Soldiers
soldiers, soldiers,
marching in dead time.
ghouls without faces,
in mechanical rhyme.
paid for, paid off,
eyes open and blind.
hearts severed from the soul,
soul severed from the mind.
gunfire, racism,
treat women like a toy.
grown men without mothers,
fathers, just boys.
gang bangers, pimp daddies,
kings of purgatory.
bad drugs, bad days,
and nights without joy.
cant pay the rent, get a job,
and prison becomes their school.
no hope for nothing more than nothing,
trapped by the have not rules....
soldiers, soldiers.
pawns in the rich man's game.
victims of unholy anger,
and gods that have no name!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Related quotes
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
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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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I saw soldiers
I saw soldiers
with eyes opened wide
who in fear, dutiful served their country.
They were only boys and moreover
unravelled from all humanity
and mechanical like an oiled machine.
Aged early, cold in heart and soul and besides
driven past madness and stripped from reason
to in fear, dutiful serve their country.
Without any glory or esteem
they assaulted the enemy challenging death
and I saw young brave soldiers.
Boys abandoning their own free will
and caught in a almost endless cycle
to in fear, dutiful serve their country
Boys who did not concede to the reasons for the war,
later sold out by politicians,
I saw as soldiers
who in fear, dutiful served their country.
poem by Gert Strydom
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The Drum
I'm a beautiful red, red drum,
And I train with the soldier boys;
As up the street we come,
Wonderful is our noise!
There's Tom, and Jim, and Phil,
And Dick, and Nat, and Fred,
While Widow Cutler's Bill
And I march on ahead,
With a r-r-rat-tat-tat
And a tum-titty-um-tum-tum -
Oh, there's bushels of fun in that
For boys with a little red drum!
The Injuns came last night
While the soldiers were abed,
And they gobbled a Chinese kite
And off to the woods they fled!
The woods are the cherry-trees
Down in the orchard lot,
And the soldiers are marching to seize
The booty the Injuns got.
With tum-titty-um-tum-tum,
And r-r-rat-tat-tat,
When soldiers marching come
Injuns had better scat!
Step up there, little Fred,
And, Charley, have a mind!
Jim is as far ahead
As you two are behind!
Ready with gun and sword
Your valorous work to do -
Yonder the Injun horde
Are lying in wait for you.
And their hearts go pitapat
When they hear the soldiers come
With a r-r-rat-tat-tat
And a tum-titty-um-tum-tum!
Course it's all in play!
The skulking Injun crew
That hustled the kite away
Are little white boys, like you!
But 'honest' or 'just in fun,'
It is all the same to me;
And, when the battle is won,
Home once again march we
With a r-r-rat-tat-tat
And tum-titty-um-tum-tum;
And there's glory enough in that
For the boys with their little red drum!
poem by Eugene Field
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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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Some Mothers Son
Some mothers son lies in a field
Someone has killed some mothers son today
Head blown up by some soldiers gun
While all the mothers stand and wait
Some mothers son aint coming home today
Some mothers son aint got no grave
Two soldiers fighting in a trench
One soldier glances up to see the sun
And dreams of games he played when he was young
And then his friend calls out his name
It stops his dream and as he turns his head
A second later he is dead
Some mothers son lies in a field
Back home they put his picture in a frame
But all dead soldiers look the same
While all the parents stand and wait
To meet their children coming home from school
Some mothers son is lying dead
Somewhere someone is crying
Someone is trying to be so brave
But still the world keeps turning
Though all the children have gone away
Some mothers son lies in a field
But in his mothers eyes he looks the same
As on the day he went away
They put his picture on the wall
They put flowers in the picture frame
Some mothers memory remains
song performed by by Kinks
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sing a Song of War-Time
Sing a Song of War-time,
Soldiers marching by,
Crowds of people standing,
Waving them ‘Good-bye’,
When the crowds are over,
Home we go to tea,
Bread and margarine to eat,
War economy!
If I ask for cake or
Jam of any sort,
Nurse says, “What, in War-time?
Archie, cert’nly not!
Life’s not very funny
Now, for little boys,
Haven’t any money.
Can’t buy any toys.
