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The Best War Poems

Details | War Poem |

Courage of Youth, Battle of Ypres, Flanders Field

Courage of Youth, Battle of Ypres, Flanders Field
(A Tribute)

Tough as nails young man with a red right hand
red-fire and whiskey ran in his blood.
Courageous seed of vast and cold hard land
quick temper, power of a surging flood.
Seeker of life, its promised mysteries
rash gambler with all he would ever own.
Born on ship in high wind swept, roaring seas
toughest warrior his town had ever grown.

Met his fate by volley of red-hot lead
buried on ground scared and battle blasted.
Aye boys, fodder that machine guns were fed
fools marching to death, long as it lasted.

Now flowers cover up and Time denies
scenes of battle torn soil and blood-red skies.

R.J. Lindley
April 23rd, 1975

SONNET-(DEATH AND WAR'S FUTILITY)
Tribute to Courage of Youth-- Second Battle of Ypres, April 22nd 1915 .

Note- added - 8-26-2017

Wiki-
The name Flanders Fields is particularly associated with battles that took place in the Ypres Salient, including the Second Battle of Ypres and the Battle of Passchendaele. For most of the war, the front line ran continuously from south of Zeebrugge on the Belgian coast, across Flanders Fields into the centre of Northern France before moving eastwards — and it was known as the Western Front.

The phrase originates from a poem titled In Flanders Fields by Canadian Lieutenant-Colonel John McCrae, inspired by his service during the Second Battle of Ypres. The fields were not maintained for years before they were made into a memorial. Today Flanders Fields is home to thousands of poppies.

--------------------------------------

Found this while rummaging through some of my old poems. Decided not to edit it. Leave it as it was composed over 42 years ago..
Added the note for those not familiar with that battle and its horrific carnage, primarily from the insanity of large bodies of troops marching into direct machine gun fire.

Details | War Poem |

Texian Macabre Arena

The First Texian Macabre Arena Ballad (The extended free-fallen edition)
 
In another life, is where I first saw your face!
One summer afternoon, lying wounded next to the dead
Unopened gun powder, mass destruction, a land of disgrace
A blood thirst battlefield is where I first saw your face
The sound of war, hidden behind bleeding hands
Crawlers, render their lives giving grace
 
Jaws of steel, broken, embracing, warm feelings
Summer rain, lungs filled with blood, one last post
Glorious by numbers, screaming blades
Gemstone in touch with the Holy Ghost  
Soldiers come in a little close 
Crawling, missing limbs, 
Twisted nightmare with no ending

Macabre reminder, retracing the aroma of eternal life
Secrets buried like a treasure under walls of sudden death
Revolutionary tears found on a rusted Bowie knife
Lanterns, crackling against the dying wind
Dirt piles of crushed windpipes -- sudden death
Rummage like garbage, the dead Texian
A Falling Alamo Star, taking one last twinkle upon the sky

Forgotten Patriots, I can't remember the names
Written on walls, I can't remember the names
A folktale arena is where I first saw your face
Fairness of stuttered surrender slicing through iron brace
Crawling, with the hunger to live, a clean finish with grace
Exposing, scars needing mother's hands, mothers face

Across infested meadows, the aroma of burning skin
Distant, before Texas and her annexation, 
Gruesome, before I lived, Texas and her mortal sin
I pledge, my love, the honor, a legion, I'm a full blown Texian
To Every Forgotten Texian Patriot----- We Win!

By: PD

Details | War Poem |

Seb's I Love You Eyes

Seb's young fertile face beamed African royalty
even in the penury of this Nigerian refugee camp.
Her mother's downcast eyes shunned the camera's querying lens,
while Seb's, "I-love-you", eyes were welcoming. 

Seb's eyes were as blossom-petaled obsidian pools,
each pierced by the light of a distant star.
Her blackness did not succumb to woeful displacement,
but shone with the promise of an overcoming spirit;
for a Mother's prayers were writ in the marrow of her bones.

