Poem | |
Gary, you are my little soldier boy,
who died on Veteran's Day. ('83)
My sunny, golden-haired soldier boy,
that I still miss in every way.
You had just turned 13,
getting interested in girls.
When CF took you from me,
my heart, like a flag, unfurled.
You fought CF with every breath.
For 13 years you tried.
And four lung collapses later,
after each one, I said,
"Son, you will survive."
Oh, how I lied!
Now, no more hugs and kisses,
No more birthday wishes,
I watched you go
and please God know,
Heaven, receive my treasure.
Author Note: This poem was written in memory of my son, Gary,
who died of Cystic Fibrosis at 13, in 1983. I honor my soldier who so valiantly
fought his fight on the battlefield of a life threatening lung disease, which fills the lungs with sticky mucus and makes it difficult to breathe. With all CF children,
they struggle with every breath they take just to breathe! My son eventually
started to have lung collapses. He had four before the last one took his young life on Veteran's Day weekend in 1983..(Read my poem "A rainbow Glitters")
I wouldn't be a poet today, if not for my son. He was diagnoses at age three.
As I sat by his hospital bed crying, I reached into my purse for a tissue, but
instead, I pulled out a pen. I thought to myself, "Ok, God, I get the message.
You want me to write and not cry." So I wrote my first poem that night, "Not
MY Son!" Which eventually got published in Elizabeth Kubler Ross' Book "On Children and Death." Later, I wrote humorous poems to entertain my son, who
was often to sick to go to school. And I'm still writing my poems today.
Poem | |
The Tomb of the Unknown Soldier - Canada
We all know you now
You have fallen at our feet
You have guarded them all with life and limb
Noble and brave
Only to fall at a cowards last call
You have stirred the souls of the unknown heroes
Their appall shall seek the just dues of our defamers and saboteurs
Young lads who now welcome you in the hereafter
Shall haunt our enemies from near or afar
The drum rolls sound, as the rifles salute
The Unknown Soldier
You are unknown no more
Notes: In memory of Nathan Cirillo and Patrice Vincent both killed in cold blood on the week of Oct 26, 2014 by cowards in the name of Islam. Nathin Cirillo was standing guard at the tomb of the Unknown Soldier.
Also in memory to the 1000’s of unknown soldiers, young men, who fought so that we may be free.
Poem | |
He Lay Where He Had Fallen.
Enemy Fire Had Brought Him Down.
He Knew His Life Was Over,
As He Lost All Sight and Sound.
He Knew a Peaceful Sleep,
Amidst the Raging Guns of War,
But for Him the Fight Was Over.
He'd Gave His All..And More.
Oh, He Was Not Alone.
Others Have Fallen Too.
And Time Will Not Erase the Fact...
They Fell for Me and You.
We Owe These Men and Women,
For They Never Got Any Older.
We Didn't Even Know Them.
To Most of Us They Were..Unknown Soldiers.
So Rest in Honored Glory,
Each and Every One of You.
You Gave All You Had to Give...
For Freedom and the Red, White and Blue.
5 23 93
Poem | |
His daddy is fighting in Iraq.
His mommy is fighting tears.
His brother is fighting death.
He is fighting his desolation and fears.
Friends are but a dream
and companions are an illusion.
School is a concentration camp,
but he stands, though alone, in the midst of confusion.
His training school is loneliness.
His milestones are fears, thrust in lies.
His only weapon is faith
and his bullets are soft "hallelujah" cries.
Strength left his fragile body
and he lost the fight in life so coy,
yet on his knees he conquered agony
and I call him the little soldier boy.
Poem | |
Today the bite of frost nibbles
On icy dusk and rain-spun grass
When prayers glide of nighttime down,
As battle strikes your whispers yield
Through ambushed maze drilling around.
Yet heartbeats vow for honor, true
Enduring nights…freedom pursued.
Kismet of hope is in the air
While we all feel your longing thoughts
Miles away…sweet tidings declare
Your dreams fluttering in chilled fall
About scenes of love and dear home’s care.
The rising star a grain of gold
In moments brave soldiers behold.
Then victory blazes in red
Matching the robin as it sings
From soar of peace…from soar of might
A courage blessed through godly will
Heroes return as breaths alight.
