He Entered Into Battle With A Blunt Edged Sword
He entered into battle with a blunt edged sword,
But he did not know quite why.
His sword selection was done without motive,
To battle and kill his fellow man.
So subconsciously he picked out this sword.
This sword not of this world, not out to cut to bleed.
But this innocent man didn't wish to realize,
What prize he would pay.
In midst of this battle, recieving the swiftest,
Blows from his enemy,
This soldier just kept getting hurt.
Five, six and seven more blows made him hit back,
This soldier proudly used his blunt sword,
Till his nemesis bearing a razor sharp one,
Came along and challenged the already fallen one,
Who gave a swift plunge into his enemy's heart.
But the enemy did not stagger or fall.
Neither did the soldier with the blunt sword.
This soldier's enemy left the battleground,
When he saw that the one with the blunt sword,
Knew all along the possibility of his death.
Still he fought, so he himself could die,
Which the other soldier was saddened by that man's stance.
He told that man, 'if we all fought battles with a blunt
sword,
Then we would all truly win,
For the battleground would know no mortality.
He further told him, 'because of you, your side
Truly wins. But so does our.
We love you,
Blunt edged sword soldier man.'
poem by Vera Sidhwa
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Brave Little Soldier
Im a brave little soldier
I must be bold and strong
A brave little soldier
And I must carry on
Im a brave little soldier
A brave little soldier
Im a brave little soldier
I must fight, I must win
Im a brave little soldier
Through hell and back again
Im a brave little soldier
A brave little soldier
Per rum, pum, pum
Per rum, pum, pum
Per rum, pum, pum, pum, pum
Ye though I am marching through the valley filled with fear
My steps are sure and sturdy and my aim is straight and clear
The enemy is stalking me just waiting for the kill
Like david slewed galiath
I will claim this battle field
Im a brave little soldier
I must do what I can
Im a brave little soldier
And I must take a stand
Im a brave little soldier
A brave little soldier
Marching, marching onward
Searching out the light of truth
I did not start the war
But its a battle I cant lose
Faith will be my armor
And love my sword and shield
I must defeat the enemy
I will, I will, I will
A brave little soldier
I must be bold and strong
A brave little soldier
And I must carry on
A brave little soldier
A brave little soldier
Im a brave little soldier
A brave little soldier
Brave, little soldier
song performed by by Dolly Parton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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By the Sword.
Your father made you
a sword out of metal
at the place he worked
and brought it home
one night after work
and gave it to you
after tea and said
Be careful how you use it
I don't want you using it
dangerously
ok
you said
and went off
with the heavy sword
into the spare room
you called the toy room
the place you fought
bad knights to save
damsels in distress
or have shoot outs
with cowboys
on the wrong side
of the law
and got your gun
out of the holster
before them
and plugged them
full of caps
or the pretend saloon
where you could go
for a shot of red eye
and once you had
the sword with you
you examined it carefully
running a finger along
the blunt blade
and then
you were set upon
by the enemy knights
out of nowhere
three onto one
and you had a sword fight
and being the top guy
you soon had them licked
and lying dead
and you heard your father
call out
from the dining room
Be careful you don't
kill anyone with that
and you murmured
Too late
I've just put them
to the sword
and he laughed
and your mother said
You shouldn't make him
weapons of death
it gives a false view
of the world
but your father just said
It's just a toy
just a bit of pretence
and a kid's got to have
something to use
in his defence
against invisible foes
and then they rowed
and so you shut the door
and put away the sword
and got out your gun
you could blow away
far more of them
and it was louder
quicker and more fun.
poem by Terry Collett
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Soldier
The soldier, he has many battle scars.
But there's only a few, others can see.
The wounds, they did not kill him,
They made him who he was called to be.
Although some of his battles were easy,
Through each of his battles he died.
The pieces, which were his true enemy.
Were the pieces that did not survive.
When the soldier, he goes into battle,
He must know who his enemies are.
They are the ones that would harm another,
And make the soldier, seem like he, was the star.
It is only once you discover the enemy,
The march to victory, then can begin.
