Quatrain Soldier Poems | Quatrain Poems About Soldier

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Expendable for a Cause

A young man carrying a green duffel bag over his shoulder shifts when he walks. Off to war for our country and flag. No military knowledge with little talk. Enemy troops marched across the bridge, with tanks, and hundreds of machine guns led. As he sat dug in along and across the ridge, bullets were zipping right over his head. The dawn of the morning across the glen; a plan was thought, bargain it was, the loss of two companies to stop a million men and ten thousand vehicles from getting across Pop, pop pop, of distant sounds and then more, trading volleys of gunfire with blood and gore A friend gets killed and he dies to the core, trembling with raging fire. A Casualty of war

Copyright © Eve Roper | Year Posted 2017

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Soldier Boy

Once there was a soldier boy,
young and brave and smart.
He had some questions bugging him,
they tore his brain apart.

He went along to ask his friends-
''Why there can't be peace?''
They just laughed into his face,
''Let us tell you what peace means:

';Peace means love, peace means hope
peace means painless, fearless trust.
There's no love, there's no hope,
all the fearless lay in dust.''

He went along to ask the trees,
the plants and flowers too.
Then they all replied to him
''Answers we have few:

People kill themselves and us,
they cut us up for fire.
And with the fire that they cut
the tension becomes higher.''

Soldier boy then went to war,
questions still in mind.
He kept on searching in the field,
for answers he can't find.

He walked up to the enemy,
beat starts to increase.
''Tell me, good man, tell me please 
why there can't be peace?''

The man pointed his gun to him,
aiming to his heart.
''I'm sorry, young man,'', then he said
''I really hate this part.''


Once there was a soldier boy,
young and smart and brave.
He had some questions bugging him,
they took him to his grave.

Copyright © spring goodman | Year Posted 2015

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The little soldier boy

His daddy is fighting in Iraq.
His mommy is fighting tears.
His brother is fighting death.
He is fighting his desolation and fears.

Friends are but a dream
and companions are an illusion.
School is a concentration camp,
but he stands, though alone, in the midst of confusion.

His training school is loneliness.
His milestones are fears, thrust in lies.
His only weapon is faith
and his bullets are soft "hallelujah" cries.

Strength left his fragile body
and he lost the fight in life so coy,
yet on his knees he conquered agony
and I call him the little soldier boy.

Copyright © Robyn Thomas | Year Posted 2013

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My Country

My country is home, 
I have no fear. 
My country is home, 
and I am here. 

Copyright © Lilith Rodriguez | Year Posted 2014

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The 90s

I somehow missed the nineties
As far as pop culture was concerned
I spent a lot of it overseas
Watching as the Balkans burned

I had learned Russian for the Army
But the Russian Bear was no longer wild
About the time they reunited Germany
I gained a brand new wife and child

With the fall of the Soviet Union
I thought the world might finely be sane
Then I cross trained into Serbo-Croatian
As Yugoslavia went up in flame

The Army was not a free ride
I did several deployment rotations
Monitoring war crimes like genocide
Or in Macedonia with the United Nations

The nineties ended quietly
At least from what I remember
I was focused then on family
Until that fatal 11 September

Copyright © Mark J. Halliday | Year Posted 2015

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I had been studying to make Sergeant,
And was scheduled for the afternoon promotion board.
To get some practice and test the waters,
I volunteered for the morning's Soldier Of The Month Board.

The Battalion recently had been given
A ticket for the well-known Berlin Orientation Tour.
During the in-brief, the Battalion Commander
Said the ticket would go to the soldier with the highest score.

As luck would have it, I won;
Beating out by a quarter of a point a Staff Sergeant.
Not only was I going to Berlin for a week,
I was recommended to be promoted to E-5 Sergeant.

The Berlin Orientation Tour didn't count as leave;
As it was considered Permissive Temporary Duty (PTDY).
Riding the duty train to West Berlin
We had to keep all the windows shaded through East German territory.

 The Wall had already come down by then,
But the Soviets were still occupying East Germany.
As a group we toured a modern museum
Documenting how some East Germans had escaped to be free.

One day we passed through Checkpoint Charlie,
And saw the Soviet monuments and troops in East Berlin.
I collected pieces just chipped off the Berlin Wall
Instead of drinking coffee in the cafés of Berlin.

