The Moralist
Three other soldier blokes 'n' me packed
'ome from foreign lands;
Bit into each the God of Battles' everlastin'
brands.
They limped in time, 'n' coughed in tune, 'n'
one was short an ear,
'N' one was short a tier of ribs 'n' all was
short of beer.
I speaks up like a temp'rance gent,
But ever since the sky was bent
The thirst of man 'as never yet bin squenched
with argument.
Bill's skull was welded all across, Jim 'ad an
eye in soak,
Sam 'obbled on a patent leg, 'n' every man
was broke;
They sang a song of “Mother” with their faces
titled up.
Says Bill-o: “'Ere's yer 'eroes, sling the
bloomin' votive cup!
We got no beer, the soup was bad-
Now oo will stand the soldier lad
The swag of honest liquor that for years he
hasn't 'ad?”
Sez I: “Respeck yer uniform! Remember
oo you are!”
They'd pinched a wicker barrer, 'arf a pram
'n' 'arf a car.
In this ole Bill-o nestled 'neath a blanket, on
his face
A someone's darlin' sorter look, a touch iv
boy'ood's grace.
The gentle ladies stopped to 'ear,
'N' dropped a symperthetic tear,
A dollar or a deener for the pore haff1ict
dear.
The others trucked the wounded to a hentrance
up a lane.
I sez: “Sich conduck's shameful!” Bill-o
took to ease his pain
One long 'un and another. The conductor
picked his brand;
The gripman lent his countenance to wot he
'ad in 'and.
And when they moved their stand 'twas
Sam
Lay pale 'n' peaceful in the pram,
'N' twenty flappers stroked his paw, 'n' said
he was a lamb.
The gathered in the tokens and they blooed
'em as above,
While Jim-o done the hinvalid 'oom Sammy
had to shove.
Sez I: “No noble 'eroes what's bin fightin'
for their king
Should smirch theirselves by doin' this dis-
'onerable thing.”
But fine old gents 'n' donahs prim
They stopped 'n' slid the beans to Jim.
You betcher life I let 'im hear just what I
though of 'im.
Nine, g.m. at St. Kilder, saw the finish of the
prowl.
Each 'ad his full-'n'-plentv, and was blowin'
in the tow'l.
As neither bloke cud stand alone, they leaned
'n' argufied
Which was the patient sufferer oo's turn it was
to ride.
Each 'eld a san'wich and a can.
Sez I: “This shouldn't 'ave began-
'Tain't conduck wot it worthy of a soldier and
a man.”
I cud 'a' cried with injured pride. Afore a
push the three
Got scrappin', vague 'n' foolish, which the
cripple boy should be.
Sam slips his scientific leg, 'n' flings it in the
drain-
“I'll auto 'ome,” he sez, “or never see me
'ome again.”
But I am thinkin' 'ard oo he
Tucked 'elpiess in the pram might be.
Comes sudden reckerlection. Great Gohan-
ners, it is me!
poem by Edward George Dyson
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Related quotes
The Bar-Room Patriot
Why, 'ow's she goin', Bill, ole sport?
I thort I knoo your dile!
My oath! You look the proper sort!
That khaki soots your style.
I never 'eard you'd joined, yeh know
It makes me feel I want to go.
Must be a year or more, I s'pose,
Since last time we two met!
An' then, to see you in them clothes
Can't realise it yet!
I'm proud to think a friend o' mine
Is off to biff the German swine!
You look slap-up in that rig-out.
We ort to celebrate
I fell it's up to me to shout!
But - can't be done, ole mate!
For I 'ave took a solemn vow
I never shout for soldiers now.
No, Bill; you mustn't take offence;
You'll undertsand, I thnk.
I've come to see there ain't no sense
In buyin' soldiers drink.
I loves me country an' me king;
An' boozin' soldiers ain't the thing.
An' yet it's sich a time ago
Since you an' me 'ave met,
It's sorter 'ard to let you go
Without one little wet.
Say, come in 'ere, an' you can take
A soft'un, jist fer ole time's sake.
Well, Bill - 'ere MIss! Don't you attend
To customers in 'ere?
A lime-an'-soder fer me friend:
And' mine's a long, cool beer.
Ah, Bill, you stick to that soft stuff;
Chuck booze, an' you'll be right enough.
Well, 'ere's a go!...My oath, that's goo!
Bets beer I've 'ad to-day....
