Best Combat Poems
Poets, you've been expressing your opinions on politics
Some were very nasty, like oil and water, they don't mix
Some 'discussions' have gotten rude and very hostile
It's truthful facts vs. fictional lies, all spewed with bile
Can everyone stop bickering and put your theories aside
Believe what you will, but stop being sarcastic and snide
It doesn't make a difference what any of us choose to think
The world is out of order right now, completely out of sync
I'm annoyed by being told, "covid is just a hoax." It's real!
Go ask the families of those who have died, how they feel
Don't send me to videos with what you consider is proof
I'm capable of reaching my own conclusions. I'm not aloof
America isn't gone. We're much more resilient than that
Our Constitution wasn't written as words of silly chitchat
We've not been destroyed by acts of deplorable lunacy
We've no need of a funeral, so don't prepare a eulogy
Poems and blogs that cause tension, worries and woe
will not lead us to write better poetry, so just let it go
Please stop using your pen like a weapon; a baseball bat
to grand slam insults. Poets, we should not be in combat
Soldier.
Called then, to duty,
I stood before my brothers,
urging them to war
T'were boys I led to battle
and I drift now among you
dead as well, save grim valor
and brutal resolution
March 22, 2019
Our Broken Wings
Held in Our Hearts of Gold
And I am Torn Too
To Shreds
Our feathers shed,
Clawed by The Cat of all Predators
My heartless heart
And I Kneel weary before Our Rising Sun
Bathed once more
In the Glory
Of coming home...
WOMEN IN COMBAT
By Leonard Kleeman
Women in real combat, can that really be?
The news article had a great big headline.
It stated that when outdoors, women can't pee.
And, even if it's true, that's no business
of mine.
The Pentagon will now rescind its combat ban.
Which means all the danger doesn't belong
just to a man.
But there are many opponents who say
that women are too weak to have it
that way.
That's very funny 'cause I never thought women
to be weak.
Many gals that I know are stronger than some men.
It matters not how big they are or what kind
of physique;
All the strength that women have or need is
within them.
To pee outside is not the thing they need
neither is skipping showers or pee in the wild.
They just need their brothers and sisters in arms
to cover their backs and not think of their charms,
and to accept them in combat and not think they're mild.
They are brave and courageous if you think
what they do.
They can give birth to babies and then
help you too.
They have strength in their hearts and smarts
in their head.
And if you get bad they'll beat you instead.
Where women have fought before
During peace and mostly at war,
They have fought well and won for their side
and had no reason for anything to hide.
So they can pee outside or pee in the wild.
Or even shower where men are beguiled.
Now that the Pentagon has made its analysis
that women fighting at war would not be calamitous,
They should not hold them back just because they
have no *****es.
Traveling life's murky waters,
Were these brave men.
My friends in dark jungles.
Dying for many who did not care.
Malaria and typhoid our worst enemies;
Still then, that occasional sniper bullet,
Snuffing out a life in an instant.
Fighting for our country yet hated by some.
Freedom was all we tried to preserve,
While every night evil pounded our helmets.
Unrelenting hatred killing us one at a time;
Sometimes a dozen in one blizzard of shells.
Living in a hell on earth to protect liberty.
Seeing dead eyes of buddies seconds ago alive.
Oh to understand what terror really is;
Surrealistic death in drowning bloody color.
Friends found de-bowled and castrated by enemy,
Hanging from beautiful rain forest trees.
Life bodily fluids dripping to feed their roots,
That horror which still lives in my mind.
Flag red stripes brightened with bloodied courage;
I ask how many Americans truly realize this?
Flying old glory only when under personal siege,
Oh that mental pain it has caused so many soldiers.
Coming home to icy cold stares,
Murderers seen in the eyes of some Americans.
Heroes welcome buried in front pages of wrongful war;
Medals tarnished before seeing light of another day.
Note: This piece is dedicated to all American and Ally soldiers who have ever
been in combat! GOD Bless America and our Allies!
Copyright © 2014 Robert William Gruhn - All Rights Reserved
"A poem to me is the essence of any thought,
Being built from its foundation into tower scraping sky.
It can fly like no other bird to places never seen,
Even spaceships can only dream of taking its place."
© 2014 Robert William Gruhn
I used to love my combat boots.
In O.D. green I felt grassroots.
Sporty shorts and long straight hair
Any whistle got my glare.
My favorites, now, are boots’ offshoots!
© February 8, 2011
Dane Ann Smith-Johnsen
I want to splat you
Sir, sucker pinching veins
With itch, mosquito!
My tongue pierced skin cries
And merciless you zip drink
A bump, your tombstone!
Sizzling in my ear
Halt these needs to sense me what germs
Infest your entrails
Settle still in place
Slippery rogue, test my swat
Awful mess, my blood!
Duress and death and flies persist
but I can't rest, or I won't rise
While on I press, relays of mist
that graze beside me now and then,
make red my dead and distant eyes
but raise my listing head again
Unhinged, ashamed, yet still servile,
I aim and brave men atomize
to ginger haze around me, while
ghosts and grenades fill the skies...
