Camp Pendleton in Springtime - poem

  

Lawrence Hall, HSG

Mhall46184@aol.com

 

 

Camp Pendleton in Springtime

 

Field Medical Service School, 1968

 

 

There was no warmth in our sleeping bags

Spring rain sluiced down the dark and through our tents

Decaying tents from the Second World War

The Corps would spend no money on tents or us

 

But we were young, and playing at war was fun

We kept our rifles dry but nothing else

And yarned throughout the cold and soggy nights

Long days and nights mud-fighting the VC

 

Sometimes an hour or two of soggy sleep

But in my pocket, warm words from my favorite poet

Indo-China: Field Medical Service School, Camp Pendleton - couplet for Veterans' Day / Remembrance Day

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

Field Medical Service School, Camp Pendleton:

And is that “Lock and load” or “Load and lock?”

Not the sailors, not even the Marines
Can tell you what “Lock and load!” really means

Camping on the Edge of Forever - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com

Camping on the Edge of Forever

For HM3 Michael Dean Marconett, USN

of happy memory

Wild stars, beyond a Sterno stove’s tame glow,
We’ll live forever as we live this night:
Coffee and cigarettes and comradeship,
Our backs against the sun-warmed Sierras
As the cold falls from infinite darkness
To keep the snow in place another night,
To smile in ancient silence back at you,
To make a glowing, slumberous twilight until dawn.
Those C-rations were good after a day
Of scrambling among prehistoric rocks
Made musical by the dinosaur creek,
Water as cold as the dark end of time.
San Diego glows in the south-southwest,
Silently, inefficiently, light lost.
But you, wild, happy star, will still shine down
On dreaming youths, tonight and other nights,
Counting for us, for them, each millennium.

Scrambled Eggs in Rainwater

Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com


Scrambled Eggs in Rainwater

Field Medical Service School

Shivering in the rain, up in the hills
Of Sunny Southern California
Kerosene cookers and their gust-blown smoke
Squid-wet Corpsmen in flying wet slickers
Mess kits held out to sullen, cursing cooks
Slam-glopping glops of sausages and eggs
Cold coffee in aluminum canteen cups
No cover, no shelter for floating food
Or for sergeants bellowing in the dark –
And laughing through it all, for we were young