"Hawkeye's Lament"
by Jim "Goshawk" Herring
There were misty
eyes on "KoKo" on that fateful, gloomy day!
She longed for the companionship of her long-lost "Bird of
Prey".
Some say he was the victim of an unfortunate foray,
with bullets ripping through him, what a hellish price to pay!
Others wished for far better, maybe a cloudless powder-blue sky,
and on gentle wings of beauty, his great "Warhawk" was
to fly.
He always was a fighter with a "stiff arm" from on
high.
You knew that you had hell to pay should you challenge ole
"Hawkeye"!
The last that anyone saw him was the day the monsoon broke.
The sunshine poured from the rolling clouds and onto that
wanderlust bloke.
We heard his Merlin revving, "Shut 'er down!" the crew
chief spoke!
"There's another storm a comin', windy 'nough to make a
nimbus choke."
Ol' "Hawkeye" ne'er did listen when told to heed the
warn'.
He gave a hoot and loud warcry, fed the throttle, and left the
barn.
He taxied to the tarmac waved farewell, and then was gone.
We listened as the drone did fade, was it something we had done?
What made that brave young pilot take to the skies that day?
Was it boredom, or the senseless slaughter that made him dread to
stay.
"We'll fight this war without him if we must", we all
say.
But we know there's something missing from our ladder on this
day!
At night when we are sleeping or during a listless eve
we listen toward the heavens for a hint of "Hawk's"
reprieve.
We know that he'll forever soar, but from our ranks he'll never
leave.
"He's one o' the original vets of this island", so
don't grieve.
So, KoKo, stop your crying wish him well while he is gone.
Let's think of his great battles and the medals that he's won.
He won't be gone forever, he's up there guarding everyone.
When we fly our own long lonely CAP we may see him 'fore it's
done!
See ya later vanished "Hawkeye", you gallant jousting
gent.
We'll miss your lofty agile rolls on targets soon to be spent.
So keep your talons finely honed, and your beak so regally bent.
The calls you hear from your lofty throne are our "Hawkeye's
Lament"!
Holidays On Coconut Island
by Jim "Goshawk" Herring
The sun has set
beyond the reach, the sky had been so red
Sleepy pilots all went their ways, each one of them to bed.
Christmas Eve night was blackish blue, with ne'er a cloud to see
They mostly all fell fast asleep, to dream of life so free.
They shared their gifts with one and all, they laughed and drank
a toast
To all the fighters that had passed, and those they missed the
most.
With each gift given, each gracious smile, they shared a little
prayer
That soon this war would be all done, so they could soon leave
there.
They had their families, and their kin, their wives and wee ones
too
They had their honor and their fame, from missions that they
flew.
But on this isle, seemed all they had were planes and guns and
war
and the little gifts that each man shared. They had but little
more.
Last Chance gave a gift of praise, to all of those he knew
While Grizzly gave his neoprene, to Seahawk and Reno too.
For they forgot how great it was to spend a night so sweet
with dear young Koko at their sides. They'd seen too much defeat.
Hawkeye in his velvet robe, left fine bourbon by the door
of Vertigo's abandoned hut, hoping he'd soon be restored.
Oh Calabs with his spirit true, and his keen desire to die,
slept peacefully in his F4U, dreamed of giving Gos a try.
Deep 6 layed upon his bunk, too stressed to even sleep.
wondering if he'd challenge soon, or if he'd soon be beat.
He had not flown for weeks you see not since his last big meet
which put him in at number 5, a well deserved feat.
Goshawk stared at Vapors' hut, while Vapors stared back too.
Each knew that soon they'd fight to win, the boasts would then be
true.
So Christmas Eve had come and gone for these brave gallant gents
the New Year would undoubtedly bring more similar events.
"Lest We Forget, Good Old "LC"
by Jim "Goshawk" Herring
We pilots on our
ladder dear, have tendencies to not adhere,
to virtues somewhat like your own, humility, sympathy, and loving
home.
We love to bask in reverie, to drink our beer until we pee
without a care for what we do so long as we are beating you.
We think not that you care to win, or that you'll take one on the
chin,
with ne'er a thought to do revenge, we wait for your next bold
challenge.
But without your spirit, and your verve us top dogs would not
have a nerve
to whip up on a lesser fare, shooting down those who dare.
And with each crusty victory we toot our horns and slap our knee.
We best start thinking of ya'll and get you up here, one and all.
So here's one for good ol' "L.C." you fight real hard!
Keep going you'll see,
you'll make it to the top real quick, just don't let us airheads
make you sick.
Make your next challenge, and you will see you'll soon be
debriefing, instead of me.
Then you can make it poem or prose, and look down at us from atop
your nose!
"Nuggets"
by Jim "Goshawk" Herring
The boys
who fly the Birds of Prey,
are boisterous, brave, and true.
They love to fight, and fly their planes,
up in the sky so blue.
They turn and shoot, and aim to kill.
They mean real harm to you.
And if you smoke, and burn, and die,
they'll crack a smile, or two.
So, if by chance they call you out
to soar the skies to fight them,
we should let the nuggets have their way.
But, for heaven's sake, DON'T SHOOT 'EM.
"NOT!"