Say No to war..
He was just seventeen and four months,
The son of the humble peasant,
Recruited to be the cook in the barracks, but,
Given two grenades to destroy two machine guns,
Strong enemies with imported weapons,
His country fighting for freedom,
Instructed to throw at them,
He crawled to their destination,
The noise from the machine guns,
Deafened the ears of the soldiers,
Then there was silence for a second,
The young man threw one at the first post,
‘allah' the call could be heard,
Mother land soldiers hiding and watching,
The action of the young cook turned a soldier,
Then he threw the second grenade to the second post,
The enemies were annihilated, so was the brave man,
Broken forehead spilled out his brain,
The stream suddenly changed into red saline,
The soldiers ran to rescue the body,
To confer the highest order,
of military honor.
Say No to war.
poem by Veeraiyah Subbulakshmi
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Related quotes
At The Grave Of The Unknown Soldier
He was a brave soldier he died young and brave
And for more than six decades he lay in his grave
And still at the dawning of each war memorial day
At his grave site a young bugler the last post does play.
Known as the Unknown Soldier one without a name
Still he had a mum and a dad just the same
And when he did not return home when the fighting was done
They grieved at their loss and they wept for their son.
The war to end all wars of all wars 'tis said
But more wars are fought and we have more war dead
And at the grave of the unknown soldier the last post is played
And to honour the war dead another parade.
Old war men do tell us young soldiers fight and die
For freedom and liberty that is a lie
They went to war when young they are now old and gray
Some grow old not wiser some are known to say.
That they were fighting for freedom and justice they believed to be true
And they were quite gallant to give them their due
But many deprived of their human rights in the World of today
And that does seem a very sad thing for to say.
With heads bowed old men showing their years in gray
At the grave of the Unknown Soldier at the dawn of the day
In silence do listen as a young bugler the last post does play
For one who fought and died in a war far away.
poem by Francis Duggan
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World Wars
Soldiers Fight. Enemies Fight Back
World Wars Come To An End.
The Loved Ones Go And Fight For They're People.
They Shall Fight For Land
They Shall Fight For Glory
They Fight For The People That Live.
They Shall Not Let Anyone Down
They Must Do Much As They Can.
The Soldiers Fight.
The Soldiers Protect.
Once One Soldier Dies, Others Soldiers Die
they must bring peace to the land they protect.
We Remember The People Who Went To War.
Some Of The Families Lost A Member In War.
Some Of The Families Didn't Lost A Member In War.
In War, It's Hard To Survive In War.
You Gotta Be Strong And Brave.
The War Is All About The People We Care About And Keeping Enemies Away.
poem by Sonya Wesley
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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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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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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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A Soldiers Family
Today we lost another soldier, I do not know
His/her name.
Today we lost a soldier, I don’t know
From whence he/she came.
This was a soldier fighting in a war
As so many other soldiers had done this before.
It matters not what country the soldier is from.
For they no longer fight for country, but for each other.
All beliefs, religions, and honors are blown in the wind.
For war is not a joy, it is but a sin.
Once the soldier is gone, the family must live to carry on.
Wondering if it’s all been in vain
And if there was anything to gain.
The pains and the memories the families must bear
And with each other these they share.
A smile, a joke, a laughter, or two
These were the things they shared with you.
A love story or a relationship gone bad
These were the things that made them happy or sad.
A mother who inwardly cries
For it is so hard to say good-bye.
Nine months in her stomach, then tending
And caring for them and watching the child grow
This is what every mother knows.
A soldiers life is lost, but it’s not just any soldier you see
For this is the one that came from the father and me.
Yes! My child was a soldier and on the battle front they died
Trying to protect the freedom for you and I.
But let us mourn for all soldiers, for they are comrades
Who fought side by side, until the moment that they died.
It matters not if they are classified as the enemy
Death on all sides, there are so many.
They cry for their children, the same as we
And their hearts they do bleed.
If we as parents and family would be united as one
We would have these governments” under our gun”.
