Dispatches

The main job an officer had in the squadron was to be a pilot or RIO. Pilots were judged on their competency in the air, whether they were ‘a good stick’. This ranking went on a scale from “a damn fine stick’ to ‘unsafe at any speed’.

This month's column's going to be rather short. This is for a variety of reasons, not the least of them being me having to write a bunch of short articles under a tight deadline. Still have one left. In the middle of that, I got a reminder from Editor Jim, so…

Navy Draftsman Second Class Michael Noeth is my friend. Like other great people, he’ll somewhere cringe at my high thoughts and words of him. Most of us come across truth as it appears before us like a highway car accident. We’d like to know the realities but shield our squinting eyes so we can close them faster if the horrors are overwhelming.

so many words left unsaid,
like raindrops falling from the sky,
to numerous to count

so much time we had
we could talk whenever we wished

tonight there is no rain and I find myself
wishing you were holding me

I spoke a thousand words to you today
and wondered if you heard them
or were they like un-danced songs

if I screamed I love you…..would it rain again
would I hear your words
or feel only your tears as
they fell from the sky mixing with mine

Let Things Go

There may be something running

deeper than the gene pool.