Long Battlefield Poems
Long Battlefield Poems. Below are the most popular long Battlefield by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Battlefield poems by poem length and keyword.
Uruguay and I’m a Gwirl
I want you to love me, I want you to care.
I want you to promise you’ll always be there.
I’m a man willing to fight for love.
Battlefield is strewn with former hugs.
I’m the one whose name is on all your puns.
Biggest joke in town for sure.
I’m the boy, the Peter Pan head on.
Never grew to like attempts at fun.
I’m the soul never united, moon and sun.
Feel myself coming undone.
I never claimed to be your saving grace.
I never claimed that I mattered.
I never said I’d put a smile on your face.
I’m merely mortal wrapped in matter.
No energy to fight for peace.
No more silent protests at your door.
Nothing left in me worth fighting for.
Never had a choice of either, or.
I sold myself to any heart that lied.
Every one hurts every time.
I sold my soul just to be by your side.
You only ever made me die.
(C)2023 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
They said He never fought.
That He sent others—winged, obedient, aflame.
That He stayed above the fray,
Too holy to touch the dirt.
But they never saw the frost.
Not the one that crept through the courtroom,
Where lies were dressed in robes.
Not the one that settled on the skin
Of the boy they called monster.
They never saw Him descend.
No trumpet. No scroll.
Just silence that cracked like bone.
He did not come with wrath.
He came with memory.
Of every slander, every exile,
Every name carved into flesh.
He bled—but not red.
His blood was frost.
It crystallized on the ground
Where innocence had been buried.
No angel could fight this.
No flame could cleanse it.
Only the One who knew
What it meant to be misunderstood.
He did not smite.
He stood.
And the frost spread like truth
Across the battlefield of shame.
And when it was done,
The boy was not erased.
He was crowned.
Not with gold—but with clarity.
The frost did not kill.
It revealed.
( A Translation of Kazi Nazrul Islam's famous Bengali poem "Samyabadi")
I sing the song of equality,
in which all obstacles and distance are dissolved,
in which the Hindus, the Buddhists, the Muslims
and the Christians have got united.
I sing the song of equality!
Who are you? A Persian? A Jain? A Jew?
A Santhal, a Bhil, a Garo?
A Confucian? A follower of Charbak? Continue. Tell more.
O friend, whoever you are,
whatever books and scriptures you carry
into stomach, on back, on shoulder and into brain,
the Quran, the Puranas, the Vedas, the Bible, the Tripitaka—
the Zend-Avestha, the Granth Sahib—
read as much as you desire.
But why do you waste your labour?
Why are you throwing spears into your brain?
Why do you haggle in a shop when fresh flowers
bloom at your roadside?
The wisdom of all scriptures and ages lie within you.
O friend, open your heart, you will find all scriptures there.
Within you lie all religions, all the prophets of all ages
and your heart is the world-temple of everyone’s gods.
Why do you look for God in the skeletons of dead books?
He smiles into the secret concealment of your immortal heart!
O friend, I have not told a lie—
It is the place where all crowns tumble and toss.
This very heart is the Nilachal, Kashi, Mathura, Brindaban;
It is Bodh-Gaya, Jerusalem, Medina and Kaaba.
It is the mosque, it is the temple, it is the church;
Sitting here, Jesus and Moses found the identity of truth.
In this battlefield, the young flute player sang the Bhagavad Gita;
In this pasture, the sheep-grazing prophets became friends to God.
Sitting in the meditation-cave of this heart, Shakyamuni abandoned his kingdom hearing the call of men’s great sufferings.
In this cave, the Prince of Arabia used to hear the divine call;
sitting here, he sang the Quran’s equality-song.
O brother, what I have heard is not a lie—
there is no temple, no Kaaba greater than this heart.
Translation date: 1/3/2016 Sirajganj, Bangladesh
The ancient wood is this way
Look there is a sign
This old house and it's grounds are open to the public
Most of the time
What's made us shut the gates
What's made us keep the public away
It's present in the dark wood
That's all I have to say
The old gates have rusted iron
Yet, they do not squeak
The track into the wood is eerie
But we'll go and take a peek
Stop, look there in the dell
There, sat on the stump
A man sat in battle dress
From centuries ago
He's eating some food
Let's go have a word
Excuse me sir I didn't know
That a battle day it is
He looks at us confused and low
Yes, battles what it is
Please sir, do tell who your commanding officer is and where he can be found
He's way over on the other field, just off the battle ground
Did your enemy come to his knees in the battle fought?
Enemy was our countrymen who disobeyed the law
One more question sir before you go back on the battlefield
What year is this and who is your King or Queen?
You fool, you see the boots I wear, the sword of steel I carry
The year is 1644, Charles is my King, I'm needed at the front
You say that you've killed your countrymen, is that where you now go?
