Submit Your Poems
Get Your Premium Membership

Narrative Soldier Poems | Narrative Poems About Soldier

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

If you don't find the poem you want here, try our incredible, super duper, all-knowing, advanced poem search engine.

Details | Narrative | |

An American Warrior

An American Warrior 
please tell me why if you can
the reason I don’t have a right hand
my right leg is missing as well
all I can say is war is hell

I volunteered to serve my country
to defend it from harm
and to protect peoples in foreign lands
who wanted to live free from tierney

when I look at the news I shed a tear
at what my buddies and I gave
and all my brave buddies laying in their grave
was all for not

the country of Iraq is worse off today and falling apart
and will not survive
so I ask again
what did I give my right hand and leg for
for what for what I scream and shout
what was my sacrifice all about

please tell me if you can
my mind and body are in pain
tears fall from my eyes like an April rain
my body is not whole 
I am one man who is mad as hell

The way this poem came about is, I was sitting in my easy chair when these thoughts kept coming into my head. I wrote these words down. Some American Warrior Hero somewhere was thinking these thoughts I just happened to tune them in I have written 6 poems this way over the years. God bless our American Warrior Hero’s  Dennis Davis July 4th 2014
       


Details | Narrative | |

SOLDIERS NIGHTMARE contest waking up from a nightmare

                         VIETNAM VET SOLDIER'S NIGHTMARE

Another dream –
I could not wake –
Escape from what would follow--
Grasping for a secret word, the letters stark and hollow--
I was trapped entangled there,
Just beyond the reach
Of men that could release me
Or a hill that could be breached

Gunfire was a backdrop 
Soft and pungent was its sound
Fell on me like raindrops--strangely harmless on the ground

Smoky gray encased me like a piece of sleeping net
Tunnel faces hidden —easy killing, no regret-- 
Felt terror and the aching for the friends around me cold
Standup guys with stalwart hearts--just did what they were told

Then my cell phone beeped a beep---
A message had come in ....
Now awake I saw your name---
My new day would begin.


Victoria Anderson-Throop
November 25, 2012
waking from a nightmare contest


Details | Narrative | |

God's will, not mine part two

Then I went to see the other man’s condition. Blood was running from his ears, and his 
nose. three men stood by, just watching the show. I asked them to help me, and leaned 
over the man, I asked if he could hear me, and he replied with a grunt, then a groan. His 
eyes were glazed over and rolled back in his head. Some one half chuckled, “leave him 
he’s dead.” I stood and met the man directly in his face. “Unless you are God, that’s not 
your call to make.”
We offered our help and I knew he was passing; I held his hand and cradled his head… 
I said to the man, ‘It’s okay…you can go; if God is calling don’t wait….go home.’ He died 
in my arms, and I held him till the helicopter came.  I was proud of my wife, as she gave 
her boy aid; they took him away, and saved his life that day. The weekend was over, we 
lost the mood. The drive home was somber, as we cried for a man we never knew. 
The next day we received a phone call…it was a General from our base, seems the man I 
was holding was a soldier on leave. God gave me the chance to say thank you for real. 
Not just a gesture but an act of humanity. Seems all the people around, made comments 
of how my wife and I acted better than most. And offered our kindness and help to man 
we never even knew. So the General got on the phone, called the police and found out 
our names. We were honored by his friends on that one given day, If I hadn’t have 
gotten back in the car, the soldier would have died along the road all alone. 
The point of this story is just simply put, “there is no such thing as coincidence” God puts 
us right where he needs us. He’s ready to use us, if we are only willing.


Details | Narrative | |

The Just for the Unjust

The Just for the Unjust

BIBLE MEDITATION:
"For Christ also died for sins once for all, the Just for the unjust, so that He might bring us to God ..." 1 Peter 3:18

DEVOTIONAL THOUGHT:
A Roman soldier walked down a narrow corridor in a Roman prison. He held the torch up, and back in the shadows was a man. The guard with his key opened the door and said, "Barabbas, get up and come with me." Barabbas began to plead, "No, wait, don't take me! Have mercy!" The Roman soldier said, "You're not going to die; there's somebody else who's going to die in your place. Come here. Look over on that hill. That's the cross we made for you. But there's someone else on it. He has taken your place."

