War Poetry Quotes

“Lost

In black as solid as a mire
In a land no one would die for
In a time I was lost
To anyone who ever loved me
The world set itself on fire
And the sky collapsed above me

In a place no one could call home
In a place I breathed and slept
In a battle no one understood
That continued all the same
I sat defenseless and alone
With the insignificance of my name

In the midst of the Lord’s birth
On a night meant to be peaceful
In a country of the Prophet
Where women don’t live free
I spoke to God from the shaking Earth
And prayed my mother would forgive me

In a city without power
In a desert torn by religion
In a bank between two rivers
We added up the decade’s cost
And glorified the final hour
Of a war that everyone had lost

In the dust of helplessness
In a concrete bunker
In a fate I chose myself
I waited without remorse
To fight again as recompense
For wasted lives and discourse

-an original poem about an attack on our base in Iraq during the Arab Spring”
― Dianna Skowera

“Show yourselves men my friends, and keep a stout heart. Think of your honour. With all men’s eyes upon you it is a shame to be a coward. He that fights and will not run may live to see another sun. He that runs and will not fight is bound to die and serves him right.”
― Homer, Iliad

“There is a monstrous garden in the sky
Nightly they sow it fresh. Nightly it springs,
Luridly splendid, towards the moon on high.
Red-poppy flares, and fire-bombs rosy-bright
Shell-bursts like hellborn sunflowers, gold and white
Lilies, long-stemmed, that search the heavens' height...
They tend it well, these gardeners on wings!

How rich these blossoms, hideously fair
Sprawling above the shuddering citadel
As though ablaze with laughter! Lord, how long
Must we behold them flower, ruthless, strong
Soaring like weeds the stricken worlds among
Triumphant, gay, these dreadful blooms of hell?

O give us back the garden that we knew
Silent and cool, where silver daisies lie,
The lovely stars! O garden purple-blue
Where Mary trailed her skirts amidst the dew
Of ageless planets, hand-in-hand with You
And Sleep and Peace walked with Eternity.....

But here I sit, and watch the night roll by.
There is a monstrous garden in the sky!

(written during an air raid, London, midnight, October 1941)”
― Margery Lawrence

“Pardon if all the cleanness and the beauty
Brave rhythym and the immemorial sea
Ensare us sometimes with their siren song,
Forgetful of our murderous intentions.
Through our uneasy peacetime carnival
Cold sweat of death holds us like a dew;
Even this grey machinery of murder
Holds beauty and the promise of a future.”
― Norman Hampson

“The war came as I took a step outside
and my mother knelt whispering to my ear
When the war came
the soldiers carried faces painted with stars
and they fell to our footsteps,
riding without a shadow into the light
Without heat, the sun”
― Tamara Rendell, Mystical Tides

“Ne'er Fade Away by Stewart Stafford

The hillside piper's requiem,
Guides old soldier's bones,
To slain brothers of his youth,
No longer a marching memory.

His scars, Valhalla's roadmap,
His medals, coins for Charon,
His conquests, the beacon fire,
His blood scours the path ahead.

This churned earth is now home,
Weeping craters, foxholes beatified,
Barbed wire hands joined in praying,
The minefield of life cleared for us all.

© Stewart Stafford, 2022. All rights reserved.”
― Stewart Stafford

“I sought his giggles
beneath the ashes
where all his dreams
found home...”
― Lila Marquez, Line Breaker: A Collection of Poems

“building bombed, beams through flesh
buried under rubble
suffocated to death
but only beheading is barberic to the West
#Gaza”
― Remi Kanazi, Before the Next Bomb Drops: Rising Up from Brooklyn to Palestine

“The Armless Tics by Stewart Stafford

Never again, the blustering brass said,
Inked in blood, my generation dead,
Human meat carved with lunatic aplomb,
No cowering allowed from gun or bomb.

Lice, rats, and mud—war zeal’s reality.
Trench foot and poisoned-gas lethality,
Churned hellscape, where no man can be,
Scribbling letters home to preserve sanity.

The artillery’s heartbeat, now silent, aghast,
Shells raining on future, present, and past,
On a last keepsake bullet, I etched “11-11”,
Through influenza, faint prayers to Heaven.

© 2025, Stewart Stafford. All rights reserved.”
― Stewart Stafford