Best Warday Poems
If I were what I long to be
I’d ascend the sky and soar
About the sun
I’d pray my prayers, I’d jump,
I’d run
I’d race all the winds
Until the sun can no longer be
And then rest upon a cloud
Looking down at the sea
I’d twinkle with the stars
And crave upon their lust
I’d dance with the moon
And sway with a gust
I’d be in joy of liberty
If only for once
Away from all the turmoil
Protests and allegiance
Yes, it is I, a wanderer, a
Palestinian under fire
Roaming within my thoughts
In dreams I desire
For a day maybe... when
Weapons are no more,
When blood runs warm in veins
And not cold on tiled floors
I’ll only dream today…lest one day I become
Trapped in total darkness. The chilling cold rips through my flesh,
sending painful chills down my spin. My fear Isolates me in this Tomb of loneliness.
Ripping through my heart like a jagged duel bladed sword. My mind tormented
by your absence. I just can't seem to awaken from this nightmare.
When I open my eyes will you be home? Will this War ever end?
This is my living hell! Life without you. An unsympathizing torchure that haunts
me day in and day out. Until you are back safely in my arms. How cruel
the mind can be. What if? Is he Okay. Lord save me from the demons that taunt
my dreams. Bring my love back home to me.
A soldier fighting for what he hopes is right, trying to make peace with himself... holds on to
a most understated event- the sunrise and pins all his hopes on to it.
Its not yet dawn...
The night has ended.
A soft glow arises in the eastern lands beyond,
Soft, like a mother's touch
Pink, orange,gold,and red all born out of the same deep night
Black desperate sadness reaches out to taste silent delight.
The colour of hope...
The taste of survival returns
Parched throats,blood stained hands...
Another day to hope, to follow the valiant heart...
I pray, someday, to make a new start.
We fight for peace, we kill for you...
Every time we kill, its only something inside us that dies!
Its a sad story, its our silent resigned sacrifice.
The day dawns, amidst the dead and the dying...
Today I am on the battlefield, crying
For the men I have lost, and myself too
But the night has passed and its a day closer to the end,
I hold on to my prayers, silent and few.
"No",
He exclaimed to the tyrant's vicious throne,
Only to have his body later trampled and thrown.
He was the tzadik of the period,
And the weight of the world rested on his shoulders,
His spirit was vested with authority,
As he was a man of great superiority.
A true Renaissance Man,
His qualities unbound by time,
And his murder will remain an unforgettable crime.
And he worked towards
The land of mourning and tragedies,
A land he looked to seek support,
Where the people had other interests to exhort.
Our majesty was led into a trap.
One by one, his family slaughtered,
Rivers of blood spilled and dozens of men killed,
And a baby murdered, as his arms flapped.
Like a bird,
back, forth, up, and down.
With his sword drawn, the falling Hero valiantly Stood,
Against an army that no other man could,
Would they kill the heir of the prophets?
Harm the neck kissed by the Prophet with such tender love?
A man who sat on the Prophet's shoulders as a boy,
Thrown down and trampled like a children toy
Whose body was filled with arrows, resembling a porcupine,
Killed by men with absolutely no spine.
And physically, they could not recognize you,
But deep in our hearts our spirits are with you!
Our tears are shed like the blood from your neck,
As you taste the salt and pus we cry for your day of wreck.
Your physical body so shamed in the aftermath of the storm,
Only to be resurrected into a deserving new form.
No day like your day,
And every day is your day.
For we have dedicated our lives,
To not let your sacrifice go in vain.
A Timeless Revolution,
An endless revolt.
We will Stand where you can no longer stand.
And pick up your sword and fight throughout the land,
The tale of your tragic fate will continue to expand,
For it is the anthem of our lives,
And the song in our graves.
His day began with "Reveille" blaring from within the bowels of the ship.
Sergeants yelled, "Up and at 'em lads! We're takin' a little trip!"
He wearily arose from his bunk to don the accoutrements of war.
He'd survived Guadalcanal, now he faced Iwo Jima's fearsome shore.
They fed him steak and eggs - rookies joked that it may be their final meal.
But the battle-weary Marine was very grim - to him it seemed so surreal.
