POEMS
I have been sent some poems recently and thought that it would be a good idea to publish them here so that they may help and inspire people, especially as they have been written for & from fellow sufferers. I will not include any names unless specifically asked to do so but hope that they will have a positive impact on your life.
Christmas Poem This was written by a US Marine but I think that it passes the barrier of nationality and covers every soldier from every nation in the world.
PTSD This poem is dedicated to those who will forever carry the anvil of trauma strapped to their backs.
The Words of an Angel This is a poem that I wrote upon hearing the news that a very special person who had helped me through some of my worst moments had died.
P.T.S.D. is a state
of the mind, that leaves our minds in a state
Forces Poetry The Forces Poetry website has been created for you, anyone. Whether you are or were a member of the armed forces anywhere, a relative or you just want to express yourself then this is where to do it
Thank You Soldier This is a poem written by Chris Woolnough and has a link to an American website called 'The Aftermath of War' that calls itself "a safe place for support of those who love a wounded veteran" Chris's poem was originally emailed to my Guestbook however I felt that it deserved to be put in the Poems section as it is such a wonderful poem.
Goodbye Brave Soldier This is a touching heartfelt and only too sad poem written by Andrew Wright.
A Veterans Fear This is a poem along with the following 3 that have been written by an Australian veteran who Speedie Sahariv.
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Don't Judge Me This is a poem written by lady with a huge heart who has suffered from PTSD for many years.
The
The Day That I Die This poem was written by me with deep sorrow in my heart.
My Pain This is a poem written by Murray (Charlie) Brown B.E.M who is a GW1 veteran who like all of has suffered with PTSD crippling his life and in his final words of the poem says "But please don't forget, the dead that are living". Murray has written many more poems which you can see by visiting his website here
TWAS
THE NIGHT BEFORE CHRISTMAS HE LIVED ALL ALONE,
IN
A ONE BEDROOM HOUSE MADE OF
I
HAD COME DOWN THE CHIMNEY
AND
TO SEE JUST WHO
I
LOOKED ALL ABOUT A STRANGE SIGHT I DID SEE,
NO
TINSEL, NO PRESENTS
NOT EVEN A TREE.
NO
STOCKING BY MANTLE JUST BOOTS FILLED WITH SAND,
ON
THE WALL HUNG PICTURES
WITH
MEDALS AND BADGES AWARDS OF ALL KINDS,
A
SOBER THOUGHT
FOR
THIS HOUSE WAS DIFFERENT IT WAS DARK AND DREARY,
I
FOUND THE HOME OF A SOLDIER ONCE I COULD SEE CLEARLY.
THE
SOLDIER LAY SLEEPING SILENT, ALONE,
CURLED
UP ON THE FLOOR
THE
FACE WAS SO GENTLE THE ROOM IN SUCH DISORDER,
NOT
HOW I PICTURED
WAS
THIS THE HERO
CURLED
UP ON A PONCHO THE
FLOOR FOR A BED?
I
REALIZED THE FAMILIES
OWED
THEIR LIVES TO THESE SOLDIERS
SOON
ROUND THE WORLD THE CHILDREN WOULD PLAY,
AND
GROWNUPS WOULD CELEBRATE
THEY
ALL ENJOYED FREEDOM EACH MONTH OF THE YEAR,
BECAUSE OF THE SOLDIERS LIKE THE ONE LYING HERE.
I
COULDN'T HELP WONDER
ON
A COLD CHRISTMAS EVE
THE
VERY THOUGHT
I
DROPPED TO MY KNEES
THE
SOLDIER AWAKENED
"SANTA
DON'T CRY THIS LIFE IS MY CHOICE;
I
FIGHT FOR FREEDOM I DON'T ASK FOR MORE,
MY LIFE IS MY GOD MY COUNTRY, MY CORPS."
THE
SOLDIER ROLLED OVER
I
COULDN'T CONTROL IT I CONTINUED TO WEEP.
I
KEPT WATCH FOR HOURS SO SILENT AND STILL
AND
WE BOTH SHIVERED
I
DIDN'T WANT TO LEAVE
THIS
GUARDIAN OF HONOUR
THEN
THE SOLDIER ROLLED OVER
WHISPERED,
"CARRY ON SANTA,
ONE
LOOK AT MY WATCH AND I KNEW HE WAS RIGHT.
"MERRY
CHRISTMAS MY FRIEND
The cell I live in is my mind, where I reside, the place I hide.
