Archive Poetry

Very often, veterans choose to write poems. More important to many than the writing itself is the chance to share their feelings with other veterans, encouraging them to reconsider their dark thoughts or actions. A vet writes, “Let me help you, you are not alone.” In writing poetry, veterans may evoke hopes and fears they have never declared before or to anyone. One vet writes, “We are left to care for each other.” This sharing is a way of unburdening emotions that have haunted them for decades.

Veterans explore subjects they care deeply about such as the flag, family, freedom, spouses and sweethearts, nature and religion. But what counts most isn’t subjects. It’s the veterans themselves and how their poetry plays a healing role. It helps veterans thrive, cope, and, of upmost significance, push away darkest thoughts.

Be part of helping Veterans’ Voices build an archive of veterans’ poems we have collected since the magazine began publishing in 1952. Your subscription and donations will help preserve the best veteran poetry for all time.

Clear all

Wreathes Across America

Wreathes Across America
Wreathes

The trees are naked; the wind is blowing.

Buses arrive and the crowd is growing.

Mittens and parkas say it’s December.

What’s in common is that we remember.

 

Countless stones in every direction.

In silence I stand, quiet reflection.

They fulfilled their vow to serve and protect.

Now it’s my turn to pay my respects.

 

Veterans are laid here, regardless of race

as bagpipes ring out with “Amazing Grace.”

Without warning, emotions are stirred.

As the bugler steps forward, “Taps” can be heard.

 

Directions are given; the crowd will disperse.

A widow takes a kerchief out of her purse.

She walks toward the section where her husband lies.

Despite her best efforts she breaks down and cries.

 

I’m given a wreath; as I walk, I’m nervous.

Place it at a headstone; say, “Thanks for your service.”

In less than an hour all the wreaths were laid,

sixty minutes of my life that I wouldn’t trade.

 

As I stand on a hill, I see the work that we’ve done.

Can’t help but wish God would send down some sun.

Though the gesture is small, I shall not forget

the freedom I have, thanks to a vet.

More ›