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Lawrence Hall Nov 2016
The War Correspondent

A helicopter skeetered bravely in
And pitched and yawed against the enemy fire
That wasn’t there.  The manliest of men
Descended unto us in flawless attire

His tailored khaki suit was starched and pressed
Its creases as sharp as a Ka-bar knife
Never was a reporter more perfectly dressed
For getting the news while risking his life

The C.O. sped him past our positions
And hustled him into the T.O.C.1
To ensure each noun and preposition
Would be written for the greater good, you see

Much ink and Scotch were undoubtedly spilled
In air-conditioned comfort, no heat or mud;
With scripted heroics his notebook was filled
No need to stain his suit with his precious blood

After an hour he was hustled back
To Saigon for an evening reception
After he wrote of a great attack
And wired New York his immaculate deception

A helicopter skeetered bravely out
And yawed and pitched against a ******’s shot
That wasn’t there.  A great Communist rout?
There’s more than one kind of jungle rot


1Tactical Operations Center - command bunker, often air-conditioned.
Lawrence Hall Nov 2016
Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com

           An American Legion Meeting

O let us sit, our coffee cups to hand
And discharge half-remembered boot camp yarns
As ragged volleys of camaraderie
Blasted through well-defended hearing aids

O let us not raise funds for this or that
Through weekend fish-fries in a parking lot
Or catalogue good deeds inflicted on

Those

For whom our kindness is a border breached

O let us sit, our coffee cups to hand
And remember again the Vam Co Tay
Military Bill -your solid soul hold still,
Flashes, pings, cracks, echoes…
And solid soul hold still,
And solid soul hold still,
Our military Bill,

The war it grows, the war it grows,
And military Bill,
Your solid soul holds still.
Solid soul hold still.
Our military Bill,

Flashes, pings, cracks, echoes…
And solid soul hold still.
And solid soul hold still.
Our military Bill,

Solid soul hold still.
Solid soul hold still.

Our military Bill,
Solid soul of Bill,

Of military bill,
Our Military Bill…
Andrew Siegel Jun 2016
Grandpa Tinker died a few years after I was born. I'm told he met me before he left though I was still asleep then. Lulled in a cradle, in a peace made possible by men like him. A Marine Corp officer stationed at Pearl Harbor who awoke to the sound of shouts on a day the world would never be allowed to forget. Mother said he never spoke a word about the war. Maybe that was his way of forgetting; his gift to my mother's generation was to bury that pain. He let it die inside so the fear, the anguish, the terror could not touch the ones he loved. The world gave him something he could not forget, something so painful he buried it in his heart with the memory of fellow marines and sailors in watery graves.

Grandpa Harry was a gunner on a B-29. The son of orthodox Jews, a first generation American born in New York. When he was stationed in Texas he met a young W.A.V.E. who would become my grandma. They couldn't wait for the war to end before getting married. When Granpa Harry was shot down over the Burma theatre they sent grandma a letter. Heartbroken and desperate she prayed. He and the survivors of his crew were picked up weeks later in the jungle, but not before contracting maleria. They went on to have 8 children, 3 their own and 5 adopted. Grandma always loved children. She became a school teacher. Grandpa Harry died before I was born, the world gave him something he could not forget either.

