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Best War Poems

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New War Poems

Don't stop! The most popular and best War poems are below this new poems list.

War Within - For contest - knock us down with your lines by Tagore, Anindya Mohan
My Holy War by Kitts, Greta
Getting Lost In War by Duggan, Peter
War of the Words by Knight, Chad
The Smokes of War by Heemstra, Robert
Ways of War by Battle, Laura Dee
War time bike - contest by ROBERTS, SEREN
WAR IS OVER Contest Kelly Lune No5 by Guyler, Ian
Sex is a battle, Love is War by Sammsington, Joe
Parking Lot War by Deremer, Pam

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The Best War Poems

Details | War Poem | |

Texian Macabre Arena

The First Texian Macabre Arena Ballad (The extended free-fallen edition)
 
In another life, is where I first saw your face!
One summer afternoon, lying wounded next to the dead
Unopened gun powder, mass destruction, a land of disgrace
A blood thirst battlefield is where I first saw your face
The sound of war, hidden behind bleeding hands
Crawlers, render their lives giving grace
 
Jaws of steel, broken, embracing, warm feelings
Summer rain, lungs filled with blood, one last post
Glorious by numbers, screaming blades
Gemstone in touch with the Holy Ghost  
Soldiers come in a little close 
Crawling, missing limbs, 
Twisted nightmare with no ending

Macabre reminder, retracing the aroma of eternal life
Secrets buried like a treasure under walls of sudden death
Revolutionary tears found on a rusted Bowie knife
Lanterns, crackling against the dying wind
Dirt piles of crushed windpipes -- sudden death
Rummage like garbage, the dead Texian
A Falling Alamo Star, taking one last twinkle upon the sky

Forgotten Patriots, I can't remember the names
Written on walls, I can't remember the names
A folktale arena is where I first saw your face
Fairness of stuttered surrender slicing through iron brace
Crawling, with the hunger to live, a clean finish with grace
Exposing, scars needing mother's hands, mothers face

Across infested meadows, the aroma of burning skin
Distant, before Texas and her annexation, 
Gruesome, before I lived, Texas and her mortal sin
I pledge, my love, the honor, a legion, I'm a full blown Texian
To Every Forgotten Texian Patriot----- We Win!

By: PD

More great poems below...


Details | War Poem | |

The Enemy's Child : collab with Carolyn D


The battles on the field are harsh and tough
The looting in their wake engorged with greed
Abundant spoils of war are not enough.
 
Atrocious in their acts that make no sense
The women and the girls are taken slaves
Abusing them with lust and violence.                        
 
Unable to resist the touch of shame
The captive females cry in pain and fear
Their lives will never be again the same.
 
And when the dust of war has blown away
The children of the foe get born to those
Who months before fell prey and ravaged lay.
 
Unwanted children still need loving care
Mothers find it hard to nurture such babes
Shame is endured by children in despair.
 
Their lives are defined by horrid attacks
Evil men who satisfied selfish needs
Indignities make them fall through the cracks.
 
Who loves a child rejected by its kin?
Society offers them no solace 
The “enemy’s child”, created by sin;
 
But all these children still have hearts and souls
Rejection renews the cycle of pain
When there is no one who cares or consoles.

-----------------------------------------------------
Co-write: Paul Callus & Carolyn Devonshire
@ March 2015


Details | War Poem | |

Love story part two

Part two: Outbreak of civil war

Imaani’s world is falling apart around her.  Protests against a dictatorship government go out of control as activists are brutally killed.  Rebel groups are formed and a civil war breaks out between rebels and the government.  Imaani’s life is in danger as her father is a political activist.  Her father is arrested and her mother dies after a local shopping centre is bombed. 
 
Oh my beloved, I must leave you now.  War has broken and I must hide myself from the world.  Be patient my beloved, if our love is true we will be together soon.  
 
