POETRY
Gyrene Gyngles
Edited by Mary D. Karcher
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“Good Marines”
A good Marine never, ever swears
And mostly never cuts his hair.
The good ones don’t march place to place
And seldom scream right in your face.
In fact, they’re clean and kindly folk
Who shun the sin of dirty jokes.
And in the field when it’s raining,
You can hear the staff explaining:
“In your tents, gents! Keep your clothes dry!”
Politely, then, the men comply:
Sleep in late and rub their eyes,
Usually around noon when they rise.
They don’t train hard and often take breaks
To sip lemonade and eat grilled steaks.
When exercising once a week,
“This hurts!” they let out with a squeak.
There are tears and moans and bellyaching
After 10 whole minutes of body breaking!
Forget uniformity and stepping in time
Or fighting in every place and clime.
Comfort is their priority,
Right after nonconformity.
They address each other on first-name basis,
Because it’s nasty and complacent.
This lack of snap, you’ll never change.
What the heck is a rifle range?
Yes, an easy life the good ones lead;
This is the newer, gentler breed.
If you believe this, check your facts;
You know this ain’t how we really act.
Contrary to “MCNews,”
We still stand proudly in dress blues.
We’re still mean and love the mud,
And, yes, we’ve spilled our share of blood.
Our words are foul and offensive;
Our list of shortcomings, quite extensive.
A-- chewing happens often—and loud.
It’s for these reasons that I’m proud
To wake each day and give a scream:
It’s good to be a U.S. Marine!
Duty Call
He made his decision on a midsummer’s day.
My son was at home, but he would not stay.
He would answer a call that he’d heard for a while.
It would take him away, across great distant miles.
This call was strong in my brave son’s heart.
He knew he must answer; he would do his part.
For the stakes were too high, no bargain would do.
No price could be placed on the red, white and blue.
I knew in my heart whose voice made the call
That so few would answer and give it their all.
And my son knew the voice; it had spoken before.
But this time it spoke with an almighty roar.
So my son earned his place with those proud and those few.
It was clear in his mind what he had to do.
He answered the call that was laid on his heart.
I knew that he must, right from the start.
In his dress-blue suit of honor he’s a sight to be seen,
For God called on him to be a U.S. Marine.
Sandra Gilcher-Kimmel ©2004
Marine Memories
The men in our unit really care
About the memories that we share.
Younger days were spent raisin’ hell,
Then the Marine Corps cast its spell.
Our memories increased even more—
We’d just fought in “The Forgotten War.”
And now as the sun begins to fade,
We think of all the friends we’ve made,
And hope that we’ll be able to stay
To share with them another day.
All our stories have been retold,
But never seem to grow too old.
And for all these memories that we made,
There’s not one that I would trade.
So I’d like to say before I die
Life is great and Semper Fi.
