Have any of you written any poetry about your military life or your tours in combat?

SGT Private RallyPoint Member — Tue, 10 Mar 2015 12:28:16 -0400

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

Response by PO1 Private RallyPoint Member made May 14 at 2015 11:51 AM

PO1 Private RallyPoint Member — Thu, 14 May 2015 11:51:33 -0400

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)

Response by SrA Private RallyPoint Member made May 14 at 2015 12:00 PM

SrA Private RallyPoint Member — Thu, 14 May 2015 12:00:13 -0400

@ SGT Keith Bodine Amazing .... I am actually at a loss of words

Response by Sgt David G Duchesneau made May 15 at 2015 9:26 PM

Sgt David G Duchesneau — Fri, 15 May 2015 21:26:44 -0400

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!

Response by CPT Alan W. made May 15 at 2015 10:32 PM

CPT Alan W. — Fri, 15 May 2015 22:32:03 -0400

I wrote this song when I was in ROTC after having served in the 82nd ABN as an Enlisted Man

It's called "The Apprentice"

You can hear me sing it at this link: http://www.trashbuckle.com/downloads/apprentice.mp3

- Verse One -

A man rode out of Boston, a traitor to his King and Country

He brought with him a message: "stand up against the law!"

They were the finest army, no one had stood against their muskets

And they would surely parish before the coming of the dawn.

And we were not an Army, with fife and drum and discipline

But we had ball and we had powder, who needed any more.

So we hid behind the bushes and shot them as they marched along.

And it wouldn't be the last time, we carried freedom too far.

- Verse Two -

And then a sovereign nation, for sixty solid years we stood.

No one would come to take us, too poor for our own good.

But Freedom's soul grew restless, the sting of battle almost gone.

So we fought amongst each other, while everyone looked on.

We tested out our egos and found our egos were our master.

And in the name of freedom, we carried freedom too far.

- Verse Three -

The rifleman meant nothing in the trenches of the modern battle,

We thought we'd have conflict to put an end to war.

So we sent to them our backbone, a freedom blood for generations.

And when the war had ended, we carried freedom too far..

- Verse Four -

The twenty years that followed found one extreme and then the other,

Another generation found another bloody war.

The war was fought with courage and weapons made for mass destruction.

In just one tiny atom, we carried freedom too far.

- Verse Five -

And now a generation, since battle tested freedom won.

We keep the peace with weapons or freedom would be gone.

And I am the apprentice in the ways and conduct of the battle,

The stock and trade of soldiers is what I've come to know.

And like the men before me, the call of freedom I will answer.

And like the men before me, I'll carry freedom too far.

Underneath a shroud of freedom, I'll carry freedom too far.

© Copyright 2005 A Williams (written 1984)

Response by MAJ Anthony DeStefano made May 15 at 2015 11:06 PM

MAJ Anthony DeStefano — Fri, 15 May 2015 23:06:11 -0400

This is really powerful stuff SGT Keith Bodine...

Response by SGT Private RallyPoint Member made May 16 at 2015 8:49 PM

SGT Private RallyPoint Member — Sat, 16 May 2015 20:49:41 -0400

I wrote this poem about how I felt we left the Vietnamese civilians to fend for themselves.

In Country

They began to arrive in '64,
Marines and Army, coming to shore.
They arrived in Quinhon and Camron Bay,
They came to fight, but not to stay.

The ships brought thousands of young fighting men,
They would fight in the jungles, but they weren't sure when.
Their tour of duty was only a year,
But 35 years later the war is still near.

It's in the minds and bodies of the once young men,
It's in the hearts and souls, and will never end.
Some of the memories are good and bad,
But most of the memories are very sad.

The little people who lived there, depended on us,
To help them and aid them, their times were tough.
I can still see the looks in some of their eyes,
Most were filled with fear, some with the lies.

We stayed our year, waiting to go home,
Some made it on their feet, over 58,000 were prone.
Their memory is now inscribed on a black granite wall,
In a place we all know, as the D.C. Mall.

The little people of Nam were left behind,
To fend for themselves in our own rioting time.
The pressure of politics soon took it's toll,
And forgot about the little people, their heart and soul.

In the end, they lost their fight,
The men from the North had won their right.
They fought a war for their belief,
We took police action, in hopes of relief.

