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Violence Patriotic Poems | Violence Poems About Patriotic

These Violence Patriotic poems are examples of Violence poems about Patriotic. These are the best examples of Violence Patriotic poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

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Details | Epitaph |

John F Kennedy

John F. Kennedy 1917-1963 The great 35th president of US It wasn't really a success He tried to stop the missile bases There were lot of angry faces When there was about to be a war Peace was what he asked for Texas was the place he was shot Later, the criminal was caught He didn't survive the pain His people cried like the rain

Copyright © Heeju Kim | Year Posted 2013

Details | Ode |

Love is a Sacrifice

You have my soul, but you have your fate Whatever your words, I’m willing to take You have my word; I’ll give you my breath It’s like a chain that would never be break You are my love with all my heart, I’ll fight for you with all my might. And in the way, you admire your goals, You hold my hands, but not so close. As you go to your chosen path, I’ll accept the fact that we will be apart. In the dark side, I leave behind Within my faith, that you’ll arise Please don’t look back, coz I’m fighting still I’m hurting so much! Don’t want to have you near I accept my fate for what it does, I’m bleeding so much, do you know for whom it was? You reach your goals, as you want to have, Would you remind the man that gave what he had? As you reach the stars, and be the one Be a sun that shines its own. After the rain, the rainbow comes, Like dark in the moon, when the light flash A glimpse from you at least a short For then I knew my pain is worth.

Copyright © Emmanuel Fajutagana | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse |

The Strand

This expanse of land has seen things. 
Things all of us can only see in dreams.
It's seen war, it's gotten it's fair share of scars.
Bombs bursting, bullets throwing sand into the air like it's a volleyball tournament.
The sand running red with blood silently mocking our arteries.

This magnificent stretch of land has seen heroes' tears fall; dropping to their knees while sadness envelopes their fallen brothers but also looking up to their beloved whilst carrying a ring in their hand. 

It's seen bright days, the sun glimmering over wet sand, footprints of past loves being washed away as the sun smacks the horizon. 

This expanse of land...has seen things we can only imagine.


Copyright © Tyler Kisner | Year Posted 2013

Details | Couplet |

A Hero

Barley a man when he went off to war
not really sure what he was fighting for

To serve his country he knew for sure,
unaware of the suffering he would later endure

He worked hard to put on a brave face,
but he couldn't imagine a more horrible place

So often afraid of losing his life, 
he would cling to the thought of his son and his wife

When he came home it was an answered prayer,
it was due to the illness he'd received over there

Whatever the reason he was finally home
He had a six week old son of his very own

He tried to work and live a normal life
He later married his second wife

They had two kids, that made him three
From this sickness he couldn't get free

He was completely disabled, he couldn't work
His pain was getting worse and worse

He'd had many surgeries and there were more to come
It attacked his liver, colon and lungs

He never spoke of the horror he'd seen
His brain must have felt so unclean

He never bragged about the Purple Heart
The illness was tearing his body apart

He wasn't perfect, that much is true
but imagine all that he went through

He died when he was only fifty seven
I hope God saved a place for him in Heaven

Copyright © Nikki Reynolds | Year Posted 2016

Details | Couplet |

On a Soldier's Death

His back meets the cold, wet grass under him,
his eyes meet the blue endless sky hovering over him.

The cigarette from his hand dies out as it meets the sopping grass below
He feels the blood escape his body that now is no longer whole.

As he stares up into the sky,
he thinks of the girl he hated to leave behind.

He thinks of his mother, her tears streaming down,
his father’s proud hand, as it strongly grazed his crown.

He thinks of the men fighting for their life,
He thinks of his enemy, ducking for his life.

He thinks of the reasons war even exists,
Maybe this isn’t the way one should even live.

The sounds of his men approaching feels distant in his ear,
the struggle to save a life is unyielding,
when the bullet cuts through the heart,
there is no weaker feeling. 

Slowly the sounds of planes hushes down,
The sounds of gunfire are stifled,

The missiles whistling in the background stop
and all of nature’s sounds just suppress, as they come to a halt.

The men become blurry as his eyes start to freeze,
The body that once fought, now turned to solid ice.

For the last time in his life,
he thinks of the girl he wishes he never left behind.

He thinks of his mother, whose tears will continue to run,
the father’s proud hand, that wont ever touch his son.

In these last few seconds, he does not feel scared,
as he spent this life fighting strongly for his homeland.

Copyright © Jovana Pokrajac | Year Posted 2015

Details | Rhyme |

Terrorism Failed

United in isolated collectivity,
Standing erect for reflective solidarity,
Sited to enable individuality,
Symbolising the dead, the loss in totality.

