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Veterans Day Death Poems | Veterans Day Poems About Death

These Veterans Day Death poems are examples of Veterans Day poems about Death. These are the best examples of Veterans Day Death poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

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Details | Free verse |

God Bless America

In the courts of sport and entertainment
They have forgotten the scales of justice
Lacking honor for those who gave life and limb
Sacrificing blood, and buried with god giving grace

The anthem is our history
of all triumphs, good, and even flaws
Look into the eyes of a veteran
to see inside a suffering vault

They, who fought, so that you may play
They who died, so that the rich live this day
Even the poor still have their freedoms
For veterans themselves, knew their reasons

No man, no nation can stand up to perfection
Its about respect of those, who gave...
Despite all imperfections
Without, history repeats, sending more to the cross and knave

When you hear "God Bless America"
Think of those flag covered graves
Think of the children
No fathers, because it is you they saved

Our nation is human
Filled with imperfections
Protest for change, for better days
While holding respect for those, who before you

With their blood, led the way

Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2017

Details | Free verse |

9 11

                             America the Free  ~             America the Brave ~
                           Freedom with price              Capitalism attacked
                            the many taken                   hearts broken still
                              one World                           try to rebuild
                            sadness and tears               fall hard with fears  
                            guilt by association             many accused still
                             souls evaporated                shattered dreams 
                            tears fall on innocence          left with anger 
                             The proud fearless             knew the inevitable
                              policeman fireman             many lives lost
                            grieving does not stop           12 years later    
                               New York city once          proud  & shameless 
                             refusing to let fears in          protecting ours 
                                left in shock still              question's unanswered                    
                               nothing learned                     nothing gained  
                                ready to attack                   many left behind
                              anger greets denial              anger meets rage 
                               unacceptable still                 refusing new love 
                            wanting days to rewind           let us go back in time 
                              acceptance  allowing           the victims leave in peace
                              the brave taken young           leaving us sadly old
                               haunting dreams                     lost spirits dwell
                               no answers to hate            never forgetting that day
                               Evil entered suddenly              unforgiving fate
                                entering our City                we stand with the fallen
                                 How to fix                            how do we Change 

            This can be read many different ways ~ This is a poem I am so proud to write ~


Copyright © Shanity Rain | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse |

Lone survivor

Lone survivor
July 3, 2015
I sit alone in my basement all hunkered down
My faithful dog with me
Because tonight is the night of firecrackers 
And firework, yep it’s the 4th of July.
My dog gets to wear a rap around cover
I get just my basement,
You see I am a lone survivor just like my dad
He from world war 2 me Vietnam. 
My platoon was on patrol when we saw some
Kids playing baseball it was on the 4th of July
So we asked kids if they wanted to play us
Sure thing, as we were playing an enemy.
Patrol had seen us and hit us as we were playing baseball, 
I got hit in the leg and fell down my buddy was hit 
In the head and killed he fell over me
I played dead as they check us over.
It took me three days to crawl back to base
All platoon was wiped out but me.
So on this 4th of July like others
I will hate and hunker down as the damn firecrackers
And fireworks go off…

Copyright © Steven Siegel | Year Posted 2015

Details | I do not know? |

Solomon Mahlangu: My Blood will Nourish the Tree that will Bear the Fruits of Freedom

(special thanks to a friend who shared this tribute to Solomon Mahlangu)

Solomon Mahlangu: My Blood will Nourish the Tree that will Bear the Fruits of Freedom:

Solomon Mahlangu was trained as an MK soldier with a view to later rejoining the struggle in the country.

He left South Africa after the Soweto Uprising of 1976 when he was 19 years old, and was later chosen to be part of an elite force to return to South Africa to carry out a mission commemorating the June 16th 1976 Soweto student uprising.

After entering South Africa through Swaziland and meeting his fellow comrades in Duduza, on the East Rand (east of Johannesburg), they were accosted by the police in Goch Street in Johannesburg.

In the ensuing gun battle two civilians were killed and two were injured, and Mahlangu and Motloung were captured while acting as decoys so that the other comrade could go and report to the MK leadership.

Motloung was brutally assaulted by the police to a point that he suffered brain damage and was unfit to stand trial, resulting in Mahlangu facing trial alone.

