Kids War Poems | Examples
These Kids War poems are examples of War poems about Kids. These are the best examples of War Kids poems written by international poets.
Politicians start battles that soldiers must fight. Big talk, no backbone, hiding out of sight.
They tweet their threats from a gold-trimmed chair, while sirens scream in the cold night air. They spin their lies, making tempers rise, their words spark fires they never touch, Just watching from windows while we bleed too much.
They promise “peace” with a clenched-up jaw
But every word bends the truth to the law. Trading young lives for their power and dreams.
While power- hungry cowards keep asking for more.
And if justice had a drum, it’d pound through the floor,
Shaking loose every greed-sealed door. ’Cause we’re done marching for men who roar thinking they are kings and above the law
Mothers hold children and try not to cry.But it’s hungry kids who pay the score.
Selfish egos ain’t worth dying for.
Cause selfish egos don’t fight the war.
My t-shirt had holes, and my jeans had some patches.
My feet were bare, and my elbows both had scratches.
The grownups were all indoors and the kids were out of sight.
'Twas a perfect childhood, 'neith a sun that shined so bright.
As we rode our bikes to the beach in nineteen sixty eight,
we felt the sea breeze on our faces. Everything was great.
Blissfully unaware of the nightmare in the jungle land,
I collected seashells in the Southern California sand.
My parents called me inside, with news, one cloudy day,
about the blast that blew my happy childhood away.
Day to remember those who served
Vietnam, Korea, Middle East
Our gratitude is well deserved
By all who live and those deceased
Remember tours, hiding fear
Vile ambushes in plain sight
Them backs recall the tons of gear
Extraction with the heli flight
The ruthless sun and blowing sand
All in day's work where work is war
Reproaching looks in foreign land
And guarded sleep on earthen floor
Live chats while missing kids and wife
Oh, silly troubles way back home
A soldier, living grueling life
While facing combat stress syndrome
It stays with you, forever more
Long after battles go away
Our guys and girls, they are postwar
Salute our Vets on their day
November 11, 2025
I don’t know how we end up in a war,
become the monsters I see on TV,
but I felt sick and so sad when I saw
how it hurts families and kids like me.
I watched the bombs and homes being lost,
how locals were displaced as refugees,
I don’t care what the big wigs say it costs
as our society must help them flee
from the pain and grief, and provide relief
by making a truce and agree not to fight,
help them recover and return to peace,
to all live together with equal rights.
I was just eight when they began this hate,
it’s still not too late to own their mistake.
The sinking sun is now undone,
the sky is fading red
and shadows prowl neath cloak and cowl
for midnight lies ahead.
Beyond the heap, the honchos sleep
with bloated bellies fed;
for, yes indeed, no one's in need,
at least, that's what they've said.
Amongst the ones that hunger shuns,
in day's retreating tread,
are spiders black ensnaring snacks
while spinning silken thread.
But as it stands, in conquered lands
a famine reigns instead
where kids at noon, collapse and swoon
on stones they call a bed.
With aching eyes they fantasize
and dream of gingerbread,
and after while, they wake and smile,
now dining with the dead.
There lies a land behind the smoke,
Where silence screams and hearts are broke
Where lullabies drown in bombs and drones
And cradles turn to shattered stones
Babies cry with lips so dry
No blood, no milk, no tear left to cry
No schoolbell rings, no hospital stands,
Just bones and ruins buried in the sand
They queue for crumbs and bleed for rice
A bottle of water, the price of life
Each has lost __ be it a child or spouse
a parent, a sibling or a shattered house
Then phosphorus rains on wrecked-out souls
To burn their skin to elevate their pains
And we the modern civilized race
Watch stage 5 famine take its place
What further war-crimes must I define
Palestine bleeds while the world stays blind
It's not red, like they said.
It's white, green, pink, blue
And all other fascinating hues.
Not the grays I am used to.
I was told there is no air here,
Yet every breath is crisp and sheer
No masks, no tubes, no weight to bear.
Most importantly, nothing to fear.
I didn't need a suit or a flight,
Just a smile and a grip held tight.
On Mars,
Food overflows, in plates, pots and dustbins
Buildings rise, neither burned nor crumbling.
No kids with wounds from bullet strikes.
All body parts intact, not lost to any pikes.
The sky glitters even without missiles,
The dead are buried, not left in piles.
Huge cranes lift steel to kiss the sky,
Unlike ours, which lifted cries up high.
Here parents and friends grow old.
No blood-stained tents left to fold.
