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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Let's Just Suppose
Let’s just suppose
That over four thousand young men
Got jobs and got married
Became normal Americans and then
Let’s just suppose
These same young men of our new generation
Stayed home and avoided
Nightmares and mutilation
Let’s just suppose
Over four thousand lives were sadly expended
In a hostile land, so far away
In a war built on lies, and is yet open-ended
Let’s just suppose
That many untold billions in funds
Had over four thousand of those young men
Building our country, in lieu of bearing guns
Let’s just suppose
That instead, billions were spent on education
On infrastructure, medical research and homeland defense
Lives better spent, to build a better, stronger nation
Let’s just suppose
That the mad minds in our administration
Had Instead, kept those heroic young boys
safe at home, while still defending our nation
Let’s just wonder
amidst all the war-wager’s noise
Was this one man…Saddam Housein
Worth more than four thousand of our young boys?
Let’s just suppose
This madness we could suspend
All stand together and say “enough is enough.”
We’re not the world’s policemen
This madness must end!
Let’s just propose….
To bring our young men
Back home.
poem by David Whalen
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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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Zero Covers All
Lately I realize.
I am a numb number,
living through life.
First child.
Date of birth.
Sixth star of twenty-seven.
Scorpio numbers six of twelve.
Studied tenth class,
Then 5-year’s graduation,
Every class I had a scroll number.
Exams written on id number.
Studied law.
Head churning three years,
with numbered sections.
Penal code, constitution.
Clauses of law in numbered sects.
Registered in bar council.
Legal practice.
Case files are numbered.
Subsequently I got,
House number, door number.
Phone number.
Mobile number.
Account numbers.
Credit card number.
Pan card number,
Folio numbers,
Car number,
License number,
Policy number,
Health card number,
Election card number,
Passport number,
Ration card number,
Ultimately, when you put me in morgue,
allotted me a number.
Which, I do no know.
However, I know a number.
I am a big zero.
It covers all my life
Yes, we discovered zero.
What a relief?
Does it not cover all?
fulfill all values!
By the way your number please?
X number or N number?
Infinite numbers.
________________
poem by Satheesan Rangorath
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When the Boys Come Home
There's a happy time coming,
When the boys come home.
There's a glorious day coming,
When the boys come home.
We will end the dreadful story
Of this treason dark and gory
In a sunburst of glory,
When the boys come home.
The day will seem brighter
When the boys come home,
For our hearts will be lighter
When the boys come home.
Wives and sweethearts will press them
In their arms and caress them,
And pray God to bless them,
When the boys come home.
The thinned ranks will be proudest
When the boys come home,
And their cheer will ring the loudest
When the boys come home.
The full ranks will be shattered,
And the bright arms will be battered,
And the battle-standards tattered,
When the boys come home.
Their bayonets may be rusty,
When the boys come home,
And their uniforms dusty,
When the boys come home.
But all shall see the traces
Of battle's royal graces,
In the brown and bearded faces,
When the boys come home.
Our love shall go to meet them,
When the boys come home,
To bless them and to greet them,
When the boys come home;
And the fame of their endeavor
Time and change shall not dissever
From the nation's heart forever,
When the boys come home.
Boys Gone
The boys gone. the boys gone home.
What will happen to a face in the crowd when it finally gets too crowded.
And will happen to the origins of sound after all the sounds have sounded
Well I hope I never have to see that day but by God I know its headed our way
So I better be happy now that the boys going home. the boys gone home.
And what becomes of a day for those who rage against it
And who will sum op the phrase for all left standing around in it
Well I suppose well all make our judgement call
Well walk it alone, stand up tall, then march to the fall
So we better be happy now that well all go home.
Be so happy with the way you are
Be so happy that you made it this far
Go on be happy now. please be happy now
Because this is something else
This is something else
I tried to live my life and live it so well
But when its all over is it heaven or is it hell
I better be happy now that no one can tell, nobody knows
Im gonna be happy with the way that I am
Im gonna be happy with all that I stand for
Im gonna be happy now because the boys going home.
The boys gone home.
song performed by by Jason Mraz
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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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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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Fly Away Home
The bells toll for you today
To fly to your new home in
Yonder sky..
