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Beach War Poems | Beach Poems About War

These Beach War poems are examples of Beach poems about War. These are the best examples of Beach War poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

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Details | Rhyme | |

Goodbye, My Child

Where cradled canyons sing
Of ebony wood in the forest
There lies a gurgling spring
Where cockcrows sing their chorus
To the melody of singsong birds
There I’ve concealed my sensuous words
Filled with befitted signs
The saccharine whiff of my designs

Come to me my mortal youth
To the wild realm of your truth
Where nymphs and gnomes abound
For the earth is filled with weeping
And only your tears be found

Where the fogs of night are fountains
Spills of glistened moon ignite
By distant silhouette mountains
We dance with passion of fight
Entwining ancient stance 
Mingling hand in hand we dance
Till the mountains smile on high
Near and far we spring
To pursue the realest of dreams
While the world cries at its seams
Anxious in trouble to cling

Come to me my mortal youth
To the wild realm of your truth
Where nymphs and gnomes abound
For the earth is filled with weeping
And only your tears be found

To where the ridges merry make 
From the beaks of wooden bright
In sparkly pools the ghouls awake
That scarce to stir our night
We watch for seekers down under
Muttering secrets in their soul
We bid them lucks of shivers
Dipping gently in
From reeds that hide a tear of a foal
Under the gentle rivers

Come to me my mortal youth
To the wild realm of your truth
Where nymphs and gnomes abound
For the earth is filled with weeping
And only your tears be found

Far away she shall ever churn
The taciturn eyed
She’ll listen no more to turn
To the working mills beside
Or the scrubbing of the barn
May peace weave in her song
She shall wave in the yarn
To a haven known as Belong  

Come to me my mortal youth
To the wild realm of your truth
Where nymphs and gnomes abound
For the earth is filled with weeping
And only your tears be found

For she comes, the mortal youth
To the wild realm of her truth
Where nymphs and gnomes abound
For the earth is filled with weeping
And only her tears be found


Details | Couplet | |

Dedicated to Uncle Lester Deschler

Looking Back Long Ago

We were looking back long ago
While time went by seeming so slow
Distance between time kept spreading
Would do something they were dreading.

On a broad beach boots hit the sand
After seeing sight of a lonely land
On shore was sort of a light breeze
Enemy was on hills and up in trees.

Screeching and exploding sounded loud
Later that day heads were all bowed
Thanking God that they did survive
Being in one piece and remaining alive.

At Normandy we each dutifully performed
After the troops on shore had stormed
And only thing we saw that now remained
Was either blown to bits or blood-stained.

PVT Lester E. Deschler Died July 12th, 1944
in a tank explosion. He is now buried at
Normandy America Cemetery and Memorial.
Am unsure if he was an uncle or great-uncle
of Ms. Kelley Deschler a Poetry Soup lover.

James Thomas Horn, Retired Veteran

http://www.thepetitionsite.com/188/569/134/a-snowball-for-peace/# 
Make sure that you have signed peace petition at above website.


Details | Epic | |

The Idiom and the Oddity Part7 Fina

So, as we say in Greece
That’s where I’ll End my story
For the things that happen next
Weren’t made for song of glory

So many Tails, throughout the ages
Have spoke of love and loss
Of  passions and betrayals
The triumphs and the cost

But never was one told
That meant as much to me
To launch a thousand ships
And survived through history

And with every great Greek story
There’s a lesson to be learn
So, I’ll leave you with this message
Now the last page, has been turned 


The moral still stands true
Throughout all time, which passes
Don’t steal a person’s love away
And beware Greeks bare-ing asses 

THEE END                   Authored By Jerry T Curtis 
                                       08/10/2014
                                       The Year of The Horse


Details | Free verse | |

The Strand

This expanse of land has seen things. 
Things all of us can only see in dreams.
It's seen war, it's gotten it's fair share of scars.
Bombs bursting, bullets throwing sand into the air like it's a volleyball tournament.
The sand running red with blood silently mocking our arteries.

This magnificent stretch of land has seen heroes' tears fall; dropping to their knees while sadness envelopes their fallen brothers but also looking up to their beloved whilst carrying a ring in their hand. 

It's seen bright days, the sun glimmering over wet sand, footprints of past loves being washed away as the sun smacks the horizon. 

This expanse of land...has seen things we can only imagine.

T.K


Details | I do not know? | |

For Bruce Springsteen

for bruce springsteen...


it was a rain-swept monsoon day

way back then, so many moons away

when i felt the music strumming in my veins

setting me free like a runaway horse without any reins

you sang of simple truths, 

your verse spoke to people just like me

in my lonely, wasted, and desolately quiet night

as you screamed out tragic human wrongs, and of everyone's plight

'bobby jean' spoke to me

of that girl down the street

glimpses of whom, we as innocents would furtively meet

and 'the river' that flowed through my ever-barren heart

led me down further roads of thunder

when slowly i finally learnt that the hardest part was fighting on

and never to surrender

to the hard-luck dreams that were born to run

while i danced in the dark 

with memories vivid and stark

even as i whined like that dog who for forever lost his howling bark

and then a 'human touch' came along

and 'better days' seemed real, not just words in a song

and still you sang and swayed and spoke straight into my unseeing eyes

as gardens of secrets were opened, and as your fist punched the skies

in an anger that i too felt and in whose cauldron i too burned

as we saw murder get incorporated, while on its wobbly axis, our fragile world apathetically turned

and then suddenly i was told that i was all grown up

working on a highway of scattered ideals

and absolving myself by sprinkling some coins in a waiting cup

well, after all these years of walking along so many a thorny road

with an armour of your verse covering me, even as i hear them taunt me and even as they continue to goad

but now i can feel myself fading away, into the bleakness of this coming night

just like the ghost of that old tom joad...