The autumn lays her colors by
As wishes crown your promised sky.
Mystic Rose's Write To Our Heroes Contest
~ dedicated to all soldiers
and my father who fought in the war~
by nette onclaud
Poem | |
He appear to be a ladd of maybe 9 yrs. old. It's Friday, as our troop's prepared to move
out unto enemy territory, and then KABOOM!!...he becomes a suicide bomber. WOW! face-
less at such a young age. Now as I gather my comrade's body parts (as well as my thou-
ght's) to myself I say, "these people's belong in a cage". Pain in Irag, will it ever end, here
children's are taught too kill again & again. Our Boy'zz in misery, misery all around us, the
stinch of death is everywhere. Their fearless leader leads no more. Soon he's capture, "one
would think, finally!! and now answer's of life can be restore, but sadly there's only more
bloodshed here in Irag. And a salacious cloud still hoovers above our heads as the dead
bodie's continue's to rise, another soldier get sent home and familie's shall not be able to
stop the flow of tear's pouring from their eye's. (faceless at such a young age)
Our Boy's and Gal's in misery - here in a country, were there is no love, "A faceless enemy",
we continue to fight. Our Congressmen and Senator's vote to keep this sinceles war going,
"for our freedom", lying to themselve's and to the American people's. "For our Freedom",
"I don't understand-how can freedom be justified with a bullet and a gun". How can Freedom
be (?) when every Saturday you'll be burying your daughter or your son. Someday soon
we do get to go home, from here to a faceless nation. As the dead bodie's continue to rise,
and before the break of dawn starts another day. Your lil 9 year old goes outside to play.
In this land of confusion lil boy's also goes outside, freedom for him is to suicidily kill the
enemy-each and every morning in the name of Allah his mother tells him. So 10 U.S. sold-
ier's live's are gone, more are on the way. Remember their President is dead and gone
while our wants a "Celebration".
P.S.... This particular poem came to me in a dream, as in a dream I was there (in Irag)
holding this soldier who had been shot, and he relate's this particular
poem for me to write:
Poem | |
A Tribute to Jayson, My Brave Warrior
My dear son, Jayson
When you called late last night to let me know
You were deploying to go overseas tomorrow
In spite of my great resolve
I broke down and sobbed.
The little boy I lovingly nurtured
So witty and good-natured
So kind, compassionate, and loving
You’ll always be my sweet boy
Even though the world now sees you as a grown man.
Recalling special times when I showered your baby face with kisses
Or tickled your armpits
Howling with laughter, you would beg me
“Do it again, Mommy, I love it!”
I remember all those moments we had
At times rocky, sometimes sad
But most of all memorable and enjoyable.
I remember your growing pains
All your questions, anxieties, and mixed-up emotions
Yes, we made it through hurdles you and I
Making me laugh, making me cry
But taking that journey together was quite priceless!
You’re now a strong, valiant, young man
Willingly putting your life on the line
Many have thanked you for your service
And, my brave warrior, I am so proud of you
When I hear your humble, heartfelt reply, “Glad to do it!”
You’re just simply the best!
While you took a minute to leave the nest
I’m grateful for the extra time we were given
But I know
It’s time to let you go –
Go take your rightful place in the world.
You’ve grown wings like a fierce eagle
It’s your time to fly high! Now soar!
But remember that you are always a part of me
And even though we may no longer hold hands
We are still holding hearts.
These tear-splattered pages
Reflect my anguished heart
Knowing you’re prepared to make the ultimate sacrifice for your country
I pray that you will return to me safe and sound
I love you, my hero - my precious son.
¡Vaya con Dios!
