Lest We Forget.....
Posted: Sun Nov 11, 2012 7:29 pm
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Lest We Forget.....
Page 1 of 2
Re: Lest We Forget.....
Posted: Sun Nov 11, 2012 9:38 pm
Re: Lest We Forget.....
Posted: Sun Nov 11, 2012 11:12 pm
Re: Lest We Forget.....
Posted: Sun Nov 11, 2012 11:21 pm
In Flanders fields
In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place: and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.
We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.
Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.
John McCrae (1872–1918)
For the fallen
With proud thanksgiving, a mother for her children,
England mourns for her dead across the sea.
Flesh of her flesh they were, spirit of her spirit,
Fallen in the cause of the free.
Solemn the drums thrill: Death august and royal
Sings sorrow up into immortal spheres.
There is music in the midst of desolation
And a glory that shines upon our tears.
They went with songs to the battle, they were young,
Straight of limb, true of eye, steady and aglow.
They were staunch to the end against odds uncounted,
They fell with their faces to the foe.
They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old;
Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.
At the going down of the sun and in the morning
We will remember them.
They mingle not with their laughing comrades again;
They sit no more at familiar tables at home;
They have no lot in our labour of the day-time;
They sleep beyond England's foam.
But where our desires are and our hopes profound,
Felt as a well-spring that is hidden from sight,
To the innermost heart of their own land they are known
As the stars are known to the Night;
As the stars that shall be bright when we are dust,
Moving in marches upon the heavenly plain,
As the stars that are starry in the time of our darkness,
To the end, to the end, they remain.
Laurence Binyon (1869–1943)
In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place: and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.
We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.
Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.
John McCrae (1872–1918)
For the fallen
With proud thanksgiving, a mother for her children,
England mourns for her dead across the sea.
Flesh of her flesh they were, spirit of her spirit,
Fallen in the cause of the free.
Solemn the drums thrill: Death august and royal
Sings sorrow up into immortal spheres.
There is music in the midst of desolation
And a glory that shines upon our tears.
They went with songs to the battle, they were young,
Straight of limb, true of eye, steady and aglow.
They were staunch to the end against odds uncounted,
They fell with their faces to the foe.
They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old;
Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.
At the going down of the sun and in the morning
We will remember them.
They mingle not with their laughing comrades again;
They sit no more at familiar tables at home;
They have no lot in our labour of the day-time;
They sleep beyond England's foam.
But where our desires are and our hopes profound,
Felt as a well-spring that is hidden from sight,
To the innermost heart of their own land they are known
As the stars are known to the Night;
As the stars that shall be bright when we are dust,
Moving in marches upon the heavenly plain,
As the stars that are starry in the time of our darkness,
To the end, to the end, they remain.
Laurence Binyon (1869–1943)
Re: Lest We Forget.....
Posted: Mon Nov 12, 2012 12:59 am
A Soldier
He is that fallen lance that lies as hurled,
That lies unlifted now, come dew, come rust,
But still lies pointed as it plowed the dust.
If we who sight along it round the world,
See nothing worthy to have been its mark,
It is because like men we look too near,
Forgetting that as fitted to the sphere,
Our missiles always make too short an arc.
They fall, they rip the grass, they intersect
The curve of earth, and striking, break their own;
They make us cringe for metal-point on stone.
But this we know, the obstacle that checked
And tripped the body, shot the spirit on
Further than target ever showed or shone.
-- Robert Frost (1928)
He is that fallen lance that lies as hurled,
That lies unlifted now, come dew, come rust,
But still lies pointed as it plowed the dust.
If we who sight along it round the world,
See nothing worthy to have been its mark,
It is because like men we look too near,
Forgetting that as fitted to the sphere,
Our missiles always make too short an arc.
They fall, they rip the grass, they intersect
The curve of earth, and striking, break their own;
They make us cringe for metal-point on stone.
But this we know, the obstacle that checked
And tripped the body, shot the spirit on
Further than target ever showed or shone.
-- Robert Frost (1928)
Re: Lest We Forget.....
