Submit Your Poems
Get Your Premium Membership


See and share Beautiful Nature Photos and amazing photos of interesting places



Soldier Social Poems | Social Poems About Soldier

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

12
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!



Salute!



The Struggle Continues…




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


Details | Free verse |

If Old Men Fought

An old man looking out his door,
gaze fixed on a distant shore,
reminiscing to a time, not of happiness,
or, the prospect of a bright future,
to when he was sick to his very core,
to when as a youth, he went to war

A time before infallibility had meaning,
patriotism and bravado the craze,
the future was still unknown,
vigor for life at its all time high,
a time for romance, partying, buying,
no thought of pain, deformity, dying

Too young to understand or question,
ship to foreign shore, medals abound,
will impress the girls next time in town,
sacrifice not temporary,
forever more,
a legacy etched into a wall, few will remember,
flesh shredded, burned, torn,
families mourn

A time, when he willingly went to war,
will happen no more,
all lost in youth, now unrelenting,
no blind obedience,
minimal risk,
long life, his number one ambition

As he turns back from the door,
he thinks of the youth,
here now, soon no more,
lessons never learned,
the call to war,
to common the roar,
complacency the mood,
another generation removed

The old man agonizes
over what was originally not known,
war is preventable,
life too precious to waste,
the solution simple,
his vision, maybe too late

Send old men to the front to fight,
arthritis, heart disease, poor eyesight,
let the youth enjoy their life,
his near over, its only right

Send old men, to the front, to fight
ask them to give up their life,
patriotism and bravado, still alive,
will and desire would not last the night,
old men do not rush to death in their twilight,
failure inevitable, the old man smiles,
knows he's right

Wars not possible,
if old men, are sent to fight


Details | Imagism |

Shake the Spear

Take no joy in watching men die my lord/ 
I regret to spare my life in pairs of your words my king/ 
The gods have come to save us from the bull/ 

All these years he ruled/
Pulled for sacrifices/
Our skin have no spice but spies/ 

Disguised in blameless skins dancing celebrations for we live in fear/  
Only a fool will challenge the gods with his pen your highness/
Speaking against his acquaintances/  

My heart wore lion skins with care/
So shaken/
I longed to shake the spear for long/ 
The soil spoke of thirst/
For I dreamed to plant peace/

I fear to fear my fears/
As,
I shook the spear and extreme anxiety fell down/
Among all the soldiers you left 
lives only Words my king/

I see no cure in planting war between lips/
For your noble words 
I sacrifice my life to spare these lips/
Until your ears flatter all spoken words/ 

(c) Ray


Details | Rhyme |

Might these be

Might this be a wonder,
Might this be a sunder,
Might this be the blocker,
Might this be the warder,
Might there be a plunder,
Might it pass the border,
Might there be a dweller,
Might they be lodgers,
Should they be squatters,
Should they be trespassers...

Might they squander,
Might it scatter,
Might this be a sputter,
Might there be a clutter,
Moght there be to many clusters,
Might this be the controller
Mightit get power...?

Might these be handlers,
Might these be forcers,
Might these be the squashers,
Might these be the breakers,
Breaking some of the order...

Might this be a night,
Going to a wretched midnight,
Coming from a raging twilight,
Until these be ended, throughout nighttime,
Later waking from our bedtime,
Maybe dying to see the morning light,
Might this be happening tonight...?

Might there be a knight,
Might there be a fight,
Waiting for a shining might,
Coming from some rainbow's light,
coming slight from the nighttime,
With some waiting for their fly...

Might these fight the ghouls,
Might they get to their goal,
Might this vanish some ghosts,
Whom want all of our souls...

Might this be other things,
Might these be the lives of life,
With some asking, might these be I...?


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

 6/25/12

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.


Details | Free verse |

The soldier, the war, and I

The soldier, the war, and I


Today I am home and thinking to my self..
What would I be doing if I had a soldier coming home to me and my family?
What would I be doing if I was the soldier looking to going home to my family?
And then, I look back at all the years passed since this last war..

