Carl Martin Johnson
Poet,  Author,  Slayer of Dragons

WAR SONG  - The poems on these pages are dedicated to the "song" of human combat. The honor, the bravery, the sacrifice.....and the horror, blood and death. It is neither a glorification nor a condemnation of war. It seeks to give some insight into one of the major occupations of Man from the very beginning of humanity.         -Carl Martin Johnson

 

© Carl Martin Johnson, All rights reserved

MY WORDS WILL NOT STOP EVIL MEN
By Carl Martin Johnson

My words will not stop evil men,
But my bullets will.
My verses only condemn their sin.
My rifle will the sinners kill.

Shall I leave off foolish verse,
Wasting paper with my rhyme?
With poems too weak to coerce
The villains from their heinous crime?

Rather my sword shall cleave my pen.
More blood than ink shall flow.
I will unsheathe my blade, and then,
I will slay them blow by blow.

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THE RED HORSEMAN
By Carl Martin Johnson

Red Horseman he comes riding,
Bringing with him war and death.
It is futile to be hiding.
He can smell your fearful breath.

I taste him on my tongue,
His flavor bloody pain.
He seduced me when I was young.
I am a part of his domain.

I feel battle’s hot wind blowing,
Drying tears on mothers’ faces.
Grief and sorrow we’ll be knowing,
And the loss of human graces.

Red Horseman gallops into Life
To embrace me once again.
Sharp swords edged with chaos and strife,
Blood brothers in our sin.

Hard Conquest rides before him,
Famine and Death mounted behind.
Good men all deplore him,
But I am Red Horseman’s kind.

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COMING
By Carl Martin Johnson

I can feel war coming,
Like a huge electric storm.
I hear the thunder drumming,
Portending chaos and great harm.

The red-eyed dragon is starving.
He must have his feast.
Young bodies he’ll be carving.
The world must feed the beast.

His belly has been rumbling,
Sensing his banquet near.
The politicians’ fumbling
Was music to his ear.

The storm rolls on before him,
Clearing all who oppose his fiery breath,
Leaving only those who adore him,
Who will play his game of death.

Come, fellow warriors true.
Let us all arm for the fight.
It is men like me and you
Against the Armies of the Night.

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DYING GROUND
By Carl Martin Johnson

Tell me, brother, have you come far
To die here on this ground?
Can you tell me who you are
And what it is you’ve found?

I would cover you if I could,
But bullets are whipping past.
I have to say you don’t look good.
Don’t worry, this fight won’t last.

I hope your end was quick,,
That you didn’t have much pain.
Your lung was not my pick.
I was aiming at your brain.

Your bayonet was sharp.
You used it very well.
Soon I’ll hear an angel’s harp,
Or roast for my sins in Hell.

Maybe we will meet,
If this is not the end.
Where we’re going there’s no defeat,
So I’d like to be your friend.

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TO THE ISLAMIC STATE “CALIPHATE”
By Carl Martin Johnson

Look up! See us coming!
See our flag that you so fear.
Hear our war song drumming.
You will die when we appear.

You threaten our great nation,
Our religion and way of life.
You are the enemy of civilization,
Spreading filth with a butcher’s knife.

We are charging forth to kill you.
You face a bloody end.
Let thoughts of agony fill you.
Only death will be your friend.

No God is on your side.
Do not look to Him for aid.
There is no place to hide.
This is the Final Crusade.

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LONE AMBUSH
By Carl Martin Johnson

The jungle is never silent,
Unless danger is lurking near.
Quiet signals action violent,
And should give rise to fear.

I wait amidst the evening din
For stillness to alert me,
So my attack can begin
Before my enemy can hurt me.

The darkness will conceal me
Until it’s time to fight.
Then my firing will reveal me,
Streaking tracers in the night.

My quarry will pass soon.
I wonder what they’re thinking.
Do they see that crescent moon?
The stars up there blinking?

