Short Armistice Poems
Short Armistice Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Armistice by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Armistice by length and keyword.
Angel's amity amidst angry assembled archenemies,
archangel's amazing announcement,
an armistice achieved, armaments acquiesce,
ardent applause,
averted an armed and amoured armies animus
and an Armageddon annihilation
The tree embraces cat and bird.
On both its blessing is conferred.
In turn, they celebrate the bliss
Of this eternal armistice.
The tree is rooted in the deep,
Where hatred, rage and envy sleep,
And reaches up, all gnarled and scarred,
To sparkling diadems of stars.
eleventh month of nineteen eighteen,
eleventh day and hour striking,
weary soldiers wept, relieved,
as armistice took root
and guns gone silent
raised a stillness
well-heard by
trench and
grave
November 10, 2022
A November Nonet Poetry Contest,
Andrea Dietrich, sponsor
This heart of mine is
a wanderer nomad and
now it is on the
loose. It became wroth
and restless for the mind is
bowed down; the shameful
armistice is now
signed. Because it is still
aware that if it
gave upon on you,
if it ceased to love, it would
cease to beat eternally.
Eleventh hour—
young men perished,
their hopes and dreams all lost:
Ypres, The Marne, Verdun
of the
Eleventh day—
silent, fell guns,
and stillness took the front:
Argonne, Belleau Wood, Amiens
of the
Eleventh month—
the war men claimed
would end all others:
sadly, it did not
NOVEMBER 2022
Rightly so, the poppies flood
Early in the winter sky
Merrily stood in field, and this
Existence of mine has passed by
Maybe they'd watch us contend
But are authorities ever sober?
Early now, in Winter's sky
Realise how they owed her
Unwillingly ignorant to the loss, they'll be
Scorching their retinas, a veil of red
I marched the roads of the Western Front
To stem the tide of the Germans brunt
And stayed in the mud and blood churned ground
Of No Man’s Land and won to our victory bound
Australia lost 60,000 daughters and sons
Until the Armistice was signed and done
On battlefields there is silence now
And I Rest In Peace unbowed.
© Paul Warren Poetry
Oh, how such calligraphy glints
In the waking sun ‘tis betrayal
Post-ejaculatory nocturne
Such crucifixion of misery
Performs as an aid to impending tragedy
And obliterates the art ‘tis suicide
so that infants be branded with
a mark of amour that is profound
In each and every star lies
a distinct honor undefined
In due time all shall awaken
Arousing armistice
WAR
In peace you
frown
Tussle is your
work tool
pain,turbulence
and anger are
in thy armoury
T'reat holds an
upper hand in
thy army
Thy assign
force as an
army staff
War you paste
armistice in the
heart of men
clearing their
wages with
blood;
and editing
fear from the
recruit
arming the
with
sophisticated
weapons.
The old soldier reflects
During a two minute lull.
Shiny medals worn
On clothes drab and dull.
Wearing a red poppy
With feelings of regret and pride.
Teardrops for comrades
Who died by his side.
Now begs for pennies
On the city streets
Looked down upon
By some that he meets.
Waiting for a pension
Promised years before.
One more statistic
A hero of war.
Armistice day, 2012.
Never Look Away
Remember, remember,
11th November,
No more gunpowder,
Gas screaming rot.
Remember this day,
Never again,
And tomorrow those who fell we forgot.
Remember, remember, remember.
David Nickle Read
unrearthing the fallen saint
you wash your feet
and enter the temple of forgotten god :
cult of escape from
tangled half-truths
with dramatic entry of hysterics
you fail to accept yourself,
the grieving death-mask
transcends a fresco
labyrinthine, spacey
soul-sick mates
disputing for no things
the unstained shirt
reminds the absence
you bake a new recipe
SATISH VERMA
Form:
unrearthing the fallen saint
you wash your feet
and enter the temple of forgotten god :
cult of escapc from
tangled half- truths
with dramatic entry of hysterics
you fail to accept yourself,
the grieving death – mask
transcends a fresco
labyrinthine, spacey
soul-sick mates
disputing for no things
the unstained shirt
reminds the absence
you bake a new recipe
SATISH VERMA
Form:
Just to be free
I will take a chance,
Without a backward glance
To close the door and lose the key
That has been too oft used
To unlock memories better lost in the sea
Of forgetfulness.
Just to be unbruised
From a lifetime of hurt
And from all the recorded grooves
Played and replayed like a concert
That never improves and always subverts
Any chance of happiness,
Or at least a peaceful armistice.
