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  Nov 2015 Joe Cole
KarmaPolice
Apologies in advance. I wanted to share them all x
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For the fallen

The world is such a tormented place,
Haunted by the insecurities of every race.
Obsessed with greed and absolute power,
The dictators rained on the weak,
With a gun filled shower.

Brave men were enlisted to bring peace to the land,
To help the weak be strong and to make a stand,
Women and children were left abandoned, alone,
While their men were out fighting protecting our home.

Families shattered by one single blast,
Congregating together in one single mass.
Weeping beside a freshly dug grave,
Lay a widow wishing that he had not been so brave.

We will remember him always for his courage and valour,
By honouring his name in silence upon the eleventh hour.
Rest in peace my friend we are forever in your debt,
We will pray for you all.... lest we forget.

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Love in War

Thinking of you my love,
As this horror reigns upon me from above,
Scared, freezing cold and wet,
I think of you, the good times we had,
Which I will never forget,

One by one, my comrades fall, into this stranger of lands,
Where they once stood tall,
Too weak to keep going, no food, no water,
We think of our loved, wives, sons and daughters,

Shells falling, exploding beside,
Blood shed all over, my comrades have died,
I am alone now, with nowhere to turn,
As the carnage of war continues to burn,

I hear the enemy drawing near, shouting aloud,
The trophies off my comrades, have made them so proud,
I have to make a choice, as either way I will die,
As I cook this grenade and blow them sky high!
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Why my father cried

Sitting by the fire,
He raised a glass,
Whispering words,
Of his secret past,

A solitary tear,
Wiped slowly away,
Hiding the pain,
Of that fateful day,

As a curious child,
I always wondered why,
My heroic father,
Would sit and cry,

Or wake up screaming,
Soaked in his bed,
Telling my mother,
The noise in his head,

As I grew old,
I understood why,
My soldier father,
Would sit and cry,

He lost his family,
Not linked by blood,
He witnessed things,
That no human should,

Affected by the war,
Still to this day,
His post-traumatic stress,
Stuck on replay.

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The Return

Newsflash on the radio, he saved many lives,
Protecting his brothers, by self-sacrifice,
Dreading the moment, of a knock at my door,
Just hearing those words, pin me to the floor,

My wife drops her cup, is crippled by the dread,
We know what is coming, our heroic Son is dead,
I'm crying deep inside, on the outside I am strong,
Footsteps drawing near, I know it won’t be long.

Flashbacks whirling round, family moments we shared,
Too proud to tell my son, just how much I cared,
I reach for my wife, to hold her in my arms
The doorbell rings, like the morning alarm,

Bringing her close, I tell her it's okay,
Holding each other’s hands, as we start to pray,
I walk to the door, heart beats through my chest,
Opening it slowly, as it comes to rest,

My son stands before me, tears replace tears,
No scratch upon his skin, allaying all my fears,
A reoccurring dream, every single night,
As we await his return, from their heroic fight.

Written for all the families affected by war.

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Flashback

My husband sits for days on end,
Staring through his empty friend,
My tearful words fall alone,
His mind resides in combat zone,

A man replaced by shell so cold,
Numbed by scars of war untold,
Violent dreams lived each night,
Lashing out, at all in sight,

He returns to war inside his head,
Trauma stained by all bloodshed,
A trigger pulled, his mind released,
Begging for, all thoughts to cease,

His scars remain, but can't be seen,
Buried deep inside his dreams,
Years of therapy, will help him free,
From the damaging effects..
.. of PTSD

I pray for the day, he's finally home,
So the trauma of war, can leave us alone.

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A Winter's Soldier

A winters night, into the cold,
The Queen's servant, looking old,
Just ten years since Iraq..
Ripped cloth upon his back.

Paper sheets, and plastic bags,
Warming body holding rags ,
His bottle lacking wine..
Drinking passed the time,

Daily grind, passing by,
No one stops, wonders why..
..His lips, are a shade of blue,

Tight fist clutched to chest,
A hero soldier, came to rest,
Upon commuter street..
..look down beneath your feet...

..Yes you!

A winters soldier, died alone,
Buried deep, below the stone,
Tortured by the war..
By the scars nobody saw.

If only you had not ignored,
The dying soldier there before,
Then maybe we could save...
..The wounded and the brave.

