Semper Fi
(Note: This poem is a fictional re-imagining of the poem 'Mother' written by Padraig Pearse the night before his execution in 1916.
It has a changed point of view and had been moved to Afghanistan,2009. I apologize to all who misconstrued this to be about the death of a specific marine lance corporal)
This loss is very hard upon his mother:
To endure first his birth and then his death.
The time between -scarcely a generation
But in that short span of time he proved his worth.
They are too few, the proud who wear the emblem,
And fight our countries battles in our stead.
Where they found him, his position was surrounded
By the bleeding bodies of Jihadist dead.
Enroll his name among our Countries’ heroes
Remember him for all of time to come,
But put away the medal they awarded-
I need no medal to recall my son.
My brave strong son who first fought in Fallujah,
and battled militants in Kandahar.
He joined the fallen as his tour was ending
Now all that we have left is a gold star.
But in the long nights that are surely coming
I will speak his name within my heart.
I will take certain comfort in the knowledge
That our son was faithful and he fought.
poem by John F. McCullagh
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Sincere Thanks
Sincere thanks to the Africans who,
Made us proud at the Beijing 2008 Olympic Games;
For there their talents were exposed to the world.
Thanks to Kenya who got the total of 14 medals:
Made up of 5 Gold medals,5 Silver medals and 4 Bronze medals.
Thanks to Ethiopia who got the total of 7 medals:
Made up of 4 Gold medals, a Silver medal and 2 Bronze medals.
Thanks to Zimbabwe who got the total of 4 medals:
Made up of a Gold medal and 3 Silver medals.
Thanks to Cameroon who got a single Gold medal,
Thanks to Tunisia who got a single Gold medal,
Thanks to Nigeria who got the total of 4 medals:
Made up of a Silver medal and 3 Bronze medals.
Thanks to Algeria who got 2 medals:
Made up of a Silver medal and a Bronze medal.
Thanks to Morocco who got 2 medals:
Made up of a Siver medal and a Bronze medal.
THanks to South Africa who got a single Silver medal,
Thanks to Sudan who got a single Silver medal,
Thanks to Egypt who got a single Bronze medal,
Thanks to Mauritius who got a single Bronze medal,
And tanks to Togo who also got a single Bronze medal.
You've really made Africa proud and we do thank you all!
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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7th day of December of 1941 -Pearl Harbor
On this day in early December
Something was being brought us that we surely would always remember
As the sun in Hawaii was just starting to rise
Terror struck us as a surprise
Hitting us so hard and fast
All we wanted to know who it was and long it was going to last
As those unidentified war planes dropp bombs and bullets everywhere we could see
One, two three, my buddies started to fall next to me
It affected a lot of lives
So many men were trapped in the hull of the ship and struggled to stay alive
It caused the sailors to try to cut away the medal and every idea they could deploy
Just to get those out those old men and young boys
Hour after hour they worked from day to night
Never giving up trying without upright
Even though very few got out and were saved
We know that they still fought because they were strong and brave
I only wish one thing
That they only thought about the repercussion that this destruction would bring
As they hit us in those early hours
The truth is that they never knew how mighty was our power
Only if they really knew the real meaning of the rising sun
Then they would know who we were and this war with us never would have begun
As we fought them across the oceans around the earth
We finally realized how much our freedom was worth
This war was fought long and hard
But in the end, we showed that empire that we were dealt the winning card
With that final blow
And was that the reason that our freeom was worth theat long go
By Frank Pulver
poem by Frank Pulver
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Yeah, that's what kind of, we get the idea a little bit yeah, because other people from different countries also try as hard as they can to get a medal or a gold medal in the Olympic Games. And you know, if they can work hard, we can work hard as well.