Yes, Bill, I 'olds no soldier should
Drink all 'is brains away.
I'm patriotic, that I am;
To fight on beer ain't worth a damn.
Now, Bill, look 'ere, you take my tip
I know that German lot
An', when you meet 'em, let 'er rip.
An' prod 'em in the - wot?
Well, jist one more. Mine's beer thish time.
An' bill, ole frien', you shtick to lime.
'Ere's joy!...Wot was I sayin'? Oh!
Them Germans allush funk
The bay'nit. Take my tip, an' go
Fair for their stummicks - plunk!
Jist stick 'em in the - 'Ere, Miss, 'ere!
Give 'im the soft one! Mine's the beer.
See, Miss, I don't booze sojers now.
They shouldn't drink the stuff!
Me conshuns, Miss, it won't allow
'Right, Bill; don't cut up rough.
I'm proud to let the ole bar 'ear
I wouldn't buy no sojers beer.
I wouldn't buy no cursed drink
Fer any fightin' bloke!
Wot? Torkin' loud? Well, do yeh think
I'm 'shamed o' wot I shpoke?
I stansh on principle, by Gosh!
'Ere, 'ave anurrer lemin squash.
Oh, yesh; I've 'ad a few ter-day.
Thish makes - eighteen er so.
But I don't 'ave to go away
To fight no rotten foe!
Go fer their stummichsk, Bill, ole man!
Jist prod 'em - why, 'ello! 'Ere's Dan!
'Ave one wi' ush, Dan. Yoush a beer?
Yes, mine'sh a - wot-o, Jim!
Lesh innerjooce my cobber 'ere
I'm buyin' squash fer 'im.
'E's sojer....Took a solemn vow:
I don't - (hic) - shoush fer soljersh now.
I jist been tellin' soljer frien'
Them Germans got no - whash?
Orright, Dan: mine's a beer agen.
Me friend 'ere'sh drinkin' sqauash.
Yeh mustn't buy no beer fer 'im
Unpa'ri - (hic) -. Whash you think, Jim?
It 'urts me feelin's, all er same.
Bill'sh 'listed!....Orful sad!....
Pore bill! That fightin'sh rotten game.
Go fer their stummicksh, lad!
Sharge wisher bay'nit, ev'ry time!
An' take my tip - you shtick ter lime!
'Ere'sh to Aushtralier, ev'ry time!
I doesh my lirrle bit
Be buyin' only squash 'n' lime
To keep er soljersh fit.
Fine, pa'ri-otic effort. Wot?
'Ere's to er blockesh wash gettin' shot!
Aw, I kin shtan' annurrer, Jim.
Yesh, mine's a long, wet beer.
But don't you buy no beer fer 'im,
'N' get 'im on 'is ear!
I never shoush fer sojersh now.
Unpari-pari - sholum vow!
Wash sayin', Bill? Wash 'at I 'ear?
Yeh don't want me ter shout?
You been teeto'ler fer a year!
Well, 'ash a fair knock-out!
You mean er shay...lemme buy lime,
Wile you....injoyed it all er time!
You mean er shay you thort it ni-esh
To take yer ole pal in?
You lemme make self-sacrifi'esh,
Wile you stan' there an' grin!
Wash? Goin', ie 'e? let 'im go!
Ni'esh sorter bloke ter fighter foe!
I wouldn't shoush fer sojersh now
Not fer a million poun'!
I bought 'im lemon-squash, ther cow,
And then 'e takesh me down!
Go fer the'r stummiscksh? 'Im? No fear!
Down wish er Kaiser! Mine'sh a beer.
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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Mother’s Cry of Late
Where for art thou, soldier?
Out East? West? –
And when? –
What part your rabid history?
And why? –
What wrought your destiny? –
For whom
You’d wreak your enmity –
I crave your fate to pen!
What comprehension of the
Order? –
‘Listen up! you men!
Raze to ground the taken land!
See they die and e’er you’ll stand, for
Death is but a grain of sand –
The mighty triumph, medal grand!
Now go you well!
Amen! ’
What sight upon the bloody lie
Of war? – your doubtful fate.
‘Where for art thou, soldier? ’ –
Your mother’s cry of late.
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2011
soldier soldier soldier soldier soldier soldier
soldier soldier soldier soldier soldier soldier
soldier soldier soldier soldier soldier soldier
soldier soldier soldier soldier soldier soldier
soldier soldier soldier soldier soldier soldier
poem by Mark R Slaughter
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What You Find
There is discipline in A Soldier
you can see it when he walks,
There is honor in A Soldier
you hear it when he talks.