Posted: Mon Nov 12, 2012 1:05 am
Champs d'Honneur
Soldiers never do die well;
Crosses mark the places --
Wooden crosses where they fell,
Stuck above their faces.
Soldiers pitch and cough and twitch --
All the world roars red and black;
Soldiers smother in a ditch,
Choking through the whole attack.
-- Ernest Hemingway (1923)
Soldiers never do die well;
Crosses mark the places --
Wooden crosses where they fell,
Stuck above their faces.
Soldiers pitch and cough and twitch --
All the world roars red and black;
Soldiers smother in a ditch,
Choking through the whole attack.
-- Ernest Hemingway (1923)
Re: Lest We Forget.....
Posted: Mon Nov 12, 2012 1:12 am
The Man He Killed
"Had he and I but met
By some old ancient inn
We should have sat us down to wet
Right many a nipperkin!
"But ranged as infantry,
And staring face to face,
I shot at him as he at me,
And killed him in his place.
"I shot him dead because --
Because he was my foe,
Just so: my foe of course he was;
That's clear enough; although
"He'd thought he'd 'list, perhaps,
Off-hand like -- just as I --
Was out of work -- had sold his traps --
No other reason why.
"Yes; quaint and curious war is!
You shoot a fellow down
You'd treat if met where any bar is,
Or help to half-a-crown."
-- Thomas Hardy (1909)
"Had he and I but met
By some old ancient inn
We should have sat us down to wet
Right many a nipperkin!
"But ranged as infantry,
And staring face to face,
I shot at him as he at me,
And killed him in his place.
"I shot him dead because --
Because he was my foe,
Just so: my foe of course he was;
That's clear enough; although
"He'd thought he'd 'list, perhaps,
Off-hand like -- just as I --
Was out of work -- had sold his traps --
No other reason why.
"Yes; quaint and curious war is!
You shoot a fellow down
You'd treat if met where any bar is,
Or help to half-a-crown."
-- Thomas Hardy (1909)
Re: Lest We Forget.....
Posted: Mon Nov 12, 2012 1:27 am
War Is Kind
Do not weep, maiden, for war is kind.
Because your lover threw wild hands toward
the sky
And the affrighted steed ran on alone,
Do not weep.
War is kind.
Hoarse, booming drums of the regiment,
Little souls who thirst for fight,
These men were born to drill and die.
The unexplained glory flies above them,
Great is the Battle-God, great, and his
Kingdom --
A field where a thousand corpses lie.
Do not weep, babe, for war is kind.
Because your father tumbled in the yellow
trenches,
Raged at his breast, gulped and died,
Do not weep.
War is kind.
Swift blazing flag of the regiment,
Eagle with crest of red and gold,
These men were born to drill and die.
Point for them the virtue of slaughter,
Make plain to them the excellence of killing
And a field where a thousand corpses lie.
Mother whose heart hung humble as a button
On the bright splendid shroud of your son,
Do not weep.
War is kind.
-- Stephen Crane (1899)
Do not weep, maiden, for war is kind.
Because your lover threw wild hands toward
the sky
And the affrighted steed ran on alone,
Do not weep.
War is kind.
Hoarse, booming drums of the regiment,
Little souls who thirst for fight,
These men were born to drill and die.
The unexplained glory flies above them,
Great is the Battle-God, great, and his
Kingdom --
A field where a thousand corpses lie.
Do not weep, babe, for war is kind.
Because your father tumbled in the yellow
trenches,
Raged at his breast, gulped and died,
Do not weep.
War is kind.
Swift blazing flag of the regiment,
Eagle with crest of red and gold,
These men were born to drill and die.
Point for them the virtue of slaughter,
Make plain to them the excellence of killing
And a field where a thousand corpses lie.
Mother whose heart hung humble as a button
On the bright splendid shroud of your son,
Do not weep.
War is kind.
-- Stephen Crane (1899)
Re: Lest We Forget.....
