The Young Dead Soldiers Do Not Speak
The young dead soldiers do not speak.
Nevertheless, they are heard in the still houses:
who has not heard them?
They have a silence that speaks for them at night
and when the clock counts.
They say: We were young. We have died.
Remember us.
They say: We have done what we could
but until it is finished it is not done.
They say: We have given our lives but until it is finished
no one can know what our lives gave.
They say: Our deaths are not ours: they are yours,
they will mean what you make them.
They say: Whether our lives and our deaths were for
peace and a new hope or for nothing we cannot say,
it is you who must say this.
We leave you our deaths. Give them their meaning.
We were young, they say. We have died; remember us.
poem by Archibald MacLeish
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Veteran's day lament!
1376... sounds like some historical date
Required to be memorized in high school history class
Well it’s not. it’s a much, much more important number
And we cannot let it pass.
It’s the number of our young boys in Afghanistan
Who have died all alone
It’s the number of young boys
Who will never come home
They died for a people who will never care
They died hoping to accomplish something
We should have kept them home I know
For their gallant deaths will accomplish nothing
1376.…sounds like some random numbers and
To our leaders I suppose they are
To me it’s young lives, gone forever
In a stupid and senseless war.
Speak up! ! ! Bring them home, Keep them home
This madness has gone too far! !
poem by David Whalen
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Childrens Crusade
Young men, soldiers, nineteen fourteen
Marching through countries theyd never seen
Virgins with rifles, a game of charades
All for a childrens crusade
Pawns in the game are not victims of chance
Strewn on the fields of belgium and france
Poppies for young men, deaths bitter trade
All of those young lives betrayed
The children of england would never be slaves
Theyre trapped on the wire and dying in waves
The flower of england face down in the mud
And stained in the blood of a whole generation
Corpulent generals safe behind lines
Historys lessons drowned in red wine
Poppies for young men, deaths bitter trade
All of those young lives betrayed
All for a childrens crusade
The children of england would never be slaves
Theyre trapped on the wire and dying in waves
The flower of england face down in the mud
And stained in the blood of a whole generation
Midnight in soho, nineteen eighty-four
Fixing in doorways, opium slaves
Poppies for young men, such bitter trade
All of those young lives betrayed
All for a childrens crusade
song performed by by Sting
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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To Glorify War Heroes
Though talk of war and death and such I do not wish to hear
To glorify war heroes we have the balladeer
The old men displaying their medals march on war memorial day
Though they look tired and weary now and they are old and gray.
They weep for comrades who died young in battles far away
Young men who were buried in mass graves their bones far from home lay
'Tis said they died in freedom's cause though many with that do not agree
Since any lessons have not been learned from man's war history.
Each time I listen to the news the headlines mostly bad
A suicide bombing in Palestine a car bombing in Baghdad
More atrocities with a direct link to terrorism to many it would seem
But to those who give their own lives to kill the fulfilment of a heroic dream.
Of suffering and deaths linked to war so much has been written and said
And wives and mothers in the World today still mourn their war dead
And still the soldiers come back home to a victory parade
For people who shoot at other people too much respect is paid.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Along The War Avenue Of honour
Along the war Avenue of Honour a plaque to a dead soldier nailed to every tree
Brave young men who died in battle their reward for their bravery
They died in the war said to end all wars in the killing fields of World war one
But many wars since and far too many bloody battles and peace in the World not yet won.
Wars started by silly ageing men who send the young for them to die
Ageing men who themselves will die of old age and their twilight years they will enjoy,
ageing males heroes of their people we honour cowards as heroes one might say
The young men will go to war for them and the young men with their young lives pay.
The war supposed to end all wars long over almost nine decades since have gone by
But many wars have been fought since then and war pilots dropp their big bombs from the night sky
But suppose that's what will always happen when we give all of our power away
To silly and ageing male war men who with hair dyes cover their gray.
