War Poetry. - Page 2
Read more about Soldiers’ Ground by Brian Cowan This piece of earth so green and lush is hallowed ground to me. Though you may see abundant life, that isn’t what I see. I see p
|September 28th, 2011||#11|
This piece of earth so green and lush is hallowed ground to me.
Though you may see abundant life, that isn’t what I see.
I see politicians’ lies and Generals’ poor command,
And loss and tears and sacrifice, that sanctified this land.
Though trivial geography to those whose feet it bore,
Its brave defenders challenged us for who would want it more.
Tooth for tooth, eye for eye and crimson blood for blood,
Every anguished inch we bought, exchanging flesh for mud.
And when the battle ended and our prize was made secure,
When we beheld what cost us dear, our victory seemed unsure.
Smoking, scorched and barren earth, devoid of any life,
Scarlet-cloaked with broken men, the residues of strife
Now grass thrives on the sweat of those who cursed and fought and bled,
Flowers root in sanguine soil, perfume decaying dead.
Your white and towering monuments that glisten in the sun,
Remind me of the bones they hide. For you, the job is done.
You stand and make pronouncement at the valour that was shown,
You call this land a symbol and you claim it as your own,
But political diplomacy and Generals’ great reward,
Were purchased with the struggle of those men who took the sword.
You dare to stand among us now, pretending at our loss,
To know the true and deeper meaning of a soldier’s cross.
This ground is ours, both friend and foe. We bought it with our all.
While you stood last and cheered us on, ignoring duty’s call.
Be gone from here pretenders for you do not have the right,
To share with those who sacrificed. Those who fought the fight
Your gains are built on their remains. Your glory we hold cheap.
Your presence here an insult to all those who sleep the sleep.
Your posing and your flowery speeches, eloquently trite.
Charades of ceremony are but mockery in our sight,
The victor and the vanquished bled to hold this land so dear
Be gone, for this is soldiers’ ground. You have no business here.
|September 30th, 2011||#12|
Rupert Brooke Died in the first World War info
If I should die, think only this of me:
That there's some corner of a foreign field
That is forever 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.
|September 30th, 2011||#13|
THE GREEN BERET MEN
By Rod Spinks, Royal Marine 1957/68.
A word in the house, a stroke of a pen
The country disbanded a fine body of men
With fighting finesse and fitness supreme
The creme de la creme wore berets of Green.
Their training was tough, it had to be so
How to fight with a knife and kill with one blow
Salerno, Vaagso, Dieppe and St Nazaire
With impossible odds the Commando's were there.
Their raids so successful that once Hitler said
"If captured no prisoners I want these men dead"
To late he discovered his men were not keen
To battle with these Marines who wore berets of Green.
On D-Day at Sword beach they were there to the fore
As they jumped from the landing craft and made for the shore
Their contempt for the Nazi's was very plain to see
For they wore not steel helmets but berets of Green.
When it was all over and the fighting no more
The first that was disbanded was the Green beret Corp's
Who went back to their Shires, their Towns and their Glens
A real fine body of gentle self disciplined men.
As the years roll on by they still meet it is said
To talk, toast the Queen and remember their dead
Whose memorial stands at the foot of the Ben
Where they fought for the right to be Green beret men.
For our freedom of movement our freedom of speech
To those who come after , this gospel I preach
A word in the house a stroke of the pen these cannot wipe out
The debt to those brave Green beret men.
|October 31st, 2011||#15|
Cry of a Dead Soldier
By an unknown 15 year old American girl.
They said it would be hard,
Not hard as I had thought,
As I stood in a line,
With my friends and fought.
'Til one by one,
We were gunned down,
As the government sat at home,
With heavy heads and a frown.
They were angry,
Perhaps embarrassed of us,
We tried our best...
But it wasn't enough.
And still they send,
More troops to die...
Of my friends and I.
My wife was at home,
The children too...
Not knowing that..
Their worst dreams had come true.
It's too late now,
They'll never see my face,
Because where I lie...
Is my resting place.
I dream of the day,
When we meet in the sky..
I can't even say goodbye.
|October 31st, 2011||#16|
This one goes out as a tribute to all of you who served in Vietnam.
