Poetry on the Forum

[Tim Godden]

Hi all,

It has been suggested on another thread that we start a thread for members to contribute there Great War related poetry on. I think this is a great idea, so as no one else has yet I decided to start it!

So I guess I should get the ball rolling, so to speak!

The Veteran #2

The leaves fell early that autumn.

He gripped the curtain tight in his hand,

As if letting go would make him fall off the edge of the Earth.

Rain lashed the window, rattling the glass in the panes.

Grey cloud loomed, angry, over tormented trees,

Hateful sky pushing down the happy memories of summer.

Rose petals lay, decaying on the sodden floor.

Curled like hands in rigomortis' grip

Their brilliant figment faded to a drab lilac.

Folding on themselves,

Turning inwards,

To nothing.

He wanted to break down,

Wanted to cry for them.

Watching them,

Feeding them,

Loving them.

Now their image betrayed by their actuality.

They lay,

Twitching in the swirls of bitter wind,

Crouched in the rain,

Dying in hiding.

He hurt for them,

For their lost beauty.

I look forward to reading some of the other forum members' work.

All the best,

Tim

[Garraway Girl]

When I was in my mid teens I purchased an old book on English poetry. I fell in love with a poem by Rupert Brooke," The Soldier". At the time, I really did not connect it with the first world war. I viewed it more on a personal level of being British born but living in a foreign land (Canada). Only now, with the passage of time can I realize it's significance.

Rupert Brooke died at the age of 27 from blood poisoning, while serving, in 1915.

It brings me to my knees, and just hours before I read this post, I chose it for my signature.

Amanda

[Boreenatra]

I emailed a friend and he gave me this

The Unknown Soldier

Someone asked who carved the names

On stones that stand in grey in endless rows

I knew a man who did that work

"It's just a job son" he noted when I asked

He paused in thought-and softly said

"My old man died in the second lot"

He reached across for a marking tool

"France '44, not sure where

I've got 'is name-same as mine"

He chips away and hums a tuneless song

I want to ask him 'bout his Dad

But can't, thats family see.

But if by chance he knew our Jack

I would ask all manner of things

When and How and Where and Why

What was he like- I never knew

He leans, and blows softly on the stone

"I'll tell you something lad" he says

"Men in war don't give their lives

It's a-taken from 'em"

And nods in agreement with himself

Satisfied, he chips again

Creating perpetuity for someone

I rise to leave but have to know

The name he's carved with loving care

"Only God will know who he was"

The Unknown Soldier laid to rest.

Regards Steve.

[spike10764]

Tim,

Here's my attempt, not trained or anything, just straight from the heart. Partly inspired by the book title Men Who March away and a picture of the 11th Borders marching out of Carlisle on their way to Brigade training ( ultimately to battle)in 1915.

The Men Who Marched Out

England expected, they answered the call,

From pit, farm, shop, factory and stall.

Side by side they learned a new trade,

And wondered if they could be brave,

The Men Who Marched Out and Not Back.

The men who marched out, in wars early bloom,

Smiles on their faces,

Boarding the train to new lands and places.

It was not the last time their mothers would cry,

As they stood in the gay crowds,waving goodbye.

Some didn't march back, they went to their doom.

The men who marched out, not back ;

On that summer morning, fateful attack.

"Go for the quarry, It's just up the track,"

Then, the machine guns stuttering hack,

The crashing of shells and the rifles whipcrack,

For The Men Who Marched Out, Not Back.

Those that returned attending the rollcall,

Bloodied and muddied, solemn and doleful.

As names are called out, no answer there comes,

From many they knew, their very own chums

Missing or Bought it, Gone West.....

Men they had lauged with and drank with, and sang

And spoke of their families, shaken their hands.

The Men Who Marched Out, Not Back.

It was long long ago, they marched out, and yet

Let us honour their memory and NEVER FORGET.

The 11th Battalion, Border Regiment, marched to Carlisle Station on 8th May 1915, to the accompanyment of cheering crowds. They were going to complete their military training, training that would culminate in their date with destiny- July 1st 1916, in France, the start of the Battle of the Somme. The bloodiest day in British Military History.

The Lonsdales, as they were known, suffered on that day to the tune of over 520 casualties, of which, at least 120 were killed or missing. Some of the wounded died days later, others survived to perish later in the war, or return home to their loved ones. The battalion, like many that day, was shattered, as the Pals Battalion idea took it's place in history and was soon hastily abandoned by the Government.

Many of these Battalions fought on throughout the war splendidly, and were much beloved by the communities that spawned them, even when drafts of men were apportioned from elsewhere, as the new system, designed to avoid the rows of mourning homes in villages and towns, took effect. The communities, though did not forget and the Pals Battalion Names remain in memory. The men who payed the ultimate price in the Great War, lie peacefully in well tended plots, in graveyards all over France and Flanders. Many, who could not be found or identified, are commemorated on Memorials, at home and in France and Flanders. All are cared for by the Commonwealth War Graves Commission- in perpetuity.

They never marched back........

[Cotswold]

I love this Poem, very apt.

JUST A SIMPLE SOLDIER

He was getting old and paunchy and his hair was falling fast,

and he sat around the Legion, telling stories of the past

of a war that he had fought in and the deeds that he had done,

in his exploits with his buddies; they were heroes, every one.

