Narrative Soldier Poems

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Details | Narrative |
He's used to war, he fights real hard,
He's a soldier, he's battle scarred.
The enemy is weak, there is nothing to fear,
His compassion is gone, he has no tears.

He was taught well, was taught how to kill,
He's done it so much, it's lost it's thrill.
He no longer feels bad, when the enemy dies,
Tears don't come any more to his tired eyes.

In the beginning it was against his will,
But he soon broke down, and got used to kill.
Never thinking that his foe, was also just a man,
Like him with a family, doing the best he can.

He cannot have feelings, for anyone,
But then, for a moment, he thinks of his son.
He wants to go home, but it's not time yet,
So he goes back to a war, that he wants to forget.

Next day on the beach, on his tour of duty,
Lies a child's body, on the coast of Turkey.
He cannot believe what he sees with his own eyes,
A cute little boy, with no signs of life.

Lying face down, right there on the sand,
He picks him up, with his big strong hands.
And when he saw that there was no hope,
The soldier realized he could not cope.

He shuddered deeply...letting out a sigh,
And that's when...the soldier cried.

Now the whole world mourns that little boy,
Many children elsewhere, receive another toy.
Yes, people stand by, while these refugees die,
Some see the news and say, please...pass the pie.

John Derek Hamilton   September 04,2015

Copyright © John Hamilton | Year Posted 2015

Details | Narrative |
She sits beside the fire
As failing embers dim.
Lost smoke trails up the chimney . .
Like dreams she’d shared with him.
She sits and grieves for children
That never will be born.
Because his life was briefly lived,
There’s darkness in each dawn.

She thinks of how he looked that day
When last they had embraced . .
Young and handsome, unafraid,
Of perils he would face.
While she must stand there brave and strong-
To meet each day with hope.
She kept her outlook bright and clear,
She’d done her best to cope.

He’d left her for a war, you see . .
So proud and full of fire.
His country and his flag came first,
“Stay free” his great desire.

For on the day the towers fell,
He vowed to God above . .
To do his best to keep 'Her' safe,
This country that he loved.
Then in the fiery sun of May,
In a land beyond this shore . .
He laid him down and shed his blood;
She'd see his face no more.

Now time has passed since learning
Of the sorrow she must bare.
Grief still raw as at the first . .
No lessening of despair.

Her anger now replaced by voids
Of empty time and thought.
A life now full of nothingness;
Is what his death has wrought.

Summer’s past and then the fall,
Now winter cold and sad.
She sits beside the fire
And remembers all they had.
She can’t remember springtime
And renewal of her life.
Surely this must come one day
With the lessening of her strife.

She can’t remember laughter
Or smiling from her heart.
But God will refund gifts like this;
In time He’ll do His part.
It’s then she'll come to realize
That her love is safe and well.
He’s in a place far better
Than the land in which he fell.

Then she will grow to honor
The love that sent him there.
That day she’ll fall on bended knee
And speak to God in prayer.

Then life will once again become
A wonder to be lived . .
Touched by wisps of sadness
When remembering his gift.

Love and children will be hers,
Then joy and laughter too.
She will know that he looks down
And smiles upon his view.

For he is always with her
Even though he’s not in sight.
He’s in the heartbeat of our land,
He’s in our country’s might.

He’s in the vastness of the plains,
In mountains capped with snow.
He’s everywhere that freedom rings;
He’s where 'The Brave Ones' go.

Copyright © Diane Lefebvre | Year Posted 2015

Details | Narrative |
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 | Narrative |

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

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

Copyright © Edmund Siejka | Year Posted 2009

Details | Narrative |
                                            Simmering in his soul
                                          A scorching flame of love 
                                                 That could char
                                        The gossamer wings of Icarus

                                                He smells a scent
                                         Not of an enemy combatant
                                            But of an erstwhile lover.

                                          He doesn't march, he jogs
                                                 With boots untied 
                                  With dogged determination to reclaim her.
                                               Echoes of her heartbeat
                                                He chases arbitrarily

                                                    In his arsenal     
                                                   A rifle that fires                                               
                                                Not a volley of bullets 
                                                     But rose petals
                                            A flame thrower that breathes
                                                      Not dragon's fire
                                            But a geyser of searing passion

                                                        He wages
                                                   A pitched battle 
                                                 In love's battlefield. 
                                              A white flag of surrender
                                                     He won't wave
                                                  Until he recaptures
                                               His former lover's heart.