There is courage in A Soldier
you can see it in his eyes,
There is loyalty in A Soldier
that he will not compromise.
There is something in A Soldier
that makes him stand apart,
There is strength in A Soldier
that beats from his heart.
A Soldier isn't a title any man
can be hired to do,
A Soldier is the soul of that man
buried deep inside of you.
A Soldier's job isn't finished after
an 8 hour day or a 40 hour week,
A Soldier is always A Soldier
even while he sleeps.
A Soldier serves his country first
and his life is left behind,
A Soldier has to sacrifice what
comes first in a civilian's mind.
If you are civilian -
I am saying this to you.....
next time you see A Soldier
remember what they do.
A Soldier is the reason our land
is 'Home of the free',
A Soldier is the one that is brave
protecting you and me.
If you are A Soldier -
I am saying this to you.....
Thank God for EVERY SOLDIER
Thank God for what YOU do!
TY bohls
A Soldier- Dedicated to Nicholas Shelton
There is discipline in A Soldier you can see it when he walks,
There is honor in A Soldier you hear it when he talks.
There is courage in A Soldier you can see it in his eyes,
There is loyalty in A Soldier that he will not compromise.
There is something in A Soldier that makes him stand apart,
There is strength in A Soldier that beats from his heart.
A Soldier isn't a title any man can be hired to do,
A Soldier is the soul of that man buried deep inside of you.
A Soldier's job isn't finished after an 8 hour day or a 40 hour week,
A Soldier is always A Soldier even while he sleeps.
A Soldier serves his country first and his life is left behind,
A Soldier has to sacrifice what comes first in a civilian's mind.
If you are civilian - I am saying this to you..... next time you see A Soldier remember what they do.
A Soldier is the reason our land is 'Home of the free',
A Soldier is the one that is brave protecting you and me.
If you are A Soldier - I am saying this to you.....
Thank God for EVERY SOLDIER Thank God for what YOU do!
I thought about you Mr. Shelton, I figured this is the least I could do to thank you my friend.
poem by Caleb Jones
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Soldier's Ghost
I bled for you - would you for me?
I blessed a skin in blazing fuel
Then took a bullet in a duel of
‘He or I to Die.'
I often question ‘Why? '
Do you?
My country was my life to give -
Would you for country cease to live?
Sinking in a mire of death,
You have no choice -
So while you're still alive,
Rejoice!
I cried in failure - did you care?
And as I waned, were you aware of
What I did -?
Fighting for my country while you hid
Behind your comfort back at home?
Still relaxed?
My wife and child are fading at the tomb.
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2009
Soldier Soldier Soldier Soldier soldier
Soldier Soldier Soldier Soldier Soldier
Soldier Soldier Soldier Soldier Soldier Soldier
Soldier Soldier Soldier Soldier Soldier Soldier Soldier soldier soldier war
Soldier Soldier Soldier Soldier Soldier Soldier Soldier
war war war war war war war war war war war war
war war war war war war war war war war war war
war war war war war war war war war war war war
poem by Mark R Slaughter
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I can remember being in my pram: children stayed in their prams much longer then than they do now. A big bouncy pram with black covers and a hood with metal clips that could trap your fingers. I was looking up at my sister who was sitting on the pram seat, with her back to me.
quote by Helen Dunmore
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Fire Bugs
Look 'ere. I'll bet a 'arf-a-crown
To anythink you like to name (said Bushy Bill),
If country fellers went to town,
An' burnt a few big buildin's down,
An' quids an' quids went up in flame (said Bushy Bill),
Do you suppose, by any chance,
You'd put it down to ignorance.
An' let 'em go their dilly way
To do the trick some other day? (Said Bushy Bill).
No fear. You'd take that crim'nal lot
An' likely lynch 'em on the spot.
Fine sense of property you got (said Bushy Bill).
Yet city coves come up this way,
Shootin' or goin' campin' out (said Bushy Bill).
But are they careful blokes? Not they.
An' when their camp fire gets away
They wonder what it's all about (said Bushy Bill).
They sling their matches round the place,
An' carry on a fair disgrace
Wise coots they are, all in the know,
Who reckons country coves is slow (said Bushy Bill).
