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Narrative War Poems | Narrative Poems About War

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

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Gold Star

I remember as a young boy, going out to play, I would sometimes see old Mr. Kimball, sitting on the steps of his porch, often reading the paper. World War II was in full swing so the newspapers and radios were avidly sought out for the latest news.  Mr. Kimball was a fireman, and probably not even that old, but he seemed that way to me.

Sometimes, he would invite me to sit with him and we would talk about everything and nothing.  I loved spending time with him because, he was the only grown up I knew that took the time to entertain the mind of a young boy.

In his front window hung a small flag. It had a red border surrounding a white field, upon which there were two blue stars.  I was always curious about it, so I asked him what it was.  He said “It's a Sons in Service flag.  One star for each son serving.  You remember my boys don't you?”  I did of course.  Chuck, the oldest, used to tease me, calling me a sissy to get a reaction.  Bobby was a couple of years younger, and the bike I was riding once had been his.

Mr. Kimball went on to explain how Chuck was now in the Army and fighting in France.  Bobby was in the Navy, aboard a ship somewhere in the Pacific.  He didn't say it, but I'm sure he was worried about both, communications being what they were back then.

One day, when I was walking over to see him, I noticed that the flag had changed.  It now carried one blue star, but the other one was gold.  With the innocence that comes of being a child, I asked what the gold star meant.  He quietly said “It means Chuck is coming home”, and without further comment, he turned and went in the house.

A couple of days later, I saw a hearse pull up to the Kimballs house, and four men carry a flag draped box up the porch steps.  That is the moment the meaning of war came to a small boy.  I knew Chuck was home.

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Scars of Love- A True Valentine Story

War leaves scars. They are emotional. They are physical. They are spiritual.

My brother had proposed to my sister-in-law on Valentine's Day, and so it was on that fateful day, 12 years later that his and her lives would change forever.

My brother had invited his wife to the posh Phonecia Hotel in Beirut for a cosy romantic lunch date while their three kids were in school. They decided to sit at a table facing the window so they could see the beautiful view outside. They could see the azure sky touching the Mediterranean in the distance.

At first, they sat opposite each other, but feeling amorous, my brother asked Pam to sit next to him. She was facing the glass window. 

During the meal, as they chatted, little did they know that a very important government official was passing on a street close by and that this event would mark them forever. 

"On 14 February 2005, Rafic Hariri, the former Prime Minister of Lebanon, was killed, along with 21 others, when explosives equivalent of around 1,000 kilograms of TNT (2,200 pounds) were detonated as his motorcade drove near the St. George Hotel in Beirut."

This was only a short distance from where my brother and his wife were having their Valentine meal. The glass window imploded when the car bombs detonated, and my brother and his wife were thrown off their chairs.  They were soaked in blood and for a while, found it hard to see or know what had happened. They were in a daze. The extensive bleeding was caused by the shards of glass they had been peppered with as the floor to ceiling glass imploded. They looked at each other and the ghastly sight was more than they could take. 

In the mayhem that ensued, they were able to make their way outside the building with other injured people. Eventually, an ambulance rushed then to the nearby American University Hospital. It was nearby because my brother taught in the Business Department of the American University of Beirut, so they had decided to have a quick lunch in the nearby vicinity.

Extensive work was done on both their faces. My sister-in-aw had a tooth knocked out from the force of the impact as she was thrown to the ground. Her injuries were more obvious as she had been sitting facing the glass. Up to this day, my brother sometimes has pieces of glass make their way to the surface of the skin on his face, and he has to pull them out. That's how deeply they became embedded.

When later asked if they wanted cosmetic surgery done to cover up the zig zag scars on their faces, my spunky Canadian sister-in-law replied, "Why should we? This is part of our history, of what we have been through, and it gives us a great story to tell."

I wish I were as brave as she is. The three children had a hard time seeing their parents in this state. Pam had to stay in intensive care for a while and when the kids finally did get to see her, Dylan, the middle child, burst out crying and said, "Mama, I don't like what's happened to your face."

This is life in Lebanon. We have lived through the war. We have survived. We have scars that tell the stories. I have written a full article on this, and will post a few excerpts later. 

We live in a spiritual battlefield. Christ came to rescue us, the wounded and the dying. He CHOSE to walk into the war zone. Jesus carries the scars in his hands and in his side of that rescue mission. He carries these marks for eternity, a sign of His great love and passion for us and for our salvation. He came to rescue the hostages of war....and "by His stripes, we are healed."

Isaiah 53: 5- 

But he was pierced for our transgressions,
    he was crushed for our iniquities;
the punishment that brought us peace was on him,
    and by his wounds we are healed

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Old Soldiers

He sits in a wheelchair pushed to the curb.  The people around him move aside to assure he is able to see.  His shrunken body  a shell of what it used to be.  His breathing labored, aided by the tube that extends from the oxygen tank attached to his chair.  On his head, he sports a blue campaign cap with VFW stitched in gold.  He is one of America's finest, come to pay his respects.

Behind him stands a younger woman who has guided him there.  A daughter perhaps, fussing over him, adjusting the robe in his lap, assuring his comfort.  He shows no resistance to the attention, but simply sits and waits.
In the distance drums are heard, soon to be joined by the sound of horns.  A stirring march riffles over the crowd, and an electricity grips their senses.  Soon the call of cadence is heard. The measured tramp of boots, perfectly in time with the music. It grows louder until at last, a military formation looms into view.  Uniformed soldiers, marching in perfect rows, perfect columns, gleaming boots, ribboned chests, weapons at rest on their shoulders.  The crowd stirs.  Small flags are waved.  Cheers erupt.  Pride hangs thick in the air.

The color guard approaches.  Banners held high, snapping in the breeze.  Some spectators remove their caps while others cover their hearts.  Children, hoisted to their fathers shoulders, clap in excitement.

The old man tugs at the woman's sleeve and motions for her to come closer.  She leans down and listens as he speaks, then asks "are you sure"?.  He nods his head.  Walking to the front of the chair, she removes the robe and, grasping his outstretched hands, pulls him slowly to his feet, where he stands with her assistance.  Those around him watch as the frail, stooped body, with some difficulty, stands more erect.  They see the pain etched on his face, and the tear that escapes his eye as he offers a salute as the flag passes by.

Suddenly, the cadence count stops, and in it's place is heard a command .  A command  normally reserved for when passing a reviewing stand.  "Company, eyes right" the guidon bearer bellows, and with that, he returns the aging veterans salute, a sign of respect for an old soldier.  After all, it is his flag.  It is his country.  He bought them both many years ago.

Bob Quigley
Jan 10, 2012

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Battle Scars

Don’t judge that kid with her arms all scarred
Don’t brand that kid as bad
You never would have survived 
If you had the life she had
So say a prayer and show you care
She’s paid more than her share of dues
Don’t put her down or say bad things
Until you’ve walked that mile in her shoes
Those who suffered in war earn respect
They are greeted like super stars
She came from a war you wouldn’t understand
On her arms, the battle scars
Her own home was the battle zone
The desperation, feeling all alone
A situation she felt no escape from
Then late at night the urges come
Innocence lost like a bad dream
No self respect, no self esteem
It is an ongoing battle to feel whole
You can see the beauty within her soul
Sometimes I pray for a Judgement day
You have no heart if you look away
Flashbacks come and the anger stirs
The guilt she carries isn’t hers
There is a need for justice long past due
A need for acceptance from me and you
With anger, despair and fear demanding
The child needs some understanding
In spite of all the tears she cried
There are still battle scars deep inside

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14 JUN 1864

June 14, 1864

Dear Miss Holly Winegardner,

By the time you receive this letter, we will have long left our positions here in northern Mississippi, having billeted in this forest for only a few hours. A few days ago, we were engaged with the Union Army under General Samuel Sturgis in a place called Brice’s Cross Roads.

I only have a few minutes to write this letter and post it, so I will, with apologies, be brief and not describe the fight. I carry your letters with me everywhere we travel and read them often, particularly where you talked about our walk in the winter wood of your father’s farm, and your wish to see me again. My heart flagged at the sound of that wish, for I harbored such a wish also.

In your last letter you spoke of that wish, and how it has become a constant in your mind and your heart. It is my most earnest prayer that your wish will come to you in full light of day, and that we will never be separated again. Hold on Miss Holly, I will outlast this horrid conflict and see you again, and you will see me getting from a train in Columbus or riding PureBoy on the Newark Road to your father’s farm.

Yes, it is clear in my mind also and, I agree with your assessment, that it seemed “time stood still.” Do you remember that as we walked along the Licking River, it sang to us in River tongue - of travels it had made and its mood to move. But for us, time did stand still slipping us quietly between its ticks and hiding us in a cul-de-sac of some moment-less moment.

There, huddled together, our hearts beheld one another - as we really are - without the ruse or cosmet of human cloth. Were Bliss a place, we visited it then - a pot-bellied space, heavenly and wide, warm, safe and uncompromising. How long we lingered there is impossible to know, for nothing moved in Bliss, save our hearts - two hearts that could not become one, for one, they have always been.

Was this the way you felt? I dare not say more of it, because words, it seems, diminishes its realness in some unexplainable way. You must know that it was there that I came to realize that I love you fondly, Miss Holly.

I must hurriedly close now. like the Licking River, the General is in a mood to move, always wanting to, “git thar firstest with the mostest.” Remember Miss Holly, hold on; hold on; hold on; your wish is near at hand.

Until we speak again, I remain,

Sincerely Yours,
Captain Jas W. Johnson
8th Tennessee Cavalry,
Company E, Commanding, CSA.

My Wish For You Member Contest
Written 2009; Judged:  1/1/2015
Sponsored by: Isaiah Zerbst, Poetry Soup
First Place: James W. Johnson

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WAR- A Cherita suit

Terrified in a corner She screams Hearing the rockets Exploding Shattering her heart Once more... They shake Their heads not accepting Is happening again Forced to move out They leave their homes With no place to go The horrors of war Are just to many To count No food, no water No help Just missiles Destruction and death Piles stacked up Of smoking debris Mangled bodies Carried out Breathing no more Innocence In their eyes Long gone Just horror And pain for those Children to witness A treated of Peace That can't never work For a long time Permanent Peace Only till Jesus Returns! Dorian Petersen Potter Aka ladydp2000 Copyright@2014 10.12.2014

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Dusk covered the land
Like a million blankets the sun blackened
The dawn of the fiends has come
The imps arise from black holes

Thick dark smokes engulf the land
Red rivers of marred blood run freely
Hyena’s laughs and cries so vivid
Flimsy hopeless screams fill the night

 Police sirens nowhere heard
All victims of the diabolic demons
The flattery head men are quiet
The dreaded gloom has no march!

The denizens of slums asphyxiated
The fierce fires devour their huts
Mothers and babies murdered in cold blood
Justice slapped on face with no utterance

Remnants of the paranoia, brave cowards
Would sneak and live to tell
Their seeds in songs and narratives
Who will burn the blankets of terror.

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Evacuation and Loss

The night shone for the full moon,
Sky brewing a coarse monsoon,
Bolted were windows, locked were doors,
The frequency of death frighteningly soared.
But who was this infant high upon the hill?
He denied the storm and just stood stone still,
Eyes shut like blinds and fingers dug into ground,
Felt he could move no muscle, for was sadly street bound.
Shutting his eyes, arms wrapped tight round
His skinny body, battered and browned
Praying for the sake of friends, family and all
However imaginary, he imagined them call
 “Boy, come to us we love you most”
“Our love for you is bigger than the Canadian coast”
“Do not cry, remember our love”
Joining their gaze in the beyond above,
He softly mumbled a song to forget,
The once daily song that was always a duet,
Alone on that hill without any feel,
Of an afterlife he finally accepted, wasn’t real
Tears met the floor, now bathed in yellow light,
As lightning struck him too quick to fright,
Child lay on the floor, dismembered and black,
Though his mouth was smiling and his happiness had come back,
As re-joined with family, head held high, 
He waved his tortured existence goodbye.
Hugging his mum and his dad the same,
Somehow put an end to the incessant rain,
The natives emerged from their homes, safe and sound,
The boy crying for happiness at the new life he had found.
Soul peering at his body, dead at age eleven,
Holding family’s hands they could finally pass on and join heaven. 
The touch of their skin brought old emotion,
 Parents who were torn betwixt war and devotion,
A child whom they gave their best shot,
By train to board and bomb to not.
The grave of the boy with the electric crown,
Who carried a burden he couldn’t live down,
Stood proud in the yard of cobbles and stones,
For everyone knew those were a heroes bones,
When you look into the sky on a stormy night,
Remind yourself of the boy’s plight.
As he is the clouds that damper weather,
Out to protect his town, children altogether,
He wanted a life for them around,
That didn’t consist of being mentally wound,
A life that he could never possess,
But he did not bathe in spiralling depress.
Life is sacred, upon that hill,
Those cobbles and stones bring great goodwill,
For the sun only shines on that grassy land,
Still holding marks of the boy’s humble hand,
Some say that the yearly rain,
Is him up above, the tears of a chain.
The chain of the tears shed on that night,
Of the fear and happiness’ conventional recite,
Up above, being tucked under the covers,
Is a little boy with an injury he recovers,
Mother kisses his head and says her goodnight,
Father over bed, comforting a nightmare fright.
Drifting off, the boy could hear,
A little rhyme to calm his fear,
“Boy, come to us we love you most”
“Our love for you is bigger than the Canadian coast”
“Do not cry remember our love-“
The young man rose slowly in his bed,
Opened his eyes and smiled as he said
“I’m here”

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27 FEB 1861

February 27, 1861

My Dear Miss Holly Winegardner,

   After saying goodbye to you, Johnny Birdeye and I traveled from Columbus to Nashville by train, then west to Memphis arriving home two days ago. Johnny’s family was glad to have him back and were grateful to me for going to Ohio to fetch him for them. You and I did not talk about young Johnny while I was there in Newark so perhaps I should tell you how I came to journey so far north and to eventually meet you.

   As I mentioned in our passing conversations, I live on our family farm on Crawley’s Ridge in Arkansas. It is located some fifty miles west of Memphis on a ridge overlooking the Mississippi River basin. Our farm belonged to Mr. Raymond Bennett Dobbins, my mother’s second husband, until his death eight years ago. It amounts to about five hundred acres now, including the acreage of my father's farm, of mostly rolling, hilly land - a great deal of it wooded and untamed, but filled with a variety of lakes and natural springs. That which is arable provides deep rooting for generous orchards and vineyards. We farm some and graze some but mostly fruit out the land as much as possible.

   Every year, we load some ten wagons with fruits, vegetables and nuts, and travel to Memphis several times for money crops during the harvest season. There is never enough to sell and we are constantly clearing land for more orchard space. We raise a variety of apples, plums, peaches, cherries, pears, apricots and persimmon. Our pecans are widely known, and sought after even in an area with an abundance of such nuts. We have several vineyards of grapes for jams, jellies, and wines. Even wild muscadine grapes are in abundance. We also have a wonderful stable of horses and, as you know, this is my passion.

   As I told your father while in Ohio, my mother married Mr. Dobbins, after my father’s death, on the condition that there be no slaves kept by him. At the time, he owned some fifty slaves and willingly freed them so that Mother would accept his proposal. Most of them moved away to Memphis and some further west but a few remained on our place, and worked along side the rest of the family. I will tell you sometime of John, our blacksmith, and Ethel, his wife, of Alice, who works in our home with my mother. Of young Tobacco Dobbins, my friend as a child, who now lives in California, having taken muscadine grapes there to grow. He has become quite a legend there and we are all proud of him.

   Johnny Birdeye’s family lives in the basin at the eastern foot of Crawley’s Ridge bordering our property. Their spread is vast covering thousands of acres of timber and at least a thousand acres of cotton farming. Johnny is younger than me by a few years, and in some ways not very mature for his age. Perhaps it is due to his upbringing in a rich family; perhaps it is just the way he is.

   A year ago, he left home with a gypsy girl, and it has taken the family this long to locate him and to dispatch me to Ohio to bring him home. I think he grew up some in this year, and realized that not everything in life is as it seems - meaning the girl was already married and leading him on. Perhaps I have said too much even now.

   Miss Holly, it is a trying time in which we live. Since Lincoln’s election, so much has transpired. South Carolina’s secession followed by so many other southern states is unbelievable. If Lincoln is inaugurated in March, there will likely be a fight. There is talk that my own beloved state will resign the Union in the spring.

   More chilling is the cold aspect of war. Many of my friends are arranging to travel to Little Rock or Fort Smith in case such a terrible turn brings us to incivility.

   The Birdeye family has a friend in Memphis whose name is Bedford Forrest. He is a plantation owner and slave trader, but says that he will build a fighting unit, if war breaks out. Mr Birdeye has offered to introduce me to Mr. Forrest, and I have considered it. Given my attention to horse flesh and Mr. Forrest’s expectation that he will raise a cavalry brigade, I am leaning toward such a prospect.

   Please understand that I want no part of war - it is a horrid thing to take a life. But, if we are invaded, as I told your father I will be compelled to defend our home.

   This is not the letter I sought to write to you, Miss Holly. I wanted to tell you about my time with you and how I felt since I saw you last. I wanted to tell you about my home, for I wondered how you would like it here. Though warmer, it is somewhat like your rolling hills in Ohio. Perhaps you will consider visiting us some time; my mother would love to meet you.

Yours most sincerely,

Jas. W. Johnson,
-late of Ohio,
-now on Crawley’s Ridge near Cherry Valley,
-and west of Memphis.

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New Start for Captain Mazy

Wading through flooded streets as hurricane rain poured
A man fell into the flow when sharp thunder roared
As a journalist reporting live from the scene
I saw lightning crack through the sky, heard the man scream

“Is he homeless?” I asked the emergency crew
The director shook his head; the answer he knew
“He lives in our park now, but served in Vietnam
He saved his entire unit from the Viet Cong.”