New poems added. Hopefully improve them in time :-)
Joe Cole Nov 2015
I hate the ****** things
But I love them
Tangled round my feet
And I have to be so careful where I step
Midnight killers
The remains of night feasting on my conservatory carpet
To greet me in the morning
Who wants to spend hours with a ball of black fur sat on their lap?

Yes, that's me
Maxemillion, Merlin and Spartacus
My black shiny boys
Three brothers who I don't own
I don't own! Simple really, we don't own cats because they own us

I hate cats
Joe Cole Nov 2015
Of place we'd been and things we had seen
Memories of a snowy day and a big white dog towing a sled
The sand dunes in the pine woods
When shreaks of joy rang forth
As we hurtled down the those slopes
Then came the saddest day when we said our last goodbyes
To that old white teddybear dog
Trips round Yorkshires lovely hills
Of you in a seat on the back of my bike
And the long haired highland cattle in Bedale park
A photograph I still posses of you sat by Richmond castle
A thousand memories remain
  Oct 2015 Joe Cole
Robert Blankenship
Some wore a uniform of gray
Some wore the one of blue
They were brothers from north and south
Some were sons and fathers too,

Each one was a soldier
A warrior in a fight
Now they are only ghost
Seen by men with sight,

Once their feet did march
Upon the battlefields grass
Now they are just an image
To be seen within the glass,

Many fell upon the field of battle
Some alone in a place so foreign
Now all that remains of them
Is a face on a sheet of iron,

When I look into the eyes on the faces
Of these men on iron or glass
I see not a ghost
But a man, a soldier from the past,

Though now he be only an image
He was once a soldier that in battle fell
And within each soldiers image
Is held a story he longs to tell.

RLB
Spent Sunday evening looking at some old photographs of soldiers from the Civil War and this came to me.
There's something about old photos of soldiers from the war that draw me, it's as if they yearn to speak to me and tell me their story so that we shall never forget.
Photos during the time of the Civil War were taken on glass,a ambryotype ,or on a thin iron sheet ,a ferrotype.
Joe Cole Oct 2015
And so the bloodshed ended
The war to end all wars reached its ******
Shattered minds and shattered men
Returned to shattered families
But they gave their all for world peace
But did they
NO
For in far flung corners of foreign fields
The killing still goes on
The blood of boys and girls
Nurturing foreign soil
BUT
All of you younger generation with beards earings
Nose rings and piercings
Who say to me its ancient history
So why do you bother
I say this
They gave their today for your tomorrow
Their sacrifice gives you the freedom of speech
That you now have
So don't ask me why I remember
Because I understand
11 November, the eleventh month at eleven am the war to end all wars ended
But the wars go on
Joe Cole Oct 2015
We laid there on the firing line
He was black and I was white
But the random bullet chooses not the colour of your skin
No sharp crack like you hear in films
Just a dull thud
No heroes death for that young man
No
Blood and **** and gasping for air
But there wasn't the time to help
Because the next one was aimed at me
****** stained pants while the screams went on
But eventually he died
Heroes!!! Well of course for we had been trained
But how do you tell a nineteen year not to be afraid?
PTSD don't be ******* stupid
There's no such thing so get your ******* **** out there
And do it all over again
But he died with no dignity
"So, he was a soldier, it was his ******* job"
"It's your ******* job so don't argue"
But the scars imprinted on your brain remain
Your never going to be the same person again
The suicide rate among ex service personel is at an all time high
Yes, even with the counselling
But back then there was no counselling
So the bottle became my best friend
That morning after your accident I followed the ambulance
Out of my head will worry
Out of my head with *****
And I did that for you
A perfect father! Probably not
I wanted the best I could do for you
But always the nightmares were in between us
A lot of water has passed under the bridge since then James
But you are and always will be my son
And I love you
The Yemen border 1964
A message to my son 2015
Joe Cole Oct 2015
This morning I wandered along the canal
The autumnal sunlight glinting on rippled water
More beautiful than any man cut diamonds
Autumn snow flakes filled the air
Flakes of red, gold, yellows and faded greens
Forming multi hued drifts around my feet
Overhead a skein of geese
Unerringly headed south
A picture forever imprinted on the mind
What a beautiful season is autumn
Colours bright, colours warm
But
All to soon she will leave
Her colours to fade and die
All to soon winters might will rule
And we must suffer winters bitter storms
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