Poetry Soldier Poems

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Details | Light Poetry |
The Tomb of the Unknown Soldier - Canada

We all know you now
You have fallen at our feet
You have guarded them all with life and limb
Noble and brave
Only to fall at a cowards last call
You have stirred the souls of the unknown heroes
Their appall shall seek the just dues of our defamers and saboteurs
Young lads who now welcome you in the hereafter
Shall haunt our enemies from near or afar
The drum rolls sound, as the rifles salute
The Unknown Soldier
You are unknown no more

Notes: In memory of Nathan Cirillo and Patrice Vincent both killed in cold blood on the week of Oct 26, 2014 by cowards in the name of Islam. Nathin Cirillo was standing guard at the tomb of the Unknown Soldier.

Also in memory to the 1000’s of unknown soldiers, young men, who fought so that we may be free.

Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2014

Details | Rhyme |

Santa traveled from house to house,
spreading his toys, quiet as a mouse.
Down the chimney his Christmas trick,
his big red bag to empty real quick.

A pause to enjoy a sweet Santa treat,
milk and cookies can never be beat.
But wait, a note to Santa this table,
written to Santa by the young boy Able.

Dear Santa,
I thank you for your visit tonight,
I'm sure you filled our tree just right.
The world is a scary place just now,
I want you safe and I figured out how.
Please take my solider on your trip tonight,
brave and strong to keep trouble from sight.
Love Able

One tin soldier did indeed there stand,
a bit play worn and tattered by hand.
Santa last Christmas brought Able this toy,
his most wanted gift had said this boy.

Santa smiled and thought for a bit,
then finger to nose for some magic to get.
The little tin soldier snapped to attention,
lay his rifle to ground without mention.

You, my grand soldier, will travel with me,
spreading to all a message, my plea.
Peace on earth this Christmas night,
let the children fear not and sleep in delight.

May man use this time to find in his heart,
a seed to be planted, a time to restart.
Let man love man your message to be,
ride at my side, herald peace for me.

One little tin soldier flew through the night,
spreading peace and goodwill in Santa's flight.
From roof top to roof top on Christmas Eve,
the greatest gift peace, love, hope to believe.

12/21/16 ©

Copyright © Robert Stoner Jr | Year Posted 2016

Details | Rhyme |
They were Meriwether Lewis and William Clark,
Her name was Sacagawea.
On an expedition they did embark
Finding the passage to the sea.

Down the Missouri they traveled, 
Then slithered 'round the Snake River bend.
Rocky Mountain weather and sickness battled;
At the Columbia River they'd end. 

©2013 Honestly JT

Copyright © Honestly J.T. | Year Posted 2013

Details | Light Poetry |

By Leonard Kleeman

Women in real combat, can that really be?
The news article had a great big headline.
It stated that when outdoors, women can't pee.
And, even if it's true, that's no business 
of mine.

The Pentagon will now rescind its combat ban.
Which means all the danger doesn't belong 
just to a man.
But there are many opponents who say
that women are too weak to have it 
that way.

That's very funny 'cause I never thought women 
to be weak.
Many gals that I know are stronger than some men.
It matters not how big they are or what kind 
of physique;  
All the strength that women have or need is 
within them.

To pee outside is not the thing they need
 neither is skipping showers or pee in the wild.
They just need their brothers and sisters in arms 
to cover their backs and not think of their charms,
and to accept them in combat and not think they're mild.

They are brave and courageous if you think 
what they do.
They can give birth to babies and then 
help you too. 
They have strength in their hearts and smarts 
in their head.
And if you get bad they'll beat you instead.
Where women have fought before
During peace and mostly at war,
They have fought well and won for their side
and had no reason for anything to hide.

So they can pee outside or pee in the wild.
Or even shower where men are beguiled.
Now that the Pentagon has made its analysis 
that women fighting at war would not be calamitous, 
They should not hold them back just because they 
have no *****es.