In what happened to Barabbas, God arranged a perfect picture of substitution -- the just dying for the unjust that He might bring us to Himself.

ACTION POINT:
Take time today to tell the Lord Jesus Christ how much you love Him and how grateful you are that He stepped out of glory and became obedient unto death--even the death of the Cross--for your sake and mine.


Details | Narrative | |

AN EXCEEDING GREAT ARMY

AN EXCEEDING GREAT ARMY

Because of the missing sword
A soldier falls,
And another,
And another,
And another…

When was their birth?
What hastens their death?
Christ paid the debt
He fought with that sword
Till all forces bow…

But for this missing sword
A soldier crumbles,
And another,
And another,
And another…

They are well dressed:
In military attire
But are armed with brass weapons:
With spears and rifles!
Where is the amour, the shield,
the breastplate, the helmet and the sword?

Yet, for the want of that sword
A soldier falters,
And another,
And another,
And another…

On mountain tops,
Hills and valleys:
Day and night;
Toiling, preparing and waiting
To combat the enemy,
But never search for the missing weapon.

Still, for the want of that sword
A soldier dies,
And another,
And another,
And another…

Their camp is ravaged
Each soldier for his dear life;
The night of horror came
The dawn of victory followed
Each soldier remembers the missing weapon
From their hidey-hole, loudly they scream,
“The sword! The sword!! The sword!!!”

Will the sword ever be found?
No army is declared the Champion
Without going through a battle;
No victory is secured
With the parade of cheap weapons;

Then a soldier returns
And another,
And another,
And another...

And... the SWORD was found
Removed from its sheath; and sharpened
To fight the good fight
And take their rightful place

Then a soldier fights,
And another,
And another,
And another…

Now... the SWORD was found
The army of God has risen
With bleeding skin
And broken bones.
Like the dried bones, they are awake:
Covered with the sinews of faith,
And filled with the breath of fire
To thresh mountains
And dominate their enemies.

Then a soldier lives,
And another,
And another,
And another...

The camp is restored
The enemy is destroyed
An exceeding great army has risen
To root out and to pull down
To destroy and to throw down
To build and to plant…


Then a soldier rejoices,
And another,
And another,
And another...


Details | Narrative | |

I SHALL NEVER SURRENDER

Whether it be foreign country or terrorists that attack our land,
I will fight them on the beaches on the streets and from my home.
If necessary I will retreat to the foothills and then to the mountains,
Still I will never raise white flag to those who would steal my freedom.

AS GOD IS MY WITNESS!!

I SHALL NEVER SURRENDER!!

Having been a knight on ancient past battlefields,
This soldier knows no fear of any enemy!!



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


Details | Narrative | |

MEMORIES OF AN AUSTRALIAN CHILDHOOD

From England's dark blackout
We came to these shores
I and my siblings
In refuge from war.
How enchanted we were
With all we saw.

First Sydney's fine harbour
And her bridge of one span
Then the azure blue sea
The long beaches of sand
The beautiful city lit up at night
To our youthful eyes a wondrous sight.

The Aussie soldier in his famous slouch hat
The long train journey to the far outback
The Cockies screech the Kookaburra's cackle
New sights and sounds for my brain to tackle.
The grazing sheep the fields of wheat
The fun of the master the blistering heat
The long hot summers with respite at the sea
Where we swam and surfed in unspoilt glee.

School days were spent in city or mountain retreat
Strict was the discipline our uniforms neat.
Happy the friendships spacious the grounds
Nuns telling rosary beads flitting around.
With firmness and patience they taught us well
Recreation was announced by the tolling bell.

Oh the joy when the holidays came
What fun we had on the old school train.
It trundled along past wilga and gum
Past meandering creeks and billabongs
Past Emus grazing and Roos hopping along
Through wide open spaces rich in bird song.

At the graceful homestead with veranda surround
Stood the welcoming grandmother so recently found.
With parents far off she gave care and love
How proud we were of her pioneer blood.
She cooked and scrubbed and chopped the wood
She could do everything she really could.