Mathias is heartbroken and alone once again,
 
“Don’t tell me love hurts,
It hurts just like death.
Everyone has a love story,
But my story I can never tell.
No one ever taught me how to love,
I only learned through experience.
Loss leads to pain, sorrow and no hope for tomorrow,
If pain is temporary, then why do i feel hollow?
No one ever told the truth to me,
About growing up, and the troubles I would face.
Everything I was taught,
had not prepared me for this.
Love is like the sun,
The closer you get, the quicker you burn.
Lies and betrayal will destroy your trust,
Your mind will be at war and there will be no peace.
Maybe it was never meant to be,
especially when you feel you never tried hard enough.
So, is it better to let dreams fade away?
To break two hearts, that are meant to be?
With so many doubts and so many questions,
I guess I will never know the true answers
In a society where love can be a taboo,
A beautiful love, sometimes cannot blossom
What kind of world do we live in?
When society cannot let you be you.
So don’t tell me love hurts,
It hurts more than anything.”
 
As the war becomes more brutal, a refugee crisis hits the country.  Imaani is forced to leave her home,
 
“Society has shunned me and I feel neglected,
I am like a foreigner, so it is time to say goodbye.
There is nobody here of mine, so I will be leaving,
colourful memories have faded away, all I see is gloom.
 
All those I loved have been stolen from me,
taken away by the evil brutality of man.
Their voices still echo around me,
their screams continue to traumatise me.
 
Derelict streets and buildings are all around me,
with haunting sounds of happiness and laughter.
All around me is pain and cries of injustice,
atrocities that the world turned a blind eye to.
 
All has been lost, so I guess I will be leaving,
disappearing behind a trail of sadness and sorrow.
I will soon be forgotten as will my childhood memories,
forced into an unknown fate as I become part of the Diaspora.”
 
Mathias’s world is falling apart.  He loses his job and falls into depression at the sudden loss of his soul mate,
 
“Life is a poisoned chalice, full of betrayal and hypocrisy,
an evil society which breaks your heart and then mocks you.
My destiny is a deceitful one, full of deception and regret,
there is no happy ending, this is no enchanting fairy tale.
I feel no love and have been left all alone,
nobody really understands, so I hide myself from them.
I have become indulged in a dimension of deepest despair,
within an abyss, where darkness is my only loyal friend.
so many tears have been shed, I have drowned myself in sorrow,
I am drowning in what feels like the deepest ocean and I cant swim.
I am falling, but no one is there to catch me,
my emotions are out of control, my mind is betraying me.
My heart is so fragile and sensitive, it is hurt by the smallest thing,
these voices in my head are driving me insane.
I am going crazy, when will it all end,
as no longer do I have the strength to carry on.
As every sigh becomes deeper, I contemplate my fate,
is life really worth living, what do I have to live for?
Help me please, no go away, leave me alone!
I await the final betrayal, so then I can say goodbye forever,
I will leave without a trace, without an explanation.
But, please forgive me, I never meant any harm,
I can't help it, I'm falling,
falling,
falling,
and no one can catch me now.”
 
Months go by and there does not seem to be any end to the war.  The powers of the world stand by and look on, not intervening as they have no political gain from the conflict.  The refugee crisis increases with overflowing refugee numbers in camps around neighbouring countries.  Imaani, has not eaten for days and is a shadow of the woman, she used to be,
 
 
“Do you hear my call?
 
Here, I stand,
battered and bruised.
Thirsty, hungry and confused,
do you hear my call?
Look into my eyes,
they have ran dry, no more tears.
The world has become blind,
they do not see my suffering.
The world has become deaf,
they do not hear my call.
So hungry, that I cannot sleep,
so tired, that I cannot sleep.
Life is a chance of luck,
a child born into luxury,
a child born into poverty,
sadly, a definition of what is to come.
soon, I will be gone,
but my plight, must never be forgotten.”
 
Part three: The union
 
Imaani has not forgotten the love of her beloved even with her life in extreme danger and close to death she calls out,
 
“I was never a poet, 
but your vision became my poetry,
I had heard about love,
but only your existence turned me into a lover.
 
I thought romance was dead,
but, your companionship, seduced me into a romantic.
I was never a musician,
but, now I compose melodies to describe what I feel for you.
I was never a believer,
but, your beauty made me believe, now I worship you.
 
I have never asked for anything from God,
I enjoin my hands and pray for your return.
I search for you with every sunset,
I search for you with every sunrise.
 
They mock me and say you will never return,
soon you will forget and love again.
Happiness or sadness, no matter where, my love will never change,
for those whose love is true, devotion always remains.”
 
