Quatrain War Poems | Quatrain Poems About War

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

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The Phantom Horse

A phantom horse came galloping 
beneath a silver moon
across a field of recent war 
where corpses’ bones lay strewn.

With thunder in his hoof beats,
again and then again,
he raced along a river which,
like blood, ran through that plain.

Though frightful he appeared to be
on land that reeked demise,
a sole intent gleamed strongly
in his sad and ghostly eyes.

Then finally, as dawn began
to paint the broad stretch red,
the unrelenting stallion stopped
and seemed to bow his head.

He briefly knelt, then stood upright
and bore away, with speed,
the spirit of the knight for whom
he’d been a trusty steed!

For Skat's Premiere Contest number 9 Poetry Contest

Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2014

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Joan of Arc

The Medieval era
was filled with wars and strife
between the French and English
at cost of limb and life.

The French became disheartened;
their victories were rare,
a humbling situation
which was too hard to bear.

A peasant girl heard voices 
and visions she could see.
A maid who had a mission,
young Joan from Domrémy.

The King and other nobles
put all their faith in her.
This maid of calm composure
had dreams which they could share.

Entrusted with an army
she rode the horse she had
with banner and sword wielding,
in shining armour clad.

The English looked in wonder;
there were bewildered scenes
as Joan and soldiers entered
the city of Orleans.

With rousing words and courage
her men to battle led.
The English were defeated;
in disarray they fled.

More victories then followed,
her fame spread far and wide,
but when the voices ended
she lost the gift to guide.

In battle she was captured,
for sorcery was tried.
Condemned to death by burning
to wooden stake was tied.

The hungry flames devoured
the maid’s unblemished skin.
She called the name of Jesus;
found strength from deep within.

She died. It was all over
this heroine’s ordeal.
She was proclaimed not guilty
years later, on appeal.

A martyr, now respected, 
who paid a costly price.
A victim of politics;
a saint in people’s eyes.

Contest: Joan of Arc
Sponsor: Isaiah Zerbst

*Joan of Arc admitted that she never used her sword to kill anyone.
  To her, strategy was more important than the sword.

Copyright © Paul Callus | Year Posted 2015

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Jungle War

So thick with rain,the rancid air
into the jungle pours.
Young soldiers with their feet on fire
keep on despite the sores.

This war is one that no one wants
and no one understands.
Young men and women give their lives
in these far Asian lands.

Back home these kids are shown disdain;
they're spit upon and worse.
When they come home from Viet Nam
in airports they are cursed.

A blight upon our history
was this long standing war.
But we should show the vets respect
for suffering they bore.

written by Deb Wilson 
January 12th, 2013
for contest "Historical Modified Quatrain"

Copyright © Deb Wilson | Year Posted 2013

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Baby Brave

A boy lines up plastic soldiers 
In straight rows across his floor.
He knocks them down with callow ease
In a naive game of war.

Far across the deepest ocean,
In between rich, well-known places,
Little boys become those soldiers -
Grow hard lines upon their faces.

Guns weigh down their frail frames,
As they march in groups like drones;
Passing by jumbles of bodies -
Messy piles of flesh and bones.

One cries softly in the corner,
Another cannot bear the sound.
He takes the blunt side of his gun
And beats the other to the ground.

In the streets they pass right over
Mothers murdered, sisters raped,
Countless men whose limbs are broken,
But whose empty eyes still gape.

Narrow roads become red rivers,
Neighbourhoods go up in flames,
Backyards turn into cold graveyards -
Still they play this twisted game.

Far across the deepest ocean,
In the richest, well-known places,
Boys line up their plastic soldiers
With blind smiles upon their faces.

Copyright © Heather Ober | Year Posted 2012

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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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Remember the Alamo

The Texans weren't supposed to be
 Holding the old mission.
Sam Houston sent Jim Bowie there.
 Said he had a vision.

Bowie wanted to save the fort.
 So did Colonel Travis.
They say when Santa Anna came
 Carnage there was massive.

