Verdun
In the field where flowers grow,
the dead lay buried far below.
The war they fought is over now.
Peace may they find at last,
beneath the fields that once run red,
with the blood of half a million dead.
The land is now peaceful and tranquil there,
no more carnage does it share,
no more thunder of dropping shells,
or the cries and tortured yells.
Just the ghosts of men who fought,
and died before their time.
(22 May 2007)
poem by David Harris
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Related quotes
Battle field musings
Battlefield musings
I am aware that thousands lie beneath the soil below the sky
I listen to their silent cry. Why were we sent to fight and die?
They came from every walk of life and briefly trained to join the strife.
In the Great War to end all wars. Convinced they fought in freedoms cause.
The men of God the padres lied, they said that God was on our side
That he would grant them victory but they were wrong quite obviously.
The tides of war ebbed to and fro. It was impossible to know.
Which side if either was ahead. The quick were fewer than the dead
Young soldiers by the thousand died in the name of national pride.
Eventually it was agreed that the Germans would concede.
But was it worth the sacrifice. There is no answer satisfies
The myriads who fought and died. The truth is that their leaders lied
Now poppies grow in Flanders fields where the dead increase the yield
of crops the local farmers grow. We can’t pretend we do not know
There are no winners in a war, a lesson we choose to ignore.
We only pay lip service to, a fact we know too well is true.
Saturday,16 October 2010
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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The Lust We Fought For
The lust we fought for in now just a pile of ash.
The lust we fought for was a lie to it's very last.
The lust we fought for burns in my memory every night.
The kust we fought for wasn't worth it's own right.
The lust we fought for seemed so out of control.
The lust we fought for only needed us to grab ahold.
So the lust we fought for wasn't lust at all.
Indeed it was love that made our great fall.
The lust we fought for keeps me crying at night.
The lust we fought for has me praying to turn it right.
The lust we fought for makes me miss you more.
The lust we fought for broke my heart to it's core.
The lust we fought for brings out a million tears.
The lust we fought for challenged all of my fears.
So the lust we fought for was the pain i deserved to face.
Indeed it was love from that magically beautiful place.
The lust we fought for is now gone up in flames...
Because I now know that the lust we fought for was real all the same.
poem by Erin Grantham
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Rememberance Day
On remembrance day we honour all
Each gave their best enduring call
God bless each one for being there
All our service men did their share.
Soldiers young and soldiers old
Fought the war brave and bold
They fought in Air, Land and Sea
If not for them where would we be.
Some lived while others died
As they fought side by side
They fought many a day and night
Their mission sure their spirits bright.
The loved ones bore the greatest pain
So many thoughts will never wane
We're proud of all the forces who
Fought for the Red, White and Blue.
We'll never let their special day
Their time of honour slip away
Though we may not know each name
We thank all the forces just the same.
'Wrote for November 11 th'
poem by Hazel Connelly
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A War To End All Wars, But Wasn’t
They not only fought the enemy,
but fought the elements as well.
They fought for their country
in lands far from home.
They fought rain, mud and the enemy
in trenches stained with blood
from those who had fallen there before.
They fought on and on
while the Generals watched
the slaughter from far away.
For their mistakes men died
by the score across the battlefield.
Their blood would stained the land
then and forever more.
Then came the gas
like a creeping mist across the battlefield
that silenced all in its wake.
It made no distinction to young or old,
just poisoned all it touched.
Their contorted bodies rotted where they fell.
They said this was a war to end all wars, but it wasn’t.
Almost twenty years later
men from different countries gathered to fight another war
and again in the trenches men fell.
The mechanics had changed;
machines became more prevalent across the battlefield,
still men died for small victories in the tide of war.
3 July 2008
poem by David Harris
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Brother, I remember the old games we play
Hide and seek on evenings when mother is busy
Before we sleep
It is you who knows to hide so well
And I cannot always find you
You win
I lose and you take pride of your skill
In hiding away
There was this time in our lives
When we both hid
And fought and stood on some idealisms
Like rocks against the sea
Like towers standing against cyclones
Like the tree against the winds of
Change,
I failed, I hid and fought and I was caught
To this renewal
But you brother has fought hard enough and
Hides with all the skill you have
They never found you
We never found you
Come out brother now, in peace
Mama is dead; there is no use of these fights
Times have changed
Our thoughts have become useless
Come out, brother now,
The land is finally ours
We shall start to clean and plow.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Red Is The Blood We Bleed
It is a very natural thing for one to love their Land of birth
And think that their Homeland Country is the finest Land on Earth
In his Lay of the last Minstrel Walter Scott said it all
Often with tears the migrant the old Homeland recall.
