The Sword
There's a sword affixed in a glass case,
There on a western wall.
There's a photo there of a soldier
Who answered his country's call.
There's of the sword, a story to tell;
And of men - how the dice may fall.
In the east ‘neath the rising sun,
With his family gazing on,
In a uniform smartly fitting,
Stood an officer of Nippon.
At his side swung his sword - katana,
And to war he would soon be gone.
From his people were gifts bestowed:
A small book of prayers to take,
And a camera to record
The conquests their son would make;
So his family's photo he took;
In the book he would keep the keepsake.
The sword of his samurai forebears,
Fitted with ancestral blade,
Temper and balance so perfect,
Forged true - by true craftsman made;
There on its handle so ornate,
Three cherry blossoms were laid.
Sharkskin it inlaid the handle,
Tassel showed officer class,
Perfect the fine crafted pommel,
Shone bright its high polished brass;
Proud was he of this fine weapon;
On to his sons it would pass.
Triumphant in battle it served him
Until the fighting it turned
To defeat for the forces of Nippon;
Here was their might to be spurned:
By another Imperial Army
At Balikpapan, as Borneo burned.
There as the officer bravely
Brandished his sword in the fight,
Gunfire and shell fire around him,
Smoke of war - oil and cordite;
Surged on the valiant diggers,
Hopeless the Japanese plight.
Never surrender - his motto,
There with his comrades he died,
Amongst the corpses - the carnage,
A digger sergeant he spied
A sword in the officer's dead hand,
Its scabbard lay there at his side.
Weary of death was the digger,
Still for some reason he took,
There from the dead man's shirt pocket,
A stained and a tattered small book -
It fell open, and there on the first page
Was the picture the officer took.
The digger he took up the sword,
And he slipped the book into his pack;
His young eyes showed no trace of feeling,
He strode off and didn't look back;
He'd hardened himself to war's horror,
But humanity he didn't lack.
So now when a visitor questions
The history of that old sword,
Says the old man - it's there to remind him
When nations with others are warred,
How soldiers who fight for their country,
May take bloody death as reward.
There's a sword affixed in a glass case,
There on a Western wall.
There's a photo there of a soldier
Who answered his country's call,
And a bloodied book, beneath the sword
That tells of a soldier's fall.
In memory of:
QX13210 Sgt A.N. O'Brien,2nd 31st Bne.7th Div AIF
and of an unknown Japanese officer.
poem by Dennis N. O'Brien
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Related quotes
He Entered Into Battle With A Blunt Edged Sword
He entered into battle with a blunt edged sword,
But he did not know quite why.
His sword selection was done without motive,
To battle and kill his fellow man.
So subconsciously he picked out this sword.
This sword not of this world, not out to cut to bleed.
But this innocent man didn't wish to realize,
What prize he would pay.
In midst of this battle, recieving the swiftest,
Blows from his enemy,
This soldier just kept getting hurt.
Five, six and seven more blows made him hit back,
This soldier proudly used his blunt sword,
Till his nemesis bearing a razor sharp one,
Came along and challenged the already fallen one,
Who gave a swift plunge into his enemy's heart.
But the enemy did not stagger or fall.
Neither did the soldier with the blunt sword.
This soldier's enemy left the battleground,
When he saw that the one with the blunt sword,
Knew all along the possibility of his death.
Still he fought, so he himself could die,
Which the other soldier was saddened by that man's stance.
He told that man, 'if we all fought battles with a blunt
sword,
Then we would all truly win,
For the battleground would know no mortality.
He further told him, 'because of you, your side
Truly wins. But so does our.
We love you,
Blunt edged sword soldier man.'
poem by Vera Sidhwa
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Sword Of Mine
The Sword that I carry
Though made not of iron or steel,
It is a mighty sword
That I proudly do so wield.
Though it wont break the skin
Or combat the weapons of a foe
But this is a mighty sword of mine
More precious than silver or gold.
This sword that I carry
I proudly display it in my hand,
For I know this sword of mine
Is greater, than any other mans.
It comforts me when I am tired
It will warm me when I am cold
It will lie down beside of me
To protect, and strengthen my soul.
The sword that I hold
Is tattered, and so very worn
It has been a friend along side of me,
In the sunshine and many storms.
It has shown me a path to follow
And has lit the road that I walk,
And those nights when I was alone and scared
Then to me, I could hear it talk.
The sword that I wield
Though may be different, in shape or size,
But it is the same sword
Which for years has cushioned the souls cry.