He was charged with two counts of murder and several charges under the Terrorism Act, to which he pleaded not guilty.

Though the judge accepted that Motloung was responsible for the killings, common purpose was argued and Mahlangu was found guilty on two counts of murder and other charges under the Terrorism Act.

On 15 June 1978 Solomon Mahlangu was refused leave to appeal his sentence by the Rand Supreme Court, and on 24 July 1978 he was refused again in the Bloemfontein Appeal Court.

Although various governments, the United Nations, International Organizations, groups and prominent individuals attempted to intercede on his behalf, Mahlangu awaited his execution in Pretoria Central Prison, and was hanged on 6 April 1979.

His hanging provoked international protest and condemnation of South Africa and Apartheid.

In fear of crowd reaction at the funeral the police decided to bury Mahlangu in Atteridgeville in Pretoria.

On 6 April 1993 he was re-interred at the Mamelodi Cemetery, where a plaque states his last words:

‘My blood will nourish the tree that will bear the fruits of freedom.

Tell my people that I love them.

They must continue the fight.’

Mahlangu died for a cause!


The Struggle Continues…

(special thanks to a friend who shared this tribute to Solomon Mahlangu)

Copyright © Scribbler Of Verses | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse |

The Old Salt

The Old Salt was a special man who came along in a time
when he was needed most.

A time that is now gone forever.
When men believed and sacrificed, when hero’s walked the earth in mass.

When patriotism was not just a word
by what men lived and judged the worth of each, 
a man who lived a life most of us cannot comprehend. 

An era now gone as this warriors tour of duty ends at this station, 
and begins anew in the heavenly fleet. 

Sail on Sailor into your unaccompanied tour,
we salute you.

What greater honor, that when a man moves forward, 
he leaves behind in each of us the best of what he was. 

A defender, protector, supporter, victor, a warrior, 
the last of the breed from an era when ships were made of wood
and men were made of steel.

The Old Salt has reported for duty that takes him away from us for now. 

Those of us who remain behind,
remember, and will continue to remember, 
because he now resides forever in our hearts.

As I look up at night, I envision The Old Salt,
a beret draped just above the eye, 
as he draws upon his pipe, 
quietly he waits.
The guardian of heaven’s gate.

Copyright © Mac McGovern | Year Posted 2010

Details | Rhyme |

Tender of Roses

Beloved, lovely roses: gift of God and lover’s flower,
Spread your colored petals and cradle tender showers.
While admiring the blossoms with their beauty to behold,
Ought we not to know the Tender of such lovely garden groves?

For He lovingly and thoughtfully wields His pruning shears
To cut away the stems of old for fuller future years.
He cultivates and feeds them. He attends them as a Father
Looking daily to their needs; so faithfully He waters.

From the dawn of morning dew until the setting sun arrays
Caring always for His own until that great appointed day…
When the Gardener comes to claim each one the earth held as its own.
He gently picks it at its peak and for His pleasure takes it home.

As God did one glorious morning, when the Perfect Rose had bloomed.
He rolled away the stone and met with Mary at the tomb.
There the sweetest Rose of Sharon rose that we die not alone.
But be gathered for a garden grove, surrounding heavens throne.

Copyright © Tom Valles | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse |

If Old Men Fought

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 | Quintain (English) |

Best foot forward

Front-line in depth of mortar
Whistling shells and screams of torture
Blood clott gurgles death bell tolls
Hell of pain in body enthralls
Danger rings apprehension stalls

Copyright © Anna-Marie Docherty | Year Posted 2015

Details | Prose Poetry |


"The noble man makes noble plans, and by noble deeds he stands" Isaiah 32:8

Decoration Day, declared,
For homes and everywhere.
Flags and flowers now in vogue,
Want us to be aware.

Battles rage, war goes on,
When will it cease?
Americans died in uniform,
Remember our own, please.

Memorial Day it now is called,
Our heroes names we read.
The sound of Taps, a mother's tears,
A sorrowing time indeed.

June 14th comes along,
Our flag to honor true.
For those colors many bled and died,
The red, the white and the blue.

Soon now, we do it again,
Independence Day is nigh.
Freedom bought with lives,
Raise the flag up high.