Copyright © Leonard Kleeman | Year Posted 2013

Details | Light Poetry |
She descended from a far away land
I was from the backwoods
She was my life and death
I was her lover boy

They taught me simple things
Beware of seductive pretty strangers
How to drive a car very fast and true
How to meander as a tourist in blue

To drop a note inside empty walls
To see my reflection in windows tall
To pick up this and that from here and there
Cross a border or two, if I dare

She moved into my dreams
They knew I was compromised
I knew not a thing at all
So I played the spy and the clown

East German prisons and needles
Russian doctors and dreams
Tomorrow sometimes never comes
Lucky me to be so old and dumb

In the basement of a side street
A Paris jazz saloon
I sat alone
As it dawned capon me

I have no one, I am the clown
The spy that never was
Photographs dancing in my mind
Lovers dancing arm in arm along the Rhine

Helsinki rendezvous
Swedish diplomatic moves
Vodka for both, a drunk white rose
The Russian red room was to be my tomb

I lost my lover
Pistol whipped and left for dead
Never be the spy and the clown
My only desire to touch the sea of Oland
Hope the hell I drown

Rainy days and clowns
Those days of cat and mouse
Left me alone in the old spies house

Hanging around
Saved the world
Lost my love
Time for me to cut my throat

Spies end up playing solitaire
Clowns end up alone
Fools drown inside vodka dreams
Lena still lives in my heart, weeping

Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2015

Details | Light Poetry |
Never thought of making weapons, 
But I’ve been called an expert, 
Others are suspect for their skills,
The hackers; magicians; tyrant. 
I am the same guy with a heart, 
Although I’ve been hurt 
So were my victims, 
Nothing that’s recognized 
Can state otherwise, 
I am human too 
With a shining pure soul.
Maybe my patriotism turned
And to you that's cruelty 
But I still see myself
As a citizen too, 
I am a soldier! 
And if need be
I shall die for my country

Copyright © Zakhe Michael Mcunu | Year Posted 2015

Details | Light Poetry |

Where are you Stalin
Is winter
We have deeds to perform
Equality to give
Winters snow shall freeze the mind
 Christmas troikas
To the dachas’ of death
We all morn and laugh
The communism dream
Hides inside a vodka bottle
I want to dance with you Stalin
Kiss your cheek
For if I live in the past
I can rest my bones
Knowing Putin does not yet exist
I may hide under the ruble
My Tatu displays my displeasure
At all of you
You not gonna get us
In the end

Red Army dreams shall fade away

Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2015

Details | Light Poetry |
Pseudo Criminal

Spic and span
Washing laundry like dirty guacamole cash
In Miami sand..... buried hidden Latin trash
Hurray for the tango so grand

Pseudo criminals holding poetic book
When everyone knows they are the crooks
The underbelly of wrong upbringings
Margaritas tasting as sour as the opera lady singing

Her pimp smiles with undisguised guile
For after dusk he will do as he must
Pseudo criminals lurking with pseudo lusts
Full of their pseudo charms that are sure to disgust

Criminals and cowards share the same dance
Brave with words and at first danger seeping pants
They have convictions in their crimes
Some have even two

Beware the criminals lurking around you

Brought to you by Sesame Street Poetry
Today’s poem was sponsored by the word “Pseudo” and the number “2”

Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2016

Details | Romanticism |
From the Gardens of Babylon,
to the walkways of Palestina,
to the grand temples of Jerusalism,
to the sandy beaches of Syria and Cyprus.
Went my Persian Queen riding,
upon her golden, firery chariot.

Her black hair, like silk long and flowing.
Her royal robes white and purple, bare and pure.
Her sword by her side, ready to strike.
Her spear fastened, ready to stab the dreeded heart
of the Fire Dragon.
On the firery chariot, riding with her armies,
Went my Perisan Queen.

O, how my arimes fight your armies,
in the midst of night fall, under a full moon.
Let us stop this foolish fighting.
And have fellow brother, love fellow brother.
And so we can fall in love forever.

And don't act like you don't show love for me.
I see you in the dawns, standing upon the sand covered battlefields.
Standing proud behind your armies.
With your black hair flowing.
You almost making me want not to fight the battle of the Day,
for if you were killed, what victory would that be then?