For when the past comes here to stay, I fold away, I hide inside.
This cell is dank, it’s walls sweat blood, it’s ceiling crushes from above.
The floor is wet, the stench is sweat, this place is lacking warmth, and love.
I built this place with my own hand, the reason for to lock away,
The light of day.
And darkness reigns in this foul place, the flashbacks come, the nightmares stay.
For when the past comes round to call, my sanga hides me from the truth.
It shelters me from all that hate, it is my only covering roof.
And though to all I’m brash and bold, my outer skin seems hard and cold,
Reality is a different thing, I feel so weak, so used,
So Old.
I’ll tell you how this came about, although I really have no doubt,
That you already know,
Because like me you have this room, the place to go, where you can shout,
It came about as I am weak, a person plagued by simple thoughts,
That are not simple anymore, they squirm and toss, a hate, of sorts.
And when I close my eyes so tight, I see again the shattered forms,
Of burning buildings, burning men, in bloody lightning storms.
Of screaming children, arms and legs, just lying there, the dawn to find,
Of shattered lives, of shattered minds, of shattered hopes, from my own kind.
And so my cell protects me from this scene, but in itself provides a place,
Where torture rules, the stinging whip, the tears of blood run down my face,
For in my mind, I built this place.
The brick’s are moulded from my hate, and kiln-fired in the fire of life.
The morter mixed from fear of death, and watered down with tears, and strife.
So course by course, as years went by, I built this cell,
I learned to cry.
And when at last my time does come, when I lie down, to wilt and die,
Then this fine shelter will collapse, fall over and be turned to dust.
For all my fears will go with me, my legacy of brick and rust.
My spirit then will fly so free, the past not there to trouble me.
I hope.
And so to you I say these things, to fellows who have lived like me,
To you who’s anguish rules your lives, fear not,
For someday we’ll be free.
No
Wounds upon my body,
No
scars that you can find,
Just
hurt from wars fought long ago
implanted
in my mind
No
outward signs of injury,
No
telltale signs of pain,
Only
flashbacks and the nightmares
Time
and Time again.
But
all’s not lost for us old friend
There
are those that understand
Just
let them lead us through the darkness
Go
with them hand in hand
P,T.S.D.
is a state of the mind, that leaves our minds in a state
Have you stopped to thank a veteran today?
For the price of freedom they had to pay?
Did you gaze into those distant eyes?
Did you see the ghosts he can't deny?
Did you think a soldier's heart was made of steel?
Because he was trained to kill, he couldn't feel?
Did you see the guilt written on his face,
For the loss of life he can't replace?
Did you know he mourns the lives he couldn't save,
And walks with comrades in their grave?
Did you remember the boy with innocence lost?
Do you really know war's ultimate cost?
Have you felt the blast of artillery fire?
Do you have the courage it would require?
Have you stood in trenches consumed with fear?
Felt the enemies breath so very near?
Have you walked with God on a battleground?
Seen your brothers dead or dying all around?
Have you stopped to thank a vet today,
Or did you just turn and walk away?
From the pain he'll carry for the rest of his life,
Did you consider his family, his children, his wife?
That watch him suffer in silence each and every day,
As he's haunted by memories that don't go away?
Did you care that the soldier is still pulling guard?
That his heart, mind, and soul will forever be scarred?
Do you know how he suffers from ptsd?
Or that our precious freedom is never free?
Do you care that he still hears the blood curdling screams?
Or that he returns to the war each night in his dreams?
Have you felt the sorrow of a combat vet?
Or would you rather just forget?
That war has pierced his hardened heart,
And torn this soldier all apart?
Would you rather our heroes just fade away?
Or will you stop to thank a vet today?
By Chris Woolnough
Please pay us a visit in the aftermath of war coping with ptsd too
http://groups.msn.com/AftermathofwarcopingwithPTSDtoo/welcome.msnw
To
that distant land we all flew,
Because
our government ordered us to,
On
a big green jet plane,
Not
knowing what to expect.
Day
after day bullets whizzed by,
We
all feared we might die,
For
eight months we fought,
Did
exactly what we were taught,
To
survive the deadly battle,
We’d
suppress fear, pity…remorse,
And
respond with violent, deadly force.
Then
after eight months…
Back
to that far away land we call home,
Home…from
that tragic war we were sent,
No
longer able to feel,
Because
the wounds are unable to heal.