Date written: 08/29/2001
Date posted: 04/15/2016

Copyright © Edward Ibeh | Year Posted 2016

Details | Narrative |
An American Warrior 
please tell me why if you can
the reason I don’t have a right hand
my right leg is missing as well
all I can say is war is hell

I volunteered to serve my country
to defend it from harm
and to protect peoples in foreign lands
who wanted to live free from tyranny

when I look at the news I shed a tear
at what my buddies and I gave
and all my brave buddies laying in their grave
was all for not

the country of Iraq is worse off today and falling apart
and will not survive
so I ask again
what did I give my right hand and leg for
for what for what I scream and shout
what was my sacrifice all about

please tell me if you can
my mind and body are in pain
tears fall from my eyes like an April rain
my body is not whole 
I am one man who is mad as hell

The way this poem came about is, I was sitting in my easy chair when these thoughts kept coming into my head. I wrote these words down. Some American Warrior Hero somewhere was thinking these thoughts I just happened to tune them in I have written 6 poems this way over the years. God bless our American Warrior Hero’s  Dennis Davis July 4th 2014

Copyright © Dennis Davis | Year Posted 2014

Details | Narrative |
War and Harmony

I caught the red eye to meet my warrior only to be met with war.

A night of hot passion that time has caused us both to long for.

A harmonious melody fills the room from fulfillment and bliss.

See you later sealed with a kiss as our throbbing groins persist.

I walk with a jolly gait in my step until I a single gold earring stubbed my toe.

Now filled with fury as I wonder whom else has been sleeping with my G.I. Joe.

Salty water now free to flow from a broken gaze as I noticed the typewriter in my peripheral.

I take a seat to compose a letter to him about how this love was to be a duo and not a Trio.

He left a half of pack on the desk within reach, he must have known that I’d be needing one.

Smoke caused a fresh pair of lungs to gasp and cough like a beginner at the end of a long run.

I pecked the keys abruptly as I added cigarette butts one-by-one to an already filled ashtray.

Which resembled a two toned rainbow of bright red and gold with its backdrop in gray.

I slip my hands into a pair of soft white lace gloves as I walked towards the nightstand.

My fury is softened as I realize that loyalty must be a requirement and not a command.

I opened the drawer to discover two plane tickets to Hawaii, paper clipped to a wad of cash.

A note which read “If you found the earring don’t jump to conclusions and leave in a dash!”

“I need your full trust so I hope and pray that your assumptions don’t lead you to act rash!”

“Oh and about the earring you will find the match to it is located in the purple velvet sash.”

I opened the sash to find an invitation, he wrote, “Please become my wife underneath the sun!”

Now feeling foolish beyond measure, I’m reluctant to read on any further, for I already feel stunned!

He said, “I hope that your search led you to a desired treasure, Please say yes, because World War II may come fast.”

“I need to know that when I return home that you will be my future from a more pleasant and harmonious the past.”

Copyright © Yvonne Clark | Year Posted 2014

Details | Narrative |
Traveling life's murky waters,

Were these brave men.

My friends in dark jungles.

Dying for many who did not care.

Malaria and typhoid our worst enemies;

Still then, that occasional sniper bullet,

Snuffing out a life in an instant.

Fighting for our country yet hated by some.

Freedom was all we tried to preserve,

While every night evil pounded our helmets.

Unrelenting hatred killing us one at a time;

Sometimes a dozen in one blizzard of shells.

Living in a hell on earth to protect liberty.

Seeing dead eyes of buddies seconds ago alive.

Oh to understand what terror really is;

Surrealistic death in drowning bloody color.

Friends found de-bowled and castrated by enemy,

Hanging from beautiful rain forest trees.

Life bodily fluids dripping to feed their roots,

That horror which still lives in my mind.

Flag red stripes brightened with bloodied courage;

I ask how many Americans truly realize this?

Flying old glory only when under personal siege,

Oh that mental pain it has caused so many soldiers.

Coming home to icy cold stares,

Murderers seen in the eyes of some Americans.

Heroes welcome buried in front pages of wrongful war;

Medals tarnished before seeing light of another day.

Note: This piece is dedicated to all American and Ally soldiers who have ever
been in combat! GOD Bless America and our Allies!