quote by Inge de Bruijn
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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You Think I Don' t Remember
You think I don' t remember, the night it started
Well I do
I ran away, because my heart was breaking
I left a note you never found
Of course you wouldn' t
You were never there
You left it up to your oldest daughter
To be the mother
Ya that turned out great
Look at us now
I haven' t changed much my heart is still breaking
And I am still without a mother
You think I don' t remember the first time it happened
The first lesson you gave me (as you would always call them)
We weren' t all alone
He was there, that person you married, just for money
Another smart move
He' s the one that showed you and taught you how to leave no marks
For that first time went all so wrong and you left too many marks
But I said no words
Because you' re my mother
Now all these years latter
You are the one that doesn' t understand why
I don' t say I Love You
When I am now raising your kids
When I am only a kid my self
I know how I have doing it for a while
But its time for me to retire
For you to start being my mother
And me a young adult
You think I don' t remember
The first
The second
The fifth
The day to day
You think I don' t remember
The ones I have taken for my brother
The one that happen this morning
Because you think I am a whore
For getting taken advantage of
You dont know half of what he did to me
no one does or ever will
You don' t see what I see in my dreams
And you arent drowning in the tears I cant cry
You think I don' t remember mom
But I do, I remember
poem by Mrs. Cynosure
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18 Definitions Of A Short Poem
1) A short poem
Saves time,
2) A short poem
Saves time
For its reader, also.
3) A short poem is over
Before its read.
4) A short poem
Can be swiftly reread.
5) A short poem
Is a lightning flash.
6) A short poem
Is one metaphor only.
7) A short poem
Is less than nine words.
8) A short poem
Opens ones eyes
In the morning.
9) A short poem
May be a short prayer.
10) A short poem
May be a poem of a single word.
11) Poem.
12) A short poem
A small play on words.
13) A short poem
May be a single sentence.
14) A short poem is shorter
Than the definition of it.
15) It breaks up the icy sea within.
16) A chill down the spine.
17) There is no end
To making definitions of the short poem.
18) A short poem in Hebrew
Is shorter than than the same poem in English.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Armistice day
I rewrote a previous poem of mine......
Brave buildings built in honour of
The ones they left behind
With thoughts still whole unspoken
Of a sentimental kind
Of the men who go to war without
Any question of deceit
The ones that die on battlefields
And of serious disease.
For though some wars are over
And many battles lost
These buildings tower over us
So we can count the cost
Lest we forget our fallen men
So shall we every night
Remember those who held their flag
And thought their fight was right.
There's a strangeness now about the world
That’s making this all seem
Like so many leaden soldiers
Just a'marching in our dreams
But though this now is commonplace
And although we hate all war
Those human boyhood soldiers
Are still dying as before.
Why do we all go through this
Time and time again
Why do we fight our politics
With the bodies of brave men
For there's a truth that lies amongst the dead
Both infidel and blessed
And they are clearly asking us
Why we can't put war to rest.
Lest we forget war's horrors
And lest we forget the pain
Then every single bloody war
Will be repeated once again.
poem by David Keig
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A Poem Is Just A Poem
a poem is just a poem and if it is just a poem
it must be just a poem just like another poem
a poem is nothing but just a poem otherwise
it cannot be my poem; it may speak about
anything, or something, or about everything,
but my poem is just a poem just like anybody's
poem, which is just but a poem, like any other
poem, for a poem to be a poem it must just be
a poem: it has nothing to do with my love, and death
my life, or bliss, but as i have told you, once, twice
thrice, eat some rice, and be that wise, a poem is
just a poem, just like your poem. Why do you insist
on asking, what is happening to me? I am not a
poem, for i am but just the composer of the poem,
need i tell you again, that a poem is just a poem?
just like any other poem, which is just a poem
it is just a voice in my head that i have heard
someone comes and speaks and i listen so
this poem is not actually my poem but the poem
of someone else's: theirs not mine, from a mind.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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This Is My Poem
This is my poem of ______. (date)
This is my poem, written by myself.
This is my first poem never written.
This is my last poem now to be written.
This is the poem I would have written
if I had lived yesterday what I lived today.
This is my poem changing white light
into gold-leaf
and blue into violet.
This is my poem like a heaven twisting
and turning inside of me
all night long.
This is my poem of opening a window
to show what was always inside.
This is my poem encompassing everything
hope can bestow or chance agree with.
This is my poem of open-ended freedom.
This is my poem breathing life into motion.
This is my poem written as I wrote it
a living being.
