Long World war i Poems
Long World war i Poems. Below are the most popular long World war i by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long World war i poems by poem length and keyword.
A new dawn,
Unveiled hopes and surreal ecstatic.
The smiles on their faces,
Heralded news,
The folks were delighted.
It was worth every ounce of struggle.
Though, a dilemma.
Afraid of separation.
Yet, desperate to experience the journey.
The ambience compelled me.
I was finally seen off,
I was on a voyage to satisfy nature's balance.
Now I learned the way of flying.
They had fed me once, now the tables had turned.
The man I was had been called a coward.
They celebrated my bravery now.
Decorated badges shone and made them proud.
I lost one and two things to earn it.
Was it really worth it?
The grasp of my anxiety grew.
On a bright sunny day,
I was summoned by a great war.
The fallen heroes' cries haunted me,
They never let me close my eyes.
Though I dodged death,
My mates did not.
When consciousness returned.
A stream of blood filled my sight.
Decapitated bodies, blasted arms,
Eyes bulging out of their sockets,
The fallen were the luckiest.
One who lived was burning in hell.
Men begged me to put an end to their agony.
Our eyes shed blood,
Tears dried out.
I wished to shoot my brains out too.
The nefarious haunted site was too much to bear.
"I couldn't" I cried ....
A bullet shell dropped beside me.
I had killed my own man, or had I helped him?
His heart wide opened, and my shank.
My shin mangled, my eardrums burst.
"Medic! Medic! Medic!"
A few men rushed and took me away.
I only saw them talking but heard no word.
Certainly they would cut it.
The pain fainted me right away.
A chunk of metal cost me a leg.
What would a hurt man do?
Run away to his folks.
So did I.
The smile on their faces now faded.
They hardly talked about their dream again.
Blames encompassed a loop.
Still celebrated as a hero.
The shell-shock and vivid imagery of the war,
Ran through my mind every now and then.
I never slept again.
Trapped inside a war I had never waged.
It had now changed my periphery of life.
I despised it.
The fallen were the luckiest.
I couldn't even stand on my own.
I barely opened my mouth, only to be fed.
There it hangs, my greatest achievement,
So the folks claimed.
Why did I live in guilt then?
Was it to hide my sins,
Or to make me feel proud?
The barrage of questions and bullets,
Never left my conscience.
I may have quit the war,
It still ran inside my head.
Throughout history from time to time, our country has gone to war;
they called upon our brave young men to enlist and join the corps.
Some of the men were called by draft; while some enlisted on their own.
They displayed their courage, in either case, and made their presence known.
With the colonists discontent in ‘75 the American Revolution began;
the brave young men fought the British for the right to claim their land.
Over restricted trade rights in 1812, we went to war with Britain once again;
with much of the war, against their strong navy, fought on the bounding main.
The Spanish American War began in 1898 with the sinking of the Maine
The American victory gave Cuba its freedom from the mighty Empire of Spain.
Teddy Roosevelt and his brave Rough Riders charged up Kettle Hill;
The battle cries of the brave young men surely gave the Spaniards a chill.
The sinking of the Lusitania in 1917 brought us into World War I,
and the presence of our brave young men was felt before the war was done.
Our troops with “Black Jack” Pershing at the helm, into the war were lead,
and soon the German army knew, on the Americans they would not tread.
With Japan’s surprise attack on Pearl Harbor in December of ‘41,
Uncle Sam once again called its young men to gather and take up their guns.
From the sands of Iwo Jima to the beaches of Normandy,
they banded together and fought with great valor and won their victory.
Vietnam was a different kind of war, fought by the boomer generation;
And when the war was done the men came home facing an ungrateful nation.
They had banded together and bravely fought and 58,000 died,
and the brave men came home to an unruly mob, a nation with no pride.
If there a common thread in all of our wars, it’s the bravery of our young men;
they answered the call to take up arms time and time again.
