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Old War Poems | Old Poems About War

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

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Details | Narrative | |

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


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Estaba lleno el Verano /Der Sommer war voll/The Summer Was Full

Estaba lleno el verano,
Estaba lleno el verano
de flores, de deseos
como un espejo de cristáles azules,
reflejando los sueños 
y el suave color del cielo,
estaba lleno el verano
con nuestro amor.

El color de las casas 
antiguas de Oxford,
limpias como después
de una lluvia de leche,
blancas y maravillosas.

Estaba lleno el verano,
lleno de nuestro amor
y de canciones.
Estaba lleno el verano
de calles angustas y cerradas.

Estaba lleno el verano
de espuma, de murallas antiguas,
de música abandonada y olvida.

Estaba lleno el verano
y nuestro amor hize brillar
los sitios como la nieve
hace blanquear las estrellas
en noches de invierno.

Estaba lleno el verano,
lleno de nuestros deseos,
lleno de flores frescas 
de un paraiso extraño.

Estaba lleno éste verano,
lleno de abrazos y besos de nuestros corazónes.

----------------------------------------------------------

Der Sommer war voll,
der Sommer war voll
mit Blumen, mit Wünschen
wie ein Spiegel aus blauen Kristallen,
der Wünsche wiederspiegelt,
der Sommer war voll mit unserer Liebe.

Die Farben der alten
Häuser Oxfords,
sauber, wie nach einem Regen
aus Milch,
weiß und herrlich.

Der Sommer war voll,
voll von unserer Liebe
und von Gesang.
Der Sommer war voll
von engen, verschlossenen Gassen.

Der Sommer war voll
von Schaum, altem Gemäuer,
von vergessener, verlorener Musik.

Der Sommer war voll
und unsere Liebe ließ die Plätze erstrahlen
wie der Schnee 
die Sterne erstrahlen lässt
in Winternächten.

Der Sommer war voll,
voll von unseren Sehnsüchten,
von frischen Blumen 
eines fremden Paradieses,
voller Umarmungen und voll der Küsse unserer Herzen.

----------------------------------------------------------------

The summer was full with
flowers and dreams
like a mirror of  blue crystals,
reflecting dreams
and the soft colour of  the sky.
The summer was full with our love.
The colour of the ancient houses of Oxford,
neat as after a rain of milk,
white and wonderful.
The summer was full 
With our love and songs.
The summer was full with 
narrow, crowded streets.
The summer was full with
the foam of old walls,
full of forgotten and old tunes.
Our love threw light over the sites,
like snow let shine the stars 
in winter nights.
The summer was full with our desires
and fresh flowers 
of an unknown paradise.
The summer was full 
with our kisses
and with our hearts.


Details | Rhyme | |

Plockton - Wester Ross

The greatest holiday gift I ever received  
Goes back so many, many years
Before my life became turmoiled
And before my tears for fears

I was a child like many out there
Torn, strewn and split of kin
Mother and father in differences
Confused at seven, wearing their same skin

For I was one of the lucky ones
To a Highland Estate I would go
It's on the west coast of Scotland
Where my holidays desired me so

Secretly I internally smiled
For a whisper of where I was heading
To live with a movie star hero
No longer my life was in dreading

We were picked up by a man so fine
His manners were an absolute joy
Regimental he was in his approach
To me, just a seven year old boy

We travelled through the village of Plockton
Crystal clear waters edged to it's shore
I knew from this very moment
Being here ebbed previous family sores

On entering his house I was in awe
Movie pictures came to my view
They were images of James Bond
At seven I was totally through

A voice called to me
Hey James! sit down and I'll tell you me
Still in circles in walking awe
This is what he told thee

My name is Patrick Dalzel Job
In the Second World War I served
But this recognition I bestow
Humbles me to it's deserve

This honour that's been given
Was blessed by a colleague in war
What desired Ian Fleming to be so striven
Possibly, what we were fighting for

We served on the same destroyer
Fighting to make the future free
His tribute, in his novels I became
James Bond, it's incredibly me





Not many seven year olds have stayed with James Bond.
This seven year old Scot's boy has, maybe I learnt?
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Patrick_Dalzel-Job


Details | Quatrain | |

Vietnam's Unwelcome Heroes (Co-written with Tim Ryerson)

We gave Johnny a gun and a uniform
Trained him to kill, in a regiment conform
Sent him deep into Vietnam jungles warm
With little regard to how we did him harm
 
     So certain we knew what we joined to fight for
     We were shipped off to fight an unwinnable war
     A war of "containment," unlike those before
     Mothers screamed, fathers wept, siblings ached to the core
 
By parachute dropped to a ghastly death scene
Johnny ached for the life left behind, so serene
His family, fiance did not know what war means
Especially the haunting of lost children's screams
 
     Those of us who survived thought we'd just done our jobs
     We returned and were shamed by violent gobs
     Of silver-spoon white kids in hate-spewing mobs
     Spat-on and welcomed as baby-killer slobs
 
No heroes welcome would await these young men
No ticker-tape parades were staged for them
Just jeers from crowds, uncaring government
Greeted the lonely Vietnam Veteran

     Too classy and noble to demand our fair share 
     We lay in that shabby old hospital there
     In a closet-sized room with no visitors' chair
     Understaffed, underfunded, with short-handed care

The "benefits" they found would astound all now
And it leaves one to wonder how our hallowed ground
Would be filled with unnamed graves of men once proud
Before the rows of white crosses we should bow
 
     Our Wailing-Wall stands now in Washington, D.C.
     So shiny but black, a telling-tale of the fee
     We have paid for our nation, our land of the free
     Will you come pay respects? Will you not at last see?

Some veterans still suffer disgraceful neglect
So please explain who more deserves our respect
Let us pause with angelic choirs and genuflect
To show gratitude as on this Wall we reflect


Friends, Dane Ann is among those who served in the army during the Vietnam war and is 
now recovering from long-overdue hip surgery performed at an old VA hospital in 
Gainesville, Florida.  Thank you for your prayers on her behalf.  Many thanks 
to Tim Ryerson, another Vietnam veteran, for joining me in this write.


