Company K
There is a cap in the closet,
Old, tattered, and blue-
Of very slight value,
It may be, to you:
But a crown, jewel studded,
Could not buy it to-day,
With its letters of honor,
Brave 'Co. K.'
The head that it sheltered
Needs shelter no more:
Dead heroes make holy
The trifles they wore;
So, like chaplet of honor,
Of laurel and bay,
Seems the cap of the soldier,
Marked 'Co. K.'
Bright eyes have looked calmly
Its visor beneath,
O'er the work of the Reaper,
Grim Harvester Death!
Let the muster roll meagre,
So mournfully say,
How foremost in danger
Went 'Co. K.'
Whose footsteps unbroken
Came up to the town,
Where rampart and bastion
Looked threat'ningly down!
Who, closing up breaches,
Still kept on their way,
Till, guns downward pointed,
Faced 'Co. K.'
Who faltered or shivered?
Who shunned battle stroke?
Whose fire was uncertain?
Whose battle line broke?
Go, ask it of History,
Years from to-day,
And the record shall tell you,
Not 'Co. K.'
Though my darling is sleeping
To-day with the dead,
And daisies and clover
Bloom over his head,
I smile through my tears
As I lay it away-
That battle-worn cap,
Lettered 'Co. K.'
poem by Anonymous Americas
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Company K.
THERE'S a cap in the closet,
Old, tattered, and blue,
That would be little value,
It may be, to you;
But a crown jewel-studded
Could not buy it to-day,
With its letters of honor,
Brave "Company K."
The head that is sheltered
Needs shelter no more;
Dead heroes make holy
The trifles they wore;
so a wreath better winning
Than laurel and bay
Seems the cap of the soldier,
Marked "Company K."
For eyes have looked steady
Its visor beneath
O'er the work of the reaper,
Whose harvest is Death.
Let the muster-roll meagre
So mournfully say
How forcement in danger
West "Company K"—
Whose footstep unbroken
Came up to the town,
Where rampart and bastion
Looked fearfully down—
Who, closing up breaches,
Yet kept on their way,
Till gone downward pointing
Faced "Company K."
Like cameras fearful
Stood cannon aloof,
Till the signal was given
To strike off a proof
Of the soul of the soldier,
To send up to Him.
(Pray God that he knew them,
Though bloody and dim!)
Who faltered or shivered?
Who shunned battle-smoke?
Whose fire was uncertain?
Whose battle-line broke?
Go ask it of History
Years from to-day,
And the record shall tell you,
Not "Company K."
Tho' my darling is sleeping
To-day with the dead,
And daisies and clover
Bloom over his head,
I smile, tho' I'm crying
As I lay it away,
That battle-worn cap
Lettered "Company K."
poem by Ethel Lynn Beers from All Quiet along the Potomac and other poems (1879)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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After The Battle
WE crown’d the hard-won heights at length,
Baptiz’d in flame and fire;
We saw the foeman’s sullen strength,
That grimly made retire—
Saw close at hand, then saw more far
Beneath the battle-smoke
The ridges of his shatter’d war,
That broke and ever broke.
But one, an English household’s pride,
Dear many ways to me,
Who climb’d that death-path by my side,
I sought, but could not see.
Last seen, what time our foremost rank
That iron tempest tore;
He touch’d, he scal’d the rampart bank—
Seen then, and seen no more.
One friend to aid, I measur’d back
With him that pathway dread;
No fear to wander from our track—
Its waymarks English dead.
Light thicken’d: but our search was crown’d,
As we too well divin’d;
And after briefest quest we found
What we most fear’d to find.
His bosom with one death-shot riven,
The warrior-boy lay low;
His face was turn’d unto the heaven,
His feet unto the foe.
As he had fallen upon the plain,
Inviolate he lay;
No ruffian spoiler’s hand profane
Had touch’d that noble clay.
And precious things he still retain’d,
Which, by one distant hearth,
Lov’d tokens of the lov’d, had gain’d
A worth beyond all worth.
I treasur’d these for them who yet
Knew not their mighty wo;
I softly seal’d his eyes, and set
One kiss upon his brow.