Posted: Mon Nov 12, 2012 1:41 am
Charge of the Light Brigade
Half a league, half a league,
Half a league onward,
All in the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.
"Forward the Light Brigade!
Charge for the guns!" he said.
Into the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.
"Forward the Light Brigade!"
Was there a man dismayed?
Not though the soldier knew
Someone had blundered.
Theirs not to make reply,
Theirs not to reason why,
Theirs but to do and die.
Into the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.
Cannon to right of them,
Cannon to left of them,
Cannon in front of them
Volleyed and thundered;
Stormed at with shot and shell,
Boldly they rode and well,
Into the jaws of Death,
Into the mouth of Hell
Rode the six hundred.
Flashed all their sabers bare,
Flashed as they turned in air
Sabring the gunners there,
Charging an army, while
All the world wondered.
Plunged in the battery-smoke
Right through the line they broke;
Cossack and Russian
Reeled from the saber-stroke
Shattered and sundered.
Then they rode back, but not,
Not the six hundred.
Cannon to right of them,
Cannon to left of them,
Cannon behind them
Volleyed and thundered;
Stormed at with shot and shell,
While horse and hero fell,
They that had fought so well
Came through the jaws of Death,
Back from the mouth of Hell,
All that was left of them,
Left of six hundred.
When can their glory fade?
O the wild charge they made!
All the world wondered.
Honor the charge they made!
Honor the Light Brigade!
Noble six hundred!
-- Alfred, Lord Tennyson (1854)
Half a league, half a league,
Half a league onward,
All in the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.
"Forward the Light Brigade!
Charge for the guns!" he said.
Into the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.
"Forward the Light Brigade!"
Was there a man dismayed?
Not though the soldier knew
Someone had blundered.
Theirs not to make reply,
Theirs not to reason why,
Theirs but to do and die.
Into the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.
Cannon to right of them,
Cannon to left of them,
Cannon in front of them
Volleyed and thundered;
Stormed at with shot and shell,
Boldly they rode and well,
Into the jaws of Death,
Into the mouth of Hell
Rode the six hundred.
Flashed all their sabers bare,
Flashed as they turned in air
Sabring the gunners there,
Charging an army, while
All the world wondered.
Plunged in the battery-smoke
Right through the line they broke;
Cossack and Russian
Reeled from the saber-stroke
Shattered and sundered.
Then they rode back, but not,
Not the six hundred.
Cannon to right of them,
Cannon to left of them,
Cannon behind them
Volleyed and thundered;
Stormed at with shot and shell,
While horse and hero fell,
They that had fought so well
Came through the jaws of Death,
Back from the mouth of Hell,
All that was left of them,
Left of six hundred.
When can their glory fade?
O the wild charge they made!
All the world wondered.
Honor the charge they made!
Honor the Light Brigade!
Noble six hundred!
-- Alfred, Lord Tennyson (1854)
Re: Lest We Forget.....
Posted: Mon Nov 12, 2012 1:45 am
The Death of the Ball Turret Gunner
From my mother's sleep I fell into the State,
And I hunched in its belly till my wet fur froze.
Six miles from earth, loosed from its dream of
life,
I woke to black flak and the nightmare fighters.
When I died they washed me out of the turret
with a hose.
-- Randall Jarell (1945)
From my mother's sleep I fell into the State,
And I hunched in its belly till my wet fur froze.
Six miles from earth, loosed from its dream of
life,
I woke to black flak and the nightmare fighters.
When I died they washed me out of the turret
with a hose.
-- Randall Jarell (1945)
Re: Lest We Forget.....
Posted: Mon Nov 12, 2012 2:01 am
Dulce et Decorum Est
Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,
Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs,
And towards our distant rest began to trudge.
Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots,
But limped on, blod-shod. All went lame, all blind;
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots
Of gas-shells dropping softly behind.
Gas! GAS! Quick, boys! -- An ecstasy of fumbling,
Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time,
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling
And floundering like a man in fire or lime. --
Dim through the misty panes and thick green light,
As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.
In all my dreams before my helpless sight
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.
