The Day the Soldiers Came
The old man sat at his cottage door
As the soldiers came to town,
And laughed as the trucks went rumbling by,
Laughed as the soldiers frowned,
They carried their rifles high that day,
Marched past him by the score,
And scowled as the old man mocked them there,
As they waged their futile war!
The tanks sat threatening in the square,
The people stood in the street,
Watching the flood of khaki power,
The boots on the marching feet,
The General stood in his jeep that day
A scroll in his scrawny hand:
‘It's never too late to liberate
The folk in this tortured land! '
But then a ripple of laughter came
From the townsfolk standing there,
They seemed to enjoy a local joke,
A joke that they wouldn't share.
The soldiers were tense, bemused at that,
They'd rather the ripple of fear
They'd felt in a hundred similar towns
Since the war broke out that year.
The General barked, ‘Enough of that!
Where is your National Pride?
We've come to free you from servitude
And a great deal more, beside! '
But the old man, sat in his cottage seat
Had let out a great guffaw,
And the soldiers dragged him out of his chair,
To face the General's scorn.
‘Why do you laugh, old man, ' he said,
‘I could shoot you in your pride! '
‘I'm sure you could, and probably would
As you scorch our countryside!
But what price honour, when history
Ascribes your deeds to your name,
Will shooting a poor old peasant man
Ring loud in your Hall of Fame? '
‘Then why do you laugh? ' the General said,
‘The picture here is grim!
These soldiers fought, and died and bled,
You lack respect for them! '
‘This town has sat two thousand years, '
The old man said at last,
‘Was here when Hannibal's elephants stopped
To feed on the mountain grass.'
‘The Roman Legions passed through here
In their conquest and their might,
And Charlemagne's Grand Army
For a single, baleful night;
Even Napoleon Bonaparte
Conquered this little town,
For years, we had the Fascisti, and
The Nazis held us down.'
‘But where have their soldiers gone today,
They lie, each under his mound,
While we sit back, as your troops attack
And thrive in our little town.
You'll only be here for a moment more
Two lines on a history page,
Just one more army to pass through here
In your arrogance, and your rage! '
The army was there for a week or so,
But then, they had to withdraw,
The old man laughed as the soldiers passed,
He let out a great guffaw;
The Rebel General brought his tanks
And a speech that he had planned:
‘It's never too late to liberate
The folk in this tortured land! '
18 August,2012
poem by David Lewis Paget
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Related quotes
What a big joke
What a big joke
the new defence force has become,
where three thousand soldiers
strike and run riot
and it’s people
who chooses to be soldiers.
If Jan Smuts ruled
they would have been dead
as he let them
load a gun
for Jopie Fourie
and to me it’s nothing less
than revolt
for which people in the past
could pay the ultimate penalty.
I almost laughed myself apart
when medical troops
where brought to justice
for whoring
and I wondered
what was now happening
at the once great 1 Mil?
What kind of army has no discipline
and in what defence force
troops and junior officers
tell generals
how to do their thing
and the President
is challenged
to take instructions?
In my time you where bound by law
to go without any choice
to the defence force
and if you did not go there,
the military police
quickly came to fetch you
at home.
In my defence force
nonsense was taken out of you
from the start
and the authority of higher ranks was supreme
and we exercised with a pole and tyre
and received
the best training there.
.
For two years we
had to do national service
against a pauper’s pay
and it felt at a time
as if the camps
would never end.
a Soldier pointed his finger
at a lieutenant
and received thirty days
in the detention barracks
for it.
It was a defence force
that showed its fist
to Swapo, Fapla,
the Cubans and Russians
and the best soldiers
knew their duty.
Against what foe
will this new army be able to stand
if there’s no discipline
and like in a asylum people run amok
and I wonder
what omen
is hitting the new South Africa
where patriotism
lies at the backdoor
and every soldier thinks
that he’s a general
and like all things
in this once great country,
this army is more than pathetic
against what it once was.
