Field of Battle
I walked the field of battle,
eerie silence accompanied me.
The bitter odor of confrontation,
lingered mutely in the air.
I trod where warriors clashed.
Did my imagination soar, or.
Could I hear in the quiet,
sounds of dying souls?
Everywhere I stepped, I touched,
mute tokens of conflict.
Haunting evidence of siege.
I shuddered as the chill of fear caressed me.
On scorched earth a helmet laid.
What account might it cradle?
Who once had been its owner?
Had it been discarded, or orphaned?
An empty boot, a broken blade,
a long gun supported by bayonet.
Dented helmet graced the butt.
Had once young hero rested here?
In this field of battle,
‘midst smoke, fire, screams.
Did valor accompany fear,
and violence cultivate history?
What lie hidden, covered,
in these now so silent meads?
Were fainthearted to become hero,
had victors, and vanquished, dwelled together?
I wondered,
as I walked the field of battle.
10FEB06
poem by Kurt Hearth
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
The Battlefield
Hear the sound of retreating trumpets
in the distance where they play.
The battle is over now,
but will commence again another day.
The battlefield is strewn with bodies
where the old and young fell
on a field where two armies clashed
and now among the dead the dying moan and yell.
3 July 2010
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Firebreather
As the wind blows and leaves rustle.
Fire spits through the air.
Smoke and ash fly everywhere.
The young and old cower in fear.
Young and handsome bursts out of the clouds.
Big and strong with a mighty sword.
Shield in one hand to fight off the flames.
Ashes fly everywhere but the hero shows no fear.
Triumphant roars ring through the skies.
Screams come from all directions.
I'll save you all the hero claims.
Flames shoot towards the sky.
The hero rises to the challenge.
A failed attempt at stabbing the heart.
Followed by many many more.
This hero will never give up.
He will not rest till mirth fills the atmosphere.
Jab, jab and jab again.
He must try with all his might.
One last stab, will the fire breather go down?
The hero hopes and prays for success.
The ground shakes.
Oh no a possible earthquake.
The hero celebrates with joy.
The monster is dead and now has no head.
The young hero mounts the head with pride.
All fear is gone but no hope is lost.
The hero may rest at last.
poem by Katie Diaz
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Valor
The dictionary describes 'Valor' as:
Qualities of a hero or heroine;
Exceptional courage when facing danger;
Facing the unknown with boldness and gallentry.
But, gallentry comes in many different forms.
I have seen valor on the battlefront as soldiers
Disembark from boat to beach.
I have read of those who gave their lives
To save their buddies from the wrath of war.
Yet, there is another valor, a silent valor,
Shown on the faces of those who, though not
In physcial combat, soldier against soldier,
Have just as much a life threatining struggle.
There is no noise, clash of weapons,
Shield against shield, or screams of pain,
Just silence, cold, weary silence;
Battle fatigue, as shown by the posture of
Those who return from the front;
Veterans of that silent war of personal combat.
Wave after wave of seasoned combatants pass me by
As I, a new inductee with them, wage our own
Personal battle against our common enemy,
Cancer.
(Free Verse)
poem by Lynn W. Petty
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Hear the cries
At night you can hear the cries of children
when they cries it sounds like a battle field
at night the cries of children are in a battle field
so they cries for their mom and dad at night
and that comes the battle field of children
poem by Helen Reese
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The battle of life
THERE are countless fields the green earth o'er,
Where the verdant turf has been dyed with gore;
Where hostile ranks in their grim array,
With the battle's smoke have obscured the day;
Where hate has stamped on each rigid face
As foe met foe in the death embrace;
Where the groans of the wounded and dying rose,
Till the heart of the listener with horror froze,
And the wide expanse of the crimsoned plain
Was piled with its heaps of uncounted slain: --
But a fiercer combat, a deadlier strife,
Is that which is waged in the Battle of Life.
The hero that wars on the tented field,
With his shining sword and his burnished shield,
Goes not alone with his faithful brand,
Friends and comrades around him stand;
The trumpets sound and the war-steeds neigh,
To join in the shock of the coming fray,
And he flies to the onset, he charges the foe,
Where the bayonets gleam and the red tides flow;
And he bears his part in the conflict dire,
With an arm all nerve, and a heart all fire.