Two hundred men would die that day.
 One was Davey Crockett.
He couldn't save the Alamo.
 Too few men to stop it.

Santa Anna won the battle,
 Taking back the city.
He killed each and every soldier.
 Showing them no pity.

Santa Anna was defeated
 Outside San Jacento.
The Texans bore the battle cry,
 Remember Alamo!


Copyright © Ray Dillard | Year Posted 2013

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Sent To War

A boy barely eighteen was
sent to war in Vietnam.
And like a lamb among wolves
had to prove he was a man.

When it came to kill or die
he showed himself to be brave.
Yet part of him died inside
buried in a shell shocked grave.

Forced to take a human life
he numbed his hurt with cocain.
And closed his ears to the screams
to keep from going insane.

Having survived this nightmare
he was sent home with his pain.
And the reception he got
hurt him all over again.

Angry people spat on him
there was no hero's parade.
And shunned by his countrymen 
he felt betrayed and afraid.

It's been near fifty years
yet no one has thanked him still.
And he’s accepted in his
heart that no one ever will.

Copyright © Emile Pinet | Year Posted 2015

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It's Dangerous To Dream

Behind a veil of darkness
twinkling lights confetti night.
And yet these constellations
are an unfamiliar sight.

I miss you the most at dusk
when memories feel so real.
And I’m eager to write you
and share everything I feel.

It's said God walked the deserts
and His love lingers there still.
Yet just thinking about God
seems weird when I’m here to kill.

Got some letters from strangers
saying they're proud of me.
Yet I don’t deserve their praise
for my doubts won't let me be.

I wish I could talk to you
instead of scrawling these lines.
But it’s dangerous to dream
amongst the bullets and mines.

Stationed in Afghanistan 
it's unwise to let thoughts roam.
Yet as a shooting star falls
I make a wish to go home.

Maintaining my composure
is much harder than it seems.
And so I’ll close this letter
and visit you in my dreams.

Copyright © Emile Pinet | Year Posted 2015

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King Vlad Redux - Second Cold War

King Vlad Redux – Second Cold War

Vladimir Vladimirovich Putin’s grimy fingerprints on current history
are for him nothing to gloat about—au contraire I say emphatically:
His actions bespeak one who’s not an architect for peace—not at all,
rather a quite deceitful dictator and a harbinger of a Second Cold War.

King Vlad’s old Soviet-style actions are clear for all who care to see,
and make no mistake about it—he’s without remorse and a soul to boot.
A Master of Malarkey and an International Bamboozler Supreme, he
certainly is, with a menacing image and not one iota of conscience.

King Vlad risks a Second Cold War with his violation of international
law concerning the blatant, illegal annexation of the Crimean peninsula.
With his brand of new style Soviet adventurism on the march, the Old 
Soviet Bear has been resurrected anew—and it’s hot on the prowl again!

King Vlad’s new spirit of nationalism for Russia is not at all progressive
as evidenced by his current war on certain ethnic minorities: Jews, Tartars, 
Armenians, Gypsies—to include anyone who chooses to resist and protest
against his new age fanaticism rebranded anew in the twenty-first century.

King Vlad’s lineage to and proclivity for the old Soviet Union and its star
cast of past gangster luminaries: Lenin, Stalin, Beria, Molotov, Brezhnev, 
and Andropov—to name a few, are quite telling since they reflect the real
nature of his psyche and the tragedy he brings now to the world stage.

And lest we forget, the innocent souls of the murdered passengers from flight
MH17 in eastern Ukraine who cry out, as do their families, for justice from
the criminal thuggery and hooliganism perpetrated by King Vlad in support
of proxy groups that do his evil biddings soaked in lies, treachery, and deceit.

King Vlad takes pleasure in fulfilling a fanciful role today of the old Soviet
Bolshoi Nachalnik (Big Boss), whose historical antecedents from Soviet Big
Bosses of past fame, doesn’t augur well for future democracy in New Russia,
and doesn’t align with the precepts of good governance and human rights.