The forest just went still.
The living things gone mute.
They are coming, and I will kill,
If they don’t spot me before I shoot.

The night approaches when I am the prey.
A hunter waiting in the dark for me.
Then it is a bloody price I’ll pay
For the warrior I choose to be.

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WARRIOR OF THE YPG
By Carl Martin Johnson

I stand to face the evil men
Who would do my people harm.
I will fight and fight again,
With God’s strength in my arm.

This ancient land I hold in trust
For those not yet alive.
I will gladly die, if die I must,
So that my tribe may thrive.

So join with me, my friend.
We will not be defeated.
We will fight until war’s end
And our mission is completed.

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WALK WITH ME NOW

By Carl Martin Johnson

Walk with me now.
Let me show you how
We take our sweet world back.

With the sword, not the plow,
Our enemy I will smite, I vow.
My lion will devour the manged wolf’s pack.

Walk on with me to the ring.
You don’t have to bleed.
I will show what I can bring
To fight evil when we need.

I need to move.
I need to fight.
I need to prove
That good is right.

Walk on with me across the grave.
I will teach you to be brave.
To fight like a man.

You’ll have the glory that you crave
By tearing through these beasts that rave.
I will show you that you can.

I was born with no fear.
Now for me the way seems clear.
I need to move.
I need to fight.
I need to do the thing that’s right.

I’ve wasted time; I’ve wasted breath.
I’m ready to spit in the Face of Death.

Come with me now.

 

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THE SOLDIER COME HOME
By Carl Martin Johnson

He sits quiet at the table,
Afraid to join the conversation.
He would talk if he were able.
If he had the concentration.

His mind was somewhere far,
In the blood, cordite and heat.
While his Dad lit a cigar,
He was in an Afghan street.

He stayed locked in his head,
Away from the table chatter,
With thoughts of buddies dead,
And other things that matter.

He prayed his mind would clear,
Leave him the man he was before,
Lose the war-made fear
That froze him to the core.

He would fight this fight.
He knew that he would win.
He would be all right.
He would be himself again.

 

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MY HEART HAS EMPTY PLACES

By Carl Martin Johnson

 

My heart has empty places.
Spaces I can never fill.
I still can see their faces.
I know I always will.

 

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FIGHT
By Carl Martin Johnson

If evil men rule your nation,
Do not run, but stand.
Struggle for your salvation.
Cut off the despot’s hand.

Ask no one for pity.
Pity is not for men.
Being victim is not pretty.
Hold your head high again.

Honor must not be ceded.
Let none subjugate your soul.
Die, if dying needed,
To keep your honor whole.

Do not flee from danger.
Nor your children see you cower.
Make cowardice a stranger.
Seize the manly hour.

Your ancestors were brave.
Now be warriors, too.
Your people’s destiny you must save.
The fight belongs to you.

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NO PRISONERS
By Carl Martin Johnson

No prisoners would be taken.
No lives would we spare.
Human feelings must be forsaken.
No being swayed by a captive’s prayer.

I knew the reasons well.
It was necessary, I agreed.
We might be damned to Hell,
But the mission had the need.

Now this enemy is in my hands,
A captive, but unwanted.
If I obey my given commands,
It is my soul will be haunted.

Often war is cruel.
Often war is mean.
A horrible, gory duel,
Such as most have never seen.

But I have killed enough today.
I will let this man live.
I will send him unharmed on his way.
If I am wrong, God will forgive.

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LEGACY
By Carl Martin Johnson

We hold no man foe,
Until he gives us cause.
Then our fury he will know.
We will strike him without pause.

I am one who draws the sword.
I will not sheathe it ‘til war is won.
I will charge the enemy horde.
Forward is the only way my kind run.

I take my father’s place,
As he took his before me.
My duty I embrace.
My honor does implore me.

My country is filled with men like me.
For generations we have fought.
We will fight until we have victory,
If a fight is what is sought.

