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Inspirational Soldier Poems | Inspirational Poems About Soldier

These Inspirational Soldier poems are examples of Inspirational poems about Soldier. These are the best examples of Inspirational Soldier poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

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Details | Rhyme | |


I saw a burial with a bugler playing taps;
I turned to my father, “what happened?” I asked.
He clutched my hand and with a quiver in his voice,
he began to explain and his eyes became moist.

“My son,” he said, “this is rather difficult for me;
for an old veteran like myself this is tough to see.
In that coffin lies a genuine patriotic warrior,
an honest-to-God hero, an American soldier.

I appreciate that soldier and the service he gave,
and I honor his sacrifice as he’s laid in his grave.
He was honorable, selfless, courageous, and bold;
please remember him son, as you grow old.

The value of his service, I must explain,
if not remembered, will be lost in vain.
As a nation we’re nothing without soldiers like him;
and failing to remember would be a terrible sin.”

I listened in awe as my father spoke,
it seemed as if his heart were broke.
I suddenly remembered when he went to war,
and when he returned I thought nothing more.

I never asked why he walked with a limp,
and I didn’t care about why he was sick.
I was too busy enjoying the life that I had,
to realize that I had it because of dad.

I finally understood what my dad was about,
and it hurt so bad I cried out loud.
He sacrificed so much so I could be free,
and his battle scars were suffered for me.

It was my father’s spirit that spoke to me that day;
thank God I finally understood what he had to say.
I saluted his coffin as they laid him to rest,
and I thought about the medals pinned on his chest.

That I didn’t honor him sooner, I will always regret;
and I pledged that day to never again forget.
I’m proud that my dad was a patriotic warrior;
I’m honored to be the son of an American soldier. 

Copyright © Ed Coet

Details | Alliteration | |


Death must be old fashioned way up in the future. Nobody's gonna die.  Tell me when. Should I solicit from the reaper?  Must I decide with my keeper? Must I still try to be alive? QUIET now must I pretend? Quit now, must I defend?
And be rewarded for my rage time and time again.
Revision of decisions long past due. Collector's come a calling, where
I choose. 

I refuse to be used as a doorstop refugee ANGRILY laughing as I bandage my open wounds.  Tough crowd. No self pity ALLOWED.  I'm not delusional. If only please.
I'm nocturnal operating without options, ease
NEVER leave a man behind ENEMY lines.  All who volunteer to follow fall behind,
And on my lead.  All things HOT HAVE HAPPENED with my breed.

I know one day i'll be going HOME with my brain HOT WIRED and my broad buff
Bubonic body, introducing my new self to my adoring affectionate family.
But for now the fight is on the might IS STRONG.  We APPROACHED the enemy 
Camp on clever phantom Fox FEET. Thinking. Waiting.
These DEATH BOUND SOULS are all alone with me and my army.  All who volunteer to follow fall in line.   .....Waiting, ready we pounce 25 down no PRISONERS, no COMPROMISE.
NOW hear this, can't promise you BLUE INDIGO ROSE GARDENS AND SUNSHINE in paradise.
JUST know one thing: Stay the COURSE. We will win. We've never Lost.


Details | Idyll (Idyl) | |

The Wreath, A Soldier Chronicle pt. 1

A fine mist, hovers close to the ground,
But it cannot be a fog.

It cannot be, it's a hundred and three,
This is desert, not a bog.

Strain as I may, I still cannot see,
The earth, that lies beneath.

Until a man, comes into view,
He gently sets a wreath.

My camera softly clicks, but once,
At the Solemn view,

I caught his eye, he walked my way,
And whispered " who are you"

I said, I'm taking photographs,
To chronicle this fight,

Just then, the mist began to clear,
My eyes beheld the sight,

For what happened here, the night before,
The worst I had ever seen.

I could not bring myself to shoot,
I just could not believe,

The soldier pointed out a patch,
On a dead mans arm,

The Stars and Stripes,smeared with blood,
Protects me from all harms.

I bowed my head, tears filled my eyes,
At the carnage I did see,

These men and women lying here,
Bravely died for me.

As I raised my head, to thank him,
The soldier with the wreath,

He briskly turned, stood up straight,
I could barely breath,

He raised a stiff hand, to his brim,
Slowly let it fall,

Then suddenly he disappeared,
If not there at all.