The team pulled him from the gutter to the shelter
I brought him tea, forgot I was a reporter
I asked why he’d screamed, his memory seemed hazy
“Did you hear the bombs drop?” asked Captain Bob Mazy

The emergency director took me aside
“We call him Crazy Mazy,” he did confide
He suffers from post-traumatic stress disorder
Can’t live with the lives he took following orders.”

When Hurricane Kate passed o’er the Gulf Coast
I’d seen much destruction, but remembered Mazy most
His story I broadcasted and vets contacted me
The donations poured in; so many gave freely 

Soon we’d accumulated twenty-five grand
Just enough to buy Mazy an acre of land
Then people from his home state gathered one weekend
To build him a home, much effort they expended

Several social workers set up counseling services
To meet all his needs, everyone made concessions
Local stores gave him clothing, food, even a job
No longer “Crazy Mazy,” he was now just Bob

A gentle man who soon overcame all his fears
On Memorial Day, he was greeted by cheers
Accolades he’d never heard when he returned from Nam
But attitudes had changed and people’s hearts had warmed

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The USS Indianapolis

It was in July of 1945 
  And the USS Indianapolis
Had a crew of nearly 12 hundred alive
  But a Japanese sub fired and did not miss
American sailors had completed their job
  Delivering parts for the first atomic bomb
Some sank with the ship, others in the sea did bob
  No food, few lifeboats, ocean deceptively calm

Surprise attack, no distress signal had been sent
  It was four days later those floating were spotted
The survival rate was just 25 percent
  With hundreds of sailors’ bodies the sea was dotted
In the movie “Jaws” as Captain Quint had related,
  “The sharks came cruisin'. So we formed into tight groups.”
Six men per hour were killed while for help they waited
  All were lost but 316 Navy troops

Some victims died of exposure or starvation
  But far more were killed by the sharks that had attacked
These men lost their lives in service to our nation
  But bomb parts delivered had a deadlier impact

One of the last ships that was sunk in World War II
  The Indianapolis had turned the war’s tide
With a mission carried out by a courageous crew
  Victory was soon celebrated by allies worldwide

This is an entry for the History Poems contest

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God Is Not A Murdering Maniac

This is to those idiots leaving their own countries
to join terrorist organizations in foreign lands.
Religion is not very difficult to understand.
God is not a murdering maniac! God is love!
The Devil is a murdering maniac!
I know you stupid fools who think being a terrorist
is a good thing to be are the dumbest of the over seven billion souls
currently living on earth but even you damn ignoramuses
should have enough active brain cells to understand this one simple fact:
God Is Not A Murdering Maniac!

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The Angel Of Death

As I walk this earth 
Bare and broken
Blood soaked and driven
My soul in supernova
My mind, frenzied.

My body bruised
My sword well used
Breathing in fresh paint 
From beaten bodies and torn souls 

Sudden movement
A quivering soul
A careless action
My attention
To hold. 

A smile drapes
Bearing into my soul
The world disappears
My deathly hunger

Slow and pleasuring 
Each clink of steel 
Warms my heart 
Mending my soul

First blood, 
A lonely bead 
Inviting my wrath
It trickles 
No warning sold.

Teasingly, it lays in waiting 
Pulling me closer
Begging almost 
To bring more 
An abyss, 
It draws my victims in 
Craving, wanting, yearning 
To feel bloodied flesh 
Against my skin
A fear, I sense 
Another victim to claim

Pleasure streams 
Blood oh glorious blood
My eyes feeling, each soul I’ve claimed

A vulture stalking its prey 
Yet again
Imperative, a mission
Deep wanting, to quench

Valiance, a virtue, I dare not detest  
Submissive, he glares eye to eye
His being laid not to rest

Unsteady, yet giving.
My hands he guides to my sword
Thrilling me more 
A kiss so chaste
My heart explodes

Like a child 
I revel, 
Rapture so pure 
Beautifully he whispers 
“Be a sinner no more 

Take my soul
Gruesomely, I beg 
Treasure the blood
That my body 
So willingly sheds 

Your craving 
To sate 
I was born to the earth
Release your demon 
Release it form its depths 

Stay hidden no more
Bare, naked, run free
Believe it not a disease
But a gift 
As I see.

Unsheathe your sword
Glorious, shall it gleam
Purified, ready 
Through my heart 
Shall it go.” 

Pleasure shudders through me.
A kiss I lay 
Goodbye, my dearest 
Your debt has been paid.

Amanda Miller 
{This is to a new friend , a faceless being 
that brings out the person hiding in me }

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They burst forth and charge downwards
Matching uniforms shiny against the grey sky
Their only desire to smash suicidally upon our ranks
We hear the thunder of them coming, and carefully prepare
The vanguard already lie smashed upon the ground
The rest will soon swell the regiments of the defeated
Moments before they arrive we deploy our umbrellas
Countless warriors smash harmlessly inches above our heads
Their watery remains dripping from our defences
Mingling with those of their already fallen brethren

Contest : FALL YOUR CHOICE any theme/any form max 12 lines
Honorable Mention

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Misguided Symphony

He composes talons as men walk into the fire

Twisted hatred inspired in fountains of meat

A self propelled corruption of delusion

Raining sheets of copper sparks 

Blind knives open sand whipped architecture

Two breeds of darkness, light engulfed

Dystopian bred ignorance swallowing rage

Fluctuating temperaments shroud utopia

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rolling in the dirt weighed down
strays every where and nowhere to hide
no will to die but the guys with you before yourself
crawling around in a foreign land sweating a gallon of wet

you can hear the whiz of war planes in the air
think back to the ships sending them there
most important the other men before yourself
How long as it been since you've seen your child
if you live will he understand be proud of dad
your daughter sweeter than life
do you miss her hugs 
you know you're everything to her
you dominate her dreams

i want you to know as i sit here with you on my mind
as i sit here with my daughters because of your sacrifice
my heart wants to burst and rejuvenate your spirit bright
how do i thank all the soldiers who defend our democracy
thank you for everything you afford me
when even one of you dies a little bit of me dies too

i know no matter how empathic i am
i will never really no how bad war is
you are the soldier brave
with your face against the wind
so let me say this. 
thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you
from every pore I possess
thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you
from every vessel in my heart
thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you
from every drop of my blood
thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you

before you get back on this side 
we are doing everything we can
make sure on your return
there will be people to take care of your needs
do everything we can and more
just one last thing
thank you.

Maurice Yvonne
September 1 2014
Mystic Rose-Contest

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The Weapon To End All Weapons


To the fighting men and women and to all military personnel,
   I only want to wish for you safety and God keep you well.
We are proud of what you do and you are always in our thoughts and mind,
   I am working on a weapon too that when you shoot someone with it they turn 
from mean to kind.
My Mean To Kind (M.T.K.) weapon is nearly done.
   I’m in a hurry so I can produce enough for everyone.
Just point my M.T.K. and zap them once or twice.
    The more the zap the more the nice.
No more blood will either side ever let,
     Maybe just an honest days worth of sweat.
How cool will that be to finally bury the grudge,
    And sit down with your enemy over a hot chocolate sundae with fudge.
Instead of a hateful staring glare,
   Just zap him once and end warfare.
Heck I may just zap myself again,
    I’ll zap you too and you can be my friend.

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The Game {Narrative}

Two giants stare into each other’s eyes
Each out to prove that he is more wise
The battlefield is broken down into squares
The moves are recorded to keep the war fair
The armies line up in parallel lines
Each solider a piece of timeless design
The pawns look across and each of them know
When it comes to sacrifice there the first to go
But that is ok for this is their place
Better to die for their King then live in disgrace
Each pawn is driven or so it would seem
Reach the end of the board and answer your dream
The Castles stand at the corners of it all
For the true defense is found in their walls
The Knights have their own special move
They will pick you apart if they fall in their groove
Next to the Knights the Bishops pray
Asking the Lord to guide their way
The Queen is the most powerful as it’s always been
For she holds the hearts of all of her men
Next to the Queen the King stands with pride
For he has an army and a giant on his side
Two armies collide each seeking the fame
Of placing a W next to their giants name

I picked war to place this under
because I had no idea what to put 
it under. open for suggestions. 

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Always My Baby

As I think back to yesterday, 
my vivid recall of your days of play.

I can still see you laughing as you ride your bike,
and all those expressions for the things you liked.

Now you are a man, and you stand so proud,
as you salute your commanders among the crowd.

Soon you will leave me for a far a way land,
filled with violence, and miles of sand.

Your dream has always been, to serve, and protect,
my son so proud of his country, with no regrets.

I pray for your safety, while wiping my tears,
your only nineteen, I can't hide my fears.

So tomorrow you will leave me, and your dreams fulfilled,
but you will always be my baby, and my life you thrilled.

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Arabic Poem by: Riyadh Al-Ghareeb*
 Translated into English by: 
Inaam Al-Hashimi (Gold_N_Silk)
It was not his idea 
He did not wave to the sundown of his life
Quite simply, he let life go by 
He was the only one who did not care about the war 
Rather, he listened to music 
And wrote poems 
Shells were falling all around him.. 
Not once, he thought about death 
Nor he paid attention to getting old in the mirror 
All that he cared about
Was a woman he imagined loving him
And waiting for someone who may come back 
Carrying a small snippet 
Emblazoned with the script 
From extreme madness “
 To... “
He lived in his illusion
Even as he became a poet. 
When his life was clotting
And nightfall of life was waving to him
He realized
All that was going on around him 
Was not his choice 
And the life he encountered 
Was not his life.. 
He tried to get rid of his blue beard
And bitter tears 
Near the nearest war 
of his country’s 
A country that has become 
Addicted to wars.
He let his hair grow long 
His dark skinned face
Was on the verge of revealing nightly starvation
At noontime, his children were panting 
After a lifeless Dinar..
His final poem
Was laden with the grief of the world 
But that world did not care about what was going on..
In his only room 
The smell of onions mixed
With the smell of the empty pots; 
Hanging onions 
Was the most beautiful memory in a country 
Without memory 
It's his life 
That he wanted to be 
A part of his ration card, 
His birth record
And the rest of his poems. 

“Woe to the ruin!” 
He said
Removing the dust from a painting of him
Made, in a stolen moment, 
By a painter who died two wars ago.
He was laughing 
And holding a drink with an innocent cheer
As, above his head, birds in the somber colors of the sky were flying
Suggesting the he was important 
And his life was of interest to others. 
He flicked his tears 
And on the tile of his room floor
He saw wars reproduce, 
He saw his children go to a new war 
He saw his wife coughing her years 
Painful looks
And said to himself 
That life 
Was not my idea 
It is a naive game.
Let me keep on this road 
At the end, I may find paper 
For my friends to wrap me with
Like the oldest statue 
Standing on the way of passers-by 
And the country!!!!!! 
 Translated by: Em. Prof. Inaam Al-Hashimi
 * Riadh Al-Ghareeb is a poet from Iraq

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You must go,yes!
Go against slumber,
When even early birds ignore worms,
But the falling thorns purnish gurus
As the roaming anti-mother blanket kills faint gurulings.
Here we march marshals,
Along grumbling swift paces,we shall!
Walking-yarn appetises expectations,
Since many paths leads to the road.
Diverging to coverge,we must!
As swarming of the apocalyptic plague of the book,
Brushing along all along that belongs,
Into the shipping tower,we all plunge.
Now blinking sea-eyes of a naked mind,
All beholding spoons for a bloodless war.
Its too late to retrieve and hot to hold.
An often dreaded monster you face,
Must in "Government call" retire.
Yes! warm to hum,
like a soldier into war,
triumphant but not victorious.
When asked why? we say,
this is the ROAD TO FSLT.
                         BY:TUTUOLA MICHAEL

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New Year- New Bomb Blast

     On December 7, 2013 a bomb blast killed former Lebanese Minister, Mohammad Chatah and several others. Less than an hour ago, another bomb blast took place in the Dahieh area in Beirut. My husband is daughter is out at a friend's house, and I'm sick to my stomach of not knowing......where is safe, where can we go? This is the latest Post on FB by a student of mine showing a picture of the explosion. "New Year....New Bomb." 

     I'm tired of this. I'm tired of the rest of the world turning a blind eye. I'm tired of feeling guilty because I'm in my nice warm house and there are Syrian refugees living in tents. There are little children dying of the cold. I'm tired of hearing of the blood of martyrs being spilled. I'm tired of hoping and wishing for peace for this country and will NEVER be. I'm tired.

    I'm tired of reliving fear. Tired of worrying about the safety of my brother who lives in the downtown area where all the political figures have their mansions. I'm tired of hearing him talking about some embedded glass shard working its way out of the skin of his face...even now. He and his wife were injured in the bomb blast that killed Prime Minister Rafic Hariri years ago, scarring their faces for life.

I'M TIRED OF THIS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!


Eileen M Ghali

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Their lived a man once upon a time in Hollywood
Who in peace and war his glory stood
Reaching by far his story could
For he was known to share holy food 
From a holy book in Hollywood

Always alone he used to be
With his broad sword no enemy was left free
He could slash and shriek zubb zubb like a bee
And took a holy book and said, ‘Lord forgive me.’
And finally admitted this is how it’s suppose to be

He went to the coast to enjoy the calm see breeze
And watched immigrant ships telling him to freeze
 He killed people who had pads on their knees
And preached to those who has none of these
And could finally pray as usual in the breeze

He stood for all joy and stood for anger
For he had to use both his book and his panga
As they both worked on people to kill their hunger
He gave a wait to his finger
Which pointed at the book to kill the anger

For his missions he never was late
I don’t know how because there were no calendars to tell the date
Nor clock to tell the time, but sunrise and sunset
When he hunted his need until he would get
And his book and sword was used on time, never late

He was known to be a Hollywood ranger
Who could welcome any stranger
Whether for peace or war he was ready for any danger
On Christmas he used to sing away in a manger
And he was ready to preach and fight as a ranger

Stories were flying about adventures of him
But publishers were scared to publish his film
Nor light on him could beam
For they were afraid of his team:
The holy book, the sword, and him

Now you may wonder how I’m writing about this man
It’s neither because I have a gun
Nor because I’m able to run
But it’s because he passed away and he’s done
And every creature in Hollywood remembers this man.

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 She is sinking,
 Sinking into the abyss of despair.
 Her brain is striken And her mind is stifled.
 She has been enervated.
 Her integrity is being manipulated,
 Irrationality acts as spring board to moral decadence,
 Opacity then entangles her efficiency
 While her eminence sleeps.
 She became vulnerable.
 Poor thing, she is raped, maimed and looted.
 Has she not been violated?
 Does her plight warrants a revolution?
 However, she demonstrated.
 She shrilled,
"No!", "No!"
 She pleaded with her predators.
 All these were to no avail
 Her future seems gloomy
 As the predators succeeded in orchestrating yet another tragedy.
 Engulfed in this evident realm of adversity.
 She sits and ponders
 With tears flooding her miserable cheeks.
 She then cried,
 I am sinking,
 Sinking into the abyss of despair.

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Guess I'm Just Old Fashioned

Love, love, everywhere And still not a drop to spare Will someone please explain to me Why we humans, who were originally meant to love Continually wage war Am I delusional, living in my own little world Oblivious to the way of us humans People blowing themselves up on a daily basis And taking innocent people with them And for WHAT??? That my friends is sick, utterly insane Maybe that's it... these people are deranged Love, love, everywhere And not a day goes by when it seems The top news story is how many were killed today By these lunatic extremists Guess I'm just an old fashioned dude © Jack Ellison 2014

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After the Liberation

General Eisenhower was a man of foresight
General Eisenhower had photographs taken
because he knew that evil is eternal
because he knew that Satan is immortal
because he knew someday some would deny
that it ever happened....

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Its time to tell the truth untold,
why do we have to fight?
must we shed blood?
ever wondered why able bodied men 
go to war,and come back half,
or even dead,
the pity of war, the pity of war distilled
i was sworn in to handle the situation
am in the perfect position?
though courage was mine, and i had mystery
wisdom was mine, and i had mastery
              days strolled,
              weeks jogged,
               months passed,
               years flew,
finally it ended
yes!!! the war ended
oh no!!! i was attacked
i parried but i couldn't and i lost
when will this war end???
Now Let Us Sleep

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The Virile Knight

The virile Knight gives evil eye to all And champion to all who missed the call, A long forgotten conflict ripped our soul The virile Knight defends the final toll. (In a hole Where the bones Of the bold Smoulder cold) A wisp of whimsy light ignites the breeze, As fox-fire floats a grove of willow trees; A devious diversion brief with peace But conflicts of convergence will not cease. (It has been said: War is only over For the dead and the dead And the dead, dead, soldier) Give glory to the glory of the dead, In sacrificial life are heroes bred; They find their strength above the maudlin din - Aware of who they are by where they've been. (Life can be confusing For a Vet who lives it boozing 'Cause booze will lose its kick And leave a troubled Vet quite sick) Your faith in friends and God has disappeared Still buried deep in jungle heat as feared; And dreams of truth once dreamed in youth were vain - Too vain a brain can make a brain insane. (All young and strong In Vietnam - Till dead from the blood that they bled From worms deep inside they were fed) Your wife and children gone so long ago, Her claim to fame became but shame's dull glow; Her main cognitions slipped and stripped all gears - Aladdin on a carpet-ride in tears. (Full blown crazy Was your Daisy Quite the shady Little lady) Now sunshine splitter's split the light of dawn To blind and euthanize the spermless pawn; Our Knight complains about the awful strain, The pawn is gone too long and dies inane. (We pay each day For check-mate fears And turn away From all the tears That fall like rain From children's pain) The dead now share your bed inside your room And you assume their AWOL from the tomb - But truth confides they hide inside your bones And soon you hear their rising manic tones. (They died as we cried And they think that we lied That is why they now ride On our bones deep inside: "Alive! Alive! Alive! Our souls in you do thrive") The ghosts of comrades past do crowd my bed; I retch from stench of fetid flesh long dead. But dead now in my bed are heroes all: Dead heroes in my bed who met the call. (The casualties of war When war be but a lie Will wander evermore For they will never die.)