You pull your armies back at the last minute, before I am slayed
by your fellow brother in arms.
You retreat your arimes back over the hills, not in fear of losing the day,
but in fear of losing me.
You and your armies had plenty of chances to kill me, yet you do not.

My Persian Queen, O come now.
Come down from your firery chariot
and into my restless arms.
I know you are tired
and wanting to sleep.

Listen to the nightingale
sing her love song.
Drinking the sweet necture,
from the gardens, in your vase Persian Empire.

Come now, and kiss me,
Hold me, let us ride,
far from the simple minds of the Old World
and fall in love in a New.

My Persian Queen
O how I love you so much.
I cannot bare to see you in a life you don't want to live.
Come let I, your Knight in shinning armour liberate you.
Take you by the hand, run through the great bazzare in Old Istanbul
running away from the Janissaries of your father's Imperial armies.

Let us leave this place of hate and sorrow.
To start our lives a new.
My Persian Queen,
Now dressed in silk lace,
with golden jewlery hanging
from your beautiful and tender neck.
Along with the silver pattened belt around your harmonial waist.

It is time for you, to come with me.
No more shall we act like we dispise one another.
As Romeo and Juliet's love failed,
shall our love take course, and we shall love
till the oceans swallow the earth, the mountains crumble,
and the Sun engulf the sweet Earth.
And on and on shall our love go on,
My adorable and lovely Persian Queen.

Copyright © Chris Boskovski | Year Posted 2013

Details | Light Poetry |
He has no grave
In the fields he lies
Unburied, in the fury of battle
He leaves behind his love
A love letter in his breast pocket
All to be added to the dust
There is no cross to mark his passing
Only a memory to hold upon ones sadness
He is a lost soldier

A year has passed, his family mourns
His lover sits at the window waiting
A bullet kills you now
A wounded heart takes years to die
So quietly she both hopes and withers
A poppy in her hair, marks her despair

Armies march and armies fall
Battles won and lost as young men die
Endless is the death that pervades these lands
As the lonely soldier fades into history
His loved ones left to hold a ghostly flag

His lover never left her window
She never lost the hope within
Scared by the wounds of war she was
She carried on, yet her life was grim

Fifty years later, to this day
We all stop in silence to honor the past
A new building constructed far away
As they dug the soil that gave way
To a secret of the past
The lonely soldier but a skeleton
With a paper close to his heart

A love letter they did uncover
Postage due for sure
His tags and cross they enclosed
With words of love from long ago

So on a warm summer’s day, by her window
She saw the postman approach her house
With a faded parchment from the past
Words that would make her heart beat fast
Years upon years she had hoped
Now the answer was sadly clear
She whispered softly…
My lonely soldier died that day
His letter is now here to stay
To keep me warm until the end
Knowing his loved never waned…..

I love you dear
I hope you know
One day I will whisper this close
For now I fight to free the world
So that I may be with you
Remember me, if I should fall
That no matter where by bones may lay
My heart is with you always

Note: Late for Nov 11 as I had the flu, but better late than never

Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse |
An old man looking out his door,
gaze fixed on a distant shore,
reminiscing to a time, not of happiness,
or, the prospect of a bright future,
to when he was sick to his very core,
to when as a youth, he went to war

A time before infallibility had meaning,
patriotism and bravado the craze,
the future was still unknown,
vigor for life at its all time high,
a time for romance, partying, buying,
no thought of pain, deformity, dying

Too young to understand or question,
ship to foreign shore, medals abound,
will impress the girls next time in town,
sacrifice not temporary,
forever more,
a legacy etched into a wall, few will remember,
flesh shredded, burned, torn,
families mourn

A time, when he willingly went to war,
will happen no more,
all lost in youth, now unrelenting,
no blind obedience,
minimal risk,
long life, his number one ambition

As he turns back from the door,
he thinks of the youth,
here now, soon no more,
lessons never learned,
the call to war,
to common the roar,
complacency the mood,
another generation removed

The old man agonizes
over what was originally not known,
war is preventable,
life too precious to waste,
the solution simple,
his vision, maybe too late