Born with a tenacity to love,
her young heart leaped out through trusting inquisitive eyes.
Her tongue, budding out of rich dark faced soil, seemed eager
to taste the sweet juices that her spirited-eyes promised;
smiling, "l love you", behind barbed wired love-me-nots.

Seb was a child . . . full of joyful expectations.
A child who did not choose this world;
'tho born of a Spirit conceived to love . . . 
to love the . . . hell . . . out from her world.


gv 4.2015

			~~~~~~

(Note: This piece came out of seeing this fascinating photograph
by Sebastian Rich,  of Seb clinging to her Mother in a camp for displaced Nigerians.)

Caption  :  A Nigerian child in a UNICEF clinic, who was finally on the road to a full recovery after suffering from severe acute malnutrition. Her unprompted smile filled my lens.

I would encourage everyone to visit the website of Sebastian Rich.  His heart-gripping photography is incredibly moving and of great importance.

Details | War Poem |

SILENCE OF LOST SOULS

SILENCE OF LOST SOULS

The train was slowly gliding down the railway track. The treeless strip on both sides of the railway marked the border which I crossed for the first time. The tree line of the forest cast a shadow on the open field as the sun was setting on the western horizon. The silence inside the carriage and the slow, quiet motion of the train, made the scene nothing short of eerie. It was as if time stood still. To my mind it brought a vision of ghosts from yesteryear, when battle raged between the neighboring countries some seven decades ago.

	in fading sunset
	aspens swaying in the breeze
	eerie is the night

That open field marked the border to where it was moved after world war II had ended. In my mind I heard the echoes of war: the silence of anxious waiting, the deafening noise of heavy artillery, the rattling of machinegun fire, the cries of pain of the injured. Although Karelia had been lost, the freedom of the nation was kept. I looked quietly at the stillness of the twilight and in my thoughts I gave thanks to all those brave men and women who had fought for freedom and independence for the country, its people, its children and the future.

	as dusk settles in
	darkness engulfs the forest
	silence of lost souls

26th June, 2018

Haibun Poetry Contest: sponsored by Mick Talbot

Details | War Poem |

Streets of blood


Streets of blood

She stood upon the terrace high
streets of blood below
The gate left open in the night,
a dark sky threatens snow

With swine and pearls running free
her bed sheets fought the wind
A tear drop fell her worried eyes
at hate now once again

Of drawbridge wars in endless fight
to stones of castle keep
A single rose a’ bloom this dawn
as mothers come to weep

For sons of father’s destined fall,
these followed footsteps bare
Along the streets so narrow, long,
where death becomes aware

“Enough!” she shouted far and wide
“This fighting now shall end”
“Take your swords and hateful spite,
do not return again”

And lifting high her amulet
upon a staff of wood
She chanted as the stone did glow
this morning where she stood

“Of peace, let all be felt this hour
Thy breath of saddened greed
Be gone, be gone, oh beast of war
No longer doth thou feed

Ye shadows o’er a nightfall mist
Lest blood befall your hand
Beyond this tree lined sacred place
Be gone from this our land”

When then a mighty wave did flow,
the streets were cleansed of fear
And there beyond horizons call
the sunrise did appear

And where once sat a single rose, 
one thousand buds did grow
Of crimson red and silken gold,
the sweetest fragrance flow

Mothers hugged their children close
as loudly trumpets blared
The bloodied streets now white with snow
and love by all was shared

But there within the canyons lurked
cast eyes of beaded red
“I shall return to take this place
O’ ye who think me dead” 

“To once more fill yon streets with blood
of this ye can believe
No matter what the masses want,
know this, I shall not leave”

Details | War Poem |

Achilles, The Journey To Troy, Part Two

Achilles, The Journey To Troy, 
(Part Two) of (Part One-titled, Achilles, His Heart and Soul Were Mortal)

Woe! wretched horrors Olympic gods sent that day
mighty king suffered, his treasure stolen away,
power of Troy against strongest of Grecian might
testing magnificent force of great Spartan fight!

Saving proud Greek honor was the summoning call
an arrogant king demanded Troy's suffering fall,
swift as Hermes, to warriors, messengers sent
his request answered, they came in flooding torrents.

As Grecian phalanx were boarding its warring ships
strong was the question upon the warriors lips,
Achilles! Achilles! Will our fight he now join
