Ode War Poems | Ode Poems About War

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Details | Ode | |

Ode To A Veteran

What is a Veteran? A veteran is a man ,or woman that has been to war and fought for our Country and our freedom. A Veteran is sometimes an unsung hero. One that we never hear about and sometimes He, or she is just forgotten. Today I want to say to our Veterans - you are our heroes. you put your life on the line for us. The ones that lost their lives are now in God's hands, but you are still here. You might have lost an arm, or a leg, maybe both legs - you did it in the line of duty. Maybe you still have both arms and both legs, that don't mean that you didn't lose anything in the war. You could have lost your best friend, or many friends. Now you only have memories. Today my Veteran I want you to know - that if it wasn't for you, we would not be able to enjoy the freedom that we enjoy today. It is not free - you have paid a high price for it. Thank for being the special hero you are. This is what I think a Veteran is...
Written o 02/15/2011 by Lucilla M. Carrillo

Copyright © Lucilla Carrillo | Year Posted 2012

Details | Ode | |

Anagram lol



Copyright © Judy Konos | Year Posted 2011

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 | Ode | |


Whenever tears roll down
somebody's face,
and whether it brings joy, reward or pain:
it matters to someone
whose life, somehow, has broken him down,
or has lifted him up through grace;
it matters when one rejoices,
and sees in victory
what his bewildered eyes
couldn't ever have imagined it to be...

He chose  the path to glory
without harboring suspicions,
or being frightened by unseen woes
and hard-and fast rules;  
he made swift choices    
and built up his courage from nothing;
and what his fearless mind couldn't perceive,
wasn't so impossible to dream,
but surely achieved
through grit and indisputable duty...

Whatever that solemn oath
relied on a certain promise, he never lost heart,
because his valor never seemed to lessen a bit;
and he was taken above and beyond his fears
by not foreseeing any disheartening defeat:
confidence had given his untiring feet a steady beat...

It matters to someone to be recognized,
and cherish that moment of gladness:
perhaps the only moment to be remembered
and be locked away in his past;
a brave soldier at his best,
never settling for anything less,
always going above and beyond his expectations,
to honor and safeguard the Country that he loves...


Copyright © Andrew Crisci | Year Posted 2007

Details | Ode | |

In War, Victory Kills

The Warrior On Top The Mountain
Swings His Sword Like A Legend
Though I'm Skilled In Combat
Let These Words Teach You A Lesson...
Some Avoid War Because
They Could Lose In The End
I Avoid War Because
What I Will Destroy Just To Win....
Defeat Dies.....
Victory Kills...
It Is Better To Let The Hate Move On
And Let The Love Stand Still

Copyright © Cortez Maurell Lewis | Year Posted 2013

Details | Ode | |


I woke up early in the morning, on
My canopy snug bed laid on
Stinks,I managed to stifle my yawn
I remember
I remember my war
War in my life
War in my life
I breath heavily
I almost choked by fumes
In bundle,I packed my belongings
Thinking of what to eat
I have no where to stay
For the day
I have noting to do for feeding
Relative sent me away because I am noting
I walk around the street
Sometimes,I stand,bend,and knee
Begging for money to feed
I heard this proverb says, if there
Is life there is hope
Hope, hope,hope for me in this world
Now that I am old
Greyish hair on my head
If I heard something about thirty minute
Ago,hardly will I remember
I have not much to live in life
When will I have halcyon day in my life?
Can I still be optimism or I should hope
To be fortune in the
Hereafter?,I mumbled alone.

for shhhhhh  contest sponsor by Silent one.

Copyright © Afolabi Muideen | Year Posted 2015

Details | Ode | |

The Indian soldiers

They are like the Roman aegis protecting the nation,
Their  valour defines the strength and courage of nation,
For them success is not wealth or fame rather it is martyrdom,
They have the courage of a lion, discipline of the nature, always full of moxie to deal with the foe,
Our sleep is their gift for they look for enemy from the siachen,
Their enemy is the enemy of nation,
Their  eyes are full of dreams for the nation, wants to behold  nothing  but  victory against the enemy, 
Their  palms have the fortune of thousands,
Their blood is more pious than the water of ganges or the zamzam,
Their mere thought welled up my eyes with tears for the ineffable sacrifice they make for the nation,
Their life is the life of nation and their death immerse the nation in sorrow, 
Their  existence define the incredible and ineffable India ,
Salute ,a thousand salute to the  valour of my protectors.