Along the war avenue of honour long dead soldiers names on every tree
Young noble men who died in battle far from homeland and family
In what was to be the war to end all wars yet we don't have much wisdom to show
For the loss of so many fine young men well over eight decades ago.
poem by Francis Duggan
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The Many Live Through The Sacrifices Of The Few
The many live through the sacrifices of the few-
The old continue because the young have died for them-
The soldiers of who gave their lives in Israel's wars,
The soldiers of Freedom who risk their lives still,
Enable their people to live.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Rememberance Day
In the midst of silence we are one,
recalling our past, its misdeeds.
Young lives snatched cruelly,
not cleanly, not kindly.
The silence brings no peace,
it's a haunting bell, clanging.
It sings the same old song
and chimes each year
as we mourn the toll,
the deaths, the atrocities.
Then, as always, we drift off
into our tomorrows,
forgetting, suppressing __
smothering the silence
poem by Ruth Walters
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Young Man
Written by james young
Lead vocals by james young
People say with age there comes experience
But as soon as you are born you start to die
Older men are chosen to speak wisely
But call the child to the sacrificial rite
Who can we get to win the fight?
Young man!
Who can we get to make love all night?
Young man!
Who do we send away to die?
Young man!
I heard a lonely woman cry for a
Young man!
The fire bombs in distant lands are burning
Jarring every synapse in your soul
Life and death are a meaningless profession
Tomorrow brings a horror yet untold
Who can we get to win the fight?
Young man!
Who can we get to make love all night?
Young man!
Who do we send away to die?
Young man!
I heard a lonely woman cry for a
Young man!
Young man!
Young man!
Come home my son
We'll give you a rest
Welcome my son
We'll give you the best
Time's stowaway
The young man
Short are the days
Of the young man
Young man!
Young man!
song performed by by Styx
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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But for me, it is when a student has died. I find the death of a young person the most difficult and painful of times. To explain it to other young people, to see a bright future snuffed out, is just awful. I am haunted by those deaths.
quote by Donna Shalala
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Wail! , Wail! ! , Wail! ! ! for HAITI.
Wail, ! Wail, ! ! Wail for HAITI! ! ! ! ! !
Wail for the sight is Gory,
Wail for the deaths of these Infants
Wail for the deaths of these women, ; young, and Old
Wail for the loss of the productive workforce of this Nation
Wail for the Calamity that came within few seconds to claim thousands of lives.
Wail for the loss of generations of this Land called Haiti
Wail for the Unconsolable mothers, and fathers for the loss of their loved ones
Wail, if you have tears in your tear glands,
Wail, if you have heart that is meek
May the Almighty console us all, for the sights of the dead in the rubbles too frightening to look.
poem by Segun Rasaki
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Man and God
Men die; dogs die; flies die; germs die.
They die but duration varies.
News dies, songs die and fashions die.
They die but at different spells.
God makes creatures and their deaths.
God is not sorry for such deaths.
Man made creations and not for their deaths.
Man is nervous for such deaths.
07.06.2010
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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When You Speak In Whispers
when you speak
in whispers
to me
like some
kind
of vespers
like some
code
of the cicadas
i have
actually
second
thoughts
listeni ng
i am
afraid
i always
remember
the kind
of deaths
fit
for my
godfather
lots of
little deaths
and i
ask, which
one
which one
is the
happy death?
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Pink Triangle
I remember when I walked the Earth
in the days before I died.
When Reich chancellor Hitler rose,
after the Reichstag fire.
I remember a November night
with a million shards of glass.
I never felt more all alone,
that night my lover passed.
After that, I had no rights,
I was forced to bear this sign:
A pink Triangle swatch of cloth,
by this I was defined.
I remember some with David's star
would look down their nose at me.
Yet We were under the same sentence-
had not our deaths all been decreed?
I remember when I walked the Earth
in the days before I died.
