Best Soldiering Poems


Rainsticks and Drums Native Chants and Pagan Dreams, remastered


Amazon mist  and rainy mornings green as the day God made them 
dropping from a moist sky full of even grays and sheltering light 
peaceful music playing from the spheres of a dense forest dream 
we are all little humans in a big big giant cave,  ....    the rain 
Pitter patter drops on thirsty tree in a world that is evened once again 
sheets of rain fall from my window and I click click click and glean 
a slow memory of old, photographs of mom and dad inside the garden 
we were small and happily drinking in the scene  ....          the rain 
A Sentinel watches from a soldiering evergreen, I lived there before 
the white washed walls of peace and the age old chanterelle dance  
as raindrops settle in my soul, I compose a poem about the downpour.    
Petrichor scents permeate my living space as I listen to ...        the rain 
Rainsticks and drums Native chants and Pagan dreams of old, I remember,  
Lady Gianne and her healing chants, how she lifted her face to the winds.
"Heal me now and make me whole" * " Bring peace and love forevermore"
As nature creates pathways to equity, the rain loves US,
again and again and again. ....   the rain.

Premium Member Scribe Under Fire

Scribe Under Fire

The wall had been there for an eternity
	
	closing gaps of time and sacred places

		field stones memories and gentle caress


Hans could not write any longer any 

	shorter it was too loud and far too quiet

		the truth did not escape the lonely

			fortress of sheltered dreams’ betrayal


He had lost a touch of his mind and a hand

	already in previous senseless exchanges

		luckily he was born tough and left handed

			before right became wrong and left was a crime


When the trenches had become thicker 
		
	with blood bodies sticky bayonets guts

		gore debatable glory and forlorn medals

			Hans wrote from the depth of soul and despair


Hell bombs grenades shrapnel and agony

	enacted a torrid cacophony of fire and noise

		his nostrils became scorched while his ears

			refused to hear and to listen any much longer


Scribbling poetry on the back of cigarette packets

	his molten fountain pen fused with his mind

		and he fought for his life his sanity and one

			terminal act of kindness morale and advice


Hans could not release even one more shot from the

	gun dangling from overburdened shoulders but

		the sergeant shouted ‘attack you wretched coward

			 for King and for country for honour and sweet victory’


It had been a modern war and someone must have

	known about shell shock or post traumatic disorder

		but when they executed him with clean merciless shots

			from a nameless firing squad because it was not for refusal


But for spreading fake news about the beauty of war for

	sabotaging innocent minds of future generations for

		soldiering with a mighty pen and not with a glittering 

			sword so he was shot at the wall for writing and not fighting


September 2018

Premium Member The Wandering One

From ebon nights, that seem everlasting
In the land of the midnight sun
He trudges through the blizzards embrace
For miles he's the only one

To radiant rays from heavens glow
They set the sand ablaze
Steady accross the  desert's peril
The meandering stranger strays

Upon the peaks , that pierce the clouds
A gasp of thinning air
Climbs with single minded will
To what though, he is not aware

Just soldiering on,  He is soon to be gone
On a journey which has not yet begun
For he searches without, what he seeks is within
Forever the wandering one.
© Joe Inka  Create an image from this poem.


My Redhead - Dictionary Fun Contest

Rehearsing my lines with passion
And yearning for her affection
A redhead flame, I was keen to meet
Desiring a meaningful relationship
My inner soul would cherish the touch of her tender lips
And the taste of salt from a shared packet of chips
But each attempt to connect was a struggle
Like that of a soldier fighting another’s battle
The fear of scorn is courtship’s doom
But soldiering on might see love bloom
Despite the abomination of rejection, I was undeterred
Cupid’s bamboozle, I’d outwit and find my love

Premium Member The Song of the Shell

I have spilled all of it out, it seems
Shushed it away
Now I stare at it like you would some black-and-white photo
I’m soldiering on
I can’t find the field
I don’t want this weapon
I’ve lost myself
But holding onto me wasn’t in the plans
I’ve blanched my dreams
When I speak marshmallows fall out of my mouth
I’m dimmed, muted
Placed in a different world again
I’m okay, though
I’m in-through a wondering sky
I’ll find you again
As my feet drift by
And tap you on the forehead

You snap my strings
And I may tackle you to the ground
Good for the both of us

I am the black falling light rushing out of tomorrow’s dream
I am your favorite sorcerer who forced the mirror upon you

Revealing you as the great one
With what wounds we are
Cascading, cascading

I know you, my love
My heart runs wild at the thought of your return

Premium Member The Little Things

It's always the little things 
                 That mean the most to people
           Holding more value than all the money
            In the bank; more of a treasure than 
      Any material thing one could possibly imagine

        A genuine expression of love to a loved one
            Like a bear hug, a blown kiss from afar
     A simple warm greeting with a strong handshake
       Wishing a stranger happy holidays, an apology
        A reassuring smile, a wink, a good deed done 
             For someone, with no strings attached