King Vlad’s treachery and deception are certainly open for everyone to see 
as he executes his plan of disrupting the balance of the current world order.
We all should be forewarned of the clouds of tyranny and aggression that
could be unleashed one day on the European continent and the world today.

King Vlad, despite very strong objections and economic sanctions imposed
by Western leaders and diplomats, understands only one word rendered so 
poignantly in the German language: die Macht (or Power), which lurks ever  
behind his public mask and psychological makeup as a former KGB officer.

King Vlad’s actions reflect his virtues of lying, denying, accusing, rejecting,
and criticizing—all poison arrows in his quiver as a Master of Prevarication.
His real mask is that of a Monster who had the very best Soviet teachers and 
wishes to tilt the axis of his New Russia on a collision course with the West.

And so Generalissimo Stalin . . . how do you like your nasty little boy now???

Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved (November 30, 2014)
(Narrative Quatrain)

Copyright © Gary Bateman | Year Posted 2014

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The Vietnam War

The pro-Hanoi Vietcong many years ago
In the 1950's Diem's government they'd overthrow
All opposition was crushed killed or jailed
These elected ones to their people they failed

This Buddhist country so religious in belief
Now politically torn apart, impending future grief
In the early 1960's with the CIA in place
Discussing with Vietnam's generals, Diem, assassinated in disgrace

With the Vietcong army, growing from strength to strength
Another communist foothold, going to any lengths
In 1965, with 3500 U.S. Marines in place
By December of that year, 200,000 in many a base

These U.S. Marines, in their defensive mode
Over the coming months, peace would soon erode
With the Tet Offensive upon us, and the "Battle of Hue"
The Americans were now involved, this bloody war now brews

One decision to end this conflict, came in 1969
Nixon sent 18 B-52s, bordering Soviet airspace line
He wanted to show he was capable, to end this bloody war
But as the months and years progressed, the body count would soar

The anti-war movement was gathering strength, also in 1969
But the "Green Beret Affair" started to undermine
A U.S. Army platoon raped and pillaged, the village of My Lai
Where civilians were massacred, and many left to die

In 1970-71, Cambodia incurred wars wrath
Where they and the country Laos, were in the U.S. bombing path
Also in 71, there was the cutting of the Ho Chi Minh trail
But arms and supplies got through, this mission to no avail

Later in the same year, the Anzac's withdrew their soldiers
The U.S. also reduced, many of theirs from Vietnam's borders
In 1973, Nixon declared the suspension of offensive action
The Paris Peace Accords took place, peace with this warring faction

Between the years 73 - 74 under Trà, the Vietcong grew in strength
There was no mass offensive, to lure the Americans to their trench
Gradually they marched to their target, to see their enemies eyes
To their city of Saigon, now over a million humans have died

The average age of the American to die in this bloody war
Was just nineteen years old, never knowing what they were fighting for
So many came home from this horror, leaving themselves behind
Because so many came home different, home with a different mind

Even to this day, many Americans look back and ask
Why their elected Congress, feed them to these tasks
The sad thing about Vietnam, it continues to this present day
Where governments make decisions, asking guns to hear their say

Copyright © James Fraser | Year Posted 2010

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Blanket of prayers

I may not believe in war
Yet I still believe in you
I am one of the many
You are one of the few

You are standing in harms way
While we're safe in our bed
We're amongst the living 
While you're faced with the dead

Horrors I imagine
For you are oh so real
You choose to face the darkness
In your hands you hold cold steel

Yes you fight for freedom
A bastion for what is right
Your greatest weapon your heart
With it you hold back the night

Your life is truly precious
I am sad that you are there
I ask for God's protection
Rest in blankets of our prayer

For Mystic Rose's write to our Heros contest.