Copyright © 2014 Robert William Gruhn - All Rights Reserved

"A poem to me is the essence of any thought,
Being built from its foundation into tower scraping sky.
It can fly like no other bird to places never seen,
Even spaceships can only dream of taking its place."

© 2014 Robert William Gruhn

Copyright © Robert Gruhn | Year Posted 2014

Details | Narrative |
From England's dark blackout
We came to these shores
I and my siblings
In refuge from war.
How enchanted we were
With all we saw.

First Sydney's fine harbour
And her bridge of one span
Then the azure blue sea
The long beaches of sand
The beautiful city lit up at night
To our youthful eyes a wondrous sight.

The Aussie soldier in his famous slouch hat
The long train journey to the far outback
The Cockies screech the Kookaburra's cackle
New sights and sounds for my brain to tackle.
The grazing sheep the fields of wheat
The fun of the master the blistering heat
The long hot summers with respite at the sea
Where we swam and surfed in unspoilt glee.

School days were spent in city or mountain retreat
Strict was the discipline our uniforms neat.
Happy the friendships spacious the grounds
Nuns telling rosary beads flitting around.
With firmness and patience they taught us well
Recreation was announced by the tolling bell.

Oh the joy when the holidays came
What fun we had on the old school train.
It trundled along past wilga and gum
Past meandering creeks and billabongs
Past Emus grazing and Roos hopping along
Through wide open spaces rich in bird song.

At the graceful homestead with veranda surround
Stood the welcoming grandmother so recently found.
With parents far off she gave care and love
How proud we were of her pioneer blood.
She cooked and scrubbed and chopped the wood
She could do everything she really could.

But tragedy stuck
With her soldier son killed.
She grieved and withered and lost her will.
No longer in her life
Would he take part
Months later she died of a broken heart.

There came a time when with many tears
I bade farewell to this life so dear.
I had no choice I had to go.
The years passed on
I missed it all so.

This time when I came
I touched down by plane.
New visions flood my startled brain
Australia I find is absorbed in change
it makes me feel so very strange.

The laid back Aussie with his old world charm
A computer wiz now and amazingly calm.
The coastline is cluttered highrises abound
The noise of the traffic an ugly sound.
But the song of the Bellbird is still a wonder
It soothes my senses as I ponder.

For no land on earth has so much to offer.
So I’ll settle here I will not hover.
Perhaps the maternal ancestors smile from above.
For at last I'm here In the land they loved.
And I'll spend the twilight of my years
In this country I've always held so dear.

Copyright © Gerry Dawson | Year Posted 2005

Details | Narrative |
                         VIETNAM VET SOLDIER'S NIGHTMARE

Another dream –
I could not wake –
Escape from what would follow--
Grasping for a secret word, the letters stark and hollow--
I was trapped entangled there,
Just beyond the reach
Of men that could release me
Or a hill that could be breached

Gunfire was a backdrop 
Soft and pungent was its sound
Fell on me like raindrops--strangely harmless on the ground

Smoky gray encased me like a piece of sleeping net
Tunnel faces hidden —easy killing, no regret-- 
Felt terror and the aching for the friends around me cold
Standup guys with stalwart hearts--just did what they were told

Then my cell phone beeped a beep---
A message had come in ....
Now awake I saw your name---
My new day would begin.

Victoria Anderson-Throop
November 25, 2012
waking from a nightmare contest

Copyright © Victoria Anderson-Throop | Year Posted 2012

Details | Narrative |
Then I went to see the other man’s condition. Blood was running from his ears, and his 
nose. three men stood by, just watching the show. I asked them to help me, and leaned 
over the man, I asked if he could hear me, and he replied with a grunt, then a groan. His 
eyes were glazed over and rolled back in his head. Some one half chuckled, “leave him 
he’s dead.” I stood and met the man directly in his face. “Unless you are God, that’s not 
your call to make.”
We offered our help and I knew he was passing; I held his hand and cradled his head… 
I said to the man, ‘It’s okay…you can go; if God is calling don’t wait….go home.’ He died 
in my arms, and I held him till the helicopter came.  I was proud of my wife, as she gave 
her boy aid; they took him away, and saved his life that day. The weekend was over, we 
lost the mood. The drive home was somber, as we cried for a man we never knew. 
The next day we received a phone call…it was a General from our base, seems the man I 
was holding was a soldier on leave. God gave me the chance to say thank you for real. 
Not just a gesture but an act of humanity. Seems all the people around, made comments 
of how my wife and I acted better than most. And offered our kindness and help to man 
we never even knew. So the General got on the phone, called the police and found out 
our names. We were honored by his friends on that one given day, If I hadn’t have 
gotten back in the car, the soldier would have died along the road all alone. 
The point of this story is just simply put, “there is no such thing as coincidence” God puts 
us right where he needs us. He’s ready to use us, if we are only willing.