for he answers not to king's selfish whims or coins.

Roaring loud happy cheers as his ship sails were seen
warriors, certain victories plunders they'd glean,
his godlike bearing seen at, warships splashing prow
for not even Troy's massive walls, could stop them now!

Soon Troy's riches they would gather with bloody hands
slaughter its haughty citizens, burn its rich lands,
steal its power and gold, take its women as slaves
for its sins, cast its rabble into early graves!

With sacrifices made to Ares they could not fail
their gods had sent favoring winds to fill their sails,
Poseidon. rewarded faithful kings, gave their dues
they sailed on with pride of warriors and ships crews.

Eager to land and fight battles for glory's sake
to Olympic gods they prayed, their lives not to take,
gift them courage and hone well their slashing sharp blades
allow the joys of victor's homecoming parades.

Dawn's rays saw Achille's ship surging far ahead
he had his prowess and dark blood-lust to be fed,
in his heart he knew, this battle would be his last
glory and fame taken, would set the world aghast!

As night fell, they knew new day's light, would blood-lust sate
they each sought to placate dark master of their Fate,
with prayers and incense to burn throughout dark of night
each prepared for this, the greatest of all their fights!
 
 Robert J. Lindley, 8-12-2018
  (Part Two) -  The Journey To Troy

Details | War Poem |

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

Details | War Poem |

When Heaven and Earth Wept

In camps, they’d slaved and starved; cold nights, they’d slept -

Each woman, man, and little girl and boy.

Relentless horror had around them crept.

In camps, they’d slaved and starved; cold nights, they’d slept

Until one day, even the angels wept!

For freedom’s win, the world cried tears of joy.

In camps, they’d slaved and starved; cold nights, they’d slept -

Each woman, man, and little girl and boy.


For Seeker's My Take on the Holocaust Poetry Contest

Details | War Poem |

Hope

You see hope when two kids share marbles between a volatile border.


Date: 16/06/2017

Details | War Poem |

The Verdict

NOW
Well, GI Jack is welcome back, he left his legs in 'Nam.
He wakes at night in sweat and fright, then drinks another dram.
He doesn't know quite where to go, so seeks his uncle, Sam.

BEFORE
One can't ignore - his ma was poor, and life was sometimes cruel,
yet Jack was brave and well behaved and surely no one's fool	
so joined the ranks that man the tanks, as soon as he left school

He learned to kill our foes at will (ordained a sacred rite),
and packed his bag and wrapped his flag and went away to fight.
And yes, the tide was on our side (for, clearly, might makes right)

Through tangled days in jungles' maze, he sought the enemy
behind the trees where, ill at ease, he fought the Yellow sea -
upon the waves of sunken graves he sailed a killing Spree

The napalm dropped and cooked the crops, burnt huts along the way
and tanks, with ease, mowed down the trees and villages of clay.
Yes, turret guns were loads of fun with roaring roundelays

While on the hunt with other grunts, he burned some babes alive
and wondered why frail things must die, while evil's phantoms thrive -
When folly ends, he'll make amends if only he'll survive
	
With booby traps (sticks dipped in crap)... yes, Charlie fought unfair.
He hid in holes like snakes and voles and snuck up everywhere
and like a mite beneath the night, caught Jackie unaware

At battle's end, Jack sought his friends - their souls were washed away
and only he and destiny were left in disarray -
with bed and pan, just half a man, the man of yesterday

When Jackie woke, beyond the smoke, his frame no longer whole,
he found instead a medalled thread, some wraps to hide the hole,	
and realized another prize: a chair on wheels to roll

Across his chest (you've surely guessed) his medals shone, arrayed.
His head felt light, as well it might, at Victory Day Parade
for when he rolled, while others strolled, his boots no longer weighed

AFTER
Well, Jack stayed home (no roads to Rome)  to start his life anew
receiving dole (that took its toll) which fell in Sam's purview,
but soon enough, when times got tough, his uncle, Sam, withdrew

To walk the streets with fine elites (or someone else who begs)
or find a job (or even rob) requires both your legs,
and those that don't and those that won't are those we call the dregs
 
For getting by he tried to ply and mine his medals' worth -
a tinny cup, a hungry pup near loamy pits of earth,
and best of all, per protocol, beneath a bridge, a berth

He clutched a sign 'A dime to dine?', if anybody cared,
