An Allegory
The fight was over, and the battle won
A soldier, who beneath his chieftain’s eye
Had done a might deed and done it well,
And done it as the world will have it done—
A stab, a curse, some quick play of the butt,
Two skulls cracked crosswise, but the colours saved—
Proud of his wounds, proud of the promised cross,
Turned to his rear-rank man, who on his gun
Leant heavily apart. ‘Ho, friend!’ he called,
‘You did not fight then: were you left behind?
I saw you not.’ The other turned and showed
A gapping, red-lipped wound upon his breast.
‘Ah,’ said he sadly, ‘I was in the smoke!’
Threw up his arms, shivered, and fell and died.
poem by Barcroft Henry Thomas Boake
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Soldier
The soldier, he has many battle scars.
But there's only a few, others can see.
The wounds, they did not kill him,
They made him who he was called to be.
Although some of his battles were easy,
Through each of his battles he died.
The pieces, which were his true enemy.
Were the pieces that did not survive.
When the soldier, he goes into battle,
He must know who his enemies are.
They are the ones that would harm another,
And make the soldier, seem like he, was the star.
It is only once you discover the enemy,
The march to victory, then can begin.
For the war that the soldier is fighting.
Is the battle he fights from within.
In each of us there is a soldier.
And each day, we fight the good fight.
For the ones who walk into victory,
Are the ones who find their true light.
poem by Ryan Lee Morris
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My Right! ! ! !
I am sitting here with the news turned up loud
Knowing we are there to help, makes me proud
I know so many just don't understand
If YOU had no freedom
If YOU had no say
How would you feel?
What could you do?
Without help, NOTHING!
I miss my husband
I miss his touch
But I am proud of what he does
I am proud of whom he is
You may have the right to protest
And you may not like this war
But no one has the right to tell my husband his rights should be ignored
His right to be proud
His right to be a patriot
His right to be a soldier
They say HE is wrong, that just isn't true
My husband could fight and die
For my right to speak
For my right to cry
For my right to feel this pain
For my right to be angry
For my right to feel the way I do
Your rights are not given by the grace of GOD
They are given by the blood of patriots
They are given with the lives of loved ones
Remember when you are out there slamming our own military
They are out there fighting and dying for your right to hate them
poem by Tearsica Brooks
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Our Son
Our Son the Soldier
How great a man he must be
To be joined in the fight to
set another part of the world free
Our Son the Soldier
So very proud of you we are
To all of us who love you,
you will always be our shining star
Our Son the Soldier
So far from home and in a foreign place
Just close your eyes to
see a familiar smiling face
Our Son the Soldier
So very far away
We will all be waiting with open
arms on your coming home day
poem by Denise Girod
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My Oldest Best Friend
My Oldest Best Friend (An Ode to Papa Vic)
Although our memories are few
They stick with me like glue
From play fight glories to wartime stories
I remember every moment like it was yesterday
You called me “fatso”; I called you “old man”
But no hard feelings or footprints were left in the sand
For now you have sailed away into the horizon
On the ocean of time calm and clear with nothing left to fear
You are safe from the world and the bad things that dwell here
On a ship build with good times and a sail wove with love
You sail with open arms into the bright sky above
My father at the gates awaiting your arrival
After 87 years we’re all proud of your survival
So go now to a place some call heaven
Where I’m sure they play solitaire and euchre 24/7
Enjoy the afterlife; I know we’ll talk again
May peace be with you My Great Grandfather, My oldest best friend.
poem by Kyle.J Carruthers
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War time story
A single soldier abandoned
Left to fight the war alone
His whole squadron disbanded
As he fights
The media at home paint him in a bad light
The soldier never gives up
He tries with all his might
Betrayed, the chief takes all his weapons
The soldier is left defenseless
But he presses on with just his left and right fists
Him against two armies
Because this soldier fights for his own side
Every day he wakes up another person in his memory who died
He is the only man on the battle line
The soldier takes every hit given
It's a long war
Occasionally he becomes down trodden
And he thinks it's no longer worth doin
He stops
He stops dodgin bullets and and bombs
He drops
And thinks of his final reward
He looks up and rises
He firmly plants his feet
Unscathed by the artillery whizzing past his eyes
On his mind the reward of becoming one of the elite
The soldier grins
And charges into the fight
He will never quit until he not just the battle but the war wins
poem by Martin McCollugh
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John Brown
John brown went off to war to fight on a foreign shore.