Mummie does the housework,
Can’t get any maid,
Gone to make munitions,
‘Cause they’re better paid,
nurse is always busy,
never time to play,
sewing shirts for soldiers,
nearly ev’ry day.
Ev’ry body’s doing
Something for the War,
Girls are doing things,
They’ve never done before.
Go as ‘bus conductors,
Drive a car or van,
All the world is topsy-turvy
Since the War began.
poem by Nina Murdoch
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Nigerian Biafran War
The Biafrans cry separate
Nigerians cry we are one
The Nigerians and Biafrans
in a royal rumble
For non would submit to humble
as non would come to agreement
so they decided to fumble
and settle themselves on the battle field
The Nigerian soldiers fully prepared
Biafran soldiers thought they were ready
the opposing soldiers were excited
on the day of thier first outing
The soldiers filled with joy
the men filled with hatred
the women filled with fear
and the children with innocence
A bomb blast is heard
the soldiers quack their guns
the men getting ready to attack
the women in absolute confussion
The youths pick up weapons
the children sheding out blood
the soldiers held unto thier triggers
as men fell like woods
The rich flying abroad
the poor into the bush
women and children trampled
while some died at the instance
The children cries are heard
the shout of the women aswell
the grumbling of the men
and the mummuring of the youths
Nigerian soldiers chant their war songs
as they return with Biafrans defeated
though they still cry separate
the echoes of oneness is louder
The bodies of the dead were gathered
and the injured too
non could bear to stand and stare
at the worst of scenes
Women and children cried out thier hearts
the men were left with shocks
as every one reaised that war means death
and the reign of peace brings life
poem by Micheal Udenyi
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Soldier’s Faces
Maybe I saw the faces
of a thousand soldiers
while they prepared for war
and some had grim determination, even dedication
to get ready, cleaning rifles, checking
what we carried along
and some acted as if they didn’t care,
others were clowning around
making funny faces
and then there was me
and till today I wonder what
other soldiers saw
when they looked at me
or was the lines already chiselled in
that killing leaves on the soul
or were my eyes just bare and blank
or were they raging with inner fire?
Who will ever know?
poem by Gert Strydom
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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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Wilting And Weak
Do not step on soldiers who mightily maraud the weak,
Who are the soldiers? What is their command?
These soldiers marry into fellowship and youth,
Knights roam the country in search of young help.
These are the band of soldiers, legions of rope
And murdered by the cruel and wicked, the iron men.
Then do not step onto the rainbow to awaken us,
For the light is serene, and severe in strength.
Steps along the way guide the old and young alike,
A path has generated due to aging of the flowers
That disburden the height of society.
Follow the marching group and flowers wilt
In a way you agree, the wilting goes on and on.
poem by Naveed Akram
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In Angola
In Angola I wondered
how the land of the free
had the power,
to launch soldiers
from another country
into the arms of eternity.
How could
the sly foxes of the CIA
find a way,
to sway
a country into it’s war.
What fools
had the politicians
of my country become,
to rise and let boys
of eighteen bare the brunt
for the most unpopular war.
Although the victory
was sound
more was lost than gained
and coming back from war,
I will never be free
from the demons
that torment me.
War kills hope and joy
and leave it’s scars
in every soldiers soul
and the innocent
pays the highest price.
From history
and into posterity
the USA does not
fight it’s wars alone
and at times
let others pay the toll.
In Afghanistan and Iraq
some allied soldiers
still fall and die...
poem by Gert Strydom
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Among the Red Guns
Among the red guns,
In the hearts of soldiers
Running free blood
In the long, long campaign:
Dreams go on.
Among the leather saddles,
In the heads of soldiers
Heavy in the wracks and kills
Of all straight fighting:
Dreams go on.
Among the hot muzzles,
In the hands of soldiers
Brought from flesh-folds of women--
Soft amid the blood and crying--
In all your hearts and heads
Among the guns and saddles and muzzles:
Dreams,
Dreams go on,
Out of the dead on their backs,
Broken and no use any more:
Dreams of the way and the end go on.
poem by Carl Sandburg
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Ode to the American Soldiers
Ode to the American Soldiers
for fighting for our Freedom
for making this day real
Ode to the American soldiers
Iraq, Afghanistan, countries galore
they risk their lives for ours
Support them, pray for them
Ode to the American Soldiers
poem by Ashton Karen
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Life chess
It was like yesterday
that I saw two soldiers
play a game of chess,
both were just pawns
in the hands of an evil being.