Poem | |
White marble stones
Stand proud in the sun
To remember my colleagues
The heroic fallen ones
Many a battle
Many a campaign
Some did return
For some never the same
On the green grass I stand
Blue sky above
The souls of my comrade's
Like peaceful sitting doves
The name on this stone
Reminds me of the day
My best friend and brother
Was taken away
An offensive was launched
Brothers at war
Bunker to take
At the top of a tor
Smoke screen exhausts the view to the hill
As we wind our way through
Zipping bullets, blood spill
Noises of lead, as they rip through the flesh
As we hit the barbed wire
Now a scarlet stained mesh
Objective in sight as we approach our aim
As I hear the groan of the injured
Many dead, maimed
Grenade pin pulled
Bunker window we lob
How many lives will we rob
Explosion flash, shouts of pain
As the smoke lifts on this bloody terrain
We enter the Bunker
To witness our task
The enemy lie distorted
Faces grimace, death mask
I turn to my brother to signal it's safe
As a shot rings out in this theatre place
He stands still for a moment
Eyes glazing and cold
The death of my sibling
At 19 years old
As I open my eyes and turn to my son
I see what I have as he holds my grandson
Family values, love and a bond
As I remember my brother
Of whom I was so fond
I proudly walk past, salute as I go
The white stones standing proud
Peaceful doves in a row
I find myself fortunate to stand here and tell
To talk of my brother, and the fallen as well
Poem | |
Near Saint Avold, France,
More than ten thousand heroes
Whisper from the soil.
Poem | |
A people persecuted beyond imagination;
To help them he felt, was his obligation.
He joined the army in World War II;
Not knowing his hell would be Eyes of Blue.
When he reached Normandy, the beaches were red.
Crawling over his brothers who lay already dead.
To give this tyrant, this devil his due;
Not knowing his own demons, would be Eyes of Blue.
He rounded a building securing a town;
A young German soldier was just coming round.
He plunged his bayonet, the quicker of the two;
Killing the young soldier, with Eyes of Blue.
He knelt down beside him with tears in his eyes;
How long this moment would last, he did not realize.
He closed the eyes as he thought he should do;
Thinking never again to see those Eyes of Blue.
The victor over many in Germany and Japan;
It was always difficult taking life from a man.
None would haunt him, this he now knew;
As long as the soldier, with Eyes of Blue.
He died an old man, to heaven he went;
For this honorable soldier, mercy was sent.
First time since the war, so sad but true;
A peaceful sleep, not seeing Eyes of Blue.
Poem | |
Lonely I was when I stood staring at the sky
Had a gun in my hand, was too afraid to cry
Fought bitter battles and never lived to tell
How at the altar of freedom, my body fell
My soul searches for reasons as to why I died
Did I save my people, had I tried?
Do they remember me, my deeds, my name
Are they proud of me or did I bring them shame
My battered body stood testimony to my fate
My heart had stopped in a battle brought about by hate
I had screamed in pain, and shivered with fright
But before I died, I did put up a fight
Remember me, my beloved country
It was I, my men, who brought you victory
I fought to the last bullet in my gun
I was a soldier, I was your son
Poem | |
White paper boat
Her image fled among the trees
his realness to intercept,
some Christmas day! With scenes inept,
beneath dark clouds and deathward's seize.
A mercenary sergeant was
that fought in wars for many years,
ascertained charge to volunteers,
instructing e'er the warfare laws.
The coffee 'pon the mountain glen,
on twilight time of wintertime,
his Christmas warmed (recalled a chime),
the M16 A4's his friend.
A ranger, served elite brigades,
but couldn't tell how life was lost,
his apparition of a ghost,
that fled to slopes and pure cascades.
He just recalled one Winter morn,
received her mail; on streamlet's banks,
next to the seething tracks of tanks,
he read her vows, on paper worn.
He never knew to phrase response,
and also thought she wouldn't wait;
his quantum was devoid of fate,
proscribing stronghold, Christmas' sconce.
On thawed snow-stream her worn mail goes,
white paper boat, comrade and guard,
his stare kept up, he was shot hard,
upon the snow, two qubits froze.
© 11-22-2013, G. Venetopoulos, All Rights Reserved
(Epic, Iambic tetrameter)
Sponsor: Leonora Galinta
Contest Name: CHRISTMAS EPIC POEM
(for definitions, please read the "about the poem" text.)
Poem | |
She once walked with him and stopped with him
when they heard that familiar refrain.
She'd stand beside him while he'd salute
her pride for her Soldier was plain,
and every night,
while he'd hold her tight
contented and happy, she'd sigh.
They would drift off to sleep
listening to the beat
of the Soldiers Lullaby.