Copyright © mohd naeem khan | Year Posted 2016

Details | Ode | |


There is a field where Sherman marched
Across the bloody South
Just beside a freeway, that connects it to the North
No one builds and no one plants on hallowed bloody ground
And late at night tis said there’s ghosts that hover all around

In the spring there’s beauty on this poor forgotten place
No one live remembers the men who died with grace
No cell phones or gadgets to escape the fear and dread
Letters lost or just delayed were part of war twas said

Brothers fighting brothers in a bloody senseless brawl
Shattering a country while a death rate took its toll.
Marching cross the U.S. burning towns just shortly built--
Lynching and destroying without a modicum of guilt.

Streamlined education doesn’t bother with “ancient” facts
Parents want a fast track deal –full deductions in their tax
Highlight education is the modern style—on line.
No room for the how’s and why’s –there simply isn’t time.

So, if you seek reflection in a conversation pit
Find an avid reader for a talk with any wit.

Copyright © Victoria Anderson-Throop | Year Posted 2014

Details | Ode | |

Contemporary Ode To A Mother Crying Out To Her Children--2015

            Contemporary Ode To A Mother Crying Out
         To Her Children…2015

Sprawled out on life’s stage,
her world turns and runs
river red with the blood of her children:
flowing like a wandering stream.

Bloated ballooned bellies
mock aborted pregnancies;
once luscious breasts 
sag in parallel union 
with sinking faces 
of lost hope.

Lost hope—whirling
like solitary ghost smoke 
of abandoned fires:
abandoned fires
dying in waning time.

Hollowed red eyes 
of fleeing lovers look rearward:
the wholeness of nothingness simmering;
as smiling death sits—
waiting and anticipating the wonted feast.

         Heartbeat of hope struggles— 
         murmuring in the valleys and shadows;
         searching the gods’ penurious mercy.

In the midst of the Dante, hazed hell, 
a wretched mother clings
to time and history—once again.

Rooted in her audacious faith,
she cries out to her wandering brood in Diaspora:
those liberating souls spewed from her precious womb.
Scattered liberating souls—umbilical bound;
destined to restore her great grand glory:

With sage seasoned good courage, 
sagaciously she squats— 
awaiting the victory.

Copyright © millard lowe | Year Posted 2016

Details | Ode | |

Trump is The Champ

Bernie Sanders was our reigning
champion but lost—despite wildly
enthusiastic support for him—
to Hillary, the Amazon warrior
queen, succumbing to her low
blows and dirty tricks in a nasty
title fight he was unprepared for.

He did not even criticize her for
her emails scandal which is but a
smokescreen concealing her sinister
role in the rape of Libya, where Hillary
—acting as the new Roman general
Scipio Africanus—had hired Islamic
jihadists to topple and lynch Hannibal,
the very last Carthaginian leader.
Later, these Islamist thugs and goons
murdered the U.S. proconsul and
his loyal centurions in Benghazi....

The only way to get another
shot at the title is to fight on
the Green Party ticket but Sanders
has not yet agreed to do so.
When will you, Bernie, finally
make up your mind? (Shame
on you for endorsing Hillary!)
His place has now been taken
by a fresh heavyweight title
contender and a New White Hope
—Donny Trump, a prizefighter
from the Atlantic City casinos.

Pound for pound, Trump is the
better fighter. He opposes any
new military adventures and
violent regime change abroad,
preferring to rebuild our crumbling 
economy and bring back lost jobs.
He's no friend of the Wall Street
banksters, the armaments lobby,
or the neocons in Washington D.C.
who intend to ignite a new world
war with both China and Russia....

Trump wants to be friends with Putin
—unlike Hillary, who only wishes to
show that she's got bigger balls
than the Kremlin occupant whom
she calls "the new Adolf Hitler."
Trump vows to destroy ISIS and
al-Nusra—instead of overthrowing 
the secular Damascus government
and replacing it with Islamic jihadists,
or shooting down Russian warplanes
in an insane no-fly zone over Syria.
Trump is no Sanders, but then he
is no crazed warmonger either.

He is the new Julius Caesar
crossing the Rubicon to take on
imperial Rome. Unless Bernie
throws his hat into the boxing
ring, “Bonecrusher” Trump is
our favorite boxer fighting for
the coveted championship title.