The chaplain gathered them around and offered a fervent prayer,
Pleading for God's protection and committing them to His care.
The grizzled old "Gunny" yelled, "First platoon over the side!"
"Down those lovely cargo nets, boys! Semper Fi!" he cried!
Bobbing Higgins boats waited below to take him to that perilous strand.
The engines roared as the boat wallowed and rolled t'ward that ebon sand!
He hunkered down with the others, his helmet beating upon his nose.
Others used their helmets to receive bits of breakfast as the boat sank and rose!
Adding to the din of battle so familiar to his ears were shells flying overhead.
As his boat with its precious cargo neared the beach it was hit by zinging lead!
The boat struck a coral reef so they had to wade in water up to their hips.
He struggled with his heavy pack and rifle with a prayer upon his lips.
Brave men fell under withering fire that day as they tried to force a breach.
Brave men forever lost their innocence that day on that hallowed beach!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(© All Rights Reserved)
They fly in the sky, they sail the sea.
They walk on land to keep us free.
The world is proud, the world will smile
Oh, dear lord help us now!
They live each day with danger in the way.
Please, lord, keep them safe.
Those we lost we mourn each day;
Those who fight are still in harm's way.
I pray each day to hear everyone say'
These are heroes in a very special way.
The hero is you, and you it will be
That makes this whole world free.
The world is not blind,
The world can see
Who are those heroes that keep us free.
Free to love and free to smile
Free to live and be proud
You are my hero strong and brave
Even on those rainy days.
We thank you each day for making us safe.
We thank you each day with god's grace.
Be safe and be proud
For we will see you in a little while.
A day of rememberence
a day of joy but sadness
a day of thank you's
a day of memories
Boys who learned to grow up quickly
boys who were whisked away from all they knew
boys who put on their uniform
boys who sharred one thing in common, pride
Men who fought for our country
men who left families behind
men who took their final journey
men who fought for what is now
Soldiers who suffered in the trenches
Soldiers who dodged the bullets
Soldiers who had no salvation
Soldiers who stood proud for us
Heroes who died out on the front line
Heroes who never lived to see this day
Heroes who just made it to D-day
Heroes who were our boys,men and soldiers
A day of celebration along with grief
a day of sorrow along with pride
a day of realistaion
of just how many never returned
from a cold war
boy's,men and soldiers
The weary soldier returned from another perilous patrol,
To continue the battle in his cold, damp and muddy hole.
Hopes for a hot meal and a cup of coffee were mighty slim.
'Twas just another day at the office for him!
The bomber crew had flown for hours protecting our skies,
Feeling the stress but ever alert with their eagles' eyes.
In a day or so they would do it all over again.
'Twas just another day at the office for those gallant men!
The Captain of the Coast Guard boat cruised along the coast,
Responsible for her valiant crew - seldom leaving her post.
Ever on the alert for any emergencies that might occur.
'Twas just another day at the office for her!
Twenty-four hours on duty are normal for the brave marines,
And for the fearless sailors aboard confining submarines.
They won't be home tonight but will continue their roles.
'Tis just another day at the office for those courageous souls!
These dedicated patriots place national destiny above their own,
To ensure that our precious liberties will ne'er be overthrown.
They bear loneliness, fear, stress and frightful strife.
'Tis just another day at the office in their precarious life!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
In South Africa during the Boer War
Granddad got the key of the door
In France during World War 1
He lay wounded when the day was done
He could have met a very bloody end
But for the bravery of his friend
So he lived to fight another day instead
And died an old man in his own bed
The Day it happened I will never forget
The thought stills fills me with regret
The fact that man could be so full of hatred
That they are willing to kill
And be killed
It makes no sense
It makes me wonder what this world is coming to
Every year marks the anniversary
Of one of the saddest events
No one cheers
No one dances
This isn’t a fun time
This date is nothing to be proud of
There is nothing to sing about
You might know what I am talking about
Or maybe not
What I am talking about is a bad day
The day we made many enemies
The day that hundreds, thousands of people lost their lives
Now do you know what I am talking about?
Still no?
