Post by My Cursed Syndrome on Apr 21, 2008 22:06:20 GMT -5
LEST WE FORGET [the first war poem I ever wrote]
On the shores of Gallipoli,
where the poppies sway.
On the battlefields of Vietnam,
where the bodies lay.
In the jungles of Congo,
where time stands still.
In our homes, in our hearts,
remember we will.
JUST OVER THE PARAPET [the second]
Just over the parapet
Amongst the bodies and mud
Creeping through No Mans Land
There comes an audible thud.
There's a beast of prey a'stalking
With unwonted care
Just over the parapet
Just over there.
FOREVER
He tips his hat at that rakish tilt
And parades with that joyous jaunty step
I have seen many the same go before him
And not one has come back yet.
Off they go with many a laugh
Boys trying hard to be men
They ignore the ageing buildings, not knowing
That half with never see them again.
They are lain to rest in peaceful slumbers
Peaceful after perishing in mud
No tears are exchanged around their graves
Only poppies the colour of blood.
The Lord chooses the innocent to die
So they shall not see horrors unfold
"Age shall not weary them"
For they shall never grow old.
Forever nineteen, forever a child
Forever so gentle and plain
They will not know that the War goes on
And that their deaths were in vain.
ARMENTIERES
The war has dragged on for years and years
Destroying our hopes and feeding our fears
We are the war, it's cogs and it's gears
We run the show at quaint Armentieres.
“Mademoiselle from Armentieres, parley-voo"
We sing our grim songs just for you
We love quaint Armentieres, yes we do
"Hinky-dinky parley-voo."
THE SEPTEMBER BREEZE [my personal favourite and, so far, best one!]
The September breeze is nice and fresh
As it blows in across my flesh
Brings tell of Winter, bleak and cold
And whispers of comrades who shall never grow old.
Eddies the surface of congested men
Caresses corpses prone in the fen
Makes patterns from artillery smoke
Carries the laughs from a crude soldier joke.
Touches the surface of shell-hole sleet
Brings French rain to us, so oblique
Men move forwards, sub rosa they say
How many thousands shall die today.
The September breeze is nice and fresh
As it kisses my ruined flesh
Brings tell of Death and mothers' tears
I die aged only sixteen years.
On the shores of Gallipoli,
where the poppies sway.
On the battlefields of Vietnam,
where the bodies lay.
In the jungles of Congo,
where time stands still.
In our homes, in our hearts,
remember we will.
JUST OVER THE PARAPET [the second]
Just over the parapet
Amongst the bodies and mud
Creeping through No Mans Land
There comes an audible thud.
There's a beast of prey a'stalking
With unwonted care
Just over the parapet
Just over there.
FOREVER
He tips his hat at that rakish tilt
And parades with that joyous jaunty step
I have seen many the same go before him
And not one has come back yet.
Off they go with many a laugh
Boys trying hard to be men
They ignore the ageing buildings, not knowing
That half with never see them again.
They are lain to rest in peaceful slumbers
Peaceful after perishing in mud
No tears are exchanged around their graves
Only poppies the colour of blood.
The Lord chooses the innocent to die
So they shall not see horrors unfold
"Age shall not weary them"
For they shall never grow old.
Forever nineteen, forever a child
Forever so gentle and plain
They will not know that the War goes on
And that their deaths were in vain.
ARMENTIERES
The war has dragged on for years and years
Destroying our hopes and feeding our fears
We are the war, it's cogs and it's gears
We run the show at quaint Armentieres.
“Mademoiselle from Armentieres, parley-voo"
We sing our grim songs just for you
We love quaint Armentieres, yes we do
"Hinky-dinky parley-voo."
THE SEPTEMBER BREEZE [my personal favourite and, so far, best one!]
The September breeze is nice and fresh
As it blows in across my flesh
Brings tell of Winter, bleak and cold
And whispers of comrades who shall never grow old.
Eddies the surface of congested men
Caresses corpses prone in the fen
Makes patterns from artillery smoke
Carries the laughs from a crude soldier joke.
Touches the surface of shell-hole sleet
Brings French rain to us, so oblique
Men move forwards, sub rosa they say
How many thousands shall die today.
The September breeze is nice and fresh
As it kisses my ruined flesh
Brings tell of Death and mothers' tears
I die aged only sixteen years.