I do not like to think of the war as a battle between nations of this world. Good and evil do not fight under banners of nations, they have no borders, no anthems, only memories. They fight and die on battlefields of hearts that have buried hate, pain, and terror. My grandparents' hearts are memorials. Gleaming white tombstones on a field I cannot see, and cannot forget.
Photos of my grandparents for those interested: www.imgur.com/a/kjzzy A little late for a memorial day poem but better late than never. Thank you to all who've served.
Scarlet McCall May 2016
How did it feel when your innocence dried up and blew away on the desert wind?
When you woke from unknowing, blissful sleep
to blistering heat,
acrid smoke and shattering cries?
I bet you wished you could go back to sleep--
the sleep you fell into from a lullaby of lies.
Righteous rhetoric repeated
over and over, soothing rhythms
as you were rocked by a firm hand.
In Iraq, when you took your command
you were unprepared, your men untrained.
Can you bear to think it was in vain?
Mission unclear, you had no guide, no plan.
Now your anger boils when you see the pain
of your brothers, broken in pieces, abandoned, ignored.
And when you tell your tale, your audience is bored.
They don’t, won’t, or can’t understand
the helpless fear, frustration, confusion,
the shots you ordered, the blood trail in the sand.
No more can you believe; you’ve been cheated, betrayed
by those you trusted, followed; those who said
We know what’s best, our decisions are made.
Now you cannot go back to your childish trust.
First steps taken in a foreign land, now a man,
you face the dawn, because you must.
re-post from PF; from 2007. Based on stories told to me by an Iraq War veteran.
Ronni McIntosh Apr 2016
If I were watching you now
sat at your lap
desk bare and clinical
like your sharp eyes,
if I were watching you now
I think I would look right into you
and I would see the war scars
that you buried in orderly dysfunction
and raging fits of tidiness,
I don't think you walked away
from those burning screaming
German towns bearing your name.
You ran. you ran hard.
back to your horses and simple fields,
back to a life that was entirely too chaotic
in its gentleness.
Brent Kincaid Nov 2015
I’m glad to be home
But home doesn’t like me.
While I was gone
Home didn’t wait for me.

Some treat me like a criminal
And some are calling me traitor
For doing my patriotic duty
And following my legal orders.
If had done otherwise there
I would have been in prison.
I don’t know what this is about
Or from where it has risen.

I’m glad to be home
But home doesn’t like me.
While I was gone
Home didn’t wait for me.

Do people now go to work
And decide what they will do?
And if they want to do nothing
They loaf around? Is that true?
I know they do in Congress now
But has it taken the trickle down
And now following orders is
Above the average working clown?

I’m glad to be home
But home doesn’t like me.
While I was gone
Home didn’t wait for me.

During our tour of duty, we all heard
Some Americans had complained,
Thought we ought to not be there,
Hated us because we remained.
They lost control of our peacetime
Right here on our own home base.
Yet they wanted us to stop the war
No matter that we would be replaced.

I’m glad to be home
But home doesn’t like me.
While I was gone
Home didn’t wait for me.

I saw forties newsreels of ticker tape
Falling on huge marching parades
Celebrating our fighting military
And the sacrifices they had made.
Back home now many neighbors
Curse at me and look at me as scary
Instead of a recently returning hero
From their own country’s military.

I’m glad to be home
But home doesn’t like me.
While I was gone
Home didn’t wait for me.

And Congress voted down help
For those of us who are wounded.
The V.A. used to take care of us
Before the ‘One Percent’ fine-tuned it.
Now many of my brothers and sisters
Who did their duty suffer defeat
At the hands of their own country
And lay dying in our city streets.

I’m glad to be home
But home doesn’t like me.
While I was gone
Home didn’t wait for me.
Brianne Rose Nov 2015
To those out there fighting for us now,
To those out there who've fought for us,
To those out there who have died for us,
To those out there who have cared for us,
I thank you,
as I'm sure we all do.
Don't believe that you're unloved,
Under appreciated.
You're not.
Not now, not ever.
Keep marching on and know that when you march,
We march with you.
A late Veterans day Poem dedicated to our fellow brothers, sons, husbands, wives, and sisters out there who can't be here with us now, and to those who have fought for us. Thank You
Tamera Pierce Nov 2015
A veteran
Missing his children
A gun blazing strong
Steel hats hiding what is really wrong
Fighting the devil
Or so we’re told
And we believe them
Until we get old
We salute and click our heels
And pray for their survival
Just before our meals
They fight for us
We love them forever
That was our deal
But now they are sleeping in gutters.
What happened to loving and honoring…
Our sisters and brothers?
Mother liberty is shaking her head
Because ***** the living
We only care for the dead
America, this is who we have become
But go, join the army
Trust me
Itll be fun.
sorry. I just get frustrated over how people treat veterans, but on veteran's day, they act like all they do is love for the veterans. where is your love when they are homeless?
KarmaPolice Nov 2015
Apologies in advance. I wanted to share them all x
---------------------------------------------------------------­----------

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.

--------------------------------------------------------­-------------

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!
-----------------------------------------------------------­-----------------

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.

--------------------------------------------------------­-------

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.

----------------------

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.

----------------------

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 :-)
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