Best Wartime Poems
They fought with grit to save the nation,
From poverty, squalor and infidelity,
And when they marched it was the Nazi’s or them,
Who would suffice to keep their dignity.
The Second was really over the same as the First:
The freedom and equality that democracies offer;
Hitler was not to rule the freethinking lands,
Which representative governments quietly did proffer.
Their Ladies’ which, it was said, almost flew themselves,
Were engineered by women as superior planes;
Through dogfight and bullet, over occupied territories -
The pilots exploded German ammunition trains.
Rhoda Monihan
I honour them like I honour freedom, liberations,
They were guests to this earth just like anyone,
They had their own individual desires and ambitions,
But gathered up determination and gathered their sum.
They were guests to this earth just like anyone,
No god, alien or talking plant said they had to fight,
But gathered up determination and gathered their sum,
And wielded such power in the dead of night.
No god, alien or talking plant said they had to fight,
They came of their own accord, were anomalies,
And wielded such power in the dead of night,
Power was from inside their hearts and their families,
They came of their own accord, were anomalies,
Still frightened by the ferocity of the enemy,
Power was from inside their hearts and their families,
Against being picked they had no animosity.
Still frightened by the ferocity of the enemy,
They listened to their lessons, lectures and trainers,
Against being picked they had no animosity,
But got stuck into maths and engineering, their wars.
They listened to their lessons, lectures and trainers,
They asked courageously when they didn’t know the answers,
But got stuck into maths and engineering, their wars,
Knowing that the greater war depended on such matters.
They asked courageously when they didn’t know the answers,
Humility was their way in order to emerge superior,
Knowing that the greater war depended on such matters,
And they took to climbing up, they couldn’t have been wearier.
Humility was their way in order to emerge superior,
Their interior was fragmented sometimes, but they learnt,
And they took to climbing up, they couldn’t have been wearier,
The future of the realm depended on what was to them current.
Their interior was fragmented sometimes, but they learnt,
They had their own individual desires and ambitions,
The future of the realm depended on what was to them current,
I honour them like I honour freedom, liberations.
22nd March 2016
When I was a little girl
My grandfather had a tin
With a sailor smoking a cigarette on the lid
It was what he kept his medals in
He called them Pip, Squeak and Wilfred
And I asked him what they were
He said the nineteen fourteen star, the British war medal and the Victory medal
From World War One, but they're not rare
He told me his war memories
Could fill many a page
Then said he’d been recruited
Even though he was underage
He told me he’d had a shock
When on the internet he'd seen
That a quarter of a million young men had signed up
All under the age of eighteen
He said recruits had a medical
To make sure they were fit to fight
They must have a minimum chest size of thirty-four inches
And five feet three was the minimum height
He told me he’d heard something
That had really filled him with rage
That recruitment officers got two shillings and sixpence
If they turned a blind eye to someone under-age
He added that he and some old army friends
Used to spend hours chatting on a bench
Recalling a soldier they’d known
Too short to see over the edge of the trench
My granda had asked his friend, a fourteen year old recruit
What on earth he’d signed up for
He reluctantly replied he had clamoured
For the excitement of fighting in a war
He told them of my father’s brother
Who had been the first born son
Blown to pieces at fifteen
Recruited by passing for twenty-one
He didn't survive to get medals
His parents thought of him as brave
Many times since then
I have visited his grave
No remains are buried
Just a plaque that bears his name
A list of lives that were lost
No bodies left to claim
He also told them about the time
That my late Grandma spent
Visiting her beloved Alexander
As he lay in a fever tent
He had typhoid fever
And he managed to survive
The doctors and nurses told her
He was very lucky to be alive
My grandfather would tell war stories
That would chill you to the core
Tales of the atrocities
And casualties of war
You would've labeled it a shotgun wedding,
if you'd seen how we rushed it,
snagging the license on Friday morning
and exchanging vows that same evening.
No white dress, no people-packed pews,
simply a long drive in my brother's Chevy,
from St. Louis to Morse Mill, Missouri;
that July day burned into our memories
at a hundred four degrees, no A/C,
and a flat tire on the road to the church.
Uncle Vernon officiated
in a less-than-five-minute ceremony.
You mean that's it? Is this legal?
I certainly didn't feel married!
"They'll think you're pregnant,"
my mother said. No chance of that,
with our entire courtship advanced
solely through airmail letters.
He was marked for Japan,
courtesy of the U. S. Air Force.
Only death or instant wedlock
were valid pleas for allowing leave.
We hadn't clapped lips together in 10 months.
When he called, I said yes,
and we had the shotgun wedding,
without the gun.
I opened my hand to yours.
Greeted by knives.
The hidden agenda of a parasite
wanting to feast on the likes of me.
Infectious poison coming from your cold, blue lips.
Lies masked by my attraction to your curvacious hips.
My mind taken in by trick after trick.
I pull you closer as the time passes.
Soon will come a time that you will pray to forget.
Your lies penetrate my flesh like knives.
Cold, steel insertion.
Your poison preys to infiltrate my veins to destroy the body.