They distinguished themselves as they fought with valor, many of them died,
and in our country we have lived in peace and that cannot be denied.
And to the brave men who gave their lives, we will be eternally indebted.
We will never forget what they did for us, their memories forever respected.
The bible passage from the Book of John, brings us to this end;
“Greater love has no man than this: to lay down one's life for one's friends.”
The bright orange rugby shirt I had,
When I was fourteen, fifteen, sixteen and seventeen,
Was my trophy and my pride and joy,
Never to be deprived of me,
Even if I complained to my parents or to their friend,
To have been seen to be a boy too much,
Or, in other words, mistaken as a superior person,
With other sociology to fulfil all my wishes.
I was just assertive and intelligent and all that,
A fashion icon, an example to others,
To disabled people or to church young persons,
Who were both the same to me, like each other;
They just wanted to fit into society,
To mark their case for more wheelchair rights,
Or in order to state their reason for believing in god.
I had my identity, my beliefs, and my role models,
Listened to them in respect, with amorosity:
I knew what I wanted to do in life,
And my goals were of course reasonable,
Because they could be achieved no problem, abstractly.
But that was it, and there it was,
Objectively everything sounded fine,
Doable, but what you thought about it,
The practicalities weighed you down,
Taught the string which so dangled entertainingly,
As a condition that was more of a pleasure,
To make, to work out such that your desires happened.
So my bright rugby shirt said it all really,
That I should have my desires and goals,
That I should be met and facilitated in life,
And not my parents or those church leaders,
That I was supposed to follow.
I did not ever have to state my case beforehand,
Before the meetings about my future and care needs,
Because everyone knew I was an atheist,
Able with expression and communication,
Able with much trust for other people.
I was in Germany once with my parents,
Dressed as usual in the clothes that I like,
Without hesitation, care or timidity;
My jumper may not have been bright orange,
But it was still colourful enough to attract attention.
So my parents were embarrassed, particularly my dad,
Who was a war veteran true and sensitive,
And so from then on we hid inside shops,
And even stayed longer in restaurants,
Because all the wheelchair spaces for the cafés,
Were outside those cafés at tables on the pavement;
So we shopped, visited the toilet more, went to museums,
Instead of drinking coffee in the cafés of Berlin.
KNOWN JUST TO GOD AND ME
The Unknown Soldier
Rows and rows of snow white stones, no names upon their face.
Thousands more who went to war and left no earthly trace.
One unknown for all unknowns, Canada for thee,
I am the unknown soldier, known just to God and me.
Mother country’s call to war awakes a young man’s dream.
Escape from toil on barren soil to a uniform’s esteem.
No thoughts of mothers losing sons, just of a chance to roam,
A year to spare, go over there, defeat the Hun - come home!
Dark train rolling through the night toward the eastern sea.
Young soldiers seeking glory, not knowing what will be.
Last sight of home, across the foam, where the unleashed dogs of war
Will soon declare no glory there, just mud and blood and gore.
In Vimy’s tunnels warriors stand awaiting dreaded dawn,
Each one a knight in someone’s eyes, each one a front row pawn.
The hand of fate soon to decide the minutes or the years
Left to the souls who leave dark holes to face their greatest fears.
Comrades all around me fall, each fought his private war.
With will and might we take the height where others failed before.
Amid the sleet, the roar, the heat, the chaos all around,
I do not feel the bullet strike that drives me to the ground.
Buried in a blanket shroud, forgotten and alone,
“A Soldier of the Great War” inscribed upon my stone.
But then I’m chosen to return, across the same grey sea,
Back from my hell of shock and shell, back from the Ridge Vimy.
I lie in state and share my fate with mourners passing by.
A moment spared for one who dared, a tear in every eye.
From where I came and my own name known just to God and me,
In a hallowed space in a state of grace, I will spend eternity.
And once a year again I hear the cadenced cannons boom,
And feel the love from those above, the poppies on my tomb.