Copyright © Ross Vassilev | Year Posted 2016

Details | Ode | |

Gone Forever

From a happy childhood, safe and loved,
I’ve come a long, long way.
But I recall those toothsome times
with sunshine all the day.
The woes and troubles of the world,
were kept from my young ears.
Ogres were only in story books
and were no cause for fears.

Young children snatched from out our yards
and spirited away.
The freedom that I had in youth
cannot be theirs today.
This lovely world God gave us has 
been almost destroyed by war.
It truly seems a grievous sin
to be happy anymore.
When there is hunger everywhere
and illness, sadness, tears,
even a beloved home is not
a refuge from our fears.

It’s been ten years September Eleven,
since complete madness  began.
Our safe world is gone forever
caused by savagery of man.

Copyright © Joyce Johnson | Year Posted 2011

Details | Ode | |

Military Veteran Lamentations -Our Boys, V-Day 11-11-11

wet behind the ears
our boys
soldiers screwed beyond their years

healthy “Kens”
displaced from their “Barbies and Babies”
programmed to forget 
about what ifs 
or maybes

when deployed, "Boy go!"

Erase your youth 
now you’re real damn men!
geddem’ G.I. JOE!

the present is your rifle
so don’t blink about the past
enemies are better dead
so spray them AK’s fast

now Private
grab the phone and tell your Mom
you’re comin’ home insane (or in a box)
like our boys in Vietnam!

Copyright © JSLambert Mister ROBOTO | Year Posted 2011

Details | Ode | |

Ode To Jerry: 1930-1952

One of the greatest pals that I have ever had,
Was a high school buddy and fellow grad!
He was renowned as the notorious class clown,
And his antics evoked from educators many a frown!

We had so many great times around Hagerstown!
'Twas hard to keep our youthful exuberance down,
As we raced up and down those tranquil streets,
Eluding frustrated cops on their nightly beats!

Often we double-dated with our sweethearts,
In my old '37 Ford that ran in fits and starts!
But our girlie friends didn't seem to mind,
As we cruised about with our arms entwined!

Upon graduation, in the Air Force I enlisted.
I asked him to enlist with me, but no he insisted!
In just a few years after we had parted,
The terrible conflict in Korea was started!

He answered the summons of his nation,
As others before him had met that obligation.
Mournful "Taps" was played over a hero's grave,
Alas, this time for beloved Jerry so gallant and brave!

Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved

PFC Gerald V. McCoy was KIA, 23 Oct 1952, Triangle Hill, North Korea.  

Entry for michael hornschurch's "Ode To A Friend" Contest

Copyright © Robert L. Hinshaw | Year Posted 2011

Details | Couplet | |

Ode To Billy

Young Billy was a soldier in the War Between the States; 
And scars of war made Billy feel a victim of the fates. 
He fought for Mr. Lincoln and the preservation creed 
Yet saw too many dying and he saw too many bleed. 

Now Billy knew the dreams of war so vivid every night, 
Were dreams of almost everyone who'd caught that bloody fight. 
The war he fought sought righteousness which he believed was true 
But never understood how North and South could split in two. 

His parents died of fever while he fought in Tennessee, 
A fact he didn't know until the North claimed victory. 
His papa, wise and sullen like the Irish Sea he knew, 
Had come to this America with dreams to start anew. 

Young Billy hoped his mama knew he'd made it through the war 
For she had shed no salted tears when he marched off before - 
But mothers bury very deep such pain within their soul 
So only God could touch her there and try to make her whole. 

Now both were gone along with wisdoms they could gently share 
To help him lift conflicted pain no man should have to bear. 
He prayed that Father Dave back home in Dublin had been right - 
A man can speak with loved ones in the starlight of the night. 

The things of life one covets can be lost to history, 
Including soldiers buried by the war's ferocity. 
He cried out loud in anger at the God he once adored: 
"Why did You leave me all alone my precious, precious Lord? 

What grave offense did I commence before Your loving eyes?" 
Though God was silent in repose great clouds then cleared the skies 
And Billy's father softly spoke and made the two as one 
With words of wisdom's calming balm to heal his broken son. 

"The wisdom of this world are pearls wrapped snug in crystal rain 
Proclaiming life will never end but just begin again." 