If in some smothering dreams, you too could pace
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
His hanging face, like a devil's sick of sin;
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,
Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues, --
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est
Pro patria mori.
-- Wilfred Owen (posthumously 1920)
Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,
Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs,
And towards our distant rest began to trudge.
Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots,
But limped on, blod-shod. All went lame, all blind;
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots
Of gas-shells dropping softly behind.
Gas! GAS! Quick, boys! -- An ecstasy of fumbling,
Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time,
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling
And floundering like a man in fire or lime. --
Dim through the misty panes and thick green light,
As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.
In all my dreams before my helpless sight
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.
If in some smothering dreams, you too could pace
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
His hanging face, like a devil's sick of sin;
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,
Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues, --
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est
Pro patria mori.
-- Wilfred Owen (posthumously 1920)
Re: Lest We Forget.....
Posted: Mon Nov 12, 2012 2:07 am
Grass
Pile the bodies high at Austerlitz and Waterloo.
Shovel them under and let me work --
I am the grass; I cover all.
And pile them high at Gettysburg
And pile them high at Ypres and Verdun.
Shovel them under and let me work.
Two years, ten years, and passengers ask the
conductor:
What place is this?
Where are we now?
I am the grass.
Let me work.
-- Carl Sandburg (1932)
Pile the bodies high at Austerlitz and Waterloo.
Shovel them under and let me work --
I am the grass; I cover all.
And pile them high at Gettysburg
And pile them high at Ypres and Verdun.
Shovel them under and let me work.
Two years, ten years, and passengers ask the
conductor:
What place is this?
Where are we now?
I am the grass.
Let me work.
-- Carl Sandburg (1932)
Re: Lest We Forget.....
Posted: Mon Nov 12, 2012 6:18 am
Jack Thackray (1938-2002)
The Remembrance
Remember the bands and the grand parades,
The flags, the banners, the fine cockades,
And how we all looked up to see the King upon the balcony:
Who told us we were young and brave,
We'd never become the foreigner's slave -
If the foreigner comes off best, he said,
You'll be better off dead . . .
This was a couple of weeks before we got killed in the war.
Remember the drums and the trumpets played
When we set sail on the great crusade,
And how we all looked up to see the clergyman on the quay:
Who told us we were grand and good
To fight for God, as good men should -
If the enemy comes off best, he said,
You'll be better off dead . . .
And this was a couple of days before we got killed in the war.
Remember the night before the raid
When the guns began the cannonade,
And how we all looked up to see the captain of the company:
Who told us we were bold and strong,
Let fame and glory spur us on -
If the Enemy comes off best, he said,
You'll be better off dead . . .
This was a couple of hours before we got killed in the war.
Remember the shock of the ambuscade,
Remember the terrible fusillade,
And how we all looked up to see the curious face of the enemy:
Who was young, and shabby, and seemed to be
About as foreign as you or me -
I never did catch what the poor sod said
When he made sure we were dead . . .
This was a couple of shakes before we got killed in the war.
The Remembrance
Remember the bands and the grand parades,
The flags, the banners, the fine cockades,
And how we all looked up to see the King upon the balcony:
Who told us we were young and brave,
We'd never become the foreigner's slave -
If the foreigner comes off best, he said,
You'll be better off dead . . .
This was a couple of weeks before we got killed in the war.
Remember the drums and the trumpets played
When we set sail on the great crusade,
And how we all looked up to see the clergyman on the quay:
Who told us we were grand and good
To fight for God, as good men should -
If the enemy comes off best, he said,
You'll be better off dead . . .
And this was a couple of days before we got killed in the war.
Remember the night before the raid
When the guns began the cannonade,
And how we all looked up to see the captain of the company:
Who told us we were bold and strong,
Let fame and glory spur us on -
If the Enemy comes off best, he said,
You'll be better off dead . . .
This was a couple of hours before we got killed in the war.
