PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

I open my eyes
Look to the sky's
And say 
It's going to be a beautiful day

I get to do as I do
Go where I choose
And be who I wana be
Because I am free

Have you thanked a VET today?
Have you told them your grateful and gay
For all things they had gone through
done for you
All the Things they had seen
All the deaths in between
All the family's that dream
Everything...just you and me
Have you thanked a VET for today?

We get to work where we work
We get to wake when we wake
We get to take what we take
For granted
And forget where we are
Forget how we got here
And forget that there near
Right here beside you 
Waiting for you to say
Have you thanked a VET today?

Cause I did!!!

Tumbling down with confusion

Hopes and dreams,

Caught in an illusion

Being sent over,

Not knowing if he will be back

Patiently—

Waiting for the end of the world

Caught up—

In what's left of nothing

Crying,

Over pain and suffering

To take away his life,

Would destroy his family's pride

This strong young man,

Scared inside

Afraid no one is listening

To his painful cries

He reaches out for comfort,

But no one is there

His friends are all gone—

Passed on

No one is left,

But one girl

With as much as she can swallow

She listens to his fears

With care and understanding,

She wipes away his tears

the foxhole I sit

Is cold as can be

trying to sleep

trying to dream



Just over a dune or two

the enemy is on the move

easing through the cold of night

Uneasy but prepared to die.



With great bangs flares

turn night into day

the enemy is caught

steel death on its way.



soon the carnage is over

the moans of the dying cease to be

giving thanks for being alive

are the remanents of the men next to me.



soon morning light shows death's

deadly path of dead men

young and old, body parts and limbs.

When will it end.



Mother's sons one and all

Each answered that inner call

Nothing personal, no right or wrong,

Their people called and they went along.



At last they have found common ground

joined in death their differences

don't seem to matter now.



The bodies are removed from the killing field

I return to my foxhole

too numb to feel.

Do you live in America?

Have you enjoyed being free?

Have you given much thought,

How it all came to be?

Have you seen them there,

Out on your streets,

Walking proud in parades,

On still-forward-marching feet?

Their old and their young,

And all in between.

To them, it's their life,

Its all just routine.

Do you take for granted,

All they've done and they do?

How they keep freedom flying,

For me...and for you?

They gave all they have,

In an unselfish sacrifice.

And some, they have paid,

The most ultimate price.

Have you thanked a Veteran?

Such a simple task...

Have you thanked a Veteran?

It's not too much to ask.

columbus sailed the circle blue
found native slaves fit his point of view
gold in hand and kindgoms came
..and then america was made

i've never been in a finer place, but it's the only place i've been
and when i start to look at the competition i get american amnesia

i don't remember days of not being allowed to vote
for the president or the senators
and for anyone, if i was a woman
or as a black where i was a slave

and if native american,
quickest headed for the mass grave
rounded up just like gypsy and jew
eliminated from view

of these amber waves of grain
and one day on roman mountain majesties

above the fruited plains
while the wounds were still being dressed
and vultures picked bodies that still were dripping red
american amnesia said:

but we're good now, that's the past
we're the greatest thing sinse sliced bread
the greatest country to ever exist
who wouldn't want to live in a land like this?

we were singing all along the years ahead
as native remnants decayed on reservations
and immigrants labored beside little kids
in the sweatshops of the industrial age

but we're good now, that's the past
we're the greatest thing sinse sliced bread
the greatest country to ever exist
who wouldn't want to live in a land like this?

we were singing all along the years ahead
alongside the japanese internment camps
the atomic bombs on little kids
still radiated but we're good now that's the past

i've never been in a finer place, but it's the only place i've been
and when i start to look at the competition i get american amnesia

i don't remember days of skies bleeding as bodies hung
sep'rate but equal and us mccarthites
and water cannons on a freedom march
daley's 'shoot to kill' and kent state

and how it all relates,...
oh how these thoughts escape,
eliminated from view

by these iron waves of grain
and one day on roman mountain majesties

above the seedless plains
while the wounds were still being dressed
and vultures picked bodies that still were dripping red
american amnesia said:

but we're good now, that's the past
we're the greatest thing sinse sliced bread
the greatest country to ever exist
who wouldn't want to live in a land like this?

singing all along the years ahead
as native remnants decayed on, on reservations
and homeland security tortured 'them'
as more sweatshops were built and fences were raised

i've never been in a finer place, but it's the only place i've been
and when i start to look at the competition i get american amnesia

and there's so many other things i forget
but i know in this moment now we're the best(we're great)
just like we said we were
just like i'll say again 

Hello there soldier

Are for home you ready to pack

There are open arms here

And hands to pat you on your back

Some Americans don't have courage

But bravery is something you don't lack

It is hard to believe

That you are picking up our slack

There you are barely sleeping

In that awful place, Iraq

And here we are forgetting

That it was them who made the first attack

So this little poem is for you

Although I wish I could send you a plaque

Fore you are the one fighting

Even when the skies are black

You are a heroic man

Not an average Mac, Zach, or Jack

So please remember that

When you hear someone say something whack

I'm sitting here writing this to you

Thanking you for all you do.