Copyright © tom mcmurray | Year Posted 2010

Details | Ode | |

when i close my eyes

When i close my eyes i see peace,in my mind,not war.
when i close my eyes  i see the hope and joy that could have been.
when i close my eyes.i see love and unity between people of different raceses.
when i close my eyes.i see myself flying above the mountains looking down,
through the eyes of an Eagle. and as i am flying i can see the sea and iam still
looking through the eyes of an Eagle.when i close my eyes.i see the stars above
when i close my eyes i see children happy Not sad.or scared.
i see them playing together not fighting one another.i see no war.
why cant we all close our eyes and see peace and love and hope and joy?not hate.

Copyright © November Wallace804 | Year Posted 2011

Details | Classicism | |

Ode To Napoleon

Restlessness in spirit...
he became 'The Corsican,'
over-bearance of a mother
he was forced to take a stand!
And he became...

Counter-veiling parent ways,
a struggle for his life.
A paradox, he was attached
to Josephine, his wife.
And he became...

From his father he derived,
magnetic forces... not contrived.
From his mother, discipline...
as an influence he would win!
And he became...

All his moods authenticated,
and his habits demonstrated!
One reserved... he was alone...
when provoked and on his own,
he became...

As a 'poor boy' he embittered,
cynicism as he whithered.
Feelings all about his mother...
made him wary of another.
And he was...

Pessimism without rest,
as he tried to be the best!
Perfectionism with disdain,
Napoleon, he would remain...

A Romantic fantasy...
as he struggled to be free!
Contradiction... he persisted...
obstacles which he resisted,
and he became...

Self-destruction played a part,
'Raison d etat' became his art!
His adventures they'd explain...
a defiance for his gain.
And he became...

Betrayal was a theme in life,
his possession for a wife.
Hail Josephine in all her flare...
but she became a snare!
And he was...

Money, it was his obsession,
predominant in his depression!
Napoleon was...

Sexuality for his desire,
when a woman was on fire...
Napoleon was so naive
for any woman to receive,
and he became...

A pragmatist or so it seems,
a fantacist with his own dreams...
Two sides of great Napoleon,
but he would win!
And he became...

Napoleon, he was a charmer...
indecisive in his armor.
Napoleon, he had his way...
all his men that he would sway,
and he became...

An intellect with awesome range,
prodigious memory without change.
A lucid mind that he offset...
those qualities which he'd regret.
Napoleon became...

An intellectual was at war,
satisfaction to get more!
All for his imagination
he became...

Napoleon, he searched for light,
in the sky for his delight.
He claimed he saw his star...
and he went far!
And he became...
A Hero!

and crowned himself...

Robert's Book of Poetry
from Napoeloen...A Biography
by Frank McLynn

Copyright © Robert OBrien | Year Posted 2012

Details | Ode | |

An Ode to Weary War

Within the stand where armies hide
with little but sticks and stones 
come forces too large to abide
who’ve traveled far from home.
Armed to the teeth with planes and tanks
they’re here to garner wealth
for when the rebels meet their end           
they’ll be little need for thanks
and certainly none for stealth
and little left but corpses to attend.

Civil war bring the vultures out in men
the mercenaries who fight for gold
the corporate war mongers rush to attend
The starving do as they’re told
for why not fight for mother land
and die for those left behind
a bullets death is easier than wasting
and is what man’s honor demands
If only, if only, man was less unkind    
less prone too warring and debasing.

Copyright © Debbie Guzzi | Year Posted 2011

Details | Ode | |

just a vet'ran - cobwebs turning into dust

     Just a vet'ran - Cobwebs turning into dust

       He's a teen out of the 60's - now wrinkled on his brow.
 Did not need to be drafted --  woulda' signed up anyhow
  'Cause He grew up with Kennedy and this county is his pride.
 When John was killed in 63, his whole classroom cried.
 Did Oswald have inside help? He ponders who and why.
 Thought back when a young soldier it was a small sacrifice
 for Viet Nam to live free - 'twas worth the threat to life.
 As he aged into a man and those around him died,
 what kept him going was his world and he would be their prize.
  back home there was no parade and few could see his side.

 He's just a vet'ran and there's not much he can do
  He has buried some old mem'ries 'cause he's tired of feelin' blue
  Just a vet'ran. Now Politicians he don't trust
  and the plaque and the ribbons are just cobwebs turning into dust.