Until that day- we will always be “ a soldiers family”.
poem by Louis Rams
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D Day
Vast field of lonely soldiers graves
Grown over with grass and clover
They are gone, their country saved
Young flowers, their ghost still hovers
Today clouds fill the morning sky
Green vernal spring seems so sad
Tears swell in old veteran's eyes
Here to honor these fallen lads
Broken hearts of dads and mothers
Barely children they gave their all
Forget not these sons and daughters
Brave soldiers of freedoms call
Hear the trumpet play the taps
Say a prayer with a tear shed
Let the flags fly half mast
We honor their life's and deaths
Buried on foreign soil
Name after name, row after row
Gone from this mortal coil
Covered by grass, rain and snow
The guns of D Day are now silent
poem by Joseph Narusiewicz
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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 Last Post.
The last post sounds and echoes round.
The neat and well kept burial ground.
Head stones in rows beneath the sky
to mark where our dead heroes lie.
Standing as if still on parade.
Each headstone looking newly made.
It is one way we show respect.
No more no less than I expect
Head stones don’t only signify
that battle weary soldiers die
They also serve who wait for men
who will not see their home again.
The last post makes us realise
That war destroys their families.
Each time I hear the last post sound
I’m filled with sadness so profound.
Tears spring unbidden from my eyes,
they always take me by surprise.
I’m not ashamed to let them flow
Because I’m old enough to know.
That real men aren’t afraid to cry
Despite the ancient common lie.
That men don’t let emotions show
and should not let their tear drops flow.
When I hear the last post sound
I can recall the battle ground.
Where so many comrades still lie
in foreign fields beneath the sky.
The last post serves to honour all
brave soldiers who sadly fall.
Not only friends but enemies.
Death selects quite randomly.
Young widows weep and mothers cry.
They have the right and so do I.
Tuesday,31 August 2010
http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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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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Remembrance Day
For our king and our country and the promise of glory
We came from kingston and brighton to fight on the front line
Just lads from the farms and boys from the cities
Not meant to be soldiers we lay in the trenches
Wed face the fighting with a smile - or so we said
If only we had known what danger lay ahead
The sky turned to grey as we went into battle
On the fields of europe young men were fallin
Ill be back for you someday - it wont be long
If I can just hold on til this bloody war is over
The guns will be silent on remembrance day
Therell be no more fighting on remembrance day
By october of 18 cambrai had fallen
Soon the war would be over and wed be returnin
Dont forget me while Im gone far away
Well it wont be long till Im back there in your arms again
One day soon - I dont know when
You know well all be free and the bells of peace will ring again
The time will come for you and me
Well be goin home when this bloody war is ended
The guns will be silent on remembrance day
Well all say a prayer on remembrance day
On remembrance day - say a little prayer
On remembrance day
Well the guns will be silent
Therell be no more fighting
Oh well lay down our weapons
On remembrance day
song performed by by Bryan Adams
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Soldiers who are not afraid of guns, bombs, capture, torture or death say they are afraid of homosexuals. Clearly we should not be used as soldiers; we should be used as weapons.
Heavenly Soldier
The soldier who died fighting
Now stood at Heavens gate
Would the Lord embrace him?
He waited for his fate
God now asked the soldier
Do you deserve a place
Here with these good people
From the human race?
The soldier thinks awhile
Then tells God his thought
No Lord I'm not perfect
But for my fellow man I fought
I carried a gun, I opened fire,
I threw a hand grenade
I didn't want to kill him
I knelt by him and prayed
I did all this in the call of duty
Killing was not my choice
The army called me up to fight
Me, and many boys
See dear lord I am not bad
For my country I had to serve
I stood shaking, terrified
But I couldn't lose my nerve
The Lord by now had heard enough
His judgement he had made
Come in my son walk through here
Come join the heavenly parade
So now the soldier marches on
Burdens taken from his shoulders
Happy in Heaven serving God
With other fallen soldiers
Cassinga
Just like spring when the blue sky is full of falling leaves,
there are three hundred and seventy parachutes that decent,
on a ominous day
with enemy AA-guns reporting
and the enemy are more
than a thousand and a half in number.
