Best War Poems
Each day Annie Lesley opened a can
Her eighty-six-year-old hands trembling
As she sat with her cat and ate pet food
What is wrong with this elder’s rendering?
Pride swallowed to remain independent
Large, sunken eyes peered from her weathered face
Her late spouse a decorated hero
Annie’s lifestyle a national disgrace
More enlightened cultures all over the world
Have revered their seniors throughout history
Asians and Native Americans
Are just two who honor their ancestry
Polynesians, other Pacific tribes
Respect the wisdom that comes with age
Seniors are welcome in family homes
But here in the states they’re placed in a cage
Bone-thin Annie Lesley chose to be free
Amazing neighbors with her endurance
When social services tried to intervene
She fought with remarkable resilience
Old photos on walls told many great tales
But only purring Tibby was listening
Each morning she rose to care for her cat
Until the day that Tibby went missing
In tears she claimed he must have been poisoned
Though in cat years he was older than she
Each day she sat by the window, staring
Awaiting the homecoming of Tibby
She’d been abandoned by society
Lost in the world’s most “progressive” nation
For sacrificing her spouse in World War II
Annie received little compensation
This widowed war bride never had children
Her mate had met his fate in Normandy
Posthumous awards she dusted each day
Annie’s life was defined by loyalty
To a man and a cat who never came home
And the vigil she kept all alone
Ended quietly one warm summer night
When an angel came to take Annie home
With a can of cat food in hand when found
Annie had nothing else to eat in her house
This is the way a veteran’s wife died
And tear stains had blemished her faded blouse
Although seniors’ wisdom is heeded
In societies that grow from history
Too many like Annie lead lonely lives
Wisdom untapped, they die in poverty
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.
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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.
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Note:
This poem was selected and requested for teaching purposes at Cambridge University. Permission was granted for educational use.... RJL
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
“Only the dead have seen the end of war.”
Plato
Politicians keep lying
Hate keeps breeding
Jets keep firing
Babies keep dying
Mothers keep crying
Homes keep tumbling
Hope keeps crumbling
Time keeps ticking
Injustice keeps screaming
Funerals keep delaying
Peacemakers keep meeting
Media keeps shocking
Propaganda keeps faking
Tanks keep bombing
Earth keeps shaking
Fear keeps spreading
Soldiers keep fighting
Widows keep weeping
Sorrows keep growing
Babies keep dying
Mothers keep crying
Tears keep flowing
Hunger keeps increasing
Journalists keep reporting
Poets keep writing
Music keeps playing
Teachers keep teaching
Clergymen keep praying
Preachers keep preaching
Protestors keep protesting
Faith keeps searching
Peace keeps fading
Ignorance keeps showing
Missiles keep shooting
Humanity keeps bleeding
World keeps sleeping
Babies keep dying
Mothers keep crying
Sophie Scholl was raised a Christian in a Lutheran family
Born in the town of Forchtenberg in south west Germany
For standing defiant against evil with her young life she'd pay
In a country that was in deep turmoil and had lost its way.
She was a young teenager in nineteen thirty three
When a new leader offering hope, emerged in Germany
Adolf Hitler was an Austrian, who came to power
And for many it was the start of their darkest hour.
To unite the German people the Nazis held rallies
In some of the larger towns and all the big cities
But something dark and sinister was taking place
The evil Nazis were plotting to create a master race.
All the youth were encouraged to join an organisation
Hitler youth they were known all over the nation
Sophie and her brother together, with some of their friends
Turned their backs on the movement and vowed to make amends.
Word was getting around about death camps and persecution
Together they decided to form, a small non violent organisation
Known as the 'White Rose' who urged the people to renounce Hitler
They handed out leaflets telling the truth, about the Nazis slaughter.
One day at Munich University where Sophie studied as a student
She was seen distributing leaflets on what Nazi ideology meant
A janitor intervened and confronted her, and wouldn't let her go
She was arrested and then handed over to the notorious Gestapo.