A voice whispers into the ear of Mathias,
“Do you think you have time? Go to her, to your beloved.”
 
To be continued...

The Silent One. 20 August 2015.
 

Details | War Poem | |

The Queen on Emerging From Her Refuge

She’d dwelt within a palace, and outside it, geese and brilliant peacocks used to strut inside a fragrant garden. As a bride, she’d said her vows beside the roses, but today no scent of blooms perfumes the air. The terrace sculptures, rubble now, are strewn across the floor. She gazes eastward where the mangos’ branches danced beneath the moon when zephyrs softly blew. Like poison, now a vapor comes, beginning to enwreathe her husband’s realm. There is a smell so foul her heart wells up with dread; she cannot breathe. As ashes drift around, she hangs her head with certainty her one beloved is dead. Written by Andrea Dietrich Oct. 11, 2014 for the Top Gun Poetry - Structured forms - Iambic verse III of Giorgio A. V. Form: Iambic Pentameter in an English Sonnet

Details | War Poem | |

Causalities of War

.                                                     Beneath a blanket of earth
                                                     With a pillow made of stone
                                                       Her child eternally sleeps
                                                                    
                                                                   ~~~

.                                                     While at the foot of his bed
                                                           She stands alone
                                               And weeps! And weeps! And weeps!


.                                                  Written:  November 20th, 2009
                                                    Author:  Elaine George

More great poems below...


Details | War Poem | |

When the Flowers of Youth Fell

When the Flowers of Youth Fell

Winter stayed late that year
courting Spring with a fury.
Beautiful gifts of snow
and dazzling ice, he gave her.
It was during such courtship
I found myself lost -- adrift
in a place that once was ....
decades from this century.

Where mud and blood held hands
beneath duty and honour
and kindred flowers fell
to sounds of bugle and drum.

Smoke arose through Spring's tears.
Images of Blue and Grey
pilfered my breath as cannons 
rained thunder upon the brave.

How was this happening?
This was not where I belonged!
My time was not this place
and I wanted to go home.
Where Winter courted Spring
and snowmen fell -- not flowers --
upon the muddy ground
as snow reigned upon the brave.

The smell of gun powder
danced about my head and nose
like spirits for the faint --
arousing life ... far from home. 
"Get down! Get down! Get down!"
The half-crazed voice plunged me 
into the mud and blood
and I lay frozen in fear
beneath his weight ... and the cold. 
So cold, no hearts were beating, 
no breaths were being drawn, 
just the smell of sweat and blood.
The smell of rain and death.

Clutched tightly in his pale fist 
a tattered blood-stained note
bore the words, "Please ... for
mama ...."      
I tried but could not scream. 
And, I felt daylight passing ....

As shadows took the brave,
Winter's folly tamed sweet Spring
with final coats of snow ....
and snowmen fell -- not flowers. 

3.08.2013
Deborah Burch

Details | War Poem | |

Rain over Vietnam

There is the calm before the rain
It’s almost silent all around
The clouds expectant in the sky
Foreboding birds are homeward bound.

The soldiers stare at looming clouds
There is the calm before the rain
And yet there’s tension in the air
Will all this waiting be in vain?

They know the feeling well enough
The sun gets left out in the cold 
There is the calm before the rain
They have to be prepared and bold.

The sound of planes will soon be heard
Torrential bombs will fall again
But ‘til the heavens burst in floods
There is the calm before the rain. 

-----------------------------------------------------------
Inspired by the song “Have you ever seen the rain?”
Sung by Credence Clearwater Revival.
With underlying reference to the Vietnam War.
-----------------------------------------------------------
Contest: Screwed (Mar 2015)
Sponsor: Rob Carmack 
Placed: 7th


Rock N' Roll Contest sponsored by Kelly Deschler. NA


Details | War Poem | |

The Phantom Horse

A phantom horse came galloping 
beneath a silver moon
across a field of recent war 
where corpses’ bones lay strewn.

With thunder in his hoof beats,
again and then again,
he raced along a river which,
like blood, ran through that plain.

Though frightful he appeared to be
on land that reeked demise,
a sole intent gleamed strongly
in his sad and ghostly eyes.