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The World War II Years

For what's it's worth, here's my recollection Of my young years growing up in Canada in the 40s Right off the bat, you may think the war years Were difficult for me and my family With rationing of food and the everyday necessities of life I remember my dad dividing up our food in the pantry And when we used up our share of a certain item like butter Before the next allotment, we did without This may sound difficult to believe This is my recollection... but it wasn't that much of a hardship This self-imposed rationing was a voluntary thing No ration police breaking down our door to check us out As a young lad, they were exciting times The good guys against the bad guys We were too young to realize this wasn't a game People of all ages were dying horrible deaths It all seemed so distant, so far away Even though a couple of German U-Boats were detected A far distant inland down the St. Lawrence River My memory of that momentous day when both wars ended Was an overwhelming feeling of joy and exultation Passed down from the celebrating adults We in Canada didn't have it bad But let's all hope and pray that cooler heads prevail And we don't have another one that could be a war to end all wars A cataclysmic event so devastating It would end life on earth as we know it! © Jack Ellison 2014

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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.

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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

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Blame The Devil

Blame the devil for the 298 murders:
those poor lost souls who were aboard
flight MH17 in the clear blue skies
far above the nation of the Ukraine.
The evil old serpent we call Satan
has taken human form and calls himself
Vladimir “Vlad The Mad Cad” Putin.
He is the same soulless stone-hearted beast
he always has been but is far uglier than
anyone could have ever imagined even in
the most nightmarish dreams of our youth.
The devil indeed lives among us and he is
out for more blood, including yours and mine.

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Little Irish And Big Ski

Little Irish and Big Ski
were both better soldiers than me.
Everyone had a nickname
and nobody’s was the same.
Mine was JayJay, I don’t know why,
probably because it didn’t belong to another guy.
Little Irish was a short stocky joke telling Irishman
and Big Ski was a tall skinny Polack from Chicagoland.
We served in a war zone we called “The Nam” so very long ago
where everyone looked the same, be they friend or be they foe.
I made it back home alive and well,
          except for nightmares forever in my head.
Not so Little Irish and Big Ski,
          both my good buddies have been a long time dead.

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Veras first poem

Hi everybody, my name is Vera as some of you already know, and I am the wife of Peter Duggan. I came on this site to cheer Peter on, and also to read some poetry which I do enjoy at times. I have made a few friends on this site and correspond with some, and a few of them have asked me to write something. Now I have never done anything like this before, but I decided to humor these friends any way.

     I could not really think of anything to write about, but then I thought of a subject dear to both myself and Peter; the transformation that he has gone through in the last five years. This might be of interest, and indeed some help to others who are having problems within their relationships with others.

   We married in London in sixty five, Then emigrated to Australia in 1967 and our marriage was going very well, filled with love and laughter. But then Peter decided to join the army, and volunteered to fight in Vietnam, because he wanted to do something to repay this wonderful country back for letting him live here.

   When he came back to Australia, this was when it all went pear shaped. Peter started to change; he become very aggressive and Psychologically cruel to myself and our three children and was like a keg of dynamite just waiting to explode. He would argue about everything and anything, and got involved in many very nasty fights. No one could tolerate him for very long, and myself and the children often felt like we were walking on eggshells whenever he was around. He turned to alcohol, and cannabis, and he was always off his head on any one of those drugs. Having said all this, Peter was never physically aggressive to me or the children.        

     Anyhow, this all came to a climax, when he suddenly walked out on us all and decided he wanted to live like a bum. Said he wanted his freedom. This was the last time I saw him for a year. When because I loved him so very much, I asked him to come back to us again. He came back, but nothing really changed, in fact I told him he would never change, and I honestly thought our marriage was beyond repair. He had done so much counselling, read every book on self-help, and tried religion [all the major ones], but nothing really helped.

    Then one day about five years ago, Peter was perusing through the net, desperate to find someone to help him get rid of this evil that lurked within him He came cross a man named John Sherman, who claimed that he could help people with this simple little action, that he gave Peter to do. In his desperation Peter put his whole life into this simple act.

   He never strayed from this path, and after a month or two things started dropping away. Each day he seemed to get more, and more happy, so happy in fact that he seemed to bubble with happiness. His anger started to drop away gradually until it diminished completely. He still loves to argue, but he never has to be right all the time and treats it all as a game. How anyone can change so dramatically, is completely beyond me, but the miracle happened; the evidence is before me. If I ever won the lottery, I would donate half of it to the Sherman foundation, and would be totally happy to do this. But the only thing that we can do Is spread the Sherman’s work any chance we can get. We both owe them so much.

    Anyhow, this is my first write, and I hope that many people might gain something from it. Peter and I are now the the happiest couple that ever walked the face of the Earth. I thank all of you that chose to read, this. Whether I’ll ever make a second attempt one never knows. But I surely enjoyed writing this. Peter helped me to arrange the words, as I had no confidence in my own abilities…..Vera

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Gone With The Wind

We sat next to one another in class
from the first to the third grade.
Her name was Jennifer Penelope.
She preferred to be called Jen.
I instead called her Jenny Penny just because
that was the way I was way back then.
Both of our fathers were in the Air Force.
War broke out in some place called Korea.
Jenny Penny’s father was sent off to Guam
and my father was sent off to Japan.
Her mother took her back to her home state of Ohio
and my mother, my sister and I went back to Louisiana.
Puff! Poof! Abracadabra! Puff! Poof! Alakazam!
Jenny Penny and I were both gone with the wind.

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Heroes On Distant Battlefields - Dedicated to Veterans of Foreign Wars

Traveling life's murky waters,
Were these brave men.
My friends in dark jungles.
Dying for many who did not care.

Malaria and typhoid invisible enemies;
Still then, that occasional sniper bullet,
Snuffing out a life in an instant.
Fighting for country yet hated by some.

Freedom was all they tried to preserve,
While every night evil pounding helmets.
Unrelenting hatred killing 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.

Brothers found de-bowled and castrated by enemy,
Bodies hanging from beautiful rain forest trees.
Life bodily fluids dripping to feed their roots,
That horror which still lives in their minds.

Flag red stripes brightened with bloodied courage;
I ask how many Americans truly realize this?
Flying Old Glory only on National Holidays,
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.

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

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When Will It Be Our Turn

It's getting close to beddy-byes time And as I think back on the day It wasn't my best day ever but certainly not my worst But however I classify it, good bad or somewhere in between My worst day would surely be the absolute best day For the suffering peoples all over the world It's easy to forget how fortunate we all are To wake in the morning and not have that overwhelming fear Wondering if this will be my final day With the senseless fighting going on all around us We in the Canada can't imagine what it's like To be living in fear every single day with no sign of peace My heart goes out to all these poor souls Our greatest fear is missing Saturday Night Hockey on TV We don't realize what a privilege that is The wars in all the other parts of the world Are the furthest thing from our minds I suggest we pause and thank our lucky stars We live in a free, loving, peaceful country Can't help thinking though... when will it be our turn! © Jack Ellison 2014

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War and Harmony

War and Harmony

I caught the red eye to meet my warrior only to be met with war.

A night of hot passion that time has caused us both to long for.

A harmonious melody fills the room from fulfillment and bliss.

See you later sealed with a kiss as our throbbing groins persist.

I walk with a jolly gait in my step until I a single gold earring stubbed my toe.

Now filled with fury as I wonder whom else has been sleeping with my G.I. Joe.

Salty water now free to flow from a broken gaze as I noticed the typewriter in my peripheral.

I take a seat to compose a letter to him about how this love was to be a duo and not a Trio.

He left a half of pack on the desk within reach, he must have known that I’d be needing one.

Smoke caused a fresh pair of lungs to gasp and cough like a beginner at the end of a long run.

I pecked the keys abruptly as I added cigarette butts one-by-one to an already filled ashtray.

Which resembled a two toned rainbow of bright red and gold with its backdrop in gray.

I slip my hands into a pair of soft white lace gloves as I walked towards the nightstand.

My fury is softened as I realize that loyalty must be a requirement and not a command.

I opened the drawer to discover two plane tickets to Hawaii, paper clipped to a wad of cash.

A note which read “If you found the earring don’t jump to conclusions and leave in a dash!”

“I need your full trust so I hope and pray that your assumptions don’t lead you to act rash!”

“Oh and about the earring you will find the match to it is located in the purple velvet sash.”

I opened the sash to find an invitation, he wrote, “Please become my wife underneath the sun!”

Now feeling foolish beyond measure, I’m reluctant to read on any further, for I already feel stunned!

He said, “I hope that your search led you to a desired treasure, Please say yes, because World War II may come fast.”

“I need to know that when I return home that you will be my future from a more pleasant and harmonious the past.”

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Pity Me, or on Second Thought, Pity Them

What can I do?
My brethren - Dank. We are
not fit to wipe the asses of
these sons of the star of David -
and yet, we crush their horrid
corpsed lives beneath Nazi-issued
boots. We want to live, too.

Say I actually approach my
officer, pout, give him my best
spiel, if you will. His hand will
grope the trigger faster than the
breasts of his sweetheart in
Barrack Neun during a roll call

So I plug my rounds,
rotate a new traincar through
every Montag and Freitag.
And when I sit down to table
with the uniformed prison guards,
I take an extra drink -
and drink to forget.

This poem appears online at

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The Truth of the Dragon-Knight

Last knight Eye dreamed Eye was a dragon with wings made from disdain and shaped like quaking fear that burned holes through my subconscious imaginings. Eye was gliding soundlessly thru dark clouds, thunder, and rain, while the Slayers stood below, grounded in tyranny and trying to pull Me from the knight sky...Then Eye could hear, then Eye watched thru Dragon-I's as arrows joined my flight...trying to penetrate the hard scales of My spiritual skin. The muted sharpness of the arrows' dancing ricocheted off of Me.

Then Eye cried. Not in agony or pain or

Eye cried in echoing defiance of the oppression of blind slavery and meaningless denial. Eye belched blue and green flame and roared aloud--as loud as my Dragon-voice would carry. Eye scorched the minds of the lie-ers and self-made martyrs (there, the ones who were carrying the omission of Truth of this world).

The Slayers still stood their ground. They kept circling  around and around under Me...but Eye kept pumping My neck, Eye kept beating My wings, but still the Slayers came...more and more of them...

Eye dived down deep toward their barren landscape (My Own Hunting Ground!!); Eye needed to see their torn, hated faces...Men, all. They kept their hoods drawn, their faces hidden from My I's. But their bodies were bare and naked to My Dragon-flame, naked to the force of My righteous wrath. Eye swept down closer, closer until Eye could smell the scents of their sweat and dried blood (of conquered servants before), and Eye could see, even count, the dark hairs sprouting from greasy, dirt-clogged pores. Eye could see that some bore vehement scars, jagged marks streaking across their man-flesh.

Their weapons were crude, mostly: wood axes, scythes, cudgels, kitchen knivez sharpened to a murderous edge...the only sophisticated armaments were their bows, their arrows. The bows were of blood and bone and tendon and blind fear, the sinewy string woven with acceptance of the odd (the Truth that they must stand and fight a common enemy as a single unit, that they must stop war amongst themselves to do so)...and their arrows were bound with Hope and Reason, that Eye would die before them, that they would live on. The bows were more beautiful than the Slayers deserved to wield, but they commanded them with such grace and poise and proficiency...

The Truth is Eye, the Dragon-Knight, and the Slayers are all of mankind's fear and war and social stigma among thorns...

Their bows were the making of Truth and Love and Acceptance, only constructed and command-able when mankind will stand together and open their I's and see.

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I’ve been told this fact,
By an experienced veteran.
Tears carrying away pain,
Still the sadness lingers.

Wars inside his mind,
More brutal than bullets.
At least they end the misery;
Can’t say that of living on.

Temporary pain not lasting forever,
Or so it may seem to some others.
Yet that screaming is still there,
Buddies killed before his eyes.

How can I help him?
Please do tell me,
Will time heal him?
It hasn't so far.

Those tears being saviors,
Pulling agony from brain.
Mental hurt can’t be described,
Truly sapping one's spirit.

Wishing to go home,
Then knowing he can't.
Because that place died,
Long before he got back.

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

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The meaning of destruction.

Its cold, clouds grey, no sun to guide me,
hands search for the missing eye that has long since past.
I hear them bicker and curse, do you know what they are?
Slimy slurping dripping muck, the snow has gone, but left my
world with black soot earth.
These creatures seem to thrive on it, thrive on my shallow pit
of existence.
I gather myself, I crack my knees as I bend to pick a limb,
what should go first? Of course my feet to carry me.
With such effort for a pointless quest I begin to think that
there is nothing but death scraping at my neck, hinting at
my demise.
Ages since my trumpets call, they call me home from a 
nightmare of cry's and vomit.
My mind begins to flash with imagery beyond comparison,
a child I see inside my heart, is naked, blind, sick and pale,
OH GOD!! Where is the source for this madness.
I have gathered my pieces and attempt to walk, but see
that I have gathered more than my own share of flesh, there
are those that belong to men,the men thats beneath the soil,
the creatures are red inside my nails.
My color is that of a ruby stone, as cold as one and as hard 
no doubt.
CRACK! BANG! Lighting and sound rip through the sky, this sound
is not of guns or drums.
The dark sky is fat with victory, it spues out its fill upon me, it washes
my world around me only to reveal my horror.
My comrade, my friends, my enemy's and alas, the child of whom gave 
such sadness.
Did I die too? Looking at my broken self, was I tricked to war, yes, this was it,
the price to pay, to pay the earth for its company, it seems we were guests that
outstayed our welcome.
Ha! If we were ever welcomed, I don't think invasion is the same.

So clear now, the rain making sense of it all.
My knees don't crack as I begin to fall.
Cant you see me?I have been killed.
So you can keep your stomach tanks filled.
Thank you all, your prayers are gone.
To feed the horde there victory's won.

Is the memory gone from them?
The world is sane but our race is thin.
Is this world so leaderless? 
Mankind is lone, the world is fearless.
Must we die before they see?
No, die but twice before you free.

Do you have the answer?
With blood in hand and gun in holster?
No one has the meaning or an answer to a thing.
Just that they are happy with there life they have to bring.

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Holocaust - A Letter to General Eisenhower

Dear General Eisenhower:

Sir, you are a man of great wisdom and foresight
is this why you made sure photographs were taken
photographs of mass graves stuffed with rotting bodies
mass graves of naked men, women, and yes...children
herded into what they were led to believe were showers
yet not cleansing showers, but showers of deadly, lethal gas

General, could your reason have been that you understood
General, could you have KNOWN, understood and realized...

that there is an eternal battle between good and evil
that Satan and his servants are unwavering, relentless
that someday some would deny.....
that it ever happened?

*General Eisenhower realized that someday there would be those who would 
deny the holocaust even happened, therefore he took action. Citizens were 
made aware of the atrocities and pictures were taken

Submitted for: Cyndi MacMillan's contest
Theme: Wars and war crimes / conflicts

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Reflections of Cold Wars

Dad is that you?    What are you doing there in the mirror?

I am trying to shave and I don’t need any help.

Do they shave in heaven or is it just cribbage and puzzles?

Do you like it there? 

 Does it matter?

Yes of course it does.
As long as you feel better that’s all that matters.

Inside the monkey smiles and knows you want it to be better you don’t to have to sweat it. The guilt would kill you. After everything he did for you…….. Shutting down your dreams of college and trying to force you into the military . Making sure you never had enough money to get out of the hood and for Christ’s sake take care of your sister’s virginity. I survived only to look and be just like him.
And now what are you going to do? Dig the same hole. To late some asshole out on the peninsula has already started. He claims it cures cancer. All I know it that he stands in it for hours without moving and chants some mumbo jumbo. Too many years in special ops with the Air Cav can cause that to happen to a man. Hot LZ’s and medevac’s can make a man plum crazy- the things he sees.
They are everywhere and nowhere. Kill them all and let God sort them out was my mantra. If it can’t shoot and it ain’t breathing then it can’t hurt me. Stay low and keep moving cause if you stand still you become a target and if you get hit you become as statistic on a chart going round the world while they zip you up in body bag. And for what the CBS evening news with Dan Rather? Was it worth it; is it ever worth it to save freedom? What are we saving it from? Common belief would have us think that within every gook there was an American dying to get out. That ain’t the truth. For every gook there was a man and wife and a family and at the least they wanted peace. The question is who didn’t want peace? Was it the war machine in America? The Soviets do not want Americas to have a foothold in their territory. Is the domino theory still in effect or are there men that just never forget? I think when it comes to safety money wins out every time.
Wars leave people lonely; waiting and wondering what happened to the people they love. Some times they find each other and share the pure joy that only a human can fathom. Other times it never comes when we are left to wonder why we lost someone in the first World War. He was young and full of spirit. The old men egged him on trying to remember if they were peeling potatoes or sitting in a forward area shooting at Germans.
The cicada’s are out tonight and they are busting my balls. I can’t get that noise out of my head. I saw my head Doc today and they did an CAT scan but from preliminary sources it appears to be A OK. I don’t care what they say I still hear the Cicada’s and they aren’t waiting around for the next 17-year cycle. They are here now and they are in my head. No amount of drugs or alcohol seems to be able to drive them away. My Doctor chalks it up to my rock-roll-days and basically says that I am all but screwed and will never get better. I guess he's betting the odds that I will be dead before they find a fix. I am good with that. I am always up for a good wager. One day he will hear the choppers. And as old Willie Nelson once said, “There’s more old drunk’s than there are all doctors so I guess I will have another beer.” But if this buzzing doesn’t stop there’s going to be a momma with one less cowboy to have to have worry about. War kills people in the strangest and most mysterious ways.