But when we feel that our race is superior it is there the wrong come in
Though we never hear of a war on racism a war we well might win
As racism can lead to war it is a moral sin
For those who feel that they have the right to judge you by the colour of your skin.
The National flags in the wind on the flag posts wave on War Memorial day
As we remember those who fought and died in past wars fought far away
Of war heroes and war victories we may feel proud to brag
But is it the war dead we respect or the colour of our National flag?
The war dead we commemorate died for justice, peace and liberty
But many in the World of today know of oppression and live in abject poverty
If the war dead could only speak many of them well might say
We would not fight a war again were we living today?
It is a very natural thing for to love one's own Homeland
And the nostalgic tears of ageing migrants are not hard to understand
But feelings of superiority of race to war can often lead
And we may be black or brown or white but red is the blood we bleed.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Little Green Men
Little Green Men
I lay in the sand gazing at the stars through glassy eyes
Sound has been taken, stolen away, pain is no more
As I start to fade into a sea of unknown darkness
My eyes finally close
I am moving, though I know not how, fear has overcome me
Eyes still shut I dare not open
This world I’m in makes no since for I am here
But have not taken a single breath
Peaceful melody the sun is shining
I hear two little boys one laughing one crying
Eyelids creep open, one than another
Two little boys surrounded by little green men
Some held pistols and others had rifles
I know these boys! The one laughing is me
My little green men were victorious that day
They fought the evil army of my brother John K.
He cries, I laugh and say
War is for the strong and keen of heart
You are dead, all of your men are Dead, Dead, Dead
I don’t want to die big brother why must I die
This game of War is not fair I don’t wanna Die.
Gasping and wheezing, blood in my eyes
I lay in the sand gazing at the sky
Pain has returned, and I hear every scream.
Off in the distance a voice i know well yells out
I don’t want to die big brother why must I die!
Why, Why, Why big brother, why must I die!
I brought him to war, a game all I thought
Little green men danced in my head
Fun and adventure was all that I sought
Now I lay here alone, my men their all dead
War is for the strong and keen of heart
I lay and laugh for what else to do
Cry then die, littlle brother ill see you soon
Little green men danced in my mind
I love you Little Brother, we both lost this time
poem by Brian Hayden
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Where once - There now
Where once our young men fought so well,
Where once they stood and went through hell,
Where once they died and where they fell
There now politicians collect.
When the bullets flew red hot lead
Knew no favours as men fell dead
Screams the last sound they ever bled.
'Move that light, get the right effect.'
Shells whistling from armoured tanks
Toppled down with a pray of thanks
Offices, churches, homes and banks.
'Our politicians must not look old.'
In the ruined and wasted city
Fought an army shorn of pity,
Falling down like red confetti.
'That's better, now they look so bold.'
Where once flapped torn and bloodied coats
There now comes others seeking votes.
Where once men died with willing hands
There now a politician stands
Where once for freedom husbands died
There now has a politician lied.
Where once fell sons and lovers dear
There now falls a crocodiles tear.
poem by Paul Anthony
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A Warriors Poem
Here i stand upon this field
Here i stand alone
Here i stand upon this field of battle
Surrounded by my dead
Alone i stood
Alone i fought
Alone i stood
My enermy alone i faced
Here i stand to this day
Here i stand alone
My foe's i fought
My foe's i defeated
For i stand alone
upon this field of life
But not alone i stand
for about me stand my friend's
Comrades in arm's warriors all
Upon this field of life we Stand.
poem by Dragon Heart
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I Fought Piranhas
Well i hold the rope
and i hold the sail
and i kept my papers
to keep from land in jail
and i fought piranhas
and i fought the cold
there was no one with me
i was all alone
Well it's easter morning now
and there's noone around
so i unroll the cement
and walk into the town
there was noone with me
and i was all alone
and i fought piranhas
and i fought the cold
Well you know what it's like
i don't got to tell you
who puts up a fight
walking out of hell now
when you fought piranhas
and you fought the cold
there's nobody with you
and you're all alone
song performed by by White Stripes
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Rainbow
Watch the white dawn gleam,
To the thunder of hidden guns.
I hear the hot shells scream
Through skies as sweet as a dream
Where the silver dawn-break runs.
And stabbing of light
Scorches the virginal white.
But I feel in my being the old, high, sanctified thrill,
And I thank the gods that the dawn is beautiful still.
From death that hurtles by
I crouch in the trench day-long,
But up to a cloudless sky
From the ground where our dead men lie
A brown lark soars in song.
