Short Battlefields Poems

A legion of clouds,
March across blue battlefields:
War rumbles ahead....

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Entrenched
positions
in no man's land,
on the battlefields of
our minds


Inspired by Rev 12:7-12...

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If Ego and Vanity are the assailants on our life morals, then what is the all defeating weapon? Soul, for it, is neutral on all battlefields....

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Your tears
Are dewdrops
On the
Other side of
This wall
Brave soldiers
Have died
So others
May live
What make
This banner wave,
Beyond these battlefields...

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Anguish
Battlefields
Careless
Dying
Endless
Fighting
Guns
Heartbreak
Instant
Jokeless
Killing
Lifeless
Mankind
Nowhere
Orphans
Poison
Quarrel
Revenge
Sickness
Terrorism
Undergoing
Values
Why
X-treme
Young
Zone...

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A prison for stolen souls
Battlefields are

Trapped in the urgency of yesterday
The chosen, unseen and silent

The scarred earth they walk
Past objectives, they search

Grass now, blankets of rolling green
Cover the fallen, not the pain...

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Sing, do sing, fingers dance
over the strings of the bloody guitar.
We soldiers sing and dance
to a macabre tune
as our governments send us to war.

As thousands of us fall in death
and battlefields become gory,
Sing and dance to honor us,
but ask yourself,
What price, Glory?...

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Colorful blasts rain throughout the night
Illuminations of freedom
Upon bloodied battlefields
Young warriors' innocence was lost
While our Independence was gained
Our voices ring with Glory while our fires we ignite
This night we celebrate our right to be free!

TLH  ©  07-04-2012...

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Friend of freedom is close at hand,
Roaming the battlefields across our land,
Engulfed by whisps of smoke that somehow pervade,
Entrenched by the enemies' live grenades,
Directing their tracer fire across the sector,
Over the bloody scene carnage is a spectre,
Many have perished because freedom is not free!...

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War torn battlefields
Political flop
Who'll pick up the pieces
When they've taken what they've got?

Blood thirsty animals
Scavengers at dawn
Who'll pick up the pieces
When everything is gone?

Disease, decay, rotting flesh
Not a word being said
Who'll pick up the pieces
When everything is dead?...

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   Is it really Valentine’s Day
     celestial angels say

   For so long we’ve been away
     on battlefields, in the fray  

   Tried our best to petition and pray
     midst cries of agony and bullets’ spray

   For peace to break out and hold sway ~
     tears in our hearts, it’s here we must stay
...

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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...

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Christmas star hung bright
But turmoil brewed far below
World at war this holiday

So I made a wish
That harmony would soon reign
And battlefields be destroyed

The best miracle
Raise my husband from his grave
So he’d know he’d fought and won

Neath the mistletoe
Still clad in his uniform
We’d celebrate peace on earth



*Entry for the Christmas Miracle contest...

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The pen is a mighty weapon
Many a people have said
One stroke of this crayon
Have left many people dead

The sword used to kill the pawns
Leaving many battlefields red
Bringing leaders into a new dawn
And many common folk dead

The Lord has not yet drawn
Beware the bloodshed
Nobody will be left to mourn
When he takes all our heads

Duane LaChance Sr. 2012...

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the power of the pen
freedom cried said all the men
embraced in the arms of justice, liberty and the wind
we hoisted up our nation’s flag to thee we sing
we wiped the tears from the gentle eyes of torn battlefields
stars shall glow in the hearts of all the soldier men
when men use their gifts from God again
nothing shall defeat the power of the mighty pen...

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Remembrance Day	

Cold
Mists of
November
Gently embrace
Moss covered tombstones
In cathedral graveyards
Silent battlefields echo
Plaintive elegies of poppies
Remembrance Day for fallen heroes

11-10-22
Contest: November Nonet
Sponsor: Andrea Dietrich

I was in England when Remembrance Day was celebrated.  People were wearing red poppies to memorialize fallen soldiers....

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This blots the names of battlefields
away. That bloody butchery. There 
he is, standing on top 
of the old chicken coop. My boy
standing four years old
like he’s on the top of that world
we tried to fix. All of us. 
The ones who didn’t come back 
to kids.

My boy and I, we’re not afraid. 
I’ll hold my arms out
to him, standing on that chicken
coop. I’ll tell him,
“Jump.”...

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In dank and dusty basements,
where people die alone,
and ancient cairns by weathered hands
were built with rock and stone,
in cabins long abandoned,
corners pile with leaves windblown,
on battlefields resounding as the
bullet strikes the bone,
when more than one has, indeed,
o're the cuckold's nest flown,
we realize that time is nothing
and nothing's ever known.


©Danielle White...

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Whether it be foreign country or terrorists that attack our land,
I will fight them on the beaches on the streets and from my home.
If necessary I will retreat to the foothills and then to the mountains,
Still I will never raise white flag to those who would steal my freedom.

AS GOD IS MY WITNESS!!

I SHALL NEVER SURRENDER!!

Having been a knight on ancient past battlefields,
This soldier knows no fear of any enemy!!...

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You always placed one before two

And dwelled in that logic

Over battlefields of dying dreams

Forgoing the charge of atmosphere

To make ion and scion attach in seams

Of your weaving, scheming plunder.

I now place two before one

And use my two eyes to discern your graft

To steer clear of your attraction

That would sequence to three

And thus count "out" and prelude the fall

Of my battle-torn, tender heart of wonder....

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Ancient goddess, greatly feared
Maiden, Mother, and Crone all adhered
Independence, strength and fertility near
The Morrigan, The Morrigan

Through the dark and fog she treads
To the misty river's edge
To wash the clothes and the threads
Of those, not yet, but destined dead
The Morrigan, The Morrigan

With piercing fiery-angered cries
Over the battlefields she flies
Gathering skulls and hoisting them high
The Morrigan, The Morrigan...

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Through the valleys of Death and Shadow,
Through Mountains cold and sharp,
You shall strut the sea shallow,
Trees green and tall, of golden sap.

Haunted battlefields, howl in the wind,
Voices of the past, begging for release,
Where heroes and monsters, both have sinned,
None can grant there moaning pleas.

And the breath of life swiftly fades,
On Eternal storm and shifting seas,
Keep away from Wailing  shades
Keep away from Frozen Tears ....

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The diggers looked around
As they  marched over the ground
Of the  Menin Gate at Ieper town
And their chiseled names shone brightly down
When they passed through the arch of glory
As the nightly bugle sung their story

They were laying across the battlefields
Still holding ground they refused to yield
And will be forever with their mates
As they stand together while they wait
And we will honour them too
Knowing their deeds and daring-do.

© Paul Warren Poetry...

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A Warriors' heart beat
deep within his chest
long forgotten memories re-lived,
of ancient savage battles
won and lost
on battlefields long
stained red with blood.

The warriors' yell,
his call to battle
brave men one and all
few left standing at days end
on battlefields long
stained red with blood.

His warriors' heart
held a sadness best never spoken
his vow made, never to forget
those brave souls
lost so long ago
on battlefields long
stained red with blood....

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Don’t go I heard her cry,
From a door that was kept ajar.
The message very poignant,
Knowing how many had gone before.
Then given that we make a choice,
So who are we to say?
Across our small blue planet,
Would this happen anyway.
Souls and there are many,
Sacrificed in freedoms name.
Lay on the battlefields altar,
To justify, another’s gain.
We all must share the burden,
For who is there to blame.
Given the point, from their perspective,
From our view, would be the same....

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