but soon he found, as time unwound, that victors seldom shared.
And Jackie's pride was slowly fried by vacant eyes that stared

He took to drink to break the link with thoughts of what he'd done,
though threads of doubt began to flout the yarns Big Brother spun
of freedom's ring and other things like what it was we'd won

He told the breeze his vague unease; his words infused the air
and like the fogs above the bogs, soon floated through the square
where people sat at tea to chat, and thought 'How could he dare?'

But freedom's price is never nice: like storms before the flood
the Daily Rag was on a jag, was looking out for blood,
deemed Jackie's thoughts untamed and fraught, then dragged him through the mud

By snooping clues, they plucked his views like grapes upon the vine.
Big Brother came, blamed Jackie's name for thinking out of line,
shut Jack away from light of day while letting freedom shine

The Junto Brass, with eyes of glass, were robed in fine array
to hear the words (though slightly slurred) the witness gasped to say,
while Justice snored (the water board awash with Perrier)

Well, Jack was charged with laws enlarged in secret dossiers
within the guise of spreading lies and leading thoughts astray -
The Jury's out... the rabble shout 'well someone's gotta pay'

The Judge (who fears the mind’s frontiers), he turned his head to yawn
while making haste through courtroom waste, though slightly pale and wan -
The voodoo Lune withdrew as soon as Night condemned the Dawn

ETERNITY
While in his cell, the verdict fell - the sighs of Silence, rife
While in his cell, the verdict fell - the Reaper played a fife
While in his cell, the verdict fell - the price was Jackie's life

Epilogue
While censor’s cooks are roasting books (and truth) on stakes ablaze,
well, Jackie's head (though chopped and shed) still thinks about the praise
for deeds once done in victories won when cruising in a craze,
and then again about the sin of thinking, nowadays,
where, absently, humanity is served in urns on trays -
and, reconciled, it simply smiles at fortune's funny ways

Epitaph
A  mind was caught while thinking thoughts neath Sammy’s prying gaze
and forced to stop by concept cops, else join the castaways.
For now it's law to hold in awe the brave new world's malaise
and dance like mimes to rigid rhymes (which no one disobeys)
and celebrate with white-washed pate, adorned with dead bouquets -
with freedom’s death, time holds its breath, and waits for better days...


08/08/2013

Details | War Poem |

When the Flowers of Youth Fell

When the Flowers of Youth Fell

Winter stayed late that year
courting Spring with a fury.
Beautiful gifts of snow
and dazzling ice, he gave her.
It was during such courtship
I found myself lost -- adrift
in a place that once was ....
decades from this century.

Where mud and blood held hands
beneath duty and honour
and kindred flowers fell
to sounds of bugle and drum.

Smoke arose through Spring's tears.
Images of Blue and Grey
pilfered my breath as cannons 
rained thunder upon the brave.

How was this happening?
This was not where I belonged!
My time was not this place
and I wanted to go home.
Where Winter courted Spring
and snowmen fell -- not flowers --
upon the muddy ground
as snow reigned upon the brave.

The smell of gun powder
danced about my head and nose
like spirits for the faint --
arousing life ... far from home. 
"Get down! Get down! Get down!"
The half-crazed voice plunged me 
into the mud and blood
and I lay frozen in fear
beneath his weight ... and the cold. 
So cold, no hearts were beating, 
no breaths were being drawn, 
just the smell of sweat and blood.
The smell of rain and death.

Clutched tightly in his pale fist 
a tattered blood-stained note
bore the words, "Please ... for
mama ...."      
I tried but could not scream. 
And, I felt daylight passing ....

As shadows took the brave,
Winter's folly tamed sweet Spring
with final coats of snow ....
and snowmen fell -- not flowers. 

©deborah burch
3.08.2013

Details | War Poem |

Sold

There is no difference,
the saints whisper and every enemy and ally
wake to forever’s difference,
that neither knee nor tongue will deny.

Doubt bit into Innocence and sold
the first coffins wrapped in pride.
Creation became a seed – a box filled twofold,
when under silt,  Eden died.

Secular tides engulf their last season
to bury God and Baal,
synthetic rainbows enlighten treason
fulfills the fool’s tale.

Escape suffering to bend
love to an abstract sum.
Detached absurdity when
a false bliss is done.

Not enough of Earth’s blood
to sustain paved veins,
a technological flood
of isotopes and labor pains.

Fiat economies root for
the drug and gun,