But tragedy stuck
With her soldier son killed.
She grieved and withered and lost her will.
No longer in her life
Would he take part
Months later she died of a broken heart.

There came a time when with many tears
I bade farewell to this life so dear.
I had no choice I had to go.
The years passed on
I missed it all so.

This time when I came
I touched down by plane.
New visions flood my startled brain
Australia I find is absorbed in change
it makes me feel so very strange.

The laid back Aussie with his old world charm
A computer wiz now and amazingly calm.
The coastline is cluttered highrises abound
The noise of the traffic an ugly sound.
But the song of the Bellbird is still a wonder
It soothes my senses as I ponder.

For no land on earth has so much to offer.
So I’ll settle here I will not hover.
Perhaps the maternal ancestors smile from above.
For at last I'm here In the land they loved.
And I'll spend the twilight of my years
In this country I've always held so dear.


Details | Narrative | |

Boy Soldiers




Dad, why are those men carrying flags?
Because it's a parade 
To honor our country
Then the little boy asked, 
Were you an Army man?
Yes, I was. 
Now look straight ahead to the Flag son.
Why do the Army men in wheelchairs 
Have ribbons on their chests?
They're for bravery son
Do you have any?
I wasn't as brave as them.
Now look straight ahead to the Flag son.
Can I be a soldier one day?
Only if you grow up big and strong
Stand tall and straight
Have a steady hand 
With good eyes 
And aren't afraid
Then you can be a soldier.
Sitting around the kitchen table
Listening to their fathers and uncles talk of the days when they were young
Boys grow up
Listening to the glories of war
Adventure and camaraderie 
And guns and things.
Years later another war begins
From old wounds never healed 
Young boys become men
And answer the call
During the war
Soldiers slog on
Mired in mud
Deep in fight
They obey this
And do that
But no one wants 
To see a soldier 
On his back.

Politicians will say 
The outcome of war 
Rests with the people 
But once the war starts 
And the killings begin
Politics becomes business 
Dirty tricks a diversion
And truth a casualty.
People ask 
Who is in charge? 
No one answers
Reasons not given
Only lies and 
Pointed fingers
And the voice at the top
Has no blame.
But one thing is certain
When all is said 
There will be bloodshed and
Many dead. 
Ask the old men
Who know about war
And drink to memories of long ago
Boys were led to believe
Stories made of lies
The simple truth
Never told
Is fathers lied
And soldiers died.





Details | Narrative | |

I SHALL NEVER SURRENDER - TERRORIST BASTARDS BEWARE - REAL RAMBO

Whether it be foreign country or terrorists that attack our land,
I will fight them on the beaches on the streets and from my home.
If necessary I will retreat to the foothills and then to the mountains,
Still I will never raise white flag to those who would steal my freedom.

AS GOD IS MY WITNESS!!

I SHALL NEVER SURRENDER!!

THE REAL LIFE RAMBO!!

Having been a knight on ancient past battlefields,
This soldier knows no fear of any enemy!!

I SALUTE GEORGE PATTON!!




Details | Narrative | |

at the VLW

Sarah, her two kids in tow
walks in a second-hand shop
for only a second, since she turned
her pocket inside-out yesterday
for a large box of rice crispies
and a half-gallon of 2% milk.
Her old man stopped beating 
her three months ago, 'cause 
Social Services was on him but
she ain't seen him or any of 
his paycheck in about nine weeks
She heard he'd gone to Idaho.
Their daughter, Rachel's been
skippin' school with other kids - 
Sarah knows, but doesn't say anything

Jason's hanging near the dumpster out back,
his kinda short-lease home since he got 
let outta prison for a possession charge 
that he definitely was guilty of, but 
he's been clean for three weeks now - almost

Raul's been running the dishwasher and 
cleaning up in the bathroom at the fast-fried 
chicken place, for three years now 
without taking a sick day, although that 
cough has been hard to hack for two weeks now. 
He hopes the steam from the washer will 
kill whatever's in his lungs

Soon Kie shows her green card to anyone to admire. 
She has for the last thirty-four years, 
but since she arrived back in '80, 
when she already had seen more 
war and death then most actual soldiers,
she still can't read above a third grade level
She's too busy cleanin' rich houses and
doin' late-night business park office spaces.

