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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 | 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 | 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 | 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

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