They said Mars holds no life.
What's this then? Afterlife?
I had heard so much about Mars
Today I learnt Mars has no Wars.
Bloody war raged on.
Superpower leader said:
"Sometimes kids fighting
like crazy in the yard, can't be parted."
"Best leave them fight on for a while."
Anyone care for TACO and cheese?
Peace...no,
bombs exploding;
it's war!
The wars
fought to get peace,
did not:-
Pooped bombs
swell graves' bellies;
death farts:-
The kids
feed wars each day;
death pleased:-
In wars,
only death wins;
peace can't:-
Love peace,
wars are evil;
crave life:-
Good timing or fate
Destiny or pure dumb luck
Karma or God’s Grace
Born in 1909, he was too young for WWI and had way too many mouths to feed by the time WWII came along. He never expressed his opinion on war. Perhaps his constant battle with poverty kept him too busy to even care. You’d think that with fifteen kids spread across the course of twenty-four years, one of us would’ve hit the unlucky lottery. It appears though that with the luck of our father, combined with the poor health genes provided by our mother, not a single one of us had to take up arms against a foreign enemy.
Oh no, there go the sirens,
They’re over’ead again.
Take the kids to the shelter, Ma.
That ‘itler’s a bloomin’ pain.
Night after night for eight months.
When will it ever end?
There can’t be much left to bomb now.
It’s drivin’ us round the bend.
But, of course we’ll never surrender;
We’re British to the core.
And, wiv Winston as our leader,
We’ll win this ruddy war.
And the King and Queen, Gawd bless ‘em,
They won’t let us dahn.
They could ‘ave gone to Balmoral,
But they stayed in London Tahn.
Surrounded by bricks and rubble,
We try to soldier on.
But all the time we’re thinkin’
Of friends and neighbours who’ve gone.
Ah, nah the all clear’s sounded;
We’ve survived anuvver night.
Ready to start annuver day
And carry on the fight.
Bert Higgins
The London Blitz, September 1940 – May 1941 –
In the voice of an Eastender
The guy went crackers in the war
Now he sells daffodils down the old grave road
Sings songs about the dead
His daily bread
The kids throw stones
Shout out names
It’s a shame
Who can you blame
One day, the kids were playing in the river
Tommy got into trouble, panic ensued
They ran to him in tears
He ran back with them, diving straight in
Tommy felt the strong arms lift him above the water
His friends pulled him onto the grass
I’ll go back for the rest, he shouted
It was only Tommy
No, there’s always more
He swam out till lost from view
They talked about him for a while
The usual words always came back
He went crackers in the war.
No war, just love
Peaceful kind hearts need us to come into our life
I am afraid, I had death feelings, no love kind like
… Emma, passed our lives.
… No kids.
… No kinds.
… Passed loves.
No war, love, but I am a dead man, our kind you are gone; I am love
I can’t my life, just need to get my own home; in a heart. Home.
A love from our home of your heart is an empty cold room
… from your kind.
Can’t accept a stranger’s life, he needed to give you lives
… to our kinds
I loved you
Can be?
Forgotten
My only life.
No war, just life
Forget me
Enjoy your life
Emma
Driving me
The Light
Go
No war
Just love
Only love?
Bye, the…
Light
The doctor’s practice went to waste
the moment that the medic faced
A call from his reserve platoon
to fight a battle all too soon
The CEO of Pharma-Tech
would leave behind all hands on deck
When his brigade came calling him
he knew the war was no mere whim
The principal of my kids’ school
had fought the call, but overruled
He swiftly left his chair unmanned
The army had ripped up his plans
‘Coz ev’ry year since 'forty-eight
Disruption's marred the Jewish State
Kalamazoo kids went off to war
leaving giddy gals to go forward in fractured
factories ~from music to munitions
gay guitars would wait until battered boys
came hurriedly home...
or would they wait?
The thought was there but Gibson's gals
did not care for world war and behind
the building's walls would give guitars
attuned attention; first making munitions
then manufacturing those magical music guitars.
The Gibson Factory in Kalamazoo, Michigan is known for its iconic guitars... During World War II, many of Gibson’s competitors had switched to munition-making in an effort to support the war at home. Gibson followed suit—on the surface, at least. While it did hire more women than any other guitar-turned-munitions manufacturer, these women weren’t just making bullets—they were also making guitars. Specifically, the Kalamazoo Gals made Gibson’s Banner line of guitars, which were later used by musicians like Buddy Holly and Woody Guthrie. ~Atlas Obscura