Send old men to the front to fight,
arthritis, heart disease, poor eyesight,
let the youth enjoy their life,
his near over, its only right

Send old men, to the front, to fight
ask them to give up their life,
patriotism and bravado, still alive,
will and desire would not last the night,
old men do not rush to death in their twilight,
failure inevitable, the old man smiles,
knows he's right

Wars not possible,
if old men, are sent to fight

Copyright © Mac McGovern | Year Posted 2010

Details | Elegy |
A kestrel dips into an updraft
thinking he knows the world
tranquility gurgles 
through silent valleys
over mountains
around the earth
through the wind

The creature soars ever higher
in great swoops and dives
the horizon curves as it eludes vision
the stars pulse their siren
but thrill denies
adrenaline overrules
their ambient warning

Gust to gust each fades 
quicker than the last
whispers carry the weight of wings
and their soulful song breaches sanity
prayers of rightful good
where petty purple banners
crest twinkling hearts

The last thermal ridden
last lyric dies
as flight’s drone fades
upturned wings alone
the sky empty oblivion
as the sun aligns its beady eye
to the looping path of the bird

Two brittle forms 
grapple in light
which blots out the senses
and protects 
what can never be touched
divine oblivion 
smites the naive bird
an archangel buried
in a crypt 
six feet deep.

Copyright © Avery Swarthout | Year Posted 2015

Details | Prose Poetry |
One or two of us
Were home on leave;
For the rest of us,
Christmas came by mail.

Our callsign: Gunslingers.
Our Military Transition Team
Was embedded with 
The "Triple Deuce" Iraqi Infantry,

For a year our home
Was LSA Diamondback
Mosul, Nineveh province,
In northern Iraq

A Team member's wife
Gave us all Santa hats.
I have an old photo
Of us standing on top
Of an old Iraqi bunker,
Bearing pistols, rifles,
And those Santa hats.

My wife sent a small
Plastic Christmas tree,
Which was decorated 
In the Gunslingers' office.

My mom sent a warm quilt.
When you're acclimatized
To wearing battle armor
In the high 90s and 100s,
80-something feels cold!

I remember the nights--
Dark, but full of stars,
With Orion's belt
On the horizon.

Soldiers made bonfires
In the oddest places:
By a concrete shelter,
Or in classified burn pits.

Once exiting my office,
I saw a fire in the sky.
Soldiers were on top of a bunker
Drinking near-beer, singing.

Another night, I stood 
Just outside of the light
Looking at some troops,
And the chiaroscuro image.

I went back to my "choo",
And penciled the scene.
To complete the masterpiece,
I inserted myself
Roasting marshmallos.

I went back to visit them,
Showed them the drawing,
Then completed the picture
By searing a marshmallow.

Christmas was what we made of it.

Copyright © Mark J. Halliday | Year Posted 2014

Details | Light Poetry |
Written in 1982 for my Son "Jason" . . . 

The Little Tin Soldier . . . 

In the land of tin men - a soldier he was made
Painted red and blue - in a wooden box he laid
Given to a child - he was happy as could be
Thinking of all the other toys that he would get to see
At night in the little boys bed - next to him he lay
Guarding him against all evil - till the light of day
Everywhere the little boy went - the soldier went too
The little boy proud of his soldier’s uniform of red and blue
He sat at the end of the table - while his master ate
He told all the other little boys - the tin soldier was his mate
They all gathered round to see his uniform of red and blue
But they all laughed and said “mines a better one than you”
So it was to be - and the fight began - in the sand pit it grew
All the little tin men fighting the soldier dressed in red and blue
Then the fight was over - the little tin soldier he had lost
He paid a heavy price - with his arm and leg the cost
The little boy of his tin soldier - he was so ashamed
The battle was lost - and the tin soldier was to blame
The little boy left him there - and went inside to cry
The little tin soldier - only wished that he could die
Many weeks passed - the tin soldier in the sand pit still laid
The bright colours of his uniform had now - began to fade
The tin soldier wasn’t happy - for he had put such a fight
When he saw a shadow - come to wards him in the night
There was the little boy - come looking for his mate
The little tin soldier forgetting what could have been his fate 
The little boy hugged his tin soldier - with all of his might
How could he not love the little tin man who'd put such a fight?