The
war is over for us now, we left it behind,
But
we’re always forced to remind,
Those
long-long nights in the desert,
Wondering
if we’d ever make it back,
>From
that god-awful war in Iraq.
At
night you still here the blood curdling screams,
Dead
children and dismembered bodies are forever your dreams,
You
thrash in your bed through out the night,
Jumping
up screaming from the fright,
For
serving your country, PTSD is what you get,
Waking
up from your dreams soaking wet.
Day
by day and night-by-night the years pass,
You
hope to god the dreams wont last,
You
just want the pain to stop,
So
pill-by-pill you begin to pop,
Your
eyelids feel heavy,
But
now you are ready,
To
walk through the valley of the shadow of death,
No
more nightmares, no more pain,
As
you fall asleep into eternal, peaceful rest…
Goodbye
brave soldier…goodbye.
By Andrew Wright
Today
I was seen
at
Hyson Green;
for
it seems to me
to
fix my esteem;
I
was full of apprehension,
To
try and keep my pension,
But
was told not to worry,
The
governments in no hurry
They
just want to help you
Really;
that’s true,
Because
lately you’ve been
So
blinking blue,
How
will I cope?
My
fellows to meet,
Eight
others with pain
Such
as I have to beat!
I
thought it was me,
Alone
in the world,
No
one would know
What
I had unfurled
Alas
I was wrong,
The
boys were together,
As
all in a throng,
We’re
all here for the better;
In
came Doc Julie;
To
tell us truly
It’ll
be like a storm
And
if we’re lucky,
We’ll
all be reborn.
For
now this story
will
have to wait,
to
see how the boys
will
take the bait!
If
we don’t try
We’ll
all but scream.
For
a wasted time
At
Hyson Green!
Speedie
Sahariv
9th of July 2007
Why
do I dream?
Why
do I scream?
What
do I see?
Is
it pain for me?
Where
have I been?
Where
am I now?
Was
I ever seen?
Do
I take a bow?
Did
I ever kill?
And
was it a thrill?
Was
the blood real?
How
did it feel?
From
where did he come?
What
was his name?
Who
was the mum?
Who
bore to this one?
Why
did he shoot?
When
he could’ve fled!
On
my first shot
He
lost his head!
Why
did I not see?
He
was just like me?
Fully
trained,
To
kill the enemy?
I
was trained,
Not
to care,
Just
shoot the bastard,
If
he’s there!
Speedie
Sahariv
15th April 2006
Hyson
green has been renamed!
I’m
a veteran of no fame,
Who’s
seen much pain!
But
really can’t be blamed.
I’m
here to find a way,
Not
to make me pay,
But
to show me how,
To
control my play!
When
the penny drops,
My
fears will prop!
The
frown on my brow,
Will
be gone to pot.
Right
into the slot,
Where
my penny has dropped!
Oh
that sure is hot,
To
be on the spot,
At Hyson Green the Penny Arcade.
I
asked my children,
Why
are you sad?
Because
you’re yelling,
And
that is bad!
We
love you dad,
As
you know!
But
you don’t help,
Us
to grow!
I
ask myself,
What
have I done?
My
kids are sad
When
they should be glad.
Am
I really such a pain?
To
treat my children
With
total distain?
Am
I to blame?
I
love them so,
Those
little kids,
I
yell and scream;
Even
though I see!
I
can’t resists,
To
taunt them so;
Even
though I know,
I’m
wrong.
After
I’m done,
I
could get a gun,
And
finish me all,
For
what I’ve done!
Can
someone plead,
This
poor old fool;
To
keep his cool,
And
give his kids
The
love they need?