made the bomb’s core
hotter than the sun.

infusions of contraband’s revenue
numbs the inconvenience of sin.
A dream’s fence became headstones ensue,
declared wars we can’t afford to win.

Seeded skies less blue to breathe,
the incense of death and device,
ivory towers babel and seethe,
lies spoil the last grains of paradise.

One rich man though licked by the flame,
still sees Lazarus as a servant and to those
who tear Christ off the Cross to make him the same,
Judas still hangs in the shadows.

-------------------------------------------------------------------

Written 10.28.16
Contest: Saints and Sinners
Sponsor: Silent One

Details | War Poem |

Why He Fought 8 x 8

Soldier stashed a silver locket
Safe inside his jacket pocket
When the war would numb his senses
He’d break down and drop pretenses
Open up the only token
That recalled those thoughts unspoken
Images of infant, young wife
For their freedom, he’d give his life




8x8 Poetry Contest
Sponsor:  P. S. Awtry
Date:  November 10, 2018

Details | War Poem |

In Remembrance of Veterans Day 8x8

                                   In Remembrance of Veterans Day 
                                          November, 11'th, 2018



                                                      
                                                 mmmmmmm   
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                             &&&&&&             &&&&)
                            &&&&&         MM&&&&&&&&&&&&&
                          &&&&           &&&&&&&&&&&&&  MM&&
                         &&&          &&&&&&&&  &&&&&&  &&&&&&
                       &&&&        &&&&&&&&(    ) &&&(    )&&&&&&
                        &&&        &&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&
                           &&         &&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&
                              &          &&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&
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                                             &&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&
                                              &&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&  &&&&
                                              #####[      ]#######   &&&&
                                             &&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&   &&&&&
                                           &&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&   &&&&&
                                          &&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&  &&&&&
                                         &&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&& &&&&&
                                        &&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&& &&&&&
                                        &&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&
                                        My heart is yours my only son
                                         With courage fought the war was won
                                         Laid to rest amidst poppies red
                                         Your dreams awoke as blood was shed
                                          The wounds you bore now transcending
                                           Upon lives saved in defending
                                            Heaven awaits with open arms
                                             My only son with healing harms.




Wars! were never a means to an end...in my opinion, only to satisfy the Global Elitists...with profit, power, and land...but yet we must salute, honor and give thanks to the countless women and men, who with exuberant courage gave their lives...just so we could sleep at night...

This poem is dedicated to my friend, Robert Lindley who is doing poorly at the moment...but as a soldier marches on...and to all the women & men who currently serve their Country...god bless and let's show them some love.



Nov.10.2018
8x8 Poetry
Sponsored by: P.S. AWTRY


N/A for contest

Details | War Poem |

September 1945



red rooftops appear to glow in the rainy-day haze
lost in memories of pre-war bliss
     she looks up to watch them bleed

pain is its own reward sometimes
better than the numbness 
     she so desperately seeks to leave behind

tiny poodle escorts her on La Rue de la Paix
peace has come to Paris at last
     but in her heart, agony lingers

she heard the Fuhrer took his own life
cyanide and a bullet, too merciful for a demon
     how her sweet Emil must have suffered in the death camp

his last gift to her, a red umbrella to offer shelter
