Best Warchristmas Poems
Oh sweet little Christingle girl
Your daddy is so very far away
“Bring my daddy safely home”
These are the words you pray
Oh sweet little Christingle girl
Daddy is away at the war
“Bring my daddy safely home
Bring him safely to our door”
Oh sweet little Christingle girl
How she misses daddy far away
How sad she is, he won’t be home
To be with them on Christmas day
At Sunday school she made a christingle
She took an orange to represent the world.
And to symbolize the blood Christ shed
She took the red ribbon from her curls
Then she decorated four tooth picks
With fruits and sweets and marshmallows
These she placed in the four corners
To represented all the earthly souls
Then finally in the centre of the orange
She stood a single candle of purest white
And when lit, the candle represented
The world filled with Christ’s loving light
The sweet little Christingle girl
Took it home with her that day
And stood it in the window
So daddy would find his way
And the sweet little Christingle girl
With her daddy so very far away
Knew that when he did come home
That would be their Christmas day
Form:
This year, at the holidays
of course, I miss home,
surrounded by sand dunes,
and Iraqi mosque-domes.
But I willingly came
to guard against fear—
not let terrorist conquer
everything I hold dear.
I know my mom worries
about me over here
away from family,
and good Christmas cheer.
And while I do miss
the fun and the fare,
I know I am fighting
for reasons most share—
For Freedom, for Justice,
for our forefather’s plan,
for choices—God-given,
to every man.
And for all you protester
in the streets of your city,
looking upon me
with hatred and pity,
I’m fighting for you
to have that skewed right
to act like a fool—
burn our flag in plain sight,
For our children to prosper
without boot in their back,
and patriots guiding them,
to stay on the right track!
It’s not just our training,
but a true state of mind—
to be honest and faithful,
and love all mankind.
I’d gladly lay down
all I can give—
my life and my soul
so that others may live.
And to let every man pray
to the God he sees fit,
tho, I may not agree,
he’s entitled to it.
My sons and my daughters
may not know it yet,
but I fight for their future,
and have no regret.
So celebrate Christmas
in your own merry way,
and please send a prayer
we’ll come home one day—
When this war is over,
we’ve finally won,
we’ve conquered the terrorists—
sent ‘em all on the run.
Americas worth it—
all this sacrifice,
and, Mom, don’t you worry
‘cause I wouldn’t think twice.
I’d do it again—
even die in the sand
for Freedom and Liberty,
for we MUST take a stand.
“Merry Christmas—Blessed New Year,”
to all, I now say,
and, “Thank you, dear Jesus—
have a Happy Birthday!”
Tamara Hillman
©2010
'Twas just him and his thoughts in that cold and lonely hole,
Awaiting the sergeant's dreaded muster to begin the night's patrol.
For days the weary soldier had been on the line in bitter battle,
'Midst the deafening roar of cannon and the musket's steady rattle!
'Twas Christmas Eve and he was far from home in Afghanistan.
He was barely eighteen years old but had quickly become a man.
In the fading light he read from Luke the story of that Glorious Night,
That gave him hope and warmed his soul despite his precarious plight.
He turned the pages of his Bible to the soothing Twenty-third Psalm,
To read again that beautiful passage - that reassuring message of calm.
A bright star shone over his lonely post reminding him of Bethlehem,
And the star that topped the tree at his home in far away Birmingham.
His thoughts turned to home and better times with his Mom and Dad.
He mused upon Christmases past and the good times that they'd had;
The good food his Mom prepared and presents beneath the tree.
Alas, Christmas dinner this year would be cold coffee and an MRE.
During the lull in battle he saw from afar a winding camel train,
And shepherds herding their bleating flocks across that desolate plain.