Speedie
Sahariv
25th
December 2006
DON'T JUDGE ME FOR WHO I AM
WITHOUT KNOWING THE REAL PERSON INSIDE
YES YOU WHO SIT IN YOUR IVORY TOWER
I AM A MOTHER SO DON'T JUDGE ME FOR THE
JOB I HAD TO DO NOR WHY I HAD TO SPEND
THE TIME AWAY FROM MY CHILD
YES YOU WHO SIT IN YOUR IVORY TOWER
I STRIVED TO CARRY ON TO PROVIDE AND PROTECT
MY CHILD BUT AT A PRICE
THE WORDS AND ACTIONS THAT EVENTUALLY BROUGHT ME DOWN
YES YOU WHO SIT IN YOUR IVORY TOWER
THE PAIN GUILT AND SHAME I WAS MADE TO FEEL
INSIDE THE MEMORIES THAT NEVER FADE BUT TORMENT
AND HAUNT MY NIGHT AND DAY
YES YOU WHO SIT IN YOUR IVORY TOWER
SO THE NEXT TIME YOU THINK BAD OF ME
TAKE A STEP BACK AND THINK WHAT WAS IT
I ACTUALLY DID THAT WAS SO WRONG
YES YOU WHO SIT IN YOUR IVORY TOWER
LOOK AT ME GO ON SEE WHO I REALLY AM
A MOTHER JUST LIKE YOU WITH A HEART
FULL OF LOVE FOR MY CHILD
SO DON'T JUDGE ME WITHOUT KNOWING WHY
AND THE REAL PERSON INSIDE
(12 August 1915)
Beneath the parched dirt and scrub of a foreign field
Lies their English
dust-
Enough to recreate the
chalk boned spine of their
Once more in shells
and blood and bone.
Horn-handed farm boys,
trained for the plough,
From ploughshares and
sickles to bayonets now.
Lads who liked beer at
the old Volunteer,
Men who drank Mews at
the sign of the Crown,
Boys dinking Burts at
the old Hare and Hounds,
That tended the sheep
upon Ashey Downs-
Slaughtered like lambs
before Anafurta,
On a mute, inglorious
twelfth of smoke and mass murder.
Thick blood staining
their general’s hands,
As they poured out
their lives on Gallipoli’s sands
They formed up in
lines as they marched from the beach-
Buckett and Scovell,
Attrill and Peach,
The cold fear runs
through you, as you leap from the boat,
And freezes your
bowels and catches your throat.
The fear passes
through as adrenalin flows,
And you think you’re
invincible
When the whistle now
blows
And with bayonets
aloft and a cry on their lips-
The scream of a shell
and men blown to bits.
You keep running
forward, for there’s no turning back,
“We’ll all be
killed!” said the captain who led the attack.
And the Ballards and
Boyntons, the Hinks and the Pinks.
The brave and the
cowards, the quick and the lame,
The bullets and shells
cut them down all the same.
The lucky died fast-
unlucky died slow;
But those who
survived- unluckiest of all-
Every night of their
lives when the dreams come to call.
When your bedding is
soaking with sweat-
The blankets and
mattresses all soaking wet,
And every night the
terrible dreaming-
Your wife wants to
leave for she can’t stand the screaming,
And every day all
inside your head
The voices come to you
of comrades now dead,
And all of the doctors
never can purge,
The smell of the mud,
blood and wet serge.
Back from the
boatyards and in from the stables,
There are gaps at the
fireside, spare chairs round the tables.
And some have gone
blind and some are disabled,
Some went to
Whitecroft and some of them died.
And sweethearts were
widows before they were wed-
A generation was lost
of men lying dead .
They scattered the
Rifles like dust in a storm.
Where were the Princes
in their fine uniforms ?
Shooting at grouse
that couldn’t shoot back,
When you went into the
smoke of that final attack.
When you gave them
your honest,
Your uncomplaining and
your hard-won lives.
What had you suffered
and what have you done,
For your King and your
Country, Empire under the Sun
For Nothing. Nothing
in victory, yet nothing in defeat
Nowhere in foreign
lands lie their graves.
For I grew up beneath
granite crosses,
Scattered in villages,
staring out to sea-
Monuments to Our
Glorious Dead,
Their Names Liveth
Forever-
Yet Never, Ever will
our
Notes;
Mews
and Burts are now defunct
The
Volunteer is a pub in Ventnor
The
Crown is a pub in Shorwell
And
the Hare and Hounds is a pub on the
Buckett,
Scovell, Attrill, Peach, Ballard, Boynton, Hinks and Pink are all common IOW
surnames
Whitecroft
was a large psychiatric hospital near
The
IOW Rifles (Princess Beatrice’s Own) were drilled and inspected by the Princes
at Osborne.
The
officer who led the charge at Anafurta was Captain Clayton Ratsey who wrote in
his diary “My God, we’ll all be killed” when the orders were received. He
was and so was the other captain – his brother.
