Rookie rhymes, by the men of the 1st and 2nd provisional training regiments, Plattsburg, New York — John Shaqi
Rookie rhymes, by the men of the 1st and 2nd provisional training regiments, Plattsburg, New YorkPlattsburgh Barracks (N.Y.)
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Rookie rhymes, by the men of the 1st and 2nd provisional training regiments, Plattsburg, New York
Plattsburgh Barracks (N.Y.)
American poetry -- Collections; World War, 1914-1918 -- Poetry
"_Adieu, cher Capitaine_,"
She had written,
And I can see the flecks of soft star dust in her eyes
As she thought it.
Bitterly I swore at my luck ...
Then
Sent her that photograph taken of me
On July Fourth....
Of me astride the horse of an officer.
I scrawled a jest under it.
But what else could I do?
[Illustration: A TEST OF DISCIPLINE]
ODE TO A LADY IN WHITE STOCKINGS
Lady, in your stockings white,
As you flutter by the road,
You inspire me to write
An ode.
Though upon my manly back
There reposes half a ton,
Why repine against a pack
Or gun?
Though the fire-tressed orb
Makes mirage upon the street;
Though the baking soil absorb
My feet;
Though the Sergeants stamp and rave;
Though the Captain's eye is flame;
Pray, how should my heart behave--
The same?
I become a thing of steel,
Buoyant none the less as cork;
Radiant from hat to heel
I walk.
Lady, in your stockings white,
Don't you note my altered step?
Don't you feel, enchanting sprite,
My pep?
"AVOIRDUPOIS"
I sing the song of a Fat Man
Out on the skirmish line,
With a pack chock full of lead and bricks
A'hanging on behind.
Maybe you think it's funny
When you're out there on the run,
Beside all that equipment
To be pullin' half a ton.
The Captain has a heart of stone
It makes no odds to him;
He's there to teach you to skirmish,
And you'll skirmish fat or thin.
D'you suppose he gives a tinker's damn
If when you're lying prone,
The pack comes up behind your ears
And whacks you on the dome?
He just hollers "fire faster,"
Though he knows you couldn't hit
The broad side of a barn door,
If you were fifty feet from it.
He doesn't care a little bit,
If you're gasping hard for breath,
He's there to teach you to skirmish,
If you skirmish yourself to death.
Oh, well, it's true about fat men
Being always full of fun,
Good Lord, they've got to be,
'Cause they can neither fight nor run.
[Illustration: WHAT'S YOUR NAME?]
GO!
Your lips say "Go!"
Eyes plead "Stay!"
Your voice so low
Faints away
To nothing, dear--
God keep me here!
God end the war,
And let us two
Travel far
On Love's road, you
And I in peace,
Never to cease.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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