Best Warhome Poems
Mike came home from Afghanistan yesterday,
I ran into him at the VFW...he looked at me
from behind eyes that had seen what no 22 yr. old
kid should have to see....he told me he didn't
belong here, that his brothers were in the s---
and he wasn't there to help......
Mike came home from Afghanistan two-weeks ago,
but only his body was here, his head was
still playin' tricks on him....... Mike didn't say much,
just blasted his drinks and looked uncomfortable.
Mike came home from Afghanistan three-months ago,
I heard he had been a recon sniper in the Stan,
and watched as one of his brothers had been
ambushed and snatched in the distance,
unable to help.......
Mike came home from Afghanistan four-months ago,
people said he went crazy at the bar, raced-off
on his motorcycle and crashed goin' 110 mph.
around a highway crossover in the pourin'-rain.
Mike never came home from Afghanistan,
but his body's in a box, buried in his hometown.
POW – MIA
Grandma, when Grandpa went to Vietnam
And left you at home alone
Did you ever think he wouldn't return
And be forever gone
No, dear I thought he'd be back
And never leave again
But that crazy war in Vietnam
Was one we couldn't win
Well, Grandma, where is he now
Is he still fighting the war
Will he ever come home to be with us
Why did he go so far
My child your Grandpa had to go
And fight for freedom's sake
But he won't be coming home again
And that's so hard to take
But Grandma, if he's not coming home
Why did he have to stay
I'd like to see Grandpa again
So he and I could play
Well, son I'm sorry to tell you this
There is no other way
Your Grandpa may be a prisoner of war
Or what the Army calls MIA
Well, why is he in prison
Did he commit a crime
I don't understand, Grandma
It's been a long, long time
Yes, dear, you're right, it's been so very long
Since Grandpa went away
But all the love he gave to us
Is with us every day
You're right Grandma
He really did love us all
He had to go to Vietnam
To answer his country's call
My child you are so very wise
And one day you'll understand
Your Grandpa had to go and fight
For the freedom of our land
Grandma, I love you so
And I'll never go away
I won't leave you home alone
Home is where I'll stay
Thank you dear, that's very kind
But Grandma will be alright
I love you too
God is my guiding light
He's my light too, just like Grandpa said
He's always by our side
He helps us every day
And dries the tears we've cried
Curtis Moorman
June 17, 2011
This is the crews final flight, their twenty-fifth mission.
"Lord", they pray, "deliver us one last time from this perdition!"
Thank You for Your guiding hand upon the yoke thus far.
We ask for Your protection, nothing this mission to mar!"
They get the green light from the guys in the tower,
Then roar down the runway, engines straining at full power!
Crew place their trust in the Lord and their venerable old queen:
Their durable, faithful, war-weary B-Seventeen!
They climb steadily from their British home station,
Joining other flights in a protective box-formation.
Gunners on the alert and the bombardier at the ready;
Navigator charting the way, pilot keeping the plane level and steady!
The target is sighted, shot and shell fly as thick as hail.
Over the intercom is heard an anguished cry from the tail!
The gunner is wounded, please God, don't let him die!
Two engines are gone, it's becoming difficult to fly!
Two little buddies, P-Fifty-Ones, close in to escort them home!
Flaps and wheels are lowered, they land smoothly on the drome!
The gunner survived, they thank God for their salvation,
Each full of jubilation, ready for home and joyous celebration!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(© All Rights Reserved)
When the battle is won, 'tis the general who claims the laurel wreath.
Seldom is lavish praise bestowed upon the lowly ranks beneath.
But it's the valiant fellow in the trenches with his bayonet and gun,
Who bears the brutal brunt of battle to see the victory won!
In all the countless conflicts since biblical time began,
'Tis the lieutenants and sergeants who execute the battle plan.
Generals concoct grandiose schemes from the comfort of a bunker,
While the fellow in the trenches from bomb and shell must hunker!
His home is a burrow in the ground, dug to comply with regulations.
There he tries to sleep, keep socks dry and eat his meager rations.
His helmet becomes a lavatory to brush his teeth and shave.
It also serves as a dandy tub for taking and occasional lave!
