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Beach War Poems | Beach Poems About War

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

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Details | Rhyme |

Goodbye, My Child

Where cradled canyons sing
Of ebony wood in the forest
There lies a gurgling spring
Where cockcrows sing their chorus
To the melody of singsong birds
There I’ve concealed my sensuous words
Filled with befitted signs
The saccharine whiff of my designs

Come to me my mortal youth
To the wild realm of your truth
Where nymphs and gnomes abound
For the earth is filled with weeping
And only your tears be found

Where the fogs of night are fountains
Spills of glistened moon ignite
By distant silhouette mountains
We dance with passion of fight
Entwining ancient stance 
Mingling hand in hand we dance
Till the mountains smile on high
Near and far we spring
To pursue the realest of dreams
While the world cries at its seams
Anxious in trouble to cling

Come to me my mortal youth
To the wild realm of your truth
Where nymphs and gnomes abound
For the earth is filled with weeping
And only your tears be found

To where the ridges merry make 
From the beaks of wooden bright
In sparkly pools the ghouls awake
That scarce to stir our night
We watch for seekers down under
Muttering secrets in their soul
We bid them lucks of shivers
Dipping gently in
From reeds that hide a tear of a foal
Under the gentle rivers

Come to me my mortal youth
To the wild realm of your truth
Where nymphs and gnomes abound
For the earth is filled with weeping
And only your tears be found

Far away she shall ever churn
The taciturn eyed
She’ll listen no more to turn
To the working mills beside
Or the scrubbing of the barn
May peace weave in her song
She shall wave in the yarn
To a haven known as Belong  

Come to me my mortal youth
To the wild realm of your truth
Where nymphs and gnomes abound
For the earth is filled with weeping
And only your tears be found

For she comes, the mortal youth
To the wild realm of her truth
Where nymphs and gnomes abound
For the earth is filled with weeping
And only her tears be found

Copyright © Laura Breidenthal | Year Posted 2013

Details | Couplet |

Dedicated to Uncle Lester Deschler

Looking Back Long Ago

We were looking back long ago
While time went by seeming so slow
Distance between time kept spreading
Would do something they were dreading.

On a broad beach boots hit the sand
After seeing sight of a lonely land
On shore was sort of a light breeze
Enemy was on hills and up in trees.

Screeching and exploding sounded loud
Later that day heads were all bowed
Thanking God that they did survive
Being in one piece and remaining alive.

At Normandy we each dutifully performed
After the troops on shore had stormed
And only thing we saw that now remained
Was either blown to bits or blood-stained.

PVT Lester E. Deschler Died July 12th, 1944
in a tank explosion. He is now buried at
Normandy America Cemetery and Memorial.
Am unsure if he was an uncle or great-uncle
of Ms. Kelley Deschler a Poetry Soup lover.

James Thomas Horn, Retired Veteran

Make sure that you have signed peace petition at above website.

Copyright © James Horn | Year Posted 2015

Details | Epic |

The Idiom and the Oddity Part7 Fina

So, as we say in Greece
That’s where I’ll End my story
For the things that happen next
Weren’t made for song of glory

So many Tails, throughout the ages
Have spoke of love and loss
Of  passions and betrayals
The triumphs and the cost

But never was one told
That meant as much to me
To launch a thousand ships
And survived through history

And with every great Greek story
There’s a lesson to be learn
So, I’ll leave you with this message
Now the last page, has been turned 

The moral still stands true
Throughout all time, which passes
Don’t steal a person’s love away
And beware Greeks bare-ing asses 

THEE END                   Authored By Jerry T Curtis 
                                       The Year of The Horse