Then finally, as dawn began
to paint the broad stretch red,
the unrelenting stallion stopped
and seemed to bow his head.

He briefly knelt, then stood upright
and bore away, with speed,
the spirit of the knight for whom
he’d been a trusty steed!


For the Not Just Any Old Quatrain Poetry Contest
of Kelly Deschler

Details | War Poem | |

He Was My Sun

He was my sun, my one and only son,
and dressed up as a cowboy for the day.
And so I handed him a little gun
of fastened random sticks, for him to shoot and play.

And dressed up as a cowboy for the day
he found some foes (with bows and arrows made
of fastened random sticks for them) to shoot, and play
the part of injuns in a mock charade.

He found some foes (with bows and arrows made)
in his story books before he left for school.
The parts of injuns, in a mock charade,
were tainted with a crimson war paint, oh so cruel.

In history books, before he left from school -
the tales retold, of victories that we’d won,
were tainted with a crimson war paint, oh so cruel -
the flow of paint was not to staunch when once begun.

From tales retold, of victories that we’d won,
he learned to fight for god and country glory, though
the flow of pain, ’twas not to staunch when once begun
and cruel to both sides (as he’d later come to know).

He learned to fight for god and country glory, though
the wounds of war were still unseen (though nigh)
and cruel to both sides (as we’d later come to know);
and soon he stuffed his bag with several things of youth and said goodbye.

The wounds of war were still unseen. Though nigh,
the hours boomed, the clock struck 12, before his time to leave,
and soon he stuffed his bag with several things of youth and said goodbye
to those who’d stay and even those who didn’t grieve.

The hours boomed, the clock struck 12, before his time to leave -
they brought back bags they’d stuffed with severed things of those who’d died
to those who’d stayed. And even those who didn’t grieve
with tears were stiff and masked like wooden boxes meant to hide.

They brought back bags they’d stuffed with severed things of those who’d died.
They brought his boots back, camouflaged with mud.
With tears, the stiff were masked in wooden boxes meant to hide
our children from the spilling of their blood.

They brought his boots back, camouflaged with mud.
They said they’d needed him to help defend
our children from the spilling of their blood.
But can they ever see or really comprehend?

They said they’d needed him to help defend,
and so they handed him a little gun.
But can they ever see or really comprehend?
He was my sun, my one and only son...


Details | War Poem | |

The Verdict

NOW
Well, GI Jack is welcome back, he left his legs in 'Nam.
He wakes at night in sweat and fright, then drinks another dram.
He doesn't know quite where to go, so seeks his uncle, Sam.

BEFORE
One can't ignore - his ma was poor, and life was sometimes cruel,
yet Jack was brave and well behaved and surely no one's fool	
so joined the ranks that man the tanks, as soon as he left school

He learned to kill our foes at will (ordained a sacred rite),
and packed his bag and wrapped his flag and went away to fight.
And yes, the tide was on our side (for, clearly, might makes right)

Through tangled days in jungles' maze, he sought the enemy
behind the trees where, ill at ease, he fought the Yellow sea -
Upon the waves of sunken graves he sailed a killing Spree

The napalm dropped and cooked the crops, burnt huts along the way
and tanks, with ease, mowed down the trees and villages of clay.
Yes, turret guns were loads of fun with roaring roundelays

While on the hunt with other grunts, he burned some babes alive
and wondered why frail things must die, while evil's phantoms thrive -
When folly ends, he'll make amends if only he'll survive
	
With booby traps (sticks dipped in crap)... yes, Charlie fought unfair.
He hid in holes like snakes and voles and snuck up everywhere
and like a mite beneath the night, caught Jackie unaware

At battle's end, Jack sought his friends - their souls were washed away
and only he and destiny were left in disarray -
With bed and pan, just half a man, the man of yesterday

When Jackie woke, beyond the smoke, his frame no longer whole,
he found instead a medalled thread, some wraps to hide the hole,	
and realized another prize: a chair on wheels to roll

Across his chest (you've surely guessed) his medals shone, arrayed.
His head felt light, as well it might, at Victory Day Parade
for when he rolled, while others strolled, his boots no longer weighed