It has been here since the dawn of time
And will be here when the great walls fall,
And then when all men of war and hate reflect,
My sword, will be the mightiest sword of all.
Randy L. McClave
poem by Randy McClave
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Dignity
at par
with you
my equal
in this fight
you are
so gentle
when i
lose the grip of
my sword and it falls
on the ground
you have the courage
to pick it up
for me and tell
me
i need it most now
and then
the point of the sword
now faces
frozen at the eye
of my heart
i stare
coldly and i perspire
to the thought
of my death
at this point
you say
tnanks it is fair
and i look at
you again
at par
shoulder to shoulder
my equal
you let me go
you put your sword
in your scabbard
and take the stride
on your white horse
and leave me
agape my mouth
opens
you are at par
with me
my equal
you have all the chance
to kill me at once
but you didn't
you make me live
now
a new man
a fighter rising from his fall
gentle and
brave as ever
to fight
my own wars.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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By the Sword.
Your father made you
a sword out of metal
at the place he worked
and brought it home
one night after work
and gave it to you
after tea and said
Be careful how you use it
I don't want you using it
dangerously
ok
you said
and went off
with the heavy sword
into the spare room
you called the toy room
the place you fought
bad knights to save
damsels in distress
or have shoot outs
with cowboys
on the wrong side
of the law
and got your gun
out of the holster
before them
and plugged them
full of caps
or the pretend saloon
where you could go
for a shot of red eye
and once you had
the sword with you
you examined it carefully
running a finger along
the blunt blade
and then
you were set upon
by the enemy knights
out of nowhere
three onto one
and you had a sword fight
and being the top guy
you soon had them licked
and lying dead
and you heard your father
call out
from the dining room
Be careful you don't
kill anyone with that
and you murmured
Too late
I've just put them
to the sword
and he laughed
and your mother said
You shouldn't make him
weapons of death
it gives a false view
of the world
but your father just said
It's just a toy
just a bit of pretence
and a kid's got to have
something to use
in his defence
against invisible foes
and then they rowed
and so you shut the door
and put away the sword
and got out your gun
you could blow away
far more of them
and it was louder
quicker and more fun.
poem by Terry Collett
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Thunder Sword
Man did not fear man
But the hero fear death of hero
By the dangerous thunder sword
Thro his shine sword and bright eyes
That bends all head of tree with arm
Oh, thou spirit of thunder,
No sword no spear in his palm
But his hand sharp more than sword
And it killed more than fire
No man can face and defeat
Thro his molest fire of his mouth
The lightning echo on sky bewilder heart
And thunderbolts annoyed with mirror of man
Which no man can harm on earth.
.
poem by Olugbenga Ayoola.O
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Tales Of A Wayside Inn : Part 1. The Spanish Jew's Tale; The Legend of Rabbi Ben Levi
Rabbi Ben Levi, on the Sabbath, read
A volume of the Law, in which it said,
'No man shall look upon my face and live.'
And as he read, he prayed that God would give
His faithful servant grace with mortal eye
To look upon His face and yet not die.
Then fell a sudden shadow on the page,
And, lifting up his eyes, grown dim with age,
He saw the Angel of Death before him stand,
Holding a naked sword in his right hand.
Rabbi Ben Levi was a righteous man,
Yet through his veins a chill of terror ran.
With trembling voice he said, 'What wilt thou here?'
The angel answered, 'Lo! the time draws near
When thou must die; yet first, by God's decree,
Whate'er thou askest shall be granted thee.'
Replied the Rabbi, 'Let these living eyes
First look upon my place in Paradise.'
Then said the Angel, 'Come with me and look.'
Rabbi Ben Levi closed the sacred book,
And rising, and uplifting his gray head,
'Give me thy sword,' he to the Angel said,
'Lest thou shouldst fall upon me by the way.'
The angel smiled and hastened to obey,
Then led him forth to the Celestial Town,
And set him on the wall, whence, gazing down,
Rabbi Ben Levi, with his living eyes,
Might look upon his place in Paradise.
Then straight into the city of the Lord
The Rabbi leaped with the Death-Angel's sword,
And through the streets there swept a sudden breath
Of something there unknown, which men call death.
Meanwhile the Angel stayed without and cried,
'Come back!' To which the Rabbi's voice replied,
'No! in the name of God, whom I adore,
I swear that hence I will depart no more!'
Then all the Angels cried, 'O Holy One,
See what the son of Levi here hath done!
The kingdom of Heaven he takes by violence,
And in Thy name refuses to go hence!'
The Lord replied, 'My Angels, be not wroth;
Did e'er the son of Levi break his oath?