For the war that the soldier is fighting.
Is the battle he fights from within.
In each of us there is a soldier.
And each day, we fight the good fight.
For the ones who walk into victory,
Are the ones who find their true light.
poem by Ryan Lee Morris
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Christian soldier
The Christian Soldier,
The Christian soldier goes to fight, a war on evil, every day and night,
Fighting for what the Lord God says. Is only right, with all their might;
They fight the enemy, for peace and truth, yet they are so brave,
And Jesus showed why we go, when He died our souls to save.
The Christian soldier has his armor, his breast plate, and His helmet too,
Then comes feet shod with the preparation of peace, this is True
Truth and Mercy are on the soldiers side, for the enemies destruction,
And with it comes the sword of God, and we're safe under Gods redemption.
The Christian Soldier, those, who have been washed and bought with a price,
The price of the lamb, And we'll win the war, against the enemy who isn't nice;
We have the Words of Christ, bestowed on us, promises from above,
They're full of Wisdom, truth, and justice, they were given to us in love.
poem by Margaret Haig
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Soldier's Ghost
I bled for you - would you for me?
I blessed a skin in blazing fuel
Then took a bullet in a duel of
‘He or I to Die.'
I often question ‘Why? '
Do you?
My country was my life to give -
Would you for country cease to live?
Sinking in a mire of death,
You have no choice -
So while you're still alive,
Rejoice!
I cried in failure - did you care?
And as I waned, were you aware of
What I did -?
Fighting for my country while you hid
Behind your comfort back at home?
Still relaxed?
My wife and child are fading at the tomb.
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2009
Soldier Soldier Soldier Soldier soldier
Soldier Soldier Soldier Soldier Soldier
Soldier Soldier Soldier Soldier Soldier Soldier
Soldier Soldier Soldier Soldier Soldier Soldier Soldier soldier soldier war
Soldier Soldier Soldier Soldier Soldier Soldier Soldier
war war war war war war war war war war war war
war war war war war war war war war war war war
war war war war war war war war war war war war
poem by Mark R Slaughter
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Mother’s Cry of Late
Where for art thou, soldier?
Out East? West? –
And when? –
What part your rabid history?
And why? –
What wrought your destiny? –
For whom
You’d wreak your enmity –
I crave your fate to pen!
What comprehension of the
Order? –
‘Listen up! you men!
Raze to ground the taken land!
See they die and e’er you’ll stand, for
Death is but a grain of sand –
The mighty triumph, medal grand!
Now go you well!
Amen! ’
What sight upon the bloody lie
Of war? – your doubtful fate.
‘Where for art thou, soldier? ’ –
Your mother’s cry of late.
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2011
soldier soldier soldier soldier soldier soldier
soldier soldier soldier soldier soldier soldier
soldier soldier soldier soldier soldier soldier
soldier soldier soldier soldier soldier soldier
soldier soldier soldier soldier soldier soldier
poem by Mark R Slaughter
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Sword Of Mine
The Sword that I carry
Though made not of iron or steel,
It is a mighty sword
That I proudly do so wield.
Though it wont break the skin
Or combat the weapons of a foe
But this is a mighty sword of mine
More precious than silver or gold.
This sword that I carry
I proudly display it in my hand,
For I know this sword of mine
Is greater, than any other mans.
It comforts me when I am tired
It will warm me when I am cold
It will lie down beside of me
To protect, and strengthen my soul.
The sword that I hold
Is tattered, and so very worn
It has been a friend along side of me,
In the sunshine and many storms.
It has shown me a path to follow
And has lit the road that I walk,
And those nights when I was alone and scared
Then to me, I could hear it talk.
The sword that I wield
Though may be different, in shape or size,
But it is the same sword
Which for years has cushioned the souls cry.
It has been here since the dawn of time
And will be here when the great walls fall,
And then when all men of war and hate reflect,
My sword, will be the mightiest sword of all.
Randy L. McClave
poem by Randy McClave
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A Song For The Irish Militia
The tribune's tongue and poet's pen
May sow the seed in prostrate men;
But 'tis the soldier's sword alone
Can reap the crop so bravely sown!