Copyright © Jerry T Curtis | Year Posted 2014

Details | Narrative |

Normandy Beaches

I was in-processing my Army unit in Germany when the fortieth anniversary of D-Day happened; but, alas, I couldn't leave.  I wanted so much to be there to meet the old surviving veterans, to shake their hands and hear their stories.  I had read accounts of D-Day-- June 6th, 1944.  I had already seen several times the film The Longest Day, based on the book by Cornelius Ryan.  
Eventually my family followed me back to Germany, and we later took a vacation that included Normandy.  
We visited Sainte-Mere-Eglise, and I pointed out the manekin of Private john Steele--the paratrooper that had gotten stuck on the church's steeple.  
We visited the upper German fortifications of Point Du Hoc, where Army Rangers fought their way up impossible cliffs.  
We paid our respects at the US war cemetery on Omaha Beach, and my sons and I walked where so many Americans had died to free Europe.
My wife was very somber and respectful at these sites; she is French, and grew up hearing stories of the German occupation.
I often still watch on June 6th either The Longest Day, or Saving Private Ryan, and try to imagine my forebears on those beaches.

Copyright © Mark J. Halliday | Year Posted 2015

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 | Quatern |

Columns and Ranks, Fog of War intermingled

Standing straight in columns and ranks, 
Heads newly shaved by the barber, 
Carrying guns loaded with blanks: 
New recruits after Pearl Harbor. 
     (Our foes wait in their well-defended lair,)
The Generals inspected troops, 
     (Imagining that they’ll stay safe and warm.) 
Standing straight in columns and ranks; 
Afterwards they broke into groups, 
     (All my soldiers ready their arms to bear.)
And marched towards the ships’ gangplanks. 
     (Bugles sound: Battalions! Companies! Form!)
They boarded ships with guns and tanks 
To England, the Atlantic crossed. 
     (Our siege cannons thunder; smoke mists the air.)
Standing straight in columns and ranks, 
     (While thinking of barricades each must storm,) 
They’d free Europe at any cost. 
     (Once over the walls, we’ll know what’s in store.) 
Allied troops endured dire losses; 
     (It’s hard to see through misty fogs of war.)
Gaining a foothold up the banks. 
Heroes sleep beneath the crosses 
Standing straight in columns and ranks.

Columns and Ranks (Quatern 9-25-2014)
Fog of War (Ottava Rima 8-19-2014)
by Mark Halliday / WarriorPoet

Copyright © Mark J. Halliday | Year Posted 2015

Details | I do not know? |

For Bruce Springsteen

for bruce springsteen...

it was a rain-swept monsoon day

way back then, so many moons away

when i felt the music strumming in my veins

setting me free like a runaway horse without any reins

you sang of simple truths, 

your verse spoke to people just like me

in my lonely, wasted, and desolately quiet night

as you screamed out tragic human wrongs, and of everyone's plight

'bobby jean' spoke to me

of that girl down the street

glimpses of whom, we as innocents would furtively meet

and 'the river' that flowed through my ever-barren heart

led me down further roads of thunder

when slowly i finally learnt that the hardest part was fighting on

and never to surrender

to the hard-luck dreams that were born to run

while i danced in the dark 

with memories vivid and stark

even as i whined like that dog who for forever lost his howling bark

and then a 'human touch' came along

and 'better days' seemed real, not just words in a song

and still you sang and swayed and spoke straight into my unseeing eyes

as gardens of secrets were opened, and as your fist punched the skies

in an anger that i too felt and in whose cauldron i too burned

as we saw murder get incorporated, while on its wobbly axis, our fragile world apathetically turned

and then suddenly i was told that i was all grown up

working on a highway of scattered ideals

and absolving myself by sprinkling some coins in a waiting cup

well, after all these years of walking along so many a thorny road

with an armour of your verse covering me, even as i hear them taunt me and even as they continue to goad

but now i can feel myself fading away, into the bleakness of this coming night

just like the ghost of that old tom joad...

Copyright © Scribbler Of Verses | Year Posted 2013

Details | I do not know? |

The Little Boats of World War 2

>We have just remembered the ending of the Second World War VE day it's called.  My father, well stepfather was a member of the British Expeditionary Force.  He was injured and evacuated by one of these little boats.