A country’s grief for her lost sons who kept her strong and free,
The Canada I died for upon the Ridge Vimy.
Rows and rows of snow white stones, no names upon their face.
Thousands more who went to war and left no earthly trace.
One unknown for all unknowns, Canada for thee,
I am the unknown soldier, known just to God and me.
I am the unknown soldier, known just to God and me.
Ellis Pringle Craig
June, 2019
>River Orwell and a Poppy field
By Stanley Russell Harris
(The mad Author)
I went out with the wife today.
We walked by the River Orwell I say.
Tide was out, but breeze was swell.
Ensured there was no stinking town smell.
Grasses looked so green and fresh.
Honey bees were buzzing on the clover bless.
Gathering pollen, for their queen.
Soon to be, in their hive seen.
Then we visited a poppy clad field.
Photos by the score, that field did yield.
Wife’s camera clicked away that day.
Must have been red hot I say.
The poppies were like those of Flanders red.
You know those growing for our dead.
For our brave men, who died there and bled.
Who should have returned home alive instead.
Now we bicker and do shout.
As GB from EU do want out.
Yet deep in that mud our kinfolk hide.
Red poppies now grow where they peacefully lie.
I hope our cries do not disturb them.
Our brave and gallant country men.
Who laid down their lives for you and me.
So we from chains could live free.
Was weird finding that field today.
Red poppies in the breeze did sway.
Reminded me of those days, of long ago,
when our brave men died in Flanders fields, so…
No more World Wars should we fight.
EU should now respect our rights.
As our ancestors won us the right,
to leave the EU free, if rules seem now not right.
Soon all countries in the EU will be free.
Of Brussels domination, just you see.
We might be the first country to break free.
But not the last, just wait and see.
If not, then I am sad to say
EU will sadly fade away.
Remember you read it here today.
And now I’ll put pen and pad away.
As I remember those brave men I say,
and those fields of red poppies today.
It is no coincidence that on the 1st of July 2016 we will be remembering the action of those gallant men who's lives were sacrificed in those blood stained fields of The Battle of the Somme. July 1st to November18th 1916.The same fields where those bright red poppies grow. You might see pictures of our poppies on my Facebook page if you so wish. Although not a war poet, I would like to dedicate this poem to those gallant forefathers or ours. Many of course who still lie peacefully in Flanders fields. Stanley (The mad Author) PS This will be in Poems Book 10.<
Form:
I was a boy not quit seventeen,
I enlisted when I was sixteen…
Wanting to serve my country…
I had no family it was just
my sister and me…
My mother had died, when
I was very young, new family
adopted me…
My sister was also adopted,
by another family…
As you can see, it was just
my sister and me…
It wasn’t long before my adopted
family, first my new father died
then my new mother, followed him…
She missed him so much, for
she had a broken heart,
that wouldn’t mend …
I went to war as a little boy,
came home a man…
As you see I was just sixteen…
The time was at “Chaute Thierry”,
doing world war one…
As a young man I thought we won…
Standing behind a cannon as
it was fired, shell casing discharging
from the breach, sent hot shrapnel
and pain into my foot…
Sent me to hospital where I
laid in pain, until they treated me,
sent me home, with crippled foot,
shrapnel of imbedded in my foot,
as well as the pain in my foot…
I’ve never been able NOT to work,
even though I have shrapnel
in my foot, walk with a limp, and
have pain in my foot everyday…
Now you can see, that it didn’t
keep me from work…
Though I was wounded during
war, no purple heart was given
this boy a young soldier…
Wasn’t until my son wrote our
Congressman, explaining what had
happen, and what hadn’t been done…
Took over fifty years, but I got my
purple heart, thanks to my son for
what he done…
I would have gone to my grave,
for I wouldn’t have said anything,
as I hadn’t for years, for I thought it
was their job, to recognize what I
had done…
My family was proud, of what I’d
done, but I feel, that they were more
proud of me now…
Only told my story a few times,
mostly to a few close friends, and my
children, for it was part of history…
Now you know my story, the young
soldier, just boy…
By Sandra L. Hoban
©2006
This poem was written and dedicated to my father who served as an infantry soldier during World War I. This is also dedicated to all those who have served our country and was wounded or lost there life while serving, not just World War I but all wars, conflicts and military police actions.