AFTER
Well, Jack stayed home (no roads to Rome)  to start his life anew
receiving dole (that took its toll) which fell in Sam's purview,
but soon enough, when times got tough, his uncle, Sam, withdrew

To walk the streets with fine elites (or someone else who begs)
or find a job (or even rob) requires both your legs,
and those that don't and those that won't are those we call the dregs
 
For getting by he tried to ply and mine his medals' worth -
A tinny cup, a hungry pup near loamy pits of earth,
and best of all, per protocol, beneath a bridge, a berth

He clutched a sign 'A dime to dine?', if anybody cared,
but soon he found, as time unwound, that victors seldom shared.
And Jackie's pride was slowly fried by vacant eyes that stared

He took to drink to break the link with thoughts of what he'd done,
though threads of doubt began to flout the yarns Big Brother spun
of freedom's ring and other things like what it was we'd won

He told the breeze his vague unease; his words infused the air
and like the fogs above the bogs, soon floated through the square
where people sat at tea to chat, and thought 'How could he dare'

But freedom's price is never nice: like storms before the flood
the Daily Rag was on a jag, was looking out for blood,
deemed Jackie's thoughts untamed and fraught, then dragged him through the mud

By snooping clues, they plucked his views like grapes upon the vine.
Big Brother came, blamed Jackie's name for thinking out of line,
shut Jack away from light of day while letting freedom shine

The Junta Brass, with eyes of glass, were dressed in fine array
to hear the words (though slightly slurred) the witness gasped to say,
while Justice snored (the water board awash with Perrier)

Well, Jack was charged with laws enlarged in secret dossiers
within the guise of spreading lies and leading thoughts astray -
The Jury's out... the rabble shout 'well someone's gotta pay'

The Judge (who fears the mind’s frontiers), he turned his head to yawn
while making haste through courtroom waste, though slightly pale and wan -
The voodoo Lune withdrew as soon as Night condemned the Dawn

ETERNITY
While in his cell, the verdict fell - the sighs of Silence, rife
While in his cell, the verdict fell - the Reaper played a fife
While in his cell, the verdict fell - the price was Jackie's life

Epilogue
While censor’s cooks are roasting books (and truth) on stakes ablaze,
well, Jackie's head (though chopped and shed) still thinks about the praise
for deeds once done in victories won when cruising in a craze,
and then again about the sin of thinking, nowadays,
where, absently, humanity is served in urns on trays -
And, reconciled, it simply smiles at fortune's funny ways

Epitaph
A  mind was caught while thinking thoughts neath Sammy’s prying gaze
and forced to stop by concept cops, else join the castaways.
For now it's law to hold in awe the brave new world's malaise
and dance like mimes to rigid rhymes (which no one disobeys)
and celebrate with white-washed pate, adorned with dead bouquets -
With freedom’s death, time holds its breath, and waits for better days...

Details | War Poem | |

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.

Details | War Poem | |

Too Late

TOO LATE
(Cornish sonnet)

There is no remedy, there is no cure.			
As mortars rip through the bloodied trenches,
on the forest fringes, follow the spoor,	
there, two fledging enemy soldiers lay		
dying, on thriving grass, breathing stenches,
praying to survive for another day.

For once yellow skin lay bare next to white.
With death now pushing against their locked teeth,
in pain, they begged each other for a light.
Too late, prejudice now lays defeated.
Too late, to put hatred back in its sheath.
Too late, these two young lives have been cheated.

There is no remedy, there is no cure,			
for once yellow skin lay bare next to white.		

Details | War Poem | |

A Girl From Darfur

I can show you where the brimstone sun has no remorse,
and where devils on horseback, have burned our homes, have pillaged our farms.
A killing spree,   the drum of guns, some tried to flee, but died,... each one.
The screams, I dream! Oh, the cries........the cries....... 
I try to mute the sound of them
For...,  I was there, I hid in fear,  was somehow spared, but now I look for 
something, ...something, ...something, here, ...someone to care.
A bit of food, a bit of shade, such bitter taste is in my mouth
A world of hate. To have no shoes,...a walking ghost.....
a blistered soul, I have no hope....  but nothing, nothing left. 
My eyes are blurred, and fires burn, a heavy world, shouts out despair.

