war games.
In raw wind and
rain that stings
like paper cuts,
lightning bolts
scribble scores.
I barely wet my lips
with coffee
I wish was the first
rum I ever tasted
on a warped ten pin
lane in Kenosha.
Man, the sky is
a company of
gutterballing drunken
recruits as I think of guys
who took the train
to Chicago with Cinderella
to get tattooed.
This is my first
sea gale and I feel
so alone and terrified
I imagine Christ,
his angels and saints
needled in my back
to keep my league
affiliation clear.
Thomas Michael McDade
©2003 Thomas Michael McDade
My Sailor
I love "My Sailor" so deeply and true
He is my husband, my friend and a Daddy too
He chose his fate when he signed that line
to become a Submariner and serve his time
He wears those dolphins on his chest with pride
to be able to dive deep within the oceans big tide
As the Submarine is prepped and the workday ends
He comes home to tell me, "It is that time again"
The night before "The Boat" gets underway
We prepare ourselves for that dreaded day
He packs his sea bag so snug and tight
for it will be time to leave at dawn's early light
With his bag across his shoulder and that look on his face
My stomach gets those knots and the "goodbyes" take place
When I look into his eyes before he walks to that brow
The tears start to fall and my heart aches for now
He takes one last look before he turns to walk away
I say, "I love you," one last time as I already start to pray
While he is gone, I make a subtle transition
with my daily life and "The Boat" out on their mission
I will be lost with him gone but yet wait for his arrival
I will count down the days until I can see his smile
"My Sailor" and his crew are running silent and deep
Protecting our freedom while we are awake or asleep
For our beautiful flag flies freely in the wind
"My Sailor" stands to salute it until the end
Rhonda Lunsford
©2003 Rhonda Lunsford
They've Done Their Part
From World War Two, to the war in Iraq
And for sure, some time to come
They've done their part, and not turned back
Until the battle's done
Though not Army, Air Force nor Marines
And their ranks are seen as few
They stand strong and give their all
So freedom's light shines through
Their jobs don't lead to glory
They're only meant to build
But what they build, they must defend
And refuse to ever yield
They leave their homes to go to war
And do as they were taught
Their blood was shed both far and near
But never shed for naught
While their price was paid on land and sea
Their pride did keep them strong
While families wait and to God plea
The cost was never wrong
In far off lands they may remain
Their loved ones left at home
Of this one thing you can be sure
They were never left alone
Seabees teach, they build, they fight,
But that's not all they do
They, to their brother's hand, cling tight
When his time on earth is through
UT1 T. D. Fisher USN (RET)
© 2004 T. D. Fisher
Ode to the Norris
When first I saw you long ago, nested snug in Sasebo
and saw your mighty 38’s and heard your mournful bell,
your long gray lines ran fore and aft and o'er the nest,
your shadow cast an eerie silhouette as twilight fell.
I stood in awe at what I saw and knew not what to do
when a Bos'n chief on the quarterdeck bid me "join the crew."
A simple boot, a raw recruit, not even yet a man
was called to serve his country on a ship they called "a can."
Was it my youth that I recall, the ship, the crew, the bos'n call,
all faded now on a foggy misty sea?
Reunions now are all that's left and those of us that pass the test
of father time's insistent quest, are not the same as once we used to be.
I heard they changed your duty station, sent you to another nation,
changed your name and the colors that you flew.
It's hard for me to visualize she's in the hands of other guys
and I wonder if she has a worthy crew.
So clean out the coffee bucket guys, and have a cup of joe,
and watch with me on the quarterdeck before I have to go.
And when at last my watch is o'er, and another watch assigned,
I hope to sail through heavens gates on the Norris, the 859.
Bob Moran TM2
1950-54
© 2006 Robert Moran
Given
The battle now is over,
The sailor breathes his last.
His friends and family gather,
As the world just rolls on past.
For God, for cause, for country,
This sailor gave his life.
With pride-with honor-with courage,
He paid the highest price.
There'll be no call to arms,
No putting on of gear,
No waiting for engagement,
No more the taste of fear.
Six men bear him softly
And lay him gently down.
He'll soon be covered over,
And lie beneath the ground.
A folded flag for all to see
The price this sailor paid,
That keeps the fight for freedom
Alive another day.
Some will say he's crazy
To stand and fight and die.
And because they have no courage,
They'll run away and hide.
But some are proud and willing
To serve and give their all,
In glory they become monuments
Or etched names on a wall.
So taps is played and rifles fired,
Loved ones hearts are riven.
Both proud and sad, all do know
This sailor's life was Given.
Ken B. Harper
13 February 2003
© 2003 Ken B. Harper
The Red Nomex Aviator
On the night before Christmas my ship was at sea,
A big flat-top "bird farm" from the land of the free.
Cruising the ocean at "the tip of the spear,"
So everyone home could sleep sound with no fear.
Flight ops had ended hours ago,
The day crew had turned in and gone down below.
Night crew was doin' their maintenance checks,
The aircrews and pilots were gettin' some rest.
The cooks in the galley were fixin' Mid-rats,
The Air Boss and Cap'n could finally relax.
CIC called up said something's inbound,
Prob'ly the mail plane, a C-2 Greyhound.
Stand clear of the foul-line, one to recover,
"Angel" is airborne, to starboard he'll hover.
Spotters see only one red blinkin' light,
No markers on wing-tips, now somethin' ain't right.
All eyes are watching but no one believes,
What comes o'er the round-down, bold as you please.
Nine deer and a sleigh, no tail-hook or tires,
How does Paddles grade a trap with no wire?
