Posted on Mar 10, 2015
Have any of you written any poetry about your military life or your tours in combat?
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I have written quite a few about my tour and post Vietnam. Here is an example of what I write. This is post Vietnam.
It's Been 50 Years
It's been 50 Years since I came home from that war,
You would think my memories and tears would have drifted afar
That's not the case, at least not for me,
It seems like it as just yesterday, I was flying, shooting and killing.
No, I wasn't scared and was very willing.
Protecting those on board going into war
Dropping out of the sky, hearing the back packs and ammo rattle.
We flew them in, and out of their battle.
I can still see the pale white faces,
With blood oozing out from different places.
Some with peaceful stares, and others with painful, shot up faces.
I stare at them thinking about their parents,
And who or how they will be told of their son,
Who was shot in the face by the enemies gun.
Never to see another rising golden sun.
The memories will never leave me,
And will always haunt the things I've seen.
I'm dedicated now to help the living,
To put their interests first, and a new beginning.
I try to keep my mind busy,
And to place the war on a different shelf.
But it's no use trying to do that because,
My heart and my mind know itself.
The memories of my war are fully embedded,
And when they sneak back in, they are feared and dreaded.
It still breaks my heart, and always will,
When I hear of another soldier dying.
And I think about their loved ones and all of their crying.
© Keith Bodine 12-May-2014
It's Been 50 Years
It's been 50 Years since I came home from that war,
You would think my memories and tears would have drifted afar
That's not the case, at least not for me,
It seems like it as just yesterday, I was flying, shooting and killing.
No, I wasn't scared and was very willing.
Protecting those on board going into war
Dropping out of the sky, hearing the back packs and ammo rattle.
We flew them in, and out of their battle.
I can still see the pale white faces,
With blood oozing out from different places.
Some with peaceful stares, and others with painful, shot up faces.
I stare at them thinking about their parents,
And who or how they will be told of their son,
Who was shot in the face by the enemies gun.
Never to see another rising golden sun.
The memories will never leave me,
And will always haunt the things I've seen.
I'm dedicated now to help the living,
To put their interests first, and a new beginning.
I try to keep my mind busy,
And to place the war on a different shelf.
But it's no use trying to do that because,
My heart and my mind know itself.
The memories of my war are fully embedded,
And when they sneak back in, they are feared and dreaded.
It still breaks my heart, and always will,
When I hear of another soldier dying.
And I think about their loved ones and all of their crying.
© Keith Bodine 12-May-2014
Poetry
Writing Poetry
Combat
Posted 10 y ago
Responses: 19
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I have not written any poetry but I have written a book called "UNIFORMS". From Parochial School to the VC-infested jungles of Vietnam, (69-70), UNIFORMS recounts my experiences. It's a true life story of discipline, commitment, dedication and survival. Uniforms captures the mood of an era. History of the Vietnam War through the eyes of a Marine Combat Veteran. It is a good read!
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SGT (Join to see)
Sgt David G Duchesneau , I read it, and it's a great book. " Uniforms " is a great title. I really enjoyed the book.
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SGT (Join to see)
There a group called Warrior Writers that organize in several locations in across the country. They are volunteer and offer creative writing for vets from vets. The publications are amazing. Everything from novice to seasoned writers. The works do a great job of demonstrating the spectrum that is the military.
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Just a side note this is a spoke word poem (versus the traditional poem). Whether you can relate to it or empathize with it or even find it just a good read. This poem came from my soul and a dark part that every veteran carries within them. I have never personally been to war but I have held my brothers and sisters that have. I have seen through their eyes and tried to be a voice for them so they understand they are not alone. They are never alone.
Sanctuary
Lying in the dark while silence surrounds me,
I hear the sounds of war and the screams of dying men.
In this sanctuary called home,
I realize there is no sanctuary to be found.
The safety that we all perceive,
Is nothing but lies our minds tell us to deceive.
Because even in the quietest moments,
Brave souls fight a battle
We cannot see therefore cannot believe.
Those left behind, crying for lost time
And better days that will never come.
A life short lived, ended far from home
And devoid of any loved ones.
As tears stream down we will never know,
Never truly comprehend
Their final thoughts in the end.
For every veteran still alive,
How many comrades met their maker before their time?
How many 21 gun salutes, flags presented
And caskets lower into cold, hard ground
Ensured this sense of safety taken for granted?
In the heat of battle, dropped one last final time
With tears in their eyes and
Fond memories playing through their minds?
In this, they give the promise
Of a better tomorrow and
The illusion of sanctuary.
Because true sanctuary
Cannot be created or manipulated.
It must be fought for,
Protected and held sacred.
Everyone dreams of peace
But only they have guaranteed it.
They fight for it, cherish it and
Safeguard it while sharing it
So that there can be better days.
Lying in the dark while silence surrounds me,
I hear the sounds of war and the screams of dying men.
(Written December 27, 2011 by Jennifer Purcell)
Sanctuary
Lying in the dark while silence surrounds me,
I hear the sounds of war and the screams of dying men.
In this sanctuary called home,
I realize there is no sanctuary to be found.
The safety that we all perceive,
Is nothing but lies our minds tell us to deceive.
Because even in the quietest moments,
Brave souls fight a battle
We cannot see therefore cannot believe.
Those left behind, crying for lost time
And better days that will never come.