Copyright © Richard Lamoureux | Year Posted 2014

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With Sword and Lance and Bill

Come by the Sword, Die by the Sword

They stood in ranks a thousand long
High upon the hill
The Roman legion, fierce and strong
With sword and lance and bill

The Briton hoards below them stare
With wild fanatic eyes
They jeer the foe and beg them dare
With anger and despise

Come and fight you cowardly foe
Come and meet your fate
We’ll cut you down, row by row
Send you to heavens gate

With scoff and scorn the Romans yawn
What empty threats you speak
We’ll rip you limb from limb this morn
You’re scrawny, thin and weak

Down below, laughter roars
Your bellies, we will slice
We’ll lay you dead, in your scores
Come prove your men not mice

We will arrive and make you pay
For indolence and taunt
You will eat every word you say
When they come back to haunt

It’s easy up on high to gloat
But everybody knows
It’s our intent to cut each throat
And leave you for the crows

But when we make our move towards
There’ll be no shy nor rests
We’ll plunge our sharp and bloody swords
Deep in those ragbag chests

Think of your girlfriends, mothers, wives
For them there’ll be no gains
Will be, as we, cut short their lives
When we spill out your brains

For one last time you’ll see the sky
Cause you’re not leaving whole
When heathen head is raised up high
On legion victory pole

Gasp deep upon your final breath
Invader of our land
Your destiny this day is death
By rude and brutish hand

With sword and lance and bill
All break into their stride
With voices booming still 
Blood fills the wide divide
,         ,         ,         ,         ,
,         ,         ,         ,         ,
,         ,         ,         ,         ,
,         ,         ,         ,         ,
,         ,         ,         ,         ,
,         ,         ,         ,         ,
,         ,         ,         ,         ,
,         ,         ,         ,         ,
,         ,         ,         ,         ,
,         ,         ,         ,         ,
,         ,         ,         ,         ,
,         ,         ,         ,         ,
,         ,         ,         ,         ,
,         ,         ,         ,         ,
,         ,         ,         ,         ,
,         ,         ,         ,         ,
March forward to today
Though forces re-arranged
And ask them in what way
Anything has changed

Copyright © Richard D Seal | Year Posted 2013

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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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Syrian Refugees

I'm watching a programme on telly About the Syrian refugees Men and women and children Humanity brought to its knees I'm watching the desperate faces The terror and hunger and fear They're facing their ultimate nightmare And me? Well I'm just sitting here And saying 'Isn't it awful' 'Something needs to be done' Whilst searching the TV listings And planning my evening of fun Then I happen upon the BBC news Cameron wringing his hands on my screen Saying Syria is a priority Then slips into a black limousine Then Hollande, and Angela Merkel Echo the prime minister's views And tell us how hard they are working Another soundbite for the news Then shoot off to their heads of state dinner Which will go on well into the night While in the camps the tears will continue No dinner for those folks tonight At the meeting, an idea from Turkey Amongst the platitudes and the kind words The plan that they're putting forward Is to drop lots of bombs on the Kurds I flick channels and happen on Tony Blair Offering the world a solution I really can't listen to that grinning clown Spouting his verbal pollution He's jabbering on about Islam Trying to give us the wisdom we lack And hoping the world has forgotten What Bush and him did in Iraq Perhaps he's just a bit jealous That he's not allowed to the feast After finding Saddam's nuclear weapons! A doggy bag surely at least. While another mother loses her children More slaughter and mayhem we see And imagine the arms manufacturers And dealers, jumping with glee As they make another few billions And probably a few billions more Then they'll hide all their dirty old dollars In their financial laundry offshore And the politicians turn a blind eye And I'm sure that they won't be divulging How some of them came by their fat bank accounts And why their back pockets are bulging But then.......success I hear on the news The EU says all is not black They've solved the refugee crisis. When they get here.........we're sending them back. Job done, EU movers and shakers So sorry for doubting your cause You've sorted the Syrian problem Give yourselves a big round of applause © Ron James 05/04/2016

Copyright © Jim Bates | Year Posted 2016

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Bore after bore fell silent eventually Abhor I do feel through my eyes Gore and sore now abundantly plenty Tore through clouds, wondrous skies Despair in abundance appears all around Where in the world has all our love gone Stare into our abyss, and see it abound There is no tomorrow, there is no dawn <*>

Copyright © James Fraser | Year Posted 2013

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Hate Provokes Hate

The air splits as jets rip the sky
for death pilots every flight tonight.
And fearing that everyone may die
panicky people scatter in fright.