Copyright © Mark J. Halliday | Year Posted 2016

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I Can Only Touch The empty Air

I cannot look in your eyes from here,
To touch your soul with my gaze.
Your too far away to reach, My Dear,
To be taken in by my embrace.

My whispered thoughts cannot extend to there--
Where you are's too far away.
I can only touch the empty air
Instead of holding you near always.

So many men between you and I.
I envy each one his place.
Oh, to be at the head of that line,
Looking at you again face to face.

Wonder of wonders, fate of all fates...
I chose to be where I am:
Sitting alone laughing at regrets,
Cursing the notion "what might have been".

I wish I could steal your heart to here
And keep it captive near mine.
But hearts are only given, it's clear...
All I can do is offer you mine.

Copyright © Mark J. Halliday | Year Posted 2014

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One Out Of Three

That homeless guy out on the corner,
Carrying a sign that says he’s hungry;
Maybe he’s just a drunk or a ‘stoner’, 
But he might be that one-out-of-three.

That one-out-of-three is a veteran,
Who in uniform served his country.
There’s a good chance he has an addiction,
Or is still suffering from PTSD.

One out of three of those ones-out-of-three
Fought in one of America’s wars.
Did he scream on a beach in Normandy,
Or did he at Inchon go ashore.

Did he hunt Charlie in a rice paddy?
Was he in the Balkans, or lost in the sand?
One out of three of those ones-out-of-three,
Were the heroes who once took a stand.

If you can spare a few dollars, then feed them.
If not, at least hear what they say.
Their country may no longer need them, 
But they don’t deserve to be thrown away.

They might not have all bled in battle, 
But each one came home a casualty.
With your help, they may someday be able
To leave the ranks of the one-out-of-three.

Copyright © Mark J. Halliday | Year Posted 2014

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Peace Within

As I woke on Xmas morn, all was quite still, 
my breath on the window, crystallized in the chill.

With the Soldiers so far away, many did feel,
the distance had made the war seem surreal.

The war they are fighting, I fear may have no end,
the fanatics that feed it, do not understand.

The Human race is meant to be free, 
to make choices and have dreams, for others to see.

Their warped sense of values is not in the Qu ran, 
Muhammad's (PBUH) teachings are not kill, then run.

He had many wives whom he honored quite freely,
the love he felt for them all was as Thaira (pure), as a lily.

The fight he tried to teach, this war of Jihad,
is the fight of the good, versus the bad.

Is, meant to be fought inside of each man.
Within his head, not in a desert, in a far off land.

My prayer for this Christmas for all to join hands, 
No matter the religion, no matter the clans.

May the peace we all want be within our grasp,
may this fight on terror, and within be won at last.

Thank You God, Yahweh, Buddha, Allah, I say this with reverence,   
Call Him Jesus or Krishna, whatever your preference.


Copyright © Kathleen McQuillen | Year Posted 2015

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Rappelez Vous, Remember

(English translation below original French)

Rappelez-vous les petits fils 
Qui ecoutaient leurs grand-peres
Raconter des histoires d’ infanteries 
Et de battailles de la premiere guerre.

Rappelez-vous des braves garcons 
Qui s’imaginaient etre des soldats,
Qui plus tard servaient le drapeau American 
En tant que veritables soldats.

Rappelez-vous des pauvres parents
Qui ont recu des telegrammes et des lettres,
Et qui apres ont place indefiniment
Des etoiles d’ors aux fenetres.

Rappelez-vous de chaque petite amie
Qui esperait un jour se marier
Avec son beau voisin-ami
Qui ne va jamais plus rentrer.

Rappelez-vous des nouvelles jeunes veuves,
Avec ses petits orphelins des peres,
Qui devaient subir les enormes  epreuves
D’elever leurs enfants sans l’aide des peres.

N’oubliez pas les anciens jeunes garcons—
Les chanceux qui ont survecu
Et regardent souvent  les horizons lointains
Cherchant leures ami-fantomes qui ne sont jamais revenues.


Remember the grandsons
Who listened to their grandfathers
Tell stories of infantries
And battles of the first war.

Remember brave boys
Who pretended to be soldiers
Who later served the American flag
As real soldiers

Remember the poor parents
Who received telegrams and letters
And who afterward indefinitely placed
Gold stars in their windows.

Remember each girlfriend
Who hoped to marry someday
Her handsome neighbor/friend
Who will never come back again.

Remember the new young widows,
With their little fatherless children
Who had to undergo the enormous ordeals
Of raising children without a father’s help.