Details | Free verse | |

War Mentality

They come from a different era
where patriotism is a just cause
they would fight for the true blue
never mind who was right or wrong

they stood staunch and egos proud
their chest out, backs straight and chins up
they come from an old style of thinking
I fight today as my father and grandfather did too.

fighting for an eye for an eye tooth for a tooth
I will die to serve my country even if its a lie
if you try to invade our land
we will come and conquer you

we are defenders of the truth
but the old timers forget
and the young ones have a narrow point of view
there was a time when the immigrants were Irish, Italians and jews

racism was rampant and that hasn't changed
Christians today still preach
'Jesus is savior they say repent your evil ways
pushing their rhetoric just like the roman empire did

amazingly America seems to be doing the same
history seems to repeat itself time and time again
war, religion, oil and what we perceive  as freedom
we invade again and again and call it defending democracy

yet the intelligence comes from spies and other governments
because they have shared interests in different types of policy
they all carefully choose their words
because one slip of the lip could trigger war as it has happened before

todays war on terrorism is a campaign designed  to instill pain 
and un-trust to drain our resources from us 
And our leader claimed up front this is not a religious war
yet he paraphrases from the bible we'll get those evil doers

you see bush fooled our religious leaders too.
he used their belief in Jesus he tricked 'em all just to get their vote
he claims he's a born again Christian and this Christians embraced him holly
but then one day bush spoke to Jesus and asked what to do with Iraq

Jesus responded Invade that country
Now dont get me wrong Jesus was not about war 
he taught of peace, love and compassion
however his message has been twisted and turned over time 

and history shows the hands of Christian religious leaders are always bloody
because they twist the truth to control dictatorship is always the goal
Bush had been plaining war before a judge handed him the seat
on his first day he signed a bill into law prevent any criminal charges against him



Details | Epitaph | |

Golden Locks

Golden Locks

within the minute of retreat your back is tuned to your enemy's chorus
harmonic to your freedom, measured by compassion, anxiously seeking their humanity
thought ascending from stars see's an ounce of mercy surrounded in darkness
a defeated purpose which drove them to the heavens
those who have reserved hope find some place to accept the truth
a test of how far our courage outlast the chaos from all life's passed
mystery's enlightened path never reached the end of suffering
to the likeness of a fumbled method
we could now follow like the atoms of Eve
disconcerted absence to our entrophic eyes
spreading legs like artificial soul
momentarily creators of their own excitement
movement supported by those who think your great
everybody who realizes the dream
shape your reflection and let the background find it's own feet
Apparent peace soon merged with equality
freedom's lark rests on the soles of a war monger's foot
peace showed up in a fresh pair of socks
the talking corps relates a message conspired by his earthy tones
sighting the great spoils and burnt offers of a desired sin
while designs of old are searched for something missing
past events re-invented an old tool of the government this ambiguous wireless chip
lets us say all of thing they can tax and the rest we make it our garden patch


Details | Free verse | |

Venturing The World Above

A continuation of The World Above Me, a special collaberation between myself and my good friend Justin Connor

8/17/12
------------------------------------------------------------------

The shelter opens its door to the world above me
Never have I seen so much destruction

My eyes get used to the brightness,
An unwanted tear trickling down my cheek
But once they are accustomed to the light,
I want to close them again
I feel the urge to turn back
But they push me forward,
Whispering low, consoling words

I look around to see what humanity used to be
Before the devastation
And I marvel at what the old world used to be
But one question remains:
Why did people destroy their lives,
And end the world we used to know?

I walk my feet on the unknown terrain
Ruins. . .debris. . .the air placid and still
All around is rubbish
My mother whispers a prayer from behind
And then I wonder. . .
If God was ever here

As I look around I notice a book
Lying there, upon the ashy wreckage
I pick it up and read. . .
It details a nation’s fight for freedom

A large statue of a man is in the building I stand by
I stare at the brazen figure in awe
The features are crumbling but here it still stands
Watching over its obliterated land
I squeeze the book in my hand
His eyes show loyalty and courage
No sadness—not even a speck of fear

Looking more outwards I see a tall structure
And past that a building with a large dome
The architecture of the old world amazes me
What wonders men have done—could have done
If they hadn’t let each other come undone
In violence and death
Yet still I wonder how these incredible buildings 
Could possibly remain after all that has happened
Like the buildings, we have survived
And hopefully, through lessons learned,
We can thrive

My father tells everyone to clear away the ruins
People even use old machines with cranes
The old world is gone
But from the ashes we can start anew
We were in the shelter for the good of humanity
And now, because of us,
There is hope


Details | Rhyme | |

End of days

Take these shackles and give ‘em to the bear, tell her I’ve gone home
Take these shackles and throw ‘em to the wind, I’ll live like that no more
Gonna find me the weapon that can kill off Mutley, end his child like rage
Gonna find me a whet stone, sharpening my sword, gonna end his blinkered ways

I killed off Mutley 
In this war inside I wage
I killed off Mutley
And it means the end of days

Come a long way from our second city, I’m a long way from home
Come a long way from our second city and I’ll go there no more
Gonna find me a crag deep in the mountains, got to mend that old dog’s ways
Gonna find a lost city deep in the desert, make sure the flee pit pays

I killed off Mutley 
In the war inside I wage
I killed off Mutley
And it means the end of days

Take this message for me, carry it home, tell ‘em I am no more 
Take this message for me, carry it home, tell ‘em the evils gone
I found my mountain, out in the world, it wouldn’t forgive my ways
As I soar down the valley, out of this world, I know this old dog paid

I killed off Mutley 
In the war inside I wage
I killed off Mutley
And it means the end of days


Details | Verse | |

The Taste of Freedom

                 
My old daddy use to tell me about the war he had to fight,
   He said don’t believe those movies, cause killing ain’t no pretty sight.
He said no one is born a hero you just fight to stay alive,
   Cause when those bullets start to flying your only thought is to survive.

No matter what people may say, freedom it don’t come free,
   And I pray you never see the things that I had to see.
And he said son the taste of freedom is a taste worth dieing for,
   And that should be the only reason to ever fight in those damned old wars.