I walked among the fallen troops,
Looked down, could not believe,

The soldier that lay below me,
Was the one that set the wreath.

  To the Soldiers of Desert Storm

Copyright © Richard Pickett

Details | Epitaph | |

My Billy

My Billy.

My Billy, bravest of the brave,
Fought metal tooth and iron cross.
Through Flanders field of bleedin’ red
And on to mourn their loss.

My Billy, full of life and love,
A boy still to his Mam,
Left far behind these cobbled shores
To fight the beast in man.

This trench, this tomb, this hellish hell.
No mortal eye should see.
My Billy, broken limb from life,
Lies far away from me.

One hundred years, one million tears,
One memory thought anew,
My Billy, bravest of the brave,
Gave freedom back to you.

Copyright © Wayne Riley

Details | Rhyme | |

Joan of Arc, For God and Country

Joan of Arc – For God and Country
On the feast of the Three Kings was born, a baby girl, in 1412, under the sign of Capricorn. Destined to accomplish great deeds and achieve fame, Joan d’Arc was her auspicious name. A religious and political scapegoat, her short life to God and country she did devote. Fervently spurred by heavenly voices, Joan’s fate was guided by singular choices. She avidly believed in her mystical visions, and was obsessed to fulfill her divine mission.
Each night she prayed, “Oh God, save France,” until at last she was granted the perfect chance. Leaving her family and the village of Domremy, she pursued her destiny to defeat France’s enemy. The “Maid of Orleans” with religious fervor and zeal took a vow of chastity and her fate was solidly seal. During the Hundred Years’ War, she took up sword and banner; mounted on a white horse, arrayed in a white suit of armor. Leading the French army to a momentous victory, her rousing battle cry was, “For God and country.”
Abandoned by King Charles the VII and betrayed in the end, she was burnt at the stake by French collaborators and English men. Accusing her of witchcraft, heresy, and for dressing like a man, at age 19, her life was all over according to their devious plan. But even though her light was snuffed out by hatred and bigotry, her exemplary courage and strength helped to unify her country. Joan of Arc, a simple peasant girl, became a woman warrior, and to the world a symbol of conviction, fortitude, and true valor. Canonized a saint by Pope Benedict XV 500 years later, Joan was named Patron Saint of France, rape victims, prisoners, and martyrs.

Copyright © Pandita Sanchez

Details | Free verse | |

The Center's Footsteps

Thoust message rings,
But it is a wretched beauty.
Sew up thine tongue;
It forks in many directions,
Ensnaring, passing through the centers,
Weaving a thread gleaming, deceivingly white,
Yet drenched in the black goo,
The sticky gobs of our source, our blood.
Cast aside thine needle,
Let time make it blunt.
Wallow in thine sorrow,
But only for a moment.
Up, up with you!
The sticky gobs cannot protect thee.
See me, Hear me.
For I see thee...
Thou hast split thine tongue
To hide, to forget.
Thine forked words, black to all, clear to me.
Go on, go ahead,
Walk through its enveloping black.
And when you cannot run,
And when you can’t do that anymore, 
Find someone to carry you.
Thou art strong!
Let thine center give you new feet!
If even thine center falls weary,
I shalt be thine legs.
I shalt carry you, my friend.

Copyright © Lauren Johnson

Details | I do not know? | |

Solomon Mahlangu: My Blood will Nourish the Tree that will Bear the Fruits of Freedom

(special thanks to a friend who shared this tribute to Solomon Mahlangu)

Solomon Mahlangu: My Blood will Nourish the Tree that will Bear the Fruits of Freedom:

Solomon Mahlangu was trained as an MK soldier with a view to later rejoining the struggle in the country.

He left South Africa after the Soweto Uprising of 1976 when he was 19 years old, and was later chosen to be part of an elite force to return to South Africa to carry out a mission commemorating the June 16th 1976 Soweto student uprising.

After entering South Africa through Swaziland and meeting his fellow comrades in Duduza, on the East Rand (east of Johannesburg), they were accosted by the police in Goch Street in Johannesburg.