 Once little sleep for nightmares that played over and over 
  if one whispered,     "incoming",   he'd awake and dive for cover.
  Most dreams have slowly faded, ----- thanks to the hands of time
 yet he still thinks of his buddies and the ways thay had to die.
  now he's hurtin' from old war wounds and hasn't worked for some time.
 He's a vet'ran that's been swallowing his pride.
  Never thought he'd need a handout, now that cannot be denied.
  Just a vet'ran and the VA he must use
 as a means for survival - there are few ways left for him to choose. 

 He watched the tube in the 90s of Iraq's "Desert Storm",
  with its threats of poison gas and stench of burning oil
  And he's hoping for those soldiers, it would not be like before.
  But as it was with Viet Nam, some got sick and died
 and like it was with Agent Orange - the war's causes were denied.

 Now, almost half a century since he had to do his tour
  he's Recalling fiery suicides that caused this Afghan war.
  Pious men of influence want power and much more.
  had peers with conscience stood up to them -  there'd be less cause for war.
 He blames extreme religion promoting hatred for all the horror.
 He's just a vet'ran and there's not much he can do
 He has buried some old mem'ries 'cause he's tired of feelin' blue
 Just a vet'ran. Some pious people he lost his trust
 and the plaque and the ribbons are just cobwebs turning into dust. 

 Yes, the mem'ries are fading -  now they're cobwebs turning into dust.

Copyright © ken hayden | Year Posted 2015

Details | Ode | |

Sons and Daughters Our Troops

Sons and Daughters
Over there
Sons and Daughters
Dying there
Sons and Daughters
We want them here
Sons and Daughters
They are all our 
Sons and Daughters

Copyright © Rene'e Braxton | Year Posted 2011

Details | Ode | |

Clara in ashen

Jetblack sunrise ashen, breastbone of the final dark.
My priest must leave to return to his ghostly parish.
Where traitors necks stretch down from moss to swamp.
I met the host of my companions, caught by first dawn’s watchfire dogs, waits for his beloved no more.
Oh, his Clara, I must console before chill sets too deep within bone and lung.
I will guard my deathbed promise to him, for to wipe her fair brow.
To finger her dark ringlets with ever my trigger torn hands.
Considering myself curious to love a West Indies fleshy maid.
The poked corporal would find me, on ghastly red steed to behead twice over for him, my host, and her my temptress Clara.
The belle of run through young soldiers.

Copyright © ANDREA TRAVIS | Year Posted 2015

Details | Ode | |


Such heavy artillery,
To whom shall we run,
To God have we come,
In pain and sad form,
To state our hearts' deform,
To stake our rights and reforms,
You know that where two Elephants fight the grass suffers,Do be well informed,
My youngmen you have been, deeply misinformed,
My insane Leaders and their wanting to negotiate a arms surrender,
Mines! Please do deactivate those heating "Death crumbs",
See the most hit at war having mucored loafs in luxury and style,
Locale Warlords feasting on roasted swine,Marijuana's wisdom and four gallons 
of rum,
Only the rich and mighty are are afforded the luxury of flying their families abroad,
We see vivid pictures of crime and business working in consortium,
Drugs and Arms circulation,
Or shooting the innocents,Genocide!
The world powers sidewatching as if they lack 'Parties' to side,
or on which peace steps to decide,
Please my Brothers-in-arm let's put hate aside,
Or on what "PEACE" plans to carryout from the inside,
Histories that co-incide.
Come! Peace and at this market-square shame war,
Peace do come and defy war,
The gory memory of steaming blood on his matchete,
Or my deafened eardrums beaten soft by these insultive BOMBS.
In war man's dearest friends are Sickness,Starvation and Illiteracy,
Learning the precious ways of The Ants,Bugs,Monkeys and electric fish,
Ladies and how they learnt their lesson in prostitution,
Beer bottles or bullets sealing the evidences,
My ink,My quail, and this page,
Cant tell, If in your age this will be read off Golden scrolls on diamond podiums,
Writing not for this time but for generations yet unborn,
Read the annals of history and learn that all who started a war or abetted 
one,Worship and Kiss the devil in the anus,
Or they are Madmen-in-coats-and-Briefcases, Smoking piped marijuana in the 
Natinal Asylum,

Do you think I loved to kiss the red lips of rage,
Or suck the succulent bossom of 'Hate the Mother-adder',
War sets the bait,
Guerillas set the pace,
Government gorillas hold the day,
Youths and guns,
Maids and nails,
Only the dead can see the end of war,
Not only deep breath can still the tremors of bombs,
Or greed the might of crumbs,
May God's almighty blessings be bestowed on Relief,Aid,Donor and Charity 
Agencies that stand the risks of war and its deaths.
Wars are a confirmation of a Civilization in Rust.

