I Have Floated Through The Sky
I have floated through the sky
while bullets whipped by
and on that day
my God sheltered me with his wings,
sheltered me from exploding things
from rockets, grenades
and even in
the valley of death
walked with me
and helped me to see
the horrific disaster called war
and the tragedy that it enacted
on the innocent, even on soldiers
forced to be there as enemy.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Before the storming of the Casinga trenches
The past was going in seconds
while I was being sheltered
behind a small wall, with bullets,
mortars and rockets
whining and exploding, dark was everything,
dark was all
with death spreading its tentacles,
gripping mostly the enemy
bringing them to a fall
but for those barely out of range,
covered by trenches
the change from living to dead
were only minutes away
but the present was catching up with them,
with sniper bullets, mortars homing in
and hand grenades arcing dead on target
and the enemy trench lying straight ahead
to win the battle, the only way to tread
and the future of living or dying
was drawing down on the intersection
of the order: to take the trench.
[Reference: Full Moon At Tierz: Before The Storming Of Huesca by John Cornford.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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It is not that God has no pity (in answer to Yehuda Amichai)
It is not that God has no pity
on adult soldiers, who crawl
on all fours
and that He only cares
for small children and much less
for children at school,
any fool could believe this gibberish,
but when bullets whistle past your head,
you see comrades and the enemy dead,
how rockets penetrate through
the thick steel armour of tanks
and armoured cars
how grenades, landmines and bombs
explode shattering
you know that mere men
are doing and continue doing
these evil war things
and when you live through
this kind of hell
and come out unscathed,
still living
when your should have been dead,
you know that you are really worshipping
a loving and pitiful God instead
of the merciless one
that some are painting Him
as He has accompanied you
right through the dread.
[Reference: God Has Pity On Kindergarten Children by Yehuda Amichai.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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Sheltered Heart
Early morning rise
Rain pouring Down outside
Memories greets me again
They are what I hide
Sheltered Heart
A tender emotion
I cringe to take hold
Like a small child
I fear of being scold
Sheltered Heart
I feel strength pulling
Again I stand alone
Feeling life's energy
My heart turns to stone
Sheltered Heart
Recalling all that was tonight
I keep my head raised high
Knowing I've nothing to prove
Protected I am deep inside
Sheltered Heart
You kept me from pain
I never understood need
Always treated with high praise
But where did it all lead
poem by Suelynn Walters
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Sheltered Life
Never been to london, never been to france
Never was sorry never learned to dance
Never walked down to 42nd street and frairs
Never smoked any filtered air
Guess its true what all the people say
Gonna have to mend my old time ways, yeah
I guess its true, guess, Ive lived a sheltered life
Never walked about on the streets at night
Never got into an uptown fight
Never smoked a hookah, never saw a rug
Couldnt even squash a beetle bug
Guess its true Im gonna have to change my ways
Guess its true what all the people say, yeah
I know its true, guess, Ive lived a sheltered life
Never went to parties in a chauffeured car
Never wore a top hat cause I wont get far
Never learned to handle all the things that Ive seen
Maybe Ill grow up to be big and mean
Guess its true what all the people say
Gonna have to change my old fashioned ways, well
I guess its true, guess, Ive lived a sheltered life
song performed by by Velvet Underground
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Goodbye now to the bush
Goodbye now to the bush
and patrols that go on
almost endlessly,
ration packs that never really differ,
the sun rising over unknown places,
death and hardship on unknown faces,
bullets flying past
and rocket propelled grenades exploding,
the stark mad bark of the LMG,
but I wonder how long
this piece will last.
[Reference: LMG => Light machinegun.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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A Song for the New Year {1915}
THE Year of the Sorrows went out with great wind:
Lift up, lift up, O broken hearts, your Lord is kind,
And He shall call His flock home where no storms be
Into a sheltered haven out of sound of the sea.
There shall be bright sands there and a milken hill,
They shall lie in the sun there and drink their fill,
They shall have dew and shade there and grass to the knee,
Safe in a sheltered haven out of sound of the sea.
He shall bind their wounds up and their tears shall cease:
They shall have sweetest pillows and a bed of ease.
Come up, come up and hither, O little flock, saith He,
Ye shall have sheltered havens out of sound of the sea.
The first day of New Year strewed the sea with dead.