The little boats

Men waited in the cold sea.
Water up to their necks you see.
A fighter plane fired at them.
No shelter could they find those men.

Men on the shore tried to help.
Shooting as the planes flew by.
Not wishing their comrades to die.

On the high seas, destroyers then.
Sent out their boats, for those men.
Brave British and French allies.
Waiting there, I tell no lies.

Then, much to their dismay.
Those large ships sailed away.
Quietness then descended there.
Brave men in the sea, despaired.

Suddenly, there was a cry.
Lookouts there, did e-spy.
The little boats have come by.
From England now, I do not lie.

Many men were saved that way.
On our little boats, they were I say.
Many taken from the sea.
Soaking wet, cold, but free.

Free from all that turmoil so.
Now afloat and homeward bound.
The British army, safe and sound. 

Not all of course, as some did stay.
Fighting, to hold Germans at Bay.
So their friends, could get away.

Leaving this blessed killing ground.
Returned to England, safe and sound.
Them little boats, did us grand.

Years later now, the little boats do go.
To them beaches, now aglow.
With them spirits, that we know.
Brave, British men and so.

Sound your horns, ring the bells.  
For you with little boats did well.  
Captains of the little boats too. 
 Deserve the praise of all of you.

Thank you, for answering the call.
To save our army, was that call. 
 The army was of our brave men.
Brave souls were, all of them.

Them that survive, now are old.
But memories they have now told.
Of those little boats, on the sea. 
Who, thank God, saved our army.

'Where?'  You ask, 'did they lurk.'

Off the beaches of Dunkirk.

Sitting in the comforts of my home, I felt humbled by the actions of all those brave men in their little boats, to go into such a den of iniquity.  How brave it was of them, ordinary civilians, with probably no military training, to enter such a den of iniquity. I dare say we'll never be able to offer sufficient thanks. Lets hope we are never called to do such a thing again. I wrote this just as the remaining few Little Boats were on their way to join in the remembrance and I will say celebrations of such a gallant action. God save the |Queen.Pages 11-13 Book 2 of Poems. Some happy some sad.......(TMA)<

Copyright © STANLEY Harris | Year Posted 2016

Details | Heroic Couplets |

Robert Louis Curl

I quickly joined the Navy on June the 4th, 1943,  
As soon as I graduated at 17, life was definitely to be;
I received boot training in the state of Maryland, 
At Bainbridge, became a navigator noble and grand. 

I was sent to Amphibious Training wet, phew wee,  
At Little Creek in Virginia, where I got my crew,
Of different ranks including machinists as gunners,
The craft was 56-foot, our rations made us stunners.

But I was separated from my crew, went to Plymouth, 
In England, placed on a Liberty ship used to house, 
Replacement cargo for artillery that got destroyed, 
Which was so much longer than the crafts deployed. 

In Fahnouth England, I memorised Normandy maps, 
Prepared and used a Reflectoscope to turn on the taps;
We were scared of poison gas when we hit Omaha, 
I was quarantined on June 1st of ’44, needed mama.

We saved many from the crafts using cargo nets sublime, 
But they were difficult to climb in the rough seas, crime,  
A craft almost mounted the ship ‘cos of a high wave, 
And always we had to be steely and very, very brave.

The bombs from the Nazi’s were the size of footballs, 
And we painstakingly recovered many bodies, stalls, 
From the water which had just beaten them cruelly, 
And that first D-Day morning we were losing brutally. 

The Germans hedgehogs, or bombs for the landing crafts, 
Fired on us from a pillbox, but in my case American staff, 
Took my attacking pillbox out, and I was just so grateful, 
‘Cos it was causing me havoc ‘cos I almost felt too awful. 

Luckily that night two German planes simply just avoided us, 
After a few days we did hydrographic 3D printing work, suss,
For which I was commended, I contributed to today’s 3D printing
Then I lead the invasion of southern France, which was amazing. 

