Quote/Poem MILITARY POEMS

[John A Silkstone]

Here are two poems about war. One you'll have heard before. In part, if not in full. The second poem tells war as it is.

THE CHARGE OF THE LIGHT BRIGADE
by Lord Tennyson

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 man dismay'd?
Not tho' the soldier knew
Some one had blunder'd:
Their's not to make reply,
Their's not to reason why,
Their's 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
Volley'd and thunder'd:
Storm'd at with shot and shell,
Boldly they rode and well'
Into the jaws of Death,
Into the mouth of Hell
Rode the six hundred.

Flash'd all their sabres bare,
Flash'd as they turn'd in air,
Sabring the gunners there,
Charging an army, while
All the world wonder'd:
Plunged in the battery-smoke
Right thro' the line they broke;
Cossack and Russian
Reel'd from the sabre-stroke
Shatter'd and sunder'd.
Then they rode back, but not,
Not the six hundred.

Cannon to right of them
Cannon to left of them
cannon behind them
Volley'd and thunder'd;
Storm'd at the shot and shell
While horse and hero fell,
They that had fought so well
Came thro' the jaws of Death
Back from the mouth of Hell,
All that was left of them,
Left the six hundred.

When can their glory fade?
O the wild charge they made!
All the world wonder'd,
Honour the charge they made!
Honour the Light Brigade,
Noble six hundred!

"SNARLEYOW"
by Rudyard Kipling

This 'appened in a battle to a batt'ry of the corps
Which at first among the women an' amazin' first in war;
An' what the bloomin' battle was I don't remember now'
But two's off-lead answered to the name o' Snarleyow.
Down in the Infantry, nobody cares;
Down in the Cavalry, Colonel 'e swears;
But down in the lead with the wheel at the flog
Turns the bold Bombardier to a little whipped dog!

They was movin' into action, they was needed very sore,
To learn a little schoolin' to a native army-core,
They 'ad nipped against an uphill, they was tuckin' down the brow,
When a tricky turrlin' roundshot give the knock to Snarleyow.
They cut 'im loose an' 'im 'e was almost tore in two
But he tried to follow after as a well-trained 'orse should do;
'E went an' fouled the limber, an' the Driver's Brother squeals:
"Pull up, pull up for Snarleyow 's head's between 'is 'eels!"

The Driver 'umped 'is shoulder, for the wheels was goin' round;
An' there ain't no "Stop conducter!" when a batt'ry's changin' ground;
Sez 'e "I broke the begger in, an' very sad I feels.
"But I couldn't pull up, not for you - yours 'head between your 'eels!"

'E 'adn't 'ardly spoke the word, before a droppin' shell
A little right the batt'ry an' between the sections fell;
An' when the smoke 'ad cleared away, before the limber - wheels
There lay the Driver's Brother with 'is 'ead between ;is 'eels
Then sez the Driver's Brother, an' 'is words was very plain,
"For Gawd's own sake get over me, an' put me out o' pain."
They saw 'is wounds was mortial, an' they judged that it was best,
So they took an' drove the limber straight across 'is back an' chest.

The Driver 'e give nothin' 'cept a little coughin' grunt,
But 'e swung 'is 'orses 'andsome when it came to "Action Front!"
An' if one wheel was juicy, you may lay your Monday head
'Twas juicier for the niggers when the case began to spread.

The moril of this story, it is plainly to be seen:
You 'aven't got no families when servin' of the Queen -
You 'aven't got no brother, father, sisters, wives, or sons -
If you want to win your battles take an' work your bloomin' guns!
Down in the Infantry, nobody cares;
Down in the Cavalry, Colonel 'e swears;
But down in the lead with the wheel in the flog
Turns the bold Bombardier to a little whipped dog!

 

[John A Silkstone]

All for nothing

I wrote this poem in 2002

ALL FOR NOTHING

Some write about the glory of war
How euphoric it can be
They charged into the Valley of Death
The foe they could not see
Then with a roar like thunder
They’re torn limb from limb
Screaming men and horses
It’s all a terrible sin.

War shouldn’t be portrayed
As a great and gallant deed
But told as it really is
The truth, is a must, is a need
For when a war is fought
Both soldier and civilian man
Are killed for the sake of killing
For that is the enemy’s plan.

