Military Poems

All of these poems are by Philip Lore, a soldier currently in Iraq.  His poetry is real.  It shows firsthand what our soldiers are going through as they fight for us and our families.  God bless our soldiers.  God bless America.

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Fighting In The Sands Of Iraq

Grimy hands hold my weapon tight,  The sun beats down upon my head,  I whisper a prayer, I'm ready to fight,  I want to rest instead. My eyes are drooped,  My weapons like lead in my hand,  Burning sand under my feet,  ...I could barely stand. I struggle to blink away the sleep,  All I can see is a herd of sheep,  One boot forward, then the other,  We fight together, brother to brother. Finally....it's time to sleep,  I dream about my wife,  Just to hear her sweet, sweet voice,  It cuts deep like a knife. I wait on a long, hot line,  Ask her how she's doing,  She sobs, then whispers softly,  I'm okay....she sobs, I'm really doing fine. Then a rocket breaks our calm,  With a tight smile drawn, the call is done,  I whisper, 'Babe, I gotta run'. Running fast in the merciless sun. After long hard hours pass,  I dropped down to my bed,  Exhausted, dirty, hot and dazed,  My growling stomach unfed. Just a few hours later,  Another fight has begun,  Tie my boots, grab my gun,  Ready to fight in the morning sun. Think of my wife, I try to put it aside,  I lay down, in the deep hot sand,  Lock and load, eyes are fixed,  Rifle in my hand. No more quads,  No more Harley,  No more boat,  No more, 'How's it going Charlie? ' No more fun fly fishing,  No more walking holding hands No more tender kissing. Iraq has taken all it can,  So I 'm still fighting here,  Doing the best I can,  Fighting in this hostile land.  Philip Lore

A Boy...A Man...A Soldier

Mommy....Daddy,  A young soldier screams out in pain,  Wounded and dying,  Unbearable pain. He squeezes his eyes,  Filled with remorse,  Remembers his birthdays,  A present....a horse. How he would ride him... A smile on his face,  Never again,  Won't make it out of this place. Vietnam was Hell,  It took his young life,  No present, No future,  No kiss with a wife. Machine gun fire splinters the ground,  Remembering the fun,  On the merry-go-round. Shrapnel from rockets,  Hot shards fly through the air,  Peanuts and popcorn,  Every year at the fair. He whispers a prayer,  To God up above,  Tell Mommy and Daddy,  I send them my love. His closes his eyes,  Takes a deep breath,  Alone in the jungle,  He suffers his death.

Philip Lore 

A War Poem, Up Close....And Personal

In the cold desert night,  Through my night vision sight,  Tracers, burning red,  Counting the enemy dead. Chattering guns continue to fight,  Bullets missing me, left to right. Sweat pouring down, it covers my face,  The fighting intense,  In my battle space. War is Hell,  Organized confusion. Dying here,  It's no illusion. With an absence of all of our social norms,  Its hard to describe blowing desert sandstorms. Sadam's Palace, filled with 24 carat gold,  My spirit challenged, I'm feeling old. Many tear filled eyes, no telephones. Fighting spirit, flattened homes. We see Iraqi people everday,  Vacant stares, stark terror in their eyes. Yet, its just another day here in Iraq,  Where nobody cares,  Who lives....who dies.  Philip Lore

Dying In The A Shau Valley, Republic of Vietnam '69

Our spirit weary, eyes are red,  Our bodies tremble, counting the dead. Smoke from gunfire hangs in the air,  We gaze at each other with a thousand mile stare. Troubled, saddened, our thoughts we hide,  Stare at the battlefield, where our buddies just died. We remember the good times,  With Mikey and Jack,  Carry their bodies in a green zippered sack,  Thinking to ourselves, they will never be back. We remember their pictures,  Their girls, Mom and Dad,  Remember all the joking,  The fun that we had. We carry them gently,  Hold back a cry,  We always knew,  Some day we could die. The reason we fight,  We have one another,  Not for anything else,  Just brother with brother. Dedicated to all the Airborne troopers 101st ABN DIV 1969  Philip Lore