His mama sure was proud of him!
He stood straight and tall in his uniform and all.
His mamas face broke out all in a grin.
Oh son, you look so fine, Im glad youre a son of mine,
You make me proud to know you hold a gun.
Do what the captain says, lots of medals you will get,
And well put them on the wall when you come home.
As that old train pulled out, johns ma began to shout,
Tellin evryone in the neighborhood:
Thats my son thats about to go, hes a soldier now, you know.
She made well sure her neighbors understood.
She got a letter once in a while and her face broke into a smile
As she showed them to the people from next door.
And she bragged about her son with his uniform and gun,
And these things you called a good old-fashioned war.
Oh! good old-fashioned war!
Then the letters ceased to come, for a long time they did not come.
They ceased to come for about ten months or more.
Then a letter finally came saying, go down and meet the train.
Your sons a-coming home from the war.
She smiled and went right down, she looked everywhere around
But she could not see her soldier son in sight.
But as all the people passed, she saw her son at last,
When she did she could hardly believe her eyes.
Oh his face was all shot up and his hand was all blown off
And he wore a metal brace around his waist.
He whispered kind of slow, in a voice she did not know,
While she couldnt even recognize his face!
Oh! lord! not even recognize his face.
Oh tell me, my darling son, pray tell me what they done.
How is it you come to be this way?
He tried his best to talk but his mouth could hardly move
And the mother had to turn her face away.
Dont you remember, ma, when I went off to war
You thought it was the best thing I could do?
I was on the battleground, you were home . . . acting proud.
You wasnt there standing in my shoes.
Oh, and I thought when I was there, god, what am I doing here?
Im a-tryin to kill somebody or die tryin.
But the thing that scared me most was when my enemy came close
And I saw that his face looked just like mine.
Oh! lord! just like mine!
And I couldnt help but think, through the thunder rolling and stink,
That I was just a puppet in a play.
And through the roar and smoke, this string is finally broke,
And a cannon ball blew my eyes away.
As he turned away to walk, his ma was still in shock
At seein the metal brace that helped him stand.
But as he turned to go, he called his mother close
And he dropped his medals down into her hand.
song performed by by Bob Dylan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My Brother In Law The Soldier
my brother in law the soldier.
he was so young when he went to war..
he has turned it to a brave soldier and
and im verry proud of him
my brother in law the soldier
he is riskin his life
for our freedom..
my brother in law the soldier
deangelo hunter..
ily thanks for all your doing
we dont take enough time to
tell our soldiers overseas
how proud and thankful
we are for what they do..
poem by Dawn Hunter
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Proud American Soldier
Proud American Soldier
(God bless and keep safe our fighting men and women in harm’s way)
I fought beside my brothers, as they died on foreign shores,
I’m proud to say, we fought and slay, our enemies by the scores.
One by one, we fought and won, wars down through the ages,
The history books are written with our blood stains on the pages.
Our skin is many colors, we are women and we’re men,
We stand up to injustices no matter where or when.
I’m a Proud American Soldier, my job’s to keep us free,
I ply my timeless trade so far away, across the sea.
When others cringe and cower, you’ll find us standing tall,
We’ll remain steadfast until the last, of the evil tip and fall.
Come what may, get in our way, we’ll never cut and run,
We’ll stay our course, with no remorse and it ain’t always fun.
We’re the sailors that go out to sea, we’re the pilots in the sky,
We’re the grunts out in the fox holes, and we all know that men die.
I’m a Proud American Soldier, my job’s to keeps free,
I ply my timeless trade so far away, across the sea.
They spoke kindly of my enemies, the same day that I died,
Then burned my flag in protest, as my widow watched and cried.
But don’t you worry much my friends, nor shed a tear for me,
There’s more where I come from, to fight and keep you free.
Freedom isn’t free dear friends, we foot the bill in blood.
We die in the desert sand and in the jungle’s mud.
I’m a Proud American Soldier, my jobs to keep us free,
I ply my timeless trade so far away across the sea.
I may be just a soldier, but that’s just fine by me.
poem by Michael Barker
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The Silent Battle
(In Memory of J. W. T. Jr.)