To my son Jason, love mum x x x 

Copyright © Indiana Shaw | Year Posted 2016

Details | Dramatic monologue |
She's highly sophisticated and full of undefiled wisdom
Yet a crowned Duchess in a paradise kingdom
Quite a beautiful angel flying with black wings
Covered in gold jewelry and precious things
She dresses like the women of ancient Egyptian class
Her wealth is generous and her money grows like grass
She loves orange scented candles with dark room flame  
She rules thirty legions of soldiers and Bune is her name
Her comely warrior voice can wake and relocate the dead
Her armies of soldiers gather around the cemetery
She is brave and deserves a princessly crown on her head
Her facility of speech and flair for words is legendary
A beautiful queen to be treated with respect and honor
Instead of blasphemy,wanton abuse and fictional horror

Copyright © Bill Kim | Year Posted 2013

Details | Light Poetry |
Although we are known as veterans we're still soldiers in our heart. And although the war still rages on, we still remain to do our part. We still remain to carry the burden and the tears of the soldiers who have died. And we remain to see our wounded friends. That's their testament that they tried. And although we no longer fight on the bloody battlefield of hell. We still remain behind for those who will listen to the stories that we tell. We tell of friends that were forged like a precious diamond in time. And of the love we have for all soldiers that no one can ever define. Our war wages on inside of us for an eternity with no peace. Because as long as our comrades die, the war for us does not cease. We still remain to fight our silent battle and shed our silent tear. But we remain to show our comrades that we're veterans who still care. There is nothing that can silence our battle cry and nothing that can ease our pain. Because we will always be soldiers. We are the veterans who still remain. c. R. Mendoza

Copyright © Rodney Mendoza | Year Posted 2015

Details | Heroic Couplets |
Poem: Titled: Eat A Little Piece?My Poetry on PoetrySoup
 Written by: Ronald Watson.
March 10, 2013.

Eat A Little Piece?
Ethel, she is an elderly little lady who bakes sweet tasty treats, and constantly, she is asking,” Please, come on, eat a little piece?”
It was her secret cooking recipe’ that would knock the socks right off of your feet.
Then, she gathered up together all of, “The Powers That Be.”
When it came time for them to eat a little piece.
To sip it up with their coffee and tea;
Devour some up like, the cookie monster on: Sesame Street.
Either, it should taste more like, their moms red beans and rice.
Or it would taste just like, those sweet and honey barbeque ribs that is cooked so nicely.
Because it is her secret cooking recipe’. Yet, still she is asking, “Come on now, please try a little peace?”
But, they all just stood and shook their heads, saying that they were all having War instead.My Poetry on PoetrySoup

Thank You.

Copyright © TMP The mad poet | Year Posted 2013

Details | Light Poetry |
I am alone
No food no water
No mother no father
I am a shell

I am afraid
I shiver
The night’s cold
I long for the warmth of.......

ISIS shall be your blanket
We shall provide you the warmth
We shall feed you
My little one, here is your gun

We shall march forth to other villages
Together God willing we shall avenge your sorrows
Tomorrows soldier, is now fully trained
Blood and Allah his new found allies

Brothers in arms
The little boy
The soldier who slaughtered his future
Together, bonded in wars of hate

The dawn of the morning
When even evil slumbers and sleeps
A Butterfly flutters with the rising sun
Looking sadly upon this orphan

The future soldier has never seen such beauty
He can’t help but steal a smile from his past
The Fritillary speaks softy not to awaken the army of hate
I bring you life little one and news from above

Confused the little one stares
The butterfly speaks yet again
Mother and father now weep for you
Tears fall from the heavens little one

Mother Father? but they are dead!
No little one, they have passed on only
Saddened by your pain and unhappiness
They wait patiently to give you back your laughter