at a time when he so direly needed protection
     from horrific torture, starvation, gas chambers

footsteps behind her; she pivots, her poodle barks
what’s this?  is rain playing tricks on her eyes?
     he presses his lips on hers and she knows     

yes, yes, these are Emil’s lips
still clad in a prisoner’s striped uniform, he holds her
     she feels his ribs as they embrace

autumn rain soaks the fashion district near their home 
while a violinist in a nearby café plays Chant des Partisans
     overwhelmed, she wonders, is this a dream or is he home to stay?
        



*Written November 1, 2018

Details | War Poem |

Causalities of War

.                                                     Beneath a blanket of earth
                                                     With a pillow made of stone
                                                       Her child eternally sleeps
                                                                    
                                                                   ~~~

.                                                     While at the foot of his bed
                                                           She stands alone
                                               And weeps! And weeps! And weeps!


.                                                  Written:  November 20th, 2009

Details | War Poem |

Gold Star

I remember as a young boy, going out to play, I would sometimes see old Mr. Kimball, sitting on the steps of his porch, often reading the paper. World War II was in full swing so the newspapers and radios were avidly sought out for the latest news. Mr. Kimball was a fireman, and probably not even that old, but he seemed that way to me.

Sometimes, he would invite me to sit with him and we would talk about everything and nothing. I loved spending time with him because, he was the only grown up I knew that took the time to entertain the mind of a young boy.

In his front window hung a small flag. It had a red border surrounding a white field, upon which there were two blue stars. I was always curious about it, so I asked him what it was. He said “It's a Sons in Service flag. One star for each son serving. You remember my boys don't you?” I did of course. Chuck, the oldest, used to tease me, calling me a sissy to get a reaction. Bobby was a couple of years younger, and the bike I was riding once had been his.

Mr. Kimball went on to explain how Chuck was now in the Army and fighting in France. Bobby was in the Navy, aboard a ship somewhere in the Pacific. He didn't say it, but I'm sure he was worried about both, communications being what they were back then.

One day, when I was walking over to see him, I noticed that the flag had changed. It now carried one blue star, but the other one was gold. With the innocence that comes of being a child, I asked what the gold star meant. He quietly said “It means Chuck is coming home”, and without further comment, he turned and went in the house.

A couple of days later, I saw a hearse pull up to the Kimballs house, and four men carry a flag draped box up the porch steps. That is the moment the meaning of war came to a small boy. I knew Chuck was home.

Details | War Poem |

He Was My Sun

He was my sun, my one and only son,
attired as a cowboy for the day. 
And so I handed him a little gun
of fastened random sticks, for him to shoot and play.

Attired as a cowboy for the day
he searched for foes (with bows and arrows made
of fastened random sticks for them) to shoot, and play        
the part of ‘Injuns’ in a mock charade.

He searched for foes (with bows and arrows made)
well written in his story books before he left for school.
The parts of ‘Injuns’ in a mock charade
were tainted with a crimson war paint, oh so cruel.

Well writ in history books before he left from school,
the tales (retold of victories that we’d won)
were tainted with a crimson war paint, oh so cruel.
The flow of paint was not to staunch when once begun.

From tales retold of victories that we’d won,
he learned to fight for God and country glory, though
the flow of pain, ’twas not to staunch when once begun
and bane to both sides (as he’d later come to know).

He learned to fight for God and country glory, though
the wounds of war were kept unseen (while nigh) 
and bane to both sides (as we’d later come to know);
but still he stuffed a duffel bag with several things of youth, then said goodbye.

The wounds of war were kept unseen. While nigh,
the hours boomed, the clock struck 12 at last, his time to leave.
But, still, he stuffed a duffel bag with several things of youth, then said goodbye
to those who’d stay and even those who wouldn’t grieve.