In November we honor Veternas,
All are heroes now.
Every gender, race, religion,
To you we humbly bow.

Are four days in a year enough,
Their service to recall?
Parents, families and friends,
Will kneel and praise them all.

Lord we give them back to you,
Your Promise to fulfill.
Thank you for sharing them here on earth,
We miss them still.

MSgt USAF Retired

Copyright © Raymond Morgan | Year Posted 2015

Details | Prose |

A Victim of the war

A Victim of the war 
 Steve L. Siegel 
 December 2, 2014 
Once there lived a fine young city boy, 
once so brave, true and Restless, filled with 
energy And somewhat foolish too He went to join 
the US Army Adventure filled his mind He knew that 
for a soldier's life, all of this he was destined. 

He did his training in a camp at Ft. Ord Calif. 
Than on to Ft Benning GA, home of the jump school. 
Where he became a member of the 101 First Airborne 
Oh, man did he ever wear those silver jump wings proud 
and the Wings of the 101 First, Screaming Eagles. 
He did not know it at the time, but maybe he did, 
for he was destiny was Vietnam. 

They stole his feelings, taught him how to kill 
and walk those jungle trails And taught him 
that the enemy were the evil men 
Then he went off to fight a war that he might not 
of believed in but the call went out, now 
he'll serve his country's need; just as his dad 
had done in the last great war. 

Now the old young man of what was, 
Only now he's a shell of a man, 
A victim of the war now too. 
He can't seem to find himself in this world. 
His own nation has turned against him, 
the nightmares never seem to go away. 
His next door neighbor that he knew forever 
called him a baby-killer. Don't that beat all? 

Now he is on his fourth marriage, and they wonder 
why he can not stay put, his wife wonders why 
she end up going to bed alone most nights? 
It's because he has to make sure that 
everything is in place before 
he goes to bed; Yes, 
It's hell being a Victim of the damn war... 

For my bother who was killed in May of 68 and 
myself who I think sometimes part of me died 
at Albany with the 120 brothers of mine who 
did answer the roll call the next day in Oct of 65.

Copyright © Steven Siegel | Year Posted 2015

Details | ABC |

Afghan Glory

A poem by John Nesbitt © 22.11.2013 

I was eighteen years old and wanting to fight 
 I found what I looked for, in bars late at night 
 I took on the big guys, the small ones as well 
 They were all tough, as far as I could tell 
 As a jobless young man, proud of my country 
 I joined up with the army and trained how not to be 
 They told me I’d fight to keep us all free 
 So that we’d never have to bend the knee 
 They trained me in weapons, unarmed combat too 
 The use of explosives and what they could do 
 And how to take cover behind rocks and trees 
 They taught me to find bombs and those I E D’s 
 So step up to the plate boys, start waving the flag 
 We’ll be all draped with medals when it’s all in the bag 
 Think of the glory, this conflict will bring 
 A few months away, then we can all sing 
 On my very first mission, I was told to unwind 
 I took lead position, when searching for mines 
 The blast threw me up twenty feet in the air 
 I couldn’t feel my feet for they were no longer there 
 My right arm was shattered my left fingers gone 
 I once had two ears but now only one 
 I thought I was dying, I couldn’t hear a thing 
 I wasn’t thinking of the medals or being dressed up with bling 
 Now all I can do is sit here on the floor 
 and wonder what it all had been for 
 my comrades call around from time to time 
 I can see their discomfort when they’re thinking of mine 
 They wouldn’t trade places, no matter what for 
 They each have their memories, of that terrible war 
 My fighting days over, no more blood and guts 
 So I’ll settle right down in my terrible rut 
 I stepped up to the plate boys and I waved the flag 
 But I’m not draped in medals and it’s not in the bag 
 I thought of the glory the conflict would bring 
 No legs, no fingers and in no mood to sing 
 Things soon will be over in Afghanistan 
 Talks are on-going with the Taliban 
 We struggled against them for thirteen hard years 
 But all we produced was billions of tears 
 Fathers lost sons and Mothers lost child 
 business got rich, there were deals on the side 
 Where’s the next country they’ll start a new war 

 Let’s hope….. it’s…. not ….yours

Copyright © John Nesbitt | Year Posted 2014

Details | I do not know? |

If you care

If you care
Nothing changes
When God takes
you for a walk
The fallen stay
on the battlefield
Then a stranger
holds your hand 
And says "If you 
want peace, prepare 
for war"
Behind the curtain
Final moments
& a fatal goodbye

Another poem inspired by the new poems page. Written with titles from other poems. This is for Veterans Day.