But when two hundred thousand quid
Goes up, they dunno wot they did.
They can't think 'ow that green scrub caught
They never knoo. They never thought.
Look 'ere. IT'S TIME YOUS BLOKES WAS TAUGHT (said Bushy Bill).
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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The Stand Alone Soldier
The Stand Alone Soldier
By: Ben McElfresh
I am the stand alone soldier.
I am the one who watches over you while you sleep.
I face this life head on standing alone.
The wind at my back, noone in sight.
I am the stand alone soldier.
I am the one who stands up for what is right.
I won't be pushed around.
I shall protect those who are.
Because i am the stand alone soldier.
My squad leader says to do this.
I follow my own rules and leave all behind.
You can trust me if you want.
If not, it's your choice.
Weather do you do not, i won't let you down.
I'll stand and fight until the night.
Or until the day i'm dead.
But as long as i hjave those who trust me.
I WON'T DIE!
poem by Ben mcelfresh
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The Faithless Fantods
Bill Barcoo was a station 'and - 'e was a station 'and,
And grafted all the year like Pharaoh's Jews.
But all 'is pay, I grieve ter say, 'e blewed - you understand
This station 'and
Was drinky in his views;
An' 'e was wont ter lash it up on booze.
Fer Bill 'e wandered once a year - exactly once a year
Ter bust his cheque at Casey's Bush 'Otel;
An' drank the stuff - more than enough - that Casey sed wus beer.
An' it wus queer:
When 'e wus on a spell
'E used to 'old 'is sides an' larf like 'ell.
No doubt yer've 'eard of Casey's beer - of Casey's fightin' beer,
An' Casey's Three Star Blue Gum Brandy too,
The stuff that makes the crimson snakes when you get on yer ear.
Such visions queer
Were known ter quite a few;
That's why they called the shanty 'Casey's Zoo.'
Large purple frogs that sat an' croaked - jes' looked at yer an' croaked,
Goanners, snakes and spiders without end,
An' sich weird sights distrurbed the nights of such poor bushman bloke
As 'as a soak
In Casey's famous blend
In Casey's fierce an' famous Bushman's Friend.
But, once a year, Bill struck the spot - 'e blithely struck the spot,
An' slung across the bar 'is 'ard-earned cheque;
Then started in to bust 'is tin an' make things fairly 'ot
Until 'e got
Fair loaded to the neck;
An' then Bill looked a proper sort er wreck.
Then 'e begun to see the Zoo - ter gaze at Casey's Zoo.
But with the jims and fantods that 'e seen
'E made quite free. 'Fer,why,' sez 'e, 'I never see but two,
An' one is blue,
An' t'other's sort er green.
They're jes' the same 'ere ev'ry time I've been.'
They wus jes' like ole pals to 'im - like lifelong fren's to 'im.
'E looked to meet 'em ev'ry time 'e came
Ses 'e, 'The blue un's christened Sue; she's uppish-like an' prim;
But t'other, Jim,
'E'll answer to 'is name,
An' feed out of yer 'and, 'e is that tame.'
One time when Bill was on the spree - a real ole rorty spree
'E larfed the 'ole blame time till 'e wus thro'.
We wonders wot noo sort 'e'd got, 'e wus so full er glee.
'You oughter see!'
Ses 'e, when 'e come to.
'Why, blowed if my ole Jim ain't courtin' Sue!'
Bill 'ad but one spree after that - just one more after that.
An' sich another sight I'd grieve ter see,
'E cursed, an' swore, an' raved, an' tore 'is 'air an' foamed, an' spat.
It knocked us flat,
Fer generally 'e,
When on a jag, was merry as could be.
An' after that Bill guv up drink - yes, fairly chucked the drink.
But why, ther' wasn't one among us knoo.
'O, struth!' ses Bill, 'I've 'ad me fill, and so 'ud you, I think
O, strike me pink!
They once wus green an' blue;
But now ther's yaller, red an' purple too!'
But one day Bill 'e chats ter me - in conferdence ter me.
'Yer know,' ses 'e, 'that Jim was courtin' Sue.
'Twas quite a joke ter see that bloke; but, spare me days! - if she
Did not agree!
An' they got married too!
Got hitched up quiet, an' I never knoo!
'I never knoo till my next spree - till my next yearly spree,
An' then, fust thing - the flamin' quadrupids!
I learned them two - my Jim and Sue - was spliced, with twenty-three
In familee!