[Reference: 1 Mil=> One milatary hospital.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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Soldier (not really a poem)
the american revolution was fought witha new breed of soldier.
this country was founded on that soldier.
that soldier is the one that those on the front lines calls the coward
that soldier is the one that those on the front lines call when they need help
because these soldiers dont miss.
these soldiers are trained harder than the most elite frontline man
these soldiers are tought to kill their enemy before there enemy sees them.
these soldiers are the ghosts in the night,
these soldiers are the wind in the day
these soldiers are everywhere.
these soldiers are the bush next to u.
these soldiers are the the tree across the field.
these soldiers are the lump of snow in the flat plain.
these soldiers are snipers.
snipers are the reason we are free.
snipers stop the enemy before the enemy gets close to u,
poem by Joshua Decker
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The soldiers fought
The soldiers fought a fight, and went for us,
They went not thinking of themselves, and no fuss;
Some were injured. Yet in such agony they fought,
And some carried back to safety, while the enemy was sought.
Those soldiers were so very brave, fighting in our place,
Marching altogether, In order and without grace;
They never knew if they'd get back home at all,
All they did was fighting to win, the problem wasn't small.
And a lot of those brave soldiers, lost arms and legs, it's so,
But some very brave soldiers, where they died we don't know;
And this is why the legacy, we remember them, at set of sun,
And thank all these brave soldiers, for the good that was done.
poem by Margaret Haig
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My confidence in General Grant was not entirely due to the brilliant military successes achieved by him, but there was a moral as well as military basis for my faith in him. He had shown his single-mindedness and superiority to popular prejudice by his prompt cooperation with President Lincoln in his policy of employing colored troops, and his order commanding his soldiers to treat such troops with due respect. In this way he proved himself to be not only a wise general, but a great man.
quote by Frederick Douglass
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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I Spoke to Soldiers
I spoke to too many soldiers,
You’d never know the exact record;
We still had lunch and then the enemy,
Forced into slavery of the army,
Been war-prison, been godliness of speech,
Never been superior officer or general.
My reward was in the favour of heaven,
And the language I possessed connived the house to live in.
To be a civilian was wrongful then good,
As deities shall mind afterwards,
Gods bespoke their dread, and dealt with cards
To be defeated by my hands and feet.
I see the comrade of zeal in a jail
And wanted him out, just out.
We face squalor in the system of a world in war,
Never do soldiers become heroes when in action.
poem by Naveed Akram
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War of Words
from a bottle of ink
spread into paper field
my word soldiers
pen is the sword
mind is the general
invading the blank land
sword is drawn
mind is attacked
conquered by abstract thing
called word
from a bloody throat
fly into air space
the word soldiers
tongue is the cannon
heart is the general
destroying memory bond
cannon is shot
heart is hurt
separated by abstract thing
called word
poem by Maria Sudibyo
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Mary Danced With Soldiers
She'd slip away each day with the dimming light
And with the sweetest smile she'd kiss the child goodnight
At the mill she'd work her fingers till they were raw
For the sake of her son and the daddy he never saw
Mary danced with soldiers
She stepped a light quadrille
Shawl across her shoulders
To keep away the chill, to keep away the chill
It was a rebel boy who brought her joy they say
Though the years had passed the memories stood fast each day
Before a bullet crushed the life of their romance
He gave her a shawl and a parasol from France
Mary danced with soldiers
She stepped a light quadrille
Shawl across her shoulders
To keep away the chill, to keep away the chill
They came around to the tavern in town that night
And with silent cries Mary never tried to fight
They cut her hair and left her body torn
Her spirit slipped away before the dawn
Mary danced with soldiers
But now her body's still
Shawl across her shoulders
To keep away the chill
Mary danced with soldiers
She stepped a light quadrille
Shawl across her shoulders
To keep away the chill, to keep away the chill
song performed by by Nitty Gritty Dirt Band
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Ashurnatsirpal III
Three walls around the town of Tela when I came.
They expected everything of those walls;
Nobody in the town came out to kiss my feet.
I knocked the walls down, killed three thousand soldiers,
Took away cattle and sheep, took all the loot in sight,
And burned special captives.
Some of the soldiers—I cut off hands and feet.
Others—I cut off ears and fingers.