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The Brave Bear and the Brown-Haired Boy

When bombs rained down a neighborhood
In Shiah, south Beirut one night
A brown haired boy tight clutched his toy,
A cuddly brown-furred bear, in fright.

And sobbing through the roaring din,
He whispered to his cuddly friend:
"Oh, Teddy, Teddy, hold me tight,
And stay until the bombings end."

The cuddly bear then softly spoke:
"My little friend, be not afraid.
Just hold my hand, and never cry,
We'll go to where all toys are made."

"We'll ride a fast, green, chugging train
That goes to Cave of Childhood Joy,
Just hold on tight and walk with me."
He told the brown-haired little boy.

And toddling off, they left in haste
To board the waiting silent train,
That left the station right on time
When all the other kids were in.

It softly chugged through tunnel bright,
Then reached the Cave of Childhood Joy.
All kinds of good things, there they saw,
And everywhere a brand new toy!

There, too, were dancing ice cream cones,
Brown trees with leaves of chocolate,
A bluebird singing on a branch:
"You're welcome all to choose and eat."

They did, and drank sweet soda pop
From spring they saw there flowing by;
They played on swings with silver chains,
While ponies neighed sweet lullaby.

Some drank fresh milk from gleaming cups,
And others picked sweet berries pink,
While others ate cream puffs so soft,
All fears just vanished in a blink.

The bear then told his little friend:
"I'll go to guard the tunnel door,
To stop the ants from getting in."
He left, and couldn't tell him more.

He hurried out that joyous place,
To bravely take his sentry post,
But bombs rained down the tunnel door
The entrance got, with rubble, lost.

And when rescuers came in haste,
To search through rubble for the boy,
They didn't find a trace of him,
But just his brave and cuddly toy.

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Bangladesh: The Birth of a Nation - II

A civil war flared up and raged on for freedom
Unequal it was, this bloody war for honour and secession
The natives renamed their land Bangladesh
Inviting anew the wrath of a desperate West

The army’s presence then, was overwhelming in their land
 Due to the simmering discontent within and a border to be manned
And from ground and air the armed forces effortlessly struck
It was anarchy all the way with the West’s army running amuck

In thousands they perished, nameless sons of the soil
But the army had orders and the people’s aspirations to foil
They killed and burned and looted and raped
Digging mass graves to conceal evidence of the dead

Granaries were burnt and villages razed
The troops shot all that moved and Bangladesh bled
Women captured alive, endured inhuman pain
Brutally used, they’d be killed with a bullet to the brain

Through their brutal acts in ’71, a sovereign state struck terror
And as news of the carnage spread, an impotent world watched in horror
Protector of civilian lives, the army had turned butcher
Nine months later and a million dead, Bangladesh resembled an abattoir

Resistance was futile against the war machine
Would the aspirations of Bangladeshi’s remain just a dream?
In this riverine country that year, the monsoons suddenly arrived
Rivers in spate impeded troop movement and halted the state’s genocide

With the receding flood waters, India joined the fray
But now Nixon’s 7th Fleet showing solidarity with Pakistan steamed into Bengal’s bay
Mercifully the Indian leadership stood resolute and undeterred
And the rampaging army in Bangladesh was quickly outmanoeuvred

There was no resistance from the state sponsored killers
Ninety thousand troops surrendered meekly to the liberators
Reports of atrocities and mass graves were dismissed as slander and lies
The masterminds were let off the hook, pressured by powerful allies

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Tonight, we have won

“You’re brave, you know
              …staying here with me in this brightly lit world
full of people with dark hearts.” 
"I don’t know if I’m brave." 
" but I’m not scared of dying either, 
because I never felt alive until I found you
                  …and the only reason this place is bright, is because of you.”
“The bombs flash, and light up my eyes, and you look into them deeper,
because we’re afraid. We’re clinging to life; using each other. Aren’t we?” 
"I am using you. I’m using your eyes as beacons, to find my way back to camp, your heart to calm the rhythm of my own; and find sleep in the chilling silence of my brother’s screams. He’s still out there, you know? His eyes were still open when we ran, I can’t believe I left him. I can’t believe he’s gone.." 
"You didn’t leave him, they took him. You would never leave anyone. You never left me, even when I told you to. Begged you not to follow me here…This wasn’t even your, nor your brother’s war." 
"Your war, is my war Angel…and my brother, he fell for the cause, or maybe he just wanted to protect me. I should have protected him!!" 
"Listen to my heart Samuel, feel it. We’re alive. We’re together. Tonight, we have won." 
-James Kelley 2014, All rights reserved.

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Wasting Away and Nowhere to Go

Alone, forgotten in this far away land 
Lies a soldier, a son and a very weary man 
Some think he’s dead, others could care less 
In some jungle in Viet Nam is his only address 
He didn’t enlist but the man called his name 
And four years later he’s almost completely insane 
At daybreak he’s in the fields, at night in the clink 
With nothing to do but to stare and to think 
He longs for his mother as tears fill his eyes 
If she could see him now, she get a huge surprise 
His girlfriend no doubt has moved on to better things 
Like dancing and partying and perhaps wedding rings 
But memories are precious as he clings to them all 
And oh to have mama’s spaghetti and meatballs 
Brother Jimmy hopefully will be college bound 
And never have to fight on any battleground 
His breathing is raspy, a bloody nose all the time 
And being drafted by Uncle Sam was his only crime 
He’s mostly skin and bone and his strength’s about gone 
He’s been to the bank too often and his account is overdrawn 
But still he holds on with hope in his heart 
That one day they’ll release him so he can depart 
He’s no longer a prisoner, he’s no longer in pain 
He’s now in the plot where of his comrades have lain 
Just another POW with perhaps a flag flying high 
But as for Private Earl Simpson, it was his time to die

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Battle of Beersheba

With thanks to Alfred Lord Tennyson:

"Charge" they said, and charge they led
   From out of a desert wadi:
Every man of the Light Horse Brigade
   Into the falling sun thundered!
Their pulsing veins - their loosened reins -
   Toward the wells of Beersheba
Rode the brave eight hundred

In gallop stride they fought and died
   On mighty Walers champing!
Every man in the Light Horse Regiment
   Faced a foe greater numbered.
Their rifles cocked - their bayonets locked -
   Onward the wells of Beersheba
Rode the brave eight hundred

Again and again the Lighthorsemen
   The Turkish lines outflanked:
Every man of the Mounted Infantry
   Of horse and rider wondered.
In squadron raid - in great crusade -
   Forward the wells of Beersheba
Rode the brave eight hundred

And across the sands into their hands
   The Ottoman guns fell silent:
Every man in the Desert Mounted Corps
   The battle trenches plundered!
With martial force - on valiant horse -
   Toward the wells of Beersheba
Rode the brave eight hundred

With God they strode, to victory rode,
   With Emu plumes in their hats:
Every man of the Expeditionary Force
   Sat his saddle or lay sundered!
Like Gideon of old - their trusty fold -
   Onward the wells of Beersheba
Rode the brave eight hundred

On horizon's red light, an heroic sight,
   In clouds of smoke and dust:
Every man of the Light Horse Brigade
   Across the desert thundered.
The legend tells of Beersheba's wells:
   How the march on Jerusalem
To glory led all eight hundred


Dedicated to the Australian Lighthorsemen whose legendary charge 
on 31 October 1917 at Beersheba was pivotal in the Allied victory in Palestine.

November 2010

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For This Reason

"Greater love has no man than this, 
that a man lay down his life for his friends."*

The four men were more than friends,
they were brothers. 
Brothers of different beliefs, 
but of the same Father.

Each took their Father's commands
literally, even unto death.
They embraced an icy, watery grave
with the six hundred sixty-eight others
who perished on February 2, 1943.

In Operation Drumbeat, German U-Boats
turned our eastern coast into a "Sea of Death,"
sinking U. S. Ships at the staggering rate
of 100 per month, churning the North Atlantic
into "a steaming human sea of fear."

Fear rode heavy on the shoulders 
of men aboard the U.S.A.T. Dorchester, 
plunged into terror in that hateful dawn,
packed "head to toe" in her bowels, 
torpedoed into eternity at 1:00 AM
Too late, they understood orders, 
to don warm clothing and life jackets
before hitting their bunks for sleep.

Four Chaplains stood strong,
in the face of mass panic,
hearts bursting with divine love,
speaking words of courage, hope, peace,
and hands offering life to 230 men,
giving their own life jackets and gloves.

Engraved in survivors' memories,
four Chaplains, arm in arm, braced
against the rail, praying the Lord's prayer,
and singing in the face of death. 

*John 15:13, RSV

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A Bunch Of Lunatics

I'm sure you've heard the expression In love with love Well that's me through and through Nothing in life is more important It can take over one's whole being But there's a bunch of lunatics in the world Who give us peace loving homo sapiens a bad name The lunatic fringe is what they're called Whose brains haven't developed beyond kindergarten In their mind, they're still fighting their schoolyard battles But on a much, much larger scale With much more tragic results Human life is expendable Not a consideration in the scope and scale of their conquests The end justifies whatever means necessary A side of us so called humans to be least proud of Will it ever change? Unfortunately I must answer no It seems to have been ingrained in our psyche eons ago No one is perfect But these lunatics are at the other end of the scale © Jack Ellison 2014

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Vera's first write

This is a write that I helped Vera with, as many people have asked her to write something. I helped to make it a better read for her, though I did not think she needed my help….Peter

Hi everybody, my name is Vera as some of you already know, and I am the wife of Peter Duggan. I came on this site to cheer Peter on, and also to read some poetry which I do enjoy at times. I have made a few friends on this site and correspond with some, and a few of them have asked me to write something. Now I have never done anything like this before, but I decided to humor these friends any way.

     I could not really think of anything to write about, but then I thought of a subject dear to both myself and Peter; the transformation that he has gone through in the last five years. This might be of interest, and indeed some help to others who are having problems within their relationships with others.

   We married in London in sixty five, Then emigrated to Australia in 1967 and our marriage was going very well, filled with love and laughter. But then Peter decided to join the army, and volunteered to fight in Vietnam, because he wanted to do something to repay this wonderful country back for letting him live here.

   When he came back to Australia, this was when it all went pear shaped. Peter started to change; he become very aggressive and Psychologically cruel to myself and our three children and was like a keg of dynamite just waiting to explode. He would argue about everything and anything, and got involved in many very nasty fights. No one could tolerate him for very long, and myself and the children often felt like we were walking on eggshells whenever he was around. He turned to alcohol, and cannabis, and he was always off his head on any one of those drugs. Having said all this, Peter was never physically aggressive to me or the children.        

     Anyhow, this all came to a climax, when he suddenly walked out on us all and decided he wanted to live like a bum. Said he wanted his freedom. This was the last time I saw him for a year. When because I loved him so very much, I asked him to come back to us again. He came back, but nothing really changed, in fact I told him he would never change, and I honestly thought our marriage was beyond repair. He had done so much counselling, read every book on self-help, and tried religion [all the major ones], but nothing really helped.

    Then one day about five years ago, Peter was perusing through the net, desperate to find someone to help him get rid of this evil that lurked within him He came cross a man named John Sherman, who claimed that he could help people with this simple little action, that he gave Peter to do. In his desperation Peter put his whole life into this simple act.

   He never strayed from this path, and after a month or two things started dropping away. Each day he seemed to get more, and more happy, so happy in fact that he seemed to bubble with happiness. His anger started to drop away gradually until it diminished completely. He still loves to argue, but he never has to be right all the time and treats it all as a game. How anyone can change so dramatically, is completely beyond me, but the miracle happened; the evidence is before me. If I ever won the lottery, I would donate half of it to the Sherman foundation, and would be totally happy to do this. But the only thing that we can do Is spread the Sherman’s work any chance we can get. We both owe them so much.

    Anyhow, this is my first write, and I hope that many people might gain something from it. Peter and I are now the the happiest couple that ever walked the face of the Earth. I thank all of you that chose to read, this. Whether I’ll ever make a second attempt one never knows. But I surely enjoyed writing this. Peter helped me to arrange the words, as I had no confidence in my own abilities…..Vera

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Approaching Hoof Beats of the Apocolypse

In the distant thunder I can hear the sound of riders drawing near
A gathering storm that will soon hit with great force
The first rider will ride in on a white horse a bow by his side
He comes in the name of peace and good will, but he practices to deceive with 
flattery and great skill
A red horse follows close on the first riders heels
He comes with a sword to take peace from the earth and cause men to kill
War shall ravage the land and the blood of men will flow as a river across the desert 
A black horse closes the distance
He will cause a great famine to spread over the land
Many shall cry out in hunger and pain as food shortages cause great strain.
Many shall die in this dark hour of need for there shall be found no grain or seed 
Riding in at full gallop the fourth horsemen approaches
The name of this rider is Death and Hell follows close behind him
Men shall watch in defenseless terror, for unto the pale horse 
Power is given to kill by the sword, with hunger and the beasts of the field
The time has come to sound a warning through the land for the approaching hoof 
of the apocalypse is nigh at hand

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Under Great Duress

How can people in war ravished countries Ever think about anything else Can any one of these tortured souls Ever sit down and write poetry And if they can, could they ever write about happiness Would their poems only be about killing and destruction Or could their humble spirits rise above the turmoil And write about a different, happier world It is something I've often thought about I would hope that the human spirit would prevail But I can't imagine it would under such duress It would take a very special soul That could rise above these horrible conditions I would be interested to read something From any brave soul that could manage In spite of their situation, to come forward And express the anxieties but as well The incredible human spirit that shines through I wait with great anticipation! © Jack Ellison 2014

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Can't We All Just Play Nice

Against all odds, we humans have survived All the wars, natural disasters, and incredibly ourselves We are such a combative lot It's a wonder that we are able to co-exist at all Everybody wants to be King of the Mountain But what's the purpose Really, no one gets out of this life alive So stop and think about that for a moment... NO ONE gets out of this life alive! Shouldn't that be a sign, a reason To make the most of our lives while we're here Rather than running amok killing our fellow humans Destroying our manmade structures I've lived a lot of years Observed a boatload of childish behaviour Exhibited by a bunch so called intelligent people The world is just one big playground Can't we all just play nice © Jack Ellison 2014

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Arabic Poem by: Adnan Abu Andalus*
Translated into English by: 
Inaam Al-Hashimi (Gold_N_Silk) 
No feather on his head
To escape hell
Was not a legendary hero of Rome
Nor a pirate with dreadlocks was he
 He was a soldier without a gun
 Guarding the land between the two grieves
 Conversing with himself
 And falls asleep with a whimper

Every night....
The Corporal gets down on his breath: 
“Get up it's time for your duty..
No matter how late you wake up
You will die!”
The sun generates the moment 
He begins to convey gunpowder
The storm spins 
The plane is hovering
Turns spirally
And doomsday befell Erkallios!

The child died
The child, Erkallios, melted
 Between fire and iron
 Screaming as if the moment
 Splintered Mayday
 The sound returned disappointed
 He …died.. with .. his ... with his comrades!
The plane, a cemetery for forty
Is lying on the road
Black ....
Like a corpse of a dead whale
Translated by Em. Prof. Inaam Al-Hashim
*Adnan Abu Andalus is a poet from Iraq
“Erkallios” from his poetry collection  “The Smell of Doomsday”

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Red Step in the Blitz

Drones abound the London sky 
Search lights stray and flick to something and nothing
The bicycle dings its bell every sixth house 
As the warden swishes his front tyre left and right up the empty evening street
The council house drapes of black and brown are shut tight regulation tight

He's coming he's coming tape up tape up she shouts
Don't want another fine for light
The grub is ready at the back door for a quick dash to the air-raid shelter in the night
Sirens whail and bellow and bomber engines humm in ever louder melts

Fire fire and the engines leave the call centre and head the regular route to the city
God bless em souls the dear old lady calls as she stirs the black current jam
Whistling bombs and Stucker dives throttle and hurtle a miss
But they land too well and devastate the docklands and the strip

Hell's fire rages along the wharfs as fire-ships spray the warehouses
Brave soles are they who stay out amid the descending droplets of terror
Face the wrath of Germany's luftwaffe who continue to pour water and pull souls
And morning cannot come fast enough for to French shores a retreat 

Arrival of Dawn and the last bombers chug away hasseled by the RAF
And down descends a lonely Tommy ace one of our own bewildered lads
Parachute wrapped and Tommy sitting on Sally's polished red front door-step
Here are her two prides of joy: One sitting on the other; the live one her brother.

(One of her biding memories of the London Blitz)

Night time Bombing raid in London's fair City during Second World War

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If I had lived yesterday
in that chaotic world echoing
of Gatling guns shots and canon blasts,
I would have made a difference:
hate and prejudice would have not prevailed,
and power wouldn't have been abused;
from History's records, we know that even 
when Jesus lived it wasn't that peaceful!
During the American Civil war,
Northerners fought Southerners...
did they hear Scarlet's desperation,
or the moaning of her loss as war went on?
And for sometime, it had become
a modus vivendi she couldn't change.
Let's return to the stark reality of the present:
have we noted some drastic changes
in Government and social behavior?
Yes, it has given us more liberty,
but another war has shattered many hopes
of ever seeing peace as blood continues to be shed...
while nations arm themselves to their teeth!
How can we welcome those winds of change and feel safe,
if we tell our children that danger still exists?
And has society been kinder and more caring?
Obscenity, teen sex, violence, greed, vulgarity
and exploited sexuality are being condoned by many;
we wouldn't be that cool if we didn't use obscene words,
and worst of all, we are called hermits or asexual
if we abstain from sex to prevent those sexual diseases!
Is this rebellion, or a trend of the new generation?
Having unprotected sex, making babies, 
laying the burden on their Government that's fighting
a terrorist war? Do we seen any future
for these lost kids who imitate the habits of their parents?
Blame them? Ah! Lots of things would be changed,
if they turned to God and ask for His guidance!
And to end my visceral narrative, I shamefully confess, 
" I hate to live in this loathsome age of greed!"