Copyright © Anthony Edmond | Year Posted 2007

Details | I do not know? | |

Ode to a windswept child


Proud windswept child
How shall I not
Look onto thee with fright?
- The Lord has spoken,
Loud and clear -
His will men cannot fight.

The Lord has spoken,
Yes - He said -
"As Sarah thou shall be -
The mother of six millions,
Those perished and decieved."

The Lord had mercy over me -
He sent His Angels forth,
Those strong-winged guardians
With their hard,
Never failing support.

Until the end comes
I shall fear
To speak about their names:

Of Hunger,


Of Terror,


And of their brother -


Oh windswept child,
Thou need not say
What Lord has given thee -
The might of all Jerusalem,
The freedom of the sea...
And blissfully He lets you stand
Before my tearless eyes -
He gives you sheer naivety,
A will to be surprised.

So easily He lets you think
All power is now yours -
But lessons history shall teach
Will show that you were wrong...

Copyright © Domi Marchewka | Year Posted 2009

Details | Ode | |

Prayer To My Self

Walking away might be the most hardest things for a man to do, you cant even imagine what that feeling can do to you. Falling flat on your face would be better than to look shameful, even walking around naked around the streets would be cool. But like any story in life goes, there is always that one person that will help you get back on your feet and walk again. No matter how much you fall, no matter how much you stumble upon a struggle, that person will be there with you till the end. Give love and thanks to this person who never leaves your side and helps you put a smile on your face everyday. When the day comes to an end and you know that the person has to go, all you can wish is for your special person to stay. Mine has walked away on me, I was so blind that i couldn't see. She wanted everything for her self, for me to change and be what she wanted me to be, but i had to let her go and never see this person again, cause it would only be worse in the end. Writing this is more painful than getting your body tattooed, writing this is more painful than getting over screwed. Writing this is more painful than words, writing this is more painful than razor sharp swords. No matter how much you try to let it out it just wouldn't come out, the pain is way to deep and its almost like its tattooed on your bodies gout. haven't i been hurt enough in this world, i just don't understand why i am being treated like this, is it cause i am better than you and have nothing to look forward too but my blue and black handkerchief? The cut was way to deep my dear, you just cant imagine, i have been cut and bruised for the last time, i can promise you that. No one will ever touch this body or hurt this soul ever again, if you wish to try so, go ahead and check it, but before that go ahead and get yourself a casket.

Copyright © Roman Chebukin | Year Posted 2012

Details | I do not know? | |

Ode To A Spartan Soldier

Eyes like the Aegean Sea, 
Burn with a passion for life.
Like underwater volcanoes that erupt and make the sea rage.
Poseidon striking the sea floor.

With the intensity for experience, 
Like the fire that smolders deep within your essence; 
As if Hephaestus, God of Fire placed this potency within your heart.

Raven tresses frame the noble gentleman 
Traveling along his journey like a silent Spartan: King Leonidas. 

With Themis and Dike protecting him in battle; guiding his sword and shield.
Appointing him to be the leader of justice for mankind.

Like the regal Lion that sits upon his golden throne high in the Heavens for all to 
see. Forever etched in the memories of men: so are you--endless;
Sitting with Hercules on Mount Olympus.

Celestial orbs safeguard the one whose utterances are as vast as the 
mountainous landscape.
And whose songs are as boundless as the sea itself.

Copyright © Angela Cox | Year Posted 2007

Details | Ode | |


a flag flown at half mast
a salute remembered that was the last
a star placed behind a glass
a quiet gathering to bury a lad
a moment of silence for those that past
the respect and honor for those
that died in the blast
a bugle playing Taps for what could not be 
the last
a flag folded and then passed

then the soldier lowered into the ground
feels that glory from all a round
his body lies at rest
but his spirit receives that which is best
to know that by his countrymen he was blessed
to a soldier that died in combat that is best

