JOSTURM Posted 26 August , 2008 Share Posted 26 August , 2008 Here's my offering from many years ago, when I first visited the war graves... --------------------- I get frustrated the more I learn about the first world war Those stories of good men in trenches chill me to the core The waste, such waste the medics cried as death took more and more Seldom rich starved and thin the best of Britain's poor The leeches or the frostbite a choice to make men sore The Whizz bangs and the Bertha guns shake the ground and roar The officers dreaming of estates and hunting wild boar The giddy heights of pilots flying above the floor The executed deserter not above the law How could the men down on the Somme pursue some future encore All knew the dead none missed out together in rapport Asked now to go to fight the same I'd show the man the door ! If Tommy won a fight at all he made us ask 'what for' ? I get frustrated the more I hear about the great great war ! --------------- Regards Josturm Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Smithmaps Posted 26 August , 2008 Share Posted 26 August , 2008 My offering: Shell Hole There will always be a shell hole on the ridge up by messines Though its been a century, since the whistles blew You will always hear a Tommy, moaning about latrines For the dead still walk the parapet Where shells and bullets flew There will always be a dugout, with muffled voices in the deep Where machine gun muzzles swept, the cows and sheep now stand But outside still waits a sentry, fighting fitfull sleep Beneath the turf so nicely kept, the Gas alarms are manned By no mans land, beneath the fields the HQ phones still ring But its the dead that man the firestep, and its the dead that now stand to You can smell the soldiers cooking, and you can hear dead soldiers sing And its the dead that dream of blighty and what in civvy street they'll do Some who walk the old line, can sense what things have been Most have a connection to a family member lost Most will leave with something, just a feeling or a dream For here we are the closest to what 'victory' really cost No matter how the years pass, as the tranquil fields are ploughed It will always be the front line for as long as the sky is wide Our cherished dead still linger, all around with their heads bowed They died for us in another time And its where their souls reside Guy Smith 7th March 2006 Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Smithmaps Posted 26 August , 2008 Share Posted 26 August , 2008 Here is another I dug out, Deboragh is the tank which Phillipe Gorgynski recovered at Cambrai...... Deborah In a sleepy village, battle worn and streaked with rust. The shattered tank though twisted, stands formidable and proud Mere yards from here, she met her end, in the hell of battle thrust Her time worn frame, now pock marked, waits in vigil for the crowds. Modern crowds with TV eyes, no longer stop to dream But come to gorpe unknowingly, and stare in vacant thought Their rebel children fight, with plastic guns and laugh and scream, And leave the scattered remnants of the lunch their parents brought A different race, most know not how, nor care what freedom cost Their worries are more trivial, and rest in daily life and chores Their gaze transfixed in now, few still weep for loved ones lost Or appreciate the debt, we owe to those that came before But here the lady stands, with time, drifting through her many holes From another life, her history is blasted across the years A window on the struggle, of those gallant desperate souls Whose distant, waning flame, has all but disappeared As shallow fools, we look to her, and almost touch remembering A lighted match from time, to spark a flame in all our minds No sham of glory hides her truth, that war's a hateful thing In one look we can't escape, she shames the face of all mankind And though she shows with brutal honesty, the very worst of man And proves no lower can our nations, ever sink in squalor She shows to us as well, the very very best of men Who in that hour of shame, shine above us all with honour. Guy Smith 20th May 2005 Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
salesie Posted 27 August , 2008 Share Posted 27 August , 2008 Lost. Any news of Tommy? Just this telegram! All brown and neat but oh so black. They seem to forget that I’m his Mam. Handed to me by that post-boy Sam, Knocked on our door, peddled down the track. Any news of Tommy? Just this telegram! Came over all faint, had to lean on the jamb, When stuck in my hand, from out of his sack. They seem to forget that I’m his Mam. Perhaps he’s not dead, led like a poor lamb, Only bloodied in a small attack? Any news of Tommy? Just this telegram! Tore off the edge, hope shored the dam. A few polite lines; he’s never coming back. They seem to forget that I’m his Mam. Down to the floor, my head just swam. Oh, Mrs Atkins! I’ll run and get Jack. Any news of Tommy? Just this telegram! They seem to forget that I’m his Mam. © John Sales 2002. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
squirrel Posted 27 August , 2008 Share Posted 27 August , 2008 Well done- why don't you try an entry in the MGWAT thread on the War Art section. New topic every month. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
JOSTURM Posted 27 August , 2008 Author Share Posted 27 August , 2008 Guy, we've met through ian Whitlock at High Wood, that Sunday the year before last when we went to see Philippe's tank in on the farm... Best Regards Peter (Josturm) Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Smithmaps Posted 27 August , 2008 Share Posted 27 August , 2008 Guy, we've met through ian Whitlock at High Wood, that Sunday the year before last when we went to see Philippe's tank in on the farm... Best Regards Peter (Josturm) Hi Peter, Last outing to High Wood with poor old Trevor Pidgeon. Small world. Guy Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