Through the tortured air,
Rent by the shrapnel's flare,
Over the troubleless dead he carols his fill,
And I thank the gods that the birds are beautiful still.
Where the parapet is low
And level with the eye
Poppies and cornflowers glow
And the corn sways to and fro
In a pattern against the sky.
The gold stalks hide
Bodies of men who died
Charging at dawn through the dew to be killed or to kill.
I thank the gods that the flowers are beautiful still.
When night falls dark we creep
In silence to our dead.
We dig a few feet deep
And leave them there to sleep -
But blood at night is red,
Yea, even at night,
And a dead man's face is white.
And I dry my hands, that are also trained to kill,
And I look at the stars - for the stars are beautiful still.
poem by Leslie Coulson
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The Green Above The Red
Full often when our fathers saw the Red above the Green,
They rose in rude but fierce array, with sabre, pike and scian,
And over many a noble town, and many a field of dead,
They proudly set the Irish Green above the English Red.
But in the end throughout the land, the shameful sight was seen-
The English Red in triumph high above the Irish Green;
But well they died in breach and field, who, as their spirits fled,
Still saw the Green maintain its place above the English Red.
And they who saw, in after times, the Red above the Green
Were withered as the grass that dies beneath a forest screen;
Yet often by this healthy hope their sinking hearts were fed,
That, in some day to come, the Green should flutter o'er the Red.
Sure 'twas for this Lord Edward died, and Wolfe Tone sunk serene-
Because they could not bear to leave the Red above the Green;
And 'twas for this that Owen fought, and Sarsfield nobly bled-
Because their eyes were hot to see the Green above the Red.
So when the strife began again, our darling Irish Green
Was down upon the earth, while high the English Red was seen;
Yet still we held our fearless course, for something in us said,
'Before the strife is o'er you'll see the Green above the Red.'
And 'tis for this we think and toil, and knowledge strive to glean,
That we may pull the English Red below the Irish Green,
And leave our sons sweet Liberty, and smiling plenty spread
Above the land once dark with blood-the Green above the Red!
The jealous English tyrant now has banned the Irish Green,
And forced us to conceal it like a something foul and mean;
But yet, by Heavens! he'll sooner raise his victims from the dead
Than force our hearts to leave the Green, and cotton to the Red!
We'll trust ourselves, for God is good, and blesses those who lean
On their brave hearts, and not upon an earthly king or queen;
And, freely as we lift our hands, we vow our blood to shed
Once and for evermore to raise the Green above the Red.
poem by Thomas Davis
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Saints In Hell
They laughed at their gods
And fought them in vain
So he turned his back on them
And left them in pain
Now here come the saints
With their banners held high
Each one of them martyrs
Quite willing to die
Wake the dead, the saints are in hell
Wake the dead, theyve come for the bell
Cover your fists
Razor your spears
Its been our possession
For 8,000 years
Fetch the scream eagles
Unleash the wild cats
Set loose the king cobras
And blood sucking bats
Wake the dead, the saints are in hell
Wake the dead, theyve come for the bell
We are saints
In hell
We are saints
In hell
Were going down
Into the fire
Were going down
Into the fire
The streets run with blood from the mass mutilation
As carnage took toll for the bell
Abattoir, abattoir, mon dieu quelle horreur
For a time is was like second hell
Saints in hell
Saints in hell
The battle is over, the saints are alive
How can we all thank you, we felt so despised
Saints in hell
Saints in hell
Saints in hell
Saints in hell
Saints in hell
Saints in hell
(fade)
song performed by by Judas Priest
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The decimation of the 47th Cuban / FAPLA Brigade (cavatina)
That night thunder flash after thunder flash
roared blood red,
I could smell scorched flesh, saw the havoc
of the burnt dead,
while the armoured car's gun hammered;
Cubans had fled,
left their pristine battle tanks to run away,
while we fought through the night into the day.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Pages Of Time
In fields, multi shaded green
lie the bodies that are unseen.
The have laid there before records began.
They died from various causes,
some violent, some peaceful
and were soon forgotten
amongst the pages of time.
The fields are filled with colours
when the flowers start to bloom
so the dead lay quietly in the earth far below.
Their secrets gone with them
as did the struggles in their life.
Their histories remain a mystery
locked within the pages of time.