What though he fall! at the battle's close,
In the flush of victory won, he goes,
With martial music and waving plume,
From a field of fame to a laurelled tomb.
But the hero that wars in the Battle of Life,
Must stand alone in the fearful strife;
Alone in his weakness or strength must go,
Hero or craven to meet the foe;
He may not fly, -- on that fated field,
He must win or lose, he must conquer or yield.
Warrior who com'st to this battle now,
With a careless step and a thoughtless brow,
As if the field were already won;
Pause, and gird all thy armor on.
Myriads have Come to this battle-ground,
With a valiant arm and a name renowned,
And have fallen vanquished, to rise no more,
Ere the sun was set, or the day half o'er.
Dost thou bring with thee hither a dauntless will,
An ardent soul that no blast can chill;
Thy shield of Faith hast thou tried and proved;
Canst thou say to the mountain -- " Be thou moved;"
In thy hand does the sword of truth flame bright;
Is thy banner emblazoned -- "For God and the Right;"
In the might of prayer, dost thou strive and plead?
Never had warrior greater need.
Unseen foes in thy pathway hide;
Thou art encompassed on every side.
There Pleasure waits, with her syren train,
Her poison flowers and her hidden chain;
Hope, with her Dead Sea fruits, is there;
Sin is spreading her gilded snare;
Flattery courts, with her hollow smiles;
Passion with silvery tone beguiles;
Love and Friendship their charmed spells weave:
Trust not too deeply, they may deceive.
Disease with a ruthless hand would smite,
and Care spread o'er thee a with'ring blight;
Hate and Envy, with visage black,
And the serpent Slander are on thy track;
Guilt and Falsehood, Remorse and Pride,
Doubt and Despair in thy pathway glide;
Haggard Want, in her demon joy,
Waits to degrade thee and then destroy;
Palsied Age in the distance lies,
And watches his victim with rayless eyes;
And Death, the insatiate, is hovering near,
To snatch from they grasp all thou holdest dear.
No skill may avail, and no ambush hide,
In the open field must the champion bide,
And face to face, and hand to hand,
Alone in his valor confront that band.
In war with these phantoms that gird him round,
No limbs dissevered may strew the ground;
No blood may flow, andno mortal ear
The groans of the wounded heart may hear,
As it struggles and writhes in their dread control,
As the iron enters the riven soul.
But the youthful form grows wasted and weak,
And sunken and wan is the rounded cheek;
The brow is furrowed, but not with years;
The eye is dimmed with its secret tears,
And streaked with white is the raven hair:
These are the tokens of conflict there.
The battle is over; the hero goes,
Scarred and worn, to his last repose.
He has won the day, he has conquered Doom,
He has sunk unknown to his nameless tomb.
For the victor's glory no voices plead,
Fame has no echo, and earth no meed.
But the guardian angels are hovering near;
They have watched unseen o'er the conflict here,
And they bear him now, on their wings away,
To a realm of peace, -- to a cloudless day.
Ended now is the earthly strife,
And his brow is crowned with the Crown of Life.
poem by Anne Lynch Botta from Poems (1848)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
Vote! | Copy!
War Never Solves Anything
Of battles won and noble soldiers you hear the old balladeer sing
But war only brings death and suffering and war never solves anything
And the mental scars of war keep festering long after the battle does end
You badly injure or kill someone's loved one that person will not be your friend.
For God and the flag of their Nation too many in battle have died
And the Government honour war heroes in their false show of patriotic pride
But the fact is their young lives were wasted and the fact with us sadly remain
That old battles are never over and for old grieviances human blood spilt again.
War weaponry and explosives big business in a World where human life is taken cheap
By some a human life seen as of no more value than that of a cow's or a sheep
From history we have not learned the war supposed to end all wars long gone
Yet every day more violence and terror and war and war mongering lives on.
Of battles won and acts of war bravery so many songs written and sung
And war instigated by old men must always be fought by the young
But the song for the young dead war hero to the hero's mum to it has a bitter ring
And war is a waste of human life for war never solves anything.
poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
True Face of A War Hero
(dedicated to... well no one. I have seen the carnage of war and wrote this. I'm sorry to all my family that is fighting for america for me to post this but well yeah.)