Copyright © michael hornschuch | Year Posted 2011

Details | Narrative |
Beneath a flag of red and white
A soldier quietly lies,
His mother sits just to his right
Tears falling from her eyes.

Brothers lie all laid in rows
Around his final bed,
A cross for each one shows
Their names above their heads.

Seven more stand by his side
With rifles standing tall,
Dressed in honor, feeling pride
For this brother who gave all.

One more stands by his feet
A bugle in his hand,
Plays that melody so sweet
Of taps now for this man.

Two more now step up to fold
Old Glory from her pall,
And place it in Mom's hand to hold
A present from us all.

Ten brothers stand by this man's grave
With respect in just suffice,
For this soldier who proudly gave
His life for freedom's price.

Ten brothers came to send him on
To take his final station,
But thousands more sit at home
Giving thanks with the entire nation.

Somewhere, lying overseas
The man who took this life,
Ten buzzards now has he
Giving thanks at his grave site!

                          Timothy I. Brumley

Copyright © Timothy Brumley | Year Posted 2010

Details | Narrative |
Whether it be foreign country or terrorists that attack our land,
I will fight them on the beaches on the streets and from my home.
If necessary I will retreat to the foothills and then to the mountains,
Still I will never raise white flag to those who would steal my freedom.




Having been a knight on ancient past battlefields,
This soldier knows no fear of any enemy!!


Copyright © Robert Gruhn | Year Posted 2014

Details | Narrative |
Blood runs smoothly in a ground.
Sweats are flowing with a sound.
Bullets are flying anywhere.
Screams are shouting in the air.

Crawl on the grass with a brave look.
This battle can’t be written in a book.
Firing weapons are all geared for war.
He thumps himself in a one huge bar.

Trying to avoid the loud explosion,
Pretending no fear is a sad imitation.
Hours of inferno in the field,
Camouflages are naked with no shield.

Life is on risk for his nation.
To achieve peace is his bold intention.
Gone to distant places that they’ve been,
Salute the heroes who are wearing in green.

Copyright © Lei Strauss | Year Posted 2015

Details | Narrative |
The Just for the Unjust

"For Christ also died for sins once for all, the Just for the unjust, so that He might bring us to God ..." 1 Peter 3:18

A Roman soldier walked down a narrow corridor in a Roman prison. He held the torch up, and back in the shadows was a man. The guard with his key opened the door and said, "Barabbas, get up and come with me." Barabbas began to plead, "No, wait, don't take me! Have mercy!" The Roman soldier said, "You're not going to die; there's somebody else who's going to die in your place. Come here. Look over on that hill. That's the cross we made for you. But there's someone else on it. He has taken your place."

In what happened to Barabbas, God arranged a perfect picture of substitution -- the just dying for the unjust that He might bring us to Himself.

Take time today to tell the Lord Jesus Christ how much you love Him and how grateful you are that He stepped out of glory and became obedient unto death--even the death of the Cross--for your sake and mine.

Copyright © ssekadde nicholas Gibson | Year Posted 2013

Details | Narrative |

Clandestine meeting between
the Orvatech Corp. and the Celestial Military Command
Date: 04.24.2258

General Avar, the High General: The third trial test run has been successfully
concluded. What are the recommendations, gentlemen.

Dr. Quintas, the lead scientist: The fifth generation cybersolderies are ninety
percent combat ready. There is a ten percent error quotient. Some command 
codes are compromised by latent moral rejection. The problem can be solved 
within a Zekarian solar cycle.

General Ta'lith: Will the soldiers obey their platoon leader's orders in termination excursions? The alien enemy will use human hostage shields to obstruct the killing parameters.

Dr. Quintas: My empirical data suggests that kill orders will be adhered to if 
platoon leaders command all unit soldiers to disengage their moral inhibitors.
Mutiny will not occur due to morality uncertainty, but more likely to low 
survival probability index projection.

General Avar: Was that the case with RCN #024785?