Harboring hate can levy steep tolls
in the struggle of east versus west.
For martyrs possess revengeful souls
to that human bombs can attest.
The sting of a bullet takes a life
unleashing reality’s nightmare.
And yet severing heads with a knife
makes killing a personal affair.

Standing on arrogance we feel tall
till a mine strikes with its shrapnel bite.
And sold on right we think we can’t fall
yet a boy lays dead lost to this fight.

Innocent blood spills upon the sands
among the casualties of war.
And God fearing souls wash crimson hands
never knowing what their child died for.

Copyright © Emile Pinet | Year Posted 2015

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The writing is on the wall

The writing is on the wall.

The writing is on the wall, an old saying used even until today
for those found lacking or deficient, Divine judgement is on the way
It means that there has been a weighing done on the scales of justice
by an impartial God who knows us, and the good or bad we practice.

The writing is on the wall even today, in our ultra modern society
for those who choose critical and independent thinking, instead of piety
for those who deny there is a God, or who simply worship in their own way
for those whose judgemental hypocrisy is super abundantly on display

The writing is on the wall, for all warmongers filled with nationalistic hate
For all those inciting our youth to violence, malevolent voices that resonate
The writing is on the wall, for those who say good is bad, and that bad is good
and for those who kill the innocent child, it's well deserved and understood.

Writing on the wall comes from the Bible Daniel chapter 5 where the Babylonian King is judged  by God's handwritten cryptic message on the wall. The prophet Daniel interprets the writing and the King was killed and replaced that same evening. Consequently the expression the writing on the wall portends judgement and destruction.

John Derek Hamilton

April 19, 2016

Copyright © John Hamilton | Year Posted 2016

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Children of Conflict Second Chance Contest

they lay cold and hungry on war torn streets 
lost in the conflict, no one hugs away fears
frightened, confused, by the noise and the heat
found by children's rescue, crying ... no tears

in a state of shock, in ruins we found  them 
trembling, lying in dirt, not knowing  we care 
bathed and fed them, clinging fast to my hem
glad to have someone, who for them is there.

found homes for most of them in countries afar
the love and silence is overwhelming
a small smile is reward to the folks who care
giving them hope and love unending.

penned 22 May 2016

Children of Conflict final  date of contest	N/A	Weepy Quatrain	6/20/2016 

Judged     5/22/2016 7:09:00 PM  given N/A

Copyright © Seren Roberts | Year Posted 2016

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As Far As I Can

Sore to the bone
Running on a drop of energy
Just gotta push through
I'll rest eventually

My shoulder has gone numb
But my body feels her weight
As if she's gotten heavy
Since her unconscious state

If I could, I'd stop right now
But who knows how safe it is here
And if I could even start again
I may fall asleep I fear

Soon my body will give up
But I'll make it as far as I can
And hopefully haven isn't too far
And I can put her in helping hands

Walking all day and night
It's hard not to think on past
And any thought I come up with
Has me struggling to hold sobs back

I've kept my ears open
Trying to focus on only sounds
But all I keep on hearing
Is my shoes crunch on foreign grounds

Bang. I hear it softly.
So far but still so near.
Bang. Another gunshot sounds
And I've collapsed in fear.

I close my eyes but another goes off
This time in a memory
And now I'm filled with rage
At how repulsive humans can be

My thoughts turn to my baby
Slipping off of my shoulder
I set her down and examine her
Bloodstained gown and skin colder

My worst nightmare but it can't be true
I listen in for her sweet breath
No. No No. No No. No No.
What's this silence? This isn't death.