Don’t forget the former young boys-
The lucky ones who survived,
And often look at the far horizons
For their phantom-friends that never returned.

Copyright © Mark J. Halliday | Year Posted 2014

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Every So Often

A brave young soldier died
killed in Afghanistan.
And he’ll be interred as
an honored serviceman.

He was put in harms way
by those he defended.
And far from home and friends
his fledgling life ended.

He was a volunteer
who garnered no laurels.
And shunned recognition
as a man of morals.

His demise resulted
in a father’s worst fears.
And though I want to cry
I won’t greet him with tears.

He died, I can't change that
but he lives in my heart.
For he is my hero
and has been from the start.

His body's coming home
in a flag draped coffin.
And I will go visit
him every so often.

Copyright © Emile Pinet | Year Posted 2016

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Where Freedom Finds The Fire

WHERE FREEDOM FINDS THE FIRE-Screwed XIII Contest Sponsor: Rob Carmack The liberation that resides within burning flames, creates a disaster of unknown soldiers with no names. Emancipation of nightmares turning into reality, such trauma on the front line without any familiarity. The combatants fight for justice without reservation, committed to the allegiance with brothers, self preservation. Fearless warriors breaking through walls of steel, the discipline remains faithful with robust Navy Seals. Rugged militants searching for honorable troopers, a fighter waiting to be found by a dedicated recruiter. Courage becomes a mission that creates no boundary, to save our country within mental states of quandary. Enemy's break through and many soldiers become hero's, they protect our freedom from disasters like ground zero. The Privates in the Army teach discipline and respect, so proud to be an American, what more should we expect? Freedom comes with a price and too many lives are lost, so much fear and trepidation when enemy lines are crossed. All the soldiers are laid to rest in Arlington Cemetery, for when freedom finds the fire, fighting is necessary. ~Date Written: March 26, 2016~

Copyright © Laura Loo | Year Posted 2016

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My Dragons

My Dragons

There are great dragons in my life
     that came to me from long ago.
They traveled from across the sea
     inside some boxes stored below

His seat during the flight's long trip,
     to be a gift for sister dear.
In nineteen forty-four, on leave
     from World War II, that distant year,

My Uncle, Air Force pilot then,
     came home—this time, to be his last.
His sis, my mom, had cherished them,
     and when she died, to me they passed.

 There are great dragons in my life
     that came to me from long ago.
They traveled from across the sea
     inside some boxes packed, and so,

Within my home now safe and sound
     for me to keep close in my care;
gifts from the war, my Uncle brought—
     my antique set of Dragonware.

Tea set for eight, dessert plates too
     all these with dragons painted on,
in moriage, raised slip decor—
     made in Japan, but bought in Guam.

There are great dragons in my life—
     this antique set came 'cross the sea.
His gift is all that's left of him—
     His gift of dragons saved for me.

Sandra M. Haight

~4th Place~
Contest: Dragons
Sponsor: Silent One
Judged: 10/22/2015

Dragonware is almost entirely Japanese and was made by many different companies. It is pottery or porcelain that usually has a raised moriage dragon on it, usually surrounded by wisps of smoke. The technique used to apply the moriage decoration to them is called slipwork. Dragonware originally was made by Nippon in the late 1800's. 

Copyright © Sandra Haight | Year Posted 2015

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The Soldier Guard at the Tomb

I was silently watching the two Mary’s sigh and cry, 
When the earthquake hit and I just wanted to cover, 
The ground nearly parted and there was no-one to chi, 
I hit the deck for stones from the tomb threw over. 

Covering my head with my hands and laying tight up, 
I was aware of the two Mary’s moving over speedily, 
To the tomb stone to take advantage of the windup, 
Which just contributed to the terror weighing heavily. 

After six minutes it ceased, and peace did administer, 
The two of them were straight at the caster right in there, 
But I needed another while to recover from the disaster, 
So just sat looking firstly at the grass, then over there. 

By the time I got them they’d given the body determinedly, 
To the gardener who already had lit it and was fanning it, 
So I ran as fast as a chicken away from a fox very quickly, 
Up the mountain to get my head straight to think about it. 

I worked it out that I had to talk with the two Mary’s, 
Because I also appreciated what Jesus did when alive,  
Since he had cured my cousin from quadriplegic paralysis, 
Such that this cousin’s possibility was now to thrive. 