In the ensuing gun battle two civilians were killed and two were injured, and Mahlangu and Motloung were captured while acting as decoys so that the other comrade could go and report to the MK leadership.

Motloung was brutally assaulted by the police to a point that he suffered brain damage and was unfit to stand trial, resulting in Mahlangu facing trial alone.

He was charged with two counts of murder and several charges under the Terrorism Act, to which he pleaded not guilty.

Though the judge accepted that Motloung was responsible for the killings, common purpose was argued and Mahlangu was found guilty on two counts of murder and other charges under the Terrorism Act.

On 15 June 1978 Solomon Mahlangu was refused leave to appeal his sentence by the Rand Supreme Court, and on 24 July 1978 he was refused again in the Bloemfontein Appeal Court.

Although various governments, the United Nations, International Organizations, groups and prominent individuals attempted to intercede on his behalf, Mahlangu awaited his execution in Pretoria Central Prison, and was hanged on 6 April 1979.

His hanging provoked international protest and condemnation of South Africa and Apartheid.

In fear of crowd reaction at the funeral the police decided to bury Mahlangu in Atteridgeville in Pretoria.

On 6 April 1993 he was re-interred at the Mamelodi Cemetery, where a plaque states his last words:

‘My blood will nourish the tree that will bear the fruits of freedom.

Tell my people that I love them.

They must continue the fight.’

Mahlangu died for a cause!


The Struggle Continues…

(special thanks to a friend who shared this tribute to Solomon Mahlangu)

Copyright © Scribbler Of Verses

Details | I do not know? | |

Chris Kyle the Great Sniper

Before you read this poem, I would like to invite you in reading about the great American sniper hero. I am also dedicating this to the fallen sniper because he is a true Patriotic Hero. Thank you.

Chris Kyle was and still is loved by many, this to be true I say
I always believe him to be, a great sniper to this undying day.
Why must things happen to people, that are always so kind
Life would be better keeping some, alive alongside mankind.

Why don’t I tell you a story, about this very kind honest fellow
He was and is an U.S. Navy Seal, but along that chill and mellow.
The most lethal sniper known of, in American military history
With a very high percentage confirmed kills, quite the victory.

At the young age of eight, his father taught him how to shoot
A great father teaching a son, instead of giving him the boot.
A bronco rider for the rodeo, sadly gave it up for a serious injury
It was to his arm although he still lived, with very great dignity.

Being a great sniper had an effect, putting souls to their bed
Eventually somewhat famous, an increasing bounty upon his head.
Undoubtedly dubbed the “Devil of Ramadi”, by non-other than Iraqi
An increasing bounty shot twice, but his body and will still intact.

After a while serving his country, he retired heading home graciously
Taking back some long spent  time, spending it with his family.
Chris Kyle a loved husband, a friend to many and a beloved son
His homeland now saddened, for America has lost a patriotic one.

A great warrior indeed, in my opinion our greatest honorable hero
He put his life on the line, instead of becoming the common zero.
The greatest treasure of all, came from within himself to prove
That all humans aren’t wrongful, but that we all can improve.

Copyright © Dalton A. J. Hunkler

Details | Rhyme | |

Lewis And Clark

They were Meriwether Lewis and William Clark,
Her name was Sacagawea.
On an expedition they did embark
Finding the passage to the sea.

Down the Missouri they traveled, 
Then slithered 'round the Snake River bend.
Rocky Mountain weather and sickness battled;
At the Columbia River they'd end. 

©2013 Honestly JT

Copyright © Honestly J.T.

Details | Lyric | |

The Walking Man

The walking man walks with no place to go,
Head tucked down with his eyes lookin' low.
We gotta reach out 
We gotta hold his hand
We gotta reach out 
To the walking man

He's seen it all, lived the wars out there.
Now he's blowing around like a leaf in the air.
We gotta reach out 
We gotta hold his hand
We gotta reach out 
To the walking man

Walking man don't mean no harm he don't mean to lie.  
He's just one careless face from a way to die, a way to fly, to say goodbye…..

So it's you and me and the walking man makes three;
Such a better number to be.

He's tired and warn like a piece of coal,
But he could light the city with the light in his soul.
We gotta reach out 
We gotta hold his hand
We gotta reach out 
To the walking man

Walking man don't mean no harm he don't mean to lie.  
He's just one careless face from a way to die, a way to fly, to say goodbye…..