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The Known Soldier

Last night awakened with thoughts of him
How long has it has been, only
Yesterday … 

First one I ever saw laid out
I sixteen, he nineteen, Viet Nam 
Airborne …

Purple complexion seeping through under glass 
I gaze on doll-like hair
Broomcorn …

His uniform perfect, tie straight
Blouse olive, at attention
Airborne … 

No one else at the funeral home
Me and a girl friend too early for death
Careworn …

Dead before he hit the ground
Cut down by ground-fire first jump no longer
airborne ...

So many years now, forty-two,
awakened with thoughts of him,
Wind-borne …

Still see his body rigid attention
rumor wire for arm, died before his time
Soilborne …

Didn’t know him well, would he
still be here if not
Airborne …

Would we have smoked and talked about 
women if he would be
reborn …

And what of Thua Thien, what now 
monument, blood of airborne boys?
Golf course …

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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

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A Place Above the Crowd

Killed in Action....
   Now his absence will be grieved
   This is how they will perceive him

He was the boy, we didn't really notice
He always had a smile
A little shy, smaller than the rest
Although he tried, he was never the best

But he always had a smile

Never the best at hitting the ball
or winning a race, or having a face
that the rest of the gang would notice at all

But he always had a smile

He was the guy, that people forgot
It's not that they meant to do any harm 
It is just that they thought he lacked the charm

Rejected by some, neglected by most
Too quiet they stand above the crowd

Even though he always had a smile that heads are bowed....they notice him

Only the war had use for him...long enough to lose him

Killed in action....

Funny about that he is gone....they are even writing songs of him

But he was a hero....long before they noticed

For David's Contest: Heros or Heroines 6/7/12

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Untitled #300 / Thermopylae and King Leonidas

Thermopylae, Thermopylae
King Leonidas at

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Breeding the Cull

"Hear me." that’s how it always starts. Some loud mouthed tyrant stepping on the backs of his followers, to throne the salted vigor of his speech.
"Hear me!" 
"Follow me into this place, unknown maybe, but full of gifts to those willing to take it from the mouth of destiny, I assure you. The FATE that you…Yes YOU have earned with your blood, your sweat, your SACRIFICE! For you have left the bed of your woman, to fight for your country, for your KING! Do you not deserve the respite of hunger, of shelter? Have WE not earned that?”
And the crowd’s hungry stomachs tremble beneath the throe of desperate and determined screams both invoked and festered by the name they call KING; who seeks only to grip a longer whip, to reach further than the crown before him. 
"Hear me!" "So I may show you the way, to freedom!”
The lash of a tongue, is sometimes much stronger than that of a whip..
for it is much more deceiving.
 -James Kelley 2014, All rights reserved.

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I stand within these walls of comfort,
Called freedom.
While in every corner of this world,
My siblings die.

Brothers and sisters of earth,
Struggling for hope.
My vagabond mind wanders in circles,
Searching for answers.

Still, questions hang like dead fog,
Which never lifts.
Explosions of pain that ears can hear,
Waking my eyes in morning papers.

Wars giving less than nothing,
Smother my senses in useless regret.
So many feeling so sorry,
Yet simply changing channels.

Compassion being a dirty word,
Those elite few have come to despise.
While walls they've built soon crush them,
Beneath weight of their own insincerity.

Intellectual nitwits,
Unaware of their bottomless ignorance.
Marching beneath a banner of confusion,
They proudly do wave.

All the while chanting,
Let the common ones eat dirt.
As their warm apple pies quietly cool,
On selfish shelves.

As unfortunate mothers loudly weep in despair,
Watching their children expire.
These ones of power do not hear those sounds of death,
Only their greed raging out of control in a battle outside.

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

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Soldiers dying
Children crying
In a strange and far off land.

Bullets killing
Bombs so chilling
This the work of our own hand?

We are the ones who did invade
Duped by leaders we did trust.
Misled by claims of mass destruction,
Hard to ask – but now we must.

Did our leaders so betray us -
Sell their souls for desert oil?
 Have they shamed our mighty nation -
Brought dishonor to our soil?

Will we now repeat this process
Raining death on one and all?
While we try to kill the evil
All the innocents will fall.

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I need twelve and ten
welcome to the world    l  cumminity land          like i had a lond dream
and i dont know sweet     then genesis media    off the finish stoll
i be quoting nig all day long beg please loven of money not qurrel and member what to do to work another day colin no no no ready it is not please please I need drugs and  snuff went through the night sleep the number count zek and inquistion anything oppressed? labs ton me drop drop? 
I like my church oil
i woke up and laughing     stay alive a wrath news        chrsitna mute point!
this so be twelve friends balling        somatic revolution my friends
the name of god       perhaps two more quick       tell us a story 
perfection love work       dont drink cis term      just let me lay down
forn me lorn me sweet cool is myy ears darn.. and get naked non meditating wise excommunicated adonai plan reeds then flee from me cause you would go tell tell the whole hellis sweet Imish working world if you new mim.
then  Miss. come from and will all in locus that i got to teach myself and everthing but this is twelve mox sex mor of it. all right pills the pills more mins and the other stuff yes!

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Balance Within

Introduction: Even if you're tied to barely holding on, your control over will power shall pull you up towards the truth and success. But only if you believe up to all, that it's stronger than what you could be - that's when you balance the fall...

You may get old
Your memories may drown,
But your soul won't get cold
And beliefs won't breakdown.

Just don't you let go
As you never know,
Things you seek for all your years
They could be in your back yard.

Find the truth within the lies,
Fight your pride to end this cry,
Trust your soul; open the door
Balance yourself and roll the stones.

The one's you heart will always stay
So don't throw life out your doorway,
Life's too short and it's too real
Sometimes it's hard to see and feel

That's how you live a life,
The risk that breaks you down to bits
Saves and brings you back alive,
That's what we call the gift of life.

No matter how rough things might get
We get rewards for the risks we take,
No matter how hard or sad
Learn and value what you have.

Though, too much pride will leave you dried
Don't let 'hopeless', be your life's stride,
None of this will you take to grave,
Your deeds will lay, only your pave.

As you breathe in and do breathe out,
Make each one profound
And stand your ground,
As lies are just the fantasy,
The truth - is your ecstasy
And this will forever be plain to see... 

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Road to Redemption

Introduction: Tribute to brothers in the fray and families for them pray...

Life in these rough times, We barely even feel the daytime Every second counts greatly, As there’s no going back in time Sometimes we lose to win, try not to fail again, But mostly we end up back to where we all began Every single day, we wake up in one piece, Where brothers in the fray, they hardly get to cease Our tears drop all over the floor, They keep on till their blood stains from their core Every second till the end, We pray for them to knock on our doors Sadly at times, things go the other way for the best cause, All we can do really, is not breakdown and pause Prayer’s the only strand through the last breath, When they depart with a peaceful end Emptiness and happiness, constantly flowing along, The memories, they always live right within our souls When days seem cloudy and life gets lonely Debts grow high and smiles fade into sigh At that instant, that very moment, Just pray, pray to get healed, Heal from this insanity, pray to be free, Free from this misery It all comes down to the crying in the end, The stillness stares up towards the sky As we do bid farewell to dear friends But at some point through all the pain and sour grin, recovery does begin The ones we love and care, Though some are not so near Scattered through this bittersweet world, Waiting for us to share; This life is like the weather, It changes altogether It may get bad and may get sad, But know it’s not forever, Better days will come eventually, The morning sun will shine brightly Through our endeavors and our prayers, we shall recover From things we’ve lost so dearly So just hold on to the light and believe in salvation, And the rays of truth shall lead the road to redemption…

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Be Like Lot

Carving out some
solitude, for
fortunes have
weighed against me
Tracking life's
linear roots to a
place just beneath
Graced with our
unwritten moral
code, and bracing
for any violent
onslaught that may
invade my personal
space between now
and the near future.
Slicing up some
thick thoughts.
After sounds trade
my mind for sketches
and jots. 
A blatant repulsion
of all things.
Disregarding bits
and pieces of the
whole as i dwell on
an entire field of
Soaking in Sun's big
Drifting in and out
of minutes and pit
frankly, less
It's this place.
It's my face. 
It's this hazed over
valley and this
state of ignorant
It's my late claim
of bitter taste.
But a simple answer
does await.  
Pack up all your
Now, leave, and be
like Lot.
Don't move your
neck, don't turn
your head, for upon
you finally lay that
violent onslaught.

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Wartime Wedding

You would've labeled it a shotgun wedding,
if you'd seen how we rushed it,
snagging the license on Friday morning
and exchanging vows that same evening.

No white dress, no people-packed pews,
simply a long drive in my brother's Chevy,
from St. Louis to Morse Mill, Missouri;
that July day burned into our memories
at a hundred four degrees, no A/C, 
and a flat tire on the road to the church.

Uncle Vernon officiated 
in a less-than-five-minute ceremony. 
You mean that's it? Is this legal?
I certainly didn't feel married!
"They'll think you're pregnant," 
my mother said. No chance of that, 
with our entire courtship advanced 
solely through airmail letters.

He was marked for Japan, 
courtesy of the U. S. Air Force.
Only death or instant wedlock 
were valid pleas for allowing leave.
We hadn't clapped lips together in 10 months.
When he called, I said yes,
and we had the shotgun wedding,
without the gun.

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GREEN Chapter Five

Taking their leave the Black Crime 
Syndicate top raking members wanted to
know what Malik and Jade was talking 
about.  "Just stay in y'all lane and let
me and Jade handle things" getting into 
his car Malik pulled off.  Malik lived alone
in a one bedroom apartment and drove a 
1996 Impala.  Malik wasn't a big spender 
show off.  He liked to stay under 
everyone's radar.  Only a few members of 
The Black
Crime Syndicate knew where Malik lived.  
Mecca was one of them.  So seeing 
slumped over on his doorsteps was some 
what a surprise.  Looking at the figure 
Malik could
tell that it was a woman.  "Who could this 
be?"  thought Malik as he got out of his 
Malik's brain was racing a hundred miles 
per hour.  Reaching out his hand to touch 
the woman
that's when he noticed bloody money 
stuffed into the woman's mouth.  "What 
the ****?" 
Malik's jaw dropped.  Looking into the 
dead woman's face recognizing who she 
was.  "Damn
Violet who did this to you?" taking step 
back he saw folded paper in Violet's right 
hand.  Taking the paper out of Violet's 
hand and reading it.  Malik couldn't 
what he was reading.  "It's in the best 
interest of The Black Crime Syndicate to 
stay out
of the escort business.  The Green Nation 
don't like The Black Crime Syndicate 
planting flowers in our flower bed.  The 
city of
Green Haven is our flower bed.
We had to uproot Violet to show The Black 
Crime Syndicate how serious The Green 
Nation is.  Thank you
and have a nice day".  
Written by Keith Edward Baucum aka The 
Green Poet aka Red Seven aka The Brown 

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Three travelers are
having breakfast at
the halfway home
"Ever since," Says
the captain,"I take
my coffee black.You
know how it is,when
you go black you
don't go back!"  
The soldier
said,"Make it
cream!"He winks at
his comrade and
proclaim,"When you
go white,nothing
else seem right."  
Table no.3 at the
corner call
Mocha!" He lifts up
the mug,beckons the
fellas and say."When
you go brown,you get
the crown!"  
Haha!Yes i know.But
that does not
necessarily make
them racial!It could
be preference or
even referential!  
As a Christian,i
pray for Israel.It
is not really an
obligation,its a
chemistry.Like most
people,i too
certainly is in love
with Israel!Not to
mention the fact
that,it is an added
blessing on those
who bless Israel.
However,it is also
written,"He who has
eyes,let him see and
he who has ears,let
him hear." I have
both,its the reason
why am able to
discern right from
wrong.So yes,am all
united for a free
Does that make me so
wrong in being
right?Or so right in
being wrong?

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Remember Us as Smoke

It’s a highway nightmare, or it should be,
but no one’s afraid (too much)
and the road just thunders and hummmms
on and on and on and on
under that greedy summer sun.

All of their guns are cocked and loaded
but we’re still wondering:
	Water or bullets?
	Joke or truth?
	Which is which?
I’m starting to like that you can never be sure
if that’s water or mortality dripping
from their barrels,
from their thumb-tacked smiles.

Then there’s us.
We live in the realm of
nonsense and secrets and
pure dangerlust.
I think it’s the hint
of the war zone in you
that keeps me in this.

You see,
I was born on a battlefield,
in the gunsmoke and sulfur
and dirt and lead;
I was raised in a war zone,
where I scrabbled for a wisp of meaning
among scores of hardened soldiers
(but mostly,
among the ones who had
no choice, 	no love, no fight).

I was forged in violence.

I belong in your
You’re a manifestation of trenches and dust,
of rubble and the cold thrill of martyrdom,
and I fit as a toy soldier
(too much truth there)
on the board of a child’s game.

Maybe real people
don’t fit together quite like we do,
but I’d rather be the
blistered pig iron ideal of a vagabond
than some shadow still hopelessly searching
for something that’s not there.

At the end is a firefight of old Hollywood proportions,
but I’m combat-ready and you’re battle-eager,
so let’s stop pretending that we don’t love this anymore.
(because I do I do I love it more than you)
We’ll keep writhing in the dark
until our time is up, but let’s see if
before we fizzle out, maybe we can
take a few of them down with us.

Fight me and love me,
don’t you ever settle
for an armistice, a cowardly end;
not if you want to go out as binary stars
or conjoined twins,
held together not by gravity or skin
but by the struggle to be
the triumphant,
the blood-soaked and victory-stained
of this whole affair.

So I won’t listen when they
say that this is all just something we’ve created
in our heads.
(If war is the opposite of creation,
how could we create one?
When matter and anti-matter
the only output is mutual annihilation.
Does that make us
n o t h i n g?)

We’re pushing 120 in this
high-octane pipe-dream set on the stage
of the bitterly hopeful Midwest. I’ll play
Bonnie if you’ll be Clyde,
but really, 
I think we’re a second Genesis
that’s been penned as a high-speed chase. 

We will never be hit.
We will never be caught.
We will only win. 

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Why we have missiles?
To get them rusted in some iron containers,
And to do nothing when we continue to loose our men,
children in ghastly act done by coward soldiers of terrorists.

Why we have army, air-force & navy when we don’t have courage,
To fight that bastard who is responsible for every tear of my eye.
I hate dying like this again & again after every ridicules shot of those
Terrorists, if they want to kill me, kill me before me but not after me.

My life has changed because of that hidden enemy, I get checked
Every time I go to my metro or library as if I am not a human being
But an object, I am tired of this life; you may not see the chains I am in,
But let me tell you, I am not free.

They kill me in bus, train, market, plane; they kill me in hotel, road, beach and
Lane. They kill me anywhere they want and I get killed easily and always.
If it’s only me who has to get killed every time and everywhere then why not
In a bigger occasion like a war then to find a bomb in my own car.

Enough is enough ……….. I want WAR.

This time I am not going to blame any minister, politician, officer,
Policeman or even my enemies.
If it’s my fate to live like this, I am going to accept it and fight against it,
To either win my life or loose it, bravely.

When my GOD send me to this earth, he didn’t told me that I have to
Live in such a great fear and uncertainty.
That means he wanted me to enjoy life free & fearless and going by his
Choice, I will not leave myself on the mercy of some ill-minded men.

I miss the song of sparrow in this noise of guns; I miss the smell of air which is
choked by the smoke of burning layers, I miss all the things I used to do freely
when I was small and I wish my earth would not have had to face these
days but I know life will never be the same again as it was.

This is not that kind of world; I would like to leave behind me for my children,
And to the people who will come on this land after me.
Its time to act, to do what is needed and to kill the killers before we get killed.
My patience has crossed the bar.

We cannot afford this ‘peace’ …………….I want WAR.

[Throughout the poem I- stands for INDIAN not for the poet]
………………………………………………………………………….by every INDIAN not only VG!!


After the Mumbai attack on 26-29 November 2008 the poet was shattered, he was crying, he was angry, frustrated and wanted to launch a war on terrorists.

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Battle of Manila

My great, great, Uncle who fought in the
 Spanish-American War, although this was 
long before my time I was proud, my hero…

As told to me, he was in the Battle
 of Manila, he lost his life on March 30, 1899
 in this Battle…

Sending all the bodies of the heroes who 
fell on the Manila battlefield were brought
 to their respective homes…

The boy who gave his life for his 
country in the Spanish and Philippine
 Wars, arrived in Osceola Monday 
at 10:45 a.m. for burial near his
 family home…

War is a terrible thing, but freedom
 Is not free and it is a must!

By Sandra Lea Hoban

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Darker Blood

Rome was burning; the smell of invasion
deep in smoke, spread all over the Aegean Sea;
swords and shields were flooded in blood;
blood that belonged to Roman and Celtic race.

"It appears that we Romans have the same blood
as the Celts!" a philosopher exclaimed.

The Celts blood was believed to be darker than Romans',
for they were primitive savages, unlike the Romans;
the Romans tainted the etiquette of virtue by invading
the Celts' home of their ancestors.

It was now hard to know which blood was darker.......

