Across The Battlefield
Hear the cannons roar
across the battlefield
with its pits of pain
where the dead and dying lay.
In the no man’s land
that separates friend from foe.
Hear the mournful sounds
of weeping flesh
entangled within the baptism of death.
Across the battlefield
where there are fleeting ghosts
of those who fell on another day.
One day the guns may fall silent
and flowers will once again dance
with an evening breeze.
Instead of the blood of innocence
milking the no man’s ground.
Birds may again sing one day
replacing the agony of young men
dying before their time.
In twenty, fifty or a hundred years
they will be remembered
for the sacrifice they gave,
condemning themselves to an early grave.
Maybe when that day comes
no more cannons will again roar
across the battlefield
with its pits of pain.
19 May 2009
poem by David Harris
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A War To End All Wars, But Wasn’t
They not only fought the enemy,
but fought the elements as well.
They fought for their country
in lands far from home.
They fought rain, mud and the enemy
in trenches stained with blood
from those who had fallen there before.
They fought on and on
while the Generals watched
the slaughter from far away.
For their mistakes men died
by the score across the battlefield.
Their blood would stained the land
then and forever more.
Then came the gas
like a creeping mist across the battlefield
that silenced all in its wake.
It made no distinction to young or old,
just poisoned all it touched.
Their contorted bodies rotted where they fell.
They said this was a war to end all wars, but it wasn’t.
Almost twenty years later
men from different countries gathered to fight another war
and again in the trenches men fell.
The mechanics had changed;
machines became more prevalent across the battlefield,
still men died for small victories in the tide of war.
3 July 2008
poem by David Harris
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Remember
I hear the sound of distant guns,
as good lives march away,
to foreign lands to fight and die,
to preserve the rights of freedom,
for those in that distant land,
can have the right to live,
and not under a tyrant’s hand.
They go not as heroes for glory,
but to help innocent souls,
so they can sleep securely at night.
However, the battlefield where they are,
hold allsorts of dangers there,
some will never return safely home.
Their souls will look over
the battlefield where they fell,
possibly wondering at
the folly of it all.
Therefore, the next time you look at,
a monument with columns of names,
remember that their sacrifice
was made not for one, but for all.
poem by David Harris
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Tears Of Blood
On every battlefield,
the ground is stained with tears of blood.
The cruelty of war holds no bounds.
Men and boys fight together
and against each other.
Theirs deaths are just numbers
on someone’s statistics chart.
Their names are quickly forgotten
except by their loved ones.
Their bodies rot where they fell
in the no man’s land on a battlefield.
No one can make sense of the useless slaughter
by a faceless enemy across the invisible lines.
Lines drawn in the lunacy of a moment
for which hundreds will die for.
The tears of blood will fall like raindrops
from machinegun fire,
and so the crazy war goes on.
Each side losing brave men
to save some politicians face.
There is no glory in death
and wasting tears of blood on some foreign land,
just a waste of good lives.
When will it ever end?
22-23 May 2009
poem by David Harris
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Battlefield Of Love
I am a soldier
A casualty of love
I've been from heaven
All the way to hell
I've had a journey
Much more than I can tell
I've got stories
Much more than I can sell
All this mass confusion
Causes chaos in my brain
I'm on the battlefield
The battlefield of love
With all of the illusions
I won't ever be the same
I'm on the battlefield
The battlefield of love
I'm a prisoner
A prisoner of love
I have been captured
And kept underground
I have been tortured
But I don't make a sound
'Cause I know one day
One day I will be found
All this mass confusion
Causes chaos in my brain
I'm on the battlefield
The battlefield of love
With all of the illusions
I won't ever be the same
I'm on the battlefield
The battlefield of love
song performed by by Lenny Kravitz from Lenny
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Battlefield
Hear the sound of retreating trumpets
in the distance where they play.
The battle is over now,
but will commence again another day.
The battlefield is strewn with bodies
where the old and young fell
on a field where two armies clashed
and now among the dead the dying moan and yell.
3 July 2010
poem by David Harris
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Freedom’s Road
For all those who fight on freedom's road.