He talked about his comrades, so many now are gone, 
    He said I am a lucky one to see my son full grown.
So many young men back then were buried where they fell,
   You see son war is not a game it’s a living, breathing hell.

You’re fighting for what you know is right and they are fighting for what they believe,
   While mothers on both sides just pray and weep and grieve.
And when they get that letter that says their son will not return,
    They say one last prayer for others, Lord will they ever learn.

To say you really hate someone is a truly ruthless thought,
   But there are those that feel that way and why these wars are fought.
Son he said I don’t think there will ever be peace as long as men exists,
   Freedom is our gift and we must protect no matter how much they persist.

G………God
B…………Bless
A……………America

                                                                                  


Details | Rhyme | |

Kingdom Lost

In summertime, the ivy climbs,
and hides the castle wall.
The king dreams of late,
that the sea is so great,
and yet - his boat is so small.
As swift as a fox and
dark as a raven on wing,
seven hundred soldiers march  
into the valley of the king.
Long overdue, a battle ensues
flanking the powers that be.
Children cry, and good men die, 
the monarch is now on his knee…
Soon the horsemen alone 
try to maintain the throne.
But the long way around
is the shortest way home.
The evening is filled
with chaos and smoke,
and the kingdom is 
stunned by it all…
Soon the sun will go down,
and in spite of his crown, 
the king will undoubtedly fall…
His rival’s strength
was mistaken,
by a king overtaken,
his life is now but a pawn.
His authority lifted,
the power has shifted –
an era of glory is gone…
 
 
Copyright © 2013
 


Details | Free verse | |

Life of the Party

Beirut.
You’ve always been the life of the party.

I’ve seen the sun smile at you,
on Saturday mornings.
As your women
hung over and wrecked
with Jesus crosses on their necks
waltz through streets
trying to find a ride back home.

Your green wooden window panes,
always left open.
Always left waiting.
A sign of hope.
As if something holy
or someone with a red cape on
would come
and save you.

I see it
I feel it
The pain
The terror
I see the bullets 
That have pierced through your walls
Left you with nothing

Your anarchists
Your extremists 
Your people
Your children
Are all fighting
Over a hit 
of the fix you gave them.
Oh Beirut,
what have they done?

I see the clouds of smoke rising
I see your people left bare
with secrets to strip off
and hang on the laundry ropes
that fill your skies

The writings on your walls say it all.
You’ve lost your soul
You’ve lost your spark

Corruption
Destruction
You made the rules 
and then asked us to break them.
I’m not sure who to blame.
Them,
Or you.

You left me high and dry-
Lost in the alleys of your dark streets

I didn’t know who to blame.
So I asked around, Beirut.

I asked the men on motorcycles
who snatch purses from old women.
I asked your nine year old
gypsy beggars.
I asked your officers 
and the teenagers in cellars,
who in another world could’ve been heroes or poets.
I asked your university students,
but they were too stoned to comprehend my questions.
High on a drug of complacency
High on a drug of nonchalance
High on a drug of compromise.
So 
Numb
Numb
Numb


I asked your gods.
Your middle-men.
The pictures on the walls
of your many leaders.

I asked your fathers
Your rapists
Your artists
Your lawyers 
Your educators

I even asked the old man pushing a cart of oranges in Hamra.

But nothing was to be found…

Not even a tad of sanity…
Not even a sense of security
You couldn’t give me that, could you?

Oh Beirut.
You’ve always been the life of the party. 
But I’ve seen them frown at you,
when dawn breaks and you walk out on them
hung over and wrecked 
with a cross around your neck
walking over shattered beer bottles…
trying to find a ride back home.


Details | Free verse | |

If Old Men Fought

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


Details | Free verse | |

The Old Salt

The Old Salt was a special man who came along in a time
when he was needed most.

A time that is now gone forever.
When men believed and sacrificed, when hero’s walked the earth in mass.

When patriotism was not just a word
but,
by what men lived and judged the worth of each, 
a man who lived a life most of us cannot comprehend. 

An era now gone as this warriors tour of duty ends at this station, 
and begins anew in the heavenly fleet. 

Sail on Sailor into your unaccompanied tour,
we salute you.

What greater honor, that when a man moves forward, 
he leaves behind in each of us the best of what he was. 

A defender, protector, supporter, victor, a warrior, 
the last of the breed from an era when ships were made of wood
and men were made of steel.

The Old Salt has reported for duty that takes him away from us for now. 

Those of us who remain behind,
remember, and will continue to remember, 
because he now resides forever in our hearts.

As I look up at night, I envision The Old Salt,
a beret draped just above the eye, 
as he draws upon his pipe, 
quietly he waits.
The guardian of heaven’s gate.



Details | Free verse | |

Light To Dark

You think you’ve gone just far enough,

I could smile knowing you’ve gone far enough that you can’t go back again

You think you were careful but,

I’ve caught a glimpse of your true, wretched form

You think you can find a way into my good graces

I’ve seen what you are, monsters with a friendly costume

You can’t deceive me anymore and, I don’t consort with serpents

You think I’m a game to be played but, trust me, you could never win

Don’t underestimate me

You think I’m a joke but, trust me you won’t be laughing

You think I’m just talking myself up but, trust me, you’re the ones going down

My eyes took too long to adjust

Better late than never

It may take a monster to know one but, I promise my teeth are sharper than yours

My first reaction to the hideous revelation that was your form was to weep

Fall to my knees, maybe even wretch my heart from my chest and onto the carpet

Then I thought about the mess it would make

I decided the only blood that will spill, will be your own

I was not weak, but I had a weakness

A heart of soft gold stitched to my sleeve with care

No longer

Now my heart is a stone so heavy

I could kill at least two birds at once 

Being the nice guy is a thing of the past 

Thanks for freeing me of that softness

You thought I was all sunshine and delicate things

When really I had just been swallowing razor blades

Now that sun is setting and I hope you see it was you who were wrong

Can you feel my darkness coming, because it’s eager to hold you

If you thought I was the one who would just stand still or turn to run

Your gonna be the one with tired feet

I’m not sad anymore

Just sick with the plague of your lies

Contagious, and I’m looking for someone to kiss

Even angels can make themselves wicked

When we do, we take no prisoners

Still think I’m a game

This one is just beginning


Details | Narrative | |

Boy Soldiers




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

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





Details | Quatrain | |

Soldier's Forgotten Valentine

In the hot desert night he sat all alone
holding a letter in his trembling fist.
A lone tear rolled down his cheek as he read;
her reasons so neatly declared on a list.