I may not know very much

But I'm grateful for such.



Here I sit, so comfy in my chair

And there you sit, so far over there.

As I lay down and sleep at night

You're up far beyond first light.



I grab my coffee and my bagel too

Not yet thinking of you.

As I go to my job

My head begins to throb.



Through my next mug, and lunch

Still not thinking of you a whole bunch.

My afternoon passes with a sigh

The evening approaches by and by.



The eleven o'clock news is on and over

Last time out for little Rover.

Now's the time to think of you

Thinking and praying is all I do.



So far away from all you love

Missing out on ball and glove.

Missing that amazing tea party

No homemade stew, warm and hearty.



Birthday parties and graduation best

Missing the little home nest.

Happiness, joy and sadness too

All try to be conveyed to you.



Phone calls and letters galore

Care package contents cover the floor.

A bunch of people thinking of you

Mostly family its true.



Here I am, so late this night

Trying to put this all right.

To think of you not once or twice

But whenever I say or think anything nice.



I just thought you might want to know

What we might not be able to show.

Our deep thanks and gratitude

To an American Soldier such as you.

Cut long ago, for the old queen's funeral, the uniform still fitted him well.

Wide Jodphurs, high boots, the gleaming Sam Browne,

And those ribbons, hard earned, in the Kush and the Transvaal.

He didn't like the new cap, „it makes me look like a damned porter!"



The words of the Whitehall wallah still burned in his ear.

"Not this one, you couldn't keep up, this is a young man's war,  

Our boys will be in Berlin before Christmas, never you fear.

But we could probably find you a desk somewhere!"



With new grips and nitro proof, there was nothing „old queen" about the revolver.

Hysteria darkened the whole land, while the droning sound boomed loud.

For high above, a Zeppelin, groped hopelessly through heavy cloud.

There would be no Christmas in Paris for this Kaiser!



Below in the tap room of the Rising Sun, the counter measures were in place,

The cellar door was bolted and the mastiff lay snoring on the mat.

Fresh sawdust on the floor, the bar waxed and polished, in each glass, your own face,

Should they come, the invading Huns would appreciate all of that.



But not the bottle of strychnine under the till.



A giggle from the wardrobe disturbed his reverie.

The three youngest daughters had crept inside to safety.

For no bomb or bayonette would ever find them there.



His wife, sat under the bright gas lights of the village hall

(Stuffy with the shutters closed)

With the good ladies of the women's institute. She knitted yet another mitten

And wondered if her grown boys would see a pair at all,  

For Christmas, she had heard, can be very cold in Berlin.



As ever her faith sustained her, „It's a very good thing that God is an Englishman!"



Her husband, depressed, was still deep in thought: „If the heathen Hun did come,  

From the moment he enlisted,

I knew the time would come-

I'd have to let him go,

And kiss goodbye, my son.



But it doesn't make it easier,

Knowing that it's true.

For nothing could prepare me for,

This pain, I'm going through.



I don't know how I'll do this,

Crying every day and night.

Praying he comes, safely home...

Praying that he's alright.



He's going off to war,

And I can't fight these fears.

They follow me everywhere,

Accompanied by tears.



There's a never-ending battle,

Waging in my heart,

'Cause I'm trying to be stronger,

While I'm falling all apart...



...He's going off to war...



It seems only yesterday,

He was just a little boy.

The apple of my eye,

And Daddy's pride and joy.



Now he's standing there,

In his ARMY uniform-

So brave and ready-a-man,

With duties to perform.



Only my bedroom pillow,

Knows how much I've cried.

Because in front of him, I try,

To keep it all inside.



But he's going off to war,

And I can't fight these fears.

They follow me everywhere,

Accompanied by tears.



There's a never-ending battle,

Waging in my heart,

'Cause I'm trying to be stronger,

While I'm falling all apart...



...He's going off to war...



I pray that God would keep him,

Safely held there, in His hand,

While he's so far away from home,

Bravely serving on foreign land.



All the worries a mother has,

Seem rolled now, into one.

I'll count each day, until he comes home,

When his tour of duty is done.



Father, I need Your Grace to guide me,

Like I've never needed it before.

Please Lord, give me, the strength to do this,

For my son is going, off to war...