           A thoughtful gesture that lets the recipient 
      Know you care, such as a random act of kindness
         A get well soon card to the sick, a recognition
  A pat on the back for a job well done, saying thank you
     A word of encouragement to keep up the good work
        To keep soldiering on when the going gets tough

                        It's always the little things
              That makes all the difference in the world


DECEMBER 2018,ANY FORM,ANY THEME,UPTO A MAX OF 20 lines 
Sponsored by Brian Strand (Winner: 1st Place)
Date written and posted: 12/05/2018


8 Timesed 10

Blank Page
Clean Slate

Untouched
Somewhat

Once Great
Tho Not So Great Enough

Back Again
Here I Am

Here Again
Unfinished

Tinkered
Tailored

Soldiered Too Fit
Sailors Despise

Redundance
Repitition

Without Point
Without Goal

Without Role
Without Cause

Without Baseline
Without Ship

We All Crash
We All Drown

Why Am I Here
Why Do I Seek Ground

What Is Rich
What Is Poor

Why Does A Begging Man Thieve
Why Does A Thieving Man Beg

Does He
Does He Not

Why Is Happyness Not
Why Is Happyness Sought

I'm Just A Ship On An Ocean
Soldiering On

I'm Just A Sailor Adrift
I'm Just A Beggar Of Current

Richly Alive
Poorly Entwined

Richly Blessed
Poorly Denied & Damned

Fated Too Thieve
Fated Too Conspire

Ride The Waves
Too Navigate

Keep Sailing
Soldiering On

TInker Tailor
Soldier Spy

Richly Poor
Poorly Rich

Begging For Today
Thieving Towards Tommorrow

Leaning Towards Gallows
Scheming Towards Shallows

Solid Soil
Hallowed Ground

Where My Feet Rest Steady
Where My Breath Breathes Selfishly

Unswayed
Alone

Away From
Yet Amongst

The Tinkered With
The Tailored Too

Rich Man Poor Man
Pursuit

I'm Beggan Man
Please Untie This Noose

Bring Me Up
String Me Up

Set Me Free
Drowned Me Under

One Or The Other
One Or The Other

I'm A Soldier
I'm A Sailor

Ima Keep Soldiering On
Ima Keep Sailing

Thieving These Days
Thieving These Nights

Breathing And Drowning
Drowning And Breathing

Untill My Lungs Grow Gills
Untill My Souls 8 Timesed 10

I'm Gonna Walk 
I'm Gonna Swim

I'm Gonna Tinker With My Tailor
I'm Gonna Soldier With My Spy

I'm Gonna Be A Rich Man
I'm Gonna Be A Poor Man

I'm Gonna Be A Beggar & A Thief
I'm Gonna Forever & Always

One Way Or Another
Always Be A Sailor

Navigating The Stars
Ill Find You Wherever You Are

Forever & Always
From Here To Botswan
© Nusku Asar  Create an image from this poem.

Sausage Or Suya

Sausage or suya* ?


Sausage or suya ?Give me the latter;
The craft of maisuya* is grand
He cleans guts like a housesitter,
Weaves all like caterer’s fondant
Liver, kidney all in a meaty bag
Smokes same like german grill
Variety often delights my heart,
Give me suya,I wish to laugh.

Sausage or suya? Give me the latter;
Freshness is the soul of my taste;
Suya my peppermeat,how it warmness
Emmits spoilers out of my nusery canal;
It herbal spice  breaks all within with ease,
Onion, garlic playing their soldiering roles;
Give me suya, sound health,  for all I care.
 
Sausage or suya? Give me the latter;
I will rather befriend that which I trust
Than blend of other that is short in trust
Who metamorphses horse to cow in factory
And fixes a damsel to hail same on screen;
She bites and gets a chuckle; but what can ,
What can be more inviting than the aroma 
Wafting in the air,diffuses from suya spot ?

Sausage or suya? Give me the latter;
Suya I know, what is sausage?





*Suya is barbecue, Maisuya is the seller

Soldiering On

I have felt the sun come burning,
O'er the sands of Africa,
I have climbed the steps,
Marked by the hand of time.

I have sailed along the river,
The ancient river Nile,
And have walked the route of soldiers
Mile by mile.

I have felt the tropic heat of Burma,
The sweat of jungle war,
And my lot was as the others,
Can't complain.

For we did because we had to,
For the cause was in our hearts,
For the cause was dear,
For dear was Englands name.

I have seen the light rising,
O'er the battlefield,
And the scorching sand,
Mixed with the blood of men.

And I vowed if there be Heaven,
And if be looked upon,
God give heart,
This never comes again.

I have existed in the trenches,
I have felt the cold, cold, night,
Inhaled the stench of hell,
And felt such pain,

I have soldiered through the ages,
When will the answer be,
For soldiers all as pawns,
Will play the game.

