Three poems by Wesley C. Reading

Army Life

Army life they say sure is tough.
Yes, some of it’s easy, but most of it’s rough.
But both put together, it makes a real man,
As one must be rugged to fight that Japan.

Yes, we grumble and grouch when the bugle blows
But we have to get up, well that’s how it goes.
And we look on the schedule, and there is our name
On the list to do detail, Oh what a pain!

The details we’re on, we don’t like at all,
Either shoveling coal, or scrubbing down walls.
But this is the army, no use to object,
For the more you complain, the more work you get.

Then there’s marches and hikes, how tired we become,
And the order we hate is, “Double-time, run.”
And the exercise hour we also much mention,
Where we build up our muscles, least that’s the intention.

Then we march to our classes where we learn army ways
Of doing things right, learning how to obey.
They teach us first-aid, show us all kinds of guns.
Show us how to treat wounded, how to outwit the Huns.

At the end of the day when the bugler blows taps,
And we’ve all crawled in bed for that well-deserved nap,
NO matter how hard we’ve worked on that day,
We still can dream of that girl far away.

When the weeks work is over, and a pass we have earned,
We visit the girl whole all week we have yearned,
And those few short hours we spend with our friends,
Give us more strength and courage to start the weeks work again.

"85" points

Eighty-five points is what you need
To ditch those O.D. clothes.
The men who have a score like that
Will be the lucky Joes.

But there’s a catch to that ol’ plan
T’will break some hearts, I know.
There’ll always be that list of men
Whom they will not let go.

“Essential men”, they are to be
Technicians and the like.
The army needs these men, you see
To keep things going right.

The older men of forty years
Don’t need to add their score.
For them that day is drawing near,
That day they’ve waited for.

The men with eighty-four or less
Will take it hard, no doubt.
But eighty-five is what you need
If you want to get out.

The overseas blues

The overseas blues are getting me down,
There’s nothing like the ol’ home town.
When the sun goes down and I sit all alone,
The first thing I think of is ol’ home sweet home.

At dusk there is silence as my mind reflects back
To the place I call home, be it only a shack.
For my dear friends at home, my heart longingly yearns,
And I can’t rest at ease ‘till the day I return.

There are many fine men who get overseas blues,
An epidemic that strikes, sure ‘tis worse than the flu.
For there’s only one cure, and its’ not prescription.
It’s to walk on home soil without any restriction.

So come on men, let’s fight, bring this war to an end,
For all of us know that they’re not Supermen.
When we dock at home port, we’ll shout for miles ‘round,
“No more overseas blues, the cure has been found!”