*War.*
A simple three letter word designed to make people go die,
*Hero.*
A person who does a great deed and is reconized for that deed.
A War Hero
A person reconized for being a hero during a war (and they usually die doing that deed)
I had waited eagerly for that moment,
We had all wanted to see the great general.
We crowded the streets,
Our happy screams rising thorugh the day.
At last the car drifted down the street and the greatest of all hushes fell,
Out stepped a man,
he had no arm,
He walked only beacuse of two plain crutches.
Everyone fell silent,
Surely this couldn't be the great hero who won the war?
He smirked and glared at us sourly,
Such a great hero am I,
Your cheers echo for all to hear!
And then you fall silent,
Seeing this bitter man before you.
So is war such a good thing for you to cheer me?
All I did was cause another war.
And as all of us do,
I killed others- many others.
And I'm proud of it.
The man hobbled into the car and drove away,
The croud dwindled to meet and greet others.
They cared not for this bitter stranger,
They cared not that he killed many others,
They cared not that war was destruction.
So do we care that others are dying?
It's your choice,
Choose.
Only you can decide what we do/
poem by Jinx Natta
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Battle Cry Of Freedom (Southern Version)
Our flag is proudly floating
On the land and on the main,
Shout, shout the battle cry of Freedom!
Beneath it oft we've conquered,
And we'll conquer oft again!
Shout, shout the battle cry of Freedom!
CHORUS: Our Dixie forever!
She's never at a loss!
Down with the eagle
And up with the cross!
We'll rally 'round the bonny flag,
We'll rally once again,
Shout, shout the battle cry of Freedom!
Our gallant boys have marched
To the rolling of the drums,
Shout, shout the battle cry of Freedom!
And the leaders in charge cry out,
'Come, boys, come!'
Shout, shout the battle cry of Freedom!-CHORUS
They have laid down their lives
On the bloody battle field,
Shout, shout the battle cry of Freedom!
Their motto is resistance -
'To tyrants we'll not yield!'
Shout, shout the battle cry of Freedom!-CHORUS
While our boys have responded
And to the fields have gone,
Shout, shout the battle cry of Freedom!
Our noble women also
Have aided them at home,
Shout, shout the battle cry of Freedom!-CHORUS
poem by Anonymous Americas
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Field of Battle
Forced are the troops of battle,
Into the field of war, of war.
Feed on their movement, general,
As a leader of war, of this battle.
I, a troop, have forced my mind
Into the war of my dreams,
Into the fire of my wishes;
They are like dread and scare.
To belittle a young man, who is a soldier,
A fighter, born of the skill to fight and parry,
Is never agreeable in the eyes of the warlord,
The hard man or woman, the harsh chief.
Punishment awaits those who excel at war crime
And force is a force that fades from power
To weak pull, a reaction to the enemy,
A full explosion for them who oppose.
Swords and crossbows are the implements
That win the war more than anything else.
Your horse is put to death, the standard-bearers
Are put down for their bravery, gallantry.
Forced are the troops of battle,
Into the field of war, of war.
Feed on their movement, general,
As a leader of war, of this battle.
poem by Naveed Akram
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Echoes of Heroes
Placing Hero’s modern socket to my ear,
I see the reverberating valor
I hear the truth through his own teeth
It was then Hero your head rind whispered;
“Where was my white ones? ”
I knew the answer…smugly I reply;
“Hero, it is where your black once was.”
You then Hero, Understood.
As I pull from the topless jaw a few spare. Ruby carved an ‘X’ on your skull Hero
She dropped it / then we both walked the (he) ck away.
poem by David Allen Adams
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
A Warriors Poem
Here i stand upon this field
Here i stand alone
Here i stand upon this field of battle
Surrounded by my dead
Alone i stood
Alone i fought
Alone i stood
My enermy alone i faced
Here i stand to this day
Here i stand alone
My foe's i fought
My foe's i defeated
For i stand alone
upon this field of life
But not alone i stand
for about me stand my friend's
Comrades in arm's warriors all
Upon this field of life we Stand.
poem by Dragon Heart
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Combat with Enemies
Bayonet and helmet, go may get killed
Waiting for your blood the baying battlefield
The day is hot the sun a smoky ball
Blazing guns boom bodies freely fall.