The barrels of the enemy AA-guns are lowered,
to break us
and the enemy tries to sow havoc
and to decimate us.
Enemy snipers are shooting from trees
and from everywhere
there are shots being fired,
that munches pieces from us
From behind ruins
we fire almost endlessly
at trenches where some enemy soldiers hide
and launch mortar bombs
all over the place,
while bullets are coming down like rain.
We return heavy fire
to the enemy at the AA-guns,
while other soldiers replace them
which keeps the battle hanging in balance
Shot after shot are being fired
and the smell of death
is strong in the air
and there’s nowhere
for the enemy to escape to.
The last resistance disappears
and there’s apparent peace
and dead enemies everywhere
and some of the bats,
get into pumas
and the rest of us wait
with nowhere to go.
The border is too far to walk
and there’s nothing to drive away with,
when Cuban tanks and armoured cars
find us there.
.
With RPG-7 iron fists
four tanks are destroyed
and a landmine stops another tank in its tracks,
but only paratroops against oncoming armour
are canon feed
and nothing diminishes the danger
of a Cuban mechanized battalion.
Till two Mirages destroys ten armoured cars
and everywhere there’s smoke and dust
and a Buccaneer comes from the sun,
to let moments turn into eternity.
Time after time
it flashes by and fires its rockets
at the oncoming tanks
and with no ammo left,
dives fearlessly over shooting AA-guns
to make the tanks take cover.
It’s very ruff going
but the last pumas land
in a clouds of dust,
to evacuate us
while enemy tanks keep firing.
I try and hold the rearguard with a LMG
before the shot out ruins fades away from me
and we leave forty living enemies behind
and all of us are safely gone,
but for four brave men
whose lives are spent.
[References: AA-guns=> Anti aircraft guns. Bats=>Parabats=>Airbourne soldiers. RPG-7 iron fists=> Rocket propelled grenade launchers=> Bazookas. Mirages=> Mirage fighter jets. Buccaneer=> Buccaneer ground support bomber. Pumas=> Puma helicopters. LMG=> Light machinegun.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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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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My Brother In Law The Soldier
my brother in law the soldier.
he was so young when he went to war..
he has turned it to a brave soldier and
and im verry proud of him
my brother in law the soldier
he is riskin his life
for our freedom..
my brother in law the soldier
deangelo hunter..
ily thanks for all your doing
we dont take enough time to
tell our soldiers overseas
how proud and thankful
we are for what they do..
poem by Dawn Hunter
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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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Enemies Attack
Enemies attack
So much is at stake
Mother land is bleeding
Soldiers rush
Enemies are flushed
Heaps of dead rushed
Whose son or whose father?
Someone's near and dear
Agony and pain in life to bear
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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A war song!
I see the soldiers marching on
Singing a cold war song
On the road they hold onto their guns
As the fighting goes on all day long
Fight, March, and fight
Shoot, aim and shoot right
Whether the sun shines, this is war
This is war whether the rains pours
This is war where we kill
Our friends, sisters and brothers
For they are our enemies for real
If they choose against us for another
They go to war
Because of a handful of political men
Who stand alive; in erect offices still holding their pens
The soldiers fight until no one stands up anymore!
Fight, March, and fight
Shoot, aim and shoot right
Whether the sun shines, this is war
This is war whether the rains pours
www.sylviachidi.com
poem by Sylvia Chidi
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Dreamers
Soldiers are citizens of death's gray land,
Drawing no dividend from time's to-morrows.
In the great hour of destiny they stand,
Each with his feuds, and jealousies, and sorrows.
Soldiers are sworn to action; they must win
Some flaming, fatal climax with their lives.
Soldiers are dreamers; when the guns begin
They think of firelit homes, clean beds, and wives.
I see them in foul dug-outs, gnawed by rats,
And in the ruined trenches, lashed with rain,
Dreaming of things they did with balls and bats,
And mocked by hopeless longing to regain
Bank-holidays, and picture shows, and spats,
And going to the office in the train.
poem by Siegfried Sassoon
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