Best Wardeath Poems
White marble stones
Stand proud in the sun
To remember my colleagues
The heroic fallen ones
Many a battle
Many a campaign
Some did return
For some never the same
On the green grass i stand
Blue sky above
The souls of my comrade's
Like peaceful sitting doves
The name on this stone
Reminds me of the day
My best friend and brother
Was taken away
An offensive was launched
Brothers at war
Bunker to take
At the top of a tor
Smoke screen exhausts the view to the hill
As we wind our way through
Zipping bullets, blood spill
Noises of lead, as they rip through the flesh
As we hit the barbed wire
Now a scarlet stained mesh
Objective in sight as we approach our aim
As i hear the groan of the injured
Many dead and maimed
Grenade pin pulled
Bunker window we lob
Hands sweating
How many lives will we rob
Explosion flash with shouts of pain
As the smoke lifts on this bloody terrain
We enter the Bunker
To witness our task
The enemy lie distorted
Faces grimace, death mask
I turn to my brother, to signal its safe
As a shot rings out, in this theatre place
He stands still for a moment
Eyes glazing and cold
The death of my sibling
At 19 years old
As i open my eyes, and turn to my son
I see what i had, as he holds my grandson
Family values, love and a bond
As i remember my brother
Of whom, i was so fond
I proudly walk past, salute as i go
The white stones standing proud
Peaceful doves in a row
I find my self fortunate to stand here and tell
To talk of my brother, and the fallen as well
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/war-2.php
Sad song singing as the sickle keeps swinging,about Dead dogs and draftees
Marching mad miles of misery
through trenches of terror and maniacle mazes...on the whims of warlords in psychopathic phases
Genocidal generals make slaves of the free...they salute the sadistic
Dead dogs and draftees
Hunted and haunted tormented and taunted
Every twist and every turn leaves them ugly and unwanted
Rich rulers counting money...never minding the means
While killer kings send them off to their doom,deep in jungles of jeapordy
Hidden in darkness you can feel their disease
Life is defeat and death victory...decay in death deserts
Dead dogs and draftees
Deformed and disfigured...some never delivered
society quivers as reality screams
In the valley of vultures...no sound in this scene
Your worst nightmare is their daily dream...rest in peace 4ever
Dead dogs and draftees
* For Carol's contest
Peaceful Dreams
Battlefields
Contradictions to God’s intentions
Death toll headlines spark contemplation
World without war
Could such dreams come true?
Hope lingers in hearts seeking clues
Make it happen
Extend a loving hand to all nations
End the tragic conflagration
Fiery death scenes
Who emerges victorious
In battles so notorious?
I dream of peace
Humanity and compassion
Enjoyed by every nation
Harmony reigns
And every life is recognized
As one with merit, a unique prize
Our Lord’s vision
Is surely within reach of man
Black, white, red and tan
Learning to love
Accepting our differences
Guided by spiritual influences
The black wall reflected my white-washed skin
and disheveled jacket, above the chattering din...
Loosly lopsided glasses hang limply on my face,
Cold, dark, black, they somehow seemed to fit this place.
The smooth memorial seemed to stretch on,
Longer than death itself;a banner, a chord, an unsung hero's song.
...
Memories race through my unsettled mind,
The dense rainforest reverberates right behind...
Exploding artillery, I see several comrades fall down.
They lay moaning or silently still on the densely foliaged ground.
Like tin soldiers, “Playing dead,” I force myself to believe
Trying to dam the tide of fear, for death is all I see.
“Will, help!" a young and bloodied soldier calls to me.
Hands gruffly grabbed my shoulder; I meet my commander’s steely eyes,
Torn, bruised, and bloody... I could see he wasn't surprised.
“We won’t survive with extra baggage. Retreat to the copter, now!”
He hollered hollowly, his featured in a ragged, downcast bow.
Pondering quickly: Die a hero? Or forever regret today?
Without a hesitation, I hoisted that young man up right away.
He seemed light, until I picked up another, fallen on the beaten path.
The odds were all against me; flying bullets unfurled their wrath.
Lifting yet another, I wrapped him silently around my tired arm.
The day I died, two comarades were saved and taken away from harm.
...
And for a single breathless moment, I thought that I had seen myself,
In the teary-eyed man reading these lost names all by himself.
Now and forever, my name will be a simple written sprawl.
An etching in a stone, a memoir to this black unyielding wall.
Beth Watkins
3/7/11
~Dedicated to those heroes who have died to defend our freedom.~
War Horse by Steven Cooke
Taken from Cloven fields,
Where skylark and Grouse Linger.
Into the bowels of a troopship,
No scent of Morning Dew, No Bird song
Only sweat and urine,
And the distant sounds of war.
No light, no grass of home, only the whip.
For he is bound for Flanders field.
His rider glorious in his regalia, sword in hand.
He was his master now, and the horse’s salvation.
Kindness, a quiet word, an apple, their bond complete.
His last feed, bathed in a red sun,
Which hovered above the morning mist hiding yesterday’s sin.
For this is the place where death is king and reason is lost
This day, where man throws sacrifice to the gods,
Like so much sour grain, crushed, and discarded.