The first world war started because of poverty
The first world war started because of greed
The first world war started because of an assassination
The first world war started because of Ideas
The first world war started because people wanted revenge
Each Statement appears to claim, all of the truth
Each statement, appears to conflict with the others
Yet each statement is a different side of the truth
To see all of the truth you need to look at the life of people
To see all of the truth you need to look at all sides of a problem
The first world war started because of poverty
Gavrilo Princip start his life in poverty his family suffered
with six of his sibling dying in infancy poverty became
the breeding ground for his feelings of discontent
education brought him into a world of ideas
The first world war started because of greed
people in power, used the assassination as an excuse,
going to war they thought, would bring them profit,
they didn't picture themselves losing but instead,
pictured the profit of taking wealth from other countries
The first world war started because of an assassination
Gavrilo Princip joined a group called the Young Bosnia
Believing in ideals of unification inspired by ideas from
Romanticism, anarchism, and revolutionary socialism
Serbian military puppets encouraged to commit the assassination
The first word war started because of ideas,
Ideas are all around us, flooding our lives every day,
people say, get rid of the immigrants, they take our jobs,
Immigrant's say, we are better than you, we have less criminals
communism was an idea that inspired Gavrilo Princip
The first world war, started because people wanted revenge,
Archduke Franz Ferdinand and his wife where assassinated
People wanted revenge people wanted retaliation
supporting government decisions people became ready for war
with the support of the country people go to war.
Nobody started the first world war because of religion,
it started because of many, conflicting reasons
these are but a few, I sure their are many more,
but if we want to learn from the past, to make a better future,
Think hard, of how to make a better world, without war.
I've read many accounts on that horrific war that was WWI ,it was supposed to end all wars.
It was trench warfare and men fought and died in hellish conditions.
It inspired me to write this fictional verse.
The posters said come fight with us and make your country proud
Went to town my friends and I to sign on the dotted line
I remember the scenes in town, the cheering of the crowd
They said t'will soon be over and everything will be fine.
Naive were we and believed them and everything they said
Some basic training they gave us on how to use a gun
It did not help my friends though because now they all lie dead
To us this was a big adventure, just a bit of fun.
I was assigned to B squad, trench number forty seven
And had to stand in mud so deep it came up to my knees
Soldiers had put up a sign that said ' shortcut to heaven '
After a while my skin was itching someone said it's flea's .
Night time bombardments were the worst and my ears were ringing
Often they'd strike lucky and parts of the trench would disappear
We'd try to drown out the roars with patriotic singing
In the eyes of the boys I was with you could see their fear.
Everyday bodies were brought out and placed upon a cart
As the stretcher bearers passed we'd think thank god that's not me
A gruesome sight I witnessed were those bodies blown apart
I could not help but think that from hell those souls were free .
In November ninteen eighteen the war was finally over
We cried with tears of joy, we were finally going home
After a few hours I saw them, the white cliffs of Dover
Tears rolled down my face and I vowed never again to roam.
Home for me was a struggle and it didn't seem quite real
At night I'd have bad nightmares' and I would wake up screaming
Often I'd wonder if my mental scars would ever heal
My mother she'd rush in and say " son you're only dreaming ".
It's been ten years now and the wars still raging in my head
And I often ask myself how ever did I survive
Nine friends I lost in that war and now they're forever dead
Wars are a game of chance, whether you die or stay alive.
Written 30th September 2019.