Copyright © Carrie White | Year Posted 2015

Details | Free verse |

Remembering 9-11

	Remember those who died for us,
Remember nine-eleven,
They left their families to save us,
They died and went to heaven.
	Remember the twin towers,
They once were there but now are gone,
Remember those who went to work,
Who never came home.
	Remember the God who gave us life,
Who can save us from death,
Remember He’ll never leave our side,
In sickness and in health.
	They left their family to save us,
They died and went to Heaven,
Remember those who died for us,
Remember nine-eleven.

Copyright © Stephanie Weeks | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse |


Running, after more than you, can hold.
Taking, someone else’s love, and leaving.
Children are fearful of what they’re told.

Can’t you see I’m the one who’s freezing?
I was just a child with a trinket 
Never knowing that it’d be, more to me

When you were gone to, too far, from me.
Steady with your hands close to my heart
Never letting our world’s tear us apart

I know, your icicles 
I miss the beaches that we played on
You missed the child in your own eyes

Now you’re gone, 
But I’m still not here.
Why can’t you wake up 

I’m not ready
Please, just take your time, don’t leave now
I can’t fight this world alone.

Copyright © John Paluszek | Year Posted 2013

Details | ABC |


i wittnessed a war just yesterday,
being the reason for much dismay,
i'm sorry for all the death and blood,
and all the soldiers in the mud,
i wish i could stop it just can't be done,
i'll need everybody including a nun,
i'll need jesus to forgive our sins,
that knock us down like bowling pins,
i'll need everybody to read this poem,
in hopes that all the soldiers get back home.

Copyright © jeffery scott | Year Posted 2014

Details | Free verse |

Cry Little Sisters Cry

Cry Little Sister’s Cry
Steve L. Siegel
Sept. 2015
A Sister, a daughter it does not matter which
She has lost the person she loved
She’s trying her best to be brave as one is now being put to rest
But the tears will fall anyway that’s just the way of things
~ + ~
We send our young men easily off to war 
Somehow we just cannot find a way to end a conflict 
As easy as we went into a war, why is that?
Now we are talking about a new war?
~ + ~
Now I tell all. Cry Sisters cry loud
Don’t let them send your Dads and brothers away
And now mothers to fight on another mountain top
That will be forgotten, in some war that will soon be forgotten.
~ + ~
How many more no names of mountain tops
Must we bury our dead and walk away from
Before we say we’ve had enough of it
So little sister or daughter you'll be able to stop your crying?
To those who gave us their all
And the little sisters everywhere 
God Bless them all…

Copyright © Steven Siegel | Year Posted 2015

Details | Free verse |

The Wall

The Wall  

A sacred hush fills open air.
Two acres of cherished names, 1959 to 1975,
Moore, Nichols, Lopez, Jones……
popping out at your reflection 
in glossy, mirrored granite.
Screams are silent as fingers caress lost lives.


CONTEST 233 any form,any topic max of 10 lines - Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Brian Strand

Copyright © Janis Thompson | Year Posted 2016

Details | Narrative |

VA DEATH WAITING LIST - Update - from original post 05-15-14 Shinseki Resigns - Actually Fired

Below is my original post from 2 weeks ago, President Obama has 
announced that VA Secretary Shinseki has resigned "voluntarily" from
his position, but let's face the fact the President fired him behind closed doors
so that Shinseki could save face and save Obama from more embarrassment.
Yet, this resignation does not relieve the President from his personal responsibility
for the deaths of these veterans, and in his statements today he did not personally
apologize and ask forgiveness from the families of the dead veterans, this whole situation is criminal, instead, he just railed on about how
wonderful Shinseki was, how much more disgusting can this get? Obama thinks he can just fire the Captain of the sinking ship
and everything will be OK? These crimes against veterans have been blatantly ignored for over 5 years now, and when it comes down to
who is ultimately responsible? Well, Mr. Commander-In-Chief, as Harry Truman said "the buck stops at the President's desk", so you need
only to look in the mirror to see who needs to accept full responsibility for this tragic VA disaster! Mr. President, as you know, my father Albin was President for 36 years of the California AFL-CIO, and before he passed away in 2009 he was a big supporter of your 2008 Presidential Campaign, and I can tell you now, he would be so disappointed with you on this VA debacle. He was not just my father, he was my best friend, and one of the finest human beings I have ever known, let alone probably the greatest champion of all workers in the USA and the world, and I know he would ask you now to take immediate and decisive action to prevent anymore of these terrible acts of neglect to our brave veteran heroes! 