She claimed that the love light had drifted away
just as he had to that far distant war.
She'd met someone else while running on empty
and she just didn't love her soldier any more.

Now he rummages through his few belongings
searching for an old valentine card.
He feels like a sentimental fool
and he sure hadn't thought he'd take it so hard.

As night wears on in the midst of this warfare
he battles a hardening heart from within.
He finds that old card and he rips it to shreds
then plasters his face with a sad ,crooked grin.


written Friday February 8th,2013
for contest "Forgotten Valentine"


Details | Free verse | |

CHILDREN OF THE WAR

They are born and grow
in a violent time
with little to eat
nowhere to sleep
men come with the guns
and take Them away
They have nothing to say
just only obey
A men throws for Them 
some crumbs to eat
some old rusty bread
and a spoiled meat
at least They have roof 
over their head
one old dirty blanket
one old dirty bed
They know They will have to
do what They were told
if not, for a piece of gold
for sure They are will be sold
They are very young
and They are all alone
no mother or father
because They are all gone
They have no choice
to only obey
and do exactly 
what the man say
the man with the guns
and power abuse
They have no say
and They can’t refuse
it is such a shame 
for others to know
and turn their heads away
and just let Them grow
with violence and crime
against Their own
no piece no love
just the violence 
only They know
there is no escape
only pain and sore
this are the Children
Children of the war

Working on editing this one...


Details | Rhyme | |

Tribute To Corporal Buckles

A hundred-ten year old soldier was interred in Arlington Cemetery today.
Corporal Frank Woodruff Buckles now sleeps nigh his comrades in sacred clay,
Awaiting that glorious morn when Gabriel's bugle will sound that final call,
To fall in for the last calling of the roll!   Corporal Buckles will be standing tall!

"Taps" was played echoing far beyond the hills of Arlington into the misty past,
Reminding all of brave men who were destined to die or were horribly gassed!
Courageous men who willingly placed national destiny above their very own,
To ensure that our precious and hard-won freedoms would ne'er be overthrown!

Only sixteen, he lied about his age trying to join the navy and marines with no luck,
And was told, "Go home before your Mom knows you're gone, you young buck!"
He told a bigger whopper telling the army recruiter he was all of twenty-one!
The sergeant, looking for warm bodies signed him up, thence the deal was done!

He was promoted to corporal and served with distinction as an ambulance driver.
After serving in France, he was honorably discharged, returning a heroic survivor!
As a civilian he was a prisoner of the Japanese in the Philippines but was kept alive,
And was rescued after three years in Los Banos prison camp in nineteen forty-five.

He proudly represented the 'doughboys' of The Great War as last man standing.
So much, so very much to him we owe for his service was most outstanding!
That venerable symbol of America, the majestic Golden Eagle, cried,
On the day that the old veteran, Corporal Frank Woodruff Buckles died!

(Corporal Buckles, the last American survivor of World War 1, died 27 February 2011, at the age of 110)

Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved




Details | Rhyme | |

Peace Talks

I had an uneasy feeling, When I saw that meeting. Two men staring face to face, signs of emotion there was not a trace. Each argued his case, weak and strong, Both were convinced the other was wrong. The first one said, ‘Please justify your bomb that killed the innocent, both old and young.’ The second one spoke, ‘Freedom is worth fighting for, those people were unlucky, casualties of war.’ The two men debated all night and all day, taking no heed of what the other had to say. Then I saw the reason why things were so strange, two men stubborn, opinions that would never change. Eye eying eye, two men became one. Speaking with a single voice, mirrored in unison.
Still may need some work doing to it. Another old one I have revitalized for PoetrySoup.


Details | Rhyme | |

The Dashing Barnstormer

Over the horizon is heard the sputtering engine of an unusual bird.
Trailing a billowing plume of smoke, it looked so pathetically absurd!
Coming into view was an old Curtiss Jenny of World War One fame.
Used only as a trainer, faster, more stable planes put it to shame!

The dashing young pilot buzzed the field and waved to the crowd.
Distraught moms covered the ears of their kids to ease the din so loud!
He did a barrel roll and a loop and people thought the man insane!
He made a wobbly landing, alit, gazing about with haughty disdain!

Doffing his goggles, his oil-stained face looked like that of a raccoon.
The handsome interloper caused young ladies to gasp and swoon.
He smiled a smile that would light up the night and gallantly salutes!
He's so striking in his breeches, helmet, leather jacket and shiny boots!

He grandly announced, "For five bucks I'll take you for a ride,
In good old faithful Jenny here, my joy and my pride!
Now don't be shy, step right up!  How about you there, Dad?
Let me give the thrill of a lifetime to that there young lad!"

The young fellow with his Ma and Pa did earnestly plead.
Ma and Pa argued about it and Ma tearfully agreed.
That flight sparked a burning flame in the soul of that young boy!
He became a World War Two fighter ace much to his parent's joy!

Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved


Details | Rhyme | |

the old soldier







 


 



 

this was sent to me and i feel it should be shared.



The Old Soldier 
  
He was getting old and paunchy 
And his hair was falling fast, 
And he sat around the Legion, 
Telling stories of the past. 

Of a war that he once fought in 
And the deeds that he had done, 
In his exploits with his buddies; 
              They were heroes, every one.                  

And 'tho sometimes to his neighbours 
His tales became a joke, 
All his buddies listened quietly 
For they knew where of he spoke. 

But we'll hear his tales no longer, 
For ol' jimmy has passed away, 
And the world's a little poorer 
For a Soldier died today. 

He won't be mourned by many, 
Just his children and his wife. 
For he lived an ordinary, 
Very quiet sort of life. 

He held a job and raised a family, 
Going quietly on his way; 
And the world won't note his passing, 
'Tho a Soldier died today. 

When politicians leave this earth, 
Their bodies lie in state, 
While thousands note their passing, 
And proclaim that they were great. 

