The author weaved words of war into poetry. Giving us a glimpse of what few see with thoughtfully written poems forged in battle while searching for peace.

David Garcia, USA.

#books #war #poetry #writing #warpoems

The politicians, journalists, the vicars and the priests —they danced the measure given them by makers of munitions. They sprayed the language of the grave from spittle-shining lechers’ lips: the love of country. I did not give my life for any cause — my leaders wrapped them up in khaki, grey, or tan, tossed them away to serve commercial and political ambitions. I did not make a sacrifice — they threw me down upon an altar and cut out my heart, dyed little scraps of paper with my pulsing blood and pinned them on the chests of politicians, journalists, of vicars and of priests. They pinned them onto children while they murmured their seductive lies of honour, pride, and glory.

"...pro aliorum utilitate mori"

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“In September 1914, a man had to stand five feet eight to get into the army. A month later, so great was the need for recruits, the minimum height requirement was lowered to five foot five; in November, after the losses sustained in the First Battle of Ypres, it was lowered again, to five foot three.” (Catherine Bailey, The Secret Rooms, p.248) August When war broke out I was too short; they shook their heads showed me the door. I sat at home and fretted that I wasn’t five foot eight. October As thousands died, they changed their minds; I tried again — but still too short I cycled home and fretted that I wasn’t five foot five. November But things were bad along the Front; third time’s a charm, they shook my hand, and I embarked in khaki drab, a manly five foot three. December I fell for good at Plugstreet Wood — our guns or theirs, I wasn’t sure; my legs were shattered by a shell, and struggling for one last breath amid the sounds and smells of hell I fretted that I’d meet my death too short once more. (First published in Add ing Colours to the Chameleon [2016, Wisdom’s Bottom Press])

(In the latter stages of WWI, across Europe governments ordered the melting down of church bells and organ pipes for munitions.) To keep the chill cacophony of Ragnarok reverberating in the frigid moonlight riming dugouts, trenches, sentries, and the troops who twitch in cold, uneasy bunks, across the fields and forests, villages and towns, the homes of which the sleeping soldiers dream, the bells fall silent.

1918 As we waited for the order to advance, the flares went up and filled the midnight sky. Before us, in the mud of no man’s land, a hundred thousand stars were set ablaze, forming new and unknown constellations from the polished buckles on the backpacks of the dead.

The brothers took the silly quid, then drove their teams back home; a windfall — three months’ wages, near enough, for doing bugger all. War came, and all the world was filled with moral wrath: the priests and vicars, rabbis, imams preached the rightness of their countries’ causes; guns and poison gas were blessed, and horrors told about the other side. The brothers and their horses went up to the Front, and harvested fresh nightmares — piled their wagons high with new-mown flesh, built bloody haystacks in the mud of France. One brother made it home, the horses slaughtered in a foreign field. He met his waiting mother, limped into her sad embrace, whose pressure on his bandaged chest brought scarlet blossoms to the coarse white cloth.

Poems on Remembrance Day: 11th November.

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🌻💙💛💙🌻💙❤️💙🌻💙💛💙🌻

#PoemsAbout #Ceasefire
“Home Front” written at end of my divorce/start of 2nd Gulf War. Those times paved the way for today’s wars & American fascism. Thank you hosts @alanparrywriter.co.uk @thebrokenspine.co.uk and to all the poets
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war poems by Wilfred Owen, simply because one was mentioned in the audio book I am currently listening to (The Waiting Room by F.G Cottam.)
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"The Death of the Ball Turret Gunner" by Randall Jarrell.

#TheDeathOfTheBallTurrtGunner #RandallJarrell #WarPoems #ClassicPoems #Poetry

A Lark Still Sings By Dawn Mclachlan In the brittle dawn I hold my eyes tight closed and cling to sleep For in my dreams there is no here and you still lie quietly at my side Your warm hand in mine my love If I lie very still maybe morning will not come And wrapped in memories I will dream of warm green times when night’s dark slid peacefully to bright morning colours and not to a world bled ashen by shell flash blindly flung from callous distance In defiance of the guns, birdsong cutting through my dreams with radiant hope that glistens far above the thunder ushering in another day With choking gulps I take fouled air Licking its sanguine grit from my lips I feel the days bite ever deeper now in the long ache of time and loss In a single blink the night, and you are gone But somewhere high above me A lark still sings

My #fridaypoem this week inspired by family history research around WW1. Someone searched for my missing great-uncle stating she was his “wife”, but he had no wife. I’ll never find who she was. Joe knew and must have loved her. The greatest sin is war.
#poemsabout #itsasin #PoemAltText #warpoems

The Battle of Cook’s Mills and the Evacuation of Canada, 19 Oct., 1814 by J. P. Merritt - Niagara Falls Poetry Project A short poem by Jedediah Prendergast Merritt commemorating the Battle of Cook's Mills, near Welland, in the War of 1812

I've just posted a poem about the Battle of Cook's Mills by J. P. Merritt, about one of the last skirmishes in the #Warof1812. I've been looking for a #poem about this skirmish for a while, many thanks to Arden Phair for digging this one up for me #poetry #warpoems

niagarapoetry.ca/2025/05/13/m...

The title poem from my third collection "What the Gargoyle Sees" published by Kelsay Books.
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War peoms (w/ text) #poetry #poems #favoritepoems #warpoems #warpoetry
@DanielFieldsReadsLit on YouTube

For #RemembranceSunday: there are lots of poems written about war, some centuries old, about lots of different aspects of it. So it's hard to choose a single poem to reflect all that. But I like this one by Laurie Lee :

#war #poetry #warpoems

Battle-Hardened Poets Fuel a Literary Revival in Ukraine With verses that capture the raw emotions of the war and resonate deeply with the population, Ukrainian poets have emerged as some of the country’s most influential voices.

"Several writers said poetry had proved to be the literary genre best suited to war... allowing poets to react to the daily tragedies of conflict ... in a few stanzas."
www.nytimes.com/2024/08/25/w...

#poetry #poems #poets #poet #war #ukraine #warinukraine #ukrainewar #warpoetry #warpoets #warpoems