The hours boomed, the clock struck 12 - alas, his time to leave.
They sent back body bags they’d stuffed with severed things of those who’d died
to those who’d stayed. And even those who wouldn’t grieve
with tears were stiff and masked like wooden boxes meant to hide.

They sent back body bags they’d stuffed with severed things of those who’d died;
his boots hung loose, one camouflaged in mud.
With tears, the stiff were masked in wooden boxes meant to hide
our children from the spilling of their blood.

His boots hung loose, one camouflaged in mud;
they said they’d needed him to help defend
our children from the spilling of their blood.
But can they ever see or really comprehend?

They said they’d needed him to help defend,
and so they handed him a little gun.
But can they ever see or really comprehend?
He was my sun, my one and only son.

Details | War Poem |

That Was a Human

Allow me to be disgusted at the jest
and your halfway happy surprise at the end result
of the missile timed precisely:

Did he just splatter?

And allow me to feel the brunt of the bruising
upon my saddened heart, where for others was felt,
from laughing hard.

Yes, all lives matter

Even the ones who don't bear
our national colors
our political expectations    no matter how wrong or right
For just this occasion let us get back to basics:

That was a human

ten fingers and ten toes
perhaps a wife and family to call his own
but do you even know?

            Or even care to think
beyond the face of it?

Getting kicks at watching the Live Leaks
of people being blown to smithereens      It bothers me
That one should find it amusing
Does it bother      You?

---a single tear of blue
is all I'm asking---

Who he was or what he did
what difference does it make?
When life closes the lid
all we have is the acknowledgement:

That was a human      A human

What if those pixels on the screen
were all that was left of that man's memory

would you still find it funny?

And yet still we turn to Facebook Enlightenment
with quotations that decorate a sniper in a holy moment ---

"And oh God. One more thing.
Ignore my enemies heathen prayers
and help me send those bastards
straight to hell.

Amen."

(The amount of "likes" are disheartening
and should be a sin.
Where's the "vomit button" ... ?)

Reading through the comment's section,
like poetry for the juvenile,
and the criminally insane.
No Alka Seltzer      No pills
I'm riding this crazy train unprotected
as if I'm dying for a thrill.

Dying ... at the very least.
Queasy at the vertigo of a nation
acting to love and loving to act

(Nineteen-Eighty-Four called,
they want their plot back)

And have you read empathy such as this?

ROFL, mate! That's classic!

(you have a doggie bag on ya, by chance?
I think I'm gonna be sick)

That was a human

A HUMAN!!!

And you call yourself a Man of God?
Yet still feel compelled
to pull back His Grace to your own ends

... that slippery tide
between your fingers

As if infinity could only be stretched so far;
it won't last long my friend,
before you look into that celestial mirror
scared at what you see

 Is that            me?

Yet still you wear that outpouring of love
on your neck like a trophy
as if you even deserved it.

a single tear of blue     just one
can you give it to me, son?

t h a t w a s a h u m a n

And do you even care?
Does it phase you in the slightest?
Or does a coat of arms
give you further reason to divide?

Jesus died for all      For all

All that upheld the American flag
      as equal to His words.
All who marched to the beat of the drums
      drowning out the birds.
All who bravely proclaimed: We are Heading to War!
                                       We are Heading to War!
And all those who never asked: And what for? What for?

Do you feel its beating on your soul?
S h  o   u    l     d
      I       t        a        l         k
          s           l            o             w?

(the unwritten verses
you added long ago)

It doesn't even matter now,
because all that remains
is what's been left on the page.

All that remains...

Just four sad words
like hopeless sand
slipping through my fingers

That was a human      (or at least it was)
Before Man forgot what he had,
Believing he could do better,
Egging the Almighty to play his game

... back to the drawing board, smirked the Creation

And what about you, Dear Reader?
What will the eulogizer speak
in your honor
when the lights out?

That was a monster
He won't bother you now

Details | War Poem |

Rain over Vietnam

There is the calm before the rain
It’s almost silent all around
The clouds expectant in the sky
Foreboding birds are homeward bound.