This time I don't close my eyes
I see a sight that makes me sob
Memory of the last I saw my wife
And now my baby's with her mom.

Each one of us left covered in crimson
By a monster, a gunshot, a blow
Their death is the death of me.
This is as far as I can go.

May 2010
Inspired by Morris Gleitzman's novel "Once," a historical fiction about a boy in Poland
during the Holocaust.

Copyright © Destiny Budd | Year Posted 2010

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Vietnam's Unwelcome Heroes (Co-written with Tim Ryerson)

We gave Johnny a gun and a uniform
Trained him to kill, in a regiment conform
Sent him deep into Vietnam jungles warm
With little regard to how we did him harm
     So certain we knew what we joined to fight for
     We were shipped off to fight an unwinnable war
     A war of "containment," unlike those before
     Mothers screamed, fathers wept, siblings ached to the core
By parachute dropped to a ghastly death scene
Johnny ached for the life left behind, so serene
His family, fiance did not know what war means
Especially the haunting of lost children's screams
     Those of us who survived thought we'd just done our jobs
     We returned and were shamed by violent gobs
     Of silver-spoon white kids in hate-spewing mobs
     Spat-on and welcomed as baby-killer slobs
No heroes welcome would await these young men
No ticker-tape parades were staged for them
Just jeers from crowds, uncaring government
Greeted the lonely Vietnam Veteran

     Too classy and noble to demand our fair share 
     We lay in that shabby old hospital there
     In a closet-sized room with no visitors' chair
     Understaffed, underfunded, with short-handed care

The "benefits" they found would astound all now
And it leaves one to wonder how our hallowed ground
Would be filled with unnamed graves of men once proud
Before the rows of white crosses we should bow
     Our Wailing-Wall stands now in Washington, D.C.
     So shiny but black, a telling-tale of the fee
     We have paid for our nation, our land of the free
     Will you come pay respects? Will you not at last see?

Some veterans still suffer disgraceful neglect
So please explain who more deserves our respect
Let us pause with angelic choirs and genuflect
To show gratitude as on this Wall we reflect

Friends, Dane Ann is among those who served in the army during the Vietnam war and is 
now recovering from long-overdue hip surgery performed at an old VA hospital in 
Gainesville, Florida.  Thank you for your prayers on her behalf.  Many thanks 
to Tim Ryerson, another Vietnam veteran, for joining me in this write.

Copyright © Carolyn Devonshire | Year Posted 2009

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Man's Greatest Enemy

Why, the greatest enemy of man is man
for man has subdued everything else
Fear not the tiger, fear the murderer's plan
Just hearken well to what history yells!

At times twas jingoism, at times a rancorous desire to do harm
Fear just man's malice and his ugly evil
If his dagger blow fails, he'll get you by black magic charm
His heart and mind alone well shelter the devil.

For how many fall prey to lions or snakes
one could even count them on fingers
Man invents a cure for smallpox but missiles too he makes
and he mercilessly kills without harbingers.

Man invented as many things for his destruction and harm
as he did for his benefit and good
He's inventor of bombs as well as tractors on the farm
And doesn't he detest acting as he should?

Man alone is behind the bloodiest of bloodshed
The angels too had foreseen his wars and battles
From the gory battlefield to the humble homestead
with the shrieks of murder our earth forever rattles!

Close your doors and your home secure
not to deter beasts, but to lock out the robber, the thief
For no greater danger than man lurks there for sure
Fear not the fierce bull, that you can turn into beef!

Wild beasts might be known to gobble us up
but isn't man as well found to be a cannibal?
Gosh, humans too on human flesh do sup
Man tis far more fearsome than any poor animal.

The greatest enemy of man thus is man himself
How much blood has he ruthlessly spilt of his own kind
Look out for the bottle of poison on his shelf
Till the deed is done, no knowing what goes on in his mind.