Papers tell of their life stories 
From the time that they were young 
But the passing of a Soldier 
Goes unnoticed, and unsung. 

Is the greatest contribution 
To the welfare of our land, 
Some jerk who breaks his promise 
And cons his fellow man? 

Or the ordinary fellow 
Who in times of war and strife, 
Goes off to serve his country 
And offers up his life? 

The politician's stipend 
And the style in which he lives, 
Are often disproportionate, 
To the service that he gives. 

While the ordinary Soldier, 
Who offered up his all, 
Is paid off with a medal 
And perhaps a pension, small. 


It is not the politicians/news reporter 
With their compromise and ploys, 
Who won for us the freedom 
That our country now enjoys. 

Should you find yourself in danger, 
With your enemies at hand, 
Would you really want some cop-out, 
With his ever waffling stand? 


Or would you want a Soldier-- 
His home, his country, his kin, 
Just a common Soldier, 
Who would fight until the end. 

He was just a common Soldier, 
And his ranks are growing thin, 
But his presence should remind us 
We may need his like again. 

For when countries are in conflict, 
We find the Soldier's part 
Is to clean up all the troubles 
That the politicians start. 

If we cannot do him honour 
While he's here to hear the praise, 
Then at least let's give him homage 
At the ending of his days. 

Perhaps just a simple headline 
In the paper that might say: 
"OUR COUNTRY IS IN MOURNING, 
A SOLDIER DIED TODAY."


Details | Free verse | |

OLD ROCK

Passing by this old rock I met ten 
years ago
Displaying ugly scars of many 
useless battles
Fought to escape my laughter
Fought to make the tearful rain
Sought to grow my garden of 
woe.

This old rock I met ten years ago
Laughs at my lonely life
Mocks at my mangled mind
Points at this broken axe
I hack brethren down.

This old rock I met ten years ago
Bawls over my bloody hands
Asks if mine is a happy life
Living in this empty town
Once full of songs.

This old rock I met ten years ago
Asks if there is a home
For people I send beyond.

Dear old rock I met ten years ago
Why not go and see for yourself?


Details | Lyric | |

Baby Soldier (Ethnic Cleansing)

Someone tell me where we are

not all that close, not all that far

Marching feet and distant drums

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

Baby Soldier with angry eyes

filling empty space with hate

for fat old men made fat on lies

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

Baby soldier

Slaughter in the market place

You heard their cries, you saw their face

How then can you sleep at night?

How dare you say, "everything alright"

Baby soldiers with empty eyes

empty minds refilled with hate

for fat old men made fat on lies

while baby soldier licks the plate

Baby soldier

Dancing in a rain of fire

Just one more death for your empire

but baby soldier dies alone

his soul is gone his heart is stone

Baby soldier with empty eyes

filling empty space with hate

for fat old men made fat on lies

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

Baby soldier

Baby soldier lay it down

the crops won't grow in blood soaked ground

but baby soldier cannot hear

above the sound of hate and fear

baby soldier with angry eyes

feeding on their hate and fear

while fat old men get fat on lies


everyone dies that's why you're here

Baby soldier

Someone tell me where we are

not all that close not all that far.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

ONE100eight

 ONE100eight 
ONE100eight 
 
CharlaXFabels 
 
 
www.three 
 
SUN TRAN history 
 
 Passenger Pigeons carry messages to people entrenched at 
www.wwone/ditched in doughboy britches wearing Army boots of wool 
 August 3, 1914 special free edition of the BerlinTageblatt announces "The War 
with France” The Kaiser rolled away and fell from Germany the world is saved 
they proclaim the war is over 1918   
 His hat was very black and ebon his vest hung down in back front was cut in 
western sling style his hair was off white gray an old gunslinger out of old 
Tucson days. He took a transfer out of his pants pocket and tried to slide it in the 
bus to make it work but the driver had turned it off to see his face light up he had 
been caught for this was the very first bus. NO the driver said simply with a smile 
that will not work and left it at that and up to him he did not frown but added the 
dollar paid the money for the fare the first time not again his bogus attempt at a 
free ride had failed. He took his transfer paid he learned his western lesson 
there the driver being kind and understanding could have been demanding that 
he leave the bus and March 24, 2008 has come the carrier pigeons are taking 
messages to www.wwtwo.com the war is over Hitler dead go home and live 
without a gun without a dread.  She simply simpered she opened up her bag a 
purse no doubt without a dime or dollar amount inside her friend paid for hisself 
one dollar kept the transfer in his hand she kept repeating to herself for all the 
crowd to understand eye left the wallet with the money in it at home the wallet MY 
wallet is NOT in this bag it has been left at home the man he seemed astonied 
when she said in certain tones did you get a pass for me NO he said don't you 
remember my pass and your pass is both in your wallet left at home the driver 
moaned a bit but let her be she let them ride he said eye gave to you my pass to 
keep for me she said so sad MY WALLET is NOT in this bag it is left behind at 
home IT'S EVERYTHING the carrier pigeon flew with messages to the troop in 
the trenchment ditch at www.worldwarthree.com/apocolypse 
The message simply said 
we airmailed 
 every missle 
that we have 
to hit the enemy 
the world is over now 
do not try to do anything 
just pray 
we are all going to see 
JESUS 
NOW 
TODAY 


Details | Rhyme | |

A Salute To Veterans

My soul filled with pride and my eyes misted as the parade passed in review.
'Twas the annual hometown Veterans Day Parade that I was privileged to view.
Veterans, young and old marched behind the flag that they vowed to defend.
They sacrificed so much to uphold the liberties we enjoy in this land!

A Medal of Honor recipient served as Marshal for the parade.
Lively music provided by the local high school band was played.
An honor guard led the procession with Old Glory held high.
Old veterans along the street saluted with a proud tear in their eye!

There were survivors from the December 1941 Pearl Harbor Affair.
No doubt this day recalled memories of comrades who yet lie sleeping there.
Grizzled heroes of The Battle of the Bulge marched proudly with resolute stride.
Wearers of the Purple Heart rode aboard a float with heads held high with pride!