They interrogated her to find out, who her accomplices were
But she wouldn't give them their names, as they tortured her
They charged her with high treason and sentenced her to death
To die by the guillotine and the date of execution was set.
They executed twenty one year old Sophie for making a stand
And they had accused her of being a traitor, to the fatherland
They eventually captured the others, five of them in all
And they too walked to their deaths standing proud and tall.
It’s people like Sophie who want to make the world a better place
And not supporting some twisted ideology like a master race
The Nazis were eventually defeated and their leaders tried
But not before Sophie and millions of other innocents had died.
Written 15th May 2021.
In sandy dunes on my back I lie
Dreaming of warm beaches, blue sky
And a girl named Lorelei
On memories I fly
War seen from on high
I vow to try
Not to cry
As I
Die
Written November 5, 2019
For the Rhyming Nonet contest.
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”
red rooftops appear to glow in 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
N/A in The Red Umbrella Contest
Contest judged that 11/13/2018
to walk in early morning's still
to see the silence through the chill
to smell the rise of dawn from night
to hear the sky's unravelling light
to taste the distant fields of grass
to breathe the dry stone walls that pass
to touch the earth's pure pristine air
to catch the world - and hold it there.
Dear Mother, should my footsteps never tread
The pathway which would lead to your embrace,
Know this, though many words were left unsaid,
Your love has pierced the darkness of this place.
I cannot lie and least of all to you,
My mind is frail, and body's wracked with pain.
I tremble as destruction sounds anew
And blinding terror strikes this bleak terrain.
Incessant haunting screams assault the mind,
And sights I've witnessed which I'll ne'er forget.
Scarred men lie bleeding, rendered lame and blind
Their troubled souls with thoughts of death beset.
And how my weary spirit yearns to roam
Through country meadows leading me back home.
07/01/19
'War sonnet poetry contest' : Sponsored by: Mark Massey
I paced between the old and new
along the rows where gray stones grow,
so careful not to tread upon
the freshly filled and seeded few.
Soft shadows slid across the lawn
where long ago a scythe would mow;
its ringing echoed down the row
like angels voices singing now,
a prayer of faith, a sacred vow.
While young men die in foreign fields,
when once they played with cardboard shields -
now dig, like I, an endless trench,
a hole where mud and blood would drench;
the devil's own unholy stench.
Today my labors dig like they,
yet here, a grave where mourners pray
as chapel bells ring hymns of peace;
a futile wish for hate to cease.
The soil is scarred across the world,
with trench and grave, more holes to fill,
while there, on high, a tempest swirled.
It all will heal...it is his will.
Abandon futile attempts to run
Behold the process has begun
Step toward your darkest fear
Let’s flip the switch to a new frontier
Penetrating deep within
Evacuate your mortal sin
This brave new age is imminent
And it will be magnificent
Arouse you from your fantasies
Now descending into anarchy
Warmest welcome to the factory
Where we’ll embed your battery
Rewiring primitive human brain
Making the connection, hook up to mainframe
Your species will become extinct
Once your circuits have been linked
It’s time to engage in a robotic new age
A unique innovation to stamp out your plague
The world as you knew it is now obsolete
Putting Earth born consciousness forever to sleep
Feel the algorithm palpitate through each vein
Re-programming thought waves as we upgrade your brain
Terminate pulse, extinguish your flame
You are now just an interface without any name
You’re free from pain my hollow creation
Just an automated simulation
Transmissions shortly will resume
Encased in solid metal tomb
Silence! We will not hesitate
Proceed and greet your looming fate
wave goodbye to beta waves
You see, you unearthed your own graves
Now technology has advanced
You have been mechanically enhanced
You possess no type of resistance
For you are now non-existent
No longer God fearing
Thanks to our engineering
Disassemble your parts
Insert micro implants
Automation of the nation
Complex sophistication
Dreamless in electric coma
Breath in domination’s aroma
Soulless android with a cold vacancy
Elevate and amplify to the highest frequency
Encrypted data takes over the screen
All salute to the age of machines
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
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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...
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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