Before mein Fuhrer dug for me
my grave up in the sky.
poem by John F. McCullagh
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The Sadness Does Not End
THE SADNESS DOES NOT END/ THE DEATHS DO NOT STOP COMING
The sadness does not end-
The deaths do not stop coming-
If you want to be free of this
Do not grow old-
Do not know many people
Do not in fact be human-
The deaths do not stop coming
The sadness does not end-
How better to be young and mindless than old and full of so many memories of lost friends-
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Autistic, Dyslexic
love, love, love,
where are you? love, love, love
why do you keep yourself in the darkness
of subsumed silence?
open up, heart o heart, open up, beat like a gong
be loud, so others
dead in their silent pains may wake up
from their deaths
so many deaths in one hour of living
love, love, love, come, come, come
be with us,
don't run, don't run, please don't run away from
us, who lives are ruined
by too much hatred, and guilt and
repetition.
we need sleep.
now that we have said our dyslexic lines.
love is, i think, a form
of autism.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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When my body arrives at the shore
When the time comes.
And my body washes up on the shore.
Be it not a shock to you please.
I didn't want tohurt you.
When my bloated body arrives at deaths shore.
Washed up and battered I'm dead on the shore.
And have arrived at deaths door.
Yes I was scared kind of.
But I knew it would over and done.
I knew it wouldn't be long to die.
Here lays my body at deaths shore.
I am dead of that you can be sure.
I am sorry of that you are to be sure.
I loved you that's for sure.
I could'nt stay with pains shore.
So Here I am at deaths shore.
I couldn't go on like this.
Here I lay washed up on the shore.
Iam now in deaths door
poem by Amy Louise Kerswell
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More than 26,000 lives may be lost to the effects of drug abuse this year. This tragic impact is felt in communities across this great nation. Sadly many of these deaths occur among our young people.
quote by Elijah Cummings
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Sadness Of These Deaths
THE SADNESS OF THESE DEATHS
The sadness of these deaths
These are not my deaths
But they are deaths
The sadness of these deaths
Oh God What is this world for
All these people gone
The sadness of these deaths
poem by Shalom Freedman
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9/11, And The Days After
how many died that day
at the World Trade Center?
how many died
in the field?
and how many have died...
how many young boys
sent off to war?
how many citizens of Iraq?
Afghanistan?
how many women and children?
how many deaths
does it take for
us to finally understand?
killing is wrong!
one death does not
justify another!
murder does not
heal wounds...
or bring back
loved ones.....
one decade later....
and we still dont understand
the value of life...
and therein lies
the cause for mourning,
and the sadness!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Sacrifices
Autumn leaves have fallen
across long forgotten battlefields
where deep below the ground
the dead lie asleep.
Their lives torn apart
by some wicked war.
There they have immortality
for they will age no more.
Their sleep is restless
for from their deaths,
no lessons were learnt
and men and boys keep killing
in constant wicked wars.
On the eleventh hour,
of the eleventh day,
of the eleventh month
we stand in silence
to honour their memory
for the sacrifices they made,
but we have never learnt the lessons
This poem is dedicated to the memory of the men, women and children from all countries that have lost their lives in wars that have plagued our world. May their souls rest in eternal peace.
for which their lives they gave
as the killing still goes on and on.
poem by David Harris
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Stupidity.
Stupidity.
We celebrate our dead heroes.
Their white headstones arranged in rows.
To mark where soldiers bodies lie.
They are no longer friends and foes
War cemeteries are tended well
in honour of the men who fell
It is the least that we can do
for men who died by shot and shell.
Each single death a tragedy,
each one recorded carefully.
To satisfy the bureaucrats
who collate deaths statistically.
I wonder why we cannot see.
That death alone claims victory.
Each new war adds to the score
of people dying uselessly.
Though we remember them with pride.
The countless men who sadly died.
Each thinking that their cause was just.
Involuntary suicide.
We celebrate our dead heroes
with white headstones arranged in rows.
Yet we still send young men to die
And always will do I suppose.
We do not learn from history
For no good reason I can see.
That wars prove nothing in the end
Except how stupid we can be.
Wednesday,30 December 2009
http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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