Spread your wings and fly
From down here below,
So, fly away home
Oh, fly away home
To your new home in
Yonder sky..
Our hearts are broken and
We fill so blue,
Many tears has been shred
For miss you so
We know you have pass through
Heavens gates
Your journey was hard but the
Bell toll
For you to come home in yonder
Sky..
So, fly away home
Oh, fly away home
Your great work you accomplished
Down here below
Have been awarded
Your memory will never fade
So, fly away home
Oh, fly away home
To your new home in yonder
Sky..
If I had not died I would have
Been a gospel singer..
But since I’d died I will sing
In the heavenly choir..
So, fly away home
Oh, fly away home...
poem by Carolyn Sears
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Come On Home
(tom springfield)
The springfields
Don't stand there wailing "got no place to go"
Come on home
You look at me like that and i can't say no
Come on home
Well, i know you done me wrong
And i know i should be strong
But, i cried the whole night long
So, come on home
Come on home
Tell me baby, must you be so cruel?
Come on home
You treat me just like i'm some kind of fool
Come on home
Well, i know you let me down
I was glad when you left town
But, you're good to have around
So, come on home
Don't run away now
Come on home
You got your way now
Come on home
A-hear what i say now
Come on home
Come on home
When you smile at me well i feel so good
Come on home
I can't be mad at you like i know i should
Come on home
Well you took me for a ride
And i thought my love had died
Still i need you by my side
So come on home
Come on home
Come on home
Come on home
Come on home
Come on home
Yeah, when you smile at me well i feel so good
Come on home
I can't be mad at you a-like i know i should
Come on home
Well, you took me for a ride
And i thought my love had died
Still, i need you by my side
So, come on home
Said yes
Come on home
Sit down
Come on home
Come on home
song performed by by Dusty Springfield
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Bring Him Home
God on high
Here my pray
In my need
You have always been there
He is young
He's afraid
Let him rest
Heaven blessed
Bring him home
Bring him home
Bring him home
He's like the son I might have known
If God had granted me a son
The summer's die one by one
How soon they fly on and on
Before I'm old before I'm gone
Bring him peace
Bring him joy
He is young
He is only a boy
You can take you can give
Let him be let him live
If I die, let me die
Let him live
Bring him home
Bring him home
Bring him home
song performed by by Barry Manilow
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Forever Young
(r. stewart/j.cregan/k.savigar)
May the good lord be with you
Down every road you roam
And may sunshine and happiness
Surround you when youre far from home
And may you grow to be proud
Dignified and true
And do unto others
As youd have done to you
Be courageous and be brave
And in my heart youll always stay
Forever young, forever young
Forever young, forever young
May good fortune be with you
May your guiding light be strong
Build a stairway to heaven
With a prince or a vagabond
And may you never love in vain
And in my heart you will remain
Forever young, forever young
Forever young, forever young
Forever young
Forever young
And when you finally fly away
Ill be hoping that I served you well
For all the wisdom of a lifetime
No one can ever tell
But whatever road you choose
Im right behind you, win or lose
Forever young, forever young
Forever young ,forever young
Forever young, forever young
For, forever young, forever young
song performed by by Rod Stewart
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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HIV/ AIDS Anecdotal Poems
She loved a man and he was young;
He loved her back and had some fun;
They married too and some years passed;
They both died young, left child orphan!
He was a trucker working hard;
He used to come home twice a month;
He was a wayward, smoker, drunk;
He died of AIDS, infecting wife!
A police husband’s wife was nurse;
The man gave HIV to her;
When he died, she took ART;
She died too when she stopped her drugs!
It was a jolly trip for boys;
They enjoyed well, sang, drank and danced;
Some strayed into the red-light zone;
All of them developed AIDS sometime!
Young boys and girls do venture young
To know what love-making’s about;
Adults have sex outside marriage;
And when AIDS strikes, they are soon dead!
Even the rich and literate
Succumb to pleasures that can kill;
Homosexuality, IDU
Can turn you sero-positive!
Why risk your one life precious most?
God wants the human race stay pure;
You cannot live by whims, fancies;
You are duty-bound till you die!