Must I die? Must I? To be with them again?
No little one, you must live, fully
You must have love and compassion
So that the heavens and the earth shall cease the tears

Who are you butterfly, so wise and meek?
I am you little one and I am god
The butterfly hugged this future soldier
The orphan felt the warmth of such strong wings

A miracle for sure the little one thought
As he dropped his weapon
Truly happy, for his path he now knew
He ran away from the battle, in utter euphoria  


The old soldier of Allah’s wars
Once a young boy long ago
With eyes so cold
Shot the little one in the back

Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2014

Details | Rhyme |
I hope you enjoy my Memorial Day poetry video tribute on YouTube below. Please copy and
paste the link below into your browser if it does not automatically link to the video:

Copyright © Ed Coet | Year Posted 2009

Details | Prose Poetry |
The days the nights didn’t mean a thing, 
the good the bad and me in between, 
the war the fights I took no sides, 
I watched life fall to death.
the weak the strong I took no sides, 
I fought both for and fought against.
The leaders the followers I neither love nor hate, 
the winners the losers I play fair with nor cheat. 
The rules the guide the game’s the same, 
for men for soldiers who come and go, 
I watched them fight dark and light.
For those for some who fought but for, 
ended up with those with all who fight against.
For those for all who fought against, 
all failed and knew what reason for.
For those for all who passed the test, 
were neither last to do so nor the first.
So I learnt this war it meant, 
this uniform I wear, this victory unclear, 
the weapons the armor didn’t mean a thing, 
the task the mission impossible it seemed, 
the days the nights seemed waste of time, 
a waste of time the months the years.
The oath I swore the pledge I made, 
the battles I fought didn’t mean a thing, 
I fought both for and fought against.

Copyright © emmanuel ogufere | Year Posted 2016

Details | Light Poetry |
A soldier has come home today,
He has been fighting in lands far away.
A soldier has come home today,
There were no cheers, not a single hooray.
A soldier has come home today,
In a coffin to his loved ones dismay.
A soldier has come home today,
He was mortally wounded, death led the way.
A soldier has come home today,
Back to his homeland to stay.
A soldier has come home today,
He no longer has to kill or slay.
A soldier has come home today,
For protecting our freedom the enemy took his life away.
A soldier has come home today,
Every nation needs brave men to keep the enemy at bay.
A soldier has come home today,
They risks life’s most precious gift in violent affray.
A soldier has come home today,
If die they must, let us pray they go heavens way.
A soldier has come home today,
We honour you and quietly pray.
Our soldier has come home today                                                                                                                              In this world every mother asks,
            “Why does it have to end this way?”

Copyright © Terry Godwin | Year Posted 2016

Details | Prose Poetry |
We know only those faces,
We have seen in history.
Yet countless strange faces are there
Who fought for the country.
We can never repudiate 
Selfless sacrifices of those men,
So I am paying tribute to all those
Martyrs and soldiers through my pen.
Indulged in your duties,
Far away from your family and loving ones.
You fight for our
Dreams, hopes and liberty,
Strutting boldly amidst the raging guns.
Whether it is scorching rays of Sun
Or it is blood freezing cold,
You fight relentlessly
Standing so strong and bold.
You are the true sons of the nation.
For the sake of our lives,
Irrigating this land with your blood
Is your only passion.

Time will never obliterate the fact…
You stand for us like an adobe.
With lion like courage and firmness of temper,
You have made our tricolor 
Shimmer throughout the globe.
Death can’t cease you to live
As you live even after dying.
I salute your martyrdom,
For you never got older.
Fighting to keep us free,
It is the stiffest thing 
To be you- A SOLDIER......