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Long Live the King

My bow drawn back.
A deadly silence laid over the kingdom.
Not a sound has been made, quiet as death.
i hear foot falls in the distance, coming closer.
I press harder into the brush, awaiting the intruders.
Three lords and the King steps into the clearing.
My bow relaxes.
The nobles are mourning the fallen knights, what . . . laughter.
Cruel, mocking laughter.
The lords pull out bags of gold and laid them at the kings feet.
The kings servant, deaf and mute, carried the gold to the Kings castle.
His majesty pulled out a small bag and thrust it into the shadows.
A mercenary strode into the open, clutching the bag,
My anger boiled, he was using the money earned by knights to hire a mercenary!
More laughter, they dare mock the heroic deeds of the knights!
Why would the knights give themselves to such a pitiless, greedy King?
What of the families of those dead knights, they must need that money!?
The Lords and Mercenary  hurled insults at the spirits of the noble knights.
The King laughed.
Fury erupted within me, I let loose my arrow.
                                      twang-fssst                  twang, twang-fssst, fssst
The lords lay dead at the greedy Kings feet. 
Wide eyed, the King stepped behind the nameless Mercenary.
Only the King remained.
The King fell to his knees and died.
I retrieved and cleaned my arrows, then placed them in my quiver.
I thought of curses matching the Kings character.
They where all to kind.
None would make his black soul repent in his actions in death.
Some sweetly sour words sprang to my lips as I approached the coming dawn.
                                                    "Long Live the King"

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With heavy heart I take my leave of her.
My loves’ desperate screams pierce the still morn.
To war I go and must not look back for fear of faltering.
A duty to perform, a faceless enemy awaits.

Like a young herd of cattle comrades huddle together.
Seventeen and ashen faced their terror swells within.
In my hand a cherished picture firmly clasped.
There will be a time to let go, but it is not in this moment.

The dust and smoke erupts on landing.
My heart, racing so ferociously, might leap from my chest
My weapon of slaughter cocked menacingly
I run blind into this frenzy of hate.

The executed collapse around me
A steady tide of innocent blood saturates my leaden boots.
A searing pain rips through my wearied body
I surrender myself to the inevitable darkness.

My spirit is extinguished now
A crushing sense of unfulfillment envelopes me
My love awaits an impossible reunion
My fingers unfurl, memories to dust.

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Just Like Me

Sometimes I like for my poems to tell a small story that occasionally has a twist at 
the ending.  You never know where my poems might lead until you've read further:

Just Like Me

Monday morning was gloomy and cold
A little like I 'd felt when I had been told
That you’d be leaving.
You had warned me that life would be like this
You had said the military wouldn’t end our bliss

The café was quiet and a static radio played
Nondescript music was just a noise that was made
Background for tears.
But I knew I had to be brave and strong for you
Yes, it was true, I knew what I was getting into.

You’d left the recruiting office when I'd first met you
It had started to rain and you pulled off a wet shoe
Hobbling into the cafe
I invited you over and we talked, I remember clearly
Smiling at how excited you were about the military.

Fluorescent lights were blinking a yellow-blue hue
We were sitting quietly now at that same table for two
Silence full of words.
I looked at you and wanted to say what I was thinking.
But distraction was made by the coffee cups clinking.

We drank our coffee and I wondered what to say
I couldn’t pretend that this was just another day.
The words spilled:
The house is way too quiet when you are gone
Promise me this time you won’t be gone so long.

You sighed deeply, pushed back your chair and stood
I thought how that uniform always makes you look good.
You grabbed the bill.
I know that I'm lucky to have such a wonderful life
Just as I know I’m lucky to have such a beautiful wife.

I knew that we’d have to leave and say goodbye
You paid the bill and I managed to hold my sigh
The ride was too short.
You said for me to take good care of our son
But it was getting late and you’d have to run

Kisses and hugs were over too way too quickly 
You waved goodbye and disappeared in a hurry.
One more time.
I sighed and drove off, remembering our embrace.
I picked up our son early so I could see your face.

We stopped at the store and picked up groceries
And on our way home he counted all the trees.
Every single one.
We ate dinner and he said as we watched the TV
Some day he hoped to be a great dad just like me.

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21C-Warfare a Staged Art-form

Who remembers it
a bombed out hulk   a small meaningless train
carrying small meaningless PEOPLE
over a rickety bridge straddling the Juzna Morava River
fourteen KILLED    some CHILDREN
one meaningless pregnant WOMAN
sixteen wounded    but who remembers
UNWORTHY victims

It was a cunningly theatrically staged event 
(a harbinger of 21st CENTURY ART-WAR)

ART-WAR   The Art of Theatrical Experimentation
ART-WAR   The Logistics of Perception
ART-WAR    Humanitarianism    as Strategie de la deception
ART-WAR    The Pentagons RMA    Revolution in Military Affairs

 (O' what evils are sanctioned in the name of humanitarianism)

A NATO F-15E Strike Eagle    in acute timing
released one AGM-130 precision-guided munition
precisely as Train 393 was crossing the bridge
then returned to release another     

it was an “uncanny” accident    a regrettable happening 
explains the U.S. Supreme Allied Commander    collateral damage 
it was the rickety bridge we were targeting
Train 393 just came too fast
here it is    watch closely    (run the film)

see the gun-camera video     (a modern art-form)
393 just came too fast    look    (they keep re-playing the film)
(no one knew that the media version of the film was sped up 4.7 times)
Who really cared    (the field of perception was set)

uncanny    how two AGM-130’s precisely hit the train
uncanny    how imprecise CASUALTIES are
uncanny    how precise     COLLATERAL is

WAR IS ART-form    ART-WAR very carefully EDITED
the STAGE is expertly set    but never forget
the UNTRUTH of it ALL     LIES on the cutting room floor

where the unworthy are exhaled
by the breath of sibilance  Shhhhhhhhhhhhh...............

but let it be known      I AM AGAINST FORGETTING

"Against Forgetting" is a collection of  historical narratives
By Geo. V.   2002
Soundtrack No-15
CD Titled "Untracked" 

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when war is not a war

When war is not a war. 

Kinetic movements causes bomb to fall 
over Libya. Hence we are not at war with 
that country, because Kaddafi’s army is
is not shooting at us. 
War is only war when we get hurt or killed.
We have been able to banish war from
 our vocabulary...

Send forth unmanned helicopters and 
drones, we are only engaged in a kinetic 
operation to subdue the savages. 

There is no war between the good guys 
In Benghazi and Gaddafi’s people in Tripoli 
It is a skirmish   
And NATO operation in Libya is purely an exercise 
in Kinematic forward movement.

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Dust rises from the rutted road.  Cannon laden caissons rumble slowly forward.  A red sun competing with the campfires glow. Weary troops break camp, joining the ranks of
colleagues on the move. An enemy, unseen, lays before them, waiting to exact a deadly blow.

Bellowed orders cut through the hushed encampment, bugles sound, urgency pervades.  Battle lines are drawn, men marching, resolve and fear etched upon their hearts.

Artillery from behind sing the opening anthem. Flashes on the horizon acknowledging their song.  In quickstep they press toward the waiting army, searching til they face the long gray line.

A fusillade rips through the forward soldiers, leaving death and carnage in its wake. A
row of men drop in lines of destruction, their cries of pain soon muted by the battles call.
Panicked faces seek cover as their Captains, yell and threaten, urging them on.

Deadly canister screams overhead, delivering their fingers of death,   Fragments of life left littering the field. “Close ranks” the Captain cries. “Rally round the colors.” In the
face of death the army presses onward, drummer boys beating cadence on their drums.

Smoke and bodies soon consume the landscape, fragments of lives lost, attesting to the
horrors of the day. On and on the contest rages. Giving, taking, winning, losing, dying. 
Until welcome darkness cloaks the field of battle, forcing war to take a short respite

In darkened fields, litter bearers rummage through a broken army.  Seeking those whose ravaged bodies won’t surrender, selecting those who might still have a chance.

Hot tears run down the face of hardened soldiers, gripped by a mix of anger, fear and
sorrow. Mourning for the sons and brothers taken. Respecting those that they must leave behind.

Unknown to them this is but a beginning.  A scene to be replayed so many times.  Our
nation would become a blood soaked homeland. Each side sure that they were on His side.

Time would leave its scars upon our nation.  Destroying in an effort to unite.  A terrible
price would be exacted. With the lives of many men it would be paid  

The War Between The States officially ended April 9, 1865.  The conflict cost 624000 lives.

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The Perfect Gift

Nine months is not very long...although
it seems forever, since you've been gone.

I still remember that knock at the door, two
strangers, I recognized, by the uniforms they wore.

Disbelief in the words, I heard them say...killed in
action, on Christmas Day.

When you left me, for a land far away...I ask Jesus
to keep you safe.

I have been so alone, with just my memories of you,
but today your Christmas Present arrived, and he is
so cute.

He came into this world, giving me back my life,
someone I can hold , all through the night.

Merry Christmas, my sweet soldier...the words 
I never got to say, you gave me a gift so perfect,
in every way.

Even though you are not here, to hold your son,
I promise, he will always know his father, and the 
good you have done.

We will decorate our tree in Red- White- and Blue...
"This year, and always, in remembrance of you."

Merry Christmas from us both, your wife, and baby son,
we will all be together one day....when our work is done.

"Please, pray for our soldiers."

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Death and beyond

Hours transpired like every other day. Perched on the trees, sparrows chirped, keeping the dreadful silence at bay, and sunlight across the land, whipped. Laid there on the grassy lawn, was a lovely lass dressed in a corset. Smelling the blossoms like a fawn, enchanted was she by nature's best. Up the hill ran a hysterical lad, his face as white as a sheet, shattered her heart to more than just a shard, and made her swoon to her feet. Minutes rolled to hours, and hours to days, and there she sat like a stone. With her eyes so lifeless and cold, her once rosy lips now as dry as a bone. Draining her blood was her soul, turning her visage as of a ghoul. Neither did she eat, nor drink, as she stooped over life's brink. Deep down was an endless bottom, which her rotting psyche couldn't fathom. The day came when her eyes lit up, like a hopeless spark in a dark cavern. She let go and set her eyes on the stars afar, and said "I'll be there wherever you are".

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Just Fishing

Way off the coast of Maine he is fishing
while soldiers he sent to war are dying;
and out in the desert blood is flowing
as he is busily catching some marlin.

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The Crown

Special Note: This poem is a satrical piece about working at a certain fast food 


The blackened moat surrounds the scene;
The castle gently rests;
The crown is in its rightful place,
Inside the emerald chest.

So all is well and all is fair,
Until a servant spots
A lonely mav'rick at the gate
That's followed by the flock.

The lobbyists are mounting as
Rebellious tensions rise;
But if they want to gain their own,
Then they must read the skies.

The skies hold every answer that
Can help them make the choice;
The able ears that guard the front
Will have to hear each voice.

They all cry out the same demand:
"The crown and nothing more!"
Their countenance was of revolt:
"Prepare, you pigs, for war!"

The servant runs to tell the knights
Who then inform the king;
"If it's a war they really want,
Then war they shall receive."

"Remove the weapons from the fire
And arm yourselves with them!
We'll fight until the sun is gone!
Or nay! We'll fight to there'nd beyond.
Until their blood's condemned!

The battle then ignites;
The army bravely fights
From flesh to steel.
"No vic'try till
The rush has left our sights!"

The knights are off the mound.
The front is losing ground.
"I have a plan,"
So says a man.
"Let's give them all a crown."

The project seems to please
The over-cherished pleas.
"Alright, set forth
Your mystic course
And bring them to our knees."

The smith begins to realize
The wishes of his lord,
He forges crown to phony crown
And gives away the horde.

The renegades are backing down
And holding up their blades;
"It's almost like they didn't plan
On making any trades."

"It seems as if they only want
To feel as though they won;
Will they not know the falsery
And think the battle's done?"

"Please, your highness, do not fret;
This happens everywhere
Supposed lions always bite
Before they 'come aware."

And so the war is now complete,
The castle, unopposed;
And after all is put away,
We hang this banner: "Closed".

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War World II was raging over this
southern Italian town* spared by a miracle...
a deluge that suddenly occurred: 
a night of blasting sounds, of rising flames 
as American planes bombarded its buildings;
the Nazis fled to occupied Naples.
In the North, the Fascits were executed,
as the Dictator Mussolini himself was. 

The farms could not be furrowed deep and neat,
fear hung over the farmers' shoulders;
and wheat couldn't grow abundantly to make bread,
and brazen women to a distant granary they went, 
risking their lives to grind the wheat kernels;
they were no young men in town, or the older ones
who had gone to war for a concept so deceptive.
Many youngsters and soldiers were kidnapped by the Nazis, 
to be taken to Germany as prisoners of war...who would have 
challenged the Third Reich, or disobeyed?

Old women with handkerchiefs on their heads, weeping loudly
and mourning the tranquil town it once lovely and happy, 
and their cry was too bitter and inconsolable to be hushed;
now, even bread was taken away from them,
damning the cruel Duce, who had betrayed them for vanity...
why did he bring prosperity to Africa, not to Italy?
Why was his ego so manipulated by Hitler's cleverness...
that he could have conquered peoples and lands?

Ruins and dead kindred...a scenery of dread and abomination,
and the lively memory of begonias on their sunny balconies 
brought a sweet nostalgia in an hour of horror and death;
and gathered among the crumbled walls, their rosaries  
recited with graceful whispers, gave them 
the strength and the courage to desperately grieve:
"Peace, o beloved peace, have you overlooked
the kindness of such humble and honorable spirits?

Darkness brought the silence they had sought under the glittering skies,
to hide the ugliness of the war in their gloomy shadows,
never to reveal the devastation of their town;
and with the new sun rising, hope would have been 
renewed in the sunrise's lasting glow.
They would have seen those wheat golden kernels 
bend under their heavy weight and bow.... 
and heard themselves saying," Mercy, o mercy
of our righteous God, let prosperity abound...
as the misty rain slowly comes down!"   

Southern Italian Town:  Baiano

Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci

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And When the Thing Comes Down

The smell of beer glides across the room,
The darkness, sweet and deep
With smoke stacked like lumber,
Covering the cracks.
The roaches take shield.

Stiff lipped cockroaches that bite,
Their flaky smell covered by the beer,
But in dim silences their sound splits
The caverns of the empty cabinets, drawers and shelves.

Bare room except for bed and red
Light, radio and poster of Malcolm.
One poster of one man who lived 
And died, what more is there?

When in white heat discussions, gray women ask-
But won't your own people be killed? eyes concerned.
Bearded men answer in their minds.
The things people die of,
Are killed for.

Past the bed, one kitchen filled with
Dark men drinking.
Some with thirsts from dry cracked lips
Parched by strange suns.

Heat waves running through that blood
Like clapping thunder in a storm.

We have hurricanes down home
That turn men 'round.
And it rounds minds like twisters
This thing I speak of.

And when the thing comes down...

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He sits at a booth and orders for everyone:
"Eliza will have a strawberry lemonade
and a salad, no dressing;
Hubert will take an ice-cold beer
to wash down his steak;
my grandmother, here, will have the chicken
and green beans;
and I suppose I'd like the duck."
The waitress responds to his requests:
"I'm terribly sorry, sir, but I’m terribly confused.
I see no Eliza to serve a lemon or salad;
and Hubert’s not here to prove he’s of age.
Your grandmother, dear, I’m afraid isn’t here;
and we don’t have duck here to put on your plate.
I'm sorry to say, mister, 
but you are alone.
No one is here with you tonight."
He stares up at her, baffled—
two tangled prisms absorbing dim light
"Miss, I insist, please bring me the food.
My friends and I have grown weary
from battle and war and we need to dress our wounds. 
Miss, can’t you see that we’re brutally beaten?"
"Sir, I’m sorry to say that you are not damaged
or beaten in any kind of way. Your clothing is bright
and your hair is all combed. 
You are still very much alone."
He stands up straight and sighs,
"a man is born alone and so, alone is how he dies."

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Watching the Earth Burn

The neighbors gazed at the sky with the nighttime stars.
There is plenty to see while they’re living on Mars.
Since the planet is dry with a thin atmosphere,
so much can be seen because the sky is so clear.
The colony has been peaceful and serene here.
However, concerns about earth clutched them in fear.

The colonists viewed as they sat on their front porch,
their home earth shining brightly like a blue-green torch.
From one hundred million kilometers away,
nations have begun to fight each other today.
One night, they were watching as the earth burned with red.
An atomic war began with millions feared dead.

The blinking light Morse code box relayed a message.
It described a global war with massive carnage.
“Detonations obliterate Australia.
Explosions decimate Cape Town, South Africa.
London, Paris, and Los Angeles are all gone.”
This made all speculate of what was going on.
“Are my parents, brothers, and sisters still alive?
From what happened, will civilization survive?
I have not written to my brother as of late
because there’s a five dollar first class postage rate.”

The new circumstances perpetuated fright.
The luggage store in town stayed open late that night.
The decision to leave was made amongst themselves.
By the dawn, the luggage disappeared from the shelves.

Based on "The Martian Chronicles" by Ray Bradbury

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Avenge Me In Death

Go and fight on without me, 
search high & low.
Don't let fear or your emotions show. 
Take them by surprise, 
make sure you see their eyes
before you open fire on their lives.
Remember what I say, with my last breath
avenge me in death!

I won't being going home.
with you, tell my wife I tried, 
but I guess I was due.
Destiny played a tricked me,
now I'll die out here alone.
In my final moments, 
My life's last test.
avenge me in death!

Let them all know I died brave
but it was time for me today,  I've gone
to Heaven,  my soul; has been laid
to rest in a battle grave.
I give to you,  my last
request on my dying bed.

Avenge me in death!