Let him remain; for he with mortal eye
Shall look upon my face and yet not die.'
Beyond the outer wall the Angel of Death
Heard the great voice, and said, with panting breath,
'Give back the sword, and let me go my way.'
Whereat the Rabbi paused, and answered, 'Nay!
Anguish enough already hath it caused
Among the sons of men.' And while he paused
He heard the awful mandate of the Lord
Resounding through the air, 'Give back the sword!'
The Rabbi bowed his head in silent prayer;
Then said he to the dreadful Angel, 'Swear,
No human eye shall look on it again;
But when thou takest away the souls of men,
Thyself unseen, and with an unseen sword,
Thou wilt perform the bidding of the Lord.'
The Angel took the sword again, and swore,
And walks on earth unseen forevermore.
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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St. John
John was bad he gave it everything he had
John he prayed for all the people ever made
John was cool he never did no afterschool
late at night when he praised the lord
he laid his hand down upon the sword
lay down upon the sword
lay down upon the sword
lay down upon the sword
lay down your bloody sword
John St. John be cool
tell the people they'll follow you
John St. John be cool
tell the people they'll follow you
late at night when he praised the lord
he lay his hands down upon the bloody sword
laid down upon the sword
song performed by by Aerosmith
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Officer Blue
Officer blue,
Really love the things you do,
Even when I was just eight years.
Officer blue,
Is it true what they say?
That when you work youre still at play.
Oh officer blue,
I really love the things you do.
Its magical,
People in a human zoo.
Officer blue,
Cast a shadow on the wall,
But by torchlight even mice look tall.
Officer blue,
In a blaze of uniform,
And your stripes and badges to conform.
Officer blue,
Really love the things you do,
Even when I was just eight years old.
Officer blue,
Is it true what they say?
That when you work youre still at play.
song performed by by Xtc
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Officer Blue
Officer blue,
Really love the things you do,
Even when I was just eight years.
Officer blue,
Is it true what they say?
That when you work youre still at play.
Oh officer blue,
I really love the things you do.
Its magical,
People in a human zoo.
Officer blue,
Cast a shadow on the wall,
But by torchlight even mice look tall.
Officer blue,
In a blaze of uniform,
And your stripes and badges to conform.
Officer blue,
Really love the things you do,
Even when I was just eight years old.
Officer blue,
Is it true what they say?
That when you work youre still at play.
song performed by by Xtc
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Soldiers Heart
sir
i am no normal person
i was no normal child
brought up in the country
one view in my mind
this country we live in
this place we call home
this is my england
with honour to the thrown
i'd fight for queen and country
if the call was made
i'd fight under the flag
this is my way
people think im crazy
people think im mad
this is no normal heart
it is the heart of the soldier
born and bred a soldier
the title i never took
instead im known as police officer
a baton is my rifle
different colour uniform
my boots the same as all the soldiers
my heart the sames as theirs
so when you ask me my name sir
the reply that you will get
i am but a soldier sir
and that i will never forget
The Soldier's Grave
THERE'S a white stone placed upon yonder tomb,
Beneath is a soldier lying -
The death-wound came, amid sword and plume,
When banner and ball were flying.
Yet now he sleeps, the turf on his breast,
By wet wild flowers surrounded;
The church shadow falls o'er the place of his rest,
Where the steps of his childhood bounded.
There were tears, that fell from manly eyes,
There was woman's gentle weeping,
And the wailing of age and infant cries,
O'er the grave, where he lies sleeping.
He had left his home in his spirit's pride,
With his father's sword and blessing;
He stood with the valiant, side by side,
His country's wrongs redressing.
He came again, in the light of his fame,
When the red campaign was over;
One heart, that, in secret, had kept his name,
Was claimed by the soldier lover.
But the cloud of strife came upon the sky;-
He left his sweet home for battle;
Left his young child's lisp for the loud war-cry,
And the cannon's long death-rattle.
He came again - but an altered man:
The path of the grave was before him,
And the smile, that he wore, was cold and wan,
For the shadow of death hung o'er him.
He spoke of victory - spoke of cheer:-
These are the words, that are vainly spoken
To the childless mother, or orphan's ear,
Or the widow, whose heart is broken.
A helmet and sword are engraved on the stone,
Half hidden by yonder willow;
There he sleeps, whose death in battle was won,
But he died on his own home pillow.
poem by Letitia Elizabeth Landon
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The Dead Soldier
Where the sword has opened the way the man will follow
'Look! they came, the triumphant army!