The poor young lady refrains from venturing out at night
How now, what does she so fear?
She fears nothing but assault by man's might
so rarely is she stalked by a grizzly bear!

Fortunately for us, this ain't how it always ends 
man can always be the best of friends
So we can still count more on buddies and cronies
instead of focusing on foes and fiends.

For man he can be a hero and saviour
if judicious he is about right and wrong behaviour.

Besides religion as I know, infact does actually foretell
That the end of ALL killers and murderers
is that inferno of divine wrath we all know as hell!

Copyright © S.zaynab Kamoonpuri | Year Posted 2017

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If You Ever Cross Me

I am never jealous, but theirs an evil in my eye
Step forward and cross me, and soon you'll wonder why
No matter where you are, it doesn't matter where you hide
For I'm the clever one, who'll find you and watch you slide

There are some things that you will never own, nor I, so read my words
For if I have to find a reason, my actions are seldom heard
These actions I speak about, are the watching of your life fade
And the squealing through your last breath, your body in dying cascade

I am never jealous, but theirs an evil in my eye
Step forward and dare to cross me, and soon you'll wonder why
The world is small enough, it takes nothing for me to try
I can only ever promise, take what is never yours, and you will rightly die


Copyright © James Fraser | Year Posted 2011

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I see before me

I see before me a world filled with despair.
Yet people turn their backs and refuse to care.
I know there are many things that truly aren’t fair.
You just can’t give up and choose to live nowhere.

People take their fingers and point to blame,
While other feel sorrow that fills them with shame.
Why can’t we understand we are all not the same?
Instead there is conflict as we call each other names.

Why can’t we understand and all just get along?
War drums are beating that same old sad song.
Tears start to fall for all those who are gone,
We seem to survive but just for how long?

We have to learn to put our differences aside.
When all is gone it won’t matter which side.
We all need to learn that this life is a gift.
To reach out our hands and help to uplift.

The alternative is that we all shall die.
I think this enough reason to learn to try.
Though we won’t always see eye to eye,
When it all gone who will be here to ask why?

I see before me a way to make amends
To reach out a hand rather than to defend.
Peace should be something we all can afford.
We shouldn’t have to live and die by the sword.

Copyright © Mark Russell | Year Posted 2012

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World War

I would like to start a world war
And enter it with blindness
Attacking every country
Fully armed with kindness

I'd fly over the no fly zones
From ten thousand feet above
I would drop my greatest weapon
And splatter them with love

Medals would be given for  caring
There would be a hatred ban
And heroes would be judged
On what they did for their fellow man

The war would rage on land
In the air and on the sea
And the war would never end
Until every man was free.

Copyright © Vince Suzadail Jr. | Year Posted 2007

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Defend as Men

With armor pierced, I’m battle scarred
For enemies swords had struck their mark
Though weary, I, I raised my sword
To continue fighting in the dark

The battle started hours before
Fighting strong, with me, heroic men
Yet, common men with noble hearts
For mother land, they now defend

No formal training, nor fighting skills
But, armed with will and make shift swords
These men of honor fought for right
For losing homes, they can’t afford

I, their leader, their chosen one
Selected for strength and outward pride
Am honored to fight aside these men
Else, not fighting at all, I shall have died

Our homes and family are what we are
The marks of us men are lineage and land
We go into battle, each as a boy
To come from the battle, each as a man

Copyright © Michael Degenhardt | Year Posted 2008

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Death Shroud

News from Afghanistan places you
in an emotional killing zone.
And you try to escape from the grief 
that threatens to turn your heart to stone.

You seek a panacea that’ll
alleviate or abolish pain.
And desperate to find happiness
you take a walk down memory lane.

Pain resonates in your broken heart
rekindling the side effects of hurt.
And you stand at his burial plot
with sad tears and a handful of dirt.

Mother earth takes him to Her bosom
and a bleeding sun grieves for your loss.
For this dreamer will waken no more
buried beneath home soil and a cross.