Copyright © Hina Saxena | Year Posted 2014

Details | I do not know? |
Its the way the breeze whispers

across my skin

and the sun caresses


in his warmth


its the way you love me

even when you’re not here

Copyright © rachel blake | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse |
My shoulders are well oiled axles,
my fists are cannon balls

I am an uncompromised,
and unchallenged fresh breath of boldness

I am a statue of fastholding,
chiseled down from black diamonds by the strong hand of craftsmanship

I am chaos's more stable second cousin,
and favored uncle to the prodigals, the proliferates, the princes, and the prodigies

I am the lion's heart beat,
the war drum's sporadic syncopation

I am the wolf pack's collective sixth and seventh senses,
keen on the scent of blood, fear, and impending annihilation

I will not sway to the breath of your voice
nor will I stagger at the wind your weather weaves

Advance upon me and find yourself hard pressed against calloused intolerance,
behind which is a wall,
and behind that wall,
an army

I pray you combust into flames and feathers at once 
should my name birth from your lips

I pray my night guardsmen have eyes of eagles,
and my trumpeteers have breaths of behemoths should you 
ever encroach upon my camp at dreaming hour

I promise to empress upon you pressure,
of a nature that spawns pearls, magma, and passionate revolution

But the only revolution that will come of your resistance is vertigo,
as you spiral downward into abysmal forgottenness

Now heed my words with intent lest you risk the fate of faded bewilderment

May God be my strength as I destroy you

Eviscerate you

Annihilate you

I will obliterate you until the only remnant of your very existence
is but a vague memory,

of a fleeting idea

in a dream

inside a dream

inside a coma.


Copyright © Jeremiah Castelo De Guzman | Year Posted 2013

Details | Prose Poetry |
I get this wondrous chill as night falls
in mountains or desert sand
and I find myself dreaming about
home, my fondest memory
from this far away land.

I miss the special lady who 
stole my heart, my thoughts
and all there is of me;
and I deeply cherish 
our final moments together.

I think about the children 
I left behind, how I miss them 
and pray they’re  fine -
and it’s hard Lord,
it’s so very hard.

It’s times like this that I wonder
why I volunteered and I
get this knot in my stomach -
then I cringe and find myself 
trying to hold back tears.

Soon the battle will begin
when I’ll hear my own heartbeat
through the creepy sounds 
amidst treacherous mountain sides or
drifting sands and whirling winds.

It’s  time spent in worry,
fear, and some regret
as I encounter my fate
in the war so near
and I must admit, I’m scared.

This stench of war, 
the sight of it all,
it’s that awful image
of how I imagined hell
after Lucifer’s fall.

I wonder to myself,
“Does it have to be
that generations of people 
can’t seem to agree 
to the simple concept of peace?”

Soldiers don’t start wars
but they surely fight them,
making all manner of sacrifice
and I doubt that even once
did a soldier ever like them.”

Then I think of  “Old Glory”
and I’m filled with pride.
It’s a warm patriotic feeling
which overcomes me
from deep down inside.

I’m confused, scared
and battle weary.
I worry about those I love
as I cling to my faith  
and pray to God above.

I’m a distant warrior,
an American fighting man;
not an aspiring hero,
but just a simple soldier 
trying to do the best that I can.

Copyright © Ed Coet | Year Posted 2007

Details | Prose Poetry |
I sat in my truck in Hue City....
Little kids were everywhere....

One little girl I saw...
So pretty....
Maybe six or so
I didn't know....

Every morning
Our convoy would go
To Hue....
And she would be there
Looking for me...

A street child lost and hungry
I knew....
We never shared a word...
but I knew her smile..

I always had some food to share
Each day...It was my way...
I looked forward to seeing her
laugh and smiling every day...

Then came the next day...
In the morning...
Where was my darling
Little Vietnamese girl?

A boy...filthy dirty..
Maybe five years old,
Made the sign of death...
The NVA had killed Her.....
For wanting to be fed....by
The Americans....

I know that I am haunted
From things you cannot know
Or share...
A beautiful child died because
I gave her a piece of bread.....

PTSD has no bounds..........

