POETS CORNER

Sometimes tough GIs, who can't express themselves in prose,
have been able to put down some of their most intense feelings in poetry. 
Here are several poems which which express some of the feelings of 
the airmen of the 39th.

JUNGLE SKIPPERS

by Robert Kreymborg, 39th TCS, 1945-46

Maxton - Bowman - New Guinea
Australia - Okinawa - The Philippines,
And all points between,
Rugged men - Rugged machines.

Three - seventeen flying service, ground and air crews alike,
Fraught with stress and strain.
The object - these hardy troops - VICTORY!
Then stateside again.

Final approach, gear down and locked,
Pacific mission past.
Heros worn and weary,
Headed home at last.

When the final draft is fashioned,
To honor the Thirty - ninth,
Many Skippers muster,
Many left behind.

Salute their triumph,
Respect their torment and tribulation.
God bless these Skippers
And their total dedication.
A '46 Skipper, Proud of my belated association.

SONG OF THE TROOP CARRIERS

by Major Joseph H. Paul,
noted Troop Carrier pilot, who led the first flight of 
39th Squadron C-47 aircraft across the Pacific to Australia. We dedicate it 
to all those airmen who "took it through and stuck to the creed!"

When the last bloody sword has been broken,
When the saga of war has been told,
When the last of the heros is cited,
I shall tell you a tale of the bold.

I shall sing you a song of the transports,
The sturdiest ships in the sky!
I shall sing you a song of the warriers
Who asked nothing more than to fly.

Unarmored, unarmed, overladen,
Their might grey wings took the air,
Through storms - the unknown - through the moon's hush,
With freight that must always get there.

Hugging the hills and the valleys;
Vaulting the cliffs and the trees;
Dodging the weather - the Zeros;
Honor the youngest of these.

Aching to fight, but quite helpless;
Yearning for speed that's not there;
Clumsy with freight-out of balance;
Chained to the flight of dispair!

You can't slug it out with a Mitsu.
You can't run - you haven't the speed.
So it's hide in the trees or the weather,
But take it thru - stick to the creed!

The wounded aboard are your charges;
You're shackled to rudder and wheel.
No 'chutes and no belts and no life rafts.
You'll slam them to hell if you fail!

Or - the engines on board for a 'Lightning'
Are grounding a fighter tonight;
While a dozen or twenty-odd Zeros
Will live, 'till he's back in the fight.

"Take it through! Take it through!" is your war-cry;
To hell with the flak in your way;
To hell with the Nips and the weather;
Your number was called yesterday.

You're living because you've been lucky.
Or possibly - could it be so?
A bright angel rides there beside you.
Ride her, boy! Win, place, or show.

This is the song of the transports,
Weary from many a mile;
A song of the pilots who rode them
Down into hell with a smile!

HIGH FLIGHT

by John Gillespie McGee, Jr.,
who was killed in combat over England on December 11, 1941
while serving in the Royal Air Force. While this poem was written by a fighter pilot,
it embodies many of the feelings of all pilots, military or civilian.

Oh, I have slipped the surly bonds of earth
And danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings;
Sunward I've climbed, and joined the tumbling mirth
Of sun-split clouds - and done a hundred things
You have not dreamed of - wheeled and soared and swung
High in the sunlit silence. Hov'ring there,
I've chased the shouting wind along, and flung
My eager craft through footless halls of air.
Up, up the long, delirious, burning blue
I've topped the windswept heights with easy grace
Where never lark, or even eagle flew.
And, while with silent, lifting mind I've trod
The high untrespassed sancity of space,
Put out my hand, and touched the face of
God.

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