The soldiers stare at looming clouds
There is the calm before the rain
And yet there’s tension in the air
Will all this waiting be in vain?

They know the feeling well enough
The sun gets left out in the cold 
There is the calm before the rain
They have to be prepared and bold.

The sound of planes will soon be heard
Torrential bombs will fall again
But ‘til the heavens burst in floods
There is the calm before the rain. 

-----------------------------------------------------------
Inspired by the song “Have you ever seen the rain?”
Sung by Credence Clearwater Revival.
With underlying reference to the Vietnam War.
-----------------------------------------------------------
Contest: Screwed (Mar 2015)
Sponsor: Rob Carmack 
Placed: 7th


Rock N' Roll Contest sponsored by Kelly Deschler. NA

Details | War Poem |

A Thing of Beauty

=================================

A thing of beauty on her wrist
was confiscated by a nurse
who looked for items soldiers missed
in places (and by means) much worse.

They branded her inside the camp,
a thing of beauty on her wrist
replaced by Hitler's horrid stamp,
a stinging band below her fist.

With teeming glee, Frau nurse had hissed,
"Thank me that you won't see the baths"
A thing of beauty on HER wrist
the gleaming fee of psychopaths

Now, she who bears the mark of war
lives free and wears her scar not with
remorse. It's more, at eighty-four,
a thing of beauty on her wrist...

========================

Details | War Poem |

The Poet Warrior

My Dear Enemy
Here I am
In full armor
My quill is full of arrows
My bow is taunt and ready fro battle
My horse is pristine and shiny black
I am your enemy
As you are mine to the death
I shall take my bow and arrow
Pierce you through the heart
My king shall praise and honor me
For many battles so well fought
I know I have to shoot my arrows
To save my own pitiful soul

My dear enemy
I just long for you to know
Every arrow, every drop of blood
Every soul that must depart
Due to my fine skills and sharp arrow darts
I die along with you
I know not who you are
Yet a weep for your lost soul
I imagine other times
Maybe we would sit for tea and cookies
Laughing over words of glee
You and I so battle ready
I am sorry for all the battle scars
The blood that flows so deep
Every arrow that leaves my bow
I am sure it too, also weeps

My Dear Enemy
I prey today that before the dusk
One of you will have a finer bow
My heart no longer has the will
To fill my quill with arrows so
Today, I let one of you end my day
No longer can I live on this way
All my fine arrows fired
Have finally been on target
My Dear Enemy
I love you as any man
I have only love for humanity
I pray one day
Our Kings and Queens shall feel this way
As off the battle field, I am carried away

Details | War Poem |

Standstill

Strangely bent this journey extends
Surreal at times, yet so real at ends
Each end confronts with a hardship of choices
With an abrupt passing, or an eternity of voices...

You and I, once on similar trends
Like brothers, we traversed all evil impends
The wheels then turned, unleashed worst of fears
We parted asunder on an ocean of tears

Through fallen decades, aggrieved heart sustained
I found my calling, forgot I was pained
Just when the going got peaceful and boring
Gales of anguish, and war started pouring

Again, I was forced to extinguish my wills
Left home for those in need of my skills
Forced to welcome the worst of thrills
A reward for one with the highest kills?

As we splattered blood on uncertain causes
Strode down the road of victories and losses
A vessel, merely, I was as I killed
Of sons, of husbands, of fathers, I spilled

In the heat of the battle, as I charged through
When my craving eyes met the eyes of you
That instant, that second, that moment, I knew
Neither decades nor ages could help subdue

My faltering sword could no longer fight
For whom I now behold in my sight
And I question my vow, having vowed despite
Whether or not my cause was right

Yet again, I stand on the recurring hill
In the midst of havoc, at a standstill
A piece of land that I swore to defend
Is it worth the life of a brother, a friend?

Best War Poems | Poetry

The Best War Poems

Indian Ink

Disposable Wisdom

Courage of Youth, Battle of Ypres, Flanders Field

Texian Macabre Arena

Seb's I Love You Eyes

SILENCE OF LOST SOULS

Streets of blood

Achilles, The Journey To Troy, Part Two

God Bless America

When Heaven and Earth Wept

Hope

The Verdict

When the Flowers of Youth Fell

Sold

Why He Fought 8 x 8

In Remembrance of Veterans Day 8x8

September 1945

Causalities of War

Gold Star

He Was My Sun

That Was a Human

Rain over Vietnam

A Thing of Beauty

The Poet Warrior

Standstill