Because it's you an me and the walking man makes three;
Such a better number to be

Copyright © C.L. Baker

Details | Heroic Couplets | |

Eat A Little Piece

Poem: Titled: Eat A Little Piece?My Poetry on PoetrySoup
 Written by: Ronald Watson.
March 10, 2013.

Eat A Little Piece?
Ethel, she is an elderly little lady who bakes sweet tasty treats, and constantly, she is asking,” Please, come on, eat a little piece?”
It was her secret cooking recipe’ that would knock the socks right off of your feet.
Then, she gathered up together all of, “The Powers That Be.”
When it came time for them to eat a little piece.
To sip it up with their coffee and tea;
Devour some up like, the cookie monster on: Sesame Street.
Either, it should taste more like, their moms red beans and rice.
Or it would taste just like, those sweet and honey barbeque ribs that is cooked so nicely.
Because it is her secret cooking recipe’. Yet, still she is asking, “Come on now, please try a little peace?”
But, they all just stood and shook their heads, saying that they were all having War instead.My Poetry on PoetrySoup

Thank You.

Copyright © TMP The mad poet

Details | Dramatic monologue | |

The Duchess Of Paradise

She's highly sophisticated and full of undefiled wisdom
Yet a crowned Duchess in a paradise kingdom
Quite a beautiful angel flying with black wings
Covered in gold jewelry and precious things
She dresses like the women of ancient Egyptian class
Her wealth is generous and her money grows like grass
She loves orange scented candles with dark room flame  
She rules thirty legions of soldiers and Bune is her name
Her comely warrior voice can wake and relocate the dead
Her armies of soldiers gather around the cemetery
She is brave and deserves a princessly crown on her head
Her facility of speech and flair for words is legendary
A beautiful queen to be treated with respect and honor
Instead of blasphemy,wanton abuse and fictional horror

Copyright © Bill Kim

Details | Free verse | |

Make him a soldier

Make him A Soldier

Make him a soldier 
so I won't cry anymore

Transform a boy to a man
 so he will stand...alone

 In the dark forest
as natural combustion of dusk in the sky 

Red blood running through our veins is the same
identical as if we share the same DNA 

And even as a child I couldn't deny how our hearts beat the same 

Rate pulse pace...boom 
it startled me
 but as I gaze in his eyes 
I felt a deep connection 
as if he knew me better than I knew myself
Our love is so pure and shall never be tampered 
and even if life tries to poison us 
we will always have each other 
pure love
Blue water
 a million miles away from me 
and as he travels from sea to sea 
I think of him daily 

I try to remember where we came from
 blue water 
shared space 
different times

 Blossomed from a tulip where our petals do not vary 
and the sepals seem to follow a course set to sail 

So I beg you 
Make him A soldier 
so I won't cry an ocean of tears 
Transform a boy to a man
so he will stand beside me in my darkest hour.
 Help me to raise my head 
when he is long gone from here 

When my fears are red 
 my soul turns blue 
let me remember the purity of us 
how I loved a my brother a man of red, white and blue!

Copyright © Monique Beach

Details | Ballad | |

My sickness and my healing

My sickness and my healing

When I came back from Vietnam
I was afraid of everything
I really don’t know why this was
Cause, no danger did it bring
To me, my stay in that country
But the poisons that they used
Convinces me that they stuffed my mind
Those powers, our heads abused.

That fear in me was so intense
My mind was filled with dread
I was afraid of being alive
I was afraid of being dead
Sometime I’d freeze so totally
Like I was paralyzed.
I went to so much counseling
So many tears I cried.

And then one day I searched the net
And I found this little site
The site they call it ‘just one look’
And they did do me right
It took four years, but now I’m sane
I have no fear at all
And I have no anxiety
I’m no more a crazy fool.

5 September 2013 @ 1345hrs

Copyright © Peter Duggan

Details | Narrative | |

Ten Brothers

Beneath a flag of red and white
A soldier quietly lies,
His mother sits just to his right
Tears falling from her eyes.

Brothers lie all laid in rows
Around his final bed,
A cross for each one shows
Their names above their heads.

