Long Wardeath Poems
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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.
Form:
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.~
Disease beneath the skin, iron will can never win.
Death in the air, sorrow and misery the killing pair.
What's no longer in the mind, has left for no one to find.
The eery chill, just waiting for the kill.
Demons never cease, death will never release.
The cold dead fingers, kills sorrows singers.
The dead in the earth, doomed from birth.
Lightning streaks the sky, as angels begin to cry.
The mighty hell fire, will never tire.
The infected precense, causes all to wince.
Throughout seasons, death has no reasons.
Hours are days, as the darkness forever stays.
Knife carves through bone, as the end is shown.
Before the damned awake, this world will break.
No repents for the sinner, in this game there is no winner.
When will we see the light, for all sicken of this endless fight.
The heroes will soon be forgotten, for now the loving hearts are rotten.
In those crying eyes, the darkness continues to rise.
Death plays the tune, beckoning the wicked soon.
Will this never end, for all have not sinned.
Remembering the dead, as all watched as demons fed.
Can any make it through, as hearts break in two?
All that remains, is the haunting scars and pains.
Trembling before shadows lord, deafening as the reaper has roared.
The blade falls, without the slightest pause.
Who can rise above, and make true what we've dreamt of?
Who can we trust, to fight through greed and lust?
Shattered dreams, tore through the seams.
We fight this master, as our lives drain faster.
Death comes to all, as they hear the voiceless call.
Getting closer to the gates, who now controls our fates?
Laughter burning through our ears, consuming all fears.
Finally there is freedom, finally the light has come.
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/
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
Misery weighs down your eyes, as you begin to read.
In this dance of lies, you'll forever lead.
If you can't stand, I'll see you on the other side.
Take my hand, for now the son has died.
I'll reach under the skin, and steal away your disease.
I'll fight and win, as Death becomes a tease.
I fell into fantasy, as I feel your touch.
Swallow your vanity, for you cry too much.
The string of white lights, a full moon casting.
The shadowed nights, are never lasting.
Forever wandering, these cold dark seas.
The world squandering, crying the harshest pleas.
The voiceless won't rest, as they continue squalling.
On this endless quest, I continue falling.
Fall children, dance with every death boy and girl.
The monster will fight again, yet we're all so coy.
Lets fall to our knees, and begin to pray.
Do they hear my pleas, down together we'll lay.
Unrelenting omnipotence, nuturing malevolence.
Angels and Demons, bow before the other.
The unknowing sons, begin to kill their brother.
Leave for me, the crumbling headstones.
Ignore and leave me be, for death has shown.
Leave me to sleep, in this desecrated sanctuary.
In these dreams I weep, yet I tarry.
Will you be my love, will we watch the world burn?
What are the thoughts of, for the dead forever yearn.
No I don't want to die, no not tonight.
I can no longer try, I don't want to fall into the light.
As I climb the stairs, I reach toward the stars.
The heart tears, as it feels the scars.
I begin my ivy climbing, for the voiceless call.
It's the matter of timing, for who will begin their fall?
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.
As we climbed down the nets
Into the landing crafts
Veterans of theatre
With a mixture of drafts
In the distance through the spray
We could sight foreign lands
Normandy it is
After many months being planned
Closer and closer
With explosions all around
Our time is nearing
Will we reach these foreign grounds
The landing craft ramp
Drops with a splash
As we run through the water
Along the sands we dash
High on the cliff tops
Spandau's spray the beach
Bullets ripping flesh
Whilst gun emplacments preach
The lucky ones made it
As the unfortunate lay dead and dying
Limbs torn from souls
Some starring at the skies
As we shelter below the cliffs
We encourage the ones who follow
As they rush through the dead and red
Before death has them swallowed
For a moment i closed my eyes
And thought " why in the hell am i here "
When a bullet zips my helmet
So startled, that death was near
To the cliff tops we must climb
Pipe bombs lead the way
Barbed wire blown to bits
As our snipers have their say
Below the gun emplacements
Grenades in precision lob
Amongst our bitter enemy
A few more lives we've robbed
After many hours of fighting
The cliff tops we have taken
As i look down on the beaches
Redded by the ones, who will never awaken
This is the first poem in my story, as you follow me as i fight my way
to Berlin, and eventual peace after many years of wanton killing and suffering
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/war-normandy-to-peace.php
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
watching the news day by day
singing songs about robbing history
the spiders the size of a female breast
killing birds, i think in the southwest
Spiders eating people in Iraq
get bit by one and you get a flesh eating rash
spiders in the jungle
red yellow green, spikes and teeth
one lays an egg and then there are many
hello people, its time we did something
the cats eat the ones they can
and the dog follows them
water spiders ten feet long
maybe mother nature has a problem
men diabolical the only race on the earth with such a high death rate
yet we kill only eachother
protect the birds, and fsh of our lakes
controlling wolves killing sheep
well this spider eats deer
why aren't we doing anything?
a buck a spider
bring em to your mayors house
in bags
in buckets
dead ones for sale
i got bit by a spider, before i moved to town
my thinking going fuzzy, hungrier than you know
the poison in my veigns your poison
as one crawls into your bed for a deathly visit
obviously mothernature is upset
and this many spiders is just a warning
there will be thousands of millions
killing families and taking over the jungle
killing the elephants and hippos
clinging onto monkeys for lunch amongs the vines
jumping in the air to eat birds
laying eggs, and eating insects
these things are death machines
the world versus spiders
and spiders are winning