Dr. Parnon, top cybernetic systems engineer: We believe he suffered irrevocable damage to his installed positronic brain during combat. Thus, 
resulting in an automatic upload of his human core memories. He killed his
platoon leader as a result of his prior aberrant criminal behavior.

General Seyath: I never did trust using those convict bastards for specialized
deep cover military operations.

General Avar: Well, the damage was minimal. Most of the unit was not
contaminated by the rogue cybersoldier. Although he survived the battle of
Oronmo, he suffered extensive injuries, am I correct doctor Quintas.

Dr. Quintas: Yes, general, you are correct. He suffered extensive memory loss
of his human core brain function, and was paralyzed from the neck down. The
good news is that our secret experiments have not been exposed to subspace
communications piracy.

General Ta'lith: Are you sure, doctor. He did commandeer the satellite array at
his unit's command post.

Dr. Quintas: Quite certain, general. The downloaded data from his positronic
brain indicate that there was no breach. He only tried to send a standard SOS
to the nearest commercial planetary ports. This will not draw any unwanted

General Avar: And was the defective cybernetic unit destroyed.

Dr. Parnon: Yes, general. I personally disposed of the unit. It was prematurely
cremated as stipulated per military contract requirement.

General Seyath: Those convicts really thought we were going to award them freedom for volunteering to be guinea pigs in these illegal experiments. No, the
secret clause was to prematurely cremate any battle injured survivors, and 
those not injured were to have their human memories completely erased and 
become permanent cybersoldiers.

General Ta'lith: Why didn't we wipe their memories from the get go, doctors?

Dr. Quintas: We needed a baseline reference point in which to see if their 
cybernetic responses were enhanced with their human instincts as a motivating
factor. Have all your questions been answered satisfactorily, gentlemen.

The trio of generals: Yes, doctors.

Copyright © Freddie Robinson Jr. | Year Posted 2016

Details | Narrative |
Whether it be foreign country or terrorists that attack our land,
I will fight them on the beaches on the streets and from my home.
If necessary I will retreat to the foothills and then to the mountains,
Still I will never raise white flag to those who would steal my freedom.



Having been a knight on ancient past battlefields,
This soldier knows no fear of any enemy!!

Copyright © Robert Gruhn | Year Posted 2014

Details | Narrative |

Because of the missing sword
A soldier falls,
And another,
And another,
And another…

When was their birth?
What hastens their death?
Christ paid the debt
He fought with that sword
Till all forces bow…

But for this missing sword
A soldier crumbles,
And another,
And another,
And another…

They are well dressed:
In military attire
But are armed with brass weapons:
With spears and rifles!
Where is the amour, the shield,
the breastplate, the helmet and the sword?

Yet, for the want of that sword
A soldier falters,
And another,
And another,
And another…

On mountain tops,
Hills and valleys:
Day and night;
Toiling, preparing and waiting
To combat the enemy,
But never search for the missing weapon.

Still, for the want of that sword
A soldier dies,
And another,
And another,
And another…

Their camp is ravaged
Each soldier for his dear life;
The night of horror came
The dawn of victory followed
Each soldier remembers the missing weapon
From their hidey-hole, loudly they scream,
“The sword! The sword!! The sword!!!”

Will the sword ever be found?
No army is declared the Champion
Without going through a battle;
No victory is secured
With the parade of cheap weapons;

Then a soldier returns
And another,
And another,
And another...

And... the SWORD was found
Removed from its sheath; and sharpened
To fight the good fight
And take their rightful place

Then a soldier fights,
And another,
And another,
And another…

Now... the SWORD was found
The army of God has risen
With bleeding skin
And broken bones.
Like the dried bones, they are awake:
Covered with the sinews of faith,
And filled with the breath of fire
To thresh mountains
And dominate their enemies.

Then a soldier lives,
And another,
And another,
And another...

The camp is restored
The enemy is destroyed
An exceeding great army has risen
To root out and to pull down
To destroy and to throw down
To build and to plant…

Then a soldier rejoices,
And another,
And another,
And another...

Copyright © Ajayi Angel-Simon | Year Posted 2012

Details | Narrative |
I glanced up the road and was taken aback with what I saw.
I looked again and to my surprise, 
There was a troop of army guys coming down the road, all decked out in rainbow colored garb.
How could their coats of many colors fool anyone, and be camouflage.
Hotchpotch splotches dabbed on khaki, perhaps a fancy dress disguise
How silly they looked. Were they ashamed?
How could they go into battle dressed like that, when their foe would laugh at them.
Perhaps this was the tactic, distract the enemy, get them laughing, and shoot them dead.