Copyright © john loving iii | Year Posted 2008

Details | Ode | |

Ode to Iraq

you've taken my husband away,
I want him back
our soliders try to help your country
we want you to be like us "free"
your people are causing problems
because they want their lifestyle 
the way of old
some of your people want to be controlled
other people want to be like us, you see
with few laws and otherwise "free"
your country continues violence 
while our country morns in silence
taking away people close to us
your country is causing a lot of fuss
please let the problems go
let our soilders come home,
things will flow,
your country will grow
become a better place 
if you let differences go

Copyright © Amy Rowsell | Year Posted 2008

Details | Ode | |

Ode to the Archer

The sinew stretched taut,
The yew wood begins to bend. 
This battle has long been fought
And even now will not find an end.
My sight’s upon the coming men;
I will not miss my mark.
Features of stone, my hands are still. 
I’d die for my brethren.
I do not fear death’s dark.
I stand here by my will.

Bows take aim besides me,
Shieldsmen kneel in front.
Unknowing approacheth the enemy:
We are reminded of the hunt.
The king’s army stands as one,
Our shadows are cast down
As the sun rises in the east.
They see us here yet do not run,
With swords drawn they keep their ground.
My arrow is released.

Copyright © Em Rayne | Year Posted 2009

Details | Ode | |

Old Warrior

Old warrior, in the bar...
Sips on his small, warm beer...
It's still 1943 to him...
And inside he still holds fear...
The world hanging on the edge,
Of uncertainty....
What the future held,
No one could see....

Served his country,
Of that he's proud....
Seems no one any longer cares...
And his fellow warriors are now,
Above the cloud...
Soon he'll climb those stairs...

Vanishing like dinosaurs,
This American-Spartan hero...
Has little left to do...
Ask him about World War II,
He'd be glad he met you...

To show interest
In his sacrifices...
His wounded memories...
His changed life...
His long dead buddies,
His long dead wife...

His mate long gone,
He stares blindly at the TV,
Dressed in the poverty he lives
No one can get inside his head,
Save those so long dead...

He has nothing else to do
Be home alone, with old address books,
Of all his long dead friends,
Photos meaningless,
Except to him,
Time has cheated him,
By leaving him here
In the lonely bar, so dim...

Struggling to make ends,
Six dollars on the bar,
The past in the air,
At home he never cooks,
He just no longer seems to care....

Cigarette smoke in the air,
A forbidden pleasure now,
No one seems dare...
Used to be normal,
Things have changed so,
But not our old warrior,
He'll be the last of his kind
To go...

If today is his last,
That's just fine with him....
His future days will be the same...
The final die is cast.

Copyright © tom bell | Year Posted 2008

Details | Ode | |

War is Hell

        War Is Hell
Our nations war to settle a score and or fight to noble fight..
It's the countrymen who pay the price, no matter who was right..

Now I love my nation under God , My country tis of thee..
My one regret is that my son , was my eternal fee..

Like his dad before he went to war and served this nation well..
I taught my son a lot of things, but not how War Is Hell..

His camp came under fire one night while the boys were all writing home.
That was the first of many nights, our families would dine alone..

The days were long , the nights were longer..
But with time all wounds they fade ..
I could see my boy in my grandsons eyes..
What a treasure my God has made..  

I spent most of my time doating upon the lad..
Telling him hero stories of his fearless dad..

Now he's joined the core, to fight a new war,
and or make his father proud.. 
Now every night as I pray for his life,
My cries can be herd aloud..

Copyright © Glen Schwartz | Year Posted 2017

Details | Free verse | |

Ode to Oppenheimer

As melancholia replaced the jarring of my invention, I sat.

Unable to breathe in the smog I had created, unable to stand on my betraying legs, unable to howl at the heavens over my sordid soul.

In this inferno, I became paroxysmic, my self-hatred, superparamount, numbness dulling the agony of such a devilish act,

An iron curtain fell upon the surrounding world, or at least what I had left of it to be owned by the laconic eclipse.

All the angels fled, disowning my prayers, the lurid world backed away, leaving me forsaken and detached,

I could no longer hear the bombings, hear them fall, my own fabrication, only the dead air that came after, the intense silence.

Cynical and paralyzed, I realized I had purloined a portion of Hell and given it to the unwilling Earth,

Punishing those I had no right to punish, judging those I had no reason to condemn, destroying cities I had never set foot in.

This is how I became Death, the destroyer of Worlds.

Copyright © Fatima Ammar | Year Posted 2017