Remembering the War
By Toni Cross-Rumbel
It's amazing how long ago it was
I'll never forget though
Four or five decades have passed
I still remember as though it were yesterday
I'll never forget the Vietnam War
It all started with the letter
The dirty evil curse that bound so many citizens
I remember crying when I first saw the piece of paper
I'll never forget the look of horror on my sister's face
It was one of those moments where I wished I were dead
I'll never forget the Vietnam War
Most of my mates talk in a tight circle
I know full well why they do so
I do too; well nobody would want to talk about it with anyone else
Not if they were criticized by the public
For doing what they thought was right
For fighting for their country
I'll never forget the Vietnam War
Most of us veterans are scared for life
You may not notice when you first walk past us
But if you know us real well
And if you look real close
You'll find that there's definitely something wrong
That there's something that's buried deep inside
I'll never forget the Vietnam War
|October 31st, 2011||#17|
A few years ago I had the honour of being a colour bearer for the RAFA here in South Africa during Remembrance Day. The flags were slowly lowered as the last post was played. I'm not an emotional type of person, but I had tears running down my cheeks. Neither am I ashamed to admit it.
There were ex Afrika Korps as well as South African and British ex 8th Army soldiers standing side by side, and then laying their wreaths, all remembering their mates who died.
Author: SSgt. Scott E Hilligoss
The soldiers life is not for all
A soldier must be willing to give his all
He is overworked and underpaid
A truer patriot was never made
Ready to go at any time
Wherever there is trouble or the first sign
His courage and honor are unsurpassed
Ready and willing to complete the task
Travelling to lands both near and far
He stands his post and looks at the stars
Wondering what he might have done
If he had not chosen to carry a gun
Remember the next time that you are driving by
And see the flag flying proud and high
That somewhere out there a soldier stands
Weary and cold in a foreign land
Protecting our country from our foes
Standing tall and proud come rain or snow.
I try to be the man my dog thinks I am.
Last edited by BritinAfrica; October 31st, 2011 at 10:07..
|December 8th, 2011||#18|
“Merry Christmas, My Friend” by LCpl James M Schmidt, USMC, 1986
Twas the night before Christmas, he lived all alone,
In a one bedroom house made of plaster & stone.
I had come down the chimney, with presents to give
and to see just who in this home did live
As I looked all about, a strange sight I did see,
no tinsel, no presents, not even a tree.
No stocking by the fire, just boots filled with sand.
On the wall hung pictures of a far distant land.
With medals and badges, awards of all kind,
a sobering thought soon came to my mind.
For this house was different, unlike any I'd seen.
This was the home of a U.S. Marine.
I'd heard stories about them, I had to see more,
so I walked down the hall and pushed open the door.
And there he lay sleeping, silent, alone,
Curled up on the floor in his one-bedroom home.
He seemed so gentle, his face so serene,
Not how I pictured a U.S. Marine.
Was this the hero, of whom I’d just read?
Curled up in his poncho, a floor for his bed?
His head was clean-shaven, his weathered face tan.
I soon understood, this was more than a man.
For I realized the families that I saw that night,
owed their lives to these men, who were willing to fight.
Soon around the Nation, the children would play,
And grown-ups would celebrate on a bright Christmas day.
They all enjoyed freedom, each month and all year,
because of Marines like this one lying here.
I couldn’t help wonder how many lay alone,
on a cold Christmas Eve, in a land far from home.
Just the very thought brought a tear to my eye.
I dropped to my knees and I started to cry.
He must have awoken, for I heard a rough voice,
"Santa, don't cry, this life is my choice.
I fight for freedom, I don't ask for moreMy life is my God, my country, my Corps."
With that he rolled over, drifted off into sleep,
I couldn't control it, I continued to weep.
I watched him for hours, so silent and still.
I noticed he shivered from the cold night's chill.
So I took off my jacket, the one made of red,
and covered this Marine from his toes to his head.
Then I put on his T-shirt of scarlet and gold,
with an eagle, globe and anchor emblazoned so bold.
And although it barely fit me, I began to swell with pride,
and for one shining moment, I was Marine Corps deep inside.
I didn't want to leave him so quiet in the night,
this guardian of honor so willing to fight.
But half asleep he rolled over, and in a voice clean and pure,
said "Carry on, Santa, it's Christmas Day, all secure."
One look at my watch and I knew he was right,
Merry Christmas my friend, Semper Fi and goodnight.
|December 14th, 2011||#19|
My son, who is twelve, was studying war poetry leading up to Remembrance Day this year.
After reading various poems, they were asked to write their own.
This is what he wrote:
Brave boys die,
Fighting for a stranger's freedom
Airstrikes rock the ground
For some religion,
Or dumb guy's decision,
Innocent people die
Coffins fly home,
Soldiers write home,
Wondering if they'll
Ever come back
|December 14th, 2011||#20|
English by the grace of God.