Seven more stand by his side
With rifles standing tall,
Dressed in honor, feeling pride
For this brother who gave all.

One more stands by his feet
A bugle in his hand,
Plays that melody so sweet
Of taps now for this man.

Two more now step up to fold
Old Glory from her pall,
And place it in Mom's hand to hold
A present from us all.

Ten brothers stand by this man's grave
With respect in just suffice,
For this soldier who proudly gave
His life for freedom's price.

Ten brothers came to send him on
To take his final station,
But thousands more sit at home
Giving thanks with the entire nation.

Somewhere, lying overseas
The man who took this life,
Ten buzzards now has he
Giving thanks at his grave site!

                          Timothy I. Brumley

Copyright © Timothy Brumley

Details | Rhyme | |

The American Soldier

We are all the colors a Patriot depicts,
the red’s the blues and whites a mix.
We honor the soldier’s creed till death,
protecting our nation with every breath.

Quitting is not an option you’ll see,
for a soldier’s pride and honor succeeds.
A soldier’s mission will always come first,
hungering for freedom with a thriving thirst.

The American Soldier, our warrior of choice,
will serve their people will a victorious voice.
They are comrades in arms, till the very end,
no one left behind, fellow man they’ll tend.

The American Soldier doesn’t accept defeat,
heroically they’ll fight, in the cold and the heat.
They are the guardians of freedom we forget,
the American Soldier does not identify regret.

Our way of life is because of their strength,
for decades they’ve served at every length.
The American Solder conveys honor and pride;
for fallen soldiers, many tears they have cried.

Honor our troops, for freedom is not free –
it’s the American Soldier whose provided liberty.
Take a moment to praise the dedication and pride,
of the American Soldier that never dies…….

Copyright © Stacy Stiles

Details | Rhyme | |

Hero's Reward

Hero's Reward

A warrior wears his battle scars
with pride upon his face.
Across his breast a row of stars,
he brings us no disgrace.

He's welcomed with a big parade,
"Hero," they proclaim;
but in his heart the whole charade
pounds within his brain.

 The memories haunt his every dream
no sleep is ever content.
Faces; women and children scream
the weapon's round is spent.

Each life is counted on this earth.
All children are held dear.
Somewhere she who gave him birth,
shall never hold him near.

The terrors implode, consume his life.
He can't work or play or joke.
He has no friends, no job, nor wife,
He's hungry, lonely and broke.

"It's a syndrome," or some big name,
"Send him to a shrink. "
There has to be something to blame.
but it's not what one would think.

He is not weak or just depressed.
His demons drive him mad!
Another "Hero" is sent to test, 
we say, "it's just too bad."

   Debra Irsik

Copyright © Debra Irsik

Details | Epic | |

A Profound Thought


                 HAVE YOU EVER PLACED
                 BEFORE YOUR FACE
                 YOUR HAND 
                 THEN SAID GRACE
                 THAT YOU CAN EVEN PLACE 
                 AND SEE YOUR HAND BEFORE
                 YOUR FACE

                (These words are dedicated to our veterans
                 who have fought in foreign wars to keep us free
                 who can't do that simple thing)

Copyright © Dennis Davis

Details | Rhyme | |

In the Midst of It

Let me tell you a true story.
Hopefully to show God’s power and His glory.
Two army buddies, friends that went A.W.O.L.
Absent without leave a military crime, a foul.

Two young men scared in Saigon, not more than eighteen.
Came over together from Oakland meeting, both young and green.
Naïve they were and pretty scared too.
Made a deal on the plane, “You cover me, I’ll cover you.”

Madness, chaos, helicopters flying around in the air.
Daytime, night time, the rumbling and thumps where constantly there.
The outside perimeter, with Saigon close by they kept vigil, they protected.
Turns out the two soldiers, disillusioned with the killings became dejected.

So tired of the killings, bombings they met a bar owner and stayed with him.
Each night you had to be in at 7:00 the curfew set in.
MP’s Vietnamese and Americans patrolled the streets for movement, watching within.
So the bar locked up good and tight you were their for night, till the dawns light set in.