Hear the cries on freedom’s road above the cannon’s roar
See the faces of anguish in the tide of war
See the smoke, smell the cordite
That covers the dying, ten thousand and more
Innocence dies a lonely death on any battlefield
Boys turn to men and are slaughtered by the score
How can we stop all these wicked wars
Mothers and widows weep the bitter tears of grief
There is no easy path to take when you fight on freedom’s road
poem by David Harris
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In my dreams I hear again the crash of guns, the rattle of musketry, the strange, mournful mutter of the battlefield.
quote by Douglas MacArthur
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Zor And Zam
By bill chadwick and john chadwick
The king of zor, he called for war
And the king of zam, he answered.
They fashioned their weapons one upon one
Ton upon ton, they called for war at the rise of the sun.
Out went the call to one and to all
That echoed and rolled like the thunder.
Trumpets and drums, roar upon roar
More upon more.
Rolling the call of "come now to war."
Throughout the night they fashioned their might
With right on the side of the mighty.
They puzzled their minds plan upon plan
Man upon man
And at dying of dawn the great war began.
They met on the battlefield banner in hand.
They looked out across the vacant land.
And they counted the missing, one upon one,
None upon none.
The war it was over before it begun.
Two little kings playing a game.
They gave a war and nobody came.
And nobody came.
And nobody came.
And nobody came.
And nobody came.
[repeat and fade]
song performed by by Monkees
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Trooper
You'll take my life but I'll take yours too
You'll fire your musket but I'll run you through
So when you're waiting for the next attack
You'd better stand there's no turning back.
The bugle sounds and the charge begins
But on this battlefield no one wins
The smell of acrid smoke and horses breath
As I plunge on into certain death.
The horse he sweats with fear we break to run
The mighty roar of the Russian guns
And as we race towards the human wall
The screams of pain as my comrades fall
We hurdle bodies that lay on the ground
And the Russians fire another round
We get so near yet so far away
We won't live to fight another day.
We get so close near enough to fight
When a Russian gets me in his sights
He pulls the trigger and I feel the blow
A burst of rounds take my horse below.
And as I lay there gazing at the sky
My body's numb and my throat is dry
And as I lay forgotten and alone
Without a tear I draw my parting groan
song performed by by Iron Maiden
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I am not a soldier
'Hey! I take my hands up
And please don't shoot me
This is my grand son's toy gun.'
'Then why did you come to the battlefield? ' Soldier inquired.
'I am jogging as per my diabetes doctor's advise.'
'You should go to a playground.'
'Certainly this is a playground not a battlefield brother,
Both parties are friends and why hold the guns?
While enemies groan in their castles comfortably.'
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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Developments in information technology and globalised media mean that the most powerful military in the history of the world can lose a war, not on the battlefield of dust and blood, but on the battlefield of world opinion.
quote by Timothy Garton Ash
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Being over seventy is like being engaged in a war. All our friends are going or gone and we survive amongst the dead and the dying as on a battlefield.
quote by Muriel Spark
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Can Feel Him In The Morning
Child 1:
He kind of started all the plants growing, and he started people. well, I guess hes kind of big and fat.
Child 2:
He can see us wherever we do ... whatever we do. he has such powerful eyes -- he has to have millions and thousands and billions. and he can still see us when were bad.
Child 3:
He could be sitting on the table right now, but you cant see him.
Child 4:
He cant be everywhere at once doing everything for everybdy. everybody cant get what they want.
Child 5:
Well, his job is to make us good and to make us happy and make us parents happy.
Child 6:
Good is the right thing and bad is the wrong thing.
Child 7:
When Im good my mother never yells at me, when Im bad she does.
Child 8:
Good means to obey your mother and father, to do what the teacher says -- the things right. I feel miserable when Im ... when Im bad, I feel miserable on the inside but, on the outside, I just
Like I ... I feel now.
Child 9:
I think ... um, um ... there are more people that are bad than there are good. and, um ... if youre good, youll live forever. and, if youre bad, youll die when you die ... (repeat last sente
Wo more times to fade in echo)
Take me down to the water, let me feel it run over me.
Let me feel the pain and the coldness, the loneliness that there must be.