Such a peaceful yet poignant scene, he mused, 'midst the gore of war,
Reminding him once again of that first joyous Christmas Eve of yore!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
On this cold winter night
A horror unfurls
As they leave their trenches
Under the Bagpipes skirl
It's Christmas Eve
In World War One
Over the top they leave
The killing has begun
Knee deep in mud
Barbed wire and bodies
The piper laments
Their bravery embodied
To march into battle
With their weapon of pipes
Whilst bullets and bombs
Leave the theatre in strife
Onward they march
Turning men into hero's
The battle of the Somme
Last centuries ground zero
What makes such a man
To enter a war
His weapon of music
That they follow him for
Amongst the men that fall
Others pick up their guns
When the piper falls
Their is no one
On this cold Christmas Day
The horrors have been unfurled
As one looks over the trenches
To a different world
But the very next day
In the distance you will hear
The sound of the Scottish Bagpipes
Leaving their enemy in fear
In memory to all who fell at Christmas time, and especially to the pipers
who used music as their weapon, we will remember them, as all will be remembered
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/war-5.php
A veteran of World War Two sat by his hearth thinking back on the war.
Through dim and misty eyes he recalled his buddies and the horrible gore.
He wondered why he survived to come home when others forfeited life,
In The Battle of the Bulge where he was a rifleman midst that brutal strife.
He recalled too many nights shivering in his foxhole with freezing feet,
Trying to keep awake guarding his post in the blinding snow and sleet.
From afar could be heard thundering cannon that was aimed his way.
"Lord", he prayed "please let me survive this night to live another day!"
He recalled being scantily clothed - hot coffee and food was very rare.
He damned those in the rear for his plight who didn't seem to care.
On Christmas Day those in the rear dined on turkey with lots to spare.
For Christmas dinner he and his buddies ate C-rations for holiday fare.
His eyes misted when he thought of frozen heroes lying in the snow,
Their grieving next-of-kin - the little kids whose dads they'd never know.
But in the midst of battle he must put all such gruesome thoughts aside,
And not let his brothers down - those brave men who soldiered at his side.
With other old veterans he talked with kids in school lest they forget,
Telling them how much is owed to those who paid that final debt!
He buried his face in gnarled hands that once held the terrible weapons of war,
Weeping unabashedly pleading, "Please God, no more strife forever more!"
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
The bombs they fell on Christmas night,
Both sides entrenched in a bitter fight.
And as Christmas day drew near,
There was no thought of Christmas cheer.
The soldiers noticed in the night,
A star that shone far too bright.
Then what next did appear,
Filled the soldiers hearts with fear.
A ghastly angel with wings all torn,
Spoke,:On this very day was born:.
:The son of God, the King of Kings,
And on this special day, he brings.:
:The hope of peace, between all men:,
Then the angel was gone again.
As the men climbed from their holes,
They saw the battles deadly tole.
So many bodies strewn around,
They covered every inch of ground.
The soldiers hearts were filled with grief
And yet that feeling was quite brief.
As orders came to fight once more,
The men returned to their holy war.
The soldiers failed to see the light,
And the bombs they fell on Christmas night.
With so many lives just thown away,
The bombs they fell on Christmas day.
So many bodies strewn around,
They covered every inch of ground.
The soldiers hearts were filled with grief,
Yet that feeling was quite brief.
As orders came to fight once more,
The men returned to their holy war.
The soldiers failed to see the light,
As the bombs they fell on Christmas night.
With so many lives just thrown away.
The bombs they fell on Christmas Day.
Form:
Christmas Tree Over Dresden
Feb 14,1945 Dresden Germany
In their un-loving light, to stop a heart,
descending in the night, revealing all,
fortelling all to come, right from the start,
the soul of man did make its deathly call;
and dressed in light, a city stripped so clean,
their Valentine, to pray now is too late--
an ending not conceived--nor ever seen,
is close at hand, and in the hands of fate!
Warm in the night, a child could see the glow
of all the light, and see a Christmas tree;
just falling from the night, and then to show
that what we see's not really what we see;
Exploding in the night, death makes its call;
brought on by wrong and right, but butchers all.