You can look back now
being much older
for they had pulled your number
in the lottery
you had won the grand prize
an all expense paid trip
to neverland
courtesy of Uncle Sam
hand me down helmet on head
slightly used peace in hand
in turn....
you marched
others had before you
falling prey to an unforeseen enemy
some....a surface wound....
the others are all dead
shall we hold a funeral
where no one will come
and everyone will cry ?
some surrendered to hallucinations grasp
pseudo-reality for sanity's sake
the sane could have only dreamed reality
but you had won, you had found the answer
you crossed over....the brook beneath you
babbling under the pretense of happiness
crimson from end to end
to no-end
Fallen leaves gently flown down from off trees
Each represents a veteran deceased
The brave that sadly died so we may live
A stupendous blessing it truly is.
Whiskey road,
all alone,
here we go again/
Hitting switchbacks,
going too fast,
chasing down my sin/
Headlights crawl,
through the pouring rain,
to where the road gives out/
Glass eye’d stare,
same whispered prayers,
plunged deep into the black/
While the walls of houses make for a cage,
Hard sidewalk's bed seems to pacify rage.
Life's unbroken time has become his age,
While the walls of houses make for a cage.
Though visits are gone now to his lineage,
Somewhere a photo praises his homage.
While the walls of houses make for a cage,
Hard sidewalk's bed seems to pacify rage.
A bugler stands silent and alone
Deep within the garden of stone
And as the first three notes sound
Echoing across this sacred ground
Resounding in the mourners’ ears
Stir each soul and summon tears
The bugler plays soft and slow
Twenty-four notes we all know
That in our souls resonate
They honor and commemorate
The Veteran we lay to rest
By whose service we were blest
With peace, safety, liberty
These things do not come free
So play bugler, sound the horn
Notes so soft yet so forlorn
Carried on the breeze aloft
Till lost in the evening soft
Till lost in the setting sun
A Veteran’s duty finally done
Forever forever will I miss you Dad,
Even though I tried ofttimes not to be sad.
I know you're in a better place looking down on me,
Smiling down on me,your showers pouring down on me;
Atanda, he whose handwriting is prettiest like a gazelle's footsteps,
Aguntasoo lo, a man with steeze whose cuteness-
Makes all heart push front leaning position of million reps.
The man from whom I inherited this poetry gift,
Who labored so hard to give my life a lift;
Omo olomu aperan,oloro agogo,
Although it's been five years ago,
It still feels fresh in my memory,
I couldn't have stopped death even-
With all the shakabula in my armory;
Your son is staying strong, I a Soldier
Though it ain't easy without you- the world is colder
But I'll keep praying for you everyday till my last breath
For you're my own veteran- for whom I'll always lay a wreath.
Keep Resting My Dada??
Please tell me it’s not true
In supporting the Red white and blue
That not a lot of women are Honorable
And barely any women are notable
So to the far few and in between
I hope your life will shine and glean
Where we may not be many, but just a few
Who go combat hatred people spew
For being fearless in the service we gave
We deserve to be saved
Let us stand out among most women that we see
Filling our hearts with hope and Glee
Let our male counterparts be are equal
Allowing more women to serve in our sequel
Let no woman be full of fear
Where danger lurks and may be near
As our flags colors are tightly woven
Let us recognize the service member who is a woman
War
Is loud.
But inside,
I am quiet—
Counting every breath.
Mud clings like old regrets.
Smoke writes names across the sky.
I don’t remember why we came,
Just the look in my captain’s tired eyes.
We move forward. That’s the only command.
The silence here is not of peace—
It hums like blood beneath the skin,
A hollow hush that will not cease,
A quiet carved from what has been.
No birds, no breeze. Just broken ground,
And boots that whisper through the dust.
Even echoes fear this sound,
Where dreams break and memories rust.
I used to hear the laughter loud,
My brother's voice, a cigarette spark—
Now silence wears a heavy shroud
And wraps the camp when it turns dark.
It tastes like ash, this voiceless night,
Like letters burnt and prayers gone still.
The stars don't speak. They watch in spite,
And silence marches, cold and shrill.
Respire
Make of me a banished son
To walk this world alone
With heavy heart and heavy load
The boulder and the stone
Make of me a loyal friend
A soldier at your side
To be there when it matters most
A brother all your life
Make of me a mighty sword
An instrument of death
I was me but now he's gone
And this is what is left
Make of me a rising son
A vindicated soul
That I may be forgiven
And find my way back home
Last Full Measure
Car pulls into the driveway
two doors slam.
Gravel crunches as feet
walk to the porch.
Thump, thump, thump
slow walk to porch.
Ding, ding, ding, ding
doorbell chimes its dirge.
Mother traces her finger over
photo of son.
Tears drip to the floor, as she
answers the summons.
Two grim faced men in uniform
heads bared enter.
Ma’am we regret to inform you.
Deus Volt I scream by my brother's side,
a distinct bell rings measuring 39mm wide,
high stepping over the deconstructed rubble,
klashnikov volley is what's giving us trouble,
our advancement through the city begins to slow,
primary and secondary left with one mag to go, (clink)
armor so tight it impedes the breathing, (clank)
honor steps in like a sword unsheathing, (clink)
clinking of a grenades stops under my chest,
my brothers have been saved you know the rest.
Here I lie in wait,
for the enemy at the gate,
it's not like they haven't been here before,
carrying their AK74,
Isis or cartel they're all bad,
what they've done haunts me till I'm sad,
every shadow's move catches my eye,
this may be the night my enemies die,
even at night my pistol sights glow,
it becomes so quiet I hear my blood flow,
nobody ever does come to my door,
but the voice in my head says I must wait even more.
Resting on a bench
outside the old city wall
I heard a tapping.
A blind man was approaching.
As he felt his way
he would tap my legs,
so I said hello.
He sat beside me
and asked who I was.
I spoke no Hebrew,
Shlomo hardly any English.
He tried German and Spanish.
A little French we had in common.
Lonely I guess,
he asked me
back to his place,
a short walk
and down to a basement,
bare essentials
spotless.
He brewed coffee,
cautioned me
not to move anything
lest he could not find it.
He had lost his sight
in the Arab Israeli war of 1948.
There was much else
he tried to share.
I listened
but could not comprehend.
I felt humbled.
When I left
he was so grateful,
gave me his address.
I wrote
but did not hear back.
Who would read it for him?
Thank you for your faith
in the country you so love
that you’d offer up your life
in a cataclysmic strife.
Thank you for your courage,
although you shook inside.
You did all that was required,
no matter what the price.
The noise of guns and mortar
convulsed the fetid air.
You saw beloved comrades
lie bleeding at your side.
You suffered pain and conflict
when you had to kill another,
against what you’d been taught,
to love, not hate, your brother.
We call you strong and brave
and admire your fortitude,
but the toll that it has taken
is in your mind and soul.
To kill for love of country
and the freedoms we possess
takes strength we can’t imagine,
and thanks are not enough!
Sub Categories
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.