Lift up, lift up, O broken heart and hanging head!
The Lord walks on the waters and a Shepherd is He
They shall have sheltered havens out of sound of the sea.
poem by Katharine Tynan
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Young people should be helped, sheltered, ignored, and clubbed of necessary.
Elitists With Egos
I shutter at the thought,
My brother experiences loses.
Or that my sister weeps...
From wishes to keep,
Herself sheltered!
And the innocent smiles...
On her children's faces.
And elitists with egos debate their fates.
As if their decisions...
Time will allow,
To puff those chests of those walking proud.
I shutter at the thought,
My brother experiences loses.
Or that my sister weeps...
From wishes to keep,
Herself sheltered!
And the innocent smiles...
On her children's faces.
There is a madness about this that makes no sense!
And how can those cry in privacy...
As a few who represent their wellbeing,
Disrespect the seriousness of tears falling.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The air was full of fire and sand
The night that I wished to be home
as the path we were on
lead to death
and not like the axiom to Rome
behind enemy lines
we called in the vultures of death
and the chill froze my breath
in clouds in the bright moonlight,
followed the mist from the river
penetrating ever deeper
into the enemy positions
we hid almost in their midst
and with the rising sun
eerie birds came screeching down
with flaming afterburners
dropping rockets and bombs
on enemy tanks,
shelling armoured cars
with raging canon
and the air was full
of fire and sand.
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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My Soldier
I see it on the news.
Stories of soldiers being killed.
I always prayed that it's not you,
I wish I knew that you were safe,
I don't think that I can handle your death,
You are my soldier, and you
Mean everything to me….
The bombs exploding, I pray that you aren't hit.
That would cause my world to end.
I needed you in my life.
I pray that you would come home soon.
I know it was your dream
To be a soldier, protect the innocent
Tell me this, is it worth dying for?
Who is the enemy you are fighting?
Dead scared child with a gun?
Made me see that this war is useless
There is no hero, only a grief in a war
I wish war would end soon….
For you to come home, I missed you
I barely do anything these days
My heart stops, when I hear the door bell
Afraid to see a soldier on my door step
Telling me my worst fear, not seeing you live
Just heard the news of soldiers being killed.
I prayed that it was not you, my soldier.....
poem by Dush Swaranga
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Forced to meet an enemy in a rifle's sight (in answer to Keith Douglas)
Forced to meet an enemy in a rifle's sight
a unknown man appears, scratches his head,
he lights a cigarette, draws on it until it glows,
looks at a photo in a way that only his wife knows
his attention moves somewhere up ahead,
to some ibises in their screeching flight
the crosshairs move to his heart bit by bit
while mechanically I test the wind,
thoughts of his family life now means nothing
while on the trigger my finger is pressing,
and no escape can a mortal man find
against full metal jacket bullets that accurately hit.
l'Envoi
Far too familiar is death's smell,
when every soldier is more machine, than man,
far too familiar are the sounds of bullets whining,
the sight of bodies lying lifeless,
as putrid rotting human flesh, heartless,
the horrors of war are undermining
the essence of being human,
as soldiers live afterwards in a daily kind of hell.
[Reference: "Now in my dial of death appears" by Keith Douglas.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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Parabats
Smiting death when we parachute in,
flying on silken wings through the sky,
gathered in a brown storm
that sweeps in
and the enemy like puppets perish
where we land.
We cannot give back life
like God to tformed clay,
yet we are forced to take away existence
day by day
with machinegun, mortar
and rocket propelled grenade.
Fearless men ready to endure,
trusting in God alone.
[Reference: Parabats=> South African airborne soldiers.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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I am a writer who came of a sheltered life. A sheltered life can be a daring life as well. For all serious daring starts from within.
quote by Eudora Welty
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Man tried to outreach the Lord of Evil himself
Out of the ash
flames leapt
into the air
and in the distance
the retch provoking smell
fumed in grey white clouds
higher into the black clouded sky
where death ovens
flamed up mercilessly.
Polished boots crunched
over gravel
while men in neat black uniforms
and some in grey
marched with schmeischer machine guns
at the ready in their hands.
Their faces were masked
as if in stone
with no other expression
but mocking and indifference
locked into blue eyes
and brushed blonde hair
sticking out
from under black caps
on which skulls gleamed ominous
set as machines
grinding on without
any emotion.