Thralldom etched in *****sapiens (mine) DNA
Though your true blue stated civilian
never enlisted nor impressed,
nonetheless I own an opinion
originally embarked on poetic quest
to express purposelessness,
when soldiers rest
at peace i.e. eternally,
many attired courtesy
smart uniform strong with zest.
Psyche steeped, macerated, brewed
as token scapegoat, cue
trumpets Don to toot
courtesy more'n one
nasty shortish brute
weasley chastened me
round mulberry bush
said monkeys chased scaredy
cat me... point moot
regarding... rung me
ragged standing astute
adjacent Thomas Jonathan
"Stonewall" Jackson
(Confederate general during
American Civil War),
his own troops accidentally
fired on him during
Battle of Chancellorsville
in Virginia doth not compute
"friendly fire" unleashed during
one among many hot pursuit
part and parcel of wars,
since time immemorial
gung ho practiced soldier and/or
scared cat neophyte unwittingly shoot
pellets traveling speed of
sound bullet out - gunmetal chute
ordinarily pardoned distinct mistake
versus homicide statute
nonetheless...about
thee (rhetorical question), wherefore
art thou purpose to war,
those slain now paid tribute
since major hostilities of
World War I formally
ended at 11th hour of 11th
day of 11th month of 1918
yet... I question military conflicts
battle hymns constitute
legacy e'er since Homo
sapiens stood erect,
many soldiers of misfortune,
sons of destitute
versus wealthy heirs accepted perception
that war was "a rich man's war
and a poor man's fight"
countless generations ago
deserters fate would mean execute
"the bastard," even second decade
into twenty first century
once sworn in at basic training,
getting discharged (vodka luck), but absolute
zero tolerance quitting before
duty commitment desertion flagrant violation,
no easy task leaving service minus
tribunal meeting severe to prosecute,
thus joining military unlike
accepting any other job
punishment greater than Das boot,
yet patriotism, née jingoism
not ideal, viz conflict resolution,
verstehen, or did this wordsmith convolute?
Roguish reincarnated ribbing raconteur...
Ruminating, while rustling, and roping
regular riff raff galore
with deliberate intent tomb ache
mummy dearest laugh
till she falls down Mariana Trench
deep down on zee sea floor,
where tears trickle thence pour
down her cheeks
causing flash floods that did roar
back in the day of dinosaur
triggering erosion plus extinction regarding
"terrible lizards," unwittingly
opening figurative door
regarding wild speculation
by George, i.e. ninety eighty four
bajillion years ago maya
inca ling extempore
rainy us hypothesis,
whereby this troubadour
posits sketchy jaw dropping conjecture
synchronization, superstition, strangulation...
roaming contra band predecessor
rock hitted rolling stones
hook, line and sinker
gathered no hardy moss, nor
grunting gripes re: ain't
got no satisfaction store
reed prehistoric bipedal hominids
embarkation commenced way before
führer set to even World War I score
back hazy mists time immemorial
vulnerable scattered shortish,
nasty brutish primates bore
ring, measly, niche indeed
kickstarted guttural folklore
fierce predators heavily outnumbered
lacked aptitude to deplore
chance fluke circumstances
take out boxed survival diet of worms
held in escrow to check
propensity trending cocksure
bazillion future generations, when
forebears would explore
comfort zones outer limits,
meanwhile mine and your
great great great... grandparents
kept low profile learning hardcore
bare necessities to shore
scant population uttering primal bonjour.
How quaint to contemplate,
when proto humans continuity
at mercy of indiscriminate fate
where unavoidable, uncontrollable, unpredictable...
forces decreed demise
contracting early death versus to dilate
envisioning disadvantageous, horrendous,
precarious tenuous...
toehold *****sapiens descendents I equate
with apocalyptic unpleasant fate
predicated pitching humanity
teetering on brink, where
self destruction will accelerate
unless species doth ameliorate
weapons of mass destruction
while doomsday clock ticks closer to...