‘Avoid all risks of HIV exposure
Keep your mind, body’s composure’
Copyright by Dr John Celes 1-12-2011
poem by John Celes
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christmas not far from the Holy land
A fleeting mental picture
Conjured up in young lad’s head
Of shopping malls and Christmas trees
Of warm kitchen and warm bed
anticipation of a great Christmas eve
Of family gathered round the Christmas tree
These pleasant thoughts give reality leave
for a moment he’s home, and again carefree
Harsh reality returns, pushes memories away
helmet is pulled down tight on his head
Near and around him his compatriots lay
Some frightened, some trembling... some dead
Hands shaking, teeth clenched, eyes wet with tears
Blankly staring, without seeing... carnage abounds
Aging by the second, yet still young in years
Will be haunted forever, by War’s savage sounds
On a cold mountainside, somewhere in Afghanistan
Young men are killing and in turn being slain
On Christmas, and not too far from the holy land
One must wonder 'dear God, what do we gain? '
When our boys are back... or their bodies returned home
Afghanistan will return to a country of yore
And Christmas’s will never be the same Christmas's
That our young men knew once before
poem by David Whalen
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Numbers
Its stranger how some numbers
keep recurring in our lives.
At first, we do not notice it
until one day we think of them.
Our date of birth, houses numbers we have lived in,
our children’s birth date
and our brother or sister’s date of birth.
When you look at them
and one number seems to readily appear,
you begin to wonder if that number
has some bearing on our lives.
The number linked to my life is number 8.
I was born on the 18th,
in Canada the house I grew up in was 28
and my sister was born on the 18th.
Moving to England our house number was 62.
When my wife and I got married,
our first house was 24,
our second house was 18
and our present house number is 107.
My wife’s birth date is the 8th;
my son was born on the 17-8-71.
Everywhere I look the number 8 just keeps popping up.
Coincidence I guess you could call it,
or is there something else a foot.
I will just let you the reader to decide.
3 September 2009
Author’s note.
The evening I wrote this, my wife went out, was talking to someone, and mentioned how the number 8 always appeared in our lives.
Coincidence?
poem by David Harris
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Celebrate Me Home
Home for the holidays,
I believe Ive missed each and every face,
Come on and play my music,
Lets turn on the love light in the place
Its time I found myself,
Totally surrounded in your circles
Whoa, my friends
Please, celebrate me home,
Give me a number,
Please, celebrate me home
Play me one more song,
That Ill always remember,
And I can recall,
Whenever I find myself too all alone,
I can sing me home.
Uneasy highway,
Traveling where the westerly winds can fly,
Somebody tried to tell me,
But the men forgot to tell me why,
I gotta count on being gone,
Come on woman, come on daddy,
Be what you want from me,
Im this strong, Ill be weak
Please, celebrate me home,
Give me a number,
Please, celebrate me home
Play me one more song,
That Ill always remember,
I can recall,
Whenever I find myself too all alone,
I can make believe Ive never gone,
I never know where I belong,
Sing me home.
Please, celebrate me home,
Give me a number,
Please, celebrate me home
Play me one more song,
Celebrate, celebrate
Celebrate, celebrate
Celebrate, celebrate
Celebrate me home
Please, celebrate me home,
Please, celebrate me home,
Well Im finally here,
But Im bound to roam,
Come on celebrate me home
Well Im finally here,
But Im bound to roam,
Come on celebrate me home
Well Im finally here,
But Im bound to roam,
Come on celebrate me home
Please, celebrate me home,
Please, celebrate me home,
Please, celebrate me home,
Please, celebrate me home,
Please, celebrate me home,
Please, celebrate me home,
(fade)
song performed by by Kenny Loggins
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Home, sweet home is home with daddy!
I look at the familiar house I call home
I am back home, sweet home after the journey
Be it ever so humble, there's no place like home
There's no place like home, oh, there's no place like home!
Home, sweet home is home with daddy!
I look at Daddy's children, full of expectations
The young man with soiled hands, still jumping on Daddy
The young lady wanting to tell Daddy all the stories of school
It does not matter that Daddy is tired! Daddy is always daddy
Home, sweet home is home with daddy!
