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"paratroopers" poems
You've read my rant from yesterday About those Christmas Letters But one thing just disturbs me Those Ugly Christmas Sweaters!!! You know the ones we love to hate They're all so scratchy and they itch You can barely get the **** thing on And to remove it...it's a ***** Pictures of things Christmassy Like a reindeer all in red Mine looks like an emaciated cow with a candelabra on his head Snowflakes, trees and Norway Spruce and colours....oh my lord They can take them back to Norway and throw them in the fjord!!! My nan made one for me one year It was silver with some blue Turns out she used old brillo pads Because she liked the soapy hue They itch and scratch and don't fit right They are a cancer to my eyes I had one in green and red With one sleeve down past my thighs I thought it was a jumpsuit The kind the paratroopers wear The pattern pages stuck together And that sleeve....went down to there!!! We all have one hidden away In a box, 'neath lock and key In a place so nicely hidden One we've had since we were three We never plan to wear one more We all know that we once  did but, if we had to wear one out We're gonna buy one for our kids!!! If you need to get assistance go to uglysweaters dot o- r- g They can help you with your wardrobe Tell them you heard of them from me.
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Dec 17, 2012
Dec 17, 2012 at 3:09 PM UTC
Ugly Christmas Sweaters
In Battalion, Misery is served in a thousand ways. Misery is served in buckets of rain and hours of wind. Unyielding, soul-sucking cold and wet. Porous jungle boots that invite the frigid water in and soften your feet for a relentless 30 mile march. Misery is served in a stifling aircraft flying Nap of the Earth. A nauseating rollercoaster ride that never fails to elicit chain reaction vomiting from the paratroopers rigged to jump. Misery is served at pool PT When your arms and legs feel like lead and drowning is a better alternative than the aquatic torture that you’re enduring. Misery is served during blistering Company runs led by the Commander who was a college decathlete. Runs where the strongest of us pulled aside, emptied our stomachs, and rejoined the formation. Misery is served by no warning alerts separating families and lovers for indefinite periods, sometimes forever. Misery is served by the Spec 4 Mafia Unleashing Hell on new Rangers testing their threshold for **** Misery is served by road marches, prickly heat, Black Palm, and sawgrass. It’s served by desert heat, Arctic cold, and the stench of the world’s worst places. Misery is served by the loss of brothers in war and training, gone too soon to join the Great Ranger in the Sky. Through it all, misery hardened my body and strengthened my soul. It made me a warrior and ushered me into a Brotherhood that will be with me until we all sit at the great table in Valhalla. So on this Veteran’s Day Embrace the **** Endure the pain Invite the Misery For that’s what makes us Men amongst Men Rangers Lead The Way.
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Nov 6, 2015
Nov 6, 2015 at 10:34 AM UTC
The Gift of Pain
In Battalion, Misery is served in a thousand ways. Misery is served in buckets of rain and hours of wind. Unyielding, soul-sucking cold and wet. Porous jungle boots that invite the frigid water in and soften your feet for a relentless 30 mile march. Misery is served in a stifling aircraft flying Nap of the Earth. A nauseating rollercoaster ride that never fails to elicit chain reaction vomiting from the paratroopers rigged to jump. Misery is served at pool PT When your arms and legs feel like lead and drowning is a better alternative than the aquatic torture that you’re enduring. Misery is served during blistering Company runs led by the Commander who was a college decathlete. Runs where the strongest of us pulled aside, emptied our stomachs, and rejoined the formation. Misery is served by no warning alerts separating families and lovers for indefinite periods, sometimes forever. Misery is served by the Spec 4 Mafia Unleashing Hell on new Rangers testing their threshold for **** Misery is served by road marches, prickly heat, Black Palm, and sawgrass. It’s served by desert heat, Arctic cold, and the stench of the world’s worst places. Misery is served by the loss of brothers in war and training, gone too soon to join the Great Ranger in the Sky. Through it all, misery hardened my body and strengthened my soul. It made me a warrior and ushered me into a Brotherhood that will be with me until we all sit at the great table in Valhalla. So on this Veteran’s Day Embrace the **** Endure the pain Invite the Misery For that’s what makes us Men amongst Men Rangers Lead The Way.