So I did decide to accept Mary’s plans of ingenuity, 
For the continuation of her son’s work with the poor, 
Which would change medical services directivity, 
From the rich monopoly over to with anyone to moor. 

The two woman’s plans would ignite a movement, 
Start a Society, organisation or group to proclaim,  
That the way to live was through love’s enrichment, 
Not by class prized, but by living everyday in His name. 

So we talked, and the two women promised me silence,
About my failure to keep the stone which sealed the tomb, 
If I kept silence about them having a stealing licence, 
And about their real physical action of removing the womb. 

So that was how the resurrection myth took off, started, 
That was how it began, it did come from two parties, 
From the Roman soldier representing the state above, 
And from Jesus’ kin representing the people’s armies. 

I don’t think Christianity would’ve occurred without, 
The soldier man Roman guard of the tomb believing, 
In Jesus plight and in the right of a movement, shout, 
About Jesus, through the religion of Christianity aging. 

Copyright © Rhoda Monihan | Year Posted 2016

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The Vikings

The Vikings were a race of men
That conquered many lands
They fought their wars with might and main
And power in their hands
They sailed the sea in dragon ships
Explored and conquered well
But now their greatness lies beneath
The rolling ocean swell

Copyright © Isaiah Zerbst | Year Posted 2013

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Poetic Soldier

Battling the page,
Writers block at the brink.
Assassinated words,
Hemorrhage colored ink.

Rivers of ink flow,
From a massacre of words.
Stanzas of pain, grace the page,
Like of flock of olden birds.

Ballpoint swords strike:
In written catastrophe.
A stained battlefield resides,
With bloody poetry.

Copyright © Raul Moreno | Year Posted 2012

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Soldier Of Friendship

The war is over; it's time to do.
To do what's in your heart.
To treat your neighbor like he's you
and you and you apart.

To bring a smile; to say hello.
To talk with him a tad.
To shake a hand to comfort him
and make him feel as glad.

Then maybe walk along with him
to share a time and pace.
Remembering he's just like you,
to look him in the face.

Then find a place that's interesting
to learn a thing or two.
By bringing out your differences
you'll grow to love a few.

Then share a meal to end the day;
reflecting on the past.
And know that when it's made for two
a friendship comes to last.

Copyright © Trevor McLeod | Year Posted 2015

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A Nook And A Storybook

Since early childhood storybooks of armored knights
riding beautiful horses held my fascination,
had I lived in that era of adventurous delights 
I would have joined them to get the same admiration.

It's the unknown the story of a knight
who met a peasant girl of ardent creed
in some unpleasant times of war and fright;
it's such a great story for us to read.
Alex de Roux was the Norman commander:
handsome and strong; his curly long hair was red,
his eyes were of soft blue, and his skin was fair
he was sent to Abella to conquer its land.
And riding on his white horse one afternoon 
he spotted a beautiful girl picking apples,
she had the features that made a soldier swoon:
big green eyes, long black hair and supple red lips.
Alex said something in Frankish expecting a response,
Silva looked at him and bowed if he were a seraphim, 
" No, I am a very humble knight, not a king, please rise! "
She did not quite understand the language, but obeyed him.
He pointed out to the stately castle on the distant hill,
" Look, that's my second home, I have built a sturdy fortress."
some profound words he spoke expressing his benevolent will,  
" I like to marry you soon and have ten children or less."

Silva tried to catch the meaning of every sentence,
and Alex replied by stretching out his two wide palms,
counting each single finger with extreme confidence... 
then approaching her, he got lost in those pretty eyes.

Written on 4/23/2016  

Copyright © Andrew Crisci | Year Posted 2016

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Not living, not dead

To fight to the death and die for your country, 
To me, has never made sense.
Instead, maybe battle today, retreat, regather, 
Then recraft a peaceful offence.

I’m quietly sure nobody wants to die, 
And miss their children receiving and giving.
I think dying isn’t a long term way for any person
With ambition to make a living.

The lucky soldiers returning home from war, 
They’re lucky, pure and plain.
Lucky to be alive, living, not dead, 
With a post traumatic brain.

Or maybe this is not so lucky, 
When we see these soldiers on the streets.
Mentally screwed, long hair, unshaven, 
Using cardboard boxes for sheets.

These people seem like the forgotten folk, 
Living a cold, hungry, daily nightmare.
They watched their mates die, 
They’re not living nor dead, just existing on a prayer.