A company of Korean War vets marched representing the war in which they served.
Viet Nam vets received long overdue plaudits from the crowd they so well deserved.
Young men and women still on active duty, some barely out of their teens,
Represented the Army, Navy, Coast Guard, Air Force and United States Marines!

Those gnarled hands that once held the terrible weapons of war,
Now beckoned for peace that we shall know war no more.
The hardships they suffered for liberty's sake we shall never know.
So much, so very much to each of these brave men and women we owe!

Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved


Details | Dramatic Verse (Verse Drama) | |

Mississippi is four eyed

My Poetry on PoetrySoup
Poem written By: Ronald Watson
05-2011
Mississippi’s Four Eyed

Ms. Sissippi Is Four Eyed
She have broken into that old wood burning stove, and
 She’s smoking that old southern type of pipe pride.
As though, if this was a device design and devised of little white silly lies, she foretold.
She’s, neither, afraid to beg, borrow, nor, taking a bad bribe.
Her soul cuts deeply from ear to ear; it’s only justice to feeling a good vibe;
		Ms. Sissippi, she is four eyed.

Ms. Sissippi, she is four eyed, and
While her tears are over flowing as a raging river will rise.
She’ll gamble to bet and just throw it all in for, one of a kind.
Whereas, an acquisition was made subliminal like, the truth is despised.
There as, her accusation to demise as which she would solely had criminally denied.
Coincidently, is it not did simply nor, it is done accidentally, but
Isn’t she’s four eyed?

Though, she’ll get caught eventually-
So, all those old traits will die, and along with her bold hate in which she hides,
Beneath her hospitality, and for Christ sakes! Even, Stevie Wonder can see that shit’s fake!
Sadistically, it’s how she gets off on the pain of darkness that had backfired and turned back sides.
Thus; she’s four eyed and yet she’s-
As lost unto her own selfish little world, but
She always has been that four eyed special little girl.


My Poetry on PoetrySoup


Details | Dramatic monologue | |

All the rage!

Whats all them kids doing on them streets?
Mostly from families on social security meats.
Annoying good old folk with skint praying knees.
From the honky tonk followers of the breaches of the peace!
Kickin up a tin can or worse if a sing song!
Like laughing hyenas upsetting the madonnas.
So build addict islands plugged into the pylons!?
Staff it with missions of puritan divisions.!?
Let them loose on the reality house!
We can laugh at the antics of broken sad romantics.
The drunk hall of fame in the addled hit brains!
Which side of the wall does god stand tall?
Now all the noise that annoys those good old boys!
Is the rattle of the keys that gives everyone peace!?


Details | Ballade | |

B52s Bob H

The old cold war bird still is on guard, though the Ruskys aint a threat, they must have built em strong and hard, those eagles, some of the best, guys said the ground would jump an jive, with the bombs a landing crunch, Aussies in Vietnam, thought highly of this bunch, Sounds like the old DC3, still a flying some, Biscuit bombers Kokoda saw, when world war 2 was won. B52s good one cobber Bob..
Don


Details | I do not know? | |

The Commander


I am the commander
Said the foolish old man
With the idiot's grin.

I am the commander
And you will obey
Everything that I do
Everything that I say.

I am the commander
And the world's never seen
A war president exactly like me.

So the land of the free 
And the home of the brave
All of their rights and freedoms they gave
To the foolish old man with the idiot's grin
And watched as the great war did begin.

They watched with great sadness
And all were forlorn
To see how easily a dictator was born.

The moral of my story
My loyal friend and true
Be careful who you vote for
It can happen to you.


Details | Free verse | |

Out Flanking The Phalanx

             Out Flanking The Phalanx

Roman Soldiers like to drink
So I sent them out to battle Hannibal
A simple mission not for sober men
First to the Cannae Battle, 216 BC with lots of sun and debauchery
Then on to Tribia
It came to pass with sun on every side
More so for Hannibal and his forces who survived the battle 
With tactics honored to this day on how to slay your foe
I told my men don’t move too slow
Perhaps I should have said don’t go
If you want to build a proper wedge the echelon wedge is perfect
Add the double envelopment and pincer movements to seal the deal
No postage needed 
With those three tactics Hannibal left my men for dead or bleeding
In any event, defeated  
When at Tribia, I ordered my men to clean at Lake Trasemine                                              (remembering that they stink) and to wait for war   
A consummate debacle by the Roman war machine unfolded
Legions flanked, lined up to die
Utilizing only brute force they marched in phalanx manner
Over 80 thousand strong, with breath and body odor to over power.
(They had no showers)
Annihilation got in the way of their success 
Blinded by the sun and intellect designs of Hannibal 
The light of day came by the compliments of nature
Utilized by Hannibal at no extra fee to blind his enemy
But charged them to the lake to trap the Roman forces there
In a Carthaginian standpoint 
What started as a laundry day and cleaning of the roman forces
Soon became a blood bath on the shore
My legions defeated by a masterpiece of battle tactics
No Romans….. No more….
The locals commented at the sight
Dying is no way to make a living, they’d say
They were happy to see the fighting end
And get back to fishing once again 
I would have promised all my men a trip to Disney world
If they had won and if it existed
But they died so didn't miss it
Too bad they ever enlisted  

                                                                             6/18/14 Roman Legion contest 
          


Details | Free verse | |

A world wide foe

Once busy strets
now lay dormant.
No drivers for the cars.
No children for the schools.
It took the old and new first.
The others were soon to follow,
sick beds overflowed.
All struggling against and old foe.
chaos runs rampant,
among the streets
and hills alike.
Not enough earth for the graves.
Mass pyres abound,
ambulances to hearses.
All is set aflame,
to eradicate the death beast.
One seen before.
It gorges on the abundance, 
selective at first,
then, glutony on all.
Dies out, after consuming the world.


