Sad Sight
All those white crosses
lined up in a row
house all the remains
of soldiers that don't know
who won the war?
Or what they died for?
poem by Edwina Reizer
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Business Of War
The Business of War.
In this clearing in the woods so full of butter coloured flowers
I know there is a mass grave underneath, a forgotten war,
bones of the nameless that died for a cause that was not theirs,
but they were loyal and when told to fight and they often died,
many never knowing why. At the edge, of the yellow field,
there are pale poppies the dead have no more blood to offer.
I think of Afghanistan, poppies there are more deadly, I wonder
if western soldiers who lost their life in a cause that is unclear,
will get their own graveyard and have their crosses there,
in a Moslem country, tended to with fresh flowers, but go easy
on the poppies. The skeletons under my feet, died because of
salt that, once upon a time- before oil- was big business, but I’m
sure the soldiers were told lies about nationality and freedom.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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Half Mass
american soldiers were slaughtered
on a military base today.
by an arab american officer
who held everyone at bay.
and for these departed soldiers
all of america will pray.
but a question was put to me
and i was'nt sure just what to say.
if they are flying the american flag
at half mass for those who died today
what about the ones who've given their lives
to protect the american way?
why should we fly the flag at half mass
just for those who died at FORT HOOD.
it should be for all soldiers
and they would argue if they could.
keep our flags at half mass for all
that put their lives at stake.
there will be many more that we will honor
and their families at their wakes.
we should also put a yellow ribbon
on our red, white, and blue
until our soldiers come home
and this fighting is finally through.
poem by Louis Rams
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New Crucifixions
They bring new crosses of dark wood
And begin to crucify our three brothers.
Three nails on each,
Just three shrieks from each mouth and
Three small tear drops falling apart.
Three minutes of crucifixion melt out
The sky remains white,
The sun fades not,
And the curtains of the shrines tear not.
Lamentations cease and three days of agony await.
But no resurrections ever afterwards!
Across the streams of innocence
A floating raft emerges now
And time writes its lyric of salvation
Across the sky of expectations once more!
Will these crosses become firewood once?
poem by M.d Dinesh Nair
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White Crosses
Well I packed all of my things into this blanket
To call this year to earn coyotes fill
Kiss my wife and kids goodbye choke back the quiver in my breath
And took my first steps into this corridor of death
If Im lucky I will make it to a drain
With 500 of my brothers, I would share the strain
Of standing in this boxcar praying for rain
Its the only the way we will quench our thirst
[Chorus:]
In these gardens of white crosses
Growing in the California sand
In these gardens of white crosses
We are the children of poverty trying to a make a stand
If we make it past the border, we will scatter
Vanish just like smoke in autumn wind
I will run until my color will not matter
Hopin I can find some work or possibly a friend
There are others who have made it here
They will show me how to find a job and a place to lay my head
And I cannot be concerned with dreams of my children
For there are 5 others in line for my bed
[Chorus:]
In these gardens of white crosses
Growing in the California sand
In these gardens of white crosses
We are the children of poverty trying to a make a stand
I will gladly pick your peaches or clean your hotel rooms
I will do the jobs American wont do
With cell phones to their heads and $700 dollar shoes
I will risk my life cause its all I have to lose
Let the devil in the mountains promise me a ride
Found an 18 wheeler and put all of us inside
And just outside of victory, 19 of us died
None of our bodies hit the floor
And so my wife she still wonders when Im coming home
The riches that I promised her for leaving her alone
I said I would send her all that I could save
But I ended up in California in an unknown grave
[Chorus:]
In these gardens of white crosses growing in the California sand
In these gardens of white crosses we are the children of poverty trying to a make a stand
[repeat]
song performed by by Edwin McCain
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Shattered windows, Colors of white
Across the street is a new house with a room painted red, with no holes of white.
Next to me, a house purple, with its color pealing off, with holes of black and white
At the end of the street, an old house once yellow, what now remains white.
The sound of a hammer building a house, entering a place with a color unknown.
On the street,
Windows covered with ice
Some shine with light.
Some broken
Some fixed
Some lost, out of sight.
A house, two blocks from here.
Shines with lights of yellow, red, and green everywhere.
A wall keeping the wind from blowing anywhere.
The house next door, at the dawn of the day.
Paints its room black, and peals the color away.
The wall crumbles.
The wind blows across the colors of yellow, red and green
Breaks all the windows.
Turns the yellow to blue, red to black, and green to white.
The house two blocks away.
Adds a line of yellow red and green everyday.
To allow the house of blue, black and white to shine for us some day.
poem by Linda ErikssonBique
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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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Cross
My old man's a white old man
And my old mother's black.
If ever I cursed my white old man
I take my curses back.
If ever I cursed my black old mother
And wished she were in hell,
I'm sorry for that evil wish
And now I wish her well
My old man died in a fine big house.
My ma died in a shack.
I wonder were I'm going to die,
Being neither white nor black?
poem by Langston Hughes
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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
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Same Sentence
At Calvary three crosses stand,
where the rebel, Jesus, died.
With him, two petty criminals-
were also crucified.
Per legend, one man begged relief
sought pardon as he died.
The other merely mocked the Lord,
as they hung side by side.
The first rebuked the second man:
“No fear of God, you slime?
We both bear the same sentence-
just judgment for our crime.”
“But this man who did nothing wrong
with us is crucified.
The dogs will get my body
But not my heart and mind”
Jesus then forgave them both
Upon his Dad’s advice
For no one whose been crucified
should have to suffer twice.