So many damaged people, with so much to remind,
There are tear-laden memories for those left behind.
A tangible grief can still be heard in their voices,
Faltering as they speak out about that day’s choices.

Take underground trains or avoid confused crowds and fuss,
Diverted, turned back, decided to run, catch a bus.
Explosive devices never discriminated,
Primed bombs blasted apart, London was devastated.

They ripped through metal, taking and tearing precious lives
And scarred the future for each one who survives.
Destroyed calm, delivered terror with impunity,
Suicide bombers believed in their immunity.

Now peace, time taken for moments of contemplation,
Silent thoughts that bring an end to all conversation.
Remembered faces, the past a painful looking back,
Centrally listed, names on the newly engraved plaque.

Children run, play chase, amidst the memorial shown,
As people feel emotion, cry, prove that flesh and bone
Continues to exist, to love, to laugh and to weep
But, never to forget those whose memories we keep.

United in isolated collectivity,
Defiant, standing tall in solidarity.
There to celebrate the individuality
Of the murdered dead, fifty-two in totality.

Tragically their hopes, dreams were brutally curtailed
But, ours were not; we are strong as steel, terrorism failed.

Copyright © Mavis Jackson | Year Posted 2017

Details | Vaasokht |



Scene---A Dying German Agent/A Soldier`s thoughts/reflections just before death 

On this periphery of life
Let blue jeans of my ice blonde Brenda wear me to marry with death
Fire will be her gown, ashes shall be my girdle, shattered is everything beneath
Smokes so discerned sprawling
Some will say it was a poetic corpse after so deadly the strife

Wrapped in unknown funerary fetes
My blood will be poured in cask of mimicks
A yawn concealing me in semicolon as I saw I was dying, 
sickened of the sicks
All the ravens of sorcery lurking the corner in full stops
As if I knew nothing following the wisdom of Socrates

Boots and kilt emphasizing my lost treasure
At last the casket to embrace me from the provocateur
No persuasive argument will be my candy,
a keepsake solidarity in barter 
A marked plot spewed by shrewd men
An aftermath velvet and a last squint of Prussia far and near

Death so dear only to see if the lady in red silk I loved has red roses
My dear Soviet plezhvadya
for the wide-brimmed black hat, red bloody eyes hers, a gunshot
,yellow mouthful venom of words oozing out in raucous abuses
Hatred carped in end and unend Olesya, good as gold my Olesya

Now the bastion they called bastards buccaneered before her epithet
Kaliningrad`s cloud full of black so black an obnoxious smoke
Davai! Davai! they shouted and again nemesis eavesdropped
Eagles died I know not if a death of glory as I felt I saw an 1871 gauntlet
That’s my last shot of life before I became death`s forgotten lucky bloke

Vocabulary --1-Plezhvadya(Russian/Czech)- A Soviet dish
                   2.Davai!(Russian)--Let`s do it, Come on!
                   3.Obnoxious-extremely unpleasant 
                   4.Gauntlet-An armored glove of the tectonic Knights
                   6.Barter-Exchange,Trade,Swap without use of money

Copyright © Reynold del Rey | Year Posted 2015

Details | Prose Poetry |



We hear that patience is a virtue 
Is this true, or simply virtual reality 
When leaders are teaching our youth; 
do as I say, not as I do 
Regression to a version of the American 

Impatience is becoming intolerance 
But to be patient is viewed as ignorance 
In a blind world conforming to violence 
Very few see need for benevolence

Many view crime as way of life 
Government fuels fires, causing strife 
Committing true crime with their lack of 
Our country torn by those who lied

Promoting bigotry and distaste for the 
 But these days color and homosexuality 
are lactose free 
Intolerant of equality, it’s a problem, 
Love is love, embrace the hate 
Hold it tightly until it sees the light

Peace pushed just beyond our reach 
We realize that “hope and change” was 
just a speech 
Wars raging through the land we call 
In God we trust, not this powerful regime

Speak out now with virtuous impatience 
Change is change no matter how small 
the feat
Restore hope with unfaltering acceptance 
and grace 
Serve what you stand for, no time left to 