Like knives your kiss, I'm swallowing your lies, your words slicing up my insides.
Time after time.
You bury yourself and your wicked ways inside me.
Wishing to clog the arteries.
You've punctured my skin, I've allowed you in.
Inside my body.
You are making your way into every square inch of me.
You're the stones that have taken the place of my kidneys.
Like knives, you lacerate yourself into the depths of my appendix.
You're the black cloud covering my lungs.
Like knives you slither to sliver my liver piece by piece.
You're so captivating.
I digest you into my intestines.
Permanent damage.
You have become every bit of the fluid that circulates through my body, my veins.
Like knives, with each stab, each puncture, each wound.
I have become every bit as responsible for what's about to happen as you.
Cuz you've carried these knives since you've come into my life.
Now it's time for me to end your time.
Become the sandman.
I've been strapped with a pistol since the beginning.
This isn't a fairy tale ending.
I bet now you wish you had brought more than a knife to a gunfight.
Isn't it amazing when I have it all
I see the world's dark, it's pall
I have naught but light around
Yet focus on inequities that abound
With sustenance I am stocked
With security I am fenced
Impecuniarily blocked
My ignorance washed, in enlightenment rinsed
The simple stirring of a tree in breeze
Are to me inspiration, wind a-lee
Its shudder and shake in the night
A ship of time I travel, hurled alight
Peoples who are seen evil, seen as naught
I see other side, their cause in blood bought
They who history castrates, denigrates
Yet cast down, brought low, victims of fate
The man who stood for principle at one time
Is cast down as liar, as pursuer of crime
He Who spilt his blood for his cause
Is made pointless, victim aft-printed crime
The hero who in his time was God
Is now scorned, in home abroad
He who leapt and strode with giant step
Is called a rebel, traitor and shunned, leper
I stand for those who were downtrod
Truly forgotten
Who charged for glory misbegotten
Lost, as rebels in cause now darkened
In my veins runs their blood memory
Here I live, a man they wouldn't count free
I study their past and for what they fought
Learn daily, reminesce what their blood bought
They cried for freedom for release
From a system corrupted, that now we don't see
We take it for granted, think not why they died
For principles below ground, buried, denied
Walking this path.
Once populous,
Now desolate
Ambushed!
An unspeakable ambush
Now you're travailing
Just inhaling and exhaling
Breathing!
The precious breath of life
Spiritual bombs are colluded
Progression and motion momentarily occluded
Building a fortress amid blasts
Days and nights of praying and long fasts
Big dreams and peace are being viciously attacked
So to the foxhole, you are forced to go
To and Fro
Head on a swivel
Countering an enemy attack
Feeble
So feeble
So, you ponder
As you wonder
"How did I get here to this fight of my life?"
So much malevolence and deep-seated strife
Big bombs of theft, lies, evil eyes, deceit, hate, competition, gaslighting, gang stalking, ghosting, defamation, gossip, and envy
Raining.....
Storming.......
Just raining down on your parade
Sleepless nights and wet pillows
A dark cloud of weariness and despondency billows
So cold, dark, and alone in this foxhole
Severe demonic attacks on the spirit and soul
Still feeble.....
Bewildered and out of sorts
So, you radio your commander for direction
All around cacophonic bombs still blasting
So much, but you're still praying and fasting
--- PAUSE (take breaths) ---
Then the commander speaks:
"Sit still, my faithful warrior. You are not alone.
Refuge and sweet fruits are here from all the humility,
patience and faith you've sewn."
"I'm bringing you rest, peace, health, strength, light,
clarity, and an abundance of a lifetime.
So remain still, my faithful warrior. This battle is mine."
Moments to tell the truth
Moments to still tell lies
What do you prefer
The time god
Decides if you should live or die
The time when you kill
And not to feel the guilt
This is war
Some think its great
Others think its hell
People getting
Shot or stabbed
This is war
They march in the shadows
In the streets or fields of battle
This is war
We wear our medals
Proud to be alive
Holding little burning candles
For the ones who died
This is war
To the right or left
We will fight to the death
Till the edge of the world
Comes to a rest
This is war
We come home to our families
Tears in our eyes
Just so happy
To see there smiling faces
We kiss and hug
Making sure everything is alright
Then we say goodnight
For the day has come to a rest
This is war
We will always have
The memories of others
Until one day
We will see them again
In the light of shimmering candles
Peaceful battles fought
With no enemy aside,
Friends you trust never.
Wartime of peace
Moments of joyous sorrow:
Jolt of the mire.
A race for life,
A ring with no boxers,
Bout of no sense.
Wartime of peace
Is a seasonal murder:-
No foes in sight.
