En.Citatepedia^®.ro

The Khaki Boys Who Were Not At The Front

Oh! it is not just the men who face the guns,
Not the fighters at the Front alone, to-day
Who will bring the longed-for close to the bloody fray, for those
Could not carry on that fray without the ones
Who are working at war's problems far away.

You are all our splendid heroes in the strife,
And we class you with the warriors maimed and scarred,
Though you never have been near enough the battle din to hear,
While you laboured in the dull routine of life
In your khaki suits with sleeves that are not barred.

You have offered up yourselves to save the world;
You have felt the abnegation of the Christ:
And whatever work you do is a noble work and true;
Though it be not done with banners all unfurled,
You will find it has, in sight of God, sufficed.

While you carry back no medals when you go,
Not without you had the fighters borne war's brunt:
So just lift your heads uncowed, for your country will be proud
And its lasting love and honour will bestow
On the khaki boys who were not at the Front.

poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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Carry On

It's easy to fight when everything's right,
And you're mad with the thrill and the glory;
It's easy to cheer when victory's near,
And wallow in fields that are gory.
It's a different song when everything's wrong,
When you're feeling infernally mortal;
When it's