Details | Rhyme | |

Moon O'er Normandy Beach

An eerie calm settled o'er Normandy Beach that solemn summer's night.
The debris of battle was strewn 'neath the full moon's silvered light.
The tide cleansed the beach of the blood of men who were in the fore;
Brave men who'd faced the hell of war on that ravaged Norman shore!

Those who gave their all, lay awaiting removal from that embattled strand.
With lifeless eyes and boots pointed t'ward the stars, they slept upon the sand.
Fathers, brothers, sons and husbands slain during the conflict's ebb and flow,
By the inexorable Scythe of Death in the battles of Pointe du Hoc and St. Lo!

What might these heroes have become if fate had not dealt them so?
A teacher, farmer, doctor, a minister?  Alas, we shall never know!
They left farm, shop, school and hearth to cross the billowing sea,
And forfeited life on the Altar of Honor that others might live free!

The moonlight revealed treasured items strewn about on the ravaged beach.
Final letters to loved ones lay fluttering in the breeze, now beyond their reach.
There were wallets with photos of wives and children who are left to grieve.
Only the memory of his close embrace will their empty hearts now ever cleave!

Toothbrushes, razors, bloody shoes and socks were gathered by grieving mates,
As they tenderly cared for fallen brothers who've gained the Pearly Gates. 
The moon glowed brightly that night o'er Normandy Beach as it paused on high,
To caress the cheeks of brave men as it passed on its eternal bourne in the sky!

Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) All Rights Reserved


Details | Ballad | |

The Man Who Won World War II

He joked with the nurse till her face, it turned red,
She laughed at those things that the old soldier said;
His barracks was a Veteran’s Hospital bed.

His body was busted but his eyes were bright,
He told her his war stories every night,
She shaved him and she bathed him and she tucked him in tight.

From the Normandy Beach to the banks of the Rhine,
He fought in the front of an infantry line,
He got wounded twice but he struggled on through;
He’s the man who won World War II.

He battled the bottle but he called it a truce,
His liver was pickled from too much abuse;
The doctor just shrugged and he said, “It’s no use.”

The nurse she sure missed him like she knew she would,
His jokes and his memories, they’d made her feel good…
His family, they said they’d have come if they could…

From the Normandy Beach to the banks of the Rhine, 
He fought in the front of an infantry line,
He got wounded twice but he struggled on through:
He’s the man who won World War II.


Details | Quatern | |

Columns and Ranks, Fog of War intermingled

Standing straight in columns and ranks, 
Heads newly shaved by the barber, 
Carrying guns loaded with blanks: 
New recruits after Pearl Harbor. 
     (Our foes wait in their well-defended lair,)
The Generals inspected troops, 
     (Imagining that they’ll stay safe and warm.) 
Standing straight in columns and ranks; 
Afterwards they broke into groups, 
     (All my soldiers ready their arms to bear.)
And marched towards the ships’ gangplanks. 
     (Bugles sound: Battalions! Companies! Form!)
They boarded ships with guns and tanks 
To England, the Atlantic crossed. 
     (Our siege cannons thunder; smoke mists the air.)
Standing straight in columns and ranks, 
     (While thinking of barricades each must storm,) 
They’d free Europe at any cost. 
     (Once over the walls, we’ll know what’s in store.) 
Allied troops endured dire losses; 
     (It’s hard to see through misty fogs of war.)
Gaining a foothold up the banks. 
Heroes sleep beneath the crosses 
Standing straight in columns and ranks.



Columns and Ranks (Quatern 9-25-2014)
Fog of War (Ottava Rima 8-19-2014)
by Mark Halliday / WarriorPoet


Details | Free verse | |

On The Beach

On The Beach
Imagine walking on a beach after you finish school. Enjoying time alone. Happy that your studies are going well. In your own little world. Then they come for you. Snatch you off the beach. Take you to their boat and kidnap you. You've never been so scared. Not knowing what's happening or why. Little do you know, you won't see Japan again. Enemy soldiers came for someone. They found you. They need Japanese citizens to teach spies the language. But you don't want to do this. You go crazy. Not in anger but mentally. Your 'life' there doesn't work out. Your fate is bad. 'Suicide' by drug overdose. Your body thrown into a pit with others. A terrible fate. North Korea did this to you. And to many more who are missing.


Details | Narrative | |

Normandy Beaches

I was in-processing my Army unit in Germany when the fortieth anniversary of D-Day happened; but, alas, I couldn't leave.  I wanted so much to be there to meet the old surviving veterans, to shake their hands and hear their stories.  I had read accounts of D-Day-- June 6th, 1944.  I had already seen several times the film The Longest Day, based on the book by Cornelius Ryan.  
Eventually my family followed me back to Germany, and we later took a vacation that included Normandy.  
We visited Sainte-Mere-Eglise, and I pointed out the manekin of Private john Steele--the paratrooper that had gotten stuck on the church's steeple.  
We visited the upper German fortifications of Point Du Hoc, where Army Rangers fought their way up impossible cliffs.  
We paid our respects at the US war cemetery on Omaha Beach, and my sons and I walked where so many Americans had died to free Europe.
My wife was very somber and respectful at these sites; she is French, and grew up hearing stories of the German occupation.
I often still watch on June 6th either The Longest Day, or Saving Private Ryan, and try to imagine my forebears on those beaches.