Once in awhile, they meet up in twosie's, 
maybe more, down at the park, 
near the whitewashed howitzer
from WW II government surplus
These are the Veterans of Local Wars
Sloggin' the towns trenches, listenin'
to the deafening blows of indifference,
marching every time they're told to
"Get up 'n' move on, no sleepin' here"

Life is daily skirmishes, the occasional battle,
sometimes being soldiers, sometimes the 
innocent citizen victims, cut down, strung up,
strung out, frozen out, sometimes cryin' out
'most every day, wonderin' what life's all about
to have treated 'em this way

Still, sometimes, when they see each other,
they can smile, talk about that time awhile back,
sayin' "did you see what that crazy bastard did!"
laughing at the incongruities and the ironies.
Don't have no medals, don't need no parades.
- just keep movin'

© Goode Guy 2013-05-03


Details | Narrative | |

THINGS THAT I'VE SEEN - Warning - about War and Combat

Traveling life's murky waters,

Were these brave men.

My friends in dark jungles.

Dying for many who did not care.

Malaria and typhoid our worst enemies;

Still then, that occasional sniper bullet,

Snuffing out a life in an instant.

Fighting for our country yet hated by some.

Freedom was all we tried to preserve,

While every night evil pounded our helmets.

Unrelenting hatred killing us one at a time;

Sometimes a dozen in one blizzard of shells.

Living in a hell on earth to protect liberty.

Seeing dead eyes of buddies seconds ago alive.

Oh to understand what terror really is;

Surrealistic death in drowning bloody color.

Friends found de-bowled and castrated by enemy,

Hanging from beautiful rain forest trees.

Life bodily fluids dripping to feed their roots,

That horror which still lives in my mind.

Flag red stripes brightened with bloodied courage;

I ask how many Americans truly realize this?

Flying old glory only when under personal siege,

Oh that mental pain it has caused so many soldiers.

Coming home to icy cold stares,

Murderers seen in the eyes of some Americans.

Heroes welcome buried in front pages of wrongful war;

Medals tarnished before seeing light of another day.

Note: This piece is dedicated to all American and Ally soldiers who have ever
been in combat! GOD Bless America and our Allies!

Copyright © 2014 Robert William Gruhn - All Rights Reserved

"A poem to me is the essence of any thought,
Being built from its foundation into tower scraping sky.
It can fly like no other bird to places never seen,
Even spaceships can only dream of taking its place."

© 2014 Robert William Gruhn


Details | Narrative | |

Going Home - The Bravest And The Best

Johnny’s going home today
His glory days are past
His buddies stand at attention
Eyes tearful and downcast
The sound of taps is softly heard
The mournful tune rings true
And all rise to salute him
As his cortege comes in view

Another soldier laid to rest
A warrior going home
Taps are played
Honor paid
To the bravest and the best

Billy’s going home today
Church Bells toll the news
His family softly weeping
As they line up in the pews
They reverently laid his coffin
Gently on the bier
As his mother reached out to touch him
Just wanting to be near

Another soldier laid to rest
A warrior going home
Taps are played
Honor paid
To the bravest and the best

A car bomb placed in Israel
Claims children passing by
Mothers are left helpless
Crying to God and asking why
Soldiers in Afghanistan
Patrol the land night and day
While the natives only wonder
When they will go away!

Ellen’s going home today
Her children still too young
Restless in their seats
As familiar hymns are sung
Her husband in his uniform
Stands stiffly as she goes by
They had met when they were rookies
And he tries hard not to cry

Another soldier laid to rest
A warrior going home
Taps are played…honor paid
To the bravest and the best 
Lord when will we have peace
This peace for which we yearn
And the Lord answered ‘It’s up to you
When will MANKIND ever learn?”

Copyrright©2011 Beatrice Boyle
(All rights reserved)