Copyright © Gabrielle Charisse | Year Posted 2013

Details | Rhyme |

Ideological War of the Worlds

 The coming times can unfold,
far accross to all lands,
the casting shadow has fallen,
with it's far reaching hands,
accross our four cornered world,,
 Humanity progressed to progressive sufferage,
that comes with many names,
the ideology won without a shot,
convinced populations into guilted shame,
lost are voices of courage,,
 The warring world will arise,
between makers and takers,
parasitic ideology's green eyed mind,
re-writing regulations by progressive thinkers,
big brother's utopian great enterprise,,
 Dependent we all become, parasitically,
even forced fed into submission,
by governmental state so enlarged,
numbered you are by institution,
nothing owned, only redistributed cynically,,
 Paupers suffer under progressive fortitude,
soulless programs of living propaganda,
your worth, what you produce,
socialized into this living agenda,
living taxed products of servitude,
           , and then...
 The rise will come independent,
carrying courage and freedom proudly,
with wisdoms weapon in hand,
knowledge in the other soundly,
honor reclaimed by the sentient,,
 Independent declarations germinating from seed,
feared by any progressive regime,
warriors in freedom stand tall,
threatened is the progressive dream,
renewing freedoms that will breed,,
 The liberty that spawned revolution, 
alive from all moral conceptions,
viewed as evil that's progressive,
feared are soulless seeking redemption,
the light of liberty's salvation,,
 Beating freedoms of sentient heart,
the salvation of fighting worth,
a force greater than any darkness,
warriors of liberty step forth,
champions of honor that impart,,
     , next, the final chapter of...
 Ideological war of the worlds,
eye to eye never seen,
the hatred between clearly drawn,
problems with peace to intervene,
the conflict as it unfolds,,
 Coming as thieves of night,
armys on both sides  comes,
fortifying and building societial walls,
truth and lies propaganda welcomes,
armored suited masses to fight,,
 Emerges the lights of honor,
the independent class called defenders,
private elites of character gold,
the shadows behind all pretenders,
opperatives that's far more superior,,
 Defenders are warriors of light,
core beliefs that's solely independent,
religiously organized they never follow,
thorns in a crowned tyrant,
independent wills of great might,,
 They are why freedom thrives,
true leaders leading into tomorrow,
that govern by liberty's will
that invites everyone to follow,
founding fathers of our lives..  

Copyright © S.K. Y. | Year Posted 2013

Details | Rhyme |

In God We Trust

A spirit of violence is creeping in this country to invade.
In our large cities citizens are becoming afraid.
Race related shootings are more frequent,
Stirring up hate and feelings of discontent.

We have to worry about terrorists, and loners acting in rage.
It is a sign of the end times in this day and age.
Our national motto is "In God We Trust."
We need to put God back in America, an absolute must.

Written 9/26/16
"What is Society" contest
Sponsor: Ironic Zink
Awarded 7th Place

Copyright © Brenda McGrath | Year Posted 2016

Details | Limerick |

Limericks crochetes: Once a cardsharp comic called Don Dump

Limericks crochetés: Once a cardsharp comic called Don Dump

Once a cardsharp comic called Don Dump
Made father’s money jump during slump
Dreamed of ruling this earth
Joined campaign (in) stand-up mirth
Made people laugh without using trump.

He played to the gallery hirsute
Soon his jokes turned sauerkraut through soot
Before long they cried : Heil !
Jackboots clicked, people wail
In goose-step, give : Sieg ! Heil ! salute.

Moral : « Listen not to funny man Dump !
Migrants all know how to scale wall jump.
Ten million there love US
Minus some (who) think like louse !
Live not solipsistic world on rump ! »

© T. Wignesan – Paris,  2016

Copyright © T Wignesan | Year Posted 2016

Details | Villanelle |

Villanelle: The Dilemma of the Non-Violent - 29

Villanelle: The Dilemma of the Non-Violent – 29

At last O Children of the Mother Contrées*
Roll out the red carpets for High Potentates
The hour of glory at Champs–Elysées

Cry not from Eiffel Tower 2C degrés
Temperature rises end of century, Mates
At last O Children of the Mother Contrées

Streak frowning skies in red white and blue display
Let pent-up champagne pop through foie-gras plates
The hour of glory at Champs-Elysées

Limousines line up for haute couture soirées
Blue-ribonned chefs dress-up spruced-up back-door dates
At last O Children of the Mother Contrées

Tri-colour ice cream on rhino-horn purées
See not hear not how iceberg disintegrates
The hour of glory at Champs-Elysées

Chefs d’Etat promise profit for protégés
While oceans swamp islands rivers city-states
At last O Children of the Mother Contrées
The hour of glory at Champs-Elysées

•	The final “s” in French is silent 

© T. Wignesan – Paris,  2015

Copyright © T Wignesan | Year Posted 2015

Details | Villanelle |

Villanelle: The Dilemma of the Non-Violent - 37

Villanelle: The Dilemma of the Non-Violent – 36

All day long we kill to keep the home clean
Insecticides aerosols rat poison
The killer instinct makes us bold and mean

Down by the pond mosquitoes wake and preen
Time to send fighter jets by the dozen
All day long we kill to keep the house clean

Peeled apples for veg flies succulent wean
We spend week-ends choking every last one
The killer instinct makes us bold and mean