A decent grave we scoop’d him, where
Less thickly lay the dead,
And decently compos’d him there
Within that narrow bed.
O theme for manhood’s bitter tears:
The beauty and the bloom
Of less than twenty summer years
Shut in that darksome tomb!
Of soldier-sire the soldier-son;
Life’s honor’d eventide
One lives to close in England, one
In maiden battle died:
And they, that should have been the mourn’d,
The mourners’ parts obtain:
Such thoughts were ours, as we return’d
To earth its earth again.
Brief words we read of faith and prayer
Beside that hasty grave;
Then turn’d away, and left him there,
The gentle and the brave:
I calling back with thankful heart,
With thoughts to peace allied,
Hours when we two had knelt apart
Upon the lone hillside;
And, comforted, I prais’d the grace
Which him had led to be
An early seeker of that Face
Which he should early see.
poem by Richard Chenevix Trench
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Red Baron / Blue Max
The son of a major, Prussian nobleman
His name bestowed by a holy Roman
The war broke out, and looked to the air
24 hours of training he was there
100 miles an hour, top speed his plane would fly
and if he flew behind you, you know you're sure to die
Eighty kills, that are confirmed
While other pilots have so much more to learn
Red Baron! Blue Max! The albatross flies high
Red Baron! Blue Max! He's got you in his sights
The Red-Battle Flyer
Roll right fire
He sees no faces
The ace of aces
His British quarry flew a reckless flight
A shot from the ground took the red baron's life
He flew with honor, he flew with pride
In 1918, The battle flyer died
Chorus
The red baron...Blue max!
The albatross flies high
The red baron...Blue max!
He's got you in his sight!
song performed by by Iced Earth
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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To E.S. Salomon
What! Salomon! such words from you,
Who call yourself a soldier? Well,
The Southern brother where he fell
Slept all your base oration through.
Alike to him - he cannot know
Your praise or blame: as little harm
Your tongue can do him as your arm
A quarter-century ago.
The brave respect the brave. The brave
Respect the dead; but you - you draw
That ancient blade, the ass's jaw,
And shake it o'er a hero's grave.
Are you not he who makes to-day
A merchandise of old reknown
Which he persuades this easy town
He won in battle far away?
Nay, those the fallen who revile
Have ne'er before the living stood
And stoutly made their battle good
And greeted danger with a smile.
What if the dead whom still you hate
Were wrong? Are you so surely right?
We know the issues of the fight -
The sword is but an advocate.
Men live and die, and other men
Arise with knowledges diverse:
What seemed a blessing seems a curse,
And Now is still at odds with Then.
The years go on, the old comes back
To mock the new - beneath the sun
Is nothing new; ideas run
Recurrent in an endless track.
What most we censure, men as wise
Have reverently practiced; nor
Will future wisdom fail to war
On principles we dearly prize.
We do not know - we can but deem,
And he is loyalest and best
Who takes the light full on his breast
And follows it throughout the dream.
The broken light, the shadows wide -
Behold the battle-field displayed!
God save the vanquished from the blade,
The victor from the victor's pride.
If, Salomon, the blessed dew
That falls upon the Blue and Gray
Is powerless to wash away
The sin of differing from you,
Remember how the flood of years
Has rolled across the erring slain;
Remember, too, the cleansing rain
Of widows' and of orphans' tears.
The dead are dead - let that atone:
And though with equal hand we strew
The blooms on saint and sinner too,
Yet God will know to choose his own.
The wretch, whate'er his life and lot,
Who does not love the harmless dead
With all his heart and all his head -
May God forgive him, I shall not.