Details | Ballad | |

Last Night I Went to War

Last Night I Went to War

Last Night I Went to War,
On an unknown battlefield known to secret soldiers clothed in shame and 
disgrace,
Tongue speaking samurai,
Last night I went to war,
On an unknown battlefield with weapons of mass destruction,
God given warfare of a secret guild, 
I went to war not against Iraq, but the spirit of blind fundamentalism,
Last night I went to war against an unknown enemy who torments me day and 
night,
With a brother from old who I love dearly,
A brother of great courage and integrity,
Last Night I went to war against my father’s cancer and mother’s insomnia,
Last Night I went to war against my daughter’s fear of isolation and my 
therapist’s impending neck surgery,
Last night I went to war for America and the freedom that it stands for,
And I’ve had many casualties,
I’ve heard voices telling me to drive off the road,
And I’ve felt dark forces rise up in my mind to steal the beauty of my 
consciousness,
Last night I went to war for my nation,
A wondrous eagle, young and impetuous, righteous and misguided,
And I felt the strength of the cosmos well up within me and I knew for a moment 
that God is real,
Last Night I went to war with a brother for life and longer for a 4 year old girl 
tormented by the beauty of her own soul,
And It through me off track and now once again I sit confused and alone,
But look into her eyes I tell you and see the peace of freedom,
To look into her eyes I tell you and see the peace of a freedom that alludes me,
It’s worth it, 
It’s worth every moment of torment,
For to look to that day,
That blessed day,
When all the Jews and Muslims and Buddhists and Hindus and Right Wing 
Christians and Atheists and Agnostics and Liberals and Conservatives and 
Blacks and Whites and Reds and Yellows and Communists and Murderers and 
Terrorists and Infidels and Thieves and Saints Alike are all on the same side,
To look to that blessed day when all are one and we look to the enemy and 
say “No not one Satan, YOU CAN’T HAVE EVEN ONE!”
To look to that blessed day I tell you, I am chosen beyond the dismal nature of 
this moment.
To look to that blessed day I tell you, I am lifted high above to the mind of God 
and know Joy,
I don’t care how many friends I lose or loved one’s turn against me, I will keep 
fighting.
I will keep fighting in unseen battlefields,
Until all are one.


Details | Free verse | |

Truthifiction of the bible

The author of the bible must have been god
for Jesus himself never wrote it
and i wonder if Jesus truly existed
then why are we not studying timeless works of art written by the first people
that learned how to read and write?
Another question plagues me
why are there legacies of family traditions of stories in families talked about
handed down from generation from generation
that yes your gret great grandmother was a witch burnt at the stake
or your great great grandfather was a black slave
but why I ask do we never hear those who brag 
through the testimonies of legacies of stories around campfires
that did you know your ancestor touched the hand of christ?
and this story of those days has been in our family for generations?

no one using logic how the world works?
true how quickly we forget
even war veterans pass down terrors of war tortures and terrors of such things
so why did we stop passing down the story of a god?

Is it because the author of the bible was god?
and he knew everthing that happened with jesus and Job
cain and Abel?
or was it just that one day there was a belief
and it was accepted
replaced an old belief
and murdered the old
and we praise it now?

Is this proof we are brainwashed?
gullible even
the fact that the old religion has more stories handed down in generations 
in family 
than this supposed god
who taught us all how to read or write?
I'm sure if i was there to be the first people to learn how to read and write
id write down some stories of the lessons i was taught
tell everyone i knew
of the man i had met who taught me
if the bible is true
and there were that many witnesses

I know id pass it down to my children
and my grandchildren
nieces and nephews




Details | Verse | |

Lest we Forget

Nightmares of a war that stole his vitality and youth,
And when he returned home they treated him so unfair and so uncouth.
Spit on and shamed for the role he had played,
In a land so far away, now he felt betrayed.

His nights were never the same as horrific dreams played over in his mind,
This war had not been his doing and he couldn’t understand why he was treated so unkind.
Released from the service this honorable vet,
Just barely twenty one and with a mind full of memories he cannot forget.

Now a loud noise may make him drop to the ground, 
Out of sheer instinct his mind replays those haunting sounds.
He was willing to give his life as he had seen so many of them do,
A war hero with medals, he thought God if only they knew.
 
No ticker tape parade, not even a thank you with a warm handshake,
Now left to roam the streets homeless and jobless, all because others viewed this war a
mistake.
What had become of the country which he had so honorably fought?
And of all the lives that were lost, what had their sacrifice bought?

His appearance took on a different look as the days turned into years,
He stills wears his old army jacket and the sight of old Glory still brings forth the tears.
His hair now is long with tints of gray and he still has those terrible dreams,
That wake him up nearly every night in a cold sweat with blood curdling screams.

The thing that hurt him most was knowing all the friends he had lost in that war,
Seemed to have meant nothing to this country, as he gazes at his scar.
His whole right arm he gave in that land so faraway,
Thinking it a sacrifice for freedom which he was more than willing to pay.

Next time you see an older vet try and understand his plight,
And show him a little respect as he stood tall in this never ending fight.
To protect our freedoms that are paid with bloody sacrifices and loss.
And lying in Arlington you’ll find many laying neath their silent forever cross.


Details | Free verse | |

a heroic, wounded pilot

She flies and flies until twilight blazes,
A swallow returns to her motherland,
Only to see joy, dimming, in mid air.
Wings, tattered like old  cloths,
Burgundy,  tarnished like an old coin,
Never again with a youthful look.

She flies and flies until midnight glows,
A swallow, lost in the vortex of her evil,
Not longing to be separated  from her family.
Eyes, with blurred vision, voice without melody,
Nest empty,  a rosary without  amber roses.
A swallow, yeaning to reunite with her loved ones...

A decade om foreign soil, she fights for her beloved nation.



Details | Lyric | |

Faces of War

There are many faces of war.
Some are seen daily,
on the news.
Others remain hidden from view.
They range far and wide.

The toothless old man
fighting to save his home,
a one room mud hut
and an acre of parched sandy soil.

The beautiful young woman
with long thick, flowing hair
and eyes of green,
a belt of explosives
wired to a cell phone
that she carries diligently.

The zestful young man who,
along with his friends,
attacks a lonely guard tower
late one night,
all in the name of Allah.

The small, naked toddler
playing in the water filled bomb crater,
oblivious to the danger.

A previously innocent
twelve year old boy
armed with a rifle, four bullets,
and decades of hatred for the infidels
passed down multiple generations,
takes a stand against
a well trained soldier.

