Best Soldiers Poems
I taste an emptiness of love
and weep from pain, in loss befall.
Hope flees in fields of light above
when time casts me its eternal pall.
As darkness dims the flame of life
with words of love left never said,
Could one escape this misty strife?
Does peace live only with the dead?
I marched to anthems meant for kings
and bled for cause, as told I must.
What voices now with courage ring,
as I lie face down in the dust?
While glory waits as cities burn,
who'll chant for me if I return?
12/31/2018
Irregardless of effort
or desire,
we can't stop time.
Weeks fall into months,
seasons stream past
like runaway trains,
stamping birthdays on calendars,
etching wrinkles on skin,
planting age spots everywhere.
The galloping gobbler
moves ever onward,
with sharpened blade,
to slice away memories,
and bestow;
weaker eyesight,
diminishing strength,
brain skips,
plus popping joints.
Alas, twilight stops soon for thee,
Twilight stops, now, for me.
cfa ? 9/2/2012
Revised 4/20/2014
Only Soldiers
They are thanked for their service
by those who never served.
Commended for their bravery
by those who never donned
the colors of the country
the red, the white, the blue.
They are left alone with demons
that only they can name
seek the silent comfort
of those who know the same,
they limp alone in honor
of the men they used to be
slowly turn invisible to
the people they keep free.
In silent nod and gesture
they salute in passing pain
bathed in thanks for service,
awash in tearless rain,
not heroes, only soldiers,
in the shadows without name.
11/10/2013
submitted to – Being Invisible – poetry contest
sponsor – SKAT A
Little Toy Soldiers going off to war
None will ever live to see age twenty four
None of them even know what they're fighting for
Little Toy Soldiers going off to war
The world has always been this way
With Emperors and Kings
Fighting with toy soldiers
And the glory that it brings
Land, beliefs, religion
The basis of the war
fought by young toy soldiers
Who all die by the score
Time has taught us nothing
But, it's changed the way we fight
War is a full day job
Now that it is fought at night
The boards of little armies
Are now shown up on the screen
With all the little soldiers
Lit in different shades of green
They used to be all metal
Painted up in nice bright shades
With a General on horseback
Leading all his smart brigades
Then, the men were plastic
glued to bits of wood
Behaving as a unit
Just like a soldier should
Now, the war is different
They're up there in different hues
You can watch them fight in real time
Just like on the nightly news
The only thing remaining
The thing that's stayed the same
Is that nobody in power
Know the Little Soldiers names
Little Toy Soldiers going off to war
None will ever live to see age twenty four
None of them even know what they're fighting for
Little Toy Soldiers going off to war
April 29 2018
On sunny summer mornings
the myriad markers gleam
and shimmer dreamlike
in the distance.
Visions from the stillness rise,
but only of the past,
for in this place,
time has come
to sudden end.
Glimpsed on headstone faces
in plain and shallow font
are etchings of their names.
Forefingers trace the course
of letters and summon memories,
suddenly vivid, of the fallen—
perhaps the only form
of resurrection most alive
will ever know.
A place of buried treasure this—
of ones revered and honored
who would unlock secrets of the mind,
give us cures for all disease that
we might live a thousand years
and summon knowledge beyond imagining.
Yet we have robbed ourselves of such,
for all these gifts lie with them interred;
their honors go unclaimed.
On headstones too are symbols carved,
emblematic of their faiths, for
we would have our deities
compete for attribution
until the soils of all the world
run red in honor of Their names.
Yet in the end our Gods are
much too small, dwarfed by
mankind’s boundless vanity.
angels descended
on a bloody battlefield…
soldiers’ spirits rise
Heaven’s door opens
Freedom fighters’ souls enter
Forgiveness is found
“Thou Shalt Not Kill” set aside
By a righteous Creator
(Senryu and Tanka)
*By Carolyn Devonshire for Russell’s “A Mesh of Forms” contest
Wearily I walk this rutted road
Knowing this life led yet is mine
Due is all ransoms for my soul
To every witness I leave behind
Lift my heart to spare no love
To be a light for shadows cast
I draw my strength from God above
With hope that seeks the will to last
Onward Christian Soldiers
(Chivalry Dead)
God’s crusade upon them laid
a stubborn suit of mail brocade.
Knights Templar, Teutonic thugs
Mercenaries out for blood.
In guarantee of resurrection.
Skull bludgeoning insurrection.
For every heathen to the cemetery
Pope so grants indulgence plenary.
Urban calls to cut out “sin.”
with war for Jesus, champion.
Death to every infidel.
Damn them all to endless hell.
Allah-backed brave Saladin
“Jihad” shouts Islamic paladin
Jerusalem. Jerusalem.
Devastated paragon.
Kathy Collins
1/31/14
"...when power narrows the areas of man’s concern,
poetry reminds him of the richness
and diversity of his existence...”
--John F. Kennedy
~~~~~~~***~~~~~~~
Soldiers of our armed forces,
Iraq, Afghan, Lebanon, many shores,
Light the way like liberty blazing torches
They fight heat, bugs, sand, tough faces,
urban warfare, darkness, crashed doors,
Soldiers of our armed forces
Now Send home change of addresses,
stories, photos, emails, strange places,
Light the way like iron cut by torches
Camouflage faces, wet bloody bruises,
brows sweating, under helmet gushes,
Soldiers of our armed forces
Sleep in sandy humid desert trenches,
thunder blast, bombs dropped, fire fights,
Light the way like laser torches
Loved ones wear yellow broaches,
anxiety, praise, tears, vague smiles,
Soldiers of our armed forces,
Light the way like liberty blazing torches.
© Joseph S. Spence, Sr., (Epulaeryu Master) 6/23/2010
All Rights Reserved.