David J. Caldera

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somewhere in italy

somewhere in italy our planes landed
we were greeted by poor italians
some so young i don't like 
what this war has done
back home i was such the ladies man 
here i share food with four kids and a man
he lost his wife to the germans
lot's of men are alone in solitude 
the bombs fly by biting chunks of italy
i guard my post alone 
for my plattoon is almost gone 
i feed the rest to keep them alive at best
a lot of them has begged me to end life
they suffer so i eat with a knife
somewhere in italy no medals i need
thee italians are sick and poor
an yet there is still greed 
i would be ok if i could save just one
somewhere in italy i sit with my gun
today in rome tommorrows war 
is back home

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Gone For A Short While

I look into the darkness
And the light stays the same distance away
Where have all the people gone
Is my dream the same as everyone’s dream?
Are we always alone and looking
The light was dim and fading fast
It was the mid winter time for us all back then
Waters subsiding, mountains standing tall
I can’t look down at that river of blood
Tears adding to the waters edge
The sky is crying, not weeping for joy
I am walking down this desolation road
Looking for signs of life
Long glances at the burning bush
How long can it burn in the rain?
In and out of my life
The sound of life during war
Talking long and hard in different tongues
Looking out over a sea of hands
Reaching out for our forgiveness
But it isn’t ours to give
Walking without talking
Leaving in a hurray to get back
I see all the faces from my past
But can they all see me?

Written by Robert Meader March 2007 

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Fallen Heroes

Fallen heroes of the past, 
present and future…

Let us not ever forget, those that
have given there lives for our
freedom and been there,
whenever they were needed…

Freedom does not come cheap,
and those who have given, there 
lives for us while protecting our 
freedom shall always be remembered…

We shall not forget, our fallen heroes!

By Sandra L. Hoban

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Heroism and Passion

Flying high into the sky, 
I see you are sincere, kindhearted, 
fascinating and interesting…

How it really was when it mattered,
what was a long, long summer day, that
you brought history to our front door…

You could get your teeth into that juicy story,
 of remembrance, that was what kept you
 from going crazy…

Human character acts differently in 
each of us some can handle the stresses 
of war and combat while others cannot…

How and why we must self- justify 
what we do and how the world sees us 
and how the world is in upheaval…

To see you as a hero and your passion 
for freedom is overwhelming to say the
 least, but, it is greatly appreciated by
 the majority…

Keep up the good work,
 for we do remember and appreciate
 our freedom that you have fought 
so hard for…

By Sandra Lea Hoban

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That September Day

As the towers fell on that September day,
our horror, and shock, at the debris that lay.

How could this happen on our very soil,
"We are America," "Oh our tempers boiled."

So many people lost their life that day,
so many worked endless, looking for the ones
they could save.

Never giving thought to the  hidden dangers
unknown, only trying desperately, to save

The reality of this tragedy is so very clear,
we are at risk, and we now know, a new 

We have to be careful, if we want to stay free,
because secretly, undetected, to our country 
they creep.

This is the reason our soldiers fight,
trying to prevent, another horrible

We have been warned, it will happen again,
these people are ready, they hate our country,
and for everything she stands.

God bless America, and keep us safe, and
protect our soldiers, in those lands, so
far away.

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A soldier s tale

Trust on the basis of truth: endless war,
it’s a tragedy, a great destruction of humanity;
It’s suffused with blood, pain and mortality,
a case for the rest of the whole entire history.

  While many who go to war are pretty young,
  distinctions between human culture and God’s
  make a great difference on the basis of violence,
  a negation of the bible, the opposite of interactions.

Thousands of lay people have died in revolutions,
thousands of soldiers too have been killed in war;
it’s like a helpless nightmare that one can’t forget,
to leaf through the chapters of their bloody defeat.

  The reality is evidently a downfall of this country,
  It’s hard to see how America has failed in this category;
  unreasonably riled up about terrorists’ attacks
  that knocked down the mighty powers unguardedly.

This is the age that boasts science and technology,
this is the time that revenge validates its own reply;
It’s witnessed with fear and catalogue of disasters,
that run through the pages of history and culture.

  Stained with the blood of these poor, young soldiers,
  like blood of the martyrs who became a spectacle;
  It’s a reminder that we devote ourselves to prayer
  a continuing prayer, a deep supplication to our Lord.

Prognosticators of doomsday like those of wars,
have captured media networks in all nations,
Headlines frequently of late scream and stumble,
because of endless fights, bombings and killings.

  Overwhelmed by the mountains of complaints,
  criticisms, and recommendations to halt the disaster,
  war in Iraq that has plagued the global continents
  like fire and sulfur that rained down in the times of Lot.

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An air ace on a training spin
Fell out,survival  seemed so slim
Seconds from death,his world falling in
He landed by chance on a Camel's wing-
Then managed to wrestle his way back in

Note:Inspired by story of Graham Donald's ,WW1 flying ace,pilot of a Sopwith 
Camel,in 1917,fell out with no parachute(a deliberate policy  by the high 
command at the time!)on a training manoevre later landing on its wing at the 
bottom of its loop,regained the cockpit and landed the plane safely.Truly a 
magnificent man in a flying machine.

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Widow Maker

This letter is to the love of my life.
     My precious sweet angel, my darling little wife.
Darling, I’m writing this to let you know.
      Just six more days then they let me go.
Oh how I long for your tender touch.
      You’re all that I think of I love you so much.
This place is getting so bizarre and out of control.
       Some of these people I wonder if they even have a soul.
Six more days and I won’t look back.
      Carlos, the one in the picture I sent was killed in last nights attack.
Well we fought them back they didn’t have a chance.
      But we have to stay ready, you never know they may try to advance.
Oh and you remember Bobby Rodgers, my high school friend.
      Two miles back down the road , Bobby met his end.
Sugar I’m sorry I shouldn’t be telling you all this stuff.
     It’s just that I’m so lonely and I’ve had more than enough.
Just six more days and I’ll be coming home to you.
    To restart our life and make itzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

This was the letter she received two days before his body was brought home, 
back to friendly shores. 
    Said he was shot by a sniper right out front of headquarters doors.
They said he was going to be mustered out that night.
    And he wanted to surprise his wife and he didn’t tell her of the good news in 
this final write.
Another widow was made by this awful war.
    I just hope it wasn’t for oil, cause if it was I’ll park my stinkin car.

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Tea Time

 Tea time.

My watch says four its time for tea
 but I’m not where I ought to be.
Instead I’m stuck in this foul trench
 amidst the mud and slime and stench
Rotting remains which used to be 
young English soldiers just like me.

My country called I volunteered.
 My parents saw me off and cheered
They were quite proud to se me go
 “To teach some manners to the foe”
But now the smoke and gas has cleared
I’m on my own just as I feared.

Our forward trenches over run
 I’m trapped behind the wily Hun
I would surrender if I could
 but I cannot I’m losing blood.
I think my time is nearly done.
The only thing that I have won.

A nameless grave like many more.
 No one can calculate the score
  of those who died on either side.
Involuntary suicide.
There are no winners in this war 
a fact the generals ignore.

  I watch my life blood drain away.
Surprised to find I do not mind. 
I will be pleased: I have to say .
to leave this rotten war behind.
A game I volunteered to play
  I cannot stand another day

The mud the blood and misery
 which all around me I can see.
I leave behind without regret.
But I can see them clearly yet 
My mothers friends all taking tea
I wonder if she’s proud of me.


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A quest for peace in Baghdad

Moving toward the absurd as war in Baghdad goes on,
along with the print traffic jam and airwaves;
continues to unfold horror stories, deaths: a tinku 
that spew out of Iraq – the ancient Middle East sand.

  Skepticism has drawn a timely relevance,
  that predicts the future as a major stand;
  sending troops in the combat zone, a 50/50 case
  either a winning or losing in the battle ground.

Like a cacophany of voices across the land,
So deep and lugubrious that pervades –
‘enough! we’re helpless and marginalized’
a reflection that’s claims stop and be reconciled.

  The steady stream of U.S. young soldiers
  being sent to fight and be part of the plan
  adds sinews to war but not a total assurance
  where success can be at hand or defeat in the long run.

Antiwar sentiments hover like a gospel cry,
with globalized reactions bonded with supplications;
a great deal of struggles among people of cultures,
that someday peace will reign and sing glory to God on high.

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It started at the harbor, The Harbor of Pearl,
When the Japanese shook up the White Man’s' world,
The bombing of the harbor brought tears to our eyes,
To see that the Japs took us by surprise,
This was our entry into the Big War,
The first time terrorism has touched our shore,
Since the British were seen the exit door,
In retribution to such a dastardly deed,
These slant-eyed people and all their seed,
Were gathered into camps, their property labeled Void!
The Island of Iwo Jima utterly destroyed,
We won the war at such an intemperate expense,
With Japanese Americans routed and fenced,
Stripped of their pride and dignity'
In the Home Of The Brave and The Land Of The Free...
Spoken in true Hypocrisy!
Our founding fathers built this land,
On the backs of the Slave and the eradication of the Redman,
ALL MEN ARE GREATED EQUAL, so it is written,
But when it was written, the Black and the Red, 
Were no more than a horse, cow, dog or kitten,
When finally realized and legalized as men,
The Civil War had come to an end,
When the North and the South reunited as one,
Separate but Unequal was the anthem now sung,
In the Home of the Brave and the Land Of The Free,
Sung in perfect Hypocrisy,
One vote, one White man is now the law of the land,
Enforced by virtues of the Klu Klux Klan,
Terror was the weapon used to destroy,
The spirit of the Injun and the nigger boy,
When the oppressed and the depressed rose above this Ill,
Freedom was the cry from doorstep to window sill,
I HAVE A DREAM, was the anthem to shout,
Equality For All is what America's about,
Freedom from illegal seizure and search,
Is now the law of the land,
Unless it affects the National worth,
And you're not a Caucasian man,
Profiling is the word they use today,
To route the Arabs in the same way, 
As the Cowboy herded his runaway stray,
In the land of the free and home of the brave...

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' A Poet, Goes To War ... '

‘ A  Poet  Goes  To  War … ’ ( Josh. 23: 10, 11 ) 

A Gentle-Poet … Goes To War
Oh … How Far … How Far … How Far …
Did You Push A Tender Heart
before Poet Finishes, What You Start ?

Just Like That Musician, Shepherd – Boy
whom a Lion and Bear, Dared Annoy          ------  1 Sam. 17: 37
Trying to Steal Some of His Precious Sheep
Poet, Showed Them … What’s His … He Keeps !

And That Same, Brave-Poet Went To War
Against Goliath’s Insulting, Roar !                ------  1 Sam. 17: 45 – 51
… But With just One Pebble Fling
That Poet’s, Sling, Thru All Of Time … Rings !

And If  A Wise-Poet Goes To War …
That Poet … May Wound and Scar                -------  Acts 7: 54, 57
For Words, Gouge Deeper Than Stones
Pen’s Mightier Than Sword … Cuts Clean To The Bone !

But, You made Poet … ‘your’ Foe, with Mock-Chimes
The First Thought … Just Give Them, Calm-Down-Time
But, Know … This Poet Thrives … Behind Enemy Lines
Forgiving and Wishing, God-Giving, Words-Divine !

‘Cause When Peace-Loving-Poets… Go To War …
‘We’ … Must Travel by:  The Bright Morning Star    ---  Rev. 22: 16
and Wait on His Orders … His Way
and I’m Cautious … Like ‘The Commander’ Says …  -- Matt. 10:16

So, Before you feel The Need To Spar                  ----  Zeph. 2: 2, 3
Before…  Big Poets … Have To Go To War             ----  Genesis thru Revelation
… Know That Such Poets … Are Word–Warriors
 … Don’t Make ‘em Go Off … on ya’ !

‘Cause you Won’t Survive … The Tongues of Fire    ----  Acts 2: 3, 4
( or The ‘ Lake ’ Either … If You Live Like A Liar … )  ---  Rev. 21: 7, 8
Gon’ Wind Up, Locked Behind Abyss’ Bars
… For Making  ‘  Poor-Poets ’ … Go To Wars !          ----  Matt. 18: 6

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I. Father Byrd

Centuries ago
Father Byrd crossed those worn and weathered mounts
into the wild untamed unclaimed Mississippi River valley, settled down
and farmed land in a place that came to be called West Tennessee
sent grandsons off to Franklin to die for the Confederacy, sat and wept
and said not a word until he died of a broken heart, let his sons and 
their grandsons and their sons and their sons farm his acres 
‘til TVA took half of it, and the mechanized farmers across the Mississippi made 
the rest useless, and the next generation went off to college and got Yankee 
jobs, and 
his last son sat dying of Alzheimer’s in a Lay-Z-Boy in front of a TV screen, and 
his brother drove the last stake of barbed wire fencing into the ground,
rolled over and died of a heart attack in the timeless pasture.
He was eighty-six. I’m seventeen and here I sit
using my hands not for plowing, not for splitting logs,
not for shooting deer, not for fencing,
but for writing the history of those who came before
and made this life possible.

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To The Band Of Brothers From Viet Nam

What did I do when I was a kid?
    Loved life, had fun that’s what I did.
Enjoyed what I had, and had what I enjoyed.
    Never to be bothered seldom ever annoyed.
Stood tall, felt proud, proud of this country, The Home Of The Free!
    Proud to be an American, lucky to be a part of such a great society.
Then something happened that ripped this country apart.
    It was called a police action but it ripped and tore at the very soul of this country 
it tore at her heart.
 Was it right or was it wrong?
    So many mixed emotions were played out in the words of yesteryears songs.
The seventy’s brought on free love, drugs, and the start of a decline in our morals 
in this story.
    Viet Nam brought both shame and honor, but very little was given in the name 
of glory.
Many young Americans lost their life or were crippled and maimed.
   And had to come home to a country that held them in contempt or made them 
feel ashamed.
They were pushed aside refused work treated like second class dirt.
    And what did they do they too had feelings they too could hurt.
We blamed our soldiers instead of the politicians that sent them there.
    They were the ones that were dying but no one seemed to care.
So to the Viet Nam Vets I say I for one am proud of you this very day.
   And may God Bless you all each and every one is the prayer for you I pray.
And maybe someday there will no longer be wars are reason for blood shed.
   In thanks to The Band Of Brothers from Nam we should all give thanks as we 
bow our heads.

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The World

The world may hold many things, 
a choice we make when we wake up everyday.
To fall to the fate of chance.
Some may be bad and others that are amazing.
We can not judge what we do not know. 
The things that we cherish some times leave and we go though the process 
of  what they call grief.
At times i wonder what the world is really all about.
It is a question that will never have an answer, but i will always wonder.
Is it a place where love is made and life begins where happiness is just a hand 
shake away. 
You would like to believe that, but really the world i see is sadness, pain, 
suffering, death and war.
Beauty queens always say " i want world peace " well duh!, who doesn't want that.
I would be happy if we lived in a world where watching the news doesn't make 
me cry.
Where peace meant one day without hearing about the death of another 
American soldier.
It would be a great day if the world kept turning.

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Untitled #87 / Outside the Capitol

Outside the Capitol
a young veteran is carrying
a flag, upside-down
and a wheeled coffin containing his friend
harsh words are tossed, and a Patriot
sneaks behind, robbing the deceased of his
combat boots. Fly off!
Ah, but quicker feet! Tackled from behind!
Punches thrown! A fight!
Who is winning?

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To Shake and Stir

I often ask myself who am I?  Who am I to ask for a war to end?  Who am I to tolerate a 
war that's gone too far?  Who am I not to jump up and down in protest?  Who am I to stand 
from afar and not say a word?  My purpose in this life is to be a peace maker, a warrior of 
love, a kind person, giving more than I can imagine.  I often ask myself, do I have 
something to scream or yell that will tell people what I think?  Does anyone care what I 
think?  Hasn't this already been said in the same way, a different day, different language,  
state, country or play?  

Why do I feel trapped in a small place with a voice as loud as a fog horn lost in the 
darkness?  Perhaps, in my silent and screaming misery, I will have empathy for those true 
warriors fighting for what they believe is their purpose in life.  Even when they question the 
mission, they stay awake and obey.  Should I be the one to step in the way?  What would 
happen to me if that is what I believed to be my purpose, to protest wildly the things about 
this world that I abhor?  Would I be sent away too?  Where would they send me?  Is that 
why people are afraid to protest, they are afraid they would be protested against for their 

I remember in the 70's when I was a little girl, the students killed, by the police, for 
protesting the Vietnam War.  They believed that was their purpose, and they were shot 
down. I just don't see anyone taking a stand against this war today?  Have we become so 
frightened for our own safety, well being?  What a diversion buying a house can be!  What 
are we afraid of?  Why aren't we saying anything really loud?  

We want the military to send the warriors back from Iraq, back from Iraq...that is my 
purpose today-to say that.

What I believe is my purpose in life is to question the absurdities and to fight them in my 
own special way. Writing is my purpose in life.  I know my purpose will be to write and 
offend others if I have to, in order to share my point of view.  That is my purpose.  I will 
write what I think!

In America we can sit and pray for the war to go away.  But in America our voice has been 
too low and the government's say seems to have gotten in the way.  I guess that is all I 
have to say, today.  Today that is my purpose of life, to share my thoughts and feelings!

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Right Square In The Eyes

A believer in love is how I am,
hate, and hurt, need not, come around.
I see from a far, such pain endured,
many have tried, but is there a cure?
Preaching the truth in a given time,
to ears that can't hear, and eyes so blind.
An endless cycle with no beginning,
or end,  it's only make believe, time, and again.
Who is right, and who is wrong,
no one can claim that victory song.
History repeats, if man will allow,
stopping this mess.
does anyone know how?
Forever, we will remember,
and pass it down in time,
the evidence is real, and it is
staring us all, right square in the eyes.
"If  you see our soldiers, tell them you care,
they are our heroes, way over there."