We fought on their turf, we fought their war,
Not really realizing what was finally in store.
We fought on their terms in a jungle war,
We did what we could in a place so far.

We were kids young at heart when we were sent,
Our hearts were much older after we went.
We went with our honor, duty, and face,
Not realizing we would be looked on with much disgrace.

If I had it to do over, I would do it again,
I would fight this time only to win,
I'm not ashamed I went, for in the end,
I met many a man who became a life long friend.

© Keith (Hacksaw) Bodine 2001

Response by SGT Private RallyPoint Member made May 16 at 2015 9:00 PM

SGT Private RallyPoint Member — Sat, 16 May 2015 21:00:49 -0400

I hope you don't mind me posting some of my poems. They describe how I felt or what I was thinking at that particular time in my life. I won't post too many but I want you all to read what being in Vietnam and coming home, how much it hurt.

Misery
When will I be rid of all this misery,
Will it ever end, only a tunnel I see.
Each dawn brings another, of promise and hope,
But as I slowly awake, it's hard to cope.

I think of all the rotten things I have done,
And realize they were serious and in the name of fun.
I'm not the good person, I would like to be,
I'm full of hate and misery.

My life is sad and not what it seems,
I haven't fulfilled my hopes and dreams.
I'm a disappointment to many, I know,
If I could turn back time, I would surely go.

But that's not possible, so I must live,
The life I've been dealt, and all it will give.
Will it ever be good, so I can see,
The end of the tunnel and all of the misery.

©Keith (Hacksaw) Bodine 11-Mar-2003

Response by SGT Private RallyPoint Member made May 16 at 2015 9:04 PM

SGT Private RallyPoint Member — Sat, 16 May 2015 21:04:09 -0400

This poem is about when we lost an engine at 5,000 feet.

Auto Rotation
With teeth and fists clenched very tight,
We all know this may be our last flight.
We’ve lost an engine at 5000 feet,
The pilots tell us, hold on to our seat.

We’re over the mountains in dark of night,
Everyone is calm on this dreadful flight.
The Huey is dropping like a heavy rock,
You can hear it’s large rotor doing whop, whop, whop.

The pilots are calling for May Day help,
I can’t see a thing, just the cards we’ve been dealt.
The old Huey’s still dropping, even faster now,
I try to remember what I’m supposed to do and how.

Mr. Pride says don’t worry, it’s routine trouble,
He says when we land get out on the double.
Get the guns and the gear and head for cover,
I wish we had power so we could hover.

The Ground’s approaching fast although like slow motion,
I keep thinking I’m glad we’re not over the ocean.
Just before we hit he pulled full pitch,
We crash on the land and head for a ditch.

We lay there a while, watching and waiting,
To see if Mr. Charles is only hesitating.
The coast looks clear, nobody in site,
We set up our guns and prepare for the night.

The night is long as we sit and wait,
We don’t say it but we ponder our fate.
I’m on one end of the ditch, the crew chief on the other,
We stand guard all night protecting each brother.

Dawn finally arrives and I begin to shudder,
As I see our Huey with it’s broken rudder.
The tail boom is missing from the other half,
The skids are bent double, it’s a pile of trash.

Mr. Pride calls another May Day to give our location,
We find we’re only a click from our final destination.
Another two hours and here they come,
Four Hueys, a Chinook, and some infantryman.

The grunts spread out, protecting our flanks,
As we board another Huey, we give our thanks.
To the God up above and all those men,
Who knew exactly what to do and where and when.

©Keith(Hacksaw)Bodine 15-Apr-1999

Response by SGT Private RallyPoint Member made May 16 at 2015 9:08 PM

SGT Private RallyPoint Member — Sat, 16 May 2015 21:08:26 -0400

This will be my last poem post. I never was homeless but it's my take on being homeless by talking with homeless vets.

Homeless
Where has all the time gone, where the hell did it go,
I was once looked up to, I was a war hero.
Now I sleep where ever I can, what ever I can find,
My face is so old and wrinkled, life has not been kind.

A half century ago, I served when I was called to go,
I was a combat soldier, proud and brave, ready for the show.
My time in Vietnam prepared me for my life,
Drugs and booze were my strength, which led to my strife.

Today I eat whatever I can find, I sleep wherever I can,
I am the people I hate, I am the one they can't stand.
The life I know of using drugs and becoming a boozer,
Has almost, but not quite, helped make me a total loser.