Where are the flowers that used to bloom, where are voices, that once I knew?
There are no flowers here...just flies, in waist-deep dust, and a hot orange sun,
that coughs up sounds of fear and guns, and swords and words against my ears, I 
live in fear with no one here. 
I'm just a girl,  or at least I was....    for just a while.

I was defiled, when found by one
He spared my life, but did not see, I'd rather die than be this girl, who feels the 
shame in being free.
I once had a mother, I once had a father, I once had a brother who made me smile
Where did spirits, lift and go, when the devils on horseback came to kill? Spilling 
blood as if for fun?  For thrill? For what? 
Where were the Gods? Where are the ones who turn their heads?
In desert's dust with blood red crust.  They poisoned our wells, burned out our land, 
ravished and raped, and relished their brand......, 
nomads came, leaving shame, evil and horror came like rain.
 
Janjaweed, the name, I cannot say... I live with shame, a world, insane
I try to sleep, but I cannot........I can't forget and I am lost, the cost too much,
a swollen tongue and calloused feet,  across a land of bleached white bones
Alone, alone,....lost and done...a vanished heart......no one sees me  
There are no flowers, there are no trees, 
Famine as my lone companion, a pool of mud a home to stay,
Life drains out more every day, my belly swells....my eyes are parched,
and I can't tell
if I'm alive, or if I'm dead, dried up tears are what I shed....
Where are the flowers for my head? I've been scorned, 
all I have, and all I see is wind and rain, sorrow and pain
thorns, and dust, and a grave, that waits for me



__________________________________________________
 8/28/2014
Devils on Horseback – The Darfur genocide (ongoing) The Janjaweed (translated, 
devils on horseback) slaughter and rape the women, men and children of Darfur. As 
of today, 480,000 people have been “exterminated” and 2.8 million displaced.

Let's not turn our heads away from this, or from other atrocities being committed 
throughout the world.

Details | War Poem | |

Blanket of prayers

I may not believe in war
Yet I still believe in you
I am one of the many
You are one of the few

You are standing in harms way
While we're safe in our bed
We're amongst the living 
While you're faced with the dead

Horrors I imagine
For you are oh so real
You choose to face the darkness
In your hands you hold cold steel

Yes you fight for freedom
A bastion for what is right
Your greatest weapon your heart
With it you hold back the night

Your life is truly precious
I am sad that you are there
I ask for God's protection
Rest in blankets of our prayer

For Mystic Rose's write to our Heros contest.

Details | War Poem | |

Gettysburg Hauntings

Gettysburg Hauntings

When General Meade met General Lee
At Gettysburg in 1863

Sons of the South battled Northern brothers
And neither side has ever recovered

Fifty-one thousand lives lost in three days
Of a summertime swelter, July haze

Souls rose not to heaven from bodies piled
On blood-soaked battlefields spanning 40 miles

An on-scene photographer moved fallen men
To snap better images with his lens

Hats off to Alex Gardner if you please
Today picture-takers’ cameras freeze

At a large bouldered site called Devil’s Den
Sharpshooter hid, killed unsuspecting men

Travelers at night on Pennsylvania roads
Claim they see soldiers, hear cannons explode

A century after the Revolution
United our states to wage war as one

Virginians were forced to choose blue or gray
Mason Dixon Line divided that way

If only Tom Jefferson’s wise notion
Had not been struck from the Declaration

Slavery, the impetus for war and hate
Would have been quashed before State versus State

Gettysburg might have been a peaceful farm
Where soldiers had never succumbed to harm

But restless spirits, faces pale and gaunt
Never retreat from their Gettysburg haunt

Our nation’s darkest hour plays out each night
And passersby still marvel at the sight

Where sons of the South battled Northern brothers
For neither side will ever recover

Details | War Poem | |

Poppies Red

November 11th is Remembrance Day in Canada 
(Veterans Day)
When I was in grade 7 or 8 (I don't exactly remember) we had 
 to write poetry for a Remembrance Day contest. I won and had to read this in front of our whole grammar school. I must of been 12 or 13. This was my first real poem!
I dedicate this here today to all the soldiers who fight or have fought for our rights and freedom.