An', spare me days! SUCH KIDS!
I wouldn't 'ave another drink fer quids!
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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Bill
'Gentle brother, answer truly,
Tell what you be.
But, I pray, tax not unduly
Your sagacitee.
Is your brand u-ni-fi-cation
Is't, or is your appellation
Something mild and shorter still?
Answer truly, Brother Bill.'
Gentle brother answered truly,
Though in language hot
For his temper was unruly:
'Don't talk blinded rot!
Blow u-ni-fi-blanky-cation!
If you want me name an' station
My true moniker is Bill,
An' I work at Johnson's mill.'
'Gentle brother, wax not ireful.
I'm not out for jokes.
Yea, and conseuqnces direful
Smite bad-temepered blokes.
I've no doubt, all day perspiring,
You graft hard. I'm not inquiring
Who you are or what you do,
But what are you? Answer true.'
Brother Bill stood wildly staring,
Anger in his eye;
And, beligerently glaring,
Thus he made reply:
'Up at Johnson's mill I'm working,
And I ain't a bloke for shirking.
If you want me answer true,
I'm a better man that you!'
'Gentle brother, of your senses
You seem quite bereft.
Just consider how immense is....'
Here's Bill's dirty left
Took the catechist right squarely,
And Bill forthwith bounced him fairly,
Punched till he was out of breath.
Bill despised a shibboleth.
Note ye how each platform spouter,
Playing at 'the game,'
Strives to label ev'ry doubter
With a foolish name.
With sly tricks and ruses clever
They are keenly seeking ever
To affix a party brand
To all voters in the land.
List, ye party politicians,
Talking near and far,
We don't want vague propositions
As to what you are.
For the shibboleths of party
Rightly earn the curses hearty
Of all honest men and true.
Let is hear of what you DO.
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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Railroad Bill
Railroad bill were gonna railroad bill
He never works and he never will
Im gonna ride on a railroad bill
Im gonna ride on a railroad bill
Railroad bill he was a mighty bad man
Kill anybody that he think he can
Gonna ride old railroad bill
Gonna ride old railroad bill
Im singin railroad bill,
Im talkin railroad bill, uh-huh-huh
He never worked and he never will
Im gonna ride on railroad bill, yeah
(cmon) Im gonna ride on railroad bill
Well old railroad bill he done stole my wife
Im gonna check him down Im gonna take his life
Gonna ride on railroad bill
Gonna ride railroad bill
Im singin railroad bill
On a railroad bill
He never worked and he never will
Im gonna ride on railroad bill
Im gonna ride on railroad bill
Railroad bill he was a mighty bad man
Kill anybody that he think he can
Gonna ride old railroad bill
Gonna ride railroad bill
Im talkin railroad bill
I love him railroad bill
Uh-huh-huh
He never worked and he never will
Gonna ride on railroad bill
Yeah, gonna ride on railroad bill
Well Im goin up the mountain
Yes Im goin out west
I got a mighty big pistol
Stickin out of my vest
Gonna ride old railroad bill
Gonna ride (alright)
Railroad bill, I love that railroad bill
Uh-huh-huh
He never works and he never will
Im gonna ride on a railroad bill
Im gonna ride on railroad bill
song performed by by Van Morrison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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!
poem by Rudyard Kipling
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In A Soldier...You Will Find...
In a soldier...
Loyalty and strength you see.
In a soldier...
Discipline, bravery.
In a soldier...
A world that is free.
In a soldier..
Sacrifice, so the world can be free.
In a soldier...
No compromise.
In a soldier...
Courage in his eyes.
In a soldier...
A special bond.
In a soldier...
Iraq, Viet-Nam.
In a soldier...
Sad, drooped eyes.
In a soldier...
Pain, when a buddy dies.
In a soldier...
Terrible places.
In a soldier...
Tough, grim faces.
In a soldier...
Stories untold.
In a soldier...
Action makes him old.
In a soldier...
Dark, frightening nights.
In a soldier...
Missing his lovely wife.
In a soldier...
Memories of a decent life.
In a soldier...
Scars deep in the mind.
In a soldier...
An exploding mine.
In a soldier...
The thrill of leaving war.
In a soldier...
No more pains anymore.
In a soldier...
No more tears.
In a soldier...