He turns and stands and looks at us, then starts to walk back.
He stops and stares and then with a smile
He confirms his role in death
Then turns and walks into the wood
Disappearing without a trace.
MONDAY SOULS
As the wind blows, the kettle whistles
and chirping birds relish the dawn.
Like us, they awaken to tired cars
on their morning commutes.
Windshield wipers stretch, yawning
brings tears, as the congregation wrestles
their Monday souls out of bed.
The blessed ones, with internal
resounding of Sunday’s choir, rejoicing
in their head - better than sugar plums,
cleanses all sand from their eyes,
clearing the way for a sunny day.
Whether on the beach or in the digs
of today’s workplace battlefield,
the tone is set for a joyful outpouring.
The leading of the Holy Spirit, with
heavenly wisdom, and
the Son’s approval stamp,
comfort suffering co-workers,
who search out and lean on
the morning light.
10/9/2017
She wore a smile on her face like nothing matter
In a place that's full of benefits and betrayal
Her kind nature lit a passion like candles
Burning one sense of insecurities away
Scars that doesn't justify her false facade
Eyes that's looks in sync of the abyss
Hassen on her brain she knows this is not her home
For everywhere she goes her past seem to follow
Battlefield and battle fiend destroy what she once built
Seeming like the gods doesn't want her to win
Nation upon nation they own creation crumble
Kind was not no more than a chess piece design to play a role
To quench the raising conflict of the competition
I can quickly disappear into other realms
when my hands are holding a storybook.
I escape the harsh realities of this world
in the solitude of my quiet reading nook.
I don the disguises of characters I love.
With so many options I never get bored.
I'm Florence Nightingale on the battlefield,
or Joan of Arc gallantly wielding her sword.
I'm feisty and determined like Scarlet O'Hara;
Jason, leading his Argonauts to find the Fleece.
I might even write a grand story of my own
in which every nation finally lives in peace.
There's no limit to what I shall read or write
and no bounds to my imagination or rhyme.
I get lost in the sweet world of make-believe;
the future or long ago in ancient days of time.
I'm an explorer in a pyramid on a sand dune,
the first person to set foot on planet Neptune.
I've discovered a way to live upon the Moon
and means to keep cool in the month of June.
Come and read with me. I've books I can share
that will turn you into anyone you choose to be.
Give yourself one of the greatest gifts there is.
Reading pages of a storybook will set you free.
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April 16th, 2016
Eve's Nook and a Story Book Contest
Oh, dear Sparrow! Fallen still
Softly feathered where you lay
As of a soldier gently eased
To sleep in dreams away
Whose dying wish was lost, was lost
In wars of yesterday
Your folded wings are nestled close
Your uniform unmarred
There is no stain upon your coat
Nor mark upon your bars
It seems from battle you emerged
Without a battle scar
For there you are composed, serene
Your earthly visage calm
No sign of struggle or of strife
No specter of alarm
Nor outward damage I can see –
Within, then, be the harm
Where broken wounds internalize
Beyond the battlefield
Where kamikaze skirmishes
Could not survive the steel
And solid soundness of the pane
Which from you did not yield
To you then, fallen warrior
In tribute, hear my prayer –
That you may soar unbounded, free
With worry none, nor care
In everlasting flight on wings
As virtual as air –
The waking forest pines;
They shiver slight with cold –
A parasite still clinging
To winter’s loosened hold
Expressions of misleading sky,
Appearing soft as down,
Betrays the battlefield below –
A landscape scarred and brown
Two finches nestle side by side,
And sing of warmer days to come,
But from the frost they cannot hide,
Until the spring has fine’ly sprung
The smiling sun, it plays on melting drifts:
A foolish child than shines without a care,
But little warmth does his display now give
To dreary forest seeming unaware
The low bent willow mourns her loss of green,
As bitter droplets fall into the pond;
Her only solace – knowing that her seed
Will flourish in the many days beyond.
A Veteran’s story
Past life in the military
The Army
Dreams tormenting thinking at night of ammunition
Orders of precision
Standing at attention in position
Military duties straight on the battlefield
War is real
Cries of Soldiers that died in the frontline
All I saw was ashes of war
Devastation of destruction
Dreams turning into awakening nightmares
The thought being the Soldier made it through
It wasn’t an easy task
War was long and uncertain
Time became an overcast
Smoke from war like a darkness endless
Sleep was twist and turn
Out in the hot sun felt like a burning urn
Soldiers everywhere lived through that
Cries continue as if still on the battlefield
Order circumstance
One’s life given another chance
Remembrance of war
Wounds and scars will always carry
Awaken
Soldiers always remember
Even during slumber
Cries forever
The battlefield on my mind
Soldier salute out.