The innocent bystander
on his morning commute,
caught in the crossfire.

I carry these faces
in the back of my mind.
They are etched
in my memory
by smoke and blood,
incinerated onto my soul
like the flames
that stole their lives.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Sixty8Ball

 Sixty8Ball     
 
 
Author Message 
Admin
Admin



Age : 53
Joined : 25 Jun 2007
Posts : 53
Localisation : Tucson

 Subject: Sixty8Ball   Today at 16:17      

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
 
Sixty8Ball


CharlaXFabels


GangLanders
Street toughs and criminals fighters and haters drug users and drinkers and 
smokers and sniffers. The eye is 53 chronological in years but excessive use of 
beers has not been nice to my nerves and when they move near me like sharks 
in the water of a limning pool eye flinch a little move away but not fear eye never 
fear no one but namme. Eye would not want to hurt the boyz but neither will eye 
let them tower over me in size they would not make a decent meal for wolf or dog 
or coyote packing hounds of misery they play like men when wanting to deliver 
but they mistake the old homeless for a flake and a quiver when the liver is so 
pink and my spine is finally strait and eye stand in disbelief as they step up to the 
plate eye pulled my glove on then smiled they seemed to hesitate then they tried 
again to make me shake
"we told yew we will beat yew up" the eye was laughing now the jigg was up the 
die was cast no time to worry or even much to laugh eye pulled the other glove on 
my right hand and smiled not moving there just waiting time to dance had come 
they tried again even so they wanted me to think that they had heart they walked 
up to the near me as they could try then one he balked the other one stopped 
also when he realized he was alone and facing some sort of crazxy man intent 
on going home they left with tails all tucked away and nothing left on glove no 
meat no bone. Eye could not let it go eye turned and shouted after them "you 
punked". Remember that this man is already 53 years old lame in one foot and 
blind in one eye shorter than tall taller than them able to tie one hand behind my 
eye and walk away from the gangster fight. Eye win. 
 


Details | Free verse | |

They

They control our everyday society
We are treated like pawns
In they're plan to make the perfect human life form
We will never be
They don't care how we die
Just as long as we all die
That's why they allow
Old single men to adopt
5 year old girls
Who get sexual abused
Until they are old enough to understand and stop it themselves
They never take things like this seriously
Cause they don't ****ing care
People are kill people everyday
Savagely murdering each other
But they don't try hard enough to stop the madness
Because they want us to all kill one another
Till they are the only ones left
They want to rule
They will not save us
They don't care
They will die


-Dec 2006


Details | Verse | |

A Big Thank-you.

if only certain areas could talk,
you'd get some war stories from old york,
i live surrounded by old air fields and bases,
thousands of ghost,so many faces.
hitler decided he'd try to rule all,
poland among others had to fall,
but his mistake was to pick on us brits,
on the chin for a while,we took his hits.
we asked for help from our allies the yanks,
to all those young men,we owe more than thanks,
one old saying was,"over loud,over paid and over here"
but without their help we'd be living in fear.
some so young,they'd not left home before,
then they were dumped on a foreign shore,
the battle of britain,was to control the skies,
it wasn't going to go to hitler and his guys.
from elvington drome the big bombers flew,
clifton and linton were another two,
tockwith,acaster,rufforth and more,
some just fields,these lads knew the score.
down south in london they got the blitz,
we,as people took so many hits,
but our bulldog spirit was to fight back,
the canadians and yanks lead one attack,.
on a bomb they wrote"hitler this is for you"
"and we guess you know who's sending it too",
lots of these poor guys never made it back,
but st kept going,attack after atta,
finally at a cost we got the peace,
in sept 45 this war did cease,
we can't let our world be ruled by cranks,
we owe a debt of gratitude,
to all those young yanks.


Details | Verse | |

The Old Vet

Sitting on the corner old Chicago Pete would smile and wave,
Said he was a medic in the war and a many a man’s life did old Pete save.

He himself was wounded several times and finally lost an arm,
But talking to him you’d think he’s led a life that’s been truly blessed and charmed.

He said I wanted to serve my country but I didn’t want to fight,
Said they offered to train me as a medic and I said that would be alright.

Said the hardest part was holding a wounded soldiers hand and knowing he would die,
Looking into their eyes and making yourself smile, all the while wanting to cry.

He said war is so brutal, the worse thing mankind has done,
How can anyone claim victory, claiming that they have won.

Many, many nights I still see the faces of those young men that gave their all,
And it’s a shame the best way we can honor them is to inscribe their name upon some wall.

He said it’s a good thing don’t get me wrong,
But there are too many names and the wall is too long.

And he said think of the mothers who never got to hold their grandkids now that’s a shame,
Usually greed and power are the culprits the ones to blame.

As I turned to walk away I saluted old Pete and wished him well,
The old guy touched my heart with his glorious and awesome tale.


Details | Ode | |

Old Warrior

Old warrior, in the bar...
Sips on his small, warm beer...
It's still 1943 to him...
And inside he still holds fear...
The world hanging on the edge,
Of uncertainty....
What the future held,
No one could see....

Served his country,
Of that he's proud....
Seems no one any longer cares...
And his fellow warriors are now,
Above the cloud...
Soon he'll climb those stairs...

Vanishing like dinosaurs,
This American-Spartan hero...
Has little left to do...
Ask him about World War II,
He'd be glad he met you...

To show interest
In his sacrifices...
His wounded memories...
His changed life...
His long dead buddies,
His long dead wife...

His mate long gone,
He stares blindly at the TV,
Dressed in the poverty he lives
No one can get inside his head,
Save those so long dead...

He has nothing else to do
Be home alone, with old address books,
Of all his long dead friends,
Photos meaningless,
Except to him,
Time has cheated him,
By leaving him here
In the lonely bar, so dim...

Struggling to make ends,
Six dollars on the bar,
The past in the air,
At home he never cooks,
He just no longer seems to care....

Cigarette smoke in the air,
A forbidden pleasure now,
No one seems dare...
Used to be normal,
Things have changed so,
But not our old warrior,
He'll be the last of his kind
To go...

If today is his last,
That's just fine with him....
His future days will be the same...
The final die is cast.