Some—I put out the eyes.
I made a pyramid of heads.
I strung heads on trees circling the town.
When I got through with it
There wasn’t much left of the town of Tela.
poem by Carl Sandburg
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The End Of The Ming
Out in the hinterland the wild wolves call
While the soldiers shiver, strung along The Great Wall,
Their hands on their quivers, with their arrows, full flight
As they listen for the Manchu troops in the night.
They would beat off the peasants at the Shanhai Pass
As The Wall held firm, for the Ming's last gasp,
But the rebels beat the army of the last of the Ming,
In the city of the Emperor, the Old Beijing.
And they fired the city under Li Zicheng
While the Emperor despaired, he was called Chongzhen,
He threw a final feast for the House of the Ming,
And he called for his daughter, the Lady Chang Ping.
When the feast was over they awaited his word
But he slew each one with the point of his sword,
And his daughter too, bowed down to his will,
Then he fled the palace grounds, to Jingshan Hill.
And there with a rope on a myrtle tree
Chongzhen hung himself as high as could be,
While the leader of the peasants, this Li Zicheng,
Tried to found the Shun, as he buried Chongzhen.
But a General of the Ming, one Wu Sangui
He opened up the gates of The Wall one day,
And the Manchu troops streamed through to Beijing
Where they finished off the army, and Li Zicheng.
It was written in the stars, shining down on The Wall
That a dynasty rises as a dynasty falls,
But the soldiers on The Wall, now finished with the Ming,
Still keep a steady watch for the House of Qing.
For out in the hinterland the wild wolves call
And a soldier's duty is to guard The Great Wall,
For it little matters here about the Emperor's plan,
Just the wives and children of the soldiers of the Han!
poem by David Lewis Paget
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The Stevedores
We are the army stevedores, lusty and virile and strong,
We are given the hardest work of the war, and the hours are long.
We handle the heavy boxes, and shovel the dirty coal;
While soldiers and sailors work in the light, we burrow below like a mole.
But somebody has to do this work, or the soldiers could not fight!
And whatever work is given a man, is good if he does it right.
We are the army stevedores, and we are volunteers.
We did not wait for the draft to come, to put aside our fears;
We flung them away on the winds of fate, at the very first call of our land,
And each of us offered a willing heart and the strength of a brawny hand.
We are the army stevedores, and work as we must and may,
The cross of honour will never be ours to proudly wear away.
But the men at the Front could never be there,
And the battles could not be won,
If the stevedores stopped in their dull routine
And left their work undone.
Somebody has to do this work, be glad that it isn't you!
We are the army stevedores-give us our due!
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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I Am a Roman Soldier
I am a Roman soldier.
I choke on the dust and peer ahead.
There are only more soldiers and more marching.
The sun gleams from shields slung over the backs of my comrades
and our swords clank at our sides.
Only three weeks into the Germania campaign
and the Senate still favors the Brutii.
Still, General Augustus favors blood,
and so we march.
I am a Roman soldier and I fight for Rome and for glory.
My javelins tangle and I stop to adjust them.
Their one-use tips were digging in my back.
Feet continue to march past and I smell sweat and dirt.
There are murmurs of conversation
About the last town we sacked.
About the screams and the blood,
and how the Armenians would rather fight
then submit to Roman power.
I am a Roman soldier.
I grew up in Croton, a large town South of Rome.
My mother weaved cloth for the governor,
the white and green of the Brutii.
They claim they first settled Rome,
Their ancestor is Brutus, survivor of Troy
relation of the great Romulus.
My father was a proud Brutii
and his eyes sparkled at the name.
“Brutus, ” he said, “started this family with honor
and with honor died.”
Then two weeks passed,
and he died at Carthage.
I am a Roman soldier and I fight for Rome.
I pretend to inspect my shield as legions pass.
A Centurion calls for water and boasts
“It’s not to drink but to wipe off barbarian blood! ”
We Romans are tough and mighty
and will rule the world with Strength and Honor
There’s a problem with a leather strap
and I listen to the pounding feet.
I saw blood splattered on many.