No more I'll sing nor idly pine,
But train my soul to lead a line
A soldier's life's the life for me
A soldier's death, so Ireland's free!
No foe would fear your thunder words,
If 'twere not for your lightning swords
If tyrants yield when millions pray,
'Tis less they link in war array;
Nor peace itself is safe, but when
The sword is sheathed by fighting men
A soldier's life's the life for me
A soldier's death, so Ireland's free!
The rifle brown and sabre bright
Can freely speak and nobly write
What prophets preached the truth so well
As HOFER, BRIAN, BRUCE, and TELL?
God guard the creed these heroes taught-
That blood-bought Freedom's cheaply bought
A soldier's life's the life for me
A soldier's death, so Ireland's free!
Then, welcome be the bivouac,
The hardy stand, and fierce attack,
Where pikes will tame their carbineers,
And rifles thin their bay'neteers,
And every field the island through
Will show 'what Irishmen can do! '
A soldier's life's the life for me
A soldier's death so Ireland's free!
Yet, 'tis not strength and 'tis not steel
Alone can make the English reel;
But wisdom, working day by day,
Till comes the time for passion's sway
The patient dint and powder shock,
Can blast an empire like a rock.
A soldier's life's the life for me
A soldier's death, so Ireland's free!
The tribune's tongue and poet's pen
May sow the seed in slavish men;
But 'tis the soldier's sword alone
Can reap the harvest when 'tis grown.
No more I'll sing, no more I'll pine,
But train my soul to lead a line
A soldier's life's the life for me
A soldier's death, so Ireland's free.
poem by Thomas Davis
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A Soldiers Dream
A soldier isn't just a soldier,
but a human being.
sent to fight over seas,
Sent to fight to please his leaders dream,
and as this soldier gets older, his only dream is to live.
But as years pass by, his hopes and dreams are thorn apart,
as he is sent to run to reach the other side,
as he runs through the open battlefield,
were the enemy waits for the kill.
And as this soldier stops and prays, the enemy is moved by this soldiers face.
The enemy lets this soldier flee,
know this soldier is free,
free to live his own dream.
poem by Juan Duarte
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A Song For The Irish Militia
AIR--_The Peacock._
I.
The tribune's tongue and poet's pen
May sow the seed in prostrate men;
But 'tis the soldier's sword alone
Can reap the crop so bravely sown!
No more I'll sing nor idly pine,
But train my soul to lead a line--
A soldier's life's the life for me--
A soldier's death, so Ireland's free!
II.
No foe would fear your thunder words,
If 'twere not for your lightning swords--
If tyrants yield when millions pray,
'Tis less they link in war array;
Nor peace itself is safe, but when
The sword is sheathed by fighting men--
A soldier's life's the life for me--
A soldier's death, so Ireland's free!
III.
The rifle brown and sabre bright
Can freely speak and nobly write--
What prophets preached the truth so well
As HOFER, BRIAN, BRUCE, and TELL?
God guard the creed these heroes taught--
That blood-bought Freedom's cheaply bought
A soldier's life's the life for me--
A soldier's death, so Ireland's free!
IV.
Then, welcome be the bivouac,
The hardy stand, and fierce attack,
Where pikes will tame their carbineers,
And rifles thin their bay'neteers,
And every field the island through
Will show 'what Irishmen can do!'
A soldier's life's the life for me--
A soldier's death so Ireland's free!
V.
Yet, 'tis not strength and 'tis not steel
Alone can make the English reel;
But wisdom, working day by day,
Till comes the time for passion's sway--
The patient dint and powder shock,
Can blast an empire like a rock.
A soldier's life's the life for me--
A soldier's death, so Ireland's free!
VI.
The tribune's tongue and poet's pen
May sow the seed in slavish men;
But 'tis the soldier's sword alone
Can reap the harvest when 'tis grown.
No more I'll sing, no more I'll pine,
But train my soul to lead a line--
A soldier's life's the life for me--
A soldier's death, so Ireland's free.
poem by Thomas Osborne Davis
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Today... 'The Glorious Sword
There is a Sword that is so sharp and so keen
the most Glorious Sword that has ever been.