They play the National Anthem
to fill us with fire and pride
and the last one they play every evening
is the Soldiers Lullaby.
Twice a day at nine eleven
when her Soldier was in Iraq
she'd bow her head in silence
to remember that September attack,
and when she'd get home in the evening
tired and lonely, she'd cry.
She'd pray that somewhere he was listening
to the Soldiers Lullaby.
Now she stands at the gate in the airport
heart pounding as Soldiers stream by,
so excited she can barely contain it
overwhelmed she's starting to cry,
and the crowd is beginning to thin now
the tears and the laughter all die,
heart broken and lonely, she stands there
when she hears his voice simply say "hi"...
It's been years since she's thought of that moment,
they've been busy with life passing by.
Two girls and two boys
now fill their lives with joy
and time really does seem to fly,
but at night when she's tucked in her family
she still bows her head with a sigh
and she never forgets to remember
The Soldiers Lullaby.
~For Jenn with love
Poem | |
in every fold of the flag
Poem | |
When there's no one else
look inside yourself
listen to the inner voice
if you have no other choice
depend on yourself and live
and give love if you have nothing else to give
always be strong and be brave
enter your world as if you're entering an abandoned cave
and if you want to climb a mountain that is too high
have the guts even if you die
that takes a soldier's heart
that will try no matter what
and will never break apart
Poem | |
"My dear Hannah: We're camped nigh a town called Gettysburg tonight.
I take pen in hand to write to you, my love, by the flickerin' candlelight.
From afar I hear the beat of Rebel drums preparin' fer battle on the 'morrow.
Oh, my darlin' Hannah! I ain't never knowed such loneliness and sorrow!"
"How I long to be with you and the children 'round our family hearth.
Ya'all mean the world to me, more than anything else on God's earth!
I recall so many times biddin' a sad farewell at our humble cabin door,
And marchin' off with my home brigade as we faced the cruel war!"
"I'm a-thankin' ye fer the chicken and apple pie you sent last week.
I shared it with my friends - it brightened our day which elsewise was so bleak.
This evenin' I read from my tattered Bible the Twenty-third Psalm.
We shared it many times at our family altar - it gives me such great calm!"
"I 'spect to be comin' home to help bring in the crops later on this fall,
And sit 'round the board to enjoy a bountiful Thanksgivin' with ya'all!
So fatten up old Tom Turkey, make some dressin' and sweet pertaters,
A couple of yer famous punkin pies and serve some fresh termaters!"
"I reckon I'd better close this letter 'cause its a-gittin' purty late.
Pray fer me, Hannah! I'll leave ever'thing in God's hands as to my fate!
Hug and kiss the children fer me tonight as you tuck them in their bed.
I'll see you soon, dear one. 'Til then, I remain your lovin' husband, Jed."
Alas, the Scythe of Death reaped Jed's soul upon that ghastly field of strife.
The hopes expressed in his poignant letter would ne'er be shared with his wife..
It was found in his tunic pocket as he was lowered in his hallowed grave,
As his comrades honored him for his service and the life he freely gave.
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) All Rights Reserved
Poem | |
I have seen the "corners of the world,"
heard the songs of many languages.
I have helped bring peace from many wars,
and played with the poor children of many countries.
I have tasted the fine wines, spirits and beers,
ate the feasts fit for a king, scraps, and dry meal.
I have seen the militias of other countries,
and the destruction of towns and cities due to war.
I have experienced Many Things,
exciting, horrible, memorable and painstakingly unforgettable.
As I lay on my hospital cot,
I slip in and out of consciousness.
I think about the things I have done in my life,
and yet the things I haven't.
My family, my parents, marriage and kids.
I've made my parents proud,
became someone by raising in ranks.
I've brought safety to my country,
joy and pride to my friends and family.
But I haven't had the chance,
to watch my kids grow up and start their life.
To play baseball with my son and coach his soccer team,
to take my daughter shopping or threaten their dates.
I haven't had the chance
to live on in retirement.
To meet my grandchildren and spoil them,
with stories and watch their faces light up.
As I lay looking up at the white
Red Cross tent canvas,
I think about the regrets
that many soldiers grasp, struggle, and
try to push away,
but still continue to crave.