A red Nomex flight-suit, of course gloves that match,
And S. Claus printed on his aviator patch.
Why, it's old Santa Claus wearin' goggles and leather,
With bags full of Christmas cards, presents and letters.
Don't stand there gawkin' froze in your tracks,
Give him a hand with unloadin' those sacks.
The bags are all carried to the mail room below,
And after a pre-flight, Santa's ready to go.
The cat-crew is wondering now which hold-back pin?
Santa just laughs then he's airborne again.
We didn't hear jingling bells from his sleigh,
Ol'Santa was whistling Anchors Aweigh.
Off the angle-deck, over wave-caps of white,
Even without afterburners he's soon out of sight.
We all stood there doubting what we had just seen,
But the deer left a present, smelly and green.
Over the side with all the deer turds,
Don't want them things fod'in one of our birds.
Tho' that night happened many long years ago,
Santa still travels to our ships on the foam.
Bringing to sailors, women and men,
All kinds of joy, from loved ones and friends.
Ken B. Harper
2 December 2005
Warning Guidon's
Franklin said that "Rattle-Snakes" don’t seek to cause you harm.
But mess with one and you will find out just how well they’re armed.
DON’T TREAD ON ME, it plainly says, for all the world to see,
This yellow flag of Gadsden, come down thru history.
And don’t forget the famous red and white-striped naval jack,
It has an outstretched viper, with diamonds on its back.
These two flags, born long ago, before the fight was won,
Were warning guidon’s held aloft, by liberty’s young sons.
Courageous, visible symbols of the unanimous Declaration.
"Self-evident truths", held by those, desiring a separate nation.
The United States of America, grew from the colonies.
Now from Atlantic to Pacific shores, every inch is the land of the free.
Since Seventeen-hundred Seventy-five, when first these flags unfurled,
We’ve shown our strength and will to fight, the enemies of this world.
The "sleeping giant", once again, has risen to fight back.
Our Navy ships, throughout the world, fly the stri – ped jack.
And soldiers on Iraqi sand, or Afghan mountain sides,
Wave DTOM Jacks or Gadsden flags, no fear is in their eyes.
So hoist up high a "rattle-snake", on freedom’s every breeze,
To show support, for all of those, defending liberty.
Ken B. Harper
13 June 2006
© 2006 Ken B. Harper
Bulletproof
A US Navy “Fighter Jock” , he’s bulletproof.
Traps on a deck that rolls and rocks, he’s bulletproof.
Hit the ‘burners, light up the sky,
Flyin’ to live and livin’ to fly,
F-18 at + Mach 2, he’s bulletproof.
Airborne Ranger on his left bicep, he’s bulletproof.
“Jump wings” there upon his chest, he’s bulletproof.
De Oppresso Liber is his tag,
“Home sweet home” is at Fort Bragg,
A skull and crossed-bones beret flash, he’s bulletproof.
A “Miserable Child” of Uncle Sam, he’s bulletproof.
His footprints left on beach-front sand, he’s bulletproof.
From Montezuma to Tripoli,
The Few and Proud made history,
Immortalized by Joe Rosenthal, he’s bulletproof.
Off he goes in yonder blue, he’s bulletproof.
He does what Icarus couldn’t do, he’s bulletproof.
Fighters and bombers in the sky,
A “Jolly Green” is standing by,
He “…slips the surly bonds of earth…”, he’s bulletproof.
The SCORPION and all of her hands went down
they weren’t bulletproof.
7th Cavalry charged, the Sioux cut ‘em down,
they weren’t bulletproof.
A Globemaster cart-wheeled into the ground,
On Iwo Jima “Uncommon valor…” was found,
For a moment we pause…
And then go on, ‘cause we’re bulletproof.
Ken B. Harper
4 June 2006
© 2006 Ken B. Harper
Sailor Knots
Pacific, Atlantic and Indian Oceans,
The North, Med and South China Seas.
Beneath Polar ice or over the Trench
Adventure begins where are these.
The United States Navy’s canvas sails
Were stowed away long, long ago.
No longer dependant on current or wind
Now reactors decide where we will go.
American oak protecting her crew,
Old Ironsides was built to last.
Now all-welded steel painted haze-gray
On stem, stern, ladder and mast.
Bonhomme Richard, Ranger, Constitution,
Our first Sloops and Frigate’s-of-war.
Monitor, Hunley, Maine, Arizona,
Sunk to patrol nevermore.
Holystoned decks and tar on the lines
Square sails taut in the breeze.
Rubberized coatings now help ships to hide
On top and down deep in the sea.
Roundshot, canister, grape, bar and chain,
From 32-pound cast iron guns.
Phoenix, Harpoon, Sparrow, Sidewinder,
And bombs that are no longer dumb.
Broadside exchanges sent cannonballs flyin’
While muskets were fired by Marines.
With today’s jets and radar, missiles and subs,
The enemy might never be seen.
The crow’s nest mounted upon the main mast
Was high as a man could go.
Now sailors in aircraft launched out of this world
On shuttles see earth down below.
One nautical mile is equal one knot,
How fast a ship travels 6,076 feet.
Bowline, half hitch, figure eight, square,
Sailor knots not known for speed.
Sea legs and bo’sun, Master-At-Arms,
Fathom and anchor’s aweigh.
Like Davy Jones’ Locker, home port and tattoo,
The lingo hangs on still today.
From whaleboat to carrier, E-1 to O-10
Sky-high or submerged down below.
Defending, assisting, by SEa, Air or Land
24 – 7 ‘round the globe.
Ken B. Harper
18 November 2005
© Ken B. Harper