Remember the shock of the ambuscade,
Remember the terrible fusillade,
And how we all looked up to see the curious face of the enemy:
Who was young, and shabby, and seemed to be
About as foreign as you or me -
I never did catch what the poor sod said
When he made sure we were dead . . .
This was a couple of shakes before we got killed in the war.
Re: Lest We Forget.....
Posted: Mon Nov 12, 2012 6:43 am
Tommy
I went into a public-'ouse to get a pint o' beer,
The publican 'e up an' sez, "We serve no red-coats here."
The girls be'ind the bar they laughed an' giggled fit to die,
I outs into the street again an' to myself sez I:
O it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' "Tommy, go away";
But it's "Thank you, Mister Atkins", when the band begins to play,
The band begins to play, my boys, the band begins to play,
O it's "Thank you, Mister Atkins", when the band begins to play.
I went into a theatre as sober as could be,
They gave a drunk civilian room, but 'adn't none for me;
They sent me to the gallery or round the music-'alls,
But when it comes to fightin', Lord! they'll shove me in the stalls!
For it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' "Tommy, wait outside";
But it's "Special train for Atkins" when the trooper's on the tide,
The troopship's on the tide, my boys, the troopship's on the tide,
O it's "Special train for Atkins" when the trooper's on the tide.
Yes, makin' mock o' uniforms that guard you while you sleep
Is cheaper than them uniforms, an' they're starvation cheap;
An' hustlin' drunken soldiers when they're goin' large a bit
Is five times better business than paradin' in full kit.
Then it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' "Tommy, 'ow's yer soul?"
But it's "Thin red line of 'eroes" when the drums begin to roll,
The drums begin to roll, my boys, the drums begin to roll,
O it's "Thin red line of 'eroes" when the drums begin to roll.
We aren't no thin red 'eroes, nor we aren't no blackguards too,
But single men in barricks, most remarkable like you;
An' if sometimes our conduck isn't all your fancy paints,
Why, single men in barricks don't grow into plaster saints;
While it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' "Tommy, fall be'ind",
But it's "Please to walk in front, sir", when there's trouble in the wind,
There's trouble in the wind, my boys, there's trouble in the wind,
O it's "Please to walk in front, sir", when there's trouble in the wind.
You talk o' better food for us, an' schools, an' fires, an' all:
We'll wait for extry rations if you treat us rational.
Don't mess about the cook-room slops, but prove it to our face
The Widow's Uniform is not the soldier-man's disgrace.
For it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' "Chuck him out, the brute!"
But it's "Saviour of 'is country" when the guns begin to shoot;
An' it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' anything you please;
An' Tommy ain't a bloomin' fool -- you bet that Tommy sees!
I went into a public-'ouse to get a pint o' beer,
The publican 'e up an' sez, "We serve no red-coats here."
The girls be'ind the bar they laughed an' giggled fit to die,
I outs into the street again an' to myself sez I:
O it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' "Tommy, go away";
But it's "Thank you, Mister Atkins", when the band begins to play,
The band begins to play, my boys, the band begins to play,
O it's "Thank you, Mister Atkins", when the band begins to play.
I went into a theatre as sober as could be,
They gave a drunk civilian room, but 'adn't none for me;
They sent me to the gallery or round the music-'alls,
But when it comes to fightin', Lord! they'll shove me in the stalls!
For it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' "Tommy, wait outside";
But it's "Special train for Atkins" when the trooper's on the tide,
The troopship's on the tide, my boys, the troopship's on the tide,
O it's "Special train for Atkins" when the trooper's on the tide.
Yes, makin' mock o' uniforms that guard you while you sleep
Is cheaper than them uniforms, an' they're starvation cheap;
An' hustlin' drunken soldiers when they're goin' large a bit
Is five times better business than paradin' in full kit.
Then it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' "Tommy, 'ow's yer soul?"
But it's "Thin red line of 'eroes" when the drums begin to roll,
The drums begin to roll, my boys, the drums begin to roll,
O it's "Thin red line of 'eroes" when the drums begin to roll.