26 November 2008
poem by David Harris
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The War
I saw a war, yet none the trumpet blew,
Nor in their hands the steel-wrought weapons bare;
And in that conflict armed there fought but few,
And none that in the world's loud tumults share;
They fought against their wills,—the stubborn foe
That mail-clad warriors left unfought within,
And wordy champions left unslain below,—
The ravening wolf though drest in fleecy skin;—
They fought for peace,—not that the world can give,
Whose tongue proclaims the war its hands have ceased
And bids us as each other's neighbor live,
Ere haughty Self within us has deceased;
They fought for him whose kingdom must increase,
Good will to men, on earth forever peace.
poem by Jones Very
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I Fought The Law
(s.curtis)
Im breakin rocks in the hot sun, I fought the law and the law won
I fought the law and the law won, I needed money cos I had none
I fought the law and the law won, I fought the law and the law won
I left my baby and I feel so bad, I guess my race is run
Shes the best girl I ever had, I fought the law and the law won
I fought the law and the law won, I was robbing people with a six gun
I fought the law and the law won, I fought the law and the law won
I miss my baby and good fun, I fought the law and the law won
I fought the law and the law won, I left my baby and I feel so bad
I guess my race is run, shes the best girl I ever had
I fought the law and the law won, I fought the law and the law won
song performed by by Roy Orbison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Green Above The Red
AIR--_Irish Molly O!_
I.
Full often when our fathers saw the Red above the Green,
They rose in rude but fierce array, with sabre, pike and _scian_,
And over many a noble town, and many a field of dead,
They proudly set the Irish Green above the English Red.
II.
But in the end throughout the land, the shameful sight was seen--
The English Red in triumph high above the Irish Green;
But well they died in breach and field, who, as their spirits fled,
Still saw the Green maintain its place above the English Red.
III.
And they who saw, in after times, the Red above the Green
Were withered as the grass that dies beneath a forest screen;
Yet often by this healthy hope their sinking hearts were fed,
That, in some day to come, the Green should flutter o'er the Red.
IV.
Sure 'twas for this Lord Edward died, and Wolfe Tone sunk serene--
Because they could not bear to leave the Red above the Green;
And 'twas for this that Owen fought, and Sarsfield nobly bled--
Because their eyes were hot to see the Green above the Red.
V.
So when the strife began again, our darling Irish Green
Was down upon the earth, while high the English Red was seen;
Yet still we held our fearless course, for something in us said,
'Before the strife is o'er you'll see the Green above the Red.'
VI.
And 'tis for this we think and toil, and knowledge strive to glean,
That we may pull the English Red below the Irish Green,
And leave our sons sweet Liberty, and smiling plenty spread
Above the land once dark with blood--_the Green above the Red_!
VII.
The jealous English tyrant now has banned the Irish Green,
And forced us to conceal it like a something foul and mean;
But yet, by Heavens! he'll sooner raise his victims from the dead
Than force our hearts to leave the Green, and cotton to the Red!
VIII.
We'll trust ourselves, for God is good, and blesses those who lean
On their brave hearts, and not upon an earthly king or queen;
And, freely as we lift our hands, we vow our blood to shed
Once and for evermore to raise the Green above the Red.
poem by Thomas Osborne Davis
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You Hung Me
It's dead, it'd dead you killed it all
you fucked me over, you watched me fall
the life you sucked right out of me
dead you hung me from tree.
My blood spills out onto the ground
it screams, it cries without a sound
there is no victory here for me
dead you hung me from a tree.
You can run but you can't hide
you'll try to say it's suicide
torn apart for all to see
dead you hung me from a tree.
I'll prove to you your world is wrong
your power has gone on way to long
watch my body swing so free
dead you hung me from a tree.
Free from you I find my peace
in a grave that's six feet deep
the cage unlocked, I found the key
dead you hung me from a tree.
poem by CJA Anderson
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Final solution
The countless dead unburied lay beneath a covering of clay.
The good earth turned to dark red mud mixed with the best of soldier’s blood.
It mattered not how many died for death could not be satisfied.
Brave men who fought for their country. Death chose amongst them randomly.
I lived although my comrades died. Death often took them from my side.
Why did I live? So I can tell the world about the living hell
wich we endured knee deep in mud. I think it fitting that I should.
So many died on either side. Involuntary suicide
To fight a war they could not win, to no more see their kith and kin
Like every war it proved to be a total waste, a mockery
The cream of Europe’s fighting mem would never see their homes again.
What did it prove the First World War? Nothing we had not known before!
Though we remember those who died. The lessons learned are not applied
for men still battle constantly to prove superiority.
It seems mankind can’t live in peace, that wanton killing will not cease
Until death has added to his score the last man and there are no more.
I think that then and only then the world will be at peace again.
16/04/2009
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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