Long Warmen Poems
Long Warmen Poems. Below are the most popular long Warmen by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Warmen poems by poem length and keyword.
All is serene tonight along the banks of Antietam Creek.
'Neath the brooding moon, the battlefield looks so bleak.
Bloodied ground was hallowed on this dire September day.
On the field this night, six thousand slain heroes lay.
Six thousand valiant men stared heavenward with lifeless eyes.
Wounded brothers lay among them, emitting plaintive cries.
All about them was strewn the ravaged debris of battle,
Torn asunder by the cannons' roar and the muskets' rattle.
Strewn upon the field of strife were mementos now forlorn.
Thither and yon, Bibles lay, their pages scorched and torn.
Blowing in the breeze were photographs of those left to grieve.
Unfinished letters wafted about that families will ne'er receive.
Johnny Reb in tattered gray lay nigh Billy Yank in dusty blue.
Their mingled blood flowed as one, the sacred soil to embue.
It can ne'er be said that these men had sacrificed in vain.
Each believed in the cause for which he was cruelly slain.
Alas, other battles would rage 'til the war would cease,
When brotherhood would reign again, bringing blessed peace.
Soldiers lie awaiting Gabriel's clarion call, their duty done.
The sweet sounds of nature returned to replace the roaring gun.
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired (© All Rights Reserved)
"Over The Top!" was the battle cry of the First World War!
At the Captain's signal, from the trenches doughboys would pour!
Shoulder to shoulder with bayonets fixed, steel glinting in the sun,
On they rushed, some to live, others to die, to face the fearless Hun!
On they raced through no-man's land, through the mud and gore,
Midst the din of the muskets' rattle and the cannons' roar!
The once bucolic field was now imbued in blood with so little gain.
Alas, many were maimed and hundreds from both sides were slain.
Sleep doesn't come easily as gallant men await the break of day.
Thoughts of home and happier times helped their fears allay.
Many turned their dog-eared Bibles to the Twenty-Third Psalm,
To read by flickering candlelight that ancient message of calm.
Life in the trenches was certainly not a life of ease.
It was cold and damp with water up to the knees.
Mail was sparse and a warm meal was rather rare.
Occasionally, poisonous gases crept stealthily through the air.
Why do men press on in battle when they know they're apt to die?
Is it because of their Sergeant's leadership or his rallying cry?
Is it his love of country and freedom that he hopes will turn the tide?
Nae! He fears that he'll let his buddy down who soldiers at his side!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(© All Rights Reserved)
Stoically he faces the enemy hoards;
Emotionless and appearing almost bored;
Courageously, “Onward!”, his battle cry;
Masking the coward hiding deep inside.
Sending his men to certain death;
From a distance he witnesses many a last breath;
While he rides secure upon his steed,
In the rear of the men he was trained to lead.
Medals pinned upon his chest,
In royal garb and a crimson vest,
While soldiers, barefoot, heed his command;
Advancing into the enemy’s land.
When all is lost and no more can die;
Long after he retreated in this futile try;
He laments, “No reinforcements ever came”,
Although his incompetence is to blame.
His own account of this failed event
Includes tales of bravery that he’d invent;
Masking his fear and cowardly feats,
Creating glory and valor from his defeats.
16th April 1746
The day a country ceased to exist
British Army, Hanoverian scum
Defeated our Jacobite's
Scotland is on the run
Our Tartans banished, bagpipes no more
To lead our troops, to frighten the foe
Cumberland's men hunt us down
In every village and every town
Massacred, slaughtered
Wiped from our earth
Erased from the country of our birth
2000 men died to fight for their right
Against the British Armies might
Cameron's MacDonald's and Fraser's slain
Many other Clans, population drained
The survivors facing Hanoverian bans
Led to
The Scattering of the Clans
The Clan Chiefs lands, vast and many
Asset stripped, taken by the enemy
Alleged traitors tried, treason their crime
As Hanoverian Scum, on our riches dine
In the aftermath, many Scots left their shores
To distant lands to open new doors
Many writers on here
On their Ancestors scan
You may be here, because of
The Scattering Of The Clans
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/scotland.php
Where once Normandy's coast resounded with the din of war,
Now is heard the thunder of the surf racing t'ward the shore.
