Soldiers

All poems are copyrighted.
For permission to use, contact Drake via email.

LITTLE TOY SOLDIERS

Little toy soldiers, metal men
Standing on the shelf
So sharp and bright
You look full of might.

 The colors of your enamel
Are as bold
As the pride
I know you hide inside.

 Far off in my mind’s horizon
I can hear you pounding forth,
Hup one, hup two, hup three
Showing off for me.

 Little toy soldiers, made up of
Grunts and officers, ancients and moderns.
You’re froze in time and place
So I can view your power and grace.

 A tat-a-tat-tat of the drum
And a bugle blare
Send the army
To the run.

 The smell of burning powder
And the feel of clashing sabers
Dueling until Death
Or battles won.

 Little toy soldiers, row after row
Line up and squared off
You bring memories to men
And daydreams to children.

 There you are, night or day,
In action or at parade rest
Waging wars
Across my desk.

 Bravo for your esprit de corps
That weaves a web
Of wonder and delight.
I’ll be collecting you forever more.

CASTLES IN THE AIR

If every boy’s dream would come true,
Every man would be a fighter pilot.
His mind slips the bonds of boredom
To soar with dreams of flight.
The call of the wild blue yonder
Is crying out for him...
But as the boy grows into a man,
Life’s realities press on him,
And the obligations of daily life
Start to smother him.
Soon all that is left
Is that old dream of slipping the shackles of mediocrity
To soar suspended in nothingness.
This could have been the finest freedom.
The real jet jockey becomes a symbol of
bright and fancy,
fear facing
brass balled,
machine mastering
modern chivalry,
An escapist from the
Prison of hum-drum drudgery.
Now the young man’s prime has passed
And so goes his chances of lofty pursuits,
Now he can only pray
With all his heart and soul,
That next time around,
He can be a fighter pilot.
So in the meanwhile,
He’ll continue to build
Those castles in the air.

ODE TO THE AULT FORTY 'TWA

Hey, have you heard the call of the 42nd?
I’ve heard it loud and clear beckon.
Hush and close your eyes,
Can’t you hear the battle cries,
The clash of claymores and thunder of .303?
These echoes of war should never be
Forgotten, nor the valiant pipers who lead
Their men to do the impossible deed.
By bravery, their reputation has been built
And their noble stature will never wilt.
On review, the regiment marches with such show,
Such pomp and color, row after row,
With hose & spats, sporran & kilt,
And a long broadsword with a shiny hilt.
Each time I see the red hackle upon the ostrich bonnet
My heart wants to sing a little sonnet.
Over there, a soldier stands with arms at the slope.
I see a little laddie look at him with eyes of hope
That one day he, too, will be
As big and majestic as the Black Watchman, you see.
Those brave warriors present and past
Have earned many battle honors that will last
Through the pages of time.
Such names as Egypt, France, Africa, and Korea come to mind.
So to the great Scottish regiment
Let this poem be my testament,
I ne’er had a greater love
For anything below or above
Like I have for the Black Watch Royal Highlanders.
Oh, they have the power that lures
The awe of the onlooker
And from the deepest depths, many emotions stir.
I am inspired by the regimental unity
And their motto, “No one attacks me with impunity”.
The paradiddle of their drumsticks and the pibrochs of their pipes
Have saluted dear bonnie Scotland for many, many nights
And brought the pride of the highlander to a very high height.
So join with me to salute the Auld Forty Twa with delight.
March “Forward, the 42nd” right into my heart
Forever, “Forward, the 42nd” from my heart will never part.

 

Web: www.DrakeInnerprizes.com
Text/Call: 925-348-3336
Email: Drake