In The Summer of '69 in Vietnam

Punji sticks, propped up in the ground,  Silently kill, without a sound. Bouncing Bettys, fly chest high,  Strike the plunger,  A terrible way to die. Booby traps,  Monkey chatting,  Mortars dropping,  Bullets cracking,  Soldiers dying,  Bodies stacking. In dense jungle,  With machete's hacking. Deadly snakes,  Rice cakes,  Hot beer,  Cold steaks. F4 Phantoms dropping bombs,  VietCong soldiers burning in napalm. LBJ, Cam Ranh Bay,  China Beach,  Georgia peach. Firing with my M16,  Bodies tan, bodies lean. Peace symbol, around my neck,  Staring at a chopper wreck. I can't get no satisfaction,  Rolling Stones, quick reaction. Kill zone, Drop zone,  Always feel so all alone. This was Viet-Nam in '69,  Shared for you, from within my mind. It took forty years,  To talk this out,  Read these lines to yourself out loud,  That's what this war was all about.  Philip Lore

Iraq...These Things We Do

Point a weapon, kill a man,  Every day is so trying,  In this desert land. Soldiers dead, in green body bags,  Sniper rounds, throwing frags.  Bodies shattered all around,  Bombed out buildings, bombed out towns. EFP's, night patrols,  Soldiers waiting in hasty holes. B-52's flying high,  Hearing bombs drop,  Heaving a sigh,  Watching men die. Putrid smells, death in the air,  Shooting and killing,  Violence lives everywhere. MRAP's moving, not in a line,  Everyone eye watching,  Out for a mine. The enemy here,  Hates President Bush,  Fighting and dying in a deadly ambush. Eating cold, MRE's,  Baghdad with tall, lush palm trees. Days that are hot,  Nights that are cool,  Swimming in Sadam's,  Olympic size pool. Never to ask, why we fight this war,  I'll do my time, finish my tour. When I rotate back,  To my simple life,  I'll hug all the grandkids,  Kiss my sweet wife. Remember the troops,  Still fighting here,  All of their troubles,  All of their fear. I'll pray to the Lord,  When I'm all alone,  To end this war,  So, that they can come home. *EFP's-Explosive Formed Projectiles *MRAP-Mine resistant armored protected vehicle *MRE-Meal ready to eat *FRAG-Fragmentary grenade  Philip Lore

Look Into My Eyes..You Can See My Soul

Look into my sad green eyes,  Can you see my soul?  Can you see the heavy weight,  The horrors that they hold. Some say we are 'killers',  Wreckless, cold, and mean,  Just take a walk along my trail,  And see what I have seen. Many young lives taken,  Fathers...brothers....A son,  Giving their live freely,  Getting the mission done. We fight our fight for freedom,  This is why we die,  Some wonder why we fight this war,  Our mission we can't deny. We will always fight for freedom,  Never asking....Why?  Keeping our emotions hidden,  Trying not to cry. Many times we die alone,  It's hard to say good bye,  When a buddys shot on the battlefield,  You watch your best friend die. My eyes are windows to my soul,  Look and see my tears,  Look and see my troubles,  Search deep and see my fears. We go away to far off lands,  Leaving our loved one behind,  These secrets are the things we keep,  Deep within our mind.  Philip Lore

My Basic Training Days

Back in the summer of '66,  Went to reception, welcome to Fort Dix. Go off the bus and saw my first DI,  He sure was crazy and made some young guys cry. They shaved my head,  My arms felt like lead. They made us double time instead,  With our duffle bags held overhead. They screamed at us all day,  They screamed at us, if we started to sway,  They screamed at us, till we shook with fright,  They screamed at us till they dimmed the light. We dropped to bed when we stowed our gear,  Some were quiet, some showed fear. We learned to shoot,  We shot on sight,  We learned to move in the middle of the night. Our arms were muscled, our bellies tight. Our eyes were steady, wide and bright. Our bodies golden with a tan,  Our mission next, was Viet-Nam. When I think back its plain to see,  Those DI's made a man out of me. **DI-Drill Instructor  Philip Lore

Such Fear in Soldiers Hearts...