Whoa, cant you see their dreams, as they go drifting by?
Whoa, cant you see their faces, and their tear-soaked eyes?
Chorus
I can feel him in the morning, I can feel him in the evening too.
I can hear him in the morning, tellin me what I got to do.
Got to make a new world, ought to make the old one right.
I can see him in the morning, I can see him in the stars at night.
Take me out to the battlefield, let me hear the shells flying by.
Let me hear the sound of the cannons, let me hear them scream and cry.
Whoa, cant you hear their dreams, as they tumble to the blood-soaked ground?
Whoa, hear them scream for shelter, from the world they never found.
Chorus
Oooo, oooo, oooo, oooo-ooo. (repeated out to end)
song performed by by Grand Funk Railroad
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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High Water Mark
It was very close, yesterday,
I thought for sure, that they would break
But this attack, that I have planned
A massive strike across open land.
In the center, they will break
Plan it well, everythings at stake
We'll hit em hard, not a silent gun.
Before the infantry's begun
Execute it well...we risk everything..its in Gods hands now..
General Lee, I must tell you straight
That I beleive this attack will fail.
No 15,000 men ever made,
will overtake that ridge today.
A wild charge over open ground,
with yankee cannon gunning down,
we do our duty, we do what we must
And in my plan, you will trust
(Thooouusands diiie...)
Execute it well...we risk everything..its in Gods hands now..
The rebel cannons break the silence!
One hundred fifty gunsmen on the cannons there
We must destroy the union center
Before the infantry can launch their grand assult
The yankees are returning fire
We must in turn fight its gods will that we are here this daay!
What happens here this day
The fate of a nation
In the balance it will hang
Consumed with the pain
The COURAGE of the blue!
The VALOUR of the gray!
So very sad but true
Consumed with the pain..
The virginians are then chosen
They went behind the trees on Cemetery Ridge
They must be slow to give the orders
THe light emerged from my own 15,000 men
The charge begins in all its granduer
For many are these men, they know it is their last
The slaughter now ensues, bodies fall like rain
They valiantly ensue, though doomed to remain
At the double quick they charge
The cannon still rips through them
To the mouth of hell they march
Glory the only gain!
[Cannon Scene]
We're almost there my boys
I never thought we'd fire
We must push forward boys
And bayonet the yankee tyrants
Through the depths of trees we charge
To cross the union center
And when they turn and run
I hope they'll drop and beg for freedom!
[Battle Ensues, Orchestra Solo, With people dying in the background]
It's over now we are retreating
I never thought that we'd be beaten
All this blood is on my hands
The thousands dead due to my plan
I am responsible
All of this is my fault
I thought us invincible
Is this gods will, after all?
I look across this blood soaked land
All their blood is on my hands
God forgive me
Please forgive me...
ITS ALL MY FAULT!!!
Their blood is on my haaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaands....
song performed by by Iced Earth
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Life
life is unfair
it seems you don't get everything you needed
life is like a battlefield
there's always a war to deal with
in life all i can hear is the sound of people screaming
in life all i can see is tragedies
people dying over there, people dying over here
life is like a novel
it has its beginning and its ending
life is a like a 3D video game
but only play in reality
every moments
every second
every hour
every year
people are dying
life is like a barren field
life is like a broken wing
oh life
why do have to come this way
why do you bring people into this
why there is to many wars
life
poem by Guenael Oristel
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Hear Me Roar
I am a women hear me roar
I don't fret nor make excuses
for my past
I wear my struggles under the bags of my eyes
triumph hangs over my neck like a scarf
I am a women hear me roar
I will not fidget nor give up my seat as Rosa Parks
I am hear to stay, get on board or get out
I will not be threatened of your words or say
for the strength I posses
comes from the core of humanity
I am a women hear me roar
I bear my sweat and strain from bleeding
as I carry a jewel protected in my womb
from the size of a pea to inflated balloon
a belly stretches to accommodate you
the jitters and jolts felt over the months
is incomparable to the pain of your birth
yet, physical pain has no immunity
for the love I have for you lasts eternity
I am a women hear me roar
Although, I might carry the burden of an addiction
homelessness, a graffiti marked under my skin
stain and dirt will not cloud my spirit
for I know through my smile
I am morphosis into the girl that I was once
and the women that I shall become
I am women hear me roar
I refused to be boxed in
nor be told what I should look like
For I am beautiful wrinkle or not
like mother Therese,
compassion over greed
will always stand its ground
I am a women hear me roar
poem by Gebrela Ganao
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From Swords to Plowshares
A field of crop
once was a battlefield (red)
now feeds a remnant -
They that survived
the young that gave up their lives
so that this plot of land
Might remain in this nation
to fly its flag
and export its blood-bought grain.
