Courtesy of poets.org, here are some poems the touch upon “the strength, courage, and patriotism” of those who have served in the armed forces. Poems are great for important occasions like Veterans Day, where writers (many of whom have served themselves) can express their feelings on weighty subjects like war and peace in a safe manner.

A Military Hospital ,Vera Brittain (1893-1970) 

A mass of human wreckage, drifting in Borne on a blood-red tide, Some never more to brave the stormy sea Laid reverently aside, And some with love restored to sail again For regions far and wide.

Thanks, Yusef Komunyaaka (1947-) 

Thanks for the tree between me & a sniper’s bullet.

I don’t know what made the grass sway seconds before the Viet Cong raised his soundless rifle.

Some voice always followed, telling me which foot to put down first.

Thanks for deflecting the ricochet against that anarchy of dusk.

I was back in San Francisco wrapped up in a woman’s wild colors, causing some dark bird’s love call to be shattered by daylight when my hands reached up & pulled a branch away from my face. Thanks for the vague white flower that pointed to the gleaming metal reflecting how it is to be broken like mist over the grass, as we played some deadly game for blind gods.

What made me spot the monarch writhing on a single thread tied to a farmer’s gate, holding the day together like an unfingered guitar string, is beyond me. Maybe the hills grew weary & leaned a little in the heat. Again, thanks for the dud hand grenade tossed at my feet outside Chu Lai. I’m still falling through its silence.

I don’t know why the intrepid sun touched the bayonet, but I know that something stood among those lost trees & moved only when I moved.

In Flanders Fields, John McRae (1872-1918) 

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.

Andrea Gutierrez is the managing editor of the Bryan County News.