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40
Paratroopers free fall, 'chutes coiled and caught in a grease ball afro curl reaching down perplexed ****** frames. Diligent chortling mimes trapped in handmade indecision cages, tapping a telling tune of tired games played day after day. A right brained boy with a head full of clout miscommunication with a leftist expat from the north to the south. Jostled connections send out fizzling sentences through blown speakers and an overheated circuit - Bored of the excuses whispers the nameless without a reason there isn't a purpose. Shoot an accusing glare past Father Time overlooking treasonous discouraging crimes Open those whale blubber caked eyes to the other side. It's not what this has done to you but what this has done to us. The hitchhiker gave up, traded his thumb for a seat on the bus. Never was he lost, but given more than one chance. He, no, she, no we were thrown away with his walking stick and his waterproof nap sack. Will we cross this road again? And pick up from where we began? Or never turn back? Always was he lost, but given one too many of a chance But was it worth it? Upholding the "right and proper" stance?
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Feb 15, 2010
Feb 15, 2010 at 12:08 PM UTC
Time and Time Again We Run With Our Eyes Closed and Our Mouths Wide Open
Tyres and fires burning circles of rubber Rolled down black tongued roads Heading to city centre Where others meet To greet the mighty ruler With sword and soldiers dressed In fibreglass shields, green helmets truncheons with spikes backed water cannons snipers on rooftops searching for vipers to drill bullet holes The tyres rolled in and rounded in a circle Cutting off escape routes and Dividing believers and non-believers Piled high, pulled tight with pitchfork patience The leaders orders more tyres. Anything from cars, buses and bicycles that could hold up the chains of freedom. Last desperate attempt - not to escape but die In the ring of fire -soon lit Underneath the tyres Which created bursting black flames and bluegrey smoke Rising above the rants of leaders and shooters and crackling. Sparks that dulled the day And lit the night with sparklers of power. The paratroopers soon retreated into barracks and the rioters took hold of the city keys, And over broken glass and burnt buildings settled in for the long haul to freedom. The pawns moved on the chess board knights moved in the night, The queen was cornered and checkmate came when the hollow president flew the palace with his coterie of ear chewers and shoe polishers! The tyres burned slowly the fires burned down slowly. Freedom came at dawn on the 21 st day when the rubber factory churned out again many new models of tyres with tougher treads. The circle begins again today. Author Notes The Revolution continues. All common day gadgets that could burn and blister the new agenda is rolled down the road into the city centre where the protesters gather to set fire to ambitious policies, unpopular with the people. The fires from tyres will rage all night and day. © Marshall Gass. All rights reserved.
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Apr 1, 2014
Apr 1, 2014 at 1:21 AM UTC
Burnouts
Tyres and fires burning circles of rubber Rolled down black tongued roads Heading to city centre Where others meet To greet the mighty ruler With sword and soldiers dressed In fibreglass shields, green helmets truncheons with spikes backed water cannons snipers on rooftops searching for vipers to drill bullet holes The tyres rolled in and rounded in a circle Cutting off escape routes and Dividing believers and non-believers Piled high, pulled tight with pitchfork patience The leaders orders more tyres. Anything from cars, buses and bicycles that could hold up the chains of freedom. Last desperate attempt - not to escape but die In the ring of fire -soon lit Underneath the tyres Which created bursting black flames and bluegrey smoke Rising above the rants of leaders and shooters and crackling. Sparks that dulled the day And lit the night with sparklers of power. The paratroopers soon retreated into barracks and the rioters took hold of the city keys, And over broken glass and burnt buildings settled in for the long haul to freedom. The pawns moved on the chess board knights moved in the night, The queen was cornered and checkmate came when the hollow president flew the palace with his coterie of ear chewers and shoe polishers! The tyres burned slowly the fires burned down slowly. Freedom came at dawn on the 21 st day when the rubber factory churned out again many new models of tyres with tougher treads. The circle begins again today. Author Notes The Revolution continues. All common day gadgets that could burn and blister the new agenda is rolled down the road into the city centre where the protesters gather to set fire to ambitious policies, unpopular with the people. The fires from tyres will rage all night and day. © Marshall Gass. All rights reserved.
Continue reading...
