Best Army Poems
I spied a valley low
Across the road from the cemetery
A Columbus monkey swinging by
The trees of the vale
Stood tall and forlorn
Observing the crematorium
Covered in light gray smoke
As morning traffic streamed on by
Giraffe reached for the tallest bough
And I thought I heard the leopards growl
And by the road was a troop of baboons
As people walked on by
And a few yards away,
Was the army garrison
A regiment trooped on by,
As a sounder was grazing idly by
And people walked on by
Yes I spied a valley low
Where life carried on slow
Across the road from the cemetery
Where footsteps were dull and hollow
A funeral procession was going on
Yes the trees of the vale
Were tall and forlorn
The sun hung high and lorn
As were the clouds of dawn
As I drove along that road
Away from that valley low
Seeing my Daddy in black and white moves my emotional colors
into a vibrant rainbow that was Daddy made decades ago.
Only twenty-seven in the photo, Dad's patience had yet to grow.
Daddy loved us
My brother and I thought him old and always right with Dad powers.
He was actually quite young with wife, career and two small tykes.
Despite my flashbulb-face, I could easily visit the photograph for hours.
I know it is from Fort Lee, Virginia, and my tights have likely slid down.
I love seeing Dad's arms around us while we are leaning on his knee.
I love seeing us pressed against his chest and our heads leaning close.
Daddy loved us
Looking at the photograph, I can completely sense him, even his skin.
My brother is four and years away from bipolar, he is still a happy boy.
I am newly three and except for tights, nothing has ever bothered me.
In this photo Daddy is visibly near, not gone as called back to heaven.
This photo wilts my composure for I dearly wish he had lived to be older.
As a retired Army officer, at sixty-seven, Agent Orange finally caught him.
Daddy loved us
Jehovah of Armies
made a count one day
of all His weapons
keeping man at bay
of non leathal weapons
He gave the skunk his stink
and a little less harmless
the octopus' ink
sometimes more is needed
to get a point across
a little pain and fear
to impress a loss
soon there will be no doubt
about how they feel
if just once they touch
the electric eel
always beware of
little thing with wings
some may bite
and some may sting
one final warning
and one final note
a very harsh warning
is a bunt of a goat
but for those who are
less fearful
and bent on adventure
who challenges the snows
and suns of nature
to those that would climb
Gods invisible wall
shatter Gods ceiling
ignore Gods calls
for those who would face
the ultimate threat
the deadliest creatchers
man has ever met
Gods final judgement
more or less
escape from these creatures
the ultimate conquest
you've made it this far
dont stop now
how much more can you defy
Gods laws
you may escape the tigers claws
be just missed by hungry jaws
quick enough to avoid the cobras strike
smart enough not to challenge
the elephants might
witty enough to escape
the anaconda grip
be very careful not to slip
lucky enough to avoid all fangs
with venomous and vicious names
tempting not the bull
to gore
declairing never to stand behind
a mule once more
so far weve made it
still living and breathing
Jehovah of Armies
protecting and scheming
White stars, red and white stripes.
Blue for loyalty.
Waving in the wind, instilling pride.
Reminding us of pledge.
Apple pie, Chevrolet, John Wayne.
Viet Nam, Gulf War,
Freedom of speech, freedom riders,
Free to think, free to be the best we can be.
Texas, California, Iowa, from sea to shining me.
State pride, rawhide, courageous side.
A cultural mix unheard of before the Pilgrims landed, and the Natives
Took pity and helped them live.
Thanksgiving, 4th of July, Veterans of Foreign Wars,
Germans, French, Italians, Scots, Swedes, African Americans.
All Americans, all united in that.
911 Hero pride.
Sacrifices. Pride to all of us, they were Americans.
All for one, a nation under God, my Country Tis of Thee
8/27/2018 My Country Tis of Thee Contest Sponsor: Brahn Bailey
Hurry Up and Wait
Sir, permission to speak, major sir. Go ahead, private.
Sir, what time is the 10 o'clock inspection, major sir?
You mean the ten hundred hours inspection, private?
Sir, yes sir, I mean ten hundred hours inspection, sir.
The inspection will be at ten hundred hours, private.
Sir, yes sir, however we've been standing here since
ten hundred hours for thirty minutes now, major sir.
It will be ten hundred hours when I say it is, private,
as he checks his watch, waits for the colonel to arrive.