Leaving war, after a long, trying year.
poem by Philip Lore
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Showing Dolls
And Mrs Clark said
why doesn’t your son
come to tea
I’m sure Helen
would like that
she can show him
her collection of dolls
and your mother said
yes that would be nice
I’m sure he’d like that
and Helen peered at you
through her spectacles
her pupils like
two brown fish
in a glass bowl
and she smiled
one of those smiles
which frighten small boys
and Mrs Clark said
yes and you can come too
and your mother nodded
and off they went
into one of their
long conversations
and as they talked
Mrs Clark rocked the pram
with her youngest kid
wrapped up inside
and your mother stood
with you by her side
with the creeping dread
riding up in you
of tea looming
and Helen standing there
her plaits on either side
of her head
going back and forth
as she moved her head
and Mrs. Clark laughed
and the pram shook
and the kid cried
and she rocked the pram
backward and forward
and all you
could think about
was the dolls
and the baked beans
on toast
and Helen showing you
her dolls
as she had before
and taking
a secret kiss
behind a closed door.
poem by Terry Collett
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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My Hero
Of all the boys with whom I fought
In Africa and Sicily,
Bill was the bravest of the lot
In our dare-devil Company.
That lad would rather die than yield;
His gore he glorified to spill,
And so in every battlefield
A hero in my eyes was Bill.
Then when the bloody war was done,
He moseyed back to our home town,
And there, a loving mother's son,
Like other kids he settled down.
His old girl seemed a shade straight-laced,
For when I called my buddy "Bill,"
She looked at me with some distaste,
Suggesting that his name was "Will."
And then he had to get engaged,
And took unto himself a wife;
And so inevitably caged,
He settled down to wedded life.
He introduced me to his Missis,
But oh I thought her rather silly,
For in between their frequent kisses
She called my hard-boiled here: "Willie."
Now he has long forgot the War,
The which he did a lot to win,
And feeling full of ginger for
He's happy Pop of cherubs twin.
Yet with his air: "Don't care a damn,"
On Main Street he's my hero still . . .
As proud he wheels a double pram
What guy has got the guts of Bill!
poem by Robert William Service
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Simple Sister Goes To Sydney
When Flo resolved to go to town from brothers three a yell went up,
Predicting ruin and distress. Bill in his horror dropped a cup.
“Gorstruth!” he said, “in Sydney there what is a simple girl to do?
They took me down. I lost me watch and seven quid. What ‘ope for you?”
Ben turned on her in pale dismay. “Look here, me girl, ain’t you bin told
How one iv them there spieler blokes done me for twenty pound in gold?
He was as nice a gentleman as any in the blessed shops:
He got away with all I had, and took a luner at the cops.”
“Me, too,” said Dave, “that time I went to Sydney town to see the Show
One trimmed me for me bran’ new suit. You stay where we can watch you, Flo.”
Flo packed. “If spieler comes at me his finish will be sharp,” she said;
And when the boys next heard of her she’d got a bloke, and then was wed.
She wrote: “He’s rather nice, I think, and I am putting him to work.
Next Chrissmiss we are comin’ up to see yous people back o’ Bourke.”
And when he came he brought for Bill a silver watch and seven quid,
For Dave a bran’ new suit of check, a ruby tie-pin and a lid.
To Ben he handed twenty pounds, in nice new minted sovereigns, too.
And still the brothers gaped at him, and still their great amazement grew.
He was a natty kind of chap, with gentle manners, small and slim.
And when they spoke ‘twas as one man. “So ‘elp me cat,” they said, “it’s ‘im!”
poem by Edward George Dyson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Proud American Soldier
Proud American Soldier
(God bless and keep safe our fighting men and women in harm’s way)
I fought beside my brothers, as they died on foreign shores,
I’m proud to say, we fought and slay, our enemies by the scores.
One by one, we fought and won, wars down through the ages,
The history books are written with our blood stains on the pages.
Our skin is many colors, we are women and we’re men,
We stand up to injustices no matter where or when.
I’m a Proud American Soldier, my job’s to keep us free,
I ply my timeless trade so far away, across the sea.
When others cringe and cower, you’ll find us standing tall,
We’ll remain steadfast until the last, of the evil tip and fall.
Come what may, get in our way, we’ll never cut and run,
We’ll stay our course, with no remorse and it ain’t always fun.
We’re the sailors that go out to sea, we’re the pilots in the sky,
We’re the grunts out in the fox holes, and we all know that men die.
I’m a Proud American Soldier, my job’s to keeps free,
I ply my timeless trade so far away, across the sea.