Two soldiers In a Hotel-Bar- Brothel, and a vicious civil war.
Knowing when returning to base they would have some emotional scars.
One night late two weeks from camp the soldiers awoke to a flash shattered glass a rocket had hit the hutch next door.
Two soldiers hearing the cries and screams of woman and children, the innocents the poor.

Screams, cries desperate and whimpering could be heard inside the hut.
Let’s face it they were in the worse way bleeding and cut.
The five trapped had a soldier that didn’t care if he was AWOL; all he cared about was getting them out of the fire.
The soldier went in an out three times and he didn’t tire.

Looking back at the incident the other soldier aided the burnt and suffering as help arrived.
Without them these people never had a chance, they were caught off base, yes. But they were blessed and these people survived.
They for sure have the love and appreciation of the people they saved that day.
So in that moment that time they didn’t care of the race of these people they were humans and it didn’t matter to the two soldiers no way.

What happened to them? They were given a court martial an undesirable discharge, sent home.
What would you have done if you were the one?
Not even twenty finished with the war, the greatest lesson here is if they weren’t at that hotel, they wouldn’t have ever discovered that all are human.
In the midst of all the chaos, killing, mayhem, gave these two soldiers the love knowing that innocents needed help and they did for their fellow man

Copyright © Robert Ball

Details | Imagism | |


who can tell a person is wrong or right?

day-to-day each one is a hired soldier..
fighting in their own battlefield..
not to kill a criminal or a terrorist..
rather a person striving for better life..

who can definitely say one's reason for living?

allow me to say that each one is struggling so..
one reason maybe is to earn a living..
one reason maybe is to gain power..
or this maybe one reason to share God's love...

who can tell hundred percent that such person can do harm?

isn't it, only by giving into chances that you can know one person..?
isn't it, through God's eyes we are all equal despite who we are here on earth..?
isn't it , through genuine acceptance that divisions and differences are broken?
isn't it reaching out is fine but alright?

sad to say that persons judge without knowing..
sad to say persons can conclude without even investigating..
sad to say, persons who are educated will look at others just by their race..
sad to say, persons outcast and demeans another person because of looks..

hired soldiers we maybe everyday..
true to say, we must on guard to others..
we must be vigilant to stay protected..
we must use all resources in us to keep living..

however, must we be hired soldiers to condemn and persecute innocence?

by: olive_eloi
19/10/2013 2:12pm

Copyright © Olive Eloisa Guillermo

Details | Rhyme | |

Never Forget

I once saw a child standing under the flag
He asked why it hung there half-way

I thought it’d be easy to say what it meant
But couldn’t find right words to say

I wasn’t too sure that he would understand
My talk about war and on death

So I tried to find words that I thought he could grasp
So I paused and then took a deep breath

Before I could speak he then shot up his hand
And shouted “I know what it’s for!”

“They did the same thing after my dad had died
Because he was killed in the war”

He continued to say “now my dad is in heaven
And that’s why the flag’s raised half-way”

“To let my dad know and all soldiers who died
We’ll remember them always today”

He stopped and stared at me-I looked in his eyes
He suddenly lowered his head

Tears ran down his cheeks and then he took my hands
And wiped them away and then said

“It makes me feel sad-just seeing the flag
I know that it means someone died”

I then felt my tears-that couldn’t hold back
I picked him up and we both cried

On memorial days when the flag is half-raised
I remember that kid that I met

Now that I’m a dad I will make sure my son
Understands so he’ll never forget

Copyright © gregory boyer

Details | Rhyme | |

Somewhere Tonight a Soldier Stands

Somewhere tonight a soldier stands
The fate of freedom in his hands
He mans his post, he stands his ground
In trouble spots the world around
He could be 18 or over 30
All spit and polish or down and dirty
He might be wearing Army green
Or the uniform of a proud Marine
He could be Air Force flying cover
Or Navy in their crafts that hover
He could be Coast Guard on a river
No matter what he will deliver
He’s pledged to give up life and limb
If that is what is asked of him
And all he’ll ask for in return
Is the respect that he has earned
These footsteps that he chose to follow
Echo through the years so hollow
His grandpa’s grandpa’s grandpa’s fought
With Washington their freedom sought
They rode with Grant or maybe Lee
Fighting for their family
And when the Kaiser declared war
They joined to give the guy what for
Then when that German Hitler reigned
They signed up for that war’s campaign
Korea in some  frozen field
They stood their ground, there was no yield
And in the jungle, Vietnam
Never knowing peace and calm
They fight despite the known syndrome
Of what awaits them back at home
In Desert Storm and in Iraq
And Afghanistan, they have our back
They fight for honor, fight with pride
But through the years so many died
Though some may question why they fought
Let’s end this now with this one thought 
Somewhere tonight a soldier stands
The fate of freedom in his hands