Enemies, I warn!
Attack us and you die!
To fighting we are born.
God and America our battle cry!

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RING THE BELL
By Carl Martin Johnson

I ring the bell for my soul’s sake.
I ring it for my brother.
May it guide us on the course we take,
That we kill not one another.

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WARRIOR’S LAMENT
By Carl Martin Johnson

Are angels crying for me,
Or is it only rain?
Will their tears restore me?
Can they heal my pain?

My soul is torn and battered,
Through no fault but my own.
Many dreams of mine are shattered.
I’m left to walk alone.

The path I’ve chosen is hard and wild.
Adrenaline pollutes my blood.
By the civilized I am reviled.
I would be different if I could.

Yet, Life has made love to me,
Held me hot in her embrace.
Like no woman who ever knew me.
And I’ve seen both sides of her face.

I will not admit defeat.
My self-pity is wasted.
My cup has held both bitter and sweet.
All of Life I’ve tasted.

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GENTLE BREEZES
By Carl Martin Johnson

Gentle breezes cool my face,
Blowing dry the pouring sweat.
I thank God for His good grace,
That I am living yet.

On the air rides a flowery scent,
Wafting light through the foul smell.
Like an angel’s pure descent
Into the rotten bowels of Hell.

I raise my eyes up to the sky,
To clouds of puffy white,
Like playing children passing by,
Ignoring the reek of we who fight.

I find comfort in the smooth, sweet grass,
So green and full of living.
It gives me hope hard times will pass,
And Life will keep on giving.

In a moment I must rise
To face the enemy again.
Should I then meet my demise,
I will have this instant as a win.

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IF I DON’T FIGHT
By Carl Martin Johnson

If I don’t fight, who will?
Shall I just stand by?
Shall I let the evil ones kill
Because I’m afraid to die?

Shall I leave the danger to others,
Watching them bleed while I hide?
Crouch behind warrior brothers,
Lurk in the shadows of those who’ve died?

Was I born coward or man?
Will I make those who love me proud?
I must do what I can,
Or be buried in a coward’s shroud.

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WAR WIND
By Carl Martin Johnson

An icy wind blows through my soul.
I know the fight is coming.
It is out of our control.
I hear the war drums drumming.

We will fight and die.
We will wound and kill.
While wives and mothers cry.
While soldiers’ graveyards fill.

All the horror we well know.
All the suffering and death.
Piles of corpses high will grow,
Filling our nostrils with Satan’s breath.

I will make war because I must,
Lest this world have evil thrive.
I do it with no lust,
But that my people may survive.

I pray war wind calms fast,
That blood ceases soon to flow.
God, let this war be the last.
Let peace be what we know.
 

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TASTING LIFE
By Carl Martin Johnson

He awoke and tasted life,
Like morning dew on his lips.
As with a newly married wife,
He would first take gentle sips.

Around him lay dead and dying,
Yet Fate let him survive.
Departing souls were flying,
But he was still alive.

He breathed the foul air in,
As if it were perfume.
He was alive again.
He had not met his doom.

The World Soul flowed into him.
Its grandeur filled his heart.
All Beings now they knew him.
Of all existence he was a part.

And the life he was now tasting
He would surely savor.
Not a morsel would go wasting.
This time he would enjoy each flavor.

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WAR DRUM
By Carl Martin Johnson

Beat! Beat loud the War Drum!
Arise all men of heart!
The time to fight has now come.
Time to do our part.

The politicians balk.
They lack manly spine.
Time is done for talk.
Time to drink the war god’s wine.

Raise up the righteous war cry!
Roar deep for the enemy’s ear.
Tell them they will soon die,
They know us…and they fear.

Sharpen your battle knives.
All weapons clean and ready.
If we must, we’ll give our lives.
Our resolve is sure and steady.

The War Drum beats and our hearts hear.
Fighting men answer the call.
We are warriors and know not fear.
We will not let our nation fall.

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