That awkward moment
when you stammer,
truth spurts out:
how not to offer a straight reply.
Your green eyes
tell me the pain
of last century.
Of armistice, of amputated legs
and then you don’t know what to do with your existence.
Darkened trees spit the starlight.
I will wait for the maddening crowd
to take the dip in the holy lake,
to wash out their sins
under the full moon.
SATISH VERMA
Form:
Somber grey,true dismay
Abstruse plight,day is night
Assailants might,no armistice
Goth
Abatoirs full of disgorge
A world depraved,a blackish haze
Ignominous calamity
Goth
Fathomless,the abyss
Callosity,the damned to be
Feinous atrocities
Goth
Evil adulation,whole affectation
Amoral fixation,mind controlled nations
Robotic existence,lost in decadence
Goth
Self-crippled arrayed in abundance
Too poisonous to move, to dance
Striking a medicare deal
Reeling in unemployment checks
Our disabled bodies left to hang
From crippling blows
The pressure of expectation
Lynching sanity
Propping self-delusion on stilts
Searching for rights
The reason to exist
In a muddled play by play
Blessed are those in spirit
Accepting power over their destiny
Accepting free will
And the test of time
Don’t know
that I ever looked
forward to sunrise—
days just seem to come
and go, like desert flowers
and dust-devils, tumbleweeds
ripped from their arid rest:
safe in my shared crevice
with other baked eyes
I watch the spiraling tails
trying to escape the heat
(a monolithic trance)
snakes, scorpions
and myself
we keep an armistice
not to hunt one another
till walking, slithering,
crawling, back into
the night….
Listen to poem:
The barbed wires gone the craters filled in
But the poppy's still grow on Flanders fields
men's tears have been wiped and burials done
But the poppy's still grow on Flanders fields
young men died because old men lied
But the poppy's still grow on Flanders fields
A nation bows its head in prayer this day
But the poppy's still grow on Flanders fields
stop the killing end these wars
and you will not need poppy's in a hundred years .
Rain O Rain
As I wait for rain
that quenches thirst of the dry soil,
Longing for petrichor rises
as breaths anticipate new life,
Magical raindrops
flow in veins of gods ...
Armistice to soul's content,
an essence for the ebbing,
Heavenly earthy incense
no worldly aroma can match ...
Drenched in icicle drizzles
I hang onto year after year,
waiting for his eternal scent.
Written June 9th, 2016
For contest by Binibining
Like a desert lily
Like February sunshine
Like an August rain
Like daisies in a pavement crack
Like a cat on your lap
Like a parent's compliment
Like a child's gratitude
Like a smile on the subway
Like an oasis in the desert
Like regaining your sight
Like cancer in remission
Like a winning lottery ticket
Like a reconciled marriage
Like an armistice announcement
Like a stay of execution
Like a rolled away stone
by an empty tomb
Sometimes it pours like hot
drips of melted wax from a candlestick;
your migraine.
I wanted armistice.
Untangle the lies,
I am not in your firing line.
The tulips in the barrel of your gun
cannot forgive the bullets.
There will be no ceremony after the funeral.
Give a slice of blue departure
of moon to light the beach,
there was a brutal murder on the lake
among the muffled waves of protest
in the home of insanes, who were
praying for the sun to return.
SATISH VERMA
Who was the dancer of death ?
You went for the kill,
and not for the killer.
The frail armistice. You
launch a drive for the drill.
It was more than what?
meets the eye. Looks like an
Armageddon. You begin in earnest
to ward off the paranoia.
Nativity was at stake. A
captive psyche fights the fading
memory. Your face goes blank.
My things and your things.
It should not have happened this way.
It should not have happened that way.
Satish Verma
Normal is a Casualty
I accidentally wandered inside your heart.
I didn't mean for you to watch me die.
This burden would rob the blind
and leave the weak for dead.
Our bed's become a battle field,
a no man's land between us.
We finally reached an armistice,
but all wars leave their wounded.
Time has slowed to a crawl waiting
for test results and next moves.
Will we ever know normal again?
The clock's always midnight and noon.
Image of South Africa Cape Town Table provided by Pixabay
Token Steps
Ruling winds the austral buttes naked slopes ...
as vortex smoky rise aloft Zulu's kraal
Clans in circular indlu huts enclosing round
all women famous to craft their beads
while getting set for tomorrows Reed Dance
a trait of Zulu armistice Nguni extends
Bestill, war drums eve chants Shaka's hopes ...
2021 May 29