The Panama Canal saw me on a rocket ship headed for Japan, 
But the A-Bomb ended the war, and we went state-side to tan, 
My Honourable Discharge was in March of ’46, and I was quick,
To get back to my peacetime activities, but never forgot the sick.

Copyright © Rhoda Monihan | Year Posted 2015

Details | Ballad |

The Man Who Won World War II

He joked with the nurse till her face, it turned red,
She laughed at those things that the old soldier said;
His barracks was a Veteran’s Hospital bed.

His body was busted but his eyes were bright,
He told her his war stories every night,
She shaved him and she bathed him and she tucked him in tight.

From the Normandy Beach to the banks of the Rhine,
He fought in the front of an infantry line,
He got wounded twice but he struggled on through;
He’s the man who won World War II.

He battled the bottle but he called it a truce,
His liver was pickled from too much abuse;
The doctor just shrugged and he said, “It’s no use.”

The nurse she sure missed him like she knew she would,
His jokes and his memories, they’d made her feel good…
His family, they said they’d have come if they could…

From the Normandy Beach to the banks of the Rhine, 
He fought in the front of an infantry line,
He got wounded twice but he struggled on through:
He’s the man who won World War II.

Copyright © Steve Eng | Year Posted 2009

Details | Rhyme |

Moon O'er Normandy Beach

An eerie calm settled o'er Normandy Beach that solemn summer's night.
The debris of battle was strewn 'neath the full moon's silvery light.
The tide cleansed the beach of the blood of men who were in the fore;
Brave men who'd faced the hell of war on that ravaged Norman shore!

Those who gave their all, lay awaiting removal from that embattled strand.
With lifeless eyes and boots pointed t'ward the stars, they slept upon the sand.
Fathers, brothers, sons and husbands slain during the conflict's ebb and flow,
By the inexorable Scythe of Death in the battles of Pointe du Hoc and St. Lo!

What might these heroes have become if fate had not dealt them so?
A teacher, farmer, doctor, a minister?  Alas, we shall never know!
They left farm, shop, school and hearth to cross the billowing sea,
And forfeited life on the Altar of Honor that others might live free!

The moonlight revealed treasured items strewn about on the ravaged beach.
Final letters to loved ones lay fluttering in the breeze, now beyond their reach.
There were wallets with photos of wives and children who are left to grieve.
Only the memory of his close embrace will their empty hearts now ever cleave!

Toothbrushes, razors, bloody shoes and socks were gathered by grieving mates,
As they tenderly cared for fallen brothers who've gained the Pearly Gates. 
The moon glowed brightly that night o'er Normandy Beach as it paused on high,
To caress the cheeks of brave men as it passed on its eternal bourne in the sky!

D-Day 6 June 1944, Normandy Beach, World War II

Entry for Jamie Pan's "War and Heroism" Contest

Copyright © Robert L. Hinshaw | Year Posted 2013

Details | I do not know? |

The Spitfire

>I must be honest, being new to this poetry, I do not understand half the terms describing types of poems, hence you will see a lot of, ' I do not know,'   At the moment on my local BBC radio station they are talking about  The Spitfire.  Of course I've written a poem about the Spitfire.  This is between page 56  and 58  of  my first poetry book.
I think I've mentioned elsewhere I have a beach hut at Felixstowe.  You may not know where it is, but I'm sure the vandals do, as they have visited it twice, so you could always ask them.  Occasionally, when there lounging in a deck chair, one hears the sound of an aeroplane passing overhead.  I know it's a Spitfire.  I won't embarrass the lady pilot here, because she might dive bomb me lol. 

The Spitfire.

Them Spitfires with those brave men in, flew up oh so high.
Into the bright blue, clear, good old English sky.
Not knowing if it was today they'd  die.
Butt still in their Spitfires, they did fly.