Sitting outside in the cold wet mud,
Hearing footprints thud and thud,
Hearing the cry if men who die,
Watching the spider eat the fly,
Bang bang gotthe guns,
Listening to helpless men run,
Bullets of death fly in the air,
Killing them cold, leaving them bare,
Blaze of bullets,
Small rusted golden nuggets,
Coming in all shapes and sizes,
Receiving them like painful surprises,
I want to be afraid but I simply can't,
Or shall I be afraid? No I shan't,
Showing it would mean I am frigid and weak,
A small boy all pale and bleak,
For am I wicked and cruel,
To shoot a man who follows a fool,
But shall not fall to the for,
Never to let my emotions show,
Blazing at me the cruel little things,
A ringing in my ear I hear them sing,
For gazing out at no man's land, at the dark despair,
It's empty and scary but I do not care,
We all don't like this whole crumpling affair,
Low on food, too little to share,
But yet weshow our kind and caring hearts,
Like band if brothers never to part,
A repeat of loud angry and frightened men shout,
"Show yourselves you lazy louts",
Drunk and ignorant they show no fear,
For them I shed no emotional tear,
A cruel coldness clings to me,
The nightly trenches I forget what I see,
Sharp barbed wire stabs my mortal thigh,
Holding in my muffled cry,
For when I grow old, dull and grey,
Writing this poem on this miserable day,
Crouching in cold, damp much next to my mullet,
Never shall I forget the Blaze of Bullets.
Wet trenches, cold feet
My heart pounding In my chest
Going to the wartime beat
Sounds of shells falling
Sounds of dying men
Sounds of men bawling
Asking to see loved ones again
The explosion stops, the fighting begins
I crawl out of the trench
And run thinking of how good my life has been
I shall never be the same again
Flashing of lights
booming like thunder
Blood in the air
there shall be no surrender
Bodies of men fly
Hopes killed
Men die
Pain shreds through me
I run on, I can't bear to stop
My vision fades, I fall on one knee
I try to stand, but flop
The sounds fade
Time crawls
My life is done, my story has been made
I shall die were I fall
Tears fill my eyes
I have so many regrets
I look up and through the smoke, I see the sky
I close my eyes know knowing I have paid my debts
My eyes open ,The scene has changed
No longer am I on the hard ground, but yet I am still in pain
The stench of death fills my nose
I shift and look, and my eyes behold
No longer am I on the field of battle
But in a tent, with the dying
With those for water crying
With those who are silently lying
I glance at my feet, my face goes pale
There's nothing left, I begin to wail
A nurse rushes over and begins to talk
My heart has just sank like a rock
She says I'm going home
My fight is over, I've done my job
I just ask to be alone
Men come in and take me away
They place me in a new tent, cleaner than the last
I breathe deeper, trying not to think of the past
I am done they say
They take me home, a medal on my chest
I receive the same things as the rest
Some with no legs, some no arms
All with a wartime beat pounding their chest
We shall never be the same
...an homage to Talking Heads
and their song with the same title.
********
Gunfire and grave sites pepper the hillsides,
trucks with ammo taking position.
We have visas, fake I.D.s besides,
men in disguise infiltrate battle lines.
Heard about Houston, heard about Detroit,
heard about Pittsburgh PA?
fierce conflagrations abroad on the air,
eyes blinded 'til we can barely see,
the sky is thick with startled sparrows.
Will we ever see the end,
so much more of the same,
can we no longer see around the bend,
must we continue to murder and maim?
The world's gone haywire,
mistrusting our brother,
lusting after one another,
we're tapping phone lines
running road blocks, this ain't no party,
manipulating computers, a sign of the times.
Gunfire and grave sites pepper the hillsides,
trucks with ammo taking position.
We have visas, fake I.D.s besides,
men in disguise infiltrate battle lines.
Heard about Houston, heard about Detroit?
fierce conflagrations abroad on the air,
eyes blinded 'til we can barely see,
taking shots, swallowing pills.
Will we ever see the end,
have we gone beyond the limit,
can we ever return to a peaceful trend
must we continue to murder and maim?
The world's gone haywire,
mistrusting our brother,
lusting after one another,
we're tapping phone lines
running road blocks, this ain't no party,
manipulating computers, a sign of the times.
He stole a gun today,
a telescopic rifle made for hunting.
From a sixth floor window overlooking Main
he thinks, 'how cool!' that the 'scope brings
the people on the street so close and focused.
He spends all day breaking down
the gun and re-assembling it,
polishing each part until it gleams.
He fits the telescope,
lifts the weapon to his shoulder
for just another look.
He'll bide his time until it's rush hour.
The streets will be teeming with people
making that last minute dash to get
last minute presents for Christmas.
The time has come, his palms are moist.
In the cross-hairs a Salvation Army captain,
a pregnant woman on a cell phone,
an old man struggling with his walker,
and children, lots of children.
A half-hour passes.
he slowly lowers the rifle
and puts it back into its case.
A half-hour passes
and he stumbles down the stairwell
to the street, his mind confused and torn.
Crossing a bridge he stops
to hurl the case into the river.
He wanders slowly home
to his studio apartment,
his haven of forgetfulness,
his pressed and perfect Ranger uniform
and wonders why he just cannot stop crying.
He stole a gun today...
It is the time for war,
The world shakes as the lion roar,
I can imagine what it must be like,
When you look around and see your friends die,
There will be no time to feel bad,
No time to feel sad,
You struggle to survive,
You run for your life,
Without looking back,
cos now the back has become the past.
We don't need war,
Peace and harmony we need more.