Would the rainbow uniforms foster camaraderie among the troops?
Like a fancy dress attendees at a ball, 
When its fun to look silly and its safe to laugh at each other.
As the soldiers marched in step towards me,
I noticed a frivolity in the demeanor.
Their step was more a meter dance step with fling, flare and flourish
Than a heavy trudge of hob-nailed boot banged on ground.
Perhaps the fancy dress had lightened their mood and plod.

As the dance party got closer I could here the chant they recited as they marched along:
"Are you ready kids?" 
"Aye Aye Captain"
"I can't hear you!" 
"Yeah... I hear, yeah"
"Aye Aye Captain"
"Who lives in a pineapple under the sea?"
"Spongebob Squarepants"
"Spongebob Squarepants" 
"Spongebob Squarepants"

So the Rainbow Colored Camouflage had worked a treat!
Silly soldiers singing silly songs, in their silly coats of many colors.
Recalling how in the bible, Israel who loved Joseph more than all his sons, 
Made him a coat of many colors.
Perhaps the soldiers too, were spoiled favorites of the commander chief?

28 March 2017

Copyright © John Anderson | Year Posted 2017

Details | Narrative |
Last night awakened with thoughts of him
How long has it has been, only
Yesterday … 

First one I ever saw laid out
I sixteen, he nineteen, Viet Nam 
Airborne …

Purple complexion seeping through under glass 
I gaze on doll-like hair
Broomcorn …

His uniform perfect, tie straight
Blouse olive, at attention
Airborne … 

No one else at the funeral home
Me and a girl friend too early for death
Careworn …

Dead before he hit the ground
Cut down by ground-fire first jump no longer
airborne ...

So many years now, forty-two,
awakened with thoughts of him,
Wind-borne …

Still see his body rigid attention
rumor wire for arm, died before his time
Soilborne …

Didn’t know him well, would he
still be here if not
Airborne …

Would we have smoked and talked about 
women if he would be
reborn …

And what of Thua Thien, what now 
monument, blood of airborne boys?
Golf course …

Copyright © jeff eklund | Year Posted 2011

Details | Narrative |
Sarah, her two kids in tow
walks in a second-hand shop
for only a second, since she turned
her pocket inside-out yesterday
for a large box of rice crispies
and a half-gallon of 2% milk.
Her old man stopped beating 
her three months ago, 'cause 
Social Services was on him but
she ain't seen him or any of 
his paycheck in about nine weeks
She heard he'd gone to Idaho.
Their daughter, Rachel's been
skippin' school with other kids - 
Sarah knows, but doesn't say anything

Jason's hanging near the dumpster out back,
his kinda short-lease home since he got 
let outta prison for a possession charge 
that he definitely was guilty of, but 
he's been clean for three weeks now - almost

Raul's been running the dishwasher and 
cleaning up in the bathroom at the fast-fried 
chicken place, for three years now 
without taking a sick day, although that 
cough has been hard to hack for two weeks now. 
He hopes the steam from the washer will 
kill whatever's in his lungs

Soon Kie shows her green card to anyone to admire. 
She has for the last thirty-four years, 
but since she arrived back in '80, 
when she already had seen more 
war and death then most actual soldiers,
she still can't read above a third grade level
She's too busy cleanin' rich houses and
doin' late-night business park office spaces.

Once in awhile, they meet up in twosie's, 
maybe more, down at the park, 
near the whitewashed howitzer
from WW II government surplus
These are the Veterans of Local Wars
Sloggin' the towns trenches, listenin'
to the deafening blows of indifference,
marching every time they're told to
"Get up 'n' move on, no sleepin' here"

Life is daily skirmishes, the occasional battle,
sometimes being soldiers, sometimes the 
innocent citizen victims, cut down, strung up,
strung out, frozen out, sometimes cryin' out
'most every day, wonderin' what life's all about
to have treated 'em this way

Still, sometimes, when they see each other,
they can smile, talk about that time awhile back,
sayin' "did you see what that crazy bastard did!"
laughing at the incongruities and the ironies.
Don't have no medals, don't need no parades.
- just keep movin'

© Goode Guy 2013-05-03

Copyright © Goode Guy | Year Posted 2013

Details | Narrative |
These gallant men who lay their lives,  
Leave orphaned children and widowed wives. 
From glorious past to frenzied last, 
A battle so uncalled for, 
Man’s ego tis which blown with scorn, 
For each and every neighbour, 
That causes death from mine or bomb, 
Not forgetting the bullet and sabre. 
With all their world of camouflage, 
A snipers bullet, some sabotage. 
Although they choose this heroic death, 
A meager compensation is all they’ll get.  
Giving us gladly their today’s, 
So that we may see our morrows, 
They leave behind a host of kin, 
Who alone will face their sorrow. 
When will man stop killing man? 
And live like only, a good man can. 