As a soldier goes to leave this world,
there's always those final regrets.
They could be such as the want for
one last cigarette,
one last drink,
one last song,
or even one last intament companion.
Still with different beings,
there are different regrets.
Always one last something,
tangible or not,
something to go away happy,
peaceful minded, blissed, and
*Note: This poem was inspired by Mr. L.A. Meyers who wrote the "Bloody Jack" Series
The Quote of Inspiration: "Trouble is, as a soldier goes to leave this world, he always
has some regrets-- he
still wants one more smoke, one more drink, one more song..." His breathing is becoming
more labored and I
know he is weakenin. "...and one more girl."
I made this to mold any military branch and both females and males.
Poem | |
When my son was small he and his friends loved to play marines
A brown eyed soldier dressed up in his helmet and his jeans
I asked him why he always died whenever they would play
He just said “I saved my friends, ‘cause that’s the soldier’s way”
As he grew up his Mom and I always wondered what he’d be
When he reached high school he enrolled in their ROTC
Once he had finished high school he enlisted without delay
I should have known it all along, ‘cause that’s the soldier’s way
When he had finished training and became a full marine
I was the proudest father that anyone had ever seen
A brown eyed soldier in full dress not a thread in disarray
Stood proudly there before me, ‘cause that’s the soldier’s way
He eventually got married to a beautiful young wife
And I asked if she was ready for a military life
She just smiled and hugged me tight as she fondly did convey
That nothing could make her prouder, ‘cause that’s the soldier’s way
One day he told us he must leave for a war had broken out
He wasn’t sure what started it or what it was about
His mother asked if there was any way that he could stay
He told her “Mom, it’s my duty”, ‘cause that’s the soldier’s way
She said “Son, it’s very dangerous, you could be killed you know”
He said “Mom, if we all stayed home there’d be no one left to go”
“Dad,” he said “If this war is right it’s not for me to say”
But I have to follow orders, ‘cause that’s the soldier’s way
Just recently his wife received a visit and a letter
Our son had died in combat and that there was not a better
Leader in all their company, and that on that fateful day
He’d bravely saved all of his friends, ‘cause that’s the soldier’s way
He left behind a sweet young wife and beautiful little son
We all are very proud of him and everything he’s done
My son did his duty and he is coming home today
In a flag draped wooden coffin, ‘cause that’s the soldier’s way
Some have asked if I’m angry that my only son had to die
I simply smile and shake my head and here is my reply
My friend take a look at all you have around you here this day
You have all of these lovely things, ‘cause that’s the soldier’s way
My grandson looks just like his Dad in his helmet and his jeans
As he plays out with his buddies, pretending they’re marines
And when he falls and pretends to die, then I know right away
That he has just saved all his friends, ‘cause that’s the soldier’s way
For William J. Holder
In memory of Jon R. "Sonny" Holder
Died during the Vietnam conflict
Poem | |
The sensitive soldier
A boy like him, how could he think?
That a soldier he could be?
He was soft, poetic, sensitive
And yet this lad, did he
Join the army for to fight
To keep his country free
The lad he was adventurous
So he joined up happily.
Then he learned the very hard way
That war is for the strong
There’s no place there for heart and soul
The boy did not belong
All the stuff he saw, it broke him down
And made a mess of him
He had a breakdown, fell apart
His each day felt so grim.
They discharged him, and he became
A kind of nowhere man
He did not fit in anywhere
And now this man called Dan
He lives alone, and writes his stuff
And drinks a lot of beer
Cause what his life is all about
He really is not clear.
30 January 2014 @ 0645hrs.
Poem | |
What I gave
This is what I gave to you
Australia, I came brand new
To live here, in your lovely land
I thought your country was so grand
So I joined up to fight your war
In Vietnam [what was it for????]
I offered you my life, did I
Though still I’m here, I did not die.
I spent a year as medic there
And saw such horror everywhere
Young men dying painfully
Australia, as I gave you me
I nearly lost my soul, did I
Though as I said, I did not die
Something in me went away
No more was I so young and gay.
Australia, you’ve looked after me
You pay my bills so generously
But can you give my spirit back?