Copyright © Lewis Raynes | Year Posted 2016

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And Soldier No More

Fold the flag
Triangular show
Country contain me
And soldier no more

Place in a box
In three corners neat
Over the mantle
In silent entreat

How many knew him
How many cared
Was madness that slew him
And madness that dared

Where will it end
And where will it go
A lifetime has ended
And soldier no more

Spirit inside it
And never unfold
Defender behind us
A story untold

Is life better now
That we have made death
Did justice prevail
Or did it digress

The story should tell
A sacrifice made
But history dictates
And debts go unpaid

Copyright © Reid Galler | Year Posted 2011

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Duties End

At the window where I sit and stare
I see a soldier walking bare
He’s face is wrinkled and full of doubt
“Stop the war!” I stand up and shout
Still he marches on to duties end
My message of guilt I shall send
But he can not hear my selfish cries
As he wipes his tears and dries his eyes
Still he marches on to duties end
I yell and tell him “I’m not a friend”
Yet he cleans his riffle and points it toward the sky
Several shots are fired not knowing why
Still he marches on to duties end
With smells of death his country he must defend
Yet at the window looking through
The soldier now sits cold with his meal overdue
Still he marches on to duties end
As he struggles with war and wants to amend
Lonely soldier now standing still
Amongst the mist and daffodil
He has now reached his duties end
Its time to lay down its time to mend
The soldier has not moved since he lay down
As I look through my window I now have a frown.


Copyright © Winged Warrior | Year Posted 2016

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No Place Like Home

I struggled, got her words just right
as I revised for half a night.
Onto the battlefield she rode
my glorious soldier named Ode.

Her rival said - "she's much too long!"
another nagged - "..setting's all wrong."
Broken and bruised my warrior stayed
doing her job, somewhat dismayed.

Hours before the contest was done
came this brassy note, only one.
"As I read,  your piece was just fine
You just skipped ev'ry other line."

Front lines were chosen, mine were not.
My Ode retreated, proud to have fought.
Humbled, she found the road back home;
the battlefield is no place to roam.


Copyright © Reason A. Poteet | Year Posted 2013

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                           thick condensed white cumulus attacking 
                          lighthouse's captured inflicting painful terror 
                          Angel cold wind rescues by melting enemies
                            frees from cloudy despair leaving no error

                           invincible warrior Angel never fears to fight
                         controls the sky keeping with its fittest might
                        from every angles distance to distance falls sight 
                         releases from all kinds of heart pain from  plight

                          whole day and night it travels with cool mind
                           watches in silence the happenings surround 
                           in need with anger it bursts out at that time
                            destroys the opposite power making sound 

Sentinel Quatrain Form - Poetry Contest by Eve Roper
9th April,16

Copyright © BL DEVNATH | Year Posted 2016

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The Price of Pretty Shoes

Your feet have been your landing
In all those pairs of pretty shoes
Recognition not withstanding
But with reading the reviews

As beauty conquers comfort
You grimace, but with grace
As your toes each try to court
Some badly needed space

But the streets, they are your runway
Go and strut those shoes with pride
This is how you spend each Sunday
With your hammertoes on the side

      Written 10/16/16

Copyright © Richard Olson | Year Posted 2016

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My Hero Connor

A smile worn, with a heart torn- Fought at ground zero, he is my hero. He was a simple man with simple pleasures and needs, he had so much to give, a life full of infinite possibilities- So, he decided to branch off and go plant his own seed, worked hard in boot camp and joined the military. Iraq was just a destination and soon became his home, he struggled with seeing destruction and death- Every other night he called his wife on the phone, but his four years was up and he could finally take a breath. He longed for more, so a fire fighter he trained to be, thirty-six hour shifts now with a family to uphold- New York became his new home instead of the military, but soon his fate would be a story to be told. Airplanes flying through the strong Twin Towers, but no steel could prevent such annihilation- The fire engine drove fast through the smoke showers, and would soon be a part of the complete devastation. My cousin died for his country, and lived with honor, they never found his body through all the desolation- There will never be another man like respectable Connor, a strong hero to me…oh, what a beautiful creation. April 25, 2017

Copyright © Laura Loo | Year Posted 2017

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To Vietnam Veterans

To Vietnam Veterans

Come to the holy quiet
where weary warriors meet,
"Brothers of the Nam"
who’ve found the "Mercy Seat."