-Prince Freakasso
(Painter & poet) 

Copyright © Prince Freakasso | Year Posted 2009

Details | Narrative |
 For years she lived looking over her shoulder
 She graduated from the school of hard knocks only to become a street soldier
 She always fought with dignity and pride
 Along the journey she watched as her street idols died

 To society they were only theives, addicts, and hoes
 Beneath thier masks lies a story no one knows
 Have you ever been there?
 Did you walk beside them as they went nowhere?

 They are simply victims of thier own pain and affliction
 Fighting more each day to stop the haunting of thier own affliction 
 Demons lurk inside the tainted souls as monsters creep
 But I encourage you not to let your faith sleep
 Let retired soldiers return to the street
 Let them spread the message to all they meet
 She always fought with dignity and pride
 In her work lies the legacy of the street soldiers who died
 She reaches out a gentle hand in hopes to save the broken man
 She lives her life to save the lost soul 
 Maybe someday another street soldier may be made whole

Copyright © Sara Beaderstadt | Year Posted 2010

Details | Narrative |
I watched him shake his hand
And say a gruff goodbye
To his beloved grandson.
Old soldiers do not cry.

He fiercely rubbed his eyes
To stop unmanly tears
As he recalled that other war
From those now long past years.

If old men could go to war
He would gladly take the place
Of this young lad without a clue
Of what he is to face.

He recalls himself, the innocent,
Proudly going off to war
To fight Hitler and his cronies,
Back in Nineteen Forty-Four.

He arrived there just in time
In the battles to indulge
In the most desperate fighting
The Big Battle of the Bulge. 

Though he lost so many buddies,
He somehow stayed alive
Until the bullet with his name
In Nineteen Forty-Five.

He felt his life-blood flowing.
All he could do was wait
For the pick-up crew to come for him.
He hoped they weren't too late.

They came too late to save his leg.
Doctors said that it must go.
For him the war was over,
At least they told him so.

But he kept right on fighting
Every night in his dark dreams.
He could see the bullets fllying
And could hear his comrade's screams.

He was glad to have his Mary
Who held him in her arms
And told him it was over
And soothed him with her charms.

He and Mary had two daughters.
They weren't blessed with a son.
Somehow he didn't mind because
He need not worry over one

Who like him would have to go
To fight another mindless war.
At last the nightmares ended.
He was at peace once more.

His pride was in this grandson
The son he never had,
This boy who said he wanted 
To be like his old granddad.

With one last wave he limped away
With his Mary by his side.
His nightmares had not ended.
That night the old man cried.

Buy Joyce Johnson

Copyright © Joyce Johnson | Year Posted 2010

Details | Narrative |
i entered mysterious space – endless multidimensional maze
in the old city theater

with index finger on the wall i'm drawing blooming flowers
soft light they spread must be enough to see myself
and audience -

a lifelong team of double sixteen seated in pairs
dusty human size wooden chess pieces in chairs
retired solders and four majestic crowned heads
   all of them oozing so adorably with inborn pride
i observe

God knows: we were too serious
and overtired. who knows why but yes, not worthy Heaven

Destiny brought us together:
not for pleasure or entertainment. in truth, we desired
more than Heaven

longing for unseen Homeland we accepted thorns and tears
neither as punishment or condemnation nor as experiment

on the stage i appear - by chance and by choice
open to question then leaving all expectations
submissive to unwritten scenarios of soul*****let it be!
let it all happen!