Over yon hill see their weapons peeping!'
Still I spoke not but my wheel sent turning,
I closed my eyes for my heart was weeping,
My heart was weeping for a dead soldier.
Who is he who looks towards me?
''Tis no man but a gay flag flying.'
Red was his mouth and his white brow thoughtful,
Blue his eyes—how my soul is crying,
My soul is crying for a dead soldier.
'Kneel ye down, lest your eyes should dare them,
Kneel ye down and your beads be saying.'
'Lord, on their heads Thy wrath deliver,'
This is the prayer that my lips are praying,
My heart is praying for a dead soldier.
'Best cheer the path of the men victorious,
For he is dead and his blade lies broken,
His march is far where no aid can follow,
And for his people he left no token,
He left no token, the dead soldier.'
The way of the sword a man can follow,
See the young child with his gold hair gleaming.
When falls the oak must the acorn perish?
He lifts the blade and his eyes are dreaming,
He dreams the dream of the dead soldier.
poem by Dora Sigerson Shorter
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The Flaming Sword of Light
My will, not willing to comply
A upcoming storm up to a rise
Silence stands still tonight
The rain will try
Filling the lake full of lies
Yet the water can't quench the flames
For my weapon seeks only the truth
The sword of light
Reaper of all lies
Shall my soul be safe tonight
The sword of light shall keep me awake
Is will take the lies revealing the truth
The flames of it's holy light shall burn away the hate
My sword takes a hypocrite and sends it to Hade's crew
Upon their burning eyes
All I see is regret
The sword reveals all
Concealing my soul, their demons shall fall
The flaming sword of light, protector of all
My defence is my weapon
The flaming sword of light
It will defend me tonight
Keep the parisites of Hade's away
For sleep I shall stay
The internal flame of the sword
Shall burn them away
The light will forever shine
Blinding the demons of the night
The sword of light is mine
Protecting my soul from curruption
The innocence of a child's mind
Will stay protected
From the lies and dispise.
The heaven's light, and the flame from hell
In this sword will stay alive
The flaming sword of life.
Shall it protect me tonight
(12-18-09)
poem by Elisha De La Rosa
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The Power Of Thy Sword
Lord of battle I pray on bended knee conquest by the rising sun
I'll wait for thy command with flame and blood at hand
glory and a broken sword.
I'm the master of the world I have no fear of man or beast
Born inside the soul of the world
Riding hard breaking bone with steel and stone
Eternal might I was born to wield.
Let us drink to the battles we've lived and we've fought
Celebrate the pain and havoc we have wrought
Great heroes charge into the fight
From the north to the south in the black of night
The clash of honor calls to stand when others fall
Gods of war feel the power of my sword
Drink to the battles we've lived and we've fought
Celebrate the pain and havoc we have wrought
Great heroes charge into the fight
From the north to the south in the black of night
Fierce is my blade fierce is my hate born to die in battle
I laugh at my fate
Now pay in blood when your blood has been spilled
You're never forgiven death is fulfilled !
The clash of honor calls to stand when others fall
Gods of war feel the power of my sword
The clash of honor calls
I will stand when others fall
Open magic doors
The will know the power of my sword
There is blood in my hands there is blood in my eyes
With blood in my voice I scream as you die
Thirsting for vengeance and mounds of the slain
Shaking the forest onto the plain
Fierce is my blade fierce is my hate born to die in battle
I laugh at my fate
Now pay in blood when your blood has been spilled
You're never forgiven death is fulfilled !
The clash of honor calls to stand when others fall
Gods of war feel the power of my sword
Know the power of my sword
Know the power of my sword
Know the power of my sword
Know the power of my sword
They will know the power of my sword
song performed by by Manowar from The Triumph Of Steel
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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For E. McC
Gone while your tastes were keen to you,
Gone where the grey winds call to you,
By that high fencer, even Death,
Struck of the blade that no man parrieth;
Such is your fence, one saith,
One that hath known you.
Drew you your sword most gallantly
Made you your pass most valiantly
'Gainst that grey fencer, even Death.
Gone as a gust of breath
Faith! no man tarrieth,
‘Se il cor ti manca,’ but it failed thee not!
'Non ti fidar,’ it is the sword that speaks
‘In me.’
Thou trusted'st in thyself and met the blade
'Thout mask or gauntlet, and art laid
As memorable broken blades that be
Kept as bold trophies of old pageantry.
As old Toledos past their days of war
Are kept mnemonic of the strokes they bore,
So art thou with us, being good to keep
In our heart's sword-rack, though thy sword-arm sleep.