Then one day it happened, I had not thought of Him in years,
I fell to my knees in prayer and shed a half century of tears.
God told me to rise up, go forth, and again become a man,
Now today, I show others like me, what God will do and can.

© Keith Bodine 06/21/2007

Response by CPT Private RallyPoint Member made May 16 at 2015 10:22 PM

CPT Private RallyPoint Member — Sat, 16 May 2015 22:22:34 -0400

A military haiku:
Each morning I train
I wear my reflective belt
Safety in the gym

Response by SPC Ken Harper made Jun 7 at 2015 5:26 PM

SPC Ken Harper — Sun, 07 Jun 2015 17:26:51 -0400

Carrier Flight Ops

Lights come on
An hour before dawn,
Airdales rise as one.
We’re under way,
And another day
Of Flight Ops has begun.

A Helo lifts,
Nose-down dip,
“Angel” is in the sky.
Starboard side,
Racetrack ride,
Plane guard standing by.

A tanker flies,
Drop-tank centerline,
The airborne TEXACO.
No credit card needed,
Gas will flow freely,
Just hit the basket with your probe.

A Hummer spins
His props and then
Spreads those great big wings.
The radome twirls
As the catapult hurls
The turbo E-2C.

Sleek and mean,
Twin engines scream,
A fighter is on the cat.
All systems GO,
It’s “Tally-ho”
See ya when ya trap.

Launch cycle is done,
The boat turn’s downwind to run,
So head below deck for some chow.
Or lay in the net
On the edge of the deck
And watch the ‘fins leap at the bow.

Look, here they come,
Their mission is done,
Planes are in the break.
Hear “Paddles” call
“Eye on the ball,
Don’t anticipate!”

Jet engines whine,
Add power and climb,
LSO told him “Wave-off”.
Smoke from his wheels,
Then the hook grabs 3 steel,
And brings everything to a stop.

The lights overhead
In the crow’s nest are red
Casting their glow on the deck.
No stars are shining,
The moon is in hiding,
On a night that is blacker than jet.

The last plane has trapped,
Air Boss calls it a wrap,
Flights Ops has ended today.
Time to get 40 winks,
The ship rocks you to sleep,
Ending a fine Navy day.

© Ken B. Harper
5 July 2007

Response by SPC Ken Harper made Jun 7 at 2015 5:30 PM

SPC Ken Harper — Sun, 07 Jun 2015 17:30:37 -0400

I think we've all "been there" for this one.

Christmas in the Barracks

Once again its Christmas time,
Now, don’t you worry, I’m just fine.
I know you wish that I was home,
Not talking on the telephone.

I got the box you sent to me,
Stuffed with all those goodies and things.
The guys loved your homemade candy the best,
I ate three myself, but shared all the rest.

Tonight I’ll read the newspapers you sent,
‘Cause I’ve got the midnight watch again.
I hung up your card on the bulletin board,
And the wreath that you made is on my door.

The cooks in the chow hall did a good job,
We had turkey and stuffing and corn on the cob,
Potatoes and gravy, butter and rolls,
Hot chocolate or coffee, and tea – hot or cold.

For dessert there were cookies and cakes and pies,
We all ate too much and got sleepy eyed.
After a nap we watched old Christmas movies;
George Bailey, The Grinch, Rudolf and Snoopy.

We sang Christmas carols last night in the snow,
We used red and green flashlights for a Christmassy glow.
We built a big snowman out front by the door,
And when it was done, had a huge snowball war!

In the box that I sent there are presents for you;
The red paper’s yours and dad’s is the blue.
Yeah, I wish I was there, not way over here,
But I guess it’s my own fault, ‘cause I volunteered.

I know grandpa and dad both served our nation,
And I hold tradition for my generation.
Ready and willing, to stand up and fight,
But hoping each one is a sweet, silent night.

Well, I’ve gotta go and hang up this phone,
Others are waiting so they can call home.
Keep us in mind and say a prayer for us,
Who’re spending Christmas here in the barracks.

© Ken B. Harper
30 November 2013

Response by SSG Private RallyPoint Member made Jun 7 at 2015 5:34 PM

SSG Private RallyPoint Member — Sun, 07 Jun 2015 17:34:13 -0400

I have not written poetry, but I do make a regular webcomic that casts a humorous look back at my deployment to Iraq.