Here maybe this will help
9-11
No, not the emergency number
The actual date
On this date four planes were hijacked and crashed
One in a Pennsylvania field,
Another in the Pentagon
But worst of all
Two in the Twin Towers
Friends, neighbors, and family
They lost their lives
Now every minute of everyday
The families of these people
Have to suffer through the pain
The pain of loss
And the pain of knowing that their loved ones won’t come back
They must feel like there is no hope
Wonder what this world has come to
Sometimes so do I
So do I
I love the neon lights
Stepping from under bright marquees
Like girls who haunt the nights
Dusky brown girls that by day seems lovely
But like snowflakes in my warm heart
At nights just melt away
From any recognition that makes them part of me
I love the neon lights
The festive dress of streets from sunset
Until the next day light.
Somehow the mood reminds me
Of my tropic island far away
When day takes off its working clothes
And people like children play
Never blaming life for anything
But through their hardship dance and sing
Until the next baby cries
Until the crows come crowding through the clouds
Until the rice in the pot refuses to rise
Until the next girl is found, unhappy and alone
Beaten, strangled, by an heathen hand
The neon lights run like winnowing sands
I love the neon lights
This masquerade of city nights
Two hundred and twenty stories never written but etched in time
were removed on a day which started fine.
The silver worms traveled down beneath the floors
carrying those whose day (lest they know) would be a chore,
through the escalators and out the doors passing the facades lined with stores.
Aristocrats and bourgeois run through the halls
for no one would ever believe that these stories could fall.
I myself went to the nineteenth floor of Cortlandt and Church
starting my day seeing on which call I would make first.
“My future is looking great”, flashed briefly through my mind,
little did I know that fate was not mine.
A large boom made the buildings shake and the windows had rippled
as I ran to the pane and suddenly was crippled.
I gazed up eighty some ought floors
to see an explosion rocking the world off its doors.
I exclaimed, “My God, their bombing us” at the top of my lungs
and ran down 19 floors...like I was 19 years young.
Standing in the corridor on Dey that day, my eyes witnessed things I’d rather not say.
The second explosion than flashed before my eyes,
and I ran near a bridge to try and survive.
I stood there and wondered and waited what to do next
until one of the stories decided where I should run to avoid the effects.
Half the stories came down like an angry freight train
releasing a smoke monster engulfing all with a white powdered grain.
Covering my mouth, coughing like crazy, crossing the bridge, all sites were hazy.
Standing on the other side of the east I looked to the west
to see the other half of the stories end my friends, to this I attest.
Hundreds and thousands and millions of lives
were all torn apart over this year plus nine.
So I sit here now telling you all first hand
a day in the life of a fairly young man
whose story had began and ended that day
may your hearts stay free and strong
and God Bless the USA.
Afghanistan - fourth time lucky !?
Every day on the news.
(Just before the funny bit)
Soldiers names are scrawled on the grim roll call
Yet in centuries past
Every day in the paper.
Strangely familiar names were recalled.
When will we learn history' s lesson
and stop seeing young lives.
Rubbed out by remote control.
How can we carry on up the Khyber pass.
Fight again, Warriors who live for war.
To killing, then hiding, then killing anew.
Why can’t we learn
The Russian’s lesson
And stop banging our heads on the wall !
Me
Some men bring millions to the Lord's name
by telling them lies like
you go to heaven when you die
and others tell the truth
in the midst of their adversaries angry eyes
they say, judgment day beckons
and no one knows the day or time
David has not ascended into heaven
only our champion
the son of man
Jesus Christ
ashes to ashes
dust to dust
what do you think will happen
when the all mighty remembers us
think he'll be pleased by the way we treat each other
or do you think he'll raise a fuss
and say, "Why do you love to sin ?
were you not created sisters and brothers?"
ever consider what he did
he's given us all of these things
to do with whatever we please
so we killed and warred, and starved each other
and there are flies, and death and hell and disease
and more
some people take vacations
and fly all over the world
and some pray to God
there'll be enough to feed their little girl
and we rant and we rave over such stupid little things
and I myself am guilty
beyond belief
so I thank God for another day to live and think and breath
yeah just thank God for another day
to live and to think and breath
and try and teach the man inside
to become a better me
the day i run,
is the day i die,
because i will fight,
for what is mine.