Dried and brown.
I am a Roman soldier.
My mother’s voice rings in my head,
“Come back with your shield, or upon it.”
I wonder if my blood will be dried
and brown on someone’s feet some day.
I shake off the thought and raise my head.
The wind stirs my hair.
With it comes the rumble of cavalry.
The General will meet with us tonight.
Tomorrow we lay siege.
He had said we will do great things,
and that neither cities nor hordes could stop us.
We will live in glory and there will be songs about us
sung through the ages.
I am a Roman soldier and I am sick of fighting.
The army surges ahead and I watch it.
Shimmering and moving with a rhythm.
Thousands of blades of grass tossed by the wind.
The cavalry comes neatly alongside;
loud voices ring out in greeting.
I sigh and heft my shield,
Don my helmet and check my sword.
I fight because I have to,
I fight because the world would not have it otherwise,
The world could not stand to have one less of me,
I am a Roman soldier.
poem by Josiah Wedgewood
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The Leader That Was Pushed
Once on a time a general whose name is handed down
To the present generation as a name of high renown
Once on a time this general - I trust you understand
This happened years and years ago, and in a foreign land.
This general once stood before his army, thinking hard;
And he talked about advancing, but he didn't move a yard,
For, to put the matter plainly, though he knew his cause was right,
And desired to be the leader, yet he didn't want to fight.
He bravely talked for hours and hours of tactics and defence
(In good sooth, he was a leader of undoubted eloquence)
Till his soldiers grew impatient, for they spied afar the foe,
So they started marching forward, and the leader had to go,
Though he begged for time to elocute, they forced him to a walk;
Then they broke into a double, and he hadn't breath to talk.
If his soldiers start to push him - well, that can a leader do?
Thus he led his army forward - of necessity, 'tis true.
Oh, they forced him to a run,
And the firing of a gun
Gave him qualms about the business, but he couldn't change his mind.
He'd have dearly loved to pause
And orate about The Cause,
But he had to keep responding to the pressure from behind.
Then he yelled a battle-cry,
And he waved his sword on high,
But he mournfully reflected as he viewed the foemen's horde:
Leadership may be all right
While the foe is out of sight,
But, like the pen, the silver tongue is safer than the sword.
The fight was won. That general, his heart swelled up with pride,
Delivered speeches eloquent to his victorious side;
And the peroration hinted they should rest while they'd the chance;
But the army wanted more of it and urged him to advance.
'Twas here the general resigned to join another band
That didn't yearn to go and fight the battles of the land.
'Twas a calm, reposeful army, and that leader suited well;
For it let him talk of fighting while it sat and took a spell.
He was leader of the tired,
And he never was required
To go ranging o'er the country to attack a savage foe;
And whene'er he thought it best
To sit down and take a rest,
Well - it's rude to push a leader when he doesn't want to go.
And, if by some mischance,
He should mention an advance,
They would let him talk about it and applaud him very hard;
They would hail him as the man
Who by right was in the van;
But they'd grab him by the coat-tails if he sought to move a yard.
Give attention now, my masters, to this general's career;
He was affable and eloquent, but let me mention here
This happened very long since - twenty thousand years or so;
For now, we know, a leader leads before he's forced to go.
But if, perchance, at any time, a leader you should find
Who objects to moving onward till he gets a push behind,
Far better shift him from the front; his place is never here;
And let him join the other crowd - the Army of the Rear.
Let us have a moving army, let its leader be a man
Who doesn't need a shove behind to keep him in the van;
And if he halts to elocute, let's shift him off the track,
And put him 'mid the baggage-carts and lumber at the back.
There to seek a reputation with the busted and the bushed:
For no man may seek for Honor who insists on being pushed.
And he who seeks to lead must keep ahead a yard or so,
For - it's rude to push a leader when he doesn't want to go.
For a leader of the kind
Who requires a kick behind
Isn't any sort of leader, when you come to think of it;
And the generals we need
Are the fellows who CAN lead
The men who know the track to go, and tackle it with grit.
Wherefore, when you hear the talk
Of these fellows who would baulk,
While they flood the land with eloquence till mentally you're bushed.