And this is my poem ending;
but only for today..
poem by Patti Masterman
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All I Can Do Now Is Write Another Poem
All I can do now is write another poem-
The poems are small,
And do not require the long hours and long years
Of the books-
Like the world as a whole
I seem to have a shorter attention span
And less patience-
A poem can be written and given a name
In minutes not years-
Though some would say a great poem
Takes the travail of years of waiting
And years of work-
But I did not say
‘All I can do now is write another great poem'
Perhaps I have in all the years of the nights never written one-
I can write the poems I write
My kinds of poems
In a fairly short time-
All I can do now
Is write another of my kind of poems-
Whether they be worth anything,
Or not.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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To Remember the Fallen
to remember the fallen
is not to remember how they fell
but to remember why and for what
to remember the fallen
is not only to remember their actions
but to remember the dream for which they fought
to remember the fallen
is not to remember how they fought
but to remember who they fought for
to remember the fallen
is to remember their reason
to remember their dreams
and to remember those they fought to save
to remember the fallen
we continue their fight
we carry their dreams
and we finish what they start
poem by Analissa Range
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Fear Is The Key
We live our lives in fever
In a choking sweat of fear
In the heat of the night you can feel so much
In the heat of the night I scream dont touch!
I remember a time when we used and abused
And we fought all our battles in vain
I remember a time we thought that passion was free
In the heart of the night... bodies aflame
We live in fever...
I hear your secret heartbeat
I can hear your silent cries
The kids have lost their freedom
And nobody cares til somebody famous dies
I remember a time when we used and abused
And we fought all our battles in vain
I remember a time we thought that passion was free
In the heart of the night... bodies aflame
Now we live in a world of uncetainty
Fear is the key - to what you want to be
You dont get a say the majority gets its way
Youre outnumbered by the bastards till the day you die...
song performed by by Iron Maiden
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Do Not Wish To Hear Your War Stories
Do not wish to hear your war stories of battles fought and won
Since I saw on t v this evening a mother grieve for her dead son
Her son murdered by a sniper with a bullet in his back
And I could only feel pity for this poor mother in Iraq
Of war and stories of it I do not wish to hear
Men who declare war on other people are those who rule by fear
Tell me some happy story or otherwise let me be
Your stories of war and war heroes only bore and sadden me,
Of war and it's brutality so much written and said
And in the news headlines on radio I hear of more war dead,
Tell me some happy story laughter in me provoke
Today I need a break from your war stories instead tell me a good joke
Today a mother in Iraq grieves for her murdered son
And I've heard enough of war from you of battles fought and won.
poem by Francis Duggan
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The Poem That Speaks Of Nothing
The poem that speaks of nothing
Tells of nothing convoluted at all.
It has no need of metering,
Or of emotions that rise and fall.
The poem that has no content
Lacks subject matter to cover.
So forget the flowers that you sent
To your faithful lover.
The poem devoid of plot
Has no farfetched tale to tell.
There’s no mention of battles fought
Against the very spawn of Hell.
The poem in absence of metaphors
Is not written by someone who will
Tell of reposing forevermore
Or of running naked through the hill.
The poem that speaks of nothing
Dares not mention the roaring sea.
And the poem that speaks of nothing
That is the poem for me.
(veritas h.s.2005)
poem by William Mcgehee
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A War To End All Wars, But Wasn’t
They not only fought the enemy,
but fought the elements as well.
They fought for their country
in lands far from home.
They fought rain, mud and the enemy
in trenches stained with blood
from those who had fallen there before.
They fought on and on
while the Generals watched
the slaughter from far away.
For their mistakes men died
by the score across the battlefield.
Their blood would stained the land
then and forever more.
Then came the gas
like a creeping mist across the battlefield
that silenced all in its wake.
It made no distinction to young or old,
just poisoned all it touched.
Their contorted bodies rotted where they fell.
They said this was a war to end all wars, but it wasn’t.
Almost twenty years later
men from different countries gathered to fight another war
and again in the trenches men fell.
The mechanics had changed;
machines became more prevalent across the battlefield,
still men died for small victories in the tide of war.
3 July 2008
poem by David Harris
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Do We Remember Them?