When, Salomon, you come to quaff
The Darker Cup with meeker face,
I, loving you at last, shall trace
Upon your tomb this epitaph:
'Draw near, ye generous and brave -
Kneel round this monument and weep
For one who tried in vain to keep
A flower from a soldier's grave.'
poem by Ambrose Bierce
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Brave Little Soldier
Im a brave little soldier
I must be bold and strong
A brave little soldier
And I must carry on
Im a brave little soldier
A brave little soldier
Im a brave little soldier
I must fight, I must win
Im a brave little soldier
Through hell and back again
Im a brave little soldier
A brave little soldier
Per rum, pum, pum
Per rum, pum, pum
Per rum, pum, pum, pum, pum
Ye though I am marching through the valley filled with fear
My steps are sure and sturdy and my aim is straight and clear
The enemy is stalking me just waiting for the kill
Like david slewed galiath
I will claim this battle field
Im a brave little soldier
I must do what I can
Im a brave little soldier
And I must take a stand
Im a brave little soldier
A brave little soldier
Marching, marching onward
Searching out the light of truth
I did not start the war
But its a battle I cant lose
Faith will be my armor
And love my sword and shield
I must defeat the enemy
I will, I will, I will
A brave little soldier
I must be bold and strong
A brave little soldier
And I must carry on
A brave little soldier
A brave little soldier
Im a brave little soldier
A brave little soldier
Brave, little soldier
song performed by by Dolly Parton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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To E.S. Salomon
What! Salomon! such words from you,
Who call yourself a soldier? Well,
The Southern brother where he fell
Slept all your base oration through.
Alike to him-he cannot know
Your praise or blame: as little harm
Your tongue can do him as your arm
A quarter-century ago.
The brave respect the brave. The brave
Respect the dead; but _you_-you draw
That ancient blade, the ass's jaw,
And shake it o'er a hero's grave.
Are you not he who makes to-day
A merchandise of old renown
Which he persuades this easy town
He won in battle far away?
Nay, those the fallen who revile
Have ne'er before the living stood
And stoutly made their battle good
And greeted danger with a smile.
What if the dead whom still you hate
Were wrong? Are you so surely right?
We know the issue of the fight
The sword is but an advocate.
Men live and die, and other men
Arise with knowledges diverse:
What seemed a blessing seems a curse,
And Now is still at odds with Then.
The years go on, the old comes back
To mock the new-beneath the sun.
Is _nothing_ new; ideas run
Recurrent in an endless track.
What most we censure, men as wise
Have reverently practiced; nor
Will future wisdom fail to war
On principles we dearly prize.
We do not know-we can but deem,
And he is loyalest and best
Who takes the light full on his breast
And follows it throughout the dream.
The broken light, the shadows wide
Behold the battle-field displayed!
God save the vanquished from the blade,
The victor from the victor's pride!
If, Salomon, the blessed dew
That falls upon the Blue and Gray
Is powerless to wash away
The sin of differing from you.
Remember how the flood of years
Has rolled across the erring slain;
Remember, too, the cleansing rain
Of widows' and of orphans' tears.
The dead are dead-let that atone:
And though with equal hand we strew
The blooms on saint and sinner too,
Yet God will know to choose his own.
The wretch, whate'er his life and lot,
Who does not love the harmless dead
With all his heart and all his head-
May God forgive him-_I_ shall not.
When, Salomon, you come to quaff
The Darker Cup with meeker face,
I, loving you at last, shall trace
Upon your tomb this epitaph:
'Draw near, ye generous and brave
Kneel round this monument and weep:
It covers one who tried to keep
A flower from a dead man's grave.'
poem by Ambrose Bierce
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Irish Soldier
The Irish soldier, cast for fight,
Stood to his arms at dead of night,
Watching the east, until its ray
To the battle--field should show his way;--
Soldier, soldier, soldier brave,
You will fight though they call you slave,
And though you but help a bandit hand
Uncheck'd to kill in your native land.
The soldier thought on his chance of doom--
How the trampled sod might be his tomb--
How, in evening's dusk, his sightless stare
To the small pale stars might upward glare;--
Soldier, soldier, soldier brave,
You will fight though you think of the grave--
Though it yawn so near you, black and chill,
Honor and courage man you still.
And o'er his solemn brow he made
The Christian sign, and humbly said--
``Your prayers, good saints, if I should fall;
And for mercy, O Lord, on you I call!''--
Irish soldier, soldier brave,
You will fight, although you crave
The prayers of the saints your own to aid,
And the sign of the cross on your brow have made.