A SOILDERS THOUGHTS
I cannot sleep tonight
rarely can I sleep in the day
My grip is tight and my eyes alert
so you can have a safe place to lay;
There are eyes that watch my every move
eyes of fiery red
Hoping to catch me slip an inch
hoping to see me dead;
From door to door I knock real hard
hoping that they will let let me in
My life in constant danger
as I search for these ruthless men;
Everyone speaks the same
for it's I who's in a foreign land
The only difference between right and wrong
is when they raise up their evil hand;
I realize that I am not on vacation
as I stare deep into their mirror
I realize that I have a job to do
And that is to fight against this terror....
He sits in a wheelchair pushed to the curb. The people around him move aside to assure he is able to see. His shrunken body a shell of what it used to be. His breathing labored, aided by the tube that extends from the oxygen tank attached to his chair. On his head, he sports a blue campaign cap with VFW stitched in gold. He is one of America's finest, come to pay his respects.
Behind him stands a younger woman who has guided him there. A daughter perhaps, fussing over him, adjusting the robe in his lap, assuring his comfort. He shows no resistance to the attention, but simply sits and waits.
In the distance drums are heard, soon to be joined by the sound of horns. A stirring march riffles over the crowd, and an electricity grips their senses. Soon the call of cadence is heard. The measured tramp of boots, perfectly in time with the music. It grows louder until at last, a military formation looms into view. Uniformed soldiers, marching in perfect rows, perfect columns, gleaming boots, ribboned chests, weapons at rest on their shoulders. The crowd stirs. Small flags are waved. Cheers erupt. Pride hangs thick in the air.
The color guard approaches. Banners held high, snapping in the breeze. Some spectators remove their caps while others cover their hearts. Children, hoisted to their fathers shoulders, clap in excitement.
The old man tugs at the woman's sleeve and motions for her to come closer. She leans down and listens as he speaks, then asks "are you sure"?. He nods his head. Walking to the front of the chair, she removes the robe and, grasping his outstretched hands, pulls him slowly to his feet, where he stands with her assistance. Those around him watch as the frail, stooped body, with some difficulty, stands more erect. They see the pain etched on his face, and the tear that escapes his eye as he offers a salute as the flag passes by.
Suddenly, the cadence count stops, and in it's place is heard a command . A command normally reserved for when passing a reviewing stand. "Company, eyes right" the guidon bearer bellows, and with that, he returns the aging veterans salute, a sign of respect for an old soldier. After all, it is his flag. It is his country. He bought them both many years ago.
Bob Quigley
Jan 10, 2012
SOLDIERS
Crossing the world; ground, sea and air
Giving our country great care
These mighty warriors helping us in times of need
Doing us all a very good deed.
Defending and protecting from foreign invaders
Traveling across mountains, desserts and glaciers.
Fighting along with our gallant flag
Proudly raising it high, never letting it sag.
A rigorous job only fit for the best
During their work they rarely rest.
Their relatives at home anticipating their arrival
While the fighters in the battlefield attacks their rivals.
Helping our nation prosper and grow
These soldiers deserve a great big bow.
All the Anzacs have faded back into the past
And the old men now rest with their mates
We can hope they play 2 up and still have a beer
Now they’ve entered the heavenly gates
We have cause to remember the men who died young
How they fought to ensure we live free
How they looked back at home for the very last time
As their ships pulled away from the quay
They went for adventure, for country and King
Their country still mourns for their loss
They died in the trenches and on the barbed wire
So far from the great Southern Cross
They couldn’t have known as they sailed far from home
Just how cruel would be some of their fates
But they lived for Australia, a land of their own
And they died for the sake of their mates
And each life extinguished still burned like a flame
In the hearts of their loved ones at home
And their memory lives on in the pride of the nation
In respect for the flag that they’d flown
Their young eyes look out from the passage of years
From the old pictures, tattered and torn
And their nation looks back to the past and remembers
How the legend of ANZAC was born
From my PDF book "Bush Ballads and Bulldust"
"Dead leaves lay still until the wind takes them
here and there: even the last flower is withered:
yet there is a beauty in decay. "
Quote by _Constance La France
Autumn fell asleep crying
everything changed overnight
Its love, sold poor happiness
passively carried along by the storm
Leaves, as fallen soldiers
the jaws of darkness devoured all
Even the last flower is withered
sealed in the sleep of grace
It is only when we wake up
we realize what beauty is gone
06.06.2023
Anne-Lise Andresen
Copyright © All Rights Reserved
- D - Quotes - Contest
by: Constance La France
1st place in the contest
He gets up at 4 a.m, and puts on his ACU’s
And laces up his combat boots
He is my man, this is my life
For I am a soldiers wife
He means the world to me
He is my hero and who I want to be
When he is gone and I am all alone
I have a lot to shoulder
He is my man, he is a soldier
I miss him so much that inside I ache
Sometimes, I wonder if my heart will break
When I cry, I cry to myself, alone
I keep focused and charge ahead
All the while sleeping alone in our big cold bed
He is my husband, and I am his wife
I couldn’t be prouder of his chosen life
Even as I cry
When I kiss him goodbye
I know what he does, he does for us
To keep us safe and to sleep in peace through the night
It’s hard to not hold him or kiss him goodnight
To not hear I love you and it will be alright
It’s so hard living here on my own
But I know that he will be coming home
I cry myself to sleep each and every night
All the while knowing that he may have to fight
Defending our freedom
In some far away land
I know we will make it, because we are meant to be
I feel it deep down inside when he says he loves me
I think of him every moment of every day
And I know he is thinking of me when he is away
He is my man, this is my life
For I am a soldiers wife.