A life short lived, ended far from home
And devoid of any loved ones.
As tears stream down we will never know,
Never truly comprehend
Their final thoughts in the end.
For every veteran still alive,
How many comrades met their maker before their time?
How many 21 gun salutes, flags presented
And caskets lower into cold, hard ground
Ensured this sense of safety taken for granted?
In the heat of battle, dropped one last final time
With tears in their eyes and
Fond memories playing through their minds?
In this, they give the promise
Of a better tomorrow and
The illusion of sanctuary.
Because true sanctuary
Cannot be created or manipulated.
It must be fought for,
Protected and held sacred.
Everyone dreams of peace
But only they have guaranteed it.
They fight for it, cherish it and
Safeguard it while sharing it
So that there can be better days.
Lying in the dark while silence surrounds me,
I hear the sounds of war and the screams of dying men.
(Written December 27, 2011 by Jennifer Purcell)
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PO1 (Join to see)
SGT (Join to see), yes you may share it. Thank you. :) I wrote it so that maybe somewhere it will touch someone and they will know they are not alone. The only thing that I ask is that you would list me as "YN1(AW) Jennifer Purcell".
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The Sparkle of Youth
Although he looks so old
He can be young in a minute.
Just ask him ‘bout the war
And the part that he played in it.
His eyes are clouded over
Kinda dingy yellow-gray.
But just you watch ‘em sparkle
When he talks about those days.
Wading snow in Europe
Or the warm and blue Pacific,
Tho’ long ago and far away
The scenes are still horrific.
How buddies and himself
Walked through liberated towns.
Where enemies’ red blood
Was still fresh upon the ground.
Old folks and little children
Were giving waves and cheers.
To Sailors, Grunts and Army boys,
Thru their joyful tears.
Of all the foreign women
Whose kisses and red wine,
Were given out “merci beaucoup”,
For saving their young lives.
He’ll tell you ‘bout the landing
On some Pacific Isle.
Planes and lead were flyin’,
And grown men screamed and cried.
Hackin’ thru the jungle,
Climbing mountain sides.
Napalm into “spider holes”,
Where everything got fried.
Cuttin’ waves and swells,
Leavin’ wakes behind.
Dodgin’ kamikaze’s
That were fallin’ from the sky.
Getting “R and R”
In a safe, secure lagoon.
The skeeter’s and the sand flea’s
Made leavin’ none too soon.
He’ll pause a time or two,
And maybe shed a tear.
Thinkin’ ‘bout the time
He lost a friend so very dear.
But, wipe away the tears,
Laugh and kinda smile.
Chalk it up to plain old luck
He made it through alive.
He’ll tell you in the scheme of things,
“It was nothing that I done”.
But together doin’ nothin’
Is how the war was won.
Hold his wrinkled hand,
Say “I’m thankful that you served”.
Your simple phrase of gratitude
Is more than gold is worth.
Before you walk away,
Turn, wave and say goodbye.
You’ll see a smile there on his face,
A twinkle in his eye.
Although he looks so old
He was young for several minutes.
‘Cause someone asked him ‘bout the war
And the part that he played in it.
© Ken B. Harper
10 December 2005
Dedicated to those who fought the enemies of freedom and democracy and who
endured the hardships and elements to keep the world safe, until it was my turn.
Although he looks so old
He can be young in a minute.
Just ask him ‘bout the war
And the part that he played in it.
His eyes are clouded over
Kinda dingy yellow-gray.
But just you watch ‘em sparkle
When he talks about those days.
Wading snow in Europe
Or the warm and blue Pacific,
Tho’ long ago and far away
The scenes are still horrific.
How buddies and himself
Walked through liberated towns.
Where enemies’ red blood
Was still fresh upon the ground.
Old folks and little children
Were giving waves and cheers.
To Sailors, Grunts and Army boys,
Thru their joyful tears.
Of all the foreign women
Whose kisses and red wine,
Were given out “merci beaucoup”,
For saving their young lives.
He’ll tell you ‘bout the landing
On some Pacific Isle.
Planes and lead were flyin’,
And grown men screamed and cried.
Hackin’ thru the jungle,
Climbing mountain sides.
Napalm into “spider holes”,
Where everything got fried.
Cuttin’ waves and swells,
Leavin’ wakes behind.
Dodgin’ kamikaze’s
That were fallin’ from the sky.
Getting “R and R”
In a safe, secure lagoon.
The skeeter’s and the sand flea’s
Made leavin’ none too soon.
He’ll pause a time or two,
And maybe shed a tear.
Thinkin’ ‘bout the time
He lost a friend so very dear.
But, wipe away the tears,
Laugh and kinda smile.
Chalk it up to plain old luck
He made it through alive.
He’ll tell you in the scheme of things,
“It was nothing that I done”.
But together doin’ nothin’
Is how the war was won.
Hold his wrinkled hand,
Say “I’m thankful that you served”.
Your simple phrase of gratitude
Is more than gold is worth.
Before you walk away,
Turn, wave and say goodbye.
You’ll see a smile there on his face,
A twinkle in his eye.
Although he looks so old
He was young for several minutes.
‘Cause someone asked him ‘bout the war
And the part that he played in it.
© Ken B. Harper
10 December 2005
Dedicated to those who fought the enemies of freedom and democracy and who
endured the hardships and elements to keep the world safe, until it was my turn.
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