Response by SPC Ken Harper made Jun 7 at 2015 5:36 PM

SPC Ken Harper — Sun, 07 Jun 2015 17:36:17 -0400

WHEN PARADISE BURNED

With Sunday shipboard church-pennants raised,
Padres uttered words of praise,
Sailors in their dress whites sang
That day in Paradise.

Some were tired and sleepin’ in,
Others recovering from a night of sin,
The Opana radar found something and then
Paradise turned into Hell.

It took a few minutes to just realize,
The planes buzzing ‘round, like bees in the skies,
Bombing Oahu in total surprise
Were Japanese born and bred.

Torpedo planes were dropping their loads,
Aiming for Navy ships, tied up in rows,
Gray-painted steel, now shot full of holes
Zero Seven Fifty-five was the time.

Bombs fell at Wheeler and Hickam Field too,
Over Bellows, Kaneohe and Ford Island they flew,
Bloody oil in Pearl Harbor hid waters of blue
Black smoke boiled into the sky.

Zeke’s, Val’s and Kate’s sliced through the air,
Red meatballs on canvas were everywhere,
The carriers they wanted were not even there
Utah rolled over and died.

Cassin and Downes were destroyed in dry-dock,
Three fish hit Oklahoma, to the bottom she dropped,
Arizona exploded and upward flames shot
The pineapple fleet was destroyed.

Nevada was making a run for the sea,
At Hospital Point she struggled to beach,
The island was covered with death and debris,
By 9:45 it was done.

Two thousand plus lives were taken away,
FDR called it an infamous day,
But not four years later, in Tokyo Bay,
The victim the victor became.

And so, on the seventh day of December,
With flags at half-mast, as TAPS is played tender,
Honor is paid, to those we remember,
The boys who will never go home.

© Ken B. Harper
9 October 2006

Response by SPC Ken Harper made Jun 7 at 2015 5:39 PM

SPC Ken Harper — Sun, 07 Jun 2015 17:39:36 -0400

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.

Response by Vit Spirek made Nov 18 at 2015 3:50 AM

Vit Spirek — Wed, 18 Nov 2015 03:50:01 -0500

Unfortunately I write in my native language (czech) it is very dificult poetry translate to english with same thought inside and bauty cover in words

You can try that traslate the original is very dificult, someone would help me translate it no only via translator but for better understaanding and nice feelings

W (Cassiopeia) (vit) 1994
very small part from this poem in native czech language

Theatron zarostlý travou
slunce v zenitu spaluje záda
malé děvčátko s loutkou
hraje svoji roli tak ráda
před očima kroužícíh ptáků,
diváků, co tleskají křídly,
hraje svoji roli s loutkou,
tak ráda

Theatron odráží její hlas dál
a ozvěny silně zní i když je theatron ospalý horkem
posílá blesky slunce jako polibky na obdiv

keříčky se zájmem chvějí o rozpustilou malou princeznu,
vítr si pohrává s jejími vlasy a chladí její nohy pod růžovou malou sukničkou

orel se skrytou tváří muže usedá do jedné z lavic
a odkrývá ji svoji tvář

sotva ho však pohladí
odlétá a mizí v dálce theatronu
zbylo po něm jen pár pírek z jeho mohutných křídel
a v jeho maskování jako vojáka v poli vidí ho jen ona
chce ho chovat, hladit po vlasech
a v několika krásných cvicích ukázat svoji hbitost i krásu

drží ted v ruce jen pár pírek
a přeje si dál, aby její sen se stal

...
its very dificult to translate but one day i hope taht some one help me with my poems, I can write in this time only in native, you know

Response by HN Robert Barquist made Jan 1 at 2016 3:34 PM

HN Robert Barquist — Fri, 01 Jan 2016 15:34:28 -0500

Yes; including one that recounted the day I saved my best buddy's life in VN 1971.

Response by SSG Kenneth Hammes made Apr 9 at 2016 9:22 PM

SSG Kenneth Hammes — Sat, 09 Apr 2016 21:22:52 -0400

I wrote this one when I was in Basic Training in 1993.

Response by SSG Kenneth Hammes made Apr 9 at 2016 9:29 PM

SSG Kenneth Hammes — Sat, 09 Apr 2016 21:29:18 -0400

I wrote this poem as my remarks for my Retirement Ceremony.

I titled it: "My Watch Has Ended"