Mighty in battle He has slain all His foes
and will have victory wherever He goes.
The Word of Truth and the Sword of the Spirit
overcame death and shall all things inherit.
He breaks our shackles and scatters all His foes
with His glory heaven and earth overflows.
Christ the Son of God is that Glorious Sword
Saviour of the world and Everlasting Lord.
Devils fear and angels sing as He draws near
And all creation waits for Him to appear.
(see also the additional information in the Poet's notes box below)
Soldier Grey
The young soldier boy stood rain soaked,
In a battle torn, well-worn grey coat.
The coat was drawn at the waist,
With big buckled belt in place.
His coat slashed opened by an enemy's sword,
The result of an attack by the enemy hord.
His boots worn from days of marching to the flute,
They were once a blue coats boot.
He had few treasures the soldier boy,
A small cracked photograph his greatest joy.
He looked at his mother and father with muffled sighs,
And remembered warm pies, and Virginia skies.
His soaked hat and long hair hid a battle worn fear,
As he searched for sight of blue his eye had a tear.
And his thoughts switched from this time of war,
To his hometown girl and farming chores.
Instantly soldier grey was shaken from his thoughts,
Canon blasted taking life, brave young men distort.
Maiming and claiming limbs cutting men down,
Then comes a silence from across the ground.
Minutes passed then came a blue uniformed wall,
First the volley shot and the smoky pall.
Now a bayonet drove out of the smoky mist,
Driven to his shoulder and agonies twist.
Now wounded the soldier grey is down,
On a slush of blood and muddy ground.
He would see years spent in the enemy's jail,
Battles all in his past, no more of deaths wail.
At wars end and grey soldier broken released,
And his thought turn home yet his battle not ceased.
In the north he is still the enemy of old,
Staying out towns walking through snow so cold.
As southern accents as more frequent sound,
His foreboding slowly unwound.
Pats of appreciation on his shoulder,
Little by little he walked a little bolder.
Welcoming rebel yells as he entered home hamlet,
Kisses from mother, sister and sweetest Juliet.
For years he carried the scaring years of war dream,
Marry and farm only half the man that may have been.
But is his now down is the plough and the sword,
They say he has gone home to be with his Lord.
He lived his life considering the futility of war,
Peace his dream and he has it now evermore.
R. K. Hart 30/10/2012
A foot soldier
When I was hurt & lost someone dear
I did go on because I am a foot soldier
When the going got tough with nothing to gear
I did go on because I am a foot soldier
when the faith felt small & doubts really bigger
I did go on because I am a foot soldier
When the sky was dark & nothing seemed near
I did go on because I am a foot soldier
when the wounds were hurting with no immediate cure
I did go on because I am a foot soldier
when the hopes were grim & nothing was clear
I did go on because I am a foot soldier
When storms came hard striking some fear
I did go on because I am a foot soldier
I fought & fought & I fought till the victory was sure
Yes, I could do it because I am a foot soldier
poem by Ameya Deshpande
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The Dead Soldier
Where the sword has opened the way the man will follow
'Look! they came, the triumphant army!
Over yon hill see their weapons peeping!'
Still I spoke not but my wheel sent turning,
I closed my eyes for my heart was weeping,
My heart was weeping for a dead soldier.
Who is he who looks towards me?
''Tis no man but a gay flag flying.'
Red was his mouth and his white brow thoughtful,
Blue his eyes—how my soul is crying,
My soul is crying for a dead soldier.
'Kneel ye down, lest your eyes should dare them,
Kneel ye down and your beads be saying.'
'Lord, on their heads Thy wrath deliver,'
This is the prayer that my lips are praying,
My heart is praying for a dead soldier.
'Best cheer the path of the men victorious,
For he is dead and his blade lies broken,
His march is far where no aid can follow,
And for his people he left no token,
He left no token, the dead soldier.'
The way of the sword a man can follow,
See the young child with his gold hair gleaming.
When falls the oak must the acorn perish?