It's only might, all about power
You hope just once you could smell a flower
Loved ones are gone, home far away
You could do little, you didn't have a say.
Till you came here you wore a hero's smile
Ready to go on combat with an enemy so vile
Your courage is now pierced needled with fears
Your throat is lumpy dry, eyes fill with tears.
Bayonet and helmet, go ruin your dream
You may not come alive, chances are slim
The devils that have fired youthful imagination
Will call you martyr, you died for the nation.
poem by Pradip Chattopadhyay
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
It doesn't take a hero to order men into battle. It takes a hero to be one of those men who goes into battle.
quote by Norman Schwarzkopf
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
It doesn't take a hero to order men into battle. It takes a hero to be one of those men who goes into battle.
quote by Norman Schwarzkopf, Jr.
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
Vote! | Copy!
Episode 36
WIGLAF his name was, Weohstan's son,
linden-thane loved, the lord of Scylfings,
Aelfhere's kinsman. His king he now saw
with heat under helmet hard oppressed.
He minded the prizes his prince had given him,
wealthy seat of the Waegmunding line,
and folk-rights that his father owned
Not long he lingered. The linden yellow,
his shield, he seized; the old sword he drew: --
as heirloom of Eanmund earth-dwellers knew it,
who was slain by the sword-edge, son of Ohtere,
friendless exile, erst in fray
killed by Weohstan, who won for his kin
brown-bright helmet, breastplate ringed,
old sword of Eotens, Onela's gift,
weeds of war of the warrior-thane,
battle-gear brave: though a brother's child
had been felled, the feud was unfelt by Onela.
For winters this war-gear Weohstan kept,
breastplate and board, till his bairn had grown
earlship to earn as the old sire did:
then he gave him, mid Geats, the gear of battle,
portion huge, when he passed from life,
fared aged forth. For the first time now
with his leader-lord the liegeman young
was bidden to share the shock of battle.
Neither softened his soul, nor the sire's bequest
weakened in war. So the worm found out
when once in fight the foes had met!
Wiglaf spake, -- and his words were sage;
sad in spirit, he said to his comrades: --
"I remember the time, when mead we took,
what promise we made to this prince of ours
in the banquet-hall, to our breaker-of-rings,
for gear of combat to give him requital,
for hard-sword and helmet, if hap should bring
stress of this sort! Himself who chose us
from all his army to aid him now,
urged us to glory, and gave these treasures,
because he counted us keen with the spear
and hardy 'neath helm, though this hero-work
our leader hoped unhelped and alone
to finish for us, -- folk-defender
who hath got him glory greater than all men
for daring deeds! Now the day is come
that our noble master has need of the might
of warriors stout. Let us stride along
the hero to help while the heat is about him
glowing and grim! For God is my witness
I am far more fain the fire should seize
along with my lord these limbs of mine!
Unsuiting it seems our shields to bear
homeward hence, save here we essay
to fell the foe and defend the life
of the Weders' lord. I wot 'twere shame
on the law of our land if alone the king
out of Geatish warriors woe endured
and sank in the struggle! My sword and helmet,
breastplate and board, for us both shall serve!"
Through slaughter-reek strode he to succor his chieftain,
his battle-helm bore, and brief words spake: --
"Beowulf dearest, do all bravely,
as in youthful days of yore thou vowedst
that while life should last thou wouldst let no wise
thy glory droop! Now, great in deeds,
atheling steadfast, with all thy strength
shield thy life! I will stand to help thee."
At the words the worm came once again,
murderous monster mad with rage,
with fire-billows flaming, its foes to seek,
the hated men. In heat-waves burned
that board to the boss, and the breastplate failed
to shelter at all the spear-thane young.
Yet quickly under his kinsman's shield
went eager the earl, since his own was now
all burned by the blaze. The bold king again
had mind of his glory: with might his glaive
was driven into the dragon's head, --
blow nerved by hate. But Naegling was shivered,
broken in battle was Beowulf's sword,
old and gray. 'Twas granted him not
that ever the edge of iron at all
could help him at strife: too strong was his hand,
so the tale is told, and he tried too far
with strength of stroke all swords he wielded,
though sturdy their steel: they steaded him nought.