46
The Pathfinders Were highly skilled in  land navigation And map signals They marked the right drop zones With beacons and electronic signals Three major drop zones Planes hit by anti-aircraft fire Some paratroopers hit the water and drowned in the river The ones that landed had to make their way to the railroad Thank you for your courage
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Feb 22, 2015
Feb 22, 2015 at 12:20 PM UTC
Paratroopers of The 82 Airborne
I see leaves from trees, winter wind just a blowing, making an assualt like paratroopers on folks lawns. I hear the geese gather up and form their formations, quaking loudly that they are up and gone. Morning rush to the work has to be coordinated, that old truck needs time to warm up. frost on the winshield, wind just a blowing, time for one more coffee warm up. Evening breeze brings the smell of wood stoves going, holiday baking and burning leaves from the yards. Yes I do believe ... Winter is here!
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Dec 7, 2010
Dec 7, 2010 at 2:03 PM UTC
Winter
all fallen disciples without discipline like a horse with a broken leg the only thing I needed to complete my extension has third degree burns now all dead paratroopers like rag dolls no longer fearing the earth parachutes serve as hospital gowns as they sway from their individual hanging trees
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Feb 18, 2014
Feb 18, 2014 at 6:22 PM UTC
untitled 100
Bright pellucid morning blue as icy aquamarine. Fall nips the air like a petulant cat. It feels chilly as a chance encounter with a former lover in a sunrise coffee shop. The season spins like an obstinate top. Legions of lawn gnomes don their long underwear. The earth accepts this glacial change, but I will miss the warmth of lilies and dandelions. Still, this new  ambience contains its own charms. Trees spasm with delight as vivid leaves waft like inevitable paratroopers to the retreating lawns. Flowers hibernate secure in the inevitability of resurrection. It is a time to honor common sense. We know the snows will blanket our sleepy, gelid lives. We know that in time we will wake to spring, warmth and hope. The world will turn until we don't.   ~mce
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Sep 11, 2015
Sep 11, 2015 at 9:03 AM UTC
Intimations Of Autumn
I spent the afternoon in the breezeway watching the clouds tease the mountaintops and here you come wide-eyed, eager, kind embodiment of youth. you tell me stories of men in uniform and what lies behind that shining facade of smiling military men, all in a row. He was tall, you say, all-american--and strong. when he took her to bed, it was the day after her husband was lost to fire and shrapnel. Paratroopers, you say, are told one thing. 'Don't speak to civilians.' You left me feeling queasy, watching and wondering with suspicion the blue and peace of the sky.
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Apr 25, 2015
Apr 25, 2015 at 7:52 PM UTC
raza
*Summon the Strategic Air Command The world could use more rock bands Load the B-52's with Ludwig drum sets and Marshall stacks , tie a twelve string around the paratroopers backs Saturate the zone with music books , score pads and stands Run missions non-stop , send commandos behind operational lines bearing SG's and Les Pauls Microphone stands and PA's , Roland keyboards on every corner , continue dropping supplies till the world comes to order* ..
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Dec 9, 2016
Dec 9, 2016 at 12:24 AM UTC
If I was the Boss ...
The leaves have fallen. Once brave soldiers vital and firm now old paratroopers wrinkled with the expectation of winters rough war. One by one these daughters And sons fall to the Earth to die. The tree stands naked, until winter’s war is over and green life is restored
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May 2, 2016
May 2, 2016 at 4:52 PM UTC
Untitled
*The 'lantern flies' were actually the paratroopers of war descending onto the ground I was sworn to protect Jesus laughed out loud , hot boxed a final drag off a Pall Mall cigarette , flicked it into a minefield where it exploded in every direction I fired at the Moon from every position Begged the night to come to an end Woke up in a room destroyed , fired rounds into blackness till the weapon jammed , patrolled my field of fire from a window till the Sun kicked in*....
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Aug 2, 2016
Aug 2, 2016 at 8:12 PM UTC
Untitled
A joint operation was conducted this evening by French Paratroopers , Mexican Military Police and Columbian Anti-Terrorist Units on an unspecified target near the Mexican/U.S. border .. It is believed that the strike was an attempt to free refugees held captive by the U.S. Border Patrol ..This is breaking news !
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Dec 26, 2019
Dec 26, 2019 at 9:45 PM UTC
Have you Heard the News ?