They fell from the board
and were placed horizontal
right next to it,
as if their existence
didn’t really matter.
Their lives were wasted
and somewhere back in the states
their status changed to the departed,
before the game of war
had really started.
It was like yesterday
that I saw two soldiers die,
shot out of their vehicle
by a rocket propelled grenade
and splattered, scorched and burnt.
Without choice I was part of the game
and just the Lord knows
from where true courage came
and at times I and my brothers
fought the fight
to the best of our ability.
Today peace reigns
and the game is over and done
and all my brothers have gone,
but at times it all again
becomes real to me
and forever I am at war
with the demons in my soul.
[Reference: Brothers => Brothers in arms. States=> Back home in the RSA.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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It's As If Insanity Is Intended
As long as the beatings seem to defeat,
They will be treated with signs of support.
And a feeling of camaraderie expressed.
Not to be aborted,
Or left to stress in distress.
And if a bloodied victory is obtained,
An elevation of goodwill is fostered and maintained.
But if rivels begin to attack.
And take advantage of that.
A boastering ceases in grief.
Until a declaration to defend comes to mask a weakness...
Competitors pretend with a fight to the bitter end.
'We are not accustomed to having our turf tampered.'
These words heard seem so out of place.
Is that the reason why filth remains on our inner city streets?
With empty souls,
Lost without those cheers wished.
That pamper, soothe and strengthen.
To over come those losses felt so deep?
~Those soldiers 'must' feel so discouraged! ~
Soldiers? What soldiers?
Oh!
Yeah.
But...
I am referring to those gang members,
Fighting one another.
As if their ignorance makes a difference,
To the declining quality of life.
Experienced by their fathers, mothers, sisters and brothers.
~What are the value of these wars being fought?
And for what reasons?
I am totally not understanding these conflicts.
And the purpose achieved by the display of such sickness!
It's as if insanity is intended.
At the cost of all of our expenses...
Literally! ~
I think you have a point.
But who not craving the taste for blood,
Is going to be satisfied enough to comprehend it?
The rare steak lovers?
Or the 'bling' bangers?
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Nikita
Hey Nikita is it cold
In your little corner of the world
You could roll around the world
And never find a warmer soul to know
Oh I saw you by the wall
Ten of your tin soldiers in a row
With eyes that looked like ice on fire
The human heart a captive in the snow
Oh Nikita You will never know anything about my home
I'll never know how good it feels to hold you
Nikita I need you so
Oh Nikita is the other side of any given line in time
Counting ten tin soldiers in a row
Oh no
song performed by by Elton John
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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H's Soul
I wonder what happened to Hitler's Soul
As children cursed it around the world
At breakfast tables, under hidden floors
And at the oven doors
Lovers cursed it in their ecstasy throes
Soldiers cursed it, spitting on their boots
Marching in life and death parades
As their mothers cursed him too
Begging his Soul to be damned in Hell
Consigned with Generals that cursed it well
Where did it go, that very special Soul
Was there a space, a prison cell
Padded by the silence of his screams
That echo in our darkest dreams?
poem by Frank Bana
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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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(ballad) If I could...
If I could.....
If i could
i'd bring our soldiers home
If I could
I'd bring our soldiers home..
i would bring them safe and sound
home again on American ground
If i could
i'd bring our soldiers home.
If i could
I'd make this world free
If i could
I'd make this world free
no cold and hungry children
no pain or poverty...
if i could
I'd make this world free.
If i could
i'd bring or soldiers home
if i could
i'd bring our soldiers home
I'd bring them safe and sound
Home again, on American ground
If i could
i'd bring our soldiers home..
If i could
i'd change nine one one
if i could
I'd change nine one one
I'd give anything to change
the damage that's been done
if i could
I'd change nine one one...
If i could
i'd bring our soldiers home
If i could
I'd bring our soldiers home
I'd bring them all safe and sound
home on American ground
If i could
i'd bring our soldiers home
if i could
i'd bring our soldiers home
poem by Connetta Jean
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