A small girl maybe only ten
slipped and dropped
to the ground,
where a manicured male hand
helped her gently
to her feet
and cold blue eyes
burned into her brown
and a small frown
left lines on his face
and only maybe
he would dream of her again.
Off to the showers they went,
marched by soldiers
that never saw any battle
and didn’t care,
but forcefully
sheltered them there.
Men old, some at the prime of life,
boys teenage to very small,
old grannies, women mature,
beautiful girls and some only kids
to be de-verminated for sure.
Shaved to the skull,
their hair braided into boots
possessions taken from them
soap to be fried from their bodies,
gold from their teeth
and rings from their fingers
glittering evil in the dim sun
and when the doors closed
behind them
cyanide dropped like white fog
from the air
with a almond smell
and soldiers laughed
while they twisted in agony
as if it really wasn’t happening
and they were only watching
a horrific show
and man tried to outreach
the Lord of Evil himself.
poem by Gert Strydom
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I want to go home
Right through the night
the armour is rolling forward.
Cannon thunder,
while rockets
blow the enemy to bits.
I want to go home
where the sun
goes peacefully through the pepper tree
and the dogs
lie and wait on top of plants
There are people dying everywhere
and some are wounded
and missiles and bombs rain down
and grenades and guns keep going of
and death takes its toll around me.
I am deprived of peace and rest and a life
and I want to go home
and stand under the avocado tree
and see the avocados fall
and see the sun set over the ridges
and live a life again
and avoid bloodshed forever more.
poem by Gert Strydom
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The enemy is gone
The enemy is gone
whose steel chariots shed flame,
aircraft dropped rockets and bombs
and helicopter gun ships drifted
like giant locusts in the sky.
Fear had no shame,
nor loose bowels,
or shell shock
that bewitched the brain
and boys became men,
forced into the reality
of surviving against the odds.
Still in the dark of night
the war comes back again
when sleep spread its wings
over distance and time.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Funeral
I want to have my funeral
But first I need to die
But not an ordinary death
You see
I want one filled of surprise
One death that no one would expect
One that’ll beat the rest
Of the
Out of the ordinary deaths
A death that will show the pain I hide
One that will make people tremble inside
To see that a little girl could hide
So much trouble and hate inside her mind
One that’ll have me on a bed
With rose petals all around my head
My wrist all cut up at the vein
A death that’ll make me look insane
It’ll have them saying
“maybe she hit her head”
For the death expressed too much
And set a feeling of depressed
Maybe a death
That’ll have written on my chest
All the things that “you knew best”
All the things I failed to see
Because they never were facing me
A death is called a tragedy
But not when nobody can see
That the tragedy was meant to be
Like the sun is meant to set each day
And how the moon never seems to stay
poem by Jennifer Alejandra
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Hand Grenades
Let's make hand grenades
From common things around the house
Let's make hand grenades
Listen up we'll show you how
OK now take an open bottle
Filled up with gasoline
Some paint thinner for good measure
and a sprinkle of manganese
Now stuff a sock into the top
with zippo you'll be king
Let's make hand grenades
Hours of fun in a little jar
Let's make hand grenades
Try one out on your neighbor's car
song performed by by Offspring
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sestina: War
There is nothing like war
But a fire
Plaguing the land
Spreading rapidly
Hurting those who cant prevent pain
Destroying those who are innocent
The destruction of fire
Guns spraying bullets rapidly
Blood seeping into the land
Not only death, but torture and pain
Killing those who are innocent
All for the cause of war
A marsh of green land
Destroyed by red fire
Turning a once plushed land to char, rapidly
And bringing pain to the innocent
To further on the war
For a point to cause national pain
News spreading rapidly
Spreading across to many in a land
About the death of which is war
Bringing to good hearts, pain
And of the upcoming apocalyptic fire
Bringing terror to the innocent
Families who can’t avoid the war
Getting wiped out rapidly
Through screams and pain
From the soldiers of hells fire
Leaving the innocent
Six feet under the land
Nations defeated rapidly
Leaving once great nationed lands
Charred by evils fire
Wiping out the innocent
Causing people and economic pain
All for a man made war
But what good comes out of war?
Though it causes pain
In the long run, you’ve freed the innocent
poem by John McAdam
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