Many children have grown to become men, Others have grown to become soldiers
Where would I be if I had gone to the war and fought for my country?
Where would I be if I had gone and came back safely?
Where would I be if I had not gone at all because I was not qualified to go?
Would I be with my family or in a hospital injured?
Would I be standing proud, and laughing with my friends and family?
Or would I be dead, as I never got to come back?

Today I am home and thinking to myself..
Thinking of all of those brave soldiers, children still
Who are out there, suffering.. And some ill

Today I am home and thinking to myself..
How many woman are crying because of their gone loved ones
How many men are crying for their loved and missed ones
How many children are fatherless or motherless, or both!

And at the end I stop. I think no more..
I am grateful for the things I have, 
I am grateful for the people who surround me...
And I am sure grateful to never have gone to a war; yet, 
I sure appreciate the thoughts, courage, life, and suffering
Of all of those who have been touched by it.


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.


Details | Lyric |

Baby Soldier (Ethnic Cleansing)

Someone tell me where we are

not all that close, not all that far

Marching feet and distant drums

but I can't see where they come from..

Baby Soldier with angry eyes

filling empty space with hate

for fat old men made fat on lies

it's not your fault..........it's just your fate

Baby soldier

Slaughter in the market place

You heard their cries, you saw their face

How then can you sleep at night?

How dare you say, "everything alright"

Baby soldiers with empty eyes

empty minds refilled with hate

for fat old men made fat on lies

while baby soldier licks the plate

Baby soldier

Dancing in a rain of fire

Just one more death for your empire

but baby soldier dies alone

his soul is gone his heart is stone

Baby soldier with empty eyes

filling empty space with hate

for fat old men made fat on lies

It's not your fault It's just your fate

Baby soldier

Baby soldier lay it down

the crops won't grow in blood soaked ground

but baby soldier cannot hear

above the sound of hate and fear

baby soldier with angry eyes

feeding on their hate and fear

while fat old men get fat on lies


everyone dies that's why you're here

Baby soldier

Someone tell me where we are

not all that close not all that far.


Details | Free verse |

Reproductions of the Body

There is no pain
that is unaccompanied
by light blinding
or translucent like seeing
the sun through a flame or another's petite morte
as you climax,
 
and heap in rubbled bodies,
others cast in panoptic stone
by the suffocating beauty of the soldiered
rose-blossoms.
They cry, cry out in ineffable joy at the sky
or lips fall heavy to the dust
as they climax,
 
and entwined in fervent bodies
we all come to know what makes us bare another
sadness swaddled in marble arms.


Details | Free verse |

The Watcher

The Watcher 
The Watcher 
When the seventeen men neared the end of the bridge only one remained in 
sight all the others were lost in the shadow from the moonlight. He was dressed 
in tattered cloth; homespun gray, and eaten by the moth of strang decay 

“No livery”,  He cried  “no making strides in death”  “my life has ended on this 
bridge?” 
There is a plaque in place to mark this day it says on 

The Plaque 

 Friday June 13, 1864 PFC Dreardon Age 14 was marking time in a prisoner 
exchange at BENTON creek when he was shot by Federal Forces. The miniball 
penetrated his left sleeve and took off his arm. He bled to death. 
His body was torn and bleeding so forlorn the tatters of his homespun sleeve 
stayed hung upon his stump of arm there. 
War is something no one cares for Mr. Sherman. 
MOFW 1964, June 13 Commerative 

The watcher was on the water making footprints on the surface when the Federal 
Forces under Sherwood marched into the History. He seldom interferes with 
history but makes the markers seem to be the truth. He saw the miniball tear off 
the soldiers sleeve the man had been a prisoner just released this crime is not 
unpunished the man that pulled the trigger is lying in the river at the Watchers 
feet. The Watcher broke his prime directive and almost gleefully erected the 
YANKEE soldier in the mud. 
A Watcher is no more A Watcher for when he acted he lost his power over water 
and he stands upon the battlements no longer but He is tearless in his vigil of 
the bridge. 
Every Friday on the 13th of the Month of JUNE of every year that has its ending in 
a FOUR, he gives a shudder of relief certain that his judgment has not been 
ignored. 
The rebel soldier gives a rebel yell and leaves the bridge. 
The Yankee minion that has shot him just turns over once and lies back in the 
mud. For this is judgment. 
The Watcher roars. 




12