Dec. 2015

Copyright © salamandra Gabija | Year Posted 2016

Details | Narrative |
Valencia, a return to the Spanish coast, 1966
Nineteen and running wild, searching
Conversation turns to idealism, liberty expiring
Port and starboard, hand shake, maybe again
Two nights, same bar, Listened to the stories
Eleven years since he’d seen home
Adventure sets a fire in a young man’s soul
A need to spread your wings
We’d meet by chance again in Barcelona
Sorry mate, need a diversion, see those two.
Texas bar, broken chairs, bottle thrown
Turmoil and the back door’s open
Saw him smile and wave goodbye
Yes sir, those two over there, don’t know why
Damn that’s funny
Never saw him again, unspoken friendship.
Just wonder sometimes.

Copyright © Vince Suzadail Jr. | Year Posted 2008

Details | Narrative |

From a tender age I knew will be nuclear:
While my peers sang to the dilemma of Kelly and Nelly,
I slept with Chris de burgh dreaming of no border lines.
The lady in red was my finest
And fetal hesitation was not my thing.
Then, I was 13 with a Mandela line,
Drawn through my head near a star.
The first lady wasn’t in red,
But saw red when I burst her. 
Then, they called me the sergeant.
I popped five more before I dropped my teens.
Upgrading to two Mandela lines and stars on either side of my head.
Jenny, ivy, Lilly, Cindy, Julie, Emily and all the others,
In a confederation of the broken hearted,
In a unanimous vote of no confidence,
Declared me a persona non grata.
“But he was a handsome devil, that one” they cried
And he never missed a shot.

Copyright © PRIDE YANU | Year Posted 2017

Details | Narrative |
Johnny’s going home today
His glory days are past
His buddies stand at attention
Eyes tearful and downcast
The sound of taps is softly heard
The mournful tune rings true
And all rise to salute him
As his cortege comes in view

Another soldier laid to rest
A warrior going home
Taps are played
Honor paid
To the bravest and the best

Billy’s going home today
Church Bells toll the news
His family softly weeping
As they line up in the pews
They reverently laid his coffin
Gently on the bier
As his mother reached out to touch him
Just wanting to be near

Another soldier laid to rest
A warrior going home
Taps are played
Honor paid
To the bravest and the best

A car bomb placed in Israel
Claims children passing by
Mothers are left helpless
Crying to God and asking why
Soldiers in Afghanistan
Patrol the land night and day
While the natives only wonder
When they will go away!

Ellen’s going home today
Her children still too young
Restless in their seats
As familiar hymns are sung
Her husband in his uniform
Stands stiffly as she goes by
They had met when they were rookies
And he tries hard not to cry

Another soldier laid to rest
A warrior going home
Taps are played…honor paid
To the bravest and the best 
Lord when will we have peace
This peace for which we yearn
And the Lord answered ‘It’s up to you
When will MANKIND ever learn?”

Copyrright©2011 Beatrice Boyle
(All rights reserved)

Copyright © Beatrice Boyle | Year Posted 2011

Details | Narrative |
Shadowy, now constant
a soldier-form marched out of the void
before it arrives, it is gone.

Copyright © Jesse Jones | Year Posted 2007

Details | Narrative |
Trust on the basis of truth: endless war,
it’s a tragedy, a great destruction of humanity;
It’s suffused with blood, pain and mortality,
a case for the rest of the whole entire history.

  While many who go to war are pretty young,
  distinctions between human culture and God’s
  make a great difference on the basis of violence,
  a negation of the bible, the opposite of interactions.

Thousands of lay people have died in revolutions,
thousands of soldiers too have been killed in war;
it’s like a helpless nightmare that one can’t forget,
to leaf through the chapters of their bloody defeat.

  The reality is evidently a downfall of this country,
  It’s hard to see how America has failed in this category;
  unreasonably riled up about terrorists’ attacks
  that knocked down the mighty powers unguardedly.

This is the age that boasts science and technology,
this is the time that revenge validates its own reply;
It’s witnessed with fear and catalogue of disasters,
that run through the pages of history and culture.

  Stained with the blood of these poor, young soldiers,
  like blood of the martyrs who became a spectacle;
  It’s a reminder that we devote ourselves to prayer
  a continuing prayer, a deep supplication to our Lord.

Prognosticators of doomsday like those of wars,
have captured media networks in all nations,
Headlines frequently of late scream and stumble,
because of endless fights, bombings and killings.

  Overwhelmed by the mountains of complaints,
  criticisms, and recommendations to halt the disaster,
  war in Iraq that has plagued the global continents
  like fire and sulfur that rained down in the times of Lot.

Copyright © mark escobar | Year Posted 2012