And though' sometimes, to his neighbours, his tales became a joke,

All his Legion buddies listened, for they knew whereof he spoke.

But we'll hear his tales no longer for old Bill has passed away,

and the world's a little poorer, for a Soldier died today.

He will not be mourned by many, just his children and his wife,

for he lived an ordinary and quite uneventful life.

Held a job and raised a family, quietly going his own way,

and the world won't note his passing, though a Soldier died today.

When politicians leave this earth, their bodies lie in state,

while thousands note their passing and proclaim that they were great.

Papers tell their whole life stories, from the time that they were young,

but the passing of a Soldier goes unnoticed and unsung.

Is the greatest contribution to the welfare of our land

a guy who breaks his promises and cons his fellow man?

Or the ordinary fellow who, in times of war and strife,

goes off to serve his Country and offers up his life?

A politician's stipend and the style in which he lives

are sometimes disproportionate to the service that he gives.

While the ordinary Soldier, who offered up his all,

is paid off with a medal and perhaps, a pension small.

It's so easy to forget them for it was so long ago,

That the old Bills of our Country went to battle, but we know

It was not the politicians, with their compromise and ploys,

Who won for us the freedom that our Country now enjoys.

Should you find yourself in danger, with your enemies at hand,

would you want a politician with his ever-shifting stand?

Or would you prefer a Soldier, who has sworn to defend

His home, his kin and Country and would fight until the end?

He was just a simple Soldier and his ranks are growing thin,

but his presence should remind us we may need his like again.

For when countries are in conflict, then we find the Soldier's part

is to clean up all the troubles that the politicians start.

If we cannot do him honour while he's here to hear the praise,

then at least let's give him homage at the ending of his days.

Perhaps just a simple headline in a paper that would say,

”OUR COUNTRY IS IN MOURNING, FOR A SOLDIER DIED TODAY”

‘A Soldier Died Today’

by A. Lawrence Vaincourt

Regards,

Donna.

[Cotswold]

My own attempt:

FOR MY FREEDOM

I walked a battlefield today

and sat and thought a while,

of all the brave men

who must have marched this way.

What was on their mind?

As they walked through fields of mud

and grass stained red with blood.

Someone’s husband, father or son,

So bravely fought for freedom.

For they did what had to be done.

Without these brave men,

what would we have become?

On the eleventh hour of the eleventh day,

of the eleventh month,

I remember you, every one of you,

Who fought so bravely for my freedom.

I will never forget your sacrifice,

For you paid the ultimate price,

FOR MY FREEDOM.

Regards,

Donna

[squirrel]

cotswold,

thanks for posting these two - very moving and emotive.

Squirrel

[Glosters]

I wrote this several years ago:

Known Unto God.

Never again the tears will flow

From eyes that cannot see,

Only dead men here so who will know

Their world that used to be.

Never again birds in their sky,

No song of life to sing,

No dead men's lips will make reply

Their pain, no scream will bring.

Never again will memories fall

Upon their unnamed graves,

For mercy will no dead men call

Of silence they are slaves.

Never again that infernal hell,

The peace will now deceive;

Only dead men here so who can tell,

And anyway who would believe.

Steve

[Cotswold]

That really is a lovely poem Steve, well written.

Regards,

Donna

[spike10764]

I wrote this several years ago:

Known Unto God.

Never again the tears will flow

From eyes that cannot see,

Only dead men here so who will know

Their world that used to be.

<{POST_SNAPBACK}>

Very good Steve, plain, simple and emotive in a way that I like very much.

[Tim Godden]

Spike, Donna and Steve,

Firstly, thanks for posting your poems, it is a very personal thing to let others see.

Steve, there is a slight Edward Thomas feel to your poetry. The lateral way of looking at a subject I think may be it.

Well done to all of you.

Cheers,

Tim

[Ozzie]

This is the first attempt at poetry I've tried. I know poetry supposed to ryhme but it just didn't work out that way

The Nek.

The Anzacs have all gone,

gone to meet their mates who lay in Turkish soil.

Gone to a place of no pain, up there

One old bloke says to a young one… if only.

I saw you go down and tried to reach you,

but you were dead before you hit the ground.

All these years, I saw you fall, all these years I tried

to recall,

if I had yelled sooner or if I had gone over before you,

would you have lived to march with me at dawn?

It was a mess, only we knew that, as we waited,

in the chilly early morning light.

Mates saying goodbye to mates,

a solemn moment, a private moment in time,

that has lived in my mind for these last eighty years.

So many died, so few lived, but fear not,

we remembered you.

Every day, every night, we thought of that morning,

when men ordered their fellow man to die.

We did not forget. We marched, our colours held high.

The crowds, meagre at first, grew and grew.

But they did not see, they did not remember, the sights and sounds,

the smells and the men of Gallipoli.

And now I am here with you for eternity,

Our troop finally rejoined.

Kim

[Tim Godden]

Kim,

It is a very good first attempt - try some more, and let us know how you get on.

Well done.

Cheers,

Tim

[Guest mordi]

With apologies to Eric Bogle,

And now every April you hold your Parades

At Anzac At Wipers In Oz

But we're staying here

There's no Gloom There's no Cheer

There's no Waltzing No Marching

BECAUSE!

[Ozzie]

Thanks for the PM, Tim!

It is great to have a forum that is so large in it's capacity to cover so many aspects of Forum Members interests.

Cheers

Kim