PhilB Posted 27 August , 2008 Share Posted 27 August , 2008 I couldn`t even compete with the very atmospheric "Boom, boom, boom, boom, - Boom, boom, boom boom, etc" penned by that Pte Baldrick. I find it`s not long before the rhymes get too obviously contrived. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Muerrisch Posted 28 August , 2008 Share Posted 28 August , 2008 On the interment of Private Clarke and two companions. We are here, we are here, regular soldier [down to a few], collier’s assistant, joined for a time, too many years we’ve been buried from view by the rumble and thump of the Red Dragon mine. We are there, we are there, on the Memorial, carved into stone listed as Missing and mourned for a time, the old crater’s filled, the soldiers have gone since the rumble and thump of the Red Dragon mine. We are home, we are home, Bearers and Padre and Drummers at Gorre, Company graves by the right in a line three of our soldiers Missing no more from the rumble and thump of the Red Dragon mine. © David Langley May 2001 Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
squirrel Posted 28 August , 2008 Share Posted 28 August , 2008 Grumpy' I like that poem very much -well written. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Muerrisch Posted 29 August , 2008 Share Posted 29 August , 2008 Thank you squirrel: it is, in fact, a true story, the final chapter 'written' at Gorre-Beuvry about 3 years ago. The RWF provided full military honours, drummer, pioneers, bearers, padre. A friend of my videoed it for me. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
squirrel Posted 29 August , 2008 Share Posted 29 August , 2008 Grumpy, I'd guessed as much from the style and the content. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Hett65 Posted 29 August , 2008 Share Posted 29 August , 2008 I have never been into poetry, the last time I read any was about 45 years ago when I was at school. I have however written the following poem, and I would appreciate members having a read and letting me know if parts (or worse still all) have been taken from other poems I possibly read at school, as I am worried that my subconcious has come to the for from many years ago. I would hate to think it was a copy of a famous war poem, however I must admit we did not read any military poems at school. Thanks John REMEMBER THEM When they enlisted they were full of hope To go with their friends aboard the waiting train, and boat They landed in a foreign port, and field To go and fight and not to yield They did their duty for King, country, family and friends Hoping to return to their loved ones when it ends They fought hard in the trenches with bayonet and gun Giving no quarter to the hated Hun They suffered gas, bullets, shrapnel and weather Holding the line, with all their chums together Oh how hard they laughed and cried Thousand upon thousand wounded and died In the fields the crosses stand row on row Men departed long ago They fought together, they were the brave Many ending in an early grave Their sacrifice was not in vain Hopefully no wars like this ever again. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
JOSTURM Posted 30 August , 2008 Author Share Posted 30 August , 2008 John, I think that's a fine poem - thanks for contributing it for the Pals. Peter Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
JOSTURM Posted 30 August , 2008 Author Share Posted 30 August , 2008 Phil, maybe some un-rhyming narrative then ? whatever you feel like. Peter Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
James Blonde Posted 31 August , 2008 Share Posted 31 August , 2008 My Two Bobs Worth:- Thoughts On The Battleground of Verdun, France, 5/6/7 November 1999. 1. Here in Verdun's green countryside all is now quite, no more the sound of shot or shell to disturb natures course, only Autumn wind to carpet this old battle ground's shell cratered floor in shades of gold and brown. No more the roar of shot and shell with Cordite, Gas and corpse foul smell, filled with men in living Hell, Only sounds of children at play. 2. "Hush! Silence! Quiet!" the elder visitors on Annual Pilgrimage stares seem to say. "What of respect?" But I like to think the sounds of young voices bring a ghostly smile to French, German and American entombed by Death, in Verdun's cold wet clay, their last sounds in mortal strife, the harsh Cannons roar, with whistle and hiss of wicked bomb, bullet and Gas, praying to God to speed them on Eternal way, and to Mother for pain to pass. So, let the young run, play and sing, for them the talk of War means nothing, 'tis a far better sound than wars infernal din and no harm can come from such an innocent thing, for too long Verdun's thirsty soil, ran red and drank from war's harsh and crazy toil. Too many died, lives wasted and to what avail? for who and what righteous cause did they prevail? 3. In Death's eternal grasp, buried in grave, casement and trench, soldiers German, American and French. In less than twenty years, Death came again in answer to Wars ring, more men this time called to bloody slaughter, fathers and sons, both local and from across the water, bringing more tears and anguish at home to mothers, wives and daughters. Connaught Stranger. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
ItemCo16527 Posted 20 September , 2008 Share Posted 20 September , 2008 I wrote this about 10 years ago. I entered it in a poetry contest, but I didn't win 1914 The tolling of the iron bell sends England's boys into Hell. After the call for volunteers come second thoughts and rising fears. Pals go to the trenches ready to fight, they kill and die day and night. Why they fight they do not know, Sir Douglas Haig bids them go. Over the top to defeat the Hun, "Kill them all, to the last one!" Through No Man's Land they forge ahead, while all around comrades fall dead. The casualties mount, they know they have lost, while the Generals shout: "Win at all cost!" The Pals they beat a hasty retreat, and by surviving they have found victory in defeat. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
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