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Poems Written By Soldiers

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Imperator Dacus

Imperator Dacus


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In this thread, anyone may post poems written by soldiers, be it German or Soviet, WW1 or WW2 and so on.


Descrption: This poem was written by a Waffen-SS soldier while on the Eastern Front. Some of you might know it from the Blood Axis song above.

To every sailor the gods have given a comrade
While one sleeps the other keeps watch on the bridge
When one doubts the other gives him his faith
When one falls the other discovers the oasis of ice for both of them

If my comrade doubts I laugh confidently
If my comrade sleeps I keep the watch for him
If my comrade falls I fight on for the both of us
Because to every warrior the gods have given a comrade

If you loose heart, I'll laugh joyfully
And if you sleep, I'll keep watch for you
And if you fall, I'll fight on for the both of us
Because to every warrior the gods have given a comrade


Description: This is a poem written in Russia(Winter 1942) by SS-Sturmmann Georg Lechner, who came from Straubing and longed to see his home town landmark, the Straubinger Turm.

Recently, I stood on guard, and I saw you in front of me.
My good old tower, you stood there in bright sunlight,
I did not see the war's bad face, nor the huts of the people,
I did not see the frozen dead Russians, or the old panje horse,
looking for fodder, even that was gone.
I saw my home town , very near, I heard the bell of the clock ringing,
the bell, that often had called me to hurry, in those long gone peaceful days,
That was before we made our way through the Russian steppe.
My god, old tower, how I long to stand again in your shadow,
But we stand here in Russia, so you can stand in eternity.
Then all of a sudden, I heard a shot, and I was back on my guard, and the call came!
"You must"
I heard a rattling of weapons and steel, good bye, my dear tower , I hope to see you again.

The German National Socialists and the Soviet Communists came very close to us in their methods, but they never had the courage to recognize their own motives. They pretended, perhaps they even believed, that they had seized power unwillingly and for a limited time, and that just round the corner there lay a paradise where human beings would be free and equal. We are not like that. We know that no one ever seizes power with the intention of relinquishing it. Power is not a means, it is an end. One does not establish a dictatorship in order to safeguard a revolution; one makes the revolution in order to establish the dictatorship. The object of persecution is persecution. The object of torture is torture. The object of power is power.

Woman in Black

Woman in Black
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A valuable source of war poetry, mainly by French, British and US soldiers, from WWI to contemporary wars here.

(And of course I know Blood Axis' version of The Song of the Comrade. It's a great band.)
"I confess I enjoy democracy immensely. It is incomparably idiotic, and hence incomparably amusing." -- H. L. Mencken --



    why didn't you check it?

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Farewell from a prisoner sentenced to death - Civil War era:

The bells of death toll silently in the air,
When the cruel scythe of Death harvests its prey.

Now heavy sorrow burrows into heart and marks Death's path with tears.
Mother don't cry for your lost child, even though you have been robbed of your only protection.
So put away your worries, cast your hope away to oblivion.
And wait 'till we meet in eternity.

Good bye congenial spirits, you still wander,
Dreaming you travel to the dawn.
No one knows when their time comes and when the night falls.
My life is now just a dream image and drowsy toil.

There is a mound in a forest shade, where I sleep.
And there the pinewoods play their songs for me.
The sound of bells doesn't disturb my eternal sleep.
My dust doesn't need the blessing of a priest.

When the summer wakes up the flowers to my mound,
Birds play their songs to console me.
This is the altar of one who has suffered, and the grave of a tired one,
Whose flowers bloom with tear pearls.

If you ever learn of death, my dear, and know
Where my resting place lies,
Then plant a red rose on my grave.
It grows there as a memory of my cause.

Truthfully is there anything to debate with the likes of you, a disgrace to Finnish people everywhere? Please kill yourself Jewboy.

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    Ziegpig Piggiefried

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A name: Theodor Körner


PS. Sorry, it's all in German... I'll see if I can translate selected works!


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The Soldier
by Rupert Brooke

If I should die, think only this of me:
That there's some corner of a foreign field
That is for ever England. There shall be
In that rich earth a richer dust concealed;
A dust whom England bore, shaped, made aware,
Gave, once, her flowers to love, her ways to roam,
A body of England's, breathing English air,
Washed by the rivers, blest by suns of home.