They want to be more powerful
To show their strength and might
To kill and maim and bomb and tame
To put everyone to fright.
And when it is all over
The widows grieve and cry.
While I sit here and ponder
Oh why, oh why, oh why.

 

[John A Silkstone]

A different kind of war

GRANDMA’S WAR

On Mondays
Attired in
Floral pinny,
Knotted headscarf,
Sleeves rolled to elbows,
Grandma prepared for war.

Armaments consist of
Dolly tub,
Posher,
Washboard,
Scrubbing brush,
Long green bar of Fairy soap.

War zone,
Steaming hot water
Fired by coal
Ladled from copper boiler.

Woad,
In Dolly Blue Bags,
Prepared the battleground.

Arms aching from mangle turning,
Grandma brush back wisps of grey hair
With wet forearm.

Battle over,
Enemy surrendered to the clothesline.
Awaiting torture
By hot iron on Tuesdays.

 

[Bombardier]

Nice poem John and the post about a different kind of war is good stuff, it is easy to forget that wars are not just won with bombs and guns. :mrgreen:

 

[John A Silkstone]

Three of my poems

TREATABLE

War.
Is but
A disease,
That can’t be cured,
Without political intervention.


IF ONLY

If only I was in the political game
I’d be the Prime Minister, shooting to fame
I’d put right the country with flare and compassion
Caring for people with lots of compassion.

If only we all had a real true friend
One who stands by you right up to the end
Who no longer says, “It is you, it is me”
But tells you instead, “It is us, it is we.”

If only I could stop famine and war
Then peace on Earth, would reign evermore
There’d be no hunger, no sickness, or pain
Folks would be happy and smiling again.

If only man round a table sat down I’m sure a solution could easily be found
Then in this world no one need be lonely
We’d all live together. If only...if only.


BOWLING GREEN BATTLE

Jack white Armour
Glistening in the sunlight.

Mounted on a plinth,
The General,
Sat his stone horse.

One at a time,
The wooden soldiers
Charge over the grass.

Occasionally,
A soldier would strike Jack.
Fording a retreat

Eventually,
Jack surrenders
To the eight wooden soldiers
Surrounding him.

This battle over,
The war,
Still not won.

:lol: sal; army;

 

[John A Silkstone]

Three more of mine

WHERE WARM THERMALS FLOW

Down in the hollow that’s known as The Dell
The Ash and the Oak are blooming in spring.
Forest floor painted with nature’s bluebell
While high in the branches birds nest and sing.
Out of the nest there peeks a small fledgling
Not ready for flight though craving to go,
With wings open wide in blue skies soaring
To be in the air where warm thermals flow.

On terra firma where man has to dwell
Stands a young boy, who’s hoping and wishing,
To fly on high with a sleek Philomel
That’s turning and soaring, dipping and gliding.
Facing the sky where soft winds are whispering
He gazes in awe with his face all-aglow,
Feet rooted in clay eternally longing
To be in the air where warm thermals flow.

Descending through clouds he spinningly fell
The wind rushes past him loudly screaming,
With joy in his heart he lets out a yell
Plummeting downwards no longer dreaming.
Akin to an albatross gliding on wing,
Beneath a white canopy he swings to and fro,
Drifting to earth he’s no longer speeding
To be in the air where warm thermals flow.

Like dandelions’ seeds, he parachuting
Floating on up-draughts above earth below,
Ambition at last blossomed this morning
To be in the air where warm thermals flow.



LAMENT TO AMERICA

Death from high rained down
Concrete, glass and steel
Innocent taken one by one
Grief is what you feel.

The pond is wide between us
Yet we feel your sorrow and loss
Horrors imprinted on your brain
And the bearing of your cross.

Words cannot console you
In your nations hour of pain
When seeking out your enemy
Remember to be humane.


PAYING THE BILL?

Today
I paid
The Gas bill,
At the Electricity shop.
Electric at the Water Board
When will these crazy schemes stop?
Telephone now paid by plastic,
Others by Royal Mail,
The system’s idiotic
Will sanity ever
Prevail?