To blow away into the winds of time,
Recorded by nations into the ledgers of loss,
For now it is time
The lines gather, then the slow trot, their proud heads, restrained,
Their mouths foaming on the bit,
These beasts of burden knowing no fear,
A site worthy of Valhalla
Their Trust, in man, galloping where heroes dare not go
Onward, onward, they gallop,
Row on row into the fog, No grass here,
Only mud, and wire,
Waiting for the days cull.
This place, Mans ultimate betrayal,
Onward, Onward, Nostril’s flared, Eyes wide,
steam rising from his Flanks,
Every muscle, straining for the next stride.
Then the Stumble, a moment’s recovery,
Blood pours from his proud neck, then the ground.
His head rose, a hand strokes his brow, the last kindness,
A wavered shot ushers his life away, like so many before,
No one will weep for you my War horse,
No letter home,
They’ll be No mention in dispatches, No Memorial
For you are just an animal,
Sacrificed on the altar of man, left to rot in Flanders field.
But for those precious minutes, he was more than man,
This day, of all days, he kept his bond, did not flinch,
Though death was all around,
Galloped blindly through the death rattle of the guns, face on,
No retreat, Onward, Onward,
The magnificence of the horse, No equal, never forget,
For it is the shame of a nation, a sin of mankind,
To undo the hand of god.
No glory here, only an empty cup left on the altar of insanity
Taken From Cloven Fields,
Where the Skylark and Grouse Linger
For I will weep for you,
My noble friend,
My War Horse, You Magnificent Beast.
It was there, in lands afar, where
War knew nothing of disdain and mar
Where winds wafted zest amongst cavalry,
And dignity was a line drawn upon rivalry
It was a time when death beheld justice,
And when the sinful held torment for injustice
It was when nobility was a statue of gold,
And when religion, in word and action, was told
There was infidelity yes! Disloyalty, and deceit,
But goodness then, would always be there to compete
It is death today… it is venom in blood,
It is only plight, and fear of all but God…
Kokoda Ten Shilling note.........................
Johnno had been out a tracking Japanese , in Kokoda's , misty green...
It was 1942, smell of death, slaughter so obscene.......
Suddenly two Japanese appeared, Don fired and death was there.......
Just pointed the old Tommy gun, two bursts two bodies, yair.....(aussie yeah)
Don checked the Officer first and found a ten bob note....
Invasion money for Australia , in case you didn't know it?.......
Bertie had wounded another Japanese, a big Mongolian type....
He was kneeling saying the Lords prayer, Bertie smashed his skull to tripe....
Brains splattered up Dons back as he found the ten bob note....
And Bertie muttered 'we're here to kill Jap's ' checking the pockets of his coat....
.45 was old Tommy gun, one or two in a Japanese brisket....
And Death appeared as cruel and hard as the Aussie Army biscuit....
After that Don went alone to find the enemy line....
Treading carefully sniffing the breeze, for the hay smell, Jap divine.....
Drover Dick wanted a prisoner, to talk of old Tojo...(Colonel Dick Marson)
But they mostly died in a bayonet fight or a bullet made em slow.....
You heard the little rattle as the Japanese loaded a bullet....
And after 5 shots from his Arisaka , fixed bayonet you just knew it....
Bayonet parry or a butt slap, spike him quick as you will....
To spill your blood hes coming, stop the bugger with a 45 cal. pill.....
Don Johnson .written Anzac day 2010...Anzac Day when we remember our war dead...
as Don Johnson of the 2/25th Battalion said of Kokoda the butcher shop.
http://www.scullywag.com/kokoda1942stoush/
You were a soldier with pride
Defending a nation
From forces of evil
You fought on the sands
Of a South Pacific land
You fought for an island
Owned by Japan
Our forces were strong
And you fought with great might
The island of Iwo Jima
You would take that night
Though death was around you
You faltered not
You fought with bravery
You knew not how to stop
Victory was yours, your brothers
Your friends
A victory that death will make
You forever live
You helped our nation
Win the war
That one tiny island
Was one Great reward
You gave your life
Or maybe not
Regardless your destiny
You fought a great fight
Sixty years has now
Come and gone
But we are still proud
Of the bravery you have shown
Dedication
To my grandfather, Jack Madison Fluitt, a United States Marine Corp. Raider who fought the
battle of Iwo Jima. You are gone now but we remember your life with much pride and honor.
To all the other soldiers who fought at Iwo Jima or any other battle of World War II,
thank you for our freedom. We owe our lives to you.
©March, 25,2005 Kimberly Fluitt
Amisdt the lull of flying rockets and shells I stare at this photo and feel terribly sad
My Grandfather, cut down in youth; my Dad, bound in a chair, with legs, iron clad
Mom with foresight, had it sealed in plastic, to keep it safe away from the damp
She may have dreamt on some dark night that I'd spend time in this cold swamp
Although sheets of rain fall endlessly fast, intermittent sunlight cast out warm rays
So often this brings some comfort and the hope, that all this will end soon, some day
Knee deep in rice fields we tread, with deadly snakes; critters running for dear life
Frightened by sounds of hell's orchestra accompanied by fires and strange light
So many buddies lay in final sleep; I am numb; I no longer feel lucky to be alive
Unaware of where or who the enemy is; bearing no special distinction from allies
And I believe, this is a horrible joke being played designed to steal souls of men
What else is hidden as we grimly watch our friends' bodies packed in bags to send
In the heat of battle we stand brave; but cry for Mothers as we lie in this trench
Any atempts to conceive how is this serving my country, in fury my fists would clench
In this shadow of death I make peace with my maker as death may take me away
How arrogant and delusional to believe that destiny can be circumvented this way..