Just remember, words and air
Seldom lead to anywhere,
And reflect upon the story of the leader that was pushed
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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Elizabeth Speaks
(Aetat Six)
Now every night we light the grate
And I sit up till _really_ late;
My Father sits upon the right,
My Mother on the left, and I
Between them on an ancient chair,
That once belonged to my Great-Gran,
Before my Father was a man.
We sit without another light;
I really, truly never tire
Watching that space, as black as night,
That hangs behind the fire;
For there sometimes, you know,
The dearest, queerest little sparks,
Without a sound creep to and fro;
Sometimes they form in rings
Or lines that look like many things,
Like skipping ropes, or hoops, or swings:
Before you know what you're about,
They all go out!
My Father says that they are gnomes,
Beyond the grate they have their homes,
In a tall, black, and windy town,
Behind a door we cannot see.
Often when it's time for bed
The children run away instead,
Out through the door to see our fire,
Then their angry parents come
With every candle in the town,
The beadle with his lantern too,
And search and rummage up and down,
To catch the children as they play,
Between the rows of new-mown hay,
And bring them home;
(They must be, O, so very small,
How do they capture them at all?
But then they must be very _dear_);
When they can find no more
They blow a horn we cannot hear,
And march with the beadle at their head,
Right through the little open door,
Then close it tight and go to bed.
My Mother says that may be so;
(They both agree they're _gnomes_, you know).
She says, she thinks that every night,
The gnomes have had a fearful fight;
Their valiant General has been slain,
And all the soldiers leave the camp
To dig his grave upon the plain;
They drag the General on a gun;
Every bandsman has a lamp
And there's a torch for every one,
They dig his grave with bayonets
And wrap him grandly in his flag,
Then they gather in a ring,
The band plays very soft and low,
And all the soldiers sing.
(Of course we cannot hear, you know,)
Then some one calls 'The enemy comes!'
They muffle up their pipes and drums;
Every soldier in a fright
Puts out his light.
Then hand in hand, and very still,
They clamber up the dark, dark hill
And hold their breath tight--tight.
(I'd like to know which tale is right.)
O! there is something I forgot!
Sometimes one little spark burns on
Long after the rest have gone.
My Father says that lamp is left
By a little crooked, crotchety man,
Who cannot find his wayward son;
When the horn begins to blow,
He has to drop his light and run.
Of course he limps so slow
He squeezes through the very last,
When he is gone the naughty scamp
Jumps up and puff! out goes the lamp.
My Mother says that is the light,
Borne by the very bravest knight;
He is so very, very brave,
He would not leave his General's grave,
And when the Enemy General tries
To make him tell where his General lies,
He answers boldly, 'I--will--not!'
Then they shoot him on the spot,
And give a horrid, dreadful shout,
And then of course his light goes out.
I sit and think when they are through,
Which tale I like best of the two.
Sometimes I like the _Father_ one;
It is such fun!
But then I love the _Mother_ one,
That dear brave soldier and the rest:--
_Now which one do you like the best?_
poem by Duncan Campbell Scott
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I Want to be a Soldier
I will be a soldier
Only when soldiers realize
They are not animals or
cattles
Only if soldiers can ask
'Why should I shoot that
innocent man? '
I would be a soldier
If soldiers can ask the
commander
'Why should we shoot at
the children? '
I would be a soldier
If soldiers know that
The red blood that runs
through their veins
Runs in the rest peopl's too.
I would be a soldier if
Soldiers know they aren't
what they ask them to be
When they know that
The Emperor will never ask
them to kill his children
I would be a soldier
When soldiers realize war
is inhuman
When soldiers know war
always starts war
When they know that
World peace can not be
reached through war
When United Nations can
ask themselves
Is war the only way to end
corruption in the globe?
When soldiers know the
distance between peace and
war.
When soldiers realize how
intoxicative the gun is.
When soldiers realize
that gun does not control
them, but they control it.
I would be a soldier only if
soldiers know
why Martin Luther King jnr.
was killed.
If they know Adolf Hitler
also tried to make peace
through war.