We aren't no thin red 'eroes, nor we aren't no blackguards too,
But single men in barricks, most remarkable like you;
An' if sometimes our conduck isn't all your fancy paints,
Why, single men in barricks don't grow into plaster saints;
While it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' "Tommy, fall be'ind",
But it's "Please to walk in front, sir", when there's trouble in the wind,
There's trouble in the wind, my boys, there's trouble in the wind,
O it's "Please to walk in front, sir", when there's trouble in the wind.
You talk o' better food for us, an' schools, an' fires, an' all:
We'll wait for extry rations if you treat us rational.
Don't mess about the cook-room slops, but prove it to our face
The Widow's Uniform is not the soldier-man's disgrace.
For it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' "Chuck him out, the brute!"
But it's "Saviour of 'is country" when the guns begin to shoot;
An' it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' anything you please;
An' Tommy ain't a bloomin' fool -- you bet that Tommy sees!
Re: Lest We Forget.....
Posted: Mon Nov 12, 2012 9:58 am
DULCE ET DECORUM EST
Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,
Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs
And towards our distant rest began to trudge.
Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots
But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots
Of tired, outstripped Five-Nines that dropped behind.
Gas! Gas! Quick, boys! – An ecstasy of fumbling,
Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time;
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling,
And flound'ring like a man in fire or lime . . .
Dim, through the misty panes and thick green light,
As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.
In all my dreams, before my helpless sight,
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.
If in some smothering dreams you too could pace
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
His hanging face, like a devil's sick of sin;
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,
Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old Lie; Dulce et Decorum est
Pro patria mori.
Wilfred Owen
1893-1918
Owen. . . was blown up, concussed and suffered shell-shock . . . He was sent back to the trenches in September, 1918 and in October won the Military Cross by seizing a German machine-gun and using it to kill a number of Germans.
On 4th November he was shot and killed near the village of Ors. The news of his death reached his parents home as the Armistice bells were ringing on 11 November 1918.
Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,
Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs
And towards our distant rest began to trudge.
Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots
But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots
Of tired, outstripped Five-Nines that dropped behind.
Gas! Gas! Quick, boys! – An ecstasy of fumbling,
Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time;
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling,
And flound'ring like a man in fire or lime . . .
Dim, through the misty panes and thick green light,
As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.
In all my dreams, before my helpless sight,
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.
If in some smothering dreams you too could pace
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
His hanging face, like a devil's sick of sin;
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,
Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old Lie; Dulce et Decorum est
Pro patria mori.
Wilfred Owen
1893-1918
Owen. . . was blown up, concussed and suffered shell-shock . . . He was sent back to the trenches in September, 1918 and in October won the Military Cross by seizing a German machine-gun and using it to kill a number of Germans.
On 4th November he was shot and killed near the village of Ors. The news of his death reached his parents home as the Armistice bells were ringing on 11 November 1918.
Re: Lest We Forget.....
Posted: Mon Nov 12, 2012 3:12 pm
A very special Thank You to all the Veterans, those still alive and those who are not.