At Calvary three crosses stand
Tenanted no more
Here good edged evil two to one-
for those still keeping score.
poem by John F. McCullagh
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Still We Rise
The White House Is Still White, Hmm! , really, must be a figment or someones migration working on their concentration, collaboration of devastation trying to be an infiltrator of motivation.
Why has racial discrimination become so tenement in the white house?
A man and the people behind him made a dream reality, Martin Luther King Jr said it better one day and that day, when President Obama moved into the white house.
The white house is still white so why fight people there are enough wars going on around the world, let President Obama do his job, he cannot appease all he has to regulate one thing at a time.
Written by James Brown
poem by James Brown
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Crosses We Bare
Some days seem longer than others,
depending on how many crosses
we have to bare.
Each of us has a cross to carry,
for guilt, we call our own.
When the crosses get heavy,
days seem to linger with out end.
We feel at times,
no one can help us
with the crosses that we bare,
but there is always someone.
They walk beside us everyday,
a simple prayer of forgiving,
and he will help us on our way.
We can tell him all our sorrows,
our guilt’s and woes to be.
He always listens to us
as he walks with us each day.
We all know his name,
and how to speak to him,
if the crosses that we carry,
ever get to weighty to bare.
poem by David Harris
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I was given a White House - well, you will have to ask the White House that. But I asked to attend the White House briefing because I was, you know, because I wanted to report on the activities there.
quote by Jeff Gannon
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The star Bethlehem born
The stardust spreading the beautiful night
The star Bethlehem being most sublime
Is being shot again and again
Broken hearted crosses we cross
Broken hearted crosses we count
Like beads of starry nights
Asleep unawake still crossing
The rivers of the first step stone
You think you could have died of shame
(The last line inspired by Franz Kafka 'Process')
©Miroslava Odalović
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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The Golden Hour
Only time will tell when my cross
joins the thousands upon the side of this road
I've traveled a thousand times before
and a tousand more will follow
for tomorrow does not exist.
Rain upon my back is nothing
but a track to set thoughts into motion.
The kind of motion that steps in time and place
yet with a pace killing heart beats and silent speaks.
Black marks upon ourselves
we roll with thunderous hellhounds on our tails.
Forward is the only notion needed when
Death beats at the door with a
house warming gift fit for a losing king.
Those lost,
who had their youthful loom snipped
by the three shrews of fate;
their final hour dressed in thoughts of lavender
or gal,
now hangs in the form of a tear on the cheeks of loved ones
who won't accept the setting of another sun.
These White Crosses,
a sea of White Crosses,
a living testimony
of the dead in our wake.
May their names be writ in stone upon
our memories and live on until we too
join their elegy.
poem by Shawn Greyling
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Rememberance Day
On remembrance day we honour all
Each gave their best enduring call
God bless each one for being there
All our service men did their share.
Soldiers young and soldiers old
Fought the war brave and bold
They fought in Air, Land and Sea
If not for them where would we be.
Some lived while others died
As they fought side by side
They fought many a day and night
Their mission sure their spirits bright.
The loved ones bore the greatest pain
So many thoughts will never wane
We're proud of all the forces who
Fought for the Red, White and Blue.
We'll never let their special day
Their time of honour slip away
Though we may not know each name
We thank all the forces just the same.
'Wrote for November 11 th'
poem by Hazel Connelly
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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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Killing In The Name
Killing in the name of!
Some of those that were forces are the same that bore crosses
Some of those that were forces are the same that bore crosses
Some of those that were forces are the same that bore crosses
Some of those that were forces are the same that bore crosses
Huh!
Killing in the name of!
Killing in the name of
And now you do what they told ya (11 times)
But now you do what they told ya
Well now you do what they told ya
Those who died are justified
song performed by by Rage Against The Machine
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Crosses Burning
black-eyed poverty,
angry negativity,
sanity or vanity,
aint nobody free...
still the wheels of life
keep on turning;
in the land of want,
crosses burning.
hate me, hate yourself,
liberty on the shelf,
worthless unless it sells,
drawing water from the well...
still the wheels of life
keep on turning;
in the land of need,
crosses burning.
black and white bleeding red,
cant feed the poor, raise the dead,
drinking water laced with lead,
nooses hung around our heads...
still the wheels of life
keep on turning;
in the land of hurt,
crosses burning.
children sold into slavery,
homeless tents, misery,
wars without victory,
governed by plutocracy...
still the wheels of life
keep on turning;
in the land of sorrow,
crosses burning.
microwave Jesus, tattered flags,
boys come home in body bags,
buildings crumble, bridges sag,
numbered souls without a tag...
still the wheels of life
keep on turning;
in the land of lies,
crosses burning.
poem by Eric Cockrell
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White Boys Cant Control It
When youre a white boy
Life gets you high
You hold out thinking
That you know why
You hold out
With the law of men
And when you die
Youre born again
Put down your gun
And find your heart
Were dying soldiers
We dont dance for the devil
When youre a white boy
Your life is lust
You kiss and run
And you mistrust
You hold out
With the nowhere men
You dance your dance
And try again
Put down your gun
And find your heart
Were dying soldiers
In the dark (we are no rebels)
You know white boys (cant control it)
You know white boys (never hold it)
You know white boys (hard to swallow)
You know white boys always follow
(follow who)
Put down your gun
And find your heart
Were dying soldiers
We dont dance for the devil
song performed by by Culture Club
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Many Live Through The Sacrifices Of The Few
The many live through the sacrifices of the few-
The old continue because the young have died for them-
The soldiers of who gave their lives in Israel's wars,
The soldiers of Freedom who risk their lives still,
Enable their people to live.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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