Long Home front Poems
Long Home front Poems. Below are the most popular long Home front by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Home front poems by poem length and keyword.
“Rosie the Riveter, painted by Norman Rockwell in 1943, is an iconic portrayal of the American working woman during World War II. Commissioned for the cover of the May 29, 1943, issue of The Saturday Evening Post, this artwork captures the spirit of the Rosie the Riveter campaign, which encouraged women to join the workforce and support the war effort. Rockwell’s Rosie, depicted with muscular arms and a determined expression, is shown taking a lunch break, her foot resting on a copy of Adolf Hitler’s Mein Kampf. This powerful image, with its patriotic undertones and celebration of female strength, became a symbol of female empowerment and resilience, reflecting the critical role women played on the home front during the war.
(Source: artincontext.org/rosie-the-riveter-by-norman-rockwell/)
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She sits in the sunlit stillness of noon,
a woman forged from factory heat and quiet faith,
her body an oratorio of muscle and mercy.
Rockwell paints her like she was carved
from the same steel she bends~
broad-shouldered, unbothered,
a calm female colossus in denim blue.
Her rivet gun rests across her lap
like a sleeping instrument,
a tool that once sang sparks into metal
now stilled by the sanctity of lunch hour.
A sandwich in one hand,
the other draped in easy dominion,
she is both worker and warrior,
holy in her ordinariness.
Dust motes drift around her boots
like tiny benedictions,
and the flag behind her billows
not as backdrop,
but as witness.
Even her halo~
that golden gear behind her head—
seems to say
that strength can be sacred,
that labor can be liturgy,
that a woman can defend a nation
without ever raising her voice.
And in her steady gaze,
I see the quiet truth Rockwell knew:
sometimes the bravest thing
is simply to keep going,
to sit in your own earned stillness,
and let the world feel your weight.
Another overwhelming day passed in the pastures of plenty
The scene was tired and did not warrant a space on the news
Just one more place with no conscience for mind numbed souls
It was bitterly chilly and bones stuck out on frozen bloodstreams
Sore thumbs hurt from pulling blighted triggers for icy salvation
Sanguine convictions floated on ichor and the gods were pleased
Fatima’s house now bereft of ‘infidel’ prayers was not easy to see
Its ruins blended perfectly into an infernal landscape of conquest
Like an icon of madness only the doorframe stood gruesomely tall
Tempting as it was the gateway to heaven refused meek entrance
For forsaken survivors who had fallen on insanity’s greedy onslaught
A child’s doll felt the pain of limbo with an eye missing for an eye
A dismembered mosque lay in prostrate incineration ready for burial
Its intricate stones would come in handy for grave stones and tombs
Everything has its purpose even when reason and feelings have died
The muezzin’s last farewell to scorched arms depicted in charred coal
A final solution encrypted in banality of evil and trivial calls for justice
The winner takes it all and the home front of terror spewed fury and hell
Thousand fewer mouths to feed must surely be a passionate blessing
Relief organizations had not been able to quell misery and starvation
Their trucks would not find a path through devastation and rubble
Victorious armies assembled their weapons and went home for respite
Foot soldiers in trenches and tents as the officers went to their wives
Made love to their women and caressed perfectly groomed deportment
‘Darling I love you and it has been a splendid day for righteous triumph
Are the children in bed yet and have you read them a tale from the Bible?’
‘No worries they took solace in the lullaby and slumber in effervescent dreams
Hailed to the good Lord and their father who made sure that they rest in Peace
Jordan still wants to be a shunter where the tracks point to chambers of mercy
And Abigail promised to be a good girl to eat her greens and make you so proud'
03rd March 2020
he remembers the autumn of 1942 when the troops moved forward
before Stalingrad fell and winter crushed bodies and minds under fire
tanks pulverizing soldiers and some falling by the wayside on purpose
to end the war and find heaven or hell which one did not really matter
food parcels from the home front and letters to family or sweethearts
but victory had already become sour and Heils and raised arms tired
he survived with scars and vowed never again to be hungry or cold
the pantry always full and heating in summer full blast at 28 degrees
the will to live planted some sort of serenity though emotions and pain
would be never expressed to his offspring for the shells were still there
when final defeat was sealed and an innocent youth had been stolen
he played hide and seek with fellow survivors young men by that time
in the end seasons were kind and soothed guilt and following orders
he learnt to appreciate the turn of events and spinning of the earth
changed ribbons and medals for flowers and bees in the hedgerows
and promised to fight for peace instead of rape pillage and murder
21st August 2020
A time to weep, And a time to laugh;
Ecclesiates 3: 4
War is hell, and no one knows how or when it will end.
Proud men hungering for power always fail to comprehend.
Such men of blinded egos and troubled souls would rather die than cry.
My valiant soldier did not cry because he had become an amputee;
Nor were his tears born out of inability to set people free. He cried,
not for wounds incurred on the battle field; nor for being examined
and prescribed the wrong pill. Neither did he cry for being rejected on the home front. Nor yet because he was never honored by his state of Vermont. My valiant soldier did not cry because too few
bothered to understand. He cried for the thousands slaughtered on those blooded beaches of dirt and sand.
The tears of my valiant soldier were captured and placed in a bottle by an angel to be ever preserved in the presence of God. His tears were not for the lives he was forced to take, nor for the bravery he displayed in the rescue of others, but because he earned such respect and high regard. He was so humbled by such attention that he cried.