The morning broke--the bugle blew--
The voice of command the soldier knew,
And stern and straight in the van he stood,
And shouting, he rush'd to the work of blood;--
Irish soldier, soldier bold,
Thousands lay round you, crimson'd and cold--
But over their bodies you still fought on,
Till down you sank as the day was won.
And the Irish soldier now hath come,
Worn, and wounded, and crippled, home,
The hated, and slander'd, and scorn'd of those
Who safely slept while he faced their foes;--
Irish soldier, soldier bold,
In your native land you now are told
'Twas traitor--blood on that field you lost,
For you call'd on the saints, and your brow you cross'd!
poem by John Banim
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I’m a Brave Soldier
I’m a Brave Soldier
From the onset it was made clear
This is not a battle for the fainthearted
Yet I was head bent.
All said it was time
A time to move and search
Searching for a new river to fish
Yet the fisherman is head bent.
Like shadow, the light is fading away
And the begins to go weary
All for the hope deferred
Yet I’ll wait.
I’ve not come this far
Just to throw in the towel
I’m a brave soldier
I’ve got a battle to win.
poem by Bamisaye Adeniran
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Battle Is The Lords
Written by michael mckay
There is no pain jesus cant feel
No hurt he can not heal
All things work according to his perfect will
No matter what youre going through
Remember God is using you
For the battle is not yours
Its the lords
Theres no sadness jesus cant feel
And there is no sorrow
That he can not heal
For all things work
According to the masters holy will
No matter what youre going through
Remember that God is only using you
For the battle is not yours
Its the lords
Its the lords
Yes its the lords
Hold your head up high
Dont you fright
Its the lords
Its the lords
Yes its the lords
No matter what
Youre going through
Remember that god
Only wants to use you
For the battle is not yours
Its the lords
No matter what
You happen to go through right now
Remember that in the midst of it all
God only wants to use you
No matter what youre going through
For the battle is not yours
Its the lords
No matter what it is
That youre going through
Hold your head up, stick your chest out
And remember hes using you
No matter what youre going through
God is only using you
For this battle is not yours alone
This battle is not yours, no
You can not handle it all by yourself
No, no, no, no, no, no
Its not yours
This battle is not yours
Its the lords, not yours
This battle is not yours
The lord is the only one who can fight it
He wants to use you as his vessel
So be open to him
Its not yours
No its not yours
Its the lords, not yours
The battle is not yours
Its the lords
Hallelujah
Yeah!
song performed by by Yolanda Adams
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Battle Is The Lords
Written by michael mckay
There is no pain jesus cant feel
No hurt he can not heal
All things work according to his perfect will
No matter what youre going through
Remember God is using you
For the battle is not yours
Its the lords
Theres no sadness jesus cant feel
And there is no sorrow
That he can not heal
For all things work
According to the masters holy will
No matter what youre going through
Remember that God is only using you
For the battle is not yours
Its the lords
Its the lords
Yes its the lords
Hold your head up high
Dont you fright
Its the lords
Its the lords
Yes its the lords
No matter what
Youre going through
Remember that god
Only wants to use you
For the battle is not yours
Its the lords
No matter what
You happen to go through right now
Remember that in the midst of it all
God only wants to use you
No matter what youre going through
For the battle is not yours
Its the lords
No matter what it is
That youre going through
Hold your head up, stick your chest out
And remember hes using you
No matter what youre going through
God is only using you
For this battle is not yours alone
This battle is not yours, no
You can not handle it all by yourself
No, no, no, no, no, no
Its not yours
This battle is not yours
Its the lords, not yours
This battle is not yours
The lord is the only one who can fight it
He wants to use you as his vessel
So be open to him
Its not yours
No its not yours
Its the lords, not yours
The battle is not yours
Its the lords
Hallelujah
Yeah!
