Eleven months without physical harm
is a blessing she cradles in her arms.
One more month remains of living unchained.
Soon life might lose the dread that threads alarm.
As his time serving overseas dwindles,
her coerced endurance holds less kindle.
Her thought onslaught is worry fraught and serves
images that swell in her heart and nerves.
She lives aware that one second can swerve
a life into despair no one deserves.
He might die or be maimed at the finish line.
In her mind, September is a landmine.
Fears make wishes to become unaware,
be numb to thirty more days of warfare.
She knows as a premature lamenter,
she wants sleep until the end of September.
Have to win this race
I'm losing face at a pace
Running out of breath
I've got a peace plan
I'll come first and you second
It sounds good to me
Do you not agree
Should not have started this war
Back to where we were
EPIPHANY
I awaken most every day grateful not to be in an early grave. It seems it's been chasing me most of my life. I am no longer in one piece, Uncle Sam did a number on me. I wake up alone and greet my smartphone, cause I'm no longer fit for a wife.
I knew what I wanted to be one day, but the world didn't quite see it that way. Murphy's been imposing his laws on my dreams. I rolled with the punches, as they came in bunches, scraped myself off the mat, figured out where I'm at, and went on being the best I could be.
Dad is what I had left to be, and it's challenges unique to me. I learned through my kids a true sense of myself. Those things that I longed to be were titles and labels, not me. What's me is who I am. Chasing ego was a sham, just some dusty old crap on a shelf.
Determine type of instance
Right for the relation
What's signifyer
What's determinant
What's this
Determine context
And the laws within it
To achieve the proper judgement
And that
Miss,
Work produced by you
Is Isn't bad
I am official government
The only the processor
I am guarding
All the real values
Of the world
I's probably that I am not explicitly eternal
Or ideal
But neither am I young
Nor really old
My seal
Insignia
May not be violated
While Army phishing from the ambush
For the frauds
The engineering shall be not existing
For the competition
These are wildfires combat drones
These combat droughts
ETC ETC
The order
Shove up you as*h*le, as*h*le
All your stupid bots
I am of all the misconducts of yours aware
You should have better thought
The stupid human app or human bot
Because
It isn't really you who is the power
And guilty found you on basis of the facts
And not due ugly theater of humans
How shall be executing I
These Acts
OBLITERATED
THAT IS WHAT DONALD TRUMP SAID
MORE PERSONNEL DEAD
Freedom, Rewritten
They gave us a beginning
ink on paper,
voices in rebellion,
a spark that refused to fade.
We carry that spark differently now.
Some hold it in paintbrushes,
some in music,
some in words typed beneath the midnight skies
some in dreams that refuse to stay small.
Freedom is not frozen in a museum.
It is alive in every generation
that dares to question, create, and imagine.
We look back at the footsteps behind us,
not to stay there,
but to understand the road we walk.
The past gave us the foundation.
The present gives us the voice.
The future waits for our imagination.
So let the fireworks rise
not just for what was won,
but for what we are still building.
Because freedom is not a final page.
It is a blank canvas,
and every one of us holds the pen.
Freedom, Rewritten
They gave us a beginning
ink on paper,
voices in rebellion,
a spark that refused to fade.
We carry that spark differently now.
Some hold it in paintbrushes,
some in music,
some in words typed beneath the midnight skies
some in dreams that refuse to stay small.
Freedom is not frozen in a museum.
It is alive in every generation
that dares to question, create, and imagine.
We look back at the footsteps behind us,
not to stay there,
but to understand the road we walk.
The past gave us the foundation.
The present gives us the voice.
The future waits for our imagination.
So let the fireworks rise
not just for what was won,
but for what we are still building.
Because freedom is not a final page.
It is a blank canvas,
and every one of us holds the pen.
YOUNG
Young and strong and full of vigor
So proud to answer the call
Crisp new uniform
Standing sharp and tall
Solemn with intent
To serve for one and all
His country and comrades
He bravely manned the wall
To stand against the bitter foe
And endure war’s awful squall
With valor and service true
Til the fateful fall
Then home again and still young
But only full of rigor
The Fourth rose hard fire tracing lines across the sky
Then you went quiet slipping past the noise without reply
Vietnam lived in you like a shadow that never left
A war carried inward silent disciplined and deft
At fifty you stepped out of the world with no parade
While fireworks kept burning blind to the cost you paid
Now each July Fourth stands rigid cold and bright
And July Fifth returns thirty years held in that light
patriot
loyal, proud
honoring, praising, saluting
USA, soldier, criminal, miscreant
deceiving, dissembling, hustling
crooked, cagey
traitor
soldiers march in rows
gun smoke floats like puffy clouds
a battle is won
A baby is born
His hair is shorn…
Off to school
Learns the rules…
Gradates college
The army he dodges…
Gets married, buys a house
Raises a family with his spouse...
Grows old, less and less bold
His tent at last he folds…
Nowhere is mentioned service
That’s what makes me nervous
The invasion has begun.
In the distance,I hear the rattle of heavy artillery.
Silage trailers,as they thunder along pock-marked country roads.
Young conscripts,barely legal,battling with the controls of a modern day,
monster tractor.
Happy as the day is long,
they tick tok around the clock,
Posting updates and images of the work in progress
to their army of followers.
They'll be starving by lunch time.
Putins' long white table would seat a platoon of men,
In for the dinner,
On a break from gathering potatoes, building a stack of hay or toiling at a dusty thrasher.
But my mother would barely have a table cloth long enough
for Putins' table.
To cover the blood stains, from the flesh
dripping slowly from the the meat grinder.
A silent trumpet signals reveille’s call
Shadows play liars poker
Amid the stone
Sunshine tiptoes past
The grey mourners
Forgotten flags
Offer a tattered role call
A sad wind stiffens in salute
As a silenced trumpet weeps
From the early days of your inclusion
in the ranks,
marching in formation.
Some of you fighter pilots, clerical,
galley workers, medics, nurses,
doctors, mechanics.
When fear met courage,
some of you died with your
brothers,
a duty of sacrifice,
sisters in arms.
It takes such bravery to sign up-
women in uniform be proud,
labors of the soul and body,
sweat, determination, grit.
When your career peaks,
you’ll carry your legacy wherever
you are,
as you age in grace,
sisters in arms.
Someday buried with your brethren,
the taps will play for all of you,
in the revered resting place of
rolling lawns.
Sisters and brothers in arms.
Military Categories
Definition | What is Military in Poetry?
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.
Related Poetry Forms
army, fighting, militant, martial, combatant, aggressive, armed, combative, warlike, militaristic, soldierly, warmongering, noncivil, navy, force, troop, service, army, marines, soldiery, air force, servicepeople,