He was a soldier in that fight
Where there is neither flag nor drum,
And without sound of musketry
The stealthy foemen come.
Year in, year out, by day and night
They forced him to a slow retreat,
And for his gallant fight alone
No fife was blown, and no drum beat.
In winter fog, in gathering mist
The gray grim battle had its end --
And at the very last we knew
His enemy had turned his friend.
poem by Sara Teasdale
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Kargil Warfare
Words shall never describe
what a soldier is
with a family brave
loosing in wars
all they have
yet smiling to the nation's pride
such is what a soldier is
for when they came with guns and arms
the soldier faced it all
heads held high
for the nation
he was ready to die
such is the sacrifice a soldier makes
and yes!
words shall never describe
what a soldier is
Kargil was the place
this time the fight was for mother land
the soldier could not be held
he marched
without fear
smoke rose high
there on the dusty land
fought the soldier
with no fear of death
he knew beneath
he had to win
and yes he did
his land he saved
but lost many his friends
and we salute
bow our head
for our words shall never describe
what a soldier is.
poem by Areena Arora
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The Combat Soldier
Many accept the name of soldier,
Yet sit in the office, at the rear.
Whilst the real soldier, the combat soldier,
Fight the enemy, eye to eye.
Their uniforms dirty, faces weathered,
Hands rough, minds tethered.
They’ve seen death’s hand, reaching for them,
Their friend’s, death did condemn.
Their weapons are scratched, and used,
Long in the battle, they are abused.
These soldiers seek refuge, in the wire,
Where many spend the operation in its entire.
The combat soldier gets a short rest,
Only to go back out, confined by their vest.
For days they spend in a crosshair,
Terrorist seeking them, death they declare.
Combat soldier, many missions did you fulfill,
Many friends lost, forever still.
No esteem or awards will you receive,
Those with the rank, medals you will receive.
Though the combat soldier defends the post,
Their treated like the lowest, or a ghost.
The soldier and combat soldier, aren’t the same,
The only similarities are in the name.
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
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Soldier’s Wife
Let’s go out
In this cold city
Let me feel
The warmth here
The beloved daughter
As
I am going tomorrow
And who knows
The dinner
Out in the restaurant
A nearby photographer
In uniform
My laurels and stars
I fight for my country
I am a proud soldier
Daughter in his arms
The wife proud
Veil pushed back
So the soldier's family
I found this
In a room
A barrack
Of the soldier
Looked at the photograph
Of thousand hopes
The soldier’s bag
His laurels and stars
The soldier was dead
His laurels and stars
His thousand hopes
What is my fault?
Asked his daughter
And mine too
Asked his wife
His laurels and stars
For the soldier is dead
poem by Sadiqullah Khan
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A Letter from the Sand 'Be Proud
Today I received a letter from the sand. It read Dear Sir, we regret to inform you that your brother Sgt. Andre Smith was killed two days ago in Iraq, but be proud he died a hero. Now I must read that letters a hundred times but pride never came over me but anger did. Anger that got me asking questions like is proud of what, that my big brother is no longer here? Or should I be proud that they turned my caring brother into murder all under the false flag of freedom? Be proud, I am proud and I was always proud not because Andre died as hero but I am proud because he was my brother.
Note:
This poem is not a true story. Now although my brother Andre did past away he did not die that way, but I wanted to honor him so I used his name in a poem the relates to current affairs
The Secret Foe
When now to battle he shall ride,
The bravest of the brave,
Joan the Maid be by his side
And Michael, quick to save.
Not against man's most fell device
The shell, the gas, the mine;
These he shall meet with steady eyes
And courage half-divine.
Oh, not the gaping wounds and red
And not the tortured sense,
And not the dying and the dead
And his own impotence.
But when the joy of battle faints
And his hot blood grows chill,
Be near him, all ye soldier saints,
Lest Satan work him ill!
Lest in the hour of his great fight
This foe should him assail,
The enemy that creeps by night
Strike through his coat of mail.
Sebastian of the arrows, haste,
Michael and the White Maid,
Lest in his splendid hour, at last,
The soldier be afraid.
poem by Katharine Tynan
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Christian soldier
The Christian Soldier,
The Christian soldier goes to fight, a war on evil, every day and night,
Fighting for what the Lord God says. Is only right, with all their might;
They fight the enemy, for peace and truth, yet they are so brave,
And Jesus showed why we go, when He died our souls to save.