I would be a soldier
If they can tell me why they
are only trained to kill.
I would be a soldier if
soldier can say
NO TO BRUTE LEADERS.
I would be a soldier if
soldiers know
the difference between
death and birth.
I would be a soldier if they
can tell
Why they are weapons of
destruction?
If they can explain why they
killed at Vietnam?
Why they killed at Somalia?
Why Ghadafi was killed
without trial?
Why Abraham Lincoln was
shot
Why Ghandi was killed,
Why they dont care if they
die in war in the name of
peace.
I would be a soldier If soldiers know they have rights If soldiers know they need Freedom. I would be a soldier If the goverments around the world realize How wonderful the world would be If the money invests in atomic weapons can be spent To feed billions of children on the streets of India, Nigeria, Brazil, South Africa The United States and all the streets of the World. I would be a soldier when soldiers can fight for liberty And not for slavery When soldiers know that nobody should think for them When soldiers know they are humans not cattles, When they realize that nobody should tell them what to think and what to feel. If soldiers can be humans, I would be a soldier.
poem by Idris Adesina
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The battle of Majuba Hill
With Major General Sir George Pomeroy in command
the Hussars, Gordon Highlanders,60th rifles
and a contingent of the naval brigade,
climbed Majuba hill
and was in battle forced down
the back again.
At dawn the British army
had taken the steep hill
and the Boer commando’s camp
laid on the plain below
and Major General Sir George Pomeroy,
was just a bit to comfortable
with their position on the summit
and the Boers were at their mercy,
or so they thought.
The Boers saw British soldiers
on top of Majuba hill
waving the Union Jack
and under cover,
they started to climb
the steep slopes.
On a February late summer day
the Boer commando
blended with their farming clothes
into the field, into the hill.
Every rock and crevice,
every redoubt and counterscarp
was a natural hiding place
to lay siege on that Majuba hill.
The British infantry wore red jackets
and blue trousers
and white pith helmets on their heads
and was a fine example,
of an invading Super power’s military might.
They thought what damage could a
citizen force militia in jackets,
trousers and slouch hats
with hunting rifles do,
against a empire’s
well trained soldiers?
What they did forget,
was they were facing
a nation of exceptional men
who fought savage men and cruel beasts
to make a living
and every one a great marksman.
In integrity the Boers prayed
and believing in God,
climbed that hill
in broad daylight.
George Pomeroy was dead
shot thought the head
and accurate shots rang out
while fire and movement tactics
turned that battlefield into a slaughtering
and British soldiers died one by one
and tried to flee
down the rear slope.
All of Great Britain’s victories before
never prepared that empire,
for the treatment that it got
from a bunch of hard-bitten farmers
that believed in the power of God
and brandished modern rifles.
[Reference: The battle of Majuba Hill. Battle between the Transvaal (ZAR) republic and Great Britain on 27 February 1881 in South Africa, which won the first Anglo-Boer war. “Three Boer groups were led by Field Cornet Stephanus Roos, Commandant D.J.K. Malan and Commandant Joachim Ferreira against Major General George Pomeroy.” It consisted of about 400-500 Boer farmers in a citizen force militia against 405 British infantry. On the side of the Boers 1 was dead and 5 wounded and of the British 92 were dead (including their General) ,134 wounded and 59 captured.]
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Every Soldier Has A Dream
After a war a soldier sometimes has to cry as dreams of those memories waters in the eye.
It's very sad when this world of ours goes to war.
Peace is the thing that soldiers have fought and died for.
With hands held in the air a soldier cries a bit but people are blind to dreams that do not fit.
Some people abuse this world but one day they'll find that they've lost their battlefields and they are unklind.
Lost battlefields and dreams with no victories won, following the forgotten hero.
Here they come.
They bury the dream because they cannot recall what it was that made the Soldier stand proud and tall.
Soldiers come from all walks of life.
Sisters.
Brothers.
Soldiers with many dreams seldom shared with others.
Soldiers who had loved ones and families back home.
Some soldiers are just children
and still on their own.
Honoured I feel to remember soldiers this way.