We have a history club here in our community and the chairman of the club asked if I would write a poem for an upcoming meeting all about Vietnam with vets from each of the service talking about their experiences during that war.  I wrote two poems - this is one I will read at the meeting.

Copyright © mike dailey

Details | Verse | |

Le Vacance Pretentieuse: Baggage Claim

Drained to my very heart by our slow-paced arrival, 
          I wander through tasteless decor to the metal arches 
                                                Beyond which a future is unfurled.
My bag’s innards are spilled like blood in the Bible
          Before the cold gaze of the armed man who marches;
                                                He holds the key to this new world.

The mechanistic arch stands and takes quasi-sentience 
          Beside passport control, piercing my finely popped 
                                                Eardrums with sonic solemnity.
I am refused by technology but stagger forward hence 
          Into baggage claim where a suitcase pile is propped 
                                                Up like a holiday Tetris calamity.

My suitcase is soul black and with difficulty is found,
          In its lucid eagerness to fasten itself a faux family;
			   Airports are filled with pretences.
Now we are away again, small trolley safe and sound,
          On the road from snow, heat is where I plan to be.
                                                Our intrepid journey commences...

Copyright © Dan Keir

Details | Free verse | |

Universal Soldier Reality Creed

THIS is my Reality, There are many like it, but this one is 
My Perceptions of it are my best friends and "enemies",
For this is my illusion...
... I must master the balance of my emotions,
My reality, without yours is useless, For lack of mine, yours 
seems useless, 
Thus inspiring coexistence,
I must evolve my reality anew, 
I must shoot straighter than anyone whom conspires 
against me,
I must bless ye, lest ye confuse me,
My allies and I realize that what counts on the subliminal 
Are not the rounds fired or the smoke they create,
We understand that it is the hits that count.
We WILL win this war…
My reality is of my own design, JUST as I, therein is MY 
Thus, I shall fear no “evil” along the path in the valley of 
I understand its’ weaknesses, it’s strengths, its strategies, 
its accessories, 
its sights and its intentions.
I will evolve my reality clean and ready, as I am clean and 
Before God I swear this creed...
My perceptions of self are the defenders of my reality,
We are the masters of thine "enemy", We are the saviors 
of mankind.
So be it, until the illusive veil of existence is drawn back 
and thine "enemies" subside.

Courage to change the things I can

~Zachary Allen Jackson~

Copyright © Zachary Jackson

Details | Free verse | |


Dark skies...

      Burning souls...

                Acid rain...

                     Raging storms...

but still...

     I'm off to save the world.

Copyright © Samuel Evan Pacamparra

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Distant Warrior

I get this wondrous chill as night falls
in mountains or desert sand
and I find myself dreaming about
home, my fondest memory
from this far away land.

I miss the special lady who 
stole my heart, my thoughts
and all there is of me;
and I deeply cherish 
our final moments together.

I think about the children 
I left behind, how I miss them 
and pray they’re  fine -
and it’s hard Lord,
it’s so very hard.

It’s times like this that I wonder
why I volunteered and I
get this knot in my stomach -
then I cringe and find myself 
trying to hold back tears.

Soon the battle will begin
when I’ll hear my own heartbeat
through the creepy sounds 
amidst treacherous mountain sides or
drifting sands and whirling winds.

It’s  time spent in worry,
fear, and some regret
as I encounter my fate
in the war so near
and I must admit, I’m scared.

This stench of war, 
the sight of it all,
it’s that awful image
of how I imagined hell
after Lucifer’s fall.

I wonder to myself,
“Does it have to be
that generations of people 
can’t seem to agree 
to the simple concept of peace?”

Soldiers don’t start wars
but they surely fight them,
making all manner of sacrifice
and I doubt that even once
did a soldier ever like them.”