Will I ever get the military out of my mind, must each
situation become another army wrinkle in time? While
I wait thirty minutes past my 10 o'clock appointment,
ponder if I should be the private, ask the receptionist
how much longer until my 10 o'clock job interview or
take the role of major and wait for the colonel to arrive.
Been in the army for years
Devoted and committed
Sergeant Keys is a born Leader
His Army Soldiers understand
Base after Base at his command
Tough at Exercise drills
Be all you can be to fulfill
Preparation for an uncertain battle
Sergeant Keys Soldiers to mold
Discipline in being told
The Army Uniform in taking pride
Life living guide
It was a sacrifice moving up the ranks
Yet Sergeant Keys gives the army thanks
The Army wasn’t easy
For good reason, in order to become a true Sergeant, one must be able and deserving for the task
After all, the Army is devoted into turning Soldiers into courageous men
Chosen and enabled
Must be victorious
Sergeant Key being the Commanding figure
Army Uniform picture perfect
Sergeant Keys having the right leverage
The stance
Followed by Salute
What they don’t tell You
What the recruiters tell you:
“Be all you can be.”
“An Army of one.”
“Fly high with the Air Force.”
“Join the Navy and see the world.”
“Be the best. Be a Marine.”
“Join the National Guard and get an education and keep your job.”
Things recruiters leave out:
Watching your friend(s) go home in body bag(s).
The dirt and sweat.
C rations, K rations, MRE’s.
PTSD, suicides, drug addiction.
Limbs lost. Traumatic brain injury.
Bloated, decomposing corpses.
Dead men, women and children.
Fear so intense you soil yourself.
Lice, sand, dust, cold, heat.
The stench of death.
Families torn apart.
Long road to rehab or death whichever comes first.
The Army Beret
My favourite hat is an army beret
That still holds the shape of his head
Woven with wool that has seen better days
Rim hanging from tattered threads
Stained with the tears I have shed.
~~~~
Author: Elaine Cecelia George, of Canada
For: Carol‘s contest: My favorite hat
Awarded: First Place
Author's note:
This poem is about my Father's Army baret.
(A Beret is a french name for a round flat hat with a tight rim and is pronounced
beray)
One whisper...
The forest floor trembles
A path of literal
mayhem
Untethered to mankind
Strangely eschewing
Frogs, snakes and lizards
"Long Live The Queen"
Their
Only
Anthem!
Eternity
Their
Reward
I
Fall
In
10/01/13
I fell in battle, sword in hand,
Invading someone else’s land.
Then I saw her, and she reached down,
To escort me from the battleground.
I’d let her take me anywhere,
With her winged helmet and braided hair.
She had me stand ‘neath Odin’s throne,
Where each warrior must stand alone.
One-eyed Odin judged me to be
Worthy to serve in his last army….
Daily killed and resurrected--
(Not quite the afterlife expected!)
Samurais taught me to sword-fight.
I learned spear and shield from a Hoplite.
Vikings taught me the battle axe,
And the Persians taught me sneak attacks.
We die each day and then come back,
Always practicing for Ragnorak.
She brings me mead, my Valkyrie,
And sometimes at night she favors me.
Since she’s nearby, it’s just as well--
This isn’t Heaven, but not quite Hell.
We’ll fight and sing to the war drums,
Waiting the day that Ragnorak comes.
(Chorus)
Our days are spent in miseries,
But at night we have the Valkyries.
Riposte and lunge, thrust and parry;
That’s all we do in Odin’s army.
An army brat, a pain indeed,
never destined to succeed,
from place to place,
from camp to camp,
with soldier family I did tramp.
Two years at each, and every school,
how could I know the golden rule,
that only those with silver spoon
should try to reach up for the moon.
Flung from class to class to learn
that army brats were last in turn
when teachers chose just who to teach
mere passers by were out of reach.
In moving on from town to town.
free from the things that tie one down,
I collected all the scraps they threw
and kept them in my knowledge stew.
For mix and match was right for me,
I reveled in variety,
although they only shared a bit,
I grabbed the lot, and made it fit.
And so with different tidbits fed
and patchwork learning in my head,
I used my mind to make them whole
and thus came owner of my soul.
Each single thought that I now bear
arises from near everywhere,
for none have been my corner stone
with constant change, one stands alone.
Sometimes I think that I would be
a very, very different me
if I had had a stable home
and not by life was forced to roam.
But I’m the master of my mind
and not a replica of kind,
I am myself for all to see,
there is no other just like me.
An army brat, a soldiers child.
A spirit born to wander wild.
A mongrel of the forces kind.
I now reside within my mind.