And think, this heart, all evil shed away,
A pulse in the eternal mind, no less
Gives somewhere back the thoughts by England given;
Her sights and sounds; dreams happy as her day;
And laughter, learnt of friends; and gentleness,
In hearts at peace, under an English heaven.

By the shores of Gitche Gumee,
By the shining Big-Sea-Water,
Stood the wigwam of Nokomis,
Daughter of the Moon, Nokomis.
Dark behind it rose the forest,
Rose the black and gloomy pine-trees,
Rose the firs with cones upon them;
Bright before it beat the water,
Beat the clear and sunny water,
Beat the shining Big-Sea-Water.
-from The Song of Hiawatha

État de Stase

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In Flanders Fields by John McCrae.

In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.

"Cooperatives will make us masters in our home and free us from the Jews." -Alphonse Desjardins


"National oppression is the negation of the existence and belonging of a people. And the only way to have solidarity with all peoples, is to exist. Because existence is the start of solidarity." -Paul Rose



    2 Minutes Man

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Julian Grenfell
Into Battle

The naked earth is warm with spring,
And with green grass and bursting trees
Leans to the sun's gaze glorying,
And quivers in the sunny breeze;
And life is colour and warmth and light,
And a striving evermore for these;
And he is dead who will not fight;
And who dies fighting has increase.
The fighting man shall from the sun
Take warmth, and life from the glowing earth;
Speed with the light-foot winds to run,
And with the trees to newer birth;
And find, when fighting shall be done,
Great rest, and fullness after dearth.
All the bright company of Heaven
Hold him in their high comradeship,
The Dog-Star, and the Sisters Seven,
Orion's Belt and sworded hip.
The woodland trees that stand together,
They stand to him each one a friend;
They gently speak in the windy weather;
They guide to valley and ridge's end.
The kestrel hovering by day,
And the little owls that call by night,
Bid him be swift and keen as they,
As keen of ear, as swift of sight.
The blackbird sings to him, "Brother, brother,
If this be the last song you shall sing,
Sing well, for you may not sing another;
Brother, sing."
In dreary, doubtful, waiting hours,
Before the brazen frenzy starts,
The horses show him nobler powers;
O patient eyes, courageous hearts!
And when the burning moment breaks,
And all things else are out of mind,
And only joy of battle takes
Him by the throat, and makes him blind,
Through joy and blindness he shall know,
Not caring much to know, that still
Nor lead nor steel shall reach him, so
That it be not the Destined Will.
The thundering line of battle stands,
And in the air death moans and sings;
But Day shall clasp him with strong hands,
And Night shall fold him in soft wings.

Not an easy find, it seems if you look a majority of war poetry isn't actually written by the people who were there which may explain why most (but not all, Owen Seaman is pretty good) of it is negative.
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    why didn't you check it?

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The original is a brilliant poem, and much is lost in the translation, but I'll still give it a shot. Literal translation, so it naturally doesn't rhyme.

The border opens like a chasm
Before us is the Asia, the East
Behind the West and the Europe
I, the Guardian, protect it.

Behind us the beautiful Fatherland
with its cities and towns.
Your sons will protect you
my land, the most precious of my treasures.

Nightly, howling wind brings
snow from behind the border.
My father, mother, O Lord,
let them sleep peacefully.

Give seeds to their bin
let their cattle breed!
May your hands bless the fields!
From here I will protect them.

Grim, cold is the winter night
The East is breathing its icy breath.
There is the slavery and forced labor.
observed by the stars.

From far away, from the steppes rises
the spirit of Ivan the Terrible.
The ghost of bane, it divines:
the morning shall see blood.

But our gray fathers
ride with ghost steeds from their graves
Bear spears in their hands
they charge towards the border.

The glorified spirits of grandfathers
Listen to the word of your son
If I fail it, come
as the army of vengeance

The iron sole of the enemy
won't desecrate your resting place with its step
I will protect the border of my country!

The foreigners will never
steal your dear heritage.
Let them come as wolves from their steppes!
They'll fit in our dirt.

With the strong hearts of bears
We rush against their spears
defending the spinning wheels of our women
and the cradles of our children!

The border opens like a chasm
Before us is the Asia, the East
Behind the West and the Europe
I, the Guardian, protect it.

Uuno Kailas - Rajalla (On the Border) 1931

Truthfully is there anything to debate with the likes of you, a disgrace to Finnish people everywhere? Please kill yourself Jewboy.

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