poem by Frederick Kesner
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The Silence Of Pain
The pain of silence deafens me
Like some bomb in my soul.
And I lie
Among the smouldering wreckage of my life
To hear your final drum roll,
Now only in the echo of a memory
That some silent thief had stole.
The pain of silence stabs me deep.
Yet from my wounds
No blood does ever seep.
Can't you see?
I'm still bleeding to death in your dreams.
Could it be?
As I fight for my breath,
In moonbeams- you hide.
With the pain of silence
That sword in my side.
I look out
Across a black sea.
Dying stars will surround me
The embers of love
That used to be.
I'm done,
Crying to the astral lights.
Smothered in your snake bites.
And as I lie dying in silent pain.
Now your promises ring in my mind
Insane.
As my life blood
Runs away down the drain.
Those lost dried tears
Flood
The silence of pain.
poem by Kevin East
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The Final Shot Is Fired
The moonlight danced across the waters
where the breeze made ripples there.
Nothing stirred the stillness
except the lonely hoot of an owl.
It was as if the place
had desolation in the air,
but all that was deceptive
as the earth trembles
of men marching somewhere.
As the night grew longer,
the marching stirred the silence
that had been there before.
Soon voices barking orders
had ears erect.
Slowly the resting animals
now began to flee.
Somehow they could sense
two predators were about to start a war.
Rifles were cocked and ready,
their muzzles extended from each bush.
They would not open fire
until their prey was near.
The volley of shots sent scores of birds
to flight into the early morning light.
Shots rang out from both sides,
each thinking they were winning
for the cause they were fighting for.
Neither realised
the war would never be over
so long as both sides carried a gun.
That could be a picture from any battlefield,
it’s only when they give up their weapons
and sit around a table and talk to one another
will wars ever end.
Until that day comes along
the death toll will rise
always at an alarming rate.
The ghosts of thousands
still roam across every battlefield,
never ever resting
until the final shot is fired.
8 February 2008
poem by David Harris
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Sounds Of The Earth
i feel the sounds of the earth,
cant say how or why!
the hurtling swagger of rivers,
the deep bass stillness of mountains.
the whispered longing of the trees,
dancing naked in moonlight.
the hymn of the grasses,
calling forth life.
the groan of the earth,
just turned by the plow!
i hear the reggae beat of the cities,
the hum of movement and work.
the chords of factories and mills,
the horns blown by the shops.
even the hollow beat
of business, of buy and sell.
and the low gutteral moan,
of the homeless, jobless, and lost.
feet without names,
marching without direction.
the cries of young children
afraid and hungry in the night.
the bang of the idol chasers,
the wranglers, and the pimps...
some working the market,
some working the parish.
i hear the sounds of the demons,
that cry war in the night.
that bang the bloody drums
of patriotism and fear.
i hear the sounds of the guns,
the thunder of the bombs.
the last prayers of young men,
dying alone in their fear.
i hear the shuffle of the money,
the boots beneath the table.
i hear the sound of the shovels,
digging grave after grave.
i hear the pen on the page,
as history is written,
in a book that not even
hell could contain!
i hear the churning of stomachs,
the grating of bones.
the tremble beneath
paper thin flesh.
i hear bare feet on the road,
the poor seeking refuge.
i hear the women weeping
as child after child dies.
and i hear the clank of glasses,
food shoveled on plates.
the shallow laughter,
the hypnotic hum of excess.
the condemning guilt,
food thrown in the trash.
the restless panting of the dogs,
just outside the door.
poem by Eric Cockrell
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