We remember our fathers
They remember their sons
Who fought long battles
And paid with their lives
We remember the glories
We have forgotten the pain, ,
of the widows and orphans,
of those who will never return again.
We remember the machinery
With which battles were fought
But the names of the fallen
Are all but forgot.
We remember, we say
With the crimson petalled poppy
And silence at eleven
On Remembrance Day
But of all the boys and men
Who fought wars large and small
Paying dearly with their lives
Do we really remember them, at all?
9 Nov 1986
poem by David Harris
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Males Always Dominate
Males have always dominated
Women folks have always been alienated
Outwardly we praise and applaud their achievement
Internally we curse and fear such movement
Why do we give their long overdue?
They deserved it but we have failed to over view
How much they do for our welfare and upkeep?
Only we leave them in lurch to face helplessness and weep
Many countries have still dismal records
They are still kept indoors and sometimes tied with cords
They are done away with at the time of birth
Even when we claim God is the master of destiny and death
There is nothing wrong if they are placed rightly and appreciated
Give all they deserve and bring them out in open and elevated
This is how society can be improved upon and balanced
Some of the orthodox ways need to be forgotten and distanced
In many countries, females have come up of their own
Previously they were neglected and remained unknown
Now time has changed and their participation is desired
Their role is that of sacred seat which is always admired
Let us not harp on negative things and keep them at bay
Let them participate fully and lead us the way
They can excel in any domain and prove the worth
There is definite place and position coming forth
Had there been natural apartheid and suffering?
We could do nothing worthwhile except differing
It is naturally intended and blessed as such
We can now forget past and need to do so much
You can merely afford to ignore
As many things yet to come out from store
They have nice, comfortable and dominating position
We need not aggravate it by adding more impositions
Females are originator of universe
Many things are written about them in verses
If not adored then at least they need not be abused
Their position respected and not a single chance to be refused
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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The Poem About The Poem About The Poem
THE POEM ABOUT THE POEM ABOUT THE POEM
The poem about the poem about the poem
Written in dream
And forgotten in sleep
Comes back to me slowly now
As if it had been away on a long long journey
And is reluctant to come home-
I write it
But it really writes me
And when I try to make sense of what it means
It tells me its ambiguities
Are more important and interesting
Than my clarity-
The poem about the poem about the poem
Written now
May not be a poem about a poem about a poem at all
But may merely be my own playing with words
Which take the place in my life
Of really living-
A poem about a poem about a poem?
Surely this is a mysterious thing
If it exists at all.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Every Day
War is no longer declared,
only continued. The monstrous
has become everyday. The hero
stays away from battle. The weak
have gone to the front.
The uniform of the day is patience,
its medal the pitiful star of hope above the heart.
The medal is awarded
when nothing more happens,
when the artillery falls silent,
when the enemy has grown invisible
and the shadow of eternal armament
covers the sky.
It is awarded
for desertion of the flag,
for bravery in the face of friends,
for the betrayal of unworthy secrets
and the disregard
of every command.
poem by Ingeborg Bachmann
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This Poem
THIS POEM
This poem
This first poem
This last poem
This poem that invented Poetry
This one and only one poem
This fictional poem
This ideal poem
This perfect poem
This would – be holy poem
This unreal poem
This poem which is not a poem
This poem which is the essence of all poetry
This poem
And that poem
And my poem
And your poem
And all poems
Poem poem poem poem poem
This poem
Mine and yours
This one small poem of so so many
And not such a good poem at all.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Brother, I remember the old games we play
Hide and seek on evenings when mother is busy
Before we sleep
It is you who knows to hide so well
And I cannot always find you
You win
I lose and you take pride of your skill
In hiding away
There was this time in our lives
When we both hid
And fought and stood on some idealisms
Like rocks against the sea
Like towers standing against cyclones
Like the tree against the winds of
Change,
I failed, I hid and fought and I was caught
To this renewal
But you brother has fought hard enough and
Hides with all the skill you have
They never found you
We never found you
Come out brother now, in peace
Mama is dead; there is no use of these fights
Times have changed
Our thoughts have become useless
Come out, brother now,
The land is finally ours
We shall start to clean and plow.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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