I salute them have I your attention I say.
Stand at ease,
fall out.
Sir nobody knew his name.
Dear God you know who he was our dream was the same.
Undaunted was the soldier in the face of fear.
No turning back.
Each soldier shed a silent tear.
But I wonder why no one hears the soldiers cry.
Listen today as soldiers go to fight and die .
Try to imagine the soldiers forgotten dream.
Keep the memory of what the Soldier
had been.
It haunts us today and remains here in our time.
Ghosts with forgotten dreams remain.
Its such a crime.
What the soldier fought for is what we must redeem,
as we look back and try to recapture the dream.
The ship's sunk and they say,
we're glad we missed the cruise.
Don't take for granted things in life we shouldn't loose.
When the battle is over and the dreams don't sit.
Every soldier must cry just a little bit.
By Paul McCann
poem by Paul McCann
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Tim Tebow Poem = God's Soldiers
It’s time to remember our soldiers for the Lord
Who are deployed throughout God’s Earth.
It’s time to recall their sacrifice and love
For what freedom and liberty are worth.
The wicked of heart hate America the free
And would commit any foul deed to cause her harm.
It’s up to God’s soldiers to defend and preserve
Our existence as a country free of tyranny and alarm.
Ever since America’s General George Washington
Took up his sword and road off to war.
God’s soldiers of freedom have laid down their life
For faith, country, liberty, love, family and more.
America vs Germany vs India(A funny story)
In a ship the Generals of three nations were traveling with their soldiers. They started the topic that whose soldier had more of guts.
The American general called for one of his men and told him to jump down the ship and take a round swimming around the moving ship. The soldier did as he was commanded and the general boasted of by saying 'See the guts! '
Now the German general called out for one of his men and asked him to take two similar rounds. The soldier did as he was told.
When he came back from the water the German said, 'See the guts.'
Now the Indian General called out for his most courageous man, Santa and asked him to take five similar rounds.
Santa promptly replied, 'Am I your dad`s servant? '
At this the general proudly said 'See the guts'.
poem by Edwin Drood
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Let's Remember Those Soldiers
Let's remember those soldiers
No matter alive or dead
Hold them dear to our hearts
And keep their memories in our heads
Let's remember those soldiers
As they fight on foreign lands
And pray they make it back home
Because it is all up to Gods hands
Let's remember those soldiers
And the hell they are going through
Praise them when they get home
For all they've done for me and you
Let's remember those soldiers
And their families they left behind
Should you know some of these families
Try and treat them a little more kind
Let's remember those soldiers
They are fighting for our rights
Before you go to sleep tonight
Say a prayer for them tonight
Let's remember those soldiers
And let them know that we care
But for the grace of God
We might be the ones over there
Let's remember those soldiers
And let's wish them all the best
May they all make it back home
So we all can get some rest
Let's remember those soldiers
Even ones from wars of the past
Though some are dead and gone
Let's make sure their memories last
Let's remember those soldiers
And docs and nurses in those camps
Taking care of the wounded
Let's put their faces on postage stamps
Let's remember those soldiers
And not just count them as a loss
For they are truely the ones
That pay the ultimate cost
wrote 3/7/2008 by Norman Hale Jr.
poem by Norman Hale
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Peace Proposal
Said General Clay to General Gore really must we fight this silly war
To kill and die in such a bore I quite agree said General Gore
Said General Gore to General Clay we could go to the beach today
And have some icecream on the way a grand idea said General Clay
Said General Clay to General Gore we'll build sand castles on the shore
Said General Gore we'll splash and play let's leave right now said General Clay
Said General Gore to General Clay but what if the sea's closed today
And what if the sand's been blown away the dreadful thought said General Clay
Said General Gore to General Clay I've always feared the ocean's spray
And we may drown it's true we may it chills my blood said General Clay
Said General Clay to General Gore my bathin' suit is slightly tore
We better go on with our war I quite agree said General Gore
The General Clay chanrged General Gore as bullets flew and cannons roared
And now at last there is no more of General Clay or General Gore
poem by Sheldon Allan Silverstein
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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