Copyright © Randall Smith | Year Posted 2010

Details | Light Poetry |
I am a soldier
Lost in time
I know not weeks ,
Years nor days
Just to fight-fight
Till the day is over

I am a soldier
Sculpted by time 
Sometimes a general
Winning battles
Sometimes a coward
Running away from the battle
To save my own life

I am a soldier
The bride of death
A devil ,who is always
Trying to win me

I am a soldier
I no not what is mercy
Just rough with training
Which my master god,
Gives me

I am a soldier
The pride of my Nation
Who helps to maintain peace
Who dies to save lives
Who dies to stop tyrant's

I am a soldier
A hand made piece
Lost in the battle field
Tricked by many ,
But helped by less

I am a soldier
Wanting of pleasure
Never has a day ended
Without me groaning 
For what is there 
And for what is les
I am a soldier
Who has has a stone heart,
But there is love 
Running in my blood to
Never have I fought to win
Never have I fought to loose,
But just to satisfy someone's pleasure
But still i am a soldier with many expectations,
For others others will I fight
This is what nature's law is: fight for others to live
                          Or ,fight for your self to destroy
Thus I live fighting, never have I thought,
Of making friends in the battle field ,
Where there is cry of horror every where,
No one to aid,no one to help,
I live past all hurdles,
Which my bride groom,death offers

I am a soldier
Admiring life
Which my master god, offers me
I am happy that ,I am still
Like the skum,in the pond
Not moving any where

I am a soldier, the bride of death
My bride groom,death is so marvellous
Attired in glitters and all admiringly,
Beautiful colours, calling on to me,
To end my Battle

I am a soldier fighting to live
Though death is most appealing
I live to admire,what my master,
Teaches me every day,to make me best
In life so that ,I can appear like a
Hero,a brave heart, setting an example
For other's to follow,I am a soldier
Still fighting the never ending battle with my life
Still fighting the never ending battle with my life

Copyright © Md zulquar Neane | Year Posted 2017

Details | I do not know? |
Roses are red
Violets are blue
Dear me, Mr. Holmes!
Whatever happened to you?
Deserting your friends
and taking your life
You've caused quite a mess
and made lots of strife
Oh, your dear friend John
Whatever happened to him?
Without you
he appears quite grim
So think very hard
before you return
Not all can handle
that degree of burn
Dear me, Mr. Holmes!
Does my name ring a bell?
The day you faked your death..
I faked mine as well

Copyright © Emma Smith | Year Posted 2014

Details | Prose Poetry |
His duffle bag is by the door
I ask him what they're fighting for.
He tapes the dog tags to his chest
gives the 38 one last test.
The baby's sleeping in the other room
he slowly puts his combat boots on.
He's got the shades, he's got the hat,
he packed the tent, he's got the mat,
a picture of us on a sunny day.
Was it in April or was it in May?
He hands me his last will
and reminds me to pay the car payment bill.
He already seems so far gone
and I don't know what to tell his son:
Daddy's fighting for freedom and for peace,
Daddy's sending you a kiss?
No, I don't know when he'll be back,
Daddy sends you a hug-around-your-neck.
Remember the games daddy used to play?
Remember what daddy used to say:
      the moon shines for everyone,
      I'm your Daddy, you're my son.
He puts his camouflage jacket on
and stands in the kitchen a little forlorn;
a soldier in desert uniform,
a soldier on his way to Desert Storm.
I don't want to think that he could die
and surely enough I begin to cry.
He looks at me but doesn't say a word
it's that silence that really hurts.
He left us a long time ago
when he first learned that he'd have to go.
He wants to be a fighter and a father, too,
he whispers you know that I love you.
He walks to the door and grabs his gear,
with his back to me I can't see his tears.
I wanna scream, I wanna shout:
Why did you stay in? I begged you to get out.
I'll be waiting here for you,
baby, you know I love you, too.
If you're ever in trouble think about me.
I'll give you strength, just wait and see.
If you ever feel weak just call my name,
my love will be your guiding flame.
When you're hurting and hungry and feeling blue
remember that we are missing you, too.
And when you return things will be alright,
I'll hold you in my arms all night.
He doesn't turn and then he is gone,
all I have left is a soldier's son.

Copyright © Ulrike Hoehne | Year Posted 2015

Details | Light Poetry |
he could hop
and boxes
in that game he had fame
had punch
made you hunch
it would break bones
the call him

Copyright © kurtis scott aka curtis futch jr | Year Posted 2012