Take pleasure in the garden.
Let peace and passion reign,
erasing images of violence,
chasing dreams of death and pain.

Baptize in wide blue oceans
where vivid nightdreams end,
disposing of the terror
returning home again.

Wear love, a golden medal
the one within your chest
badge of your tour of duty,
a divinely fashioned crest.

Ears will listen to the stories,
the horrors of humankind.
If more than one heart bears it,
then absolution you may find.

Brotherhood of Vietnam Vets,
You crossed Asia’s "burning sands."
Take these words as a salute
for risking life on foreign lands.


Vietnam War 1959-1975

Sponsored by: Jamie Pan 

Copyright © Janis Thompson | Year Posted 2017

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Old Soldier

  He had sailed the living oceans
fought great evil in the war,
but  inside the broken boundaries
of his world,
I found a scar,
running from the massive mountain
of his hero heart of hearts
to the ever flowing fountain
of the goodness 
he imparts,
t'was the scar made by a maiden
with a silver handled blade,
slicing through foreverafter
to the horrors of the shade
left for dead the new tomorrows
lie in tatters on the way
to the memory of sorrows
that she excised on that day,
when at  last she put assunder
what no man should tear apart
broke the vows that they were under
and betrayed a broken heart.

Copyright © Johnette Loefgren | Year Posted 2006

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Soldier Right Outside

The wind blows hard
And the trees are shaken
In the fall they loose their leaves
To bare the winter naked

The trees shiver slightly
As the ice forms on their branches
The snow lays so lightly
And glistens in the sun

The trees have a strong foundation
When all other forces of nature attack
Like soldiers for our nation
They will not back down from a fight

Every spring they are green once more
They have withstood the winter
Their beauty is held in store
Until warm months are there

The trees thrive on the rain
It brings them life in summer days
It relieves them of their pain
They survive another season

The trees change there outfit
They look like pumpkin pie, and pilgrims
Though still they never sit
They are always standing tall, until...

The trees
Are cut by humans
They fall down to their knees
The one force they cannot withstand

The trees provide us shelter
But how do we repay them?
We stick them in a fire, and watch them swelter 
The trees are strong, but not strong enough

The trees can't stop us
They just don't know
So this is why I'm making a fuss
Save the trees... before they all go...

Copyright © Jen H. | Year Posted 2009

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Sicut Miles Christi

 Sicut Miles Christi I stand tall 
Sicut Miles Christi I give my all 
To a Man who deprived the devil of his will 
To a Man who tumbled the Jericho's hill  

 I'm a soldier in the army of my Lord
 Equipped with the Spirit’s sword 
A battle I’m called to fight 
For the glory of His light   

Sicut Miles Christi I’m never alone 
Sicut Miles Christi I build on this stone
 A soldier always in a battle ready mode
 Designed to break and decipher the devil’s code   

Yes! I've prevailed in the battle fray 
His blood brought victory today 
On Calvary Cross I fix my eyes 
So I can attain the promised prize   

Sicut Miles Christi I'll fight to the end 
Stand steadfast my faithful friend 
Fill my heart with bravery oh my Master 
With unflinching faith exuding like a blazer  

 Sicut Miles Christi what should we fear? 
When the Lord has conquered with His spear
 As a Soldier of Christ be vigilant in thy task 
A selfless sacrifice the Master dare to ask   

 “Endure hardship with us like a good soldier of Christ Jesus.”  2Timothy 2:3

Footnote: Sicut Miles Christi (A Latin phrase, it's Literal  Translation is: “As a Soldier of Christ”) is the motor of my Alma Mater Bishop Herman College. It was established on 28 February 1952. It was the first secondary school established by the Catholic Church in the  Region.The College was named after a French Catholic Bishop , Auguste Herman. Bishop Herman had impacted me more than any school. In fact I am proud of my alma mater.

Copyright © Gideon Foli | Year Posted 2017

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Christmas Far Away

I’m stuck in Afghanistan
under unfamiliar stars.
Yet I’m thinking of snowflakes
and a Christmas far away.

Dry desert air steals a tear
mocking my heartache and pain.
And the heat is oppressive
affecting how I’m feeling.

Memories of home haunt me
like mum’s sweet smile and dad’s laugh.
And I dream of a fireplace
and stockings stuffed with goodies.

Dazzled by a shooting star
I make a wish as it falls.
For it’s said if one believes
in wishes, they can come true.

Copyright © Emile Pinet | Year Posted 2017