~*~
For Miranda Lambert's "World War of Vietnam" Contest
Forget Not…Lest History Repeats
Victims of the Nazis Regime:
Jehovah's Witnesses and Jews.
Marched like chickens to their slaughter.
Once walked in twelve million, plus, shoes.
Social democrats and partisans,
Gypsies and orphans did death reap.
Disabled by body or mind –
Add more feet to the deadly heap.
Communists, and trade unionists,
Soviet prisoners-of-war,
Polish Intelligentsia,
Vacant shoe-stack grows from the floor.
Adolf Hitler ordered them killed.
Annihilation camp, grim rouse,
Death at Auschwitz-Birkenau –
The stench of death reeks in mourned shoes.
WRITTEN FOR ABE LOPEZ "Leather Voices" Contest
© Dane Smith-Johnsen
May 14, 2010
Poetic Form: Quatrains
I am a superior soldier and death is my mission,
my mission is death.
I have pledged allegiance
to serve my country and protect it against any foe,
foreign or domestic.
Death can come for me at any time
but my killer instincts and my instincts to kill,
will ensure my survival.
I have been taught obedience
and discipline and without them I cannot function
according to the chain of command.
Disobedience will bring me pain, but nevertheless
pain is something I have learned to befriend
‘coz in death I will feel no pain.
I take him everywhere I go and especially in combat.
my opponent could be a deadly adversary,
but I pray each night for strength to fight another day.
I’ve growned accustomed to the bloodshed
and my determination for victory
makes me the ultimate killing machine.
Because of my trainings, I have relinquished all fears
and must display courage in the presence of my enemies.
I am a soldier by nature and my mission is death,
Death is my mission.
a Constructed Contract killing
enhancements under my feet
Silent gases that can't be breathed
souls ready to be fed to the beast
money mix with blood
tears coughed up with Murder on (in) hand
death is but an unfortunate termination of life
a shaking building of life's little pieces of time
which can fall one brick at a time. or be
demolished by a violence, storm of mishaps
or to be perfidiously shattered by the thing call man
and so i (I) die helpless with no way to save my, self
and wonder how liquid drops of poisonous tears
can float in the air like mist to skin
and like wax to the inter ear... bring confusion and death
I now take my leave of you
and pray with open eyes
for a better death than what may surly awaits me
and may your final sleep, be as you always dreamed!
aka:lyricvixen (vlf)
What glory comes from death and grit?
What glory comes from lives unlived?
What glory comes from young souls lost?
What glory comes from death above?
What glory comes when night falls still?
What glory comes when all are ill?
What glory comes when right is wrong?
What glory comes when all are gone?
Confused Surreal 9-11 (continued)
By Dane Ann Smith-Johnsen
News flashes’ disillusionments then changed from bad to worse.
But chaos had not seen it’s end, attack was just the first.
The pentagon was next in line. God! Clear it out in time?
The word came through that tower two had crumbled to the ground.
But chaos had not seen it’s end, attack was just the first.
The World Trade Center’s death toll soared our citizens were lost.
The pentagon was next in line. God! Clear it out in time?
Then, word came through that tower two had crumbled to the ground.
The World Trade Center’s death toll soared our citizens were lost.
Debris filled streets for miles around as people fled for life.
Then, word came through that tower two had crumbled to the ground.
How could this happen on our soil? We are the brave and free.
Debris filled streets for miles around as people fled for life.
Reality not sunken in, we all saw freedom’s cost.
How could this happen on our soil? We are the brave and free.
Real heroes sacrificed their lives and crashed Flight 93.
Reality, not sunken in, we all saw freedom’s cost.
Round and round our heads did spin; we watched in disbelief.
Real heroes sacrificed their lives and crashed Flight 93.
The country came together then, war was no mystery.
Round and round our heads did spin; we watched in disbelief.
The facts had all displayed themselves United States are we
The country came together then, war was no mystery.
And friends from all around the world joined us as brave and free.
You were a soldier with pride
Defending a nation
From forces of evil
You fought on the sands
Of a South Pacific land
You fought for an island
Owned by Japan
Our forces were strong
And you fought with great might
The island of Iwo Jima
You would take that night
Though death was around you
You faltered not
You fought with bravery
You knew not how to stop
Victory was yours, your brothers
Your friends
A victory that death will make
You forever live
You helped our nation
Win the war
That one tiny island
Was one Great reward
You gave your life
Or maybe not
Regardless your destiny
You fought a great fight
Sixty years has now
Come and gone
But we are still proud
Of the bravery you have shown