The Christian soldier has his armor, his breast plate, and His helmet too,
Then comes feet shod with the preparation of peace, this is True
Truth and Mercy are on the soldiers side, for the enemies destruction,
And with it comes the sword of God, and we're safe under Gods redemption.
The Christian Soldier, those, who have been washed and bought with a price,
The price of the lamb, And we'll win the war, against the enemy who isn't nice;
We have the Words of Christ, bestowed on us, promises from above,
They're full of Wisdom, truth, and justice, they were given to us in love.
poem by Margaret Haig
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The Patriot Returns
Battered and broken I return to you
My time spent in battle is finally through
My country served proudly, I stood the test
I fought side by side with our nations best
I am A soldier, A patriot, true to the cause
My American heart beats without pause
Any time any place any where
This soldier will stand tall and be there
I love my country and will protect her at all cost
I fight for the old, the young, the weak and the lost
I fight for an ideal that is greater than I
I don’t complain, or whine or ask why
But for the time being I am home with you
My duty served my task is thru
But I’ll be watching, over there and over here
And I’ll be putting a hand to my ear
For if ever this soldier is again called to fight
I’ll lace up my boots and do what’s right
Look out world the Devil Dogs are on hand
Ready to fight in the air, on the sea or on land
poem by James Waters
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In A World of Beautiful Women
We were both sitting
In a little non-descript bar
Where the loneliness
Hung heavily in the air
Like cigarette smoke.
In nearly drunken conversation,
You said you were
Sadly obsessed
By girl named Erica
Who turned into
A mythical dream and disappeared
Like Daphne into a laurel tree.
And I felt
Like we were brothers
In a world of beautiful women
Who fly away
Like untamed exotic birds
Which men can never cage.
And the bartender
Turned up the radio:
“The trouble is,
That you’re in love
With someone else,
It should be me,
It should be me! ”*
poem by Uriah Hamilton
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At Just The Right Time
My friend, at just the right time, God showed a love you can’t deny.
He paid to men the ultimate price, by sending His Son as a sacrifice.
A sacrifice for all the world to see upon the hill known as Calvary.
There Christ died upon a cross for both the righteous and the lost.
However, the righteous could not see that He came to set them free.
Freed from the curse of sin, and this freedom is only found in Him.
He became a curse for you and me, for cursed is anyone upon a tree.
But the righteous would have no part, for they had a hardened heart.
No greater love to commend than one who gives his life for a friend.
One may die for a friend in need, but, who would die for an enemy?
And that’s what His love did show, as Christ died for friend and foe.
He came down from Heaven above to save the unrighteous with His Love.
The world was so loved by The Lord that wrath upon Christ was poured.
The wicked cross by Christ was endured to reconcile man to The Lord.
Payment for sin was paid in full, so with Christ we could eternally rule.
A place in The Kingdom you will receive if you trust God and believe.
Believe and you won’t perish, just embrace the cross that we cherish.
If you confess that Jesus is Lord and believe that He was restored,
Restored to life from the grave, and my friend, you shall be saved.
And through The Lord Jesus Christ, you shall have Everlasting Life.
(Copyright ©10/2004)
Final solution
The countless dead unburied lay beneath a covering of clay.
The good earth turned to dark red mud mixed with the best of soldier’s blood.
It mattered not how many died for death could not be satisfied.
Brave men who fought for their country. Death chose amongst them randomly.
I lived although my comrades died. Death often took them from my side.
Why did I live? So I can tell the world about the living hell
wich we endured knee deep in mud. I think it fitting that I should.
So many died on either side. Involuntary suicide
To fight a war they could not win, to no more see their kith and kin
Like every war it proved to be a total waste, a mockery
The cream of Europe’s fighting mem would never see their homes again.
What did it prove the First World War? Nothing we had not known before!
Though we remember those who died. The lessons learned are not applied
for men still battle constantly to prove superiority.
It seems mankind can’t live in peace, that wanton killing will not cease
Until death has added to his score the last man and there are no more.
I think that then and only then the world will be at peace again.
16/04/2009
http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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