I know I have to travel again from home tomorrow
I may go to the nice places, be they palaces or hotels
Marble floors sparkling with reflections of cleanliness
But they are not as homely as home with daddy
Home, sweet home is home with daddy!
I look at everybody wanting to know about the trip of daddy
Everybody wants to know what daddy has brought
Everybody is happy to see daddy home
Daddy is always strong, no tiredness even when tired
Home, sweet home is home with daddy!
poem by Nyota Yasulwe
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Going Home
Going home sure sounds good, to be at home with the brotherhood.
Home with those who went before, now in the presence of The Lord.
Whether through that veil of death, when I take that very last breath,
Or at that time we upward abound, when we hear the trumpet sound.
A Christian’s death from this sod, is truly precious in the eyes of God.
As He takes you where you died, to bring you to Heaven by His side.
But the Rapture is a special hope, which gives men an eternal scope.
A hope that goes beyond this earth; a hope given to us by New Birth.
I do know that my Redeemer lives, and New Life to all men He gives.
God, who lives in Heaven up above, came to earth to show His love.
He sent His Only Son Jesus Christ, who died for all, to give men life.
Christ then returned to prepare a place, up in Heaven, by His Grace.
A place in Heaven for me and you, so where Christ is we will be too.
Christ has for us an Eternal Home, right beside His Glorious Throne.
Whether the rapture or death friend, this temporal world isn’t the end.
Our end on the earth is only a start, of the hope we have in our heart.
We’re passing by this temporal place, heading home by God’s Grace,
And we’re headed for a Mansion high, prepared for us above the sky.
My friend, home for us is in Eternity, where with God we’ll forever be,
For when we see the face of Christ, we’ll truly begin our Eternal Life.
(Copyright ©03/2006)
Libby Prison
Air -- "The Soldier's Orphan Boy"
Down south the Libby prison stood,
The rebel's filthy den;
Rebs in battle prisoners took --
Of course our union men.
And our brave boys, hearty and hale,
To prison had to go,
And few have lived to tell the tale
Of misery and woe.
This prison was a horrid place,
Many brave boys died there,
In rags and filth and wretchedness,
They died for want of care.
Many a brave and noble man,
As he lay sick and sore,
Was thinking of his friends and home
He never would see more.
Fathers, brothers, young husbands dear
Went through that prison door --
Some lived to return home, we hear,
And others are no more.
Many a noble soldier died
In Libby prison cell,
And comrades perish'd side by side,
As many a man can tell.
No loving hand was near a couch
To bathe an aching head --
No loving friend to watch the hours,
Or soothe their dying bed;
No friend to wipe the fallen tears
From off the dewy face --
No loving kindred was there near
To mark their resting place.
poem by Julia A Moore
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Divorced from Dumb Reality - Number Lesson on Numb Pointless Love
DIVORCED FROM DUMB REALITY
My fun begun with number one,
swore to be true to number two,
happy to be with number three,
then to adore fair number four.
No more alive is number five,
mix stones and sticks Styx number six,
who’s in heaven, number seven?
its now too late for number eight.
Another line for number nine,
begin again with number ten.
13 May 1982 revised 20 January 2009
robi03_0199_robi03_0000 WXX_LXX
for previous version entitled Numbers see below
Numbers
My fun begun with number one,
swore to be true to number two,
happy to be with number three,
then to adore sweet number four.
No more alive is number five,
beset by tics was number six,
she’s in heaven, number seven,
its now too late for number eight.
Another line for number nine,
begin again for number ten.
13 May 1982
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Young Offender
Pictures of an image of a person who could not be blamed
You are a colour and you are a number
We need a sanction to see one another
If I keep my distance in the season of this slender hell
Its because of the need to live off one another
Go home young offender and stay undercover
Were busy running out of time
(whatever it takes, I will make you mine)
Ill take the future from your hands
(all the things Ive ever had, I can make the perfect crime)
Were strong, we do our thing
Let the world cry, watch the birds sing
Give me the freedom, I need to recover
Words cannot heal, when a line is your lover
Wind howls in my chamber like an angel
(like an angel)
You are a colour and you are a number
Go home young offender and stay undercover
song performed by by New Order
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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