They don't want that lyrical combat
To beat me you'll need a genie, 3 wishes and a miracle on that
Your best hope is if you and god sign a spiritual contract
I write quicker than Usian Bolt runs with the accuracy of Lionel Messi
I make love to my pad and make my words feel sexy
When I rhyme the words just fit better
I finished the whole dictionary while you got stuck on any word with more six letters
You're just a visitor, but me and poetry live together
We talk daily and make love nightly
My pen gets hugged tightly
I write 30 poems a Day and I won't compromise
I write from my heart and I won't apologize
My mind is full of Constant rhymes
Writers block isn't a real thing, it's a myth
I'll out write you, even if you have a head start and make you quit
I've got 50 unfinished poems, with my next ten planned
No one can take me to the place my pen can
I'm just joking around haven't even gone fully lyrical
Should I hit them with the multi syllable
I'm usually writing about my troubled mind
But even when I do, most of my poems contain double rhymes
I wonder if they catch on
I'll write about anything, there isn't an idea I'll pass on
I've got a pad full of my lost lyrics
I just wrote this because of my Hip-Hop spirit
I love rhyming, but being the best isn't my motive
I just want to be respected as a poet
But I believe I can go rhyme for rhyme with any writer
If my pen takes aim, there won't be any survivors
To beat me you're going to have to go to god and make a spiritual contract
I'm the White Nas, you don't want this lyrical combat
Combat....
though morbid in nature, there is a sense of beauty....
for example -
the bullet and it's chamber
the slickness of steel, and the power of the trigger
which together correlates the symphony of motion
from the time the trigger is pulled, to the
daunting escape of a bullet, and then finally to the penetration of it's victim.....
Quite morbid... yet hauntingly beautiful.....
Then come's the bullets quintessential cohorts
The Chemical and The Armored Car (a Tank)
The brutal barrage of steel cartage
crashing into unstable masonry
then the soothing smog of golden mustard gas...
The echoed shrieks, the violent shakes,
the bloody eyes and mucus filled noses
whose violent episodes finally conclude
when the eyes of death stare back at them...
Quite morbid.... yet hauntingly beautiful....
The finally... how can we forget the noble foot soldier?
his footsteps, silent to the earth....
out of the hysteria and chaos
two men, two weapons, and a whirlwind of emotion
nationalistic pride, paranoid fear, and scattered tranquility...
A sign, as is to say....
"I don't want to fight, but I have to..."
Which all correlates in the thrust of the bayonet
a twinkle of blood, and then finally the gentle weeps...
Quite morbid.... yet hauntingly beautiful....
The French word for ‘cockroach’ is ‘le cafard’.
In some contexts it can mean ‘depression’.
But for the soldiers always standing guard,
‘Avoir le cafard’ refers to boredom.
I’ve heard war has been described as follows:
“Ninety percent boredom, the rest: TERROR”.
It’s true for those hiding in their hollows,
Whether combatant or stretcher-bearer.
My times in combat zones weren’t too awful.
I heard the occasional “BOOM!” or “CRACK!”.
Of friends that I knew that went to Mosul,
Everyone (Some shrapnel wounds) made it back.
But I knew some who never came back home;
At least one who suicided at home.
Flashes of combat
of the rising tally from both camps
in a war that is faintly remembered
Flashes of training with the commandos
flashes of training with the marines
Flashes of action imprinted in memory
Taking out his bottle of pills
swallows three white pills
sleep quickly finds him
Dreams starting but they are peaceful
for he fought only on conviction
and clarity of purpose
The defender in battle
was declared messing in action
and now hes missing in action
lewis k nyaga
KFS...
A dedication to all the privates
who have served in active
combat... peace.. shalom
On a battlefield so far away,
those marching soldiers never play,
all scanning the horizon,
a target in question,
freedom defender,
with their rifle,
bayonet,
combat
boots.
"Alone we can do so little; together we can do so much." Quote by
Helen Keller
A story told long ago of women who God used
to change the nation because of love
and welfare of their family and land.
They all gathered in the garden under amethyst waterfall
of wisteria vine, around an oval outdoor table
enjoying grape, strawberry wine and nectar cakes.
Talking about a kaleidoscope of outlandish and far-fetched ideas.
Their conversations took paths veering in zigzags
so, they listen to their voice’s comments and ideas.
Their planning caused confusion and misunderstandings,
even disputes among themselves. They knew they
needed a clear plan and visualize the end results.
They all shrugged with sassy looks. “We don’t have time.
Women in combat, it will be hard for them to believe.”
Women in leadership roles within their lives only men took.
They went out in silence as night drew to defend what they loved.
Heroes they were known, few perished and were crucified,
and heavenward, their goal was to win no matter the sacrifice.
Life Is Mortal Combat
By Rick Rucker
Life is mortal combat, sorry for the name,
Life is mortal combat, and I do not mean the game!
It starts out rather meekly, just as we are born,
But it gets far tougher, as we are old and worn!
At a time when we could use all our remaining power,
Life cruelly throws all she has got at us, in our final hour!
For my money, I would rather die a lion, than to die a sheep,
To go out in a blaze of glory, than to sneak out, in my sleep!
Rather fight a duel, to the death, in the blazing light,
Than to cry and shake, a coward, through the long and lonely night!
When I see Saint Peter, I will say that I was not always right,
But I will wager that Death knew he was in a terrific fight!