ONLY OUR VETERANS KNOW
Posted: Mon Nov 12, 2012 5:26 pm
"WAR"
War, huh, yeah, What is it good for, Absolutely nothing
Uh-huh
War, huh, yeah, What is it good for, Absolutely nothing
Say it again, y'all
War, huh, good God, What is it good for, Absolutely nothing
Listen to me
Ohhh, war, I despise, Because it means destruction, Of innocent lives
War means tears, To thousands of mothers eyes
When their sons go to fight And lose their lives
I said, war, huh, Good God, y'all, What is it good for, Absolutely nothing
Say it again
War, whoa, Lord, What is it good for, Absolutely nothing
Listen to me
War, it ain't nothing But a heartbreaker
War, friend only to the undertaker
Ooooh, war
It's an enemy to all mankind, The point of war blows my mind
War has caused unrest Within the younger generation
Induction then destruction Who wants to die
Aaaaah, war-huh
Good God y'all, What is it good for, Absolutely nothing
Say it, say it, say it
War, huh, What is it good for, Absolutely nothing
Listen to me
War, huh, yeah, What is it good for, Absolutely nothing
Uh-huh
War, huh, yeah, What is it good for, Absolutely nothing
Say it again y'all
War, huh, good God, What is it good for, Absolutely nothing
Listen to me
War, it ain't nothing but a heart-breaker,
War, it's got one friend, That's the undertaker
Ooooh, war, has shattered Many a young mans dreams
Made him disabled, bitter and mean
Life is much to short and precious To spend fighting wars these days
War can't give life It can only take it away
Ooooh, war, huh
Good God y'all, What is it good for, Absolutely nothing
Say it again
War, whoa, Lord, What is it good for, Absolutely nothing
Listen to me
War, it ain't nothing but a heart-breaker
War, friend only to the undertaker
Peace, love and understanding, Tell me, is there no place for them today
They say we must fight to keep our freedom
But Lord knows there's got to be a better way
Ooooooh, war, huh
Good God y'all
What is it good for, You tell me
Say it, say it, say it, say it
War, huh, Good God y'all, What is it good for
Stand up and shout it
NOTHING!
Edwin Starr -- 1970
War, huh, yeah, What is it good for, Absolutely nothing
Uh-huh
War, huh, yeah, What is it good for, Absolutely nothing
Say it again, y'all
War, huh, good God, What is it good for, Absolutely nothing
Listen to me
Ohhh, war, I despise, Because it means destruction, Of innocent lives
War means tears, To thousands of mothers eyes
When their sons go to fight And lose their lives
I said, war, huh, Good God, y'all, What is it good for, Absolutely nothing
Say it again
War, whoa, Lord, What is it good for, Absolutely nothing
Listen to me
War, it ain't nothing But a heartbreaker
War, friend only to the undertaker
Ooooh, war
It's an enemy to all mankind, The point of war blows my mind
War has caused unrest Within the younger generation
Induction then destruction Who wants to die
Aaaaah, war-huh
Good God y'all, What is it good for, Absolutely nothing
Say it, say it, say it
War, huh, What is it good for, Absolutely nothing
Listen to me
War, huh, yeah, What is it good for, Absolutely nothing
Uh-huh
War, huh, yeah, What is it good for, Absolutely nothing
Say it again y'all
War, huh, good God, What is it good for, Absolutely nothing
Listen to me
War, it ain't nothing but a heart-breaker,
War, it's got one friend, That's the undertaker
Ooooh, war, has shattered Many a young mans dreams
Made him disabled, bitter and mean
Life is much to short and precious To spend fighting wars these days
War can't give life It can only take it away
Ooooh, war, huh
Good God y'all, What is it good for, Absolutely nothing
Say it again
War, whoa, Lord, What is it good for, Absolutely nothing
Listen to me
War, it ain't nothing but a heart-breaker
War, friend only to the undertaker
Peace, love and understanding, Tell me, is there no place for them today
They say we must fight to keep our freedom
But Lord knows there's got to be a better way
Ooooooh, war, huh
Good God y'all
What is it good for, You tell me
Say it, say it, say it, say it
War, huh, Good God y'all, What is it good for
Stand up and shout it
NOTHING!
Edwin Starr -- 1970
Re: Lest We Forget.....
Posted: Mon Nov 12, 2012 5:50 pm
War, huh, yeah, What is it good for: To keep the thugs from ruling the world, and thanks to Ronald Wilson Reagan we did.
Re: Lest We Forget.....
Posted: Mon Nov 12, 2012 5:57 pm
Could be true but it's just a matter of time before we'll all be under the rule of Mahmoud Ahmadinejad.
Re: Lest We Forget.....
Posted: Mon Nov 12, 2012 6:45 pm
He doesn’t amount to much; he is just figure head for the most part the real power in in the hands of the mullahs, the religious leaders of Iran. I pray to God that they are religious hypocrites and love their children more than Allah.Joe Guy wrote:Could be true but it's just a matter of time before we'll all be under the rule of Mahmoud Ahmadinejad.