Ivor G Davies
"Poetry is thin, with dark eyes and a hollow face that echoes all the time without distinction. The distinction lies in her breasts that are full of beat under her vague dress that changes colours according to the statements.
She never fails, grows old or dies but simply moves to the next place when it is time to move, to slap, to love, to incorporate the unspoken before it fades away unrecognized."
(Miranda Cambanis)
"The Unspoken Army"
it came to me this life,
I did not ask for it,
I was pushed out, not wanting the revisit at all,
one iota
as if in a dream the blinds once drawn were slowly sliding wide open; framed,
through doors to a foreign world where no one spoke my language, the light a bitter potion -
nor sensed the feels of me, the unseeing, deaf to this bleeding open wound that spoke of children stolen;
and all the stage my world turned its sunny back on me;
eyes to the ground their feet shuffled like poetic shackled legions leading towards the unleading,
best to follow the masters they could clearly see and listen like soulless puppets, vacuous and easy,
manouvred senselessly into agreement, contracting the poisonous words trusting falsehoods reverently;
faith had diminished, drowned in faithless cups of erstwhile parish tea,
the conversation took turns ripping to shreds the core of what was left of me, muted,
“...another piece of this delicious dark fruit cake dear?” this suggested patronisingly,
I shook my head sincerely, without saying one word, I smiled thin and grimly
inside my mind was forming a different kind of unspoken army,
leagues beyond the server, somewhere under my drowned sea
the bends were kicking in, it was debated would I make it to the surface
before oxygen took over the blood and water of me;
such unwanted urgency.
Candide Diderot. ‘25
"(Dancing around a shooting star)
(And every cell remembers what has taken us this far)
Feed me sunlight, feed me air
(I see images of killer whales)
Feed me truth and feed me prayers
(Sleeping in a desert trail)
(Dreaming of a parallel world where nothing ever hurts)
(Dreaming of a parallel world where nothing ever hurts)".
The armor of the lord is never heavy on my back.
The fight is not just one that's fought against the flesh and blood.
For I am armed with all his righteousness against attack.
Light will overcome the darkness as we march on through the mud.
One can be an army when he marches with the Lord.
One can be a symphony when striking heaven's chord.
One can be the victor over evil, hate, and lies.
For one who fights for truth is not alone in Jesus eyes.
The breastplate is the heart that beats God's love into the world.
Feet covered with the peace that we pursue in every man.
The shield of faith defends against the wickedness that's hurled.
The sword will speak the word that conquered all since time began.
One can be an army when he marches with the Lord.
One can be a symphony when striking heaven's chord.
One can be the victor over evil, hate and lies.
For one who fights with truth is not alone in Jesus eyes.
There are reinforcements to be called on from above.
The cry for righteousness has always been an angel song.
Thank you father for the armor crafted with your love.
As I walk into the battle Lord, I pray that I am strong.
One can be an army when he marches with the Lord.
One can be a symphony when striking heaven's chord.
One can be the victor over evil, hate, and lies.
For one who fights with truth is not alone in Jesus eyes.
A PEACEFUL ARMY
Special soldiers went to war
Some being not so young.
Enlisted to do their duty,
But would never fire a gun.
They wore a different uniform,
Which displayed a red shield.
This was the Salvation Army
On the lines of each battlefield.
They were a different army,
And often would work alone.
A band of Christian soldiers
In a war they didn't condone.
Wherever war was taking place,
The Salvo's were always there.
Red Shield huts would appear,
With ?hop in' signs of care.
They had mobile canteens
To supply soldiers in need,
With water, tea and bickies,
Welcome refreshments indeed.
In Melbourne they celebrated,
In the year two thousand and one,
A hundred years of cuppas,
Thankful for a work well done.
The Red Shield's still in action,
Helps returned soldiers to adjust.
Continues in social welfare,
A peaceful army all can trust.
Copyright Vivien Wade 2015
Dad´s Army
On the Milky Way a black cloud appeared,
not dark as the night, but as a whole year
of winter nights put together and blended
with stygian thoughts of a suicidal dictator.
Then slowly the cloud began to dissipate,
became whispery as Fidel Castro´s beard.
…And there, on blue silk, a new born star,
unexciting at first but it grew stronger by
the galaxy minute- which last a bit longer
than on earth-, till it one day sparkled with
pride especially around Christmas.
The moment a new star is born an old star
lights up, like northern light, for so to fall
into perpetuity, and I shall not see my old
friend Clive Dunn again.