In Flanders Field with poppies red,
there lies the secret of the dead.
Those blood coloured poppies
so red and so gay,
bring the whispering sound
of Remembrance Day.

Those true earnest men
who fought for their land,
now lay beneath the musky cool sand.

Alert and ready at dangers call,
prepared to fight they would not stall,
but march right on,
now some there lay,
In Flanders Field,
with poppies gay.


Written by Brenda Meier-Hans 
1970

Details | War Poem | |

In the Dark of the Strand

Marquees bright, and neon lights, where crowds line up for movie night
We're holding hands, we're in 'The Strand', red velvet carpets guide us in

Popcorn smokes, .. drinking cokes,...  cracking jokes with Bing and Hope
Lamour's along, in her sarong,... With luscious lips, and cigarettes, 
She fills ashtrays with smoking tips, and tosses guys like poker chips


         'Movietone'  intrudes with news, which puts us in somber mood
         Third-Reich goosesteps  march again,  ... an evil presence in the wind...


Cary Grant , (a news reporter),  loves his girl, and his typewriter
"His Girl Friday", plot is witty, sometimes crazy.  But Cary loves this ditzy lady.... 

William Powell and Mryna Loy..., Asta barks, and finds a toy, ...a ploy? a clue?,....
...an earring gold.  The mystery is clearly solved.--  A crimson sun, is rising cold!


        Movietone in black and white,... graphic scenes, where soldiers die


Another night, suspense on chart.  'Correspondent' ,  Joel McCrea. 
Saves Lorraine, and claims the Day.  BUY WAR BONDs !! They'll pave the way

Bogart, Bergman bring to light, a valiant flght , within their grasp
Airline ticket, in her hand, they must part, and do what's right, no questions asked

----

          It's movie night, but you aren't here, a troopship took you far from here
           Allied troops are moving tanks.  I wait for you..God give me strength




       I'm in the Strand, within the dark,  there's no one here to hold my hand

       I'm all alone...........I heard the news....................You left it all in Anzio




_____________________________________
For Contest Chopped III Sponsored by Craig Cornish
11/23/14

Details | War Poem | |

Standstill

Strangely bent this journey extends
Surreal at times, yet so real at ends
Each end confronts with a hardship of choices
With an abrupt passing, or an eternity of voices...

You and I, once on similar trends
Like brothers, we traversed all evil impends
The wheels then turned, unleashed worst of fears
We parted asunder on an ocean of tears

Through fallen decades, aggrieved heart sustained
I found my calling, forgot I was pained
Just when the going got peaceful and boring
Gales of anguish, and war started pouring

Again, I was forced to extinguish my wills
Left home for those in need of my skills
Forced to welcome the worst of thrills
A reward for one with the highest kills?

As we splattered blood on uncertain causes
Strode down the road of victories and losses
A vessel, merely, I was as I killed
Of sons, of husbands, of fathers, I spilled

In the heat of the battle, as I charged through
When my craving eyes met the eyes of you
That instant, that second, that moment, I knew
Neither decades nor ages could help subdue

My faltering sword could no longer fight
For whom I now behold in my sight
And I question my vow, having vowed despite
Whether or not my cause was right

Yet again, I stand on the recurring hill
In the midst of havoc, at a standstill
A piece of land that I swore to defend
Is it worth the life of a brother, a friend?

Details | War Poem | |

Death Muses of ISIS

face down
shot dead- see fear
all round

speak- tell
they'll hear-hush now
death knell 

breathe light
killers are near
tonight


Poet: Debbie Guzzi
Date: 11/26/14
Contest: Whispers of a Muse

Details | War Poem | |

The Poet Warrior

My Dear Enemy
Here I am
In full armor
My quill is full of arrows
My bow is taunt and ready fro battle
My horse is pristine and shiny black
I am your enemy
As you are mine to the death
I shall take my bow and arrow
Pierce you through the heart
My king shall praise and honor me
For many battles so well fought
I know I have to shoot my arrows
To save my own pitiful soul

My dear enemy
I just long for you to know
Every arrow, every drop of blood
Every soul that must depart
Due to my fine skills and sharp arrow darts
I die along with you
I know not who you are
Yet a weep for your lost soul
I imagine other times
Maybe we would sit for tea and cookies
Laughing over words of glee
You and I so battle ready
I am sorry for all the battle scars
The blood that flows so deep
Every arrow that leaves my bow
I am sure it too, also weeps