Then I think of  “Old Glory”
and I’m filled with pride.
It’s a warm patriotic feeling
which overcomes me
from deep down inside.

I’m confused, scared
and battle weary.
I worry about those I love
as I cling to my faith  
and pray to God above.

I’m a distant warrior,
an American fighting man;
not an aspiring hero,
but just a simple soldier 
trying to do the best that I can.

Copyright © Ed Coet

Details | ABC | |

Street Soldier

My baseball cap is my helmet and my Nike's are my boots, 
My country is my hood and my colors on my flag are niether red white or blue, 
My weapon of choice is my two hands, 
sometimes it can be whatever when I am threatened with a great fall from my stand,
 I have no general or soldiers but I have family and above all I got heart. 
My battlegrounds remain in my own home and sometimes even in the local Wal-Mart.
 Every inch of my hood is up for friendly fire, 
Violence remains apart of life around here searching for peace is far from desire,
 Everyday remains but another day someone will die, 
but more importantly is that another mother, brother, sister or father will cry.
 But I am a street soldier so I am prepared for anothers or worse yet my own demise,
 And as a street soldier I must keep the battle in check, no not with what I see with my two eyes, but what war is really going on inside the mind,
 My battles dont come from without but from within......I am a street soldier fighting through time.....

Copyright © Travis Lone Hill

Details | Narrative | |

Street Soldier: A Tribute to Kat Werle

 For years she lived looking over her shoulder
 She graduated from the school of hard knocks only to become a street soldier
 She always fought with dignity and pride
 Along the journey she watched as her street idols died

 To society they were only theives, addicts, and hoes
 Beneath thier masks lies a story no one knows
 Have you ever been there?
 Did you walk beside them as they went nowhere?

 They are simply victims of thier own pain and affliction
 Fighting more each day to stop the haunting of thier own affliction 
 Demons lurk inside the tainted souls as monsters creep
 But I encourage you not to let your faith sleep
 Let retired soldiers return to the street
 Let them spread the message to all they meet
 She always fought with dignity and pride
 In her work lies the legacy of the street soldiers who died
 She reaches out a gentle hand in hopes to save the broken man
 She lives her life to save the lost soul 
 Maybe someday another street soldier may be made whole

Copyright © Sara Beaderstadt

Details | Rhyme | |

Prayer for a Soldier

I wish for you encompassing protection, a little extra of Gods attention to follow you 
wherever you roam until you return safely home.

I wish for you peace and love, a special tie from God above to keep you feeling safe 
and warm even in the middle of a storm.

I wish for you true understanding, a secret insight to what he's planning, in this war 
and in your life so you wont be broken by the strife. So you will know what is meant 
to be will be and that you will make it back home safely. 

No one will be able to bring you harm. 

You will return home to your family's arms.

This prayer I send out for you, a soldier who is strong and true, a man of great 
nobility, may you have the strength to BE ALL YOU CAN BE!

Copyright © Kimberly Anne

Details | Lyric | |

Letter From A Friend

Dear Friend
Why you wondering where we stand? 
Me and you are tighter
Then the ying yang we make with our hands
I know we’re far apart
But a call brings us back together
No matter the hour of the day
And no matter the type of weather forever
But I’m glad
You came to me first
Each time I read your letter
It hurts me even worse
Because I see us more than friends
We’re bothers in the Lord
So if you are hurting
Then I am hurting even more
You can always count on me
When your world is going wrong
I will never turn my back on you
Even if my back is against the wall
And I know it’s not easy to tell our moms
When it’s hard for us to stand
What do they know about military life? 
Or the struggle for a military man? 
Don’t be shy
Because there’s something we all do fear
If I had the chance to switch services
You know I’ll be right there
And I am not brave
I wanna be the friend you can lean on
you said I can calm you down
well I also wanna keep you Army strong
death isn’t nothing
but the devil getting to you
keep believing in God
he will give a path to make it through dude
jus so you know
I’m here I’m always around
you’ve been trained good
so take a step back and calm down
and when you come home
we’re going to party like when we was kids
and laugh at all the stupid things
we ever did
keep your head up
because this is where it has to end
yours truly P.S.
you’re my number one friend

Copyright © Travis Johnson