ENVOI
Struck of the blade that no man parrieth
Pierced of the point that toucheth lastly all,
'Gainst that grey fencer, even Death,
Behold the shield! He shall not take thee all.
poem by Ezra Pound
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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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Today... 'The Glorious Sword
There is a Sword that is so sharp and so keen
the most Glorious Sword that has ever been.
Mighty in battle He has slain all His foes
and will have victory wherever He goes.
The Word of Truth and the Sword of the Spirit
overcame death and shall all things inherit.
He breaks our shackles and scatters all His foes
with His glory heaven and earth overflows.
Christ the Son of God is that Glorious Sword
Saviour of the world and Everlasting Lord.
Devils fear and angels sing as He draws near
And all creation waits for Him to appear.
(see also the additional information in the Poet's notes box below)
A Story of Two Soldiers
A story of a soldier, with a heart
Who came upon a dead Japanese soldier
With a letter sticking out his pocket, in the war
This soldier took the letter, obviously
The important treasure of the dead one.
He framed it and stored it;
Another man's most prized possessions,
Of a child's colored picture, and a baby's photo.
Years later, and someone notices
The framed paper, and suggests
Trying to track down the original family
And though it seems impossible:
The impossible is accomplished,
Through another soldier's care, though he was
A stranger to the poor dead soldier
He must have felt their close brotherhood,
As two soldiers engaged in a difficult war.
And there is a woman now,
Who cradles the picture she colored
As a small child; and her baby sister
In the photo at the top; also living, now an adult
She said, Father never returned to us
We never had a chance to know him
But now we know him; he's come back
We know who he was thinking about
At the end- this man gave our father back to us.
And the old soldier has a new friend now;
If you treat the other side's soldier as no less
Than your own family
His family will come to know you in time,
As truest friend,
And closer to heart
Than any grief could ever reach.
poem by Patti Masterman
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A Cut Above The Rest
My great-grandfather was a soldier
and Rebecca was his loving wife.
They were wed in what was then India
and she was accustomed to army life.
They lived in an Indian army bungalow
on the outskirts of the city of Lahore.
Whilst the Major was away on duty
a guard kept their home secure.
One evening as the sun was setting
an open window let in the breeze.
The manservant lit the oil lamps
then retired to the bungalow’s eaves.
As Rebecca sat quietly reading
the sound of a thud came from outside.
From the wall she took her father’s sword
and stood behind the curtain as if to hide.
With the sword raised high and ready
she was in a position to take a swing.
Nervously she stood there waiting
for whatever the night would bring.
From behind the closed curtains
a hand and then an arm poked through
and then with a swipe of the sword
she severed the wrist in two.
A loud scream of pain followed,
as the man left his severed limb behind.
When Rebecca later told the story
she said the burglar left more than he could find.
poem by Orlando Belo
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Samurai Competition
The steel blade of the sword flashed in the bright sunshine.
Second Lieutenant Toshiaki Mukai clutched the handle in both hands.
He raised the weapon high towards the sky and took a deep breath.
And then, with a powerful strike,
He slashed the head of the young Chinese man kneeling before him.
He smiled.
Did Second Lieutenant Tsuyoshi Noda win or lose?
On route to Nanjing, the two officers
Of the Japanese Imperial Army were
Competing with each other for being the first
To behead 100 people.
The competition was not a war crime, they said,
But in the Samurai spirit of kiri sute gomen,
The ancient feudal era custom
That authorized the Samurai to execute by sword anyone
From the lower classes who compromised the warrior’s honor.
The Japanese media liked the idea of the beheading contest.
Newspapers celebrated it with enthusiastic reports.
They explained that cutting heads strengthened military character,
Increased patriotism and public support, as well as army moral.
The Tokyo Nichi-Nichi Shimbun covered the contest
Of cutting 100 heads with a series of articles.
“Incredible Record”, announced the newspaper
In its December 13,1937 headline:
“Mukai beheaded 106, Noda 105”.
The Tokyo paper also claimed that the two officers decided
To start another competition with the aim being 150 severed heads.
During the Fascist invasion of China and in World War II
Soldiers of the Japanese Imperial Army treated people
In the occupied territories as inferior lower classes and slaves.
Beheading by sword became a common war crime in the Asian theatre.
Yet Japanese officers saw it not only as an antidote to faintheartedness
But as a grand act of heroism.
By the end of the Second World War an estimated four million soldiers
And perhaps up to sixteen million civilians lost their lives in China.
poem by Paul Hartal
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