He lifts the blade and his eyes are dreaming,
He dreams the dream of the dead soldier.
poem by Dora Sigerson Shorter
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Soldier Going To The War
Soldier going to the war--
Will you take my heart with you,
So that I may share a little
In the famous things you do?
Soldier going to the war--
If in battle you must fall,
Will you, among all the faces,
See my face the last of all?
Soldier coming from the war--
Who shall bind your sunburnt brow
With the laurel of the hero,
Soldier, soldier--vow for vow!
Soldier coming from the war--
When the street is one wide sea,
Flags and streaming eyes and glory--
Soldier, will you look for me?
poem by Richard Le Gallienne
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The Soldier's Grave
THERE'S a white stone placed upon yonder tomb,
Beneath is a soldier lying -
The death-wound came, amid sword and plume,
When banner and ball were flying.
Yet now he sleeps, the turf on his breast,
By wet wild flowers surrounded;
The church shadow falls o'er the place of his rest,
Where the steps of his childhood bounded.
There were tears, that fell from manly eyes,
There was woman's gentle weeping,
And the wailing of age and infant cries,
O'er the grave, where he lies sleeping.
He had left his home in his spirit's pride,
With his father's sword and blessing;
He stood with the valiant, side by side,
His country's wrongs redressing.
He came again, in the light of his fame,
When the red campaign was over;
One heart, that, in secret, had kept his name,
Was claimed by the soldier lover.
But the cloud of strife came upon the sky;-
He left his sweet home for battle;
Left his young child's lisp for the loud war-cry,
And the cannon's long death-rattle.
He came again - but an altered man:
The path of the grave was before him,
And the smile, that he wore, was cold and wan,
For the shadow of death hung o'er him.
He spoke of victory - spoke of cheer:-
These are the words, that are vainly spoken
To the childless mother, or orphan's ear,
Or the widow, whose heart is broken.
A helmet and sword are engraved on the stone,
Half hidden by yonder willow;
There he sleeps, whose death in battle was won,
But he died on his own home pillow.
poem by Letitia Elizabeth Landon
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I was a Soldier once
Old, tired, physically worn out,
With every move my muscles shout.
Woodworking, gardening, lazing about,
nothing to do but widdle and pout.
I was a Soldier once, large and strong,
I was a Soldier once, doing no wrong.
I was a Soldier once, fighting your war,
I was a Soldier once, mighty to the core.
I sit behind a desk now, slowly getting fat,
Knowing where I should really be settling my hat.
This civilian life I live, is so deadly to me,
I should, again, be a soldier, a sight to see.
I was a Soldier once, Yes Sir, No Sir, anything you say Sir.
I was a Soldier once; it was the life I preferred.
I was a Soldier once, leading from the saddle.
I was a Soldier once, living in my battle rattle.
Those that have never been one shall never know.
Those that put them down can basically go blow.
In this day and age, Soldiers protect our Freedom
In this day and age, everyone should be one.
I know this because,
I was a Soldier once, protecting you and yours.
I was a Soldier once, with back to back fighting tours.
I was a Soldier once, dying for the American way.
and although I was a Soldier once,
I should be a Soldier Now, fighting for you every day.
poem by Rik Bertrand
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What she told me
Arrived at last at the monastery
she listened as he asked
why are your aspirations so very puny?
why do you not aspire
to be liberated for the sake
of all mankind?
and, she said, she could
have cut the silence with a sword;
the two-edged sword, of unreason
and of reason; the same light
flashing from the hero’s sword
or burning steady, gentle, from the candle
there in the temple of the heart.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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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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You Are A Girl, Not A Soldier.
I am a girl, I am a girl
I live in a house full of men
They say to me each day
With a cold heart that
Needs to be mend
'You are a girl not a soldier'
I wish they could see
See through my eyes
To my heart that beats
With each strand of day
I wish I could be
That beautiful soldier
The one you look up to
The one who would guard you
Through your restful sleep
They risk there lives for our safety
I would gladly die
For the truth people try to hide
A young lady that could be
A soldier of an army
poem by Sword Angel
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