I have known the taste of victory,
The comradeship of men,
The closeness all as brothers to the end,

And held the Cross of Valour,
And have felt the touch of shame,
For broken hearts they mourn for broken men.

When in the end be counted,
The mistakes of times gone by,
Give tally to the losses on the way.

For all who served our country.
Be never far from mind,
And Bless'ed be Upon Remembrance Day.

Don'T Ask Why


I’m just a working stiff
droning along in life
Everyday
me be doing 
what the boss queen bee say
Following orders,
never once do I ask why

I’m just a wooden bottom-rung peg
soldiering along dutifully
The folded antennas in my head
informs me 
not to speak on things I see
Pass the time away busily,
doing grunt errand tasks
that help makes 
the golden honey currency flow
Don’t ask about the moral price
Following the chain-of-command 
memo declarations,
nary a single time asking twice

There’s no need for me to ask why,
seeking answers
will get you cast out the corporate hive

Don’t ever ask why
things are done the way they are
Keep flying blind
with my buzz soundproof 
headphones on,
Boss company lady says me gonna go far

Just keep my curious eyes down ...
raise the profit flag high,
and sing the company song
Every wage-earning private citizen knows
that the CEO 
general’s non-verbal instructions
are never wrong

A Spider's Intrigue

Sparkling all across the wisps of morning dew.
Weaver spin on till your masterpiece is through.

Dancing in the sunlight's rays-your web of white.
Tantalizing beauty there is quite a sight.

Stem to stem eight legs move onward into day
capturing each water drop and luring prey.

Soldiering on you leave your intricate design
splashed across the leaves like cotton on the vine.

Many splendored you are feared by some it's true.
Transfixed I am watching to see what you'll do!




for contest"Along Came A Spider"
June 1st,2013
© Deb Wilson  Create an image from this poem.

Premium Member A Tear For Don

A Tear for Don

I still shed a tear over you, Don,
I wish you were still here, alive.
Remember the day we first met, Don,
A pair of young schoolboys aged five?

Remember how we were like brothers, Don?
The way we were always together.
We seemed to be joined at the hip, Don.
Our bond an unbreakable tether.

I think of our time as Cadets, Don,
Playing at soldiers in green.
And then you did it for real, Don,
At the fresh, youthful age of fifteen.

I didn’t much like all that serge, Don,
The khaki like wire, and sore.
So I chose to wear Navy Blue, Don,
And you laughed when that scratched even more!

You served in many campaigns, Don,
As I, in my Unit, did too.
We understood each other’s thoughts, Don.
Each knew what the other went through.

Then as our later years passed, Don,
Our friendship grew stronger and stronger.
I wish you’d been able to stay, Don,
Been my brother a little bit longer.

I still shed a tear over you, Don,
And although some may see it as strange,
My sadness and heartbreak are true, Don.
Can’t see how those feelings will change.

You’ve reached the Final RV, Don,
But I remain, soldiering on.
I’ll keep your memory safe in my heart,
Till we meet again, my brother Don.

The Spirit and the Wind

They taught me at Sunday school
that the Spirit's wind; and cool.
On a night cool and windy,
my eyes were wide and flinty.

Through translucent window pane, 
jiggled a confused weather vane,
shy which direction to face;
excitement set to race.

Soon the weather vane saw me,
and thrust an arrow at me.
Then heavy patter patter;
the pane began to shatter.

The wind came whistling aloud,
sweet music my ears allowed.
Chilled, I felt the Spirit come:
the room was now wet, I, numb.

As if in a distant dream,
I heard a wren sing, or scream;
a duck quacked, in obvious thrill
of nearby soldiering drill.

My sleepy eyes blinked; I stirred
as the warm morning rays shirred
my thoughts in folds of wonder
at a storm without thunder.

I peeped through the gaping pane;
the sun, calm along its lane,
kept smiling as my mind puzzled,
with my understanding muzzled.

I recalled the Sunday school;
the Spirit could be indeed cool.

Brotherly Love

Curling into him feeling his tiny breaths,
Looking over him to stable his dreams
Wondering when he will talk
Gazing at his tiny fingers
So life like but so small
I am his guide and I will protect
I will guide his ambitions, dreams and questions
An oyster to a pearl enclosed
Warmth to a hand comfortably hiding
Pocketed inside for rest from the world
What are you dreaming my baby brother
Know I will always be your side
Two soldiering stars together shining from up above
Experiencing the pure beauty of  something called Brotherly love

Claire Burke
03/05/2011
(Brotherly Love)

The Blood Stained Consience of Ancestry

Blue blood of royalty, journey unleashed
Descendant of earth and African chiefs
Princes of honor, princes of light
Gentle forbearance, glorified knights
Emperor’s gentlemen billowing praise
Love filled lungs willowing grace
Breathing its blessings upon the tribes
Bleeding its conscience on graphite inscribed
Coherently soldiering ethnic pictures
Innately shielding their ethic scriptures
Fighting for peaceful inaugurations
Conquering war while dying for nations

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