song performed by by Yolanda Adams
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Battle Cup
Three miles off the coast of beirut
New jerseys guns get ready to shoot
Take a walk down the firing room
Fire one its shakedown cruise
Battle ship battle ship
See the sailor boys dressed in blue
Cheer the change to make the news
Send the shell down the spiral groove
Bombs away its a shakedown cruise yeah
Battle ship battle ship
song performed by by Red Hot Chili Peppers
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Battle Ship
Three miles off the coast of Beirut
New Jersey's guns get ready to shoot
Take a walk down the firing room
Fire one it's shakedown cruise
Battle ship battle ship
See the sailor boys dressed in blue
Cheer the change to make the news
Send the shell down the spiral groove
Bombs away it's a shakedown cruise Yeah
Battle ship battle ship
song performed by by Red Hot Chili Peppers from Freaky Styley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Tattered & Torn
Tattered and torn
Tattered and torn
Thats where my soul is worn
Tattered and torn
Thats when I was born
Tattered and torn
I broke away from me
Tattered and torn
I knocked me to my knees
Tattered and torn
I drink my own cells
Tattered and torn
A decomposing well
Tattered and torn
Roaches in my head
Tattered and torn
I become the living dead
Tattered and torn
Tearing myself apart from the
Things that make me hurt
song performed by by Slipknot
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Tattered and Torn
Tattered and Torn
That's where my soul is worn
Tattered and Torn
That's when I was born
Tattered and Torn
I broke away from me
Tattered and Torn
I knocked me to my knees
Tattered and Torn
I drink my own cells
Tattered and Torn
A decomposing well
Tattered and Torn
Roaches in my head
Tattered and Torn
I become the living dead
Tattered and Torn
Tearing myself apart from the
things that make me hurt
song performed by by Slipknot from Slipknot
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Last Post.
The last post sounds and echoes round.
The neat and well kept burial ground.
Head stones in rows beneath the sky
to mark where our dead heroes lie.
Standing as if still on parade.
Each headstone looking newly made.
It is one way we show respect.
No more no less than I expect
Head stones don’t only signify
that battle weary soldiers die
They also serve who wait for men
who will not see their home again.
The last post makes us realise
That war destroys their families.
Each time I hear the last post sound
I’m filled with sadness so profound.
Tears spring unbidden from my eyes,
they always take me by surprise.
I’m not ashamed to let them flow
Because I’m old enough to know.
That real men aren’t afraid to cry
Despite the ancient common lie.
That men don’t let emotions show
and should not let their tear drops flow.
When I hear the last post sound
I can recall the battle ground.
Where so many comrades still lie
in foreign fields beneath the sky.
The last post serves to honour all
brave soldiers who sadly fall.
Not only friends but enemies.
Death selects quite randomly.
Young widows weep and mothers cry.
They have the right and so do I.
Tuesday,31 August 2010
http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Life Is A Battle Within
O wild and cruel hatred
fleeing the battle inside my head
i was brought up
to be put down
i was found to be pushed around
let us take a toast
to the passing of a ghost
let us drink our viens red
till we have forgotten the battle we fight in our head
rise against the hypocracy
rage against the system
fight for crazy
and make life listen
make it see your not so stale
prove to people you are not frail
do we know the battle
understand what it is
while we are all locked in shackles
trying to figure out why we live
Song
WHEN the warrior returns, from the battle afar,
To the home and the country he nobly defended,
O! warm be the welcome to gladden his ear,
And loud be the joy that his perils are ended:
In the full tide of song let his fame roll along,
To the feast-flowing board let us gratefully throng,
Where, mixed with the olive, the laurel shall wave,
And form a bright wreath for the brows of the brave.
Columbians! a band of your brothers behold,
Who claim the reward of your hearts' warm emotion,
When your cause, when your honor, urged onward the bold,
In vain frowned the desert, in vain raged the ocean:
To a far distant shore, to the battle's wild roar,
They rushed, your fair fame and your rights to secure:
Then, mixed with the olive, the laurel shall wave,
And form a bright wreath for the brows of the brave.
In the conflict resistless, each toil they endured,
'Till their foes fled dismayed from the war's desolation:
And pale beamed the Crescent, its splendor obscured
By the light of the Star Spangled flag of our nation.
Where each radiant star gleamed a meteor of war,
And the turbaned heads bowed to its terrible glare,
Now, mixed with the olive, the laurel shall wave,
And form a bright wreath for the brows of the brave.