Where once was heard the screams of dying and wounded men,
Now is heard the mournful cry of a solitary tern now and then.
In June of Forty-four, men stormed ashore to force a breach.
Alas, many forfeited life upon that barren, crimson beach.
Others died scaling those forbidding bluffs so high and steep.
Gallant men quickly learned that victory does not come cheap!
To free the world of tyranny, each took a noble stance,
As across that treacherous strand they made their slow advance.
Waves of courageous men struggled thro' that scarlet tide.
On they strode thro' hell! "Press On! Press On!", they cried!
Upon the plain above Omaha lie over nine thousand men we mourn,
Awaiting Gabriel's clarion bugle call on that triumphant morn!
Gleaming markers are etched with the names of heroes known.
Alas, so many others read, "Known But To God Alone".
Their eternal bourne began when they made their last patrol.
They'll stand proud and tall to answer His calling of the roll!
They rest in hallowed ground that once knew the scars of war.
They are the bravest of the brave, remembered forever more!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired (© All Rights Reserved)
some men are born to be killed
some men life means nothing to
can old men hold their heads and cry
you can only dodge so many shots
before you eventually take a a few
then it's about surviving
some men have no nightmares
some men only dare to dream
history reflects repeated screams
women, colored men, stars of david
I wish i could let it go
i can not
I wish there were such palaces as heaven minus hell
i don't know what i believe in
some men believe there should be
a balance between good and evil
some men misunderstand the hurt
the hurt then becomes lethal
I don't know how i got here
or how much longer i will be here
but if i don't stand now
i will forever be falling down
i can only hope you understand
my sister says we didn't choose this life, she cries
I don't even know her
but i could feel the droplets from her eyes
some men are born into lies
others into contradictions
some men mean well
other live in a figment of fiction
"tiny thoughts of the black hitler"
Old men steer world affairs and tend to dream and scheme,
While young men carry out their follies, forfeiting life supreme.
Brave Americans have died on The Altar of Honor worldwide.
They died so very young, all too young they died.
Courageous men stormed the beaches of Pacific strands.
Heroes all, some spilled precious blood staining pristine sands.
"Semper Fi! For Freedom's Sake! Press On!" they cried!
They died so very young, alas, all too young they died.
Valiant men stormed Normandy's shore at horrifying expense,
To set peoples free from tyranny, they took a noble stance.
For the cause of liberty they would not be denied!
They died so very young, alas, all too young they died.
Bold men struggled for Heartbreak Ridge, its summit to attain.
On that barren waste, Korean soil was imbued with crimson stain.
They rest 'neath sacred ground, never to hear their praises sung.
So very young they died, alas, they died all too young.
In the jungles of Viet Nam and yet today in desert zone,
Stalwart patriots died placing national interests above their own.
In every conflict, soldiers served with gallantry and pride.
But too many died so very young, alas, all too young they died.
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(© All Rights Reserved)
For five frigid days, strife raged upon the battlefield.
Men bravely struggled, yet neither side would yield.
By the flash of cannon fire they became stark silhouettes,
As they stormed from the trenches with slashing bayonets!
From dusk to dreary dawn there was no respite.
Peace it seemed would forever elude that ravaged site.
Tonight men recalled the birth of the Prince of Peace.
They yearned to set aside their arms and see the battle cease.
But on this Yule Eve an eerie silence crept o'er the field,
And suddenly from above, a brilliant star was revealed!
As thoughts of Christmases past added to their despair,
The dulcet voice of a lone soldier wafted through the air.
Tho' the words were alien to the Yanks, it was a familiar refrain.
'Twas "Stille Nacht" that drifted across that desolate plain.
In their native tongues, foes joined in that ancient carol,
Setting aside all enmity, forgetting for a time all peril.
For a brief moment, foes embraced in brotherhood.
"Peace on earth, good will to men," they understood.
But on the 'morrow cannon would again begin to roar,
As weary men again took up the terrible weapons of war.
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired (© All Rights Reserved)