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The Bloody Dawn


The war that took it all away,
    Stripped us of our freedom, our rights, and left us barren in this world today.
They came on us like they were friends,
    As we opened up our gates to let them in.
With not a thought given as to what evil plans they had in store.
    To the foul deeds and power that they mustered as they invaded our shores.
Oil tankers by the thousands brought war machines and death like we’ve never 
    Into our ports and harbors as their flags of friendship so deceitfully were flown.
They stormed our southern borders without a fight.
     Killing and destroying any and everything that came into sight.
With no respect or mercy we had to flee.
    Leaving behind a world that now is just a long ago memory.
Hiding like animals the ones that would not bow,
    Or the only hope left to those they’ve captured in this crazy world right now.
So quick they came they flooded our land, 
      No one was ready to take this stand.
No warning, no nothing was ever given to us that fateful day,
     As war was brought on in a frightful way.
It was another Pearl Harbor of such enormous magnitude as we ran to escape.
    We have totally been violated and the only word that comes to mind is rape.
We knew this could happen but we remained ill prepared,
    Well now that it’s happened how well have you faired?
Just like a giant game of chess that they played us so well
    This could really happen but right now ( Thank God ) it’s just a story I tell.

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Drawn from mainline observations

Described as a ‘nightmare scenario’
in Iraq and the Middle East;
the endless war – its mess
that afflicts people of all races.

More troops have been sent there
more personnel and other organizations
deal with their quest for peace and action
that shape the future for Iraqi people.

It’s like magnet in today’s newspapers,
where everyone gets the information;
either in television or other sources
of media networks and people’s discussions.

With emerging responses and allusions
to previous leaders in this nation;
like Franklin Roosevelt in history,
who saved this country during great Depression.

In his solitary and determination,
George Bush sees it with special attention;
his strategy, along with other options
proves his adamant decision.

Like a dynastic leader with great power
King Louis XV of French kingdom
struggled and fought many foreign wars,
he won but not successful in other invasions.

The eyes of the world remain focused on this place
where chaos, horror and mess create opposition
between Democrats and Republicans
de-funding of the war seems a solution.

Against culture and civilization,
the mark of death and destruction 
shows the collapse of human castle: as God’s co-creators
in sharing his love, peace, and reconciliation. 

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Bring Them Home

I can still see his face in the early light,
as he boarded his plane for that fatal flight.

Kisses being thrown from a window so far,
taking him from me, back to that war.

On the drive home, I thought to myself,
of his boyhood days, and then I wept.

I had him back for  just a few short weeks,
never expecting a heart full of grief.

Somebody do something, get them out of there,
I'm beginning to think, no one cares.

Imagine for a moment,  just take a little time,
your loved one fighting in a country so blind.

Barbaric actions from the enemy within,
friend fighting friend , and next of kin.

I think it is time to bring them home,
"we can't change others, that's their home."

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Time Is Our Enemy

A longing of home, but a commitment for peace,
these are our soldiers fighting for others to be free.

Swept from their homes to a hostile land,
they are given their orders, with gun in hand.

Bloodshed is so common as they do their jobs,
families given notice a life has been robbed.

Violence is daily, it never ends,
will we see victory, will any side win?

Letters are written to comfort their minds,
but sadly the reality, it has been a long time.

How many years are we expected to stay,
how many come home to their farewell day?

These are our bravest, our daughters, and sons,
these are our babies, fighting with guns.

Time is our enemy, it claims so much,
our precious children, we will never touch.

Get down on your knees, and talk to Jesus every day,
He is the only one that can comfort us anyway.

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Courtly Love

Submissive squire on his foot 
Helping his best knight, to put
On the weapons o’ not so cute 

Beautified horses galloping,
The sharpen swords clanging, 
And wooden poles jousting,

While this beauty, mocks by tear,
Huddling, silently, in her own fear
Because of her one and only dear

For her love,
She prays of-
“Use the speed o’ thy eyes, oh knight o’ mine
For a love to dwell, forever, in arms o’ thine!”

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Untitled #88 / Empty Pentagon

Late summer, late afternoon
in front of the empty Pentagon
the protest is over, nothing’s changed,
I’m walking home. But a young man,
black, blue jean jacket, buttons
passes in front. A smile exchanged.
The truth is known.

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I Cannot Erase

You said good-by then turned to leave,
my throat was choking, trying hard to breath.

The tears were coming, I couldn't hold them in,
watching my baby go to a war of no- end.

Your buddies all standing holding loved ones so near,
orders for deployment, at least one year.

Mothers, wives, fathers, and sons,
wiping their tears, everyone.

No smiles did I see, in that crowd that day,
how many will die, how many will pay.

Emotions so heavy, seen on every face,
I cannot erase the images in my mind that day.

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 You know America ( Our Country ) was founded on Christian Beliefs.
   When we stood up for God, He led us through hard times, despair, and our 
times of grief.
I’ve seen our Ten Commandments removed from public places, and prayer 
banished from our schools.
   Satan is trying to take over, trying to force us to play by his set of rules.
Christians are being pushed and pushed hard, they are putting our backs to the 
   America is Gods’ country, and if we don’t make a stand we’re going to see her 
Christians are going to have to stop quarreling amongst each other.
   Show the world we are united in Christ as sisters and brothers.
Let God lead us on the righteous path of the straight and narrow.
   While we strap on our armor, sharpen our sword, and make ready our arrows.
The war was brought home to us when the twin towers fell.
   Do you remember that day, I remember it well?
Called a “ Jihad “ a holy war, The infidels must die was their battle cry.
   We just hung our heads and asked the question why.
We are a God fearing nation, well we used to be.
   If we would just open our eyes and look we’d have to see.
Brother I tell you there is going to be a fight, shucks that ain’t nothing new.
   Just pray God stands with us, and the old red, white, and blue.

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Our Colors Of Truth

They sleep in fear of being attached,
each of them watching the others back.

Friends they have become, with a bond so deep,
memories in granite back home they keep.

Their country called, and they stood honors ground,
front line ready, from American towns.

The Red, White, and Blue, our colors of truth,
thank you soldiers, for all you do.

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Repeat Time

The sun was falling , as I walked among the brave,
so many markers in rows marking their graves.

I knew without a doubt, this was hallowed ground,
the wind was still, nothing making a sound.

Flags adorned each and every one,
a tribute of honor for all the brave daughters, and sons.

How many more, will be added each year,
I hung my head, and shed a tear.

These are our soldiers, that lie so still,
some of our finest, another war killed.

An end we must find, to this madness of man,
why in the world can't they understand.

Sadness, and heartache. they leave behind,
families still grieving as we repeat time.

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In a poppy field.... 
Before the Great War 
Children danced and played... 
In bright colours.... 
That I saw 

The mud churned.... 
Men ,dead 
Men, dying 
Men, bleeding and raw 
Men, crying 
Men, aimlessly led 
Guns, firing, 
in the bright colours that I saw 

Vast regiments.... 
Disappearing in the light.... 
Gone forever.... 
It made no sense 
The wasted men.... 
Gone in to the night 

In a poppy field.... 
After the Great War 
No one danced.... 
No one came.... 
With no name 
In a trench.... 
In France 

Such despair.... 
In a field of such colour 
I felt it there.... 

The War.... 
To end all wars.... 
In a poppy field 
Where children played 
Bright colours..... 
In a poppy field 
There lay.... 
The hearts of men 

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Stop The Madness

It seems they started this war upon a lie.
   Where are all the W.M.D.s that caused so many of our young to die?
We’ve got Sadam, but where’s Bin Laden?
   He’s the one we started after, maybe you’ve forgotten.
September the eleventh is where it all began.
  As the Twin Towers fell people on the streets screamed and ran.
The television news that was all we could see.
   Terrorists bringing destruction to the land of the free. 
I personally think we should bring our troops home and lock our doors.
   We keep letting them in we’re just asking for more.
We’re strung out so thin they could walk right in.
   And you can bet given the chance they’ll do it again.
There was one good thing that came out of nine one one.
   For awhile it brought us closer to God each and everyone.
We will never change Iraq’s culture so why do we stay.
   It’s to a different God that most of them pray.
I believe what we’re doing is wrong but that’s just my thought.
   Our way of freedom to them can never be taught.
I pray for peace and a better way.
   I pray for our country and our president each and everyday.
I just feel like what we are doing will never work.
   What I am seeing is another Vietnam is this just a quirk?
 I don’t think it really matters for our time seems to be drawing near.
   I keep looking to the clouds in hopes to see our Savior appear.
I guess I’d better close cause I’ve said enough.
   And if then they want to push, then we can call their bluff.

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Too Many

Daily we hear of death, and sorrow,
this war we are in, does not need to see
another tomorrow.
How do we get our troops out of there,
is Washington  even trying,
 or do they even care?
A game of chance it has been called,
walking into towns as they look for thugs,
betrayed by people they help, and trust.
Too long now, too many killed or injured,
too many far away from home, too many not 
being home for their first child's birth, too many
will never play ball with their children, too many
problems have been caused by this war.
Now tell me, whose fault.

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How Do They Sleep

Not a day goes by , my thoughts are not with you,
thinking maybe, someone will have the guts, and 
courage to say, "OK, I was wrong."
Daily our troops are killed, and  wounded so bad,
trying to start their life over, but it will never be what they had.
Is this a war for peace, or a war for oil, all I know for sure,
our tempers are ready to boil.  
Our leaders are backing up, when it comes to our troops,
but they don't have a problem sleeping, for what they do.
How many now have been killed in this war,
How many now will never walk,
How many now can't see their children,
How many now have been abandoned,
How many now have been burned,
How many now can't hold their wife,
How many now can't get help,
I think our country has done enough,
If they can't handle their problem,
well that's just tough.
Our troops, our money, our sacrifice,
something here is not right.
Their land, their oil, and they keep it all.
Somebody better open their eyes, and
then maybe explain to a mother, why her child had to die.

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Sometimes Mothers Don't Know Best

She took his hand, and said," I Do",
wondering all the while, will he be true?
Her mother warned her, before the big day,
honey, I don't believe he has had time to play.
Oh mom, I know this is real,  please don't ruin
my wedding day.
Her daddy walked his daughter down the isle with pride,
while mother was uneasy, and only cried.
It will be alright, mom, just you wait and see,
I know you will love him, as you love me.
They had a great life, he had a great job,
a big fine house, and a little boy named Rob.
Mother finally realized, he was the one,
and her worries were over, all but one.
Mom found out, he had enlisted today,
and planned on leaving on Christmas Day.
Crying and praying, she got down on her knees,
God please protect him, he means the world to me.
Rob was growing, and his questions were quite a few,
"I miss my daddy, and mommy does too."
Promotion, after promotion, he was good at his job,
as the war raged on, he grew closer to God.
Then one day, came some exciting news,
he knew his calling, he knew what he had to do.
 As he was studying to be a minister, his mother-in-law
finally faced the truth.
One God, one nation, one wife, one job, the best life she
could ever dream of, and a mother-in-law, full of love.

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Hero Trees

I planted a tree for my injured hero,
now it is so tall, my how it has grown.
The day I heard you had been hit,
I was so nervous, I couldn't just sit.
So down to the store to buy a tree,
my way of thanking you, for keeping me free.
It has doubled in size, and it carries your name,
your tour ended, and your life was never the same.
You lost both legs in that horrible war,
but you haven't given up, you have come so far.
Now you are a speaker, and a volunteer too,
for the heroes that were injured, just like you.
You blame no one, just the changing times,
a difference in belief, and brainwashed minds.
So plant a tree for a soldier today, it will grow, and
grow, and provide you shade.  
Just like our heroes in far away lands,
these trees we're planting, will help save our
great land.

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I Do Believe

When it comes to the war,
why do many change the subject?
I have a voice ,and I speak it often,
I don't think this war is absolutely necessary.
I don't think our soldiers are getting the honor, and respect
they deserve.
I don't think enough is being done for our wounded.
I don't think enough is being done for the families that have
suffered a loss.
I do believe the longer our soldiers are leading the fight for
another countries Democracy, the longer they will be there.
I do believe if the soldiers were given a voice, we might be surprised
with the answers we hear.
I do believe four years is enough time to accomplish just about
I do believe in letting countries settle their own battles.
I know our soldiers are tired, homesick, lonely, and just want this
war to be over, and soon.

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In Harms Way

Their mission at hand , can't be defined,
sent far away leaving loved ones behind.

Streets patrolled every minute of the day,
a land of bloodshed, a society in disarray.

Killed or wounded the reports come in,
as more are recruited, and trained to defend.

Tears keep falling every minute of the day,
as families bow their heads to pray.

A wise woman I'm not, but who is these days,
when they send more, and more in the middle of harms way.

God bless our soldiers, and bring them home,
this war we are in, has been going on too long.

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Untitled #19 / A thousand skulls

A thousand skulls litter the battlefield
the stench rises, vultures fall
rivers run red,
“wasted wars and selfish pride”
How many of them knew the truth?

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They couldn't stay the course
So they built a wooden horse-
Out from tunnels in the ground
Freedom,was their cry,
But ,so many were to die.

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Silent Screams

Silent screams throughout the land,
 are heard from many, who don't understand.
Fighting a war, of endless rage,
still this battle brews more hate.
Innocence, once, so long ago,
now instead horror, rapidly grows.
Graves multiply, tears linger on,
voices never heard, lives are gone.
The Eagle is flying, his wings can't fail,
even though  once there were many, still his strength prevails.
Victory for others, as their blood runs deep,
in the middle of an explosion, will we ever see?
Silent screams will be heard, forever, and a day,
as they bury their loved ones, who were willing to pay.

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Too Long

They fight, they pray,
our soldiers so brave.

They miss their home,
been gone too long.

Four years, and counting,
casualties mounting.

Families waiting,
they say we're staying.

How long, does anyone know,
maybe, before the first snow.

We must pray,
for their homecoming day.

They all are Heros,
our gratitude we must show.

God bless our soldiers,
and keep them safe.

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Our Soldiers

Another tour of duty, the days so long,
away from their family,  longing of home.
Orders are given, and a soldier stands tall,
sacrificing tomorrow, sacrificing it all.
Some people don't understand, just what soldiers risk,
they have never said good-by with a tearful kiss.
Working in conditions, most could not bear,
in the middle of nowhere, have you ever been there?
Friends they encounter while so far away,
close to their heart, forever to stay.
Nights are no different, always on call,
ready for combat in no time at all.
They don't take for granted, this freedom we expect,
their job is to protect us, they deserve our respect.
Many a brave warrior, has stood where they are,
here on the home front, and in lands so far.
A package of thanks is not too much to ask,
friends showing gratitude, and that memory will last.
It does not matter if you have no one there,
remember their sacrifice, and the uniform they wear.
It stands for Freedom, for one, and all,
and they proudly defend us, they answered the call.
They are our soldiers, yours, and mine,
embrace them with honor, for they are the best. you
will ever find.

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In The Sand

Pain so deep, it makes one cry,
nothing said, or given, can erase it,
so don't even try.

Emptiness has taken a permanent place,
my life will never be the same, 
before that day.

Words spoken in haste, a war is born,
families will suffer the burden,
loved ones leaving, homes are torn.

Nothing can make it right,
the time is too late,
but some are still there, fighting, tonight.

Take that war, bury it in the sand,
no one can settle the troubles,
we have witnessed in that land.

Markers line up, across our land,
duty, and honor,
etched forever, with blood, in that sand.

Many speeches to lay the blame,
but we don't hear them,
they are all, the same.

We can, we can't, they don't even know,
someone better do something,
before we lose one more.

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Welcome Home

Welcome home, our heroes of today,
you did your part, in a soldiers way.
Duty called, and you took your place,
now you 're home, away from that hate.
Night or day, they were all the same,
you did it for peace, not for fame.
The battle still rages, for others still there,
your mind uneasy, they know you care.
So welcome home, our heroes of today,
I can't thank you enough, 
for the sacrifice you made.

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That Final Breath

A quiet September morning, and then evil came,
ravaging our country, never feeling any shame.

The course of your action, is now yours alone,
ours is disbelief, our people did nothing wrong.

The face of our enemy, we know so well,
the heartache over whelmed us, as we all stared.

The smoke and debris, flying everywhere,
now six years later our hearts are still there.

Your worth is nothing, a coward of hate,
go hide in your cave or get under a rock,
hell is waiting, as that final breath, you take.

September 11th. etched in our hearts, and minds forever.

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I think this world has gone mad,
fighting wars, fighting among ourselves,
fighting, fighting, fighting.
Sending soldiers to lands so far away,
blowing up buildings, just looking for rats,
and there are so many, multiplying everyday.
Our soldiers need to be in their homeland,
there is enough here to settle, for every woman, and man.
Some don't want to bring them home,
wake up America, what is wrong.
Money,money, money, is all we hear,
we may run out, this is their fear.
.In the meantime, our soldiers are still there,
wake up America, does anyone care.
Think of that soldier, sleeping on the ground,
while you go shopping, and riding around town.
Now tell me, what is wrong with this world.

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A Hero In Time

How many times have you seen him there,
on the corner downtown, with that hollow stare.
A veteran I've heard , from the second World War,
still wearing his medals, although he can't remember
what they all are for.
A hero in his time, many missions he flew,
then one day he took a hit, never finding his crew.
So wise if you listen, to his daily prayer,
bits, and pieces of his puzzle, are hidden there.
Never a husband, no time for a wife,
determined to spend a lifetime, living the military life.
After his crash, and after the pain,
nothing was ever the same again.
Parents already passed, not a sibling did he have,
now on a corner downtown, with his hollow stare.
Donations will be gathered, for this wonderful man,
and a house will be built, by many grateful hands.