They spoke kindly of my enemies, the same day that I died,
Then burned my flag in protest, as my widow watched and cried.
But don’t you worry much my friends, nor shed a tear for me,
There’s more where I come from, to fight and keep you free.
Freedom isn’t free dear friends, we foot the bill in blood.
We die in the desert sand and in the jungle’s mud.
I’m a Proud American Soldier, my jobs to keep us free,
I ply my timeless trade so far away across the sea.
I may be just a soldier, but that’s just fine by me.
poem by Michael Barker
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Trail Of Tears
This song was first released on the dreamland express album. it is the only album it has been released on.
No more beautiful moons may we spend on our land
In the north, the scarlet council talks of war
And the long knives have massacred the tribe and burned corn
Were not welcome in our homeland anymore
No more songs of the hunters on the baffalo plain
No more smoke from sacred fires touch these hills
And the numbers of the people grow fewer every mile
And our children will not leave the great spirits ways
There will be a trail of tears
There will be a trail of pain
And jackson will have the mississippi and the twenty dollar bill
But for us the trail is all that will remain
On the streets of rapid city
On the road to wounded knee
There is whiskey for forgetting everything
But the old ones say there may be time learning from each other
The way that it had once been meant to be
There is still a trail of tears
There is still a trail of pain
And jackson has got the mississippi and the twenty dollar bill
But for us the trail of tears remains
And jackson has got the mississippi and the twenty dollar bill
But how long will the trail of tears remain
Words and music by randy handley
song performed by by John Denver
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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How Can A Poor Man Stand Such Times & Live ?
(alfred reed)
(g) - (c) - (g7) - (d) - (d7) - (am)
(g) I remember a time when every (d) thing was (g) cheap
Now prices nearly puts a man to (d) sleep
(d7) well, when we (g) get our grocery (g7) bill
We (c) feel like making our (am) will
Tell me, (g) how can a poor man (d7) stand such times and (g) live ?
Tell me, (g) how can a poor man (d7) stand such times and (g) live ?
Well, the doctor comes around with his face all bright
And he says, in a little while youll be all right!
Well, all he gives is a humbug pill
Dose of dope and a great big bill
Tell me, how can a poor man stand such times and live ?
Tell me, how can a poor man stand such times and live ?
Most preachers, well, they preach for gold and not for soul
Well, thats what keeps us poor folks always in a hole
Now, we can hardly get our breath
Taxed and schooled and preached to death
Tell me, how can a poor man stand such times and live ?
Tell me, how can a poor man stand such times and live ?
song performed by by Ry Cooder
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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BillJim
Down to it is Plugger Bill,
Lyin' crumpled, white 'n' still.
Me 'n' him
Chips in when the scrap begins,
Carin' nothin' for our skins,
Chi-iked as the 'Eavenly Twins-
Bill 'n' Jim.
They 'ave outed Bill at last,
Slugged me cobber hard 'n' fast.
It's a kill.
See the purple of his lip
'N' the red 'n' oozy drip!
Ends our great ole partnership-
Jim 'n' Bill
Mates we was when we was kids;
Camp, 'n' ship, 'n' Pyramids,
Him 'n' me
Hung together, 'n' we tore
Up the heights from Helles shore,
Bill a long 'arf head afore,
Fine to see!
Then it was we took a touch-
Simple puncture, nothin' much;
But we lay
'N' we stays the count, it seems,
In a sorter realm of dreams
Where the sun infernal gleams
Night 'n' day;
Boilin', fryin' achin', dumb,
Waitin' till the stretchers come,
Patiently.
I hangs on to 'arf a cup.
Which I wants ole Bill to sup.
Damn if he ain't savin' up
His for me!
When they come to lift my head
I am softly kiddin' dead,
For a game,
So's they'll first take on his gills.
Over, though, me scheme he spills-
Bli'me, this ole take-down Bill's
Done the same!
But he isn't kiddin' now,
And it knocks me anyhow
Seein' him.
We was both agreed before,
Though it got 'em by the score,
Two was goin' to beat this war-
But 'n' Jim.
Mate o' mine, yiv stayed it through.
Hard luck, Bill-for me 'n' you
Hard 'n' grim.
They have got me Cobber true,
But I'm stickin' tight ez glue….
Bill, there's one who'll plug for two-
It is Jim!
poem by Edward George Dyson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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