Very truly yours,

Robert William Gruhn 

(posted 05/15/14) Here Lies Veterans Administration Washington D.C. 2014
This government bureau and its chief secretary Shinseki refusing responsibility.
40 Arizona veterans died while on shameful death waiting list.
Chief saying he's "MAD AS HELL", to senate hearing then doing nothing.

Well, Mr. President, its time to fire your VA chief and apologize for this failure.
These brave veterans have been allowed to die needlessly while on your watch.
You need to get a spine and do what it takes to save any more VETS from this horror.
So, Mr. Commander in Chief Obama, please show us you truly are our LEADER.

Copyright © 2014 Robert William Gruhn A.R.R.

Copyright © Robert Gruhn | Year Posted 2014

Details | Heroic Couplets |

Reg Everson

Kitted out with a uniform, I felt the part, 
But the deesire inside is always the art;
I was enlisted as a pilot under training, 
And inoculated, vaccinated in yearning. 

The medical exam asserted no divinity,
And taught us about our own humanity;
I passed it with flying colours, no probs,
And had confidence in my muscular hobs.

I reported to the Babbacombe squadron, 
Lectured to so I took full notes to go on, 
On morse, navigation, given a maths gut,
Had to march at 140 paces per minute.

I haven’t stopped talking about the PT,
The physical training that so let me be, 
The food, the pilchards, were supplied, 
In small, easy open tins for the ride. 

I eventually was sent down to Winslow,
Where I learned I’d been selected, quo, 
To be trained as a pilot in America, 
I could smell it as I saw the panorama. 

I got my greys in Toronto, ’twas neutral, 
Located in Atlanta, Georgia, my enthrawl,  
Where, although wearing civilian disguise, 
Were welcomed with cookies and pies. 

It was dangerous to live, so if we ever, 
Left the base we wore a civilian collar, 
But the food was magnificent as gold, 
Fried chicken and pumpkin pie to enfold. 

I noted with queasiness their last names, 
Many of germanic derivation, no games, 
But I just got used to it and settled down, 
‘Cos it warmed to see the Nazi’s thrown. 

We flew with the seat of our pants fine, 
Had theory exams but did for some pine;
Accidents do happen, that was expected, 
Their deaths no easier than those contested. 

Our Meteorology Officer did always pacify, 
And after Primary Training for t did classify;
We all moved to Cockrane Field Macon, 
For Service Flying Training to button. 

Basic Training complete, we found Dothan, 
With American Wings we were in the pan,
We returned to Bournemouth as Navvies, 
And became instructors with many savvies.

Passed through Gloucestershire to Inverness, 
Then Greenham Common nonetheless, 
Then posted to France Polish Squadron,
Flying low behind enemy lines, not done. 

I was shot down and captured sadly, 
Interrogated and taken to die cruelly,  
But after liberation became an officer,
In France, where I found out the abuser. 

They gave me medals, the Polish nation,
For being at my post, manning the station -
The Polish Gold Cross of Merit, First Class,
And the Polish Air Medal of sparkling brass.

For Remembrance Day 2015

Copyright © Rhoda Monihan | Year Posted 2015

Details | Rhyme |

Shadows In The Mist

All those that have fallen,
Their silenced feet march on.
Lives given or stolen,
They have not really gone.

Listen for my son’s voice
Amidst the rustling leaves,
He bravely made his choice,
And now his family grieves.

In every sunset is their colour
Their spirit it survives 
We thank them for their valour,
And for their precious lives.

Listen for my daughter,
Her love of life was strong.
The brook’s clear rippling water, 
Now sings her gentle song.