My valiant soldier cried mostly for his fallen comrades whose love he had to confer to their grieving loved ones. He cried because it was never clear why peace wasn't given a chance to save such dear sons. My valiant soldier also cried because he lost his own brother by a random shooting in an American city.
070522PSCtest, Tears of a valiant Soldier, Faraz Ajmal
MY SIBLINGS' FATHER
JUDGE BURDON
other children feared monsters under their bed
i feared the one living under our roof.
his hair was nimbus black
with a storm's thunder in his voice.
his fists were freight train brown
ball bearing knuckles
frostbite blue was his touch
with empty icebox eyes
his smile untrusted
growling words spoken like tangled spaghetti
he was my mother's husband
my siblings' father
a childhood of baseballs never thrown
bruises and shattered bones medicated with lies
happiness diluted with tears
in a house with screams undetected
when asked what i wanted to be
i testified "far from here"
now, fiber optic home front news
faceless words
cancer eating away at your life
with the fury of a piranha
your disease now my champion
fighting with the courage i was unable to muster
your epitaph written in my adolescence
while plotting your midnight homicide
again you leave
unaccountable for your actions
i'm left to wrestle with the demons
not the strenght to forgive
my memory too scarred to forget
i'll keep the battle lines drawn
your monument
let the puzzle piece fall where it may
good bye old man
you'll be missed like a pit vipers bite
your pain can no longer touch me
from the grave.
When the sad worldly din,
starts to close in-
I notice a dearth of humor,
the lightness of laughter
I seek after,
from the ministry of mirth.
Last Thursday my daughter told me
that week's food bill was $303,
we are a household of five,
we do our best to get by,
instead of a sigh and exasperated moan,
I busted out laughing once off the phone,
whilst watching the backyard squirrel's
acrobatics,
as they ate upside down from the
bird feeders, fantastic!
Global events and the home front too,
could make many of us full of rue.
Try to take some time,
in a jollity hour sublime.
Giggle with family, friends,
not everything has a morose end.
Sometimes our hearts are heavy
on this earth,
and we need more from the ministry of mirth. ~
THE GALLERY
Another day goes by, outside influence on the outcome
Tearing the heartstring in two
And in my mind, strange topics pop up again
Without your love in my life
I don’t know what I would do…
On the home front on my own it seems I’m alone
To pick up all of the little pieces
Build a picture perfect puzzle out of nothing
But four walls as a frame that I am supposed to hang
Trying to change my life while my world changes around me
Mixed priorities linger in my mind
Live for myself, live for everybody else
Constant turmoil as we pass through time together
Depth of thought for me serves as prayer
To our God or my God in my eyes
I seldom ask for more than reasons why things happen
To understand and know He hears my cries
Snapshots in a photo album, memories in my mind
Like episodes in syndication over and over again
A constant circle of events repeating through my life
Were the lessons ever learned or does the lesson never end
Look, gaze into the four walls at how much lies inside
See how much things have to change
Hanging on the walls are scars left from all the pain
And though I try to put it in the past
Most of it remains; in The Gallery
Syria’s Christians and Haiti
The first Christian church was built in Syrian, as I write this the horror is killing them the new death cult regime in Syria, a cult we give money to, and not mentioned by Western media as Israel continues to bomb Gaza to their hearts content This is only possible when the bombs are free of charge courtesy of the USA
On the home front, we read about erectile dysfunction, no they are telling me who thought
my own problems were caused by the old age
Haiti, the sad state is in the news again, last time
I was there, Papa Doc, was in power he employed
Thugs, sunglasses, and sports shirts to keep order
but they harassed shopkeepers to hand over money, when Papa died his son took over, he was an idiot and any resembles of order fell apart
Port-au-Prince was a beautiful city, but now it is a vast criminalized slum, Haiti has always been poor and met resistance from other countries who were against a black sovereign state. It never got the help needed from white societies who said slaves could not a country make
Come and gone like small twister
like the cloud of debris he’s left.
Echoes of Charlie Brown’s buddy Pigpen
blow through the cobwebs in memory.
Left over coffee cups replacing
Transformers still dumped in the attic.
Reams of knarley skateboards, wheel-less,
lay in piles like so much unburnable refuse.
The obligatory hugs and peck, over and done
the never paid chauffeur collapses…
Ah, to have him always near,
So, each kiss was not quite so dear.
The last fair maid on parade has wandered across
the home front, wondering about her predecessor,
still tacked with magnets to the fridge,
still part of my heart and his…
Sons…they say, do not cause such angst.
Couldn’t prove it by this mother.
This maternal blimp of unused helium
was not permitted a girl child.
One did come and fleetingly leave before formed.
We’ll never know the sweetness of her.
Let the image of his manly self disperse, this son..
into the mist as his Father’s has…
to be remembered again, only in times of need, his need,
for to do anything else, would be to rub salt
in an open wound.
Poet: D. Guzzi
*the day after Christmas
Memorial Day, U.S.A.
The morning sun o’er the parapet seen,
Whilst heard on the wall the bugle call;
"To The Colors" as 'Old Glory' is raised,
To half-staff this Memorial Day;
In remembrance of America’s fallen military personnel:
Known and unknown, buried with full honors.
More than just numbers, they sacrificed their lives
For American liberty and independence.
In battles fought and won, these brave men and women
Denied our enemies victory—on the home front,
In foreign lands, upon the oceans, and in the skies above
—And will not be forgotten by the American people.
***
Note:
Memorial Day is a national U.S.A. holiday observed on the last Monday in May, in honor of American military personnel who died in service for their country.