The sin of taking another's life
stained his soul in the name of world peace.
And heartbroken tattered and destroyed
you believe the tears will never cease.

Laid out with military honors
rifles salute as Death stands proud.
For though a bullet ended his life
some politician wove his death shroud

Copyright © Emile Pinet | Year Posted 2017

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The Last Laugh the poets pluck wilfred owen

To sing an anthem for doomed youth.
Why did I believe the clergy's untruth
and the politicians who I voted for in a polling booth.
and know i will pay the price in karma's toll booth.

Governments don't worry with arms and the boy.  
or the death of a man who just years before was a school boy.
Oh the futility of war its the real Mccoy.
the lords and lady's watch on high as  we die, just the hoi polloi.

Lets say no to the next war lets live in peace for ever more.
the only army I am joining is the peace corps.
I'm finished, I am not going to be the politicians war whore.
The last laugh will be mine as I refuse to fight your wars .

comp entry 11/02

poet Wilfred Owen  His family once lived in Nantwich ie 5 miles away and it was
his poems that 1st got me interested in poetry.

Copyright © stephen pennell | Year Posted 2017

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Black Smoke Rising

 His boots are trekking  through a foreign land
 Rifle ready to deliver death....
 But it's his blood that stains the desert sand
  And it's there he draws his final breath

 Bullets fly along a lonely desert road
 As soldiers fight hard to survive
 Another IED explodes
 Causing more to lose their lives

 As the battle rages on
 They radio for air support
 Soon their enemies will be gone
 Blown away in war's distort

 In a town not far away
 They see black smoke rise
 The town is now a ruin of gray
 As jets go roaring cross the sky

 Dead bodies are strewn on the ground
 As they look on with merciless eyes
 Death echoes all around
 As they hear the children cry


Copyright © Joseph May | Year Posted 2017

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Valhalla - Vikings' Paradise : Mythology

In Asgard, kingdom of the mighty God Odin
A place awaits all battle fallen warrior heroes
It's in Valhalla where there is endless feasting
And an ending of all griefs and sorrows

The Valkyries, Odin's warrior daughters
Carry the fallen heroes from the battlefield 
To Valhalla to join other fallen warriors
Where they are restored to life fully healed

Each day the warriors fight on Asgard's plain
Their battle skills to sharpen and maintain 
Every evening wounds and injuries they sustain
Are healed and each warrior made whole again

They dine on liquor and fresh cooked meat
That is always in great abundance for all
Providing a delicious gourmet treat
At Odin's banquet in Valhalla's dining hall

July 18, 2014
Here is the poem which aroused my childhood interest in the Vikings, and to 
which I referred in my reply to Shadow. I would like to share it with others.
It is "The Sea King's Burial" by Charles Mackay. It recalls the days when a 
Viking chief died and his body was placed in a boat. The vessel with full sail 
set and a fire lighted, was then sent drifting out to sea. It is a long poem so I 
am only quoting the first and last verses:

My strength is failing fast 
   (Said the sea-king to his men). 
I shall never sail the seas 
   Like a conqueror again, 
But while yet a drop remains 
Of the life-blood in my veins 
Raise, oh, raise me from my bed, 
Put the crown upon my head, 
Put my good sword in my hand, 
And so lead me to the strand, 
   Where my ship at anchor rides 
If I cannot end my life 
In the crimsoned battle-strife 
   Let me die as I have lived, 
      On the sea.

Once alone a cry arose, 
   Half of anguish, half of pride, 
As he sprang upon his feet, 
   With the flames on every side. 
"I am coming! " said the king, 
Where the swords and bucklers ring, 
Where the warrior lives again, 
Where the souls of mighty men 
And the weary find repose, 
And the red wine ever flows, 
   I am coming, great -All-Father, 
      Unto thee! 
Unto Odin, unto Thor, 
And the strong, true hearts of yore: 
   I am coming to Valhalla 
      O'er the sea." 


Copyright © john beharry | 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