Or all the things that now I lack
Because I fought your foolish war
Australia, I gave you more
Than you could ever, ever know
I gave to you my youthful glow.
22 June 2014 @
For Sheri's contest 'What I gave'
Poem | |
A fine mist, hovers close to the ground,
But it cannot be a fog.
It cannot be, it's a hundred and three,
This is desert, not a bog.
Strain as I may, I still cannot see,
The earth, that lies beneath.
Until a man, comes into view,
He gently sets a wreath.
My camera softly clicks, but once,
At the Solemn view,
I caught his eye, he walked my way,
And whispered " who are you"
I said, I'm taking photographs,
To chronicle this fight,
Just then, the mist began to clear,
My eyes beheld the sight,
For what happened here, the night before,
The worst I had ever seen.
I could not bring myself to shoot,
I just could not believe,
The soldier pointed out a patch,
On a dead mans arm,
The Stars and Stripes,smeared with blood,
Protects me from all harms.
I bowed my head, tears filled my eyes,
At the carnage I did see,
These men and women lying here,
Bravely died for me.
As I raised my head, to thank him,
The soldier with the wreath,
He briskly turned, stood up straight,
I could barely breath,
He raised a stiff hand, to his brim,
Slowly let it fall,
Then suddenly he disappeared,
If not there at all.
I walked among the fallen troops,
Looked down, could not believe,
The soldier that lay below me,
Was the one that set the wreath.
To the Soldiers of Desert Storm
Poem | |
It took time for the soldier to realize,
that no one was truly self-sufficient,
after the raids and the bombings, hunger materialized,
and life seemed insufficient,
the villagers took refuge in a form of weakness,
as they watched their government fail,
and their lives sail,
unable to ask for any kind of help or guidance,
because of their own blood trail,
left by strangers in their land,
as most of these bystanders
become prisoners to a foreign command,
these thoughts flashed through the soldiers head,
as he walked around the countless dead,
he fought so many wars and won,
and he knew when another war starts,
they’ll take his son,
he gazed at the sleeping form of an old woman,
wrapped in a filthy sheet,
as she rocked nervously on the side of the street,
and small children huddled together,
and it appeared they haven’t had a bite to eat,
they simply watched and waited,
and for the most part,
that’s what the soldier hated,
these sights tugged at his heart,
but he was just following the chains of command,
there were whispered exchanges,
but he knew God would somehow understand.
Poem | |
Today is the beginning of her new life
the sorrow and pain of a soldier's wife
Her life was changed in the blink of an eye
and God only knows the reason why
Her love for him will never change
Her promise made when she took his name
Beside him bravely she will stand
to comfort him and hold his hand
As she prepares for their changing life
God will take care of a soldier's wife
Poem | |
They fought for a country, they fought for peace
But in 2012 the gunfire still does not cease
Being no more than a young lad
To sign up to fight they did so and was glad
No fear of what may come, no fear of the unknown
But some feared that dreaded knock at home
They put down their life, a battle they had to endure
They gave their life for me when they went to war
No time to be selfish for a task was at hand
They done their best to defend our land
I don't think I could be as brave as they are
They took up the role, not for the pound, cent or dollar
For queen and country, for the sake of mankind
They said goodbye to their loved ones and left them behind
All we have now are poppies and many unmarked graves
Many are the names and many have been saved
Who knows what would be if they didn't take up the fight
Yet still in Iran there's gunfire at night
A war is ongoing and will it ever end
How many more troops are we going to send
We have some of our 'boys' who think they are men
But to fight for their country they'd think again
I cannot repay you for your act of kindness shown
Goodnight, God bless until you return home
Poem | |
Crossing the world; ground, sea and air
Giving our country great care
These mighty warriors helping us in times of need
Doing us all a very good deed.
Defending and protecting from foreign invaders
Traveling across mountains, desserts and glaciers.
Fighting along with our gallant flag
Proudly raising it high, never letting it sag.
A rigorous job only fit for the best
During their work they rarely rest.
Their relatives at home anticipating their arrival
While the fighters in the battlefield attacks their rivals.
Helping our nation prosper and grow
These soldiers deserve a great big bow.