He foregoes the "comfort" of home now and then to take a stroll,
Trudging thro' mud, sleet and snow on a hazardous night patrol,
Gingerly plodding thro' fields of mines, adding tension to his woe.
Returning to his barren hole, how he pines for a steaming cup o' joe!
There's no relief from the constant din of battle or the cannons' roar.
He knows all too well the horrible gore and agony of war.
It takes cooks, artillerymen, "tankies" and all to see the victory won,
But it's the courageous fellow in the trenches who really "gits 'er done".
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired (© All Rights Reserved)
Support our troops I do
Uncontrollable the world it may be
Put your life in the line so I can live a free life
Protect and serve your country you do perfect
Over here and there you represent America
Return to your home safely I will pray so you will
Today I wish you the best of luck so you can live to tell another day
On the front line you may be
Utilize your weapon is hard not too
Replace you guys and girls no one ever will
Today I thank you
Return home safe someday
Over there you are
On the front line you might be
Perhaps when your home you can finally be happy
So support our troops for they give their lives for our freedom
Im very proud of our brave men and women
who fight for our freedom every day
calling home when they can
we ask how they've been
and like a good soldier say okay
But as a mother and I'm sure many others
we at times hear something in their voices
this war has taken it's toll, they need to get home
but home isn't one of their choices
And yes I understand my son took an oath
to serve - to protect - to defend
but the military made promises to him as well
but once deployed do those promises end
So I'm sure you'll agree when I say freedom isn't free
if comes at an astronomical cost
just look around you open your eyes
see how many soldiers we've lost
I Am A Soldier
I walk in the dust, in the sweat and the fear
So those who I love and hold so dear
Will never have to feel the stings
That hate and ignorance always brings
Death and fear walk with me each mile
Constant companions that are so vile
That on my soul they leave a scare
And dreams of home seem faint and far
Nothing seems real in this valley of death
While Satan blows his putrid breath
Upon the land time left behind
To death and hate of every kind
Seek not to bring me home until
I’ve searched the caves of every hill
And driven out the very hosts of hell
That in these rocky holes do dwell
And then, please, only then
Will I come marching home again
To heal my mind if not my soul
For the sweat and the fear will have taken their toll
But that is the price that I willingly pay
So that upon my judgement day
I will be able to proudly stand with the rest
And honestly say that I did my best
For I am a soldier.
After attending a "Welcome home Viet Nam Vets" parade, seven years after the war ended.
The welcome home parade.
Old soldiers wearing pieces of their past,
ill fitting memories brought home from a war,
the pride was absent when they wore them last;
a thing they never had, they can't restore.
Expressions from the sidewalk are solemn
as marchers on the street recall a year
of fighting men; rank file and column;
of sacrifice and ridicule, and fear.
Echo's of the bugle are a memory;
the blood of fallen warriors gone to dust;
final chapters in this plotless story,
lost with precious life and a soldier's trust
The polititions listened to the street,
unbending warriors tasted the defeat.
Forming up to once more beside a brother,
step out in time and hear the cadence call
behind a flag that lay upon a soldier,
and flies behind a long black marble wall.
Conflicted thoughts masked by nervous laughter
or drowned with bottled courage by a few,
Men with matching patches on their shoulder
are asking after someone they once knew.
Up ahead the rain has soaked the bunting,
and legless men in wheelchairs side by side;
loved ones holding pictures of the missing,
and clinging still to hope that has not died.
For Vets of Viet Nam one thing is sure,
the rains that fell on this parade endure.
little boy sittin at home
good little boy said his prayers all alone
just before he said amen
he thought to ask his question again
when is daddy commin home?
when is daddy commin home? amen
nobody, put him on their shoulder's anymore
he used to climb on daddies back
when he had'em on the floor
everything that daddies did
his daddy did and more
just to play with the son
he verily did adore
in his heart the little boy grew
the vicious fact that he could not ignore
that a home without a daddy
is the home of the poor
why can't God just end all wars
why can't daddies talk with other daddies
and try to end this war
why can't daddies come home
and be what they was before
why can't daddies be what they
was before the war