Kids we love but not the kind who boil spleen
So we sock the wife more than hard in the bun
All day long we kill to keep the home clean

At Antipodes some guys flex muscles lean
Call that homefront affront to smite them down
The killer instinct makes us bold and mean

What counts home comfort by all overseen
Secure society to foist nation
All day long we kill to keep the house clean
The killer instinct makes us bold and mean

©  T. Wignesan – Paris,  2015

Copyright © T Wignesan | Year Posted 2015

Details | Quatrain |

Fading Anguish

Forced down onto the thick mud
the stench of this rotten blood
Determined for this to be surreal
My fate would change if it were real

My life begins anew In my head
From the time mother put me to bed
Father took me to my first Yankee’s game
Where I was inspired by their fame

To keep the kids soundly in bed
My blood, I fear, I must shed
Not knowing whether I would live or die
the anguish is consuming my thigh

The pain is slowly dying out
my destiny is nothing but a doubt
Laying on the red infested loam
Guadalcanal, you are my last home.

Copyright © Jorge Torres | Year Posted 2013

Details | Rhyme |

The Mourning Doves

Dedicated to my grandpa.

As I look to the sky
My eyes lay upon the glistening moon
Hearing the distant cry
For the battle will here soon.

The soft, sweet breeze
Flowing toward the West
Does not settle or ease
The pain filling my chest.

My life has been taken over by fear
And my memories are now only distant dreams
For tonight I will shed my last tear
Overcome by Satan’s evil screams

Will I escape this living Hell
Or will I perish for my country
For if tonight is my last farewell
I hope I do not leave bluntly.

I wish this could all change
As I watch the trees sway back and forth
Though all we pay attention to the rifle range
And how stealthily we push North.

What we need is not only love
Not only trust 
Not the wake up calls of the mourning doves
Or the evening gust. 

What we need is something simple
Something easy to grant
Something beyond any starts twinkle
But smaller than any plant.

For this divine gift
Is not an enemy cease
But the pain lift
Of the great and mighty peace. 

Copyright © Brian Byrne | Year Posted 2015

Details | Narrative |

Victory Woods, or The Battle of Saratoga

That day in the October sun
The British they marched along
Across Mater Barber’s wheat field
A force in red, quite strong.
The drummer drummed, fifers they played
We heard their martial song,
And we leapt out to meet out foes
To break that scarlet throng
When the British came along.

From our guns, hot fire leapt
Trumpeting the fray,
The lobsterbacks, down they went
Not long here cold they stay.
Another volley and they broke
Then turned to run away.
We pushed at them in hot pursuit
Our hearts intent to slay
Our guns trumpeting the fray.

They ran headlong that afternoon
To earthworks and redoubts,
Denying us the pleasure 
Of a quick and easy rout.
We charged the wall repeatedly,
To club and kill those louts.
They repulsed us so many times,
They knew how to build stout,
Those earthworks and redoubts.

Then a general a cabin saw
His name shall not be said,
For crimes committed later on
That nearly cost us our heads.
He saw a weak-point in the line
His troops that way did tread,
A strike to turn the tide that day
He left those British dead.
But his name will not be said!

The line it broke, the British ran
The minutemen gave chase.
Paste their camp, they took the plunder
Capturing many in haste.
Redcoats ran to Old Saratoga
A frightful, desperate race,
And settled in to lick their wounds
Hoping hard to hold that place,
But the minutemen gave chase.

But John Bull face an arduous task
Oblivion did Burgoyne see
Outnumbered by a tough, game foe
Who surrounded everything.
His Hessians broken, bloody, sore
Sheltered only by some trees.
He came out and laid down his sword,
In those woods of victory.
In a wood called victory.

Copyright © David Welch | Year Posted 2017

Details | Couplet |

Waste in Haste

My soul weeps and my heart bleeds,
We seem to have lost our core creeds.
Youngsters are now in a very hot haste,
not to wield wealth, but to wine and waste...

Character has been cocooned in a coffin,
True beauty gasps for breath in a bin.
Our ladies are weapons of mass distraction,
Men's rod roam around for mass destruction.

Women, weed and wine are the new normal,
purpose, purity and passion seem abnormal.
Men of integrity are long gone in deep sleep,
The one who upholds truth is now a black sheep.

Power, possession and prodigality now prevail,
money, music and madness seem to avail...
integrity is stupidity when men with money speak,
nobility become nonentity when rascality peak.

Hen now crows because cocks are silent,
Giants bow when greedy ants get very violent.
Wake up folks, the battle line is drawn uphill...
We shall win this war till justice stands still..

Copyright © Adeleke Adeite | Year Posted 2017