Each morning at the daybreak
We pray all wars will cease
That one day we shall wake
To find a world at peace.

In every sunset is their colour
Their spirit it survives 
We thank them for their valour,
And for their precious lives.

All those that have fallen,
Names join a growing list.
Lives given or stolen
Now shadows in the mist.

Copyright © Mavis Jackson | Year Posted 2017

Details | Free verse |


DA NANG, 1968: THE DANCE OF DEATH That night I watched the muted flashes Reflected off low somber clouds And heard the muted rumble Of distant artillery As if a storm were approaching. And I knew that somewhere In the jungled hills out there Uniformed figures flailed the air In grotesque dances of death Engulfed by flames Shredded by shrapnel. While I, weary beyond caring Thought only of blessed sleep Perhaps tomorrow or the days after that I too would dance the dance of death And then could rest forever.

Copyright © Albert Powers | Year Posted 2015

Details | Blank verse |


The hour of darkness is near at hand The cold night air blows a warning From out of the night a whistle screams And the earth erupts in light He sits huddled in his shell crater Cool rain drizzles in about him The mud oozes around his feet A bug bites and crawls down his neck The moon is full in a cloudless sky A soft warm breeze wafts her curtains She sits on her bed thinking His picture clutched in her hands From out of the night a whistle screamed And earth erupted in light The mud oozed to new depths in the crater And the bug looked for something new to bite The moon is no longer full behind a clouded sky A cooler breeze moves her curtains She sits on her bed thinking And a tear falls on his picture The hour of darkness has come and gone An afternoon sun is low in a cloudy sky She stands, hands clasped, and weeps He is here, but he is no more She is gone now And all the people and the noise They have all gone away And will return no more I am glad that they have gone For at last I am alone The earth smells fresh and cool And I have found peace at last The racing is over now I have no more worry or fear All that was left long ago And I am no longer concerned The sound and the fuss have ended They will bother me no more The darkness grows and I am alone And for the first time I know peace And now He comes I can feel His presence I do not fear him I just wonder about him Why has He come for me What have I done to call Him Is this just a dream Or is He really here for me It seems so strange I do not feel any different I can still think and feel And yet I know that He is here We are going now It is not as I thought it would be There is no cold, no pain There is only Him and me and peace The way is dark and long We do not speak, just walk The road is smooth, free of stones And at the end is light (C) 1969, 2009 B. E. Parks All Rights Reserved Senti Poem

Copyright © Barry Parks | Year Posted 2013

Details | Bio |


A Cognitive Dissonance

We love the blossoms beauty 
We ask only for the beauty to grow.
Yet we war and destroy the blossoms
More surely than the snow.

We war and claim to love the earth
We war and poison the dirt
That produces the withered blossom
That produces the wilted blossom

We listen to the music to lighten our hearts
Then we go to war and destroy our ears
So we can n o longer hear the music start
Wee war forever and ever for years

Dominic James Wiebersch.

Copyright © Dominic Wiebersch | Year Posted 2016

Details | Free verse |

Veterans Day

the veterans
are coming home
as I put a quarter
in the soda machine
and remember a poster
I once saw of a
gorgeous redhead
in a black dress
the veterans
are always coming home
from the latest war
and God must spend
a lot of time
dozing off
while people are busy
killing each other
and giving each
other medals
and somewhere
out in the desert
lies the hollow skull
of a yesterday cow
as dull and oblivious
and dessicated
as the noisy 
crowd parading
down the street
behind me
a Georgia O’Keefe
cow skull
a sacred-cow skull
with a yellow rose
in one hollow
calling out
the desert night.

Copyright © Ross Vassilev | Year Posted 2016

Details | Free verse |


Beside marble fancied grave stones
You waste your time
Snoring on your bed was the best usage
Rather than for charity you spend on flowers
To lavish on empty graves
Soliloquizing, longing to be heard or felt
Kneeling before nothing, shedding tears
Oh so unfortunate it is all vanity

How can you be so fooled? Regarding your stature
If the dead can hear, why bury them
Why do they lay still, could they be acting?
Dead memories are imaginary, not real, so can’t be cherished
Stand up and go home
Their you’ll find bunches of living memories
 you wont have to cry but smile.

Copyright © victor nwakanma | Year Posted 2015