The Spitfire was the plane that's true.
Jerry wanted, that kind too.
That they had none so we ruled the air.
Of the Battle of Britain, high up there.

I guess we'll remember, that final day.
But many men, before did die.
Flying so high and fighting too.
As that's what men, in Spitfires did do.

Some men, returned, to fight again.
Some landed, their battered plane.
Other men, injured, had to refrain.
From fighting, until they were fit again.

Bombers also did their part.
Ripping the enemy apart.
Took a pasting, some did do.
Bailing out as had to do.

So all airmen, where'er you are.
On land, or high up, neath the stars.
Thanks for all that you did do.
I cannot say more of you.

Brave allies, you all as well.
Hope your in heaven, not in hell.
And when your life, is finally spent. 
From fighting, or old age, you went.

All united, now might be.
Your names will live in history.
Never will we, you forget.
What you gave in the war, and yet.
Would give so much, I do not lie.
For you to live, and not have died.

Alas a bullet from a gun.
If your number is it upon.
I guess you know what it did do.
And hope your in paradise too.

Hark the sound a Spitfire flies.
Surely now no one will die.
As they did seventy-five years ago.
As they took off, how could they know?

That final day, as they did fly.
The Germans advance, did surely die.
All because, our brave young men.
Took them Spitfires, up again.<

Where'er you are, what air you do.
No one will, forget you.
As you in Spitfires, flew so high.
Our memories also, will not die.

Copyright © STANLEY Harris | Year Posted 2016

Details | Free verse |

On The Beach

On The Beach
Imagine walking on a beach after you finish school. Enjoying time alone. Happy that your studies are going well. In your own little world. Then they come for you. Snatch you off the beach. Take you to their boat and kidnap you. You've never been so scared. Not knowing what's happening or why. Little do you know, you won't see Japan again. Enemy soldiers came for someone. They found you. They need Japanese citizens to teach spies the language. But you don't want to do this. You go crazy. Not in anger but mentally. Your 'life' there doesn't work out. Your fate is bad. 'Suicide' by drug overdose. Your body thrown into a pit with others. A terrible fate. North Korea did this to you. And to many more who are missing.

Copyright © nick armbrister jimmy boom semtex | Year Posted 2015

Details | Sonnet |

Wading through Venom

I love the way the sky defends the sea;
The way the waves do break upon the shore.
But when the clouds seep in to disagree—
My eyes begin to guide the tides of war.
My fingers twitch; I smell the herald’s fear,
I must prepare my love to play the part,
To save our sacred crux from the unclear—
And batten down the hatches of my heart.
For every storm is drafted by the lords;
I know this hurricane will surely pass,
However long it takes to wreck the boards—
I’ll stake our claims with ruins from the mass.
So when the deep begins to lift its head,
Lest we forget the beaches we have wed.

Copyright © Lxnnnie Rutledzh | Year Posted 2016

Details | Didactic |

A Pleasant Walk on the Beach

We stepped down from our comfortable bus,
Strong winds whipping the flags to attention.
We walked across a narrow parking lot
Along a narrow path towards the sea,
Just a quiet group of tourists,
Only the crunch of shoes on gravel, 
On a cool spring day.

Grassy mounds lie as far as the eye can see
Remains of shell craters not yet erased
By years of wind and rain,
The marching of visitors’ feet,
And the passing of the years.

Concrete bunkers still stand watch out to sea
Skeletal tangles of rusted steel reinforcements
With here and there a bullet hole,
Awaiting their eventual demise,
When the constant sea erodes their foundations,
And they fall away before the waves’ invasion.

This was the last sight for so many,
Germans looking out across the rocky beach,
And Allied soldiers staring in fear
Towards where we now stand
With our cameras and cellphones.
So many graves, marked and not
Hallow this ground.

So let us never forget
The heavy price that was paid
For our pleasant walk
On the beach.

Copyright © Robert Grappel | Year Posted 2017