My Dear Enemy
I prey today that before the dusk
One of you will have a finer bow
My heart no longer has the will
To fill my quill with arrows so
Today, I let one of you end my day
No longer can I live on this way
All my fine arrows fired
Have finally been on target
My Dear Enemy
I love you as any man
I have only love for humanity
I pray one day
Our Kings and Queens shall feel this way
As off the battle field, I am carried away

Details | War Poem | |

Madness(2)

Ever wrote a sequel
To a poem about 
The road of dead bodies
that you drove upon?

I dont Think So^^

O. Yeah im laughing
At such a radical idea
Thats not registerd yet
Into naiive-Like brain cells

Yeah! Am laughing^^

Wish I could just throw
My smile on that kid
That lay stone cold
Hand over ears even in death

Died of the noises...

Not laughing anymore?
Thought so
I just laid there staring
Right ontop of him

Dead silence...

I panicked
shoved my fist in his jaw
I felt his bone crunch
Now he doesnt have a screaming face

Wow....

You think thats deep?
The guy right next to the kid
Was his dad
They kept him alive to watch
As his son burned
then became death
and soon a fossil
And when they chunk this place again
He will be dust


...His father
    He was right there
      






...To watch


Now read those last three lines
Again
In Slow Mo
Read it and weep
Maybe the tears could drown
A father who is still there to watch
And spare him of the "Madness"


"Well,if its what you want to call it.
I mean you can call it unfair
Inhumane
Insane
But its just Mad-ness"

Details | War Poem | |

Flanders Screams

A gentle wind asks Answered, simply, why not still Said family grieve .

Details | War Poem | |

The Undyings' Curse

Deep in the earth, a crypt of rock
slumber guarded by casket locked
Lips grope silence ‘ever more
 rasping thought, remembers whispered lore
Outstretched palms the roots do clench
tranquility stilled by festered stench
And eyes, sleep caked, are propped ajar
ignites no life, but collapsed star

Burned blades sigh, Winds’ dying gasp
bones brittle snap within her clasp
A lonesome howl the moon does draw
vigil broken, it twists its maw 
Upon an arena of endless stone
the granite gates they’ve passed alone
And entered a world of burning eyes
eluded the judge of smoldering cries

A faultless gait, no stumbled draw
a reaping brought  by scythe and claw
Opal edge which shrouds a cause
aberrant blade shapes nature’s laws
Dictate a script, the stars can share
an open secret, a language bare
Steps continue, feet are drawn
across gray grass, undying pawn

Details | War Poem | |

My Pen Collection

As the waves forever kiss the shore
One shot leaves you wanting more
My heart and soul, strong and true
With all the love they hold for you
Sometimes my life leaves me bored
Like a swordsman with no sword
These are the times that I write
Memories can be hard to fight
I write out my heart and soul
Controlling my mind is my goal
Each new word released by my pen
Is another spiritual battle I win
The war rages on day by day
Through the poem prayers I pray
It's a war that I will forever win
Long as there is ink up in my pen
In prison I had quite a collection
Each one held it's own reflection
I saved them after they ran dry
Baptized with the tears I cry
I just couldn't seem to let them go
Little memories of my heart and soul
Sometimes I like to take them out
Little memories of what I'm about
What I'm about angel on my shoulder
Making this world a little less colder

Details | War Poem | |

His Background

This enlisted soul
At eighteen years old
Barely a man
Not even street wise told

From the proms, to the camp
He kits out tomorrow
His future he stamps
Never knowing bloodied sorrow

In just under a year
He's older and wiser
To a theatre so different
Says his military adviser

Overseas he heads
Thoughts of back home
What goes through his mind
In eighteen years old roam

Where could he have been
In so short a time
Colouring books
Making joining words rhyme

As he looks to his background
What does he see
An eagle soaring
In the land of the free

The statue of liberty
And the bill of rights
With the thirteen stripes
And the stars to delight

He is just a boy
In grown up clothes
Another one lost
To a cause we will loathe




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