Our fathers, who stand on the summit of fame,
Shall exultingly hear of their sons the proud story:
How their young bosoms glow'd with the patriot flame,
How they fought, how they fell, in the blaze of their glory.
How triumphant they rode o'er the wondering flood,
And stained the blue waters with infidel blood;
How, mixed with the olive, the laurel did wave,
And formed a bright wreath for the brows of the brave.
Then welcome the warrior returned from afar
To the home and the country he nobly defended:
Let the thanks due to valor now gladden his ear,
And loud be the joy that his perils are ended.
In the full tide of song let his fame roll along,
To the feast-flowing board let us gratefully throng,
Where, mixed with the olive, the laurel shall wave,
And form a bright wreath for the brows of the brave.
poem by Francis Scott Key
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Salute Wounded Soldier
To serve is a blessing
to battle is a endless honor
to all that served we salute
for the dead we praise their heroism
to drape they coffin with our flag
a 21 gun salute, flags at half staff
we give very little to the wounded
they suffer the most, life ever changing
suffering pain, fighting the nightmares
left to heal, lots to deal with
from the bed they fight for life
pray for healing, what their families are dealing
life changes, minds destroyed, bodies mangled
they fight to survive, strong then life
stronger than us, they will over come
wounds will heal, the nightmares remain
coping with new limbs and faces
proud they stand, Honor they are
Heroes to all, loved by all
thanking for serving, your real deserving
the wounded soldier, the beholder
our deserving heroes, our icons
a salute to all of you
all will not be forgotten
your in our hearts, its an honor
Salute Wounded Soldiers
poem by Michael Peterson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Messenger
She rose up in the early dawn,
And white and silently she moved
About the house. Four men had gone
To battle for the land they loved,
And she, the mother and the wife,
Waited for tidings from the strife.
How still the house seemed! and her tread
Was like the footsteps of the dead.
The long day passed; the dark night came.
She had not seen a human face.
Some voice spoke suddenly her name.
How loud it echoed in that place,
Where, day on day, no sound was heard
But her own footsteps. 'Bring you word,'
She cried to whom she could not see,
'Word from the battle-plain to me?'
A soldier entered at the door,
And stood within the dim firelight;
'I bring you tidings of the four,'
He said, 'who left you for the fight.'
'God bless you, friend,' she cried, 'speak on!
For I can bear it. One is gone?'
'Ay, one is gone!' he said. 'Which one?'
'Dear lady, he, your eldest son.'
A deathly pallor shot across
Her withered face; she did not weep.
She said: 'It is a grievous loss,
But God gives His belovèd sleep.
What of the living-of the three?
And when can they come back to me?'
The soldier turned away his head:
'Lady, your husband, too, is dead.'
She put her hand upon her brow;
A wild, sharp pain was in her eyes.
'My husband! Oh, God, help me now!'
The soldier heard her shuddering sighs.
The task was harder than he thought.
'Your youngest son, dear madam, fought
Close at his father's side; both fell
Dead, by the bursting of a shell.'
She moved her lips and seemed to moan.
Her face had paled to ashen gray:
'Then one is left me-one alone,'
She said, 'of four who marched away.
Oh, overruling, All-wise God,
How can I pass beneath Thy rod!'
The soldier walked across the floor,
Paused at the window, at the door,
Wiped the cold dew-drops from his cheek
And sought the mourner's side again.
'Once more, dear lady, I must speak:
Your last remaining son was slain
Just at the closing of the fight,
'Twas he who sent me here to-night.'
'God knows,' the man said afterward,
'The fight itself was not so hard.'
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Soldier Of Love
I am only one of those who care
Who care about the faith of love
I know theres many others just like me
I know they two aint had enough.
'Cause this hearts doin battle on the front line
Loves got no heroes in these modern times
What love needs is a defender
I am a soldier of love.
I see it in your eyes you felt the heat
There was a time when you believed
Love is the only way to make it thro
Or be another casualty.
From that hearts doin battle on the front line
Loves got no heroes in these modern times
What love needs is a defender
I am a soldier of love....
song performed by by Kenny Rogers
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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