Swirling winds, shapes the drifting sand,  Burning hot, its fury stings and sears. Carrying finite particles,  Of blood, sweat and tears. Woes reside deep, attacking my open heart,  Consuming my lungs, exploding apart. Burning hell,  Blazing flames,  Fates' malicious grin,  Burnes within. Anger, revenge,  Fears dimensions blind,  Creeping darkeness,  With a murderous mind. Valor in fear,  Home and over here,  You can smell it,  Taste it, this growing cyst Like a lowly, lurking, cunning rapist. Fear with strength, withers the soul,  Ages the body, with darkness untold. A soldier with fear,  Deep in the night,  Thoroughly consuming,  His capacity to fight. Fear of the enemy,  Fear of the night,  Uncontrollable fear,  It lurks,  No will to fight.. In the darkness of fear,  Sleepless nights,  Tossing and turning,  Eyes burning bright. Destroying the will,  A pure delight. Raging fire, burning coal,  Molten cinders,  Ignite my soul. Merciless fear,  Loiters on the battleground. Fighting soldiers feel it abound. Fear of dying,  Fear of the grave,  Fearless soldiers fight it off,  Proudly,  Willingly,  Brave.  Philip Lore

The Attack

The Katusa's were fired,  From a field just nearby... As I watched their trajectory,  I knew someone will die,  They fell in the night,  Explode, kill and maim,  Followed by sniper fire,  Sporadic....well aimed. Mortars follow next, as they whistle down,  They impact to my right, I'm hugging the ground,  Shrapnel screams...As it cuts through the air,  Concussion waves follow, I'm filled with despair. A wave of hot air and a horrible sound,  The call for a medic...a body was found. Finally it stops, I take a quick breath,  I'm lucky tonight,  To escape such a death!  Philip Lore

The Captain Is Dead

I wait here in the sands of Iraq,  Loaded rife, pack on my back. Scanning the desert for enemy presence,  Thank you honey for all the Christmas presents. Walking, then clearing the mud huts nearby. Staying alert, we search side by side. A shot from a sniper,  Rings with a crack. The Captain lays dead,  Shot in the back. I remember his smile. Now, shock on his face,  His blood dripping silently,  Lying still, bullets trace. I race to the building,  He fires again, a miss to my right. Lower my weapon,  Stare down my sight. Fire my weapon, let go twenty rounds. Hitting my target, he drops to the ground. No satisfaction, as I start to leave,  It was for 'The Captain' Forever....I'll grieve.  Philip Lore

The World Back Home...The Soldiers Life

A baby is born on a bright sunny day,  Soldiers dying in Iraq today. Business men with their hot latte,  Soldiers hiding their fears away. Children frolic, running around,  Soldiers dead on the battleground. Stars fill the sky on a summers' night,  Soldiers fighting, shooting on sight. People on the beach with a golden tan,  Soldiers had to fight in Viet-Nam. Teenagers drinking Cola, eating pizza pie,  Soldiers very young, waiting to die. Boys kissing girls up on lovers lane,  Soldiers fight in the heat... die in the rain. Boyfriend and girlfriend take in a show,  Soldiers in Korea, they froze in the snow. A wife shops for food in the grocery store,  Soldiers have to fight for a year in this war. Workers are proud of the streets they pave,  Soldiers buried in an unmarked grave. Lovers talking on the telephone,  Soldiers wounded in a battlezone. Priests bury soldiers whey they die,  Mothers and Fathers never understand why!  Philip Lore

Time in Iraq

A time to fight,  A time to pray,  A time to leave,  A time to stay. A time to question guilt,  A time to count the friendships built. A time to smile,  A time to cry. A time to say 'Hello' A time to say 'Goodbye' A time for living,  A time for giving,  A time for forgiving,  A time for pain. A time to blame. A time to kill,  A time to maim. A time to to settle back,  A time to retire and stay home.  Philip Lore

War In The Desert Of Iraq

Its either hot, cold or damp,  Its always rough in a forward camp,  I look up at a starlit sky,  With rockets, not meteors, that pass my by. I don't wear fancy shoes or store bought suits Just my worn out combat boots Weary eyes, and short cropped hair,  My Boonie Hat, blocks out the suns glare. Daily patrols on a sandy trail,  Fighting and clearing, hoping for mail. After a fight, some peace of mind,  Leave all the horrors of battle behind. The fight was long, we try to smile,  We continue to move, mile to mile. All I have is in my pack,  I strain my legs, I strain my back. A fighting spirit, filled with pain,  We fight in the sun, We fight in the rain. I miss the fields, the quiet, the hush,  To flush a pheasant, to feel the rush,  I suffer the noise, explosions insane,  Searching for IED's ahead in my lane. A package from home...boy, its a treat,  Sunburned face, blistered feet. Visions of war, every thought, every scene,  Preparing for battle, I hold back a scream. I'll make it through, the days and the nights,  Dried out skin, mosquito bites,  To cast out a fly reel, in a stream flowing clear,  I'm still stuck in Iraq till the end of this year.  Philip Lore