Love, Hate, Shame, Self-hatred
I'm not who I was, will I ever be wanted
Guilt, Self-loathing, Anger, that's me
I hate who I am, but my family loves me
I don't deserve them the pain I put them through
But with love, care and support, they try to guide me through
Nightmares, Flashbacks, the deafening noise
The memories never go, I'll not forget the boys
You see me now a broken man
No trust have I, should I or can
Society has forgotten what deed I did
Abandoned by government, what harm they did
No hope, no love, no friends or foe
Only awaken from dreams when I stub my toe
I was a proud man, all strong and straight
Now I hang all crocked, like a broken gate
I sharpen the knives hoping someday to use
Tie the knot in the rope, no what is the use?
I walk on the kerb hoping a lorry will take
my sorry old arse, please do for my sake
My pain will end it has to I know
My demons come out, your face please show
I woke up this morning, I know it for shore
There was peace and calm, I was happy and more
The sun now shines in the blue clear sky
For today is the day... The day that I die
Do
you know what it’s like to feel the pain?
The
aching body, life’s a constant drain.
Uncontrollable
anger, throughout does surge,
I hate those feelings that pent up urge.
Incredible
discomfort, the body suppressed,
An
altered ego, the other depressed.
Unknown
instructions, relentless road,
Self
destructing, helpless mode.
Outbursts
of emotions, not good to the eye
Alternative
actions curl up and die.
Unable
to see, why with life I can’t cope,
That eternal triangle, end of the rope.
At
night the dreams come, destruction of life,
Death
is the struggle, the pain and the strife.
That
feeling of running, with no-where to go,
These are some of the feelings, you’ll never know.
Keep
down the man, but the thoughts still remain.
Eternal
combustion, ever-lasting pain.
Help
is the plea, yet these words, you don’t hear,
When will this end, this living in fear.
Not
fear of the living, not fear of the dead,
Only
fear of the thoughts, trapped in my head.
My
life’s been destroyed; I’m no longer free,
This is what war has done to me.
Not
out for revenge, I’m no bodies fool,
One
hundred percent, I gave them my all.
I’m
living an endless, nightmare hell,
I want my life back, I need to be well.
Control
is no option; it’s all down to fate,
Please
help me return, before it’s too late.
See
the mouth move, but the words you can’t hear,
It’s like screaming in pain, you’re so unaware.
Alone
in this world, comprehension is void,
No
wonder I’m angry, pent up, and annoyed.
Remorse
for my actions, hit hard on the soul,
Relentless searching, never reaching the goal.
Swap
places with me, from my feet to my head,
Feel
what its like, alive but yet dead.
Discontinued
association, emotions depleted,
In this war I have lost, completely defeated.
Understanding
is absent, in death I’ll prevail,
An
easy way out, without, it can’t fail.
Adverse
discomfort, causes unwanted thought,
Complicated reactions, leaves this lifeline taut.
Constructive
conclusion, assistance required,
Derogative
emotions, from the heart have been fired.
Détente
relaxation, of thoughts to survive,
Comprehension is needed, whilst I’m still alive.
Fractious
deception, on the way to go on,
It’s
been some time; it’s been too long.
A
final plea, before life I depart,
Hapless, helpless screams from the heart.
Last
chance to resume, tow the line,
Please
give me back, what once was mine.
Denial
of life, held by a strand,
The desert took toll, alone in the sand.
So
open your heart, as your ears seem so closed,
I’m
not who I was, all calm and reposed.
Please
feel what I feel, be exposed to my life,
Feel as it goes in, the twist of the knife.
The
pain everlasting, never apart,
Feel
what I feel, deep in my heart.
Know
what its like, withdrawn inside,
Feel the feelings, from which I hide.
It’s
just not fair; hear these words I tell,
That
to be with me, you must share my hell.
So
hear these words from present and past,
I ask not much, but peace at last.
The
war may have ended, the battle was won,
I’m
still fighting my fight; my war still goes on.
Despondent,
dismayed, feeling low and diminished,
The war may have ended, but my battles not finished.
With
what’s left of life, I hold on and sustain,
Yet
within this darkness, I wallow in pain.
There’s
no moving forward, I’m held in the past,
Please free me from this hell, at last.
Know
what I see, from these eyes of fate,
Help
me return, before it’s too late.
And
remember the dead, the commitment and giving,
But please don’t forget, the dead that are living.
If you would like to have a poem added to this page please email it to me written within the text of your email (please do not add it as an attachment as unless I know you I always delete emails with attachments to protect myself and you all from dangerous viruses and Trojan horses that can identify any of my contacts) to poems@ptsd.org.uk.