Then for the third time thought on its feud
that folk-destroyer, fire-dread dragon,
and rushed on the hero, where room allowed,
battle-grim, burning; its bitter teeth
closed on his neck, and covered him
with waves of blood from his breast that welled.
poem by Anonymous Olde English
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Songs of Battle
Old as the world--no other things so old;
Nay, older than the world, else, how had sprung
Such lusty strength in them when earth was young?--
Stand valor and its passion hot and bold,
Insatiate of battle. How, else, told
Blind men, born blind, that red was fitting tongue
Mute, eloquent, to show how trumpets rung
When armies charged adn battle-flags unfurled?
Who sings of valor speaks for life, for death,
Beyond all death, and long as life is life,
in rippled waves the eternal air hs breath
Eternal bears to stir all noble strife.
Dead Homer from his lost and vanished grave
Keeps battle glorious still and soldiers brave.
poem by Helen Hunt Jackson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Other Heros
They march not to drummer's beat
neither rise to trumpet's call.
They pass not through ticker tape cloud.
Nor thrill to cheering throng.
They sail not on mighty ships
to do battle on foreign shore.
They are not lauded or praised
by liberated grateful peoples.
They return not with victorious song.
To be welcomed with outstretched arms.
Warriors always in the forefront of conflict
Subjected often by ridicule and criticised by most.
Facing conquest daily their battles never end.
Supported not by mighty force engage confrontation alone.
Acknowledged seldom by cheering crowds.
Only by their peers for conflicts they resolve.
Warriors yes in every sense.
Hero always to some constant threat to others.
They are the other heros Marshall Sheriff Police.
Enforcing the law maintaining the peace.
poem by Kurt Hearth
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The unfinished battle
`1The unfinished battle
The strive is not over, if it is not over
It has no ending, not a definite end.
Alas! There is no finish to a war, war-
is not won by victory.this battle of a hero
the good fight of a great protagonist one-
in which no winner emerged.alas! the unaccomplished-
runners, those with women like heart, they are dead.
The great protagonist is not dying, not in this war.
The brave ones never died, they die thousands of times.
the war is a cruel thing sometimes a haven. the peasants,
don’t want it, while an inevitable to the warriors.those who
are lucky with their faith are here in their threshold down,
they are safer indeed in their stony sleep but, the reminants-
in this unfinished battle of ours make this war our war when-
no alternative we got alas! the battle is unfinished.
It has no ending, war is not won by victory.
poem by Ipaye Olawole Peter
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Conquerors
THE BLACK TROOPS IN CUBA
Round the wide earth, from the red field your valour has won,
Blown with the breath of the far-speaking gun,
Goes the word.
Bravely you spoke through the battle cloud heavy and dun.
Tossed though the speech toward the mist-hidden sun,
The world heard.
Hell would have shrunk from you seeking it fresh from the fray,
Grim with the dust of the battle, and gray
From the fight.
Heaven would have crowned you, with crowns not of gold but of bay,
Owning you fit for the light of her day,
Men of night.
Far through the cycle of years and of lives that shall come,
There shall speak voices long muffled and dumb,
Out of fear.
And through the noises of trade and the turbulent hum,
Truth shall rise over the militant drum,
Loud and clear.
Then on the cheek of the honester nation that grows,
All for their love of you, not for your woes,
There shall lie
Tears that shall be to your souls as the dew to the rose;
Afterward thanks, that the present yet knows
Not to ply!
poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Final Old Hero
The final old hero has faded away
His bones even beyond the state of decay
He gave rise to many a patriotic song
But to Mother Nature he finally belong.
He was a great King in a Land from here far
And he was one who led his army in war
He died a true hero on the battle-ground
And stories about him in folklore abound.
No heroes amongst the war leaders of today
From the heat of the battle they stay far away
The children of others for them fight and die
And the rewards of renown and wealth they enjoy.
I see them as manipulative deceitful and sly
Yet that the majority cannot see through them I do wonder why
For what they truly are many them cannot see
And the hero to many is a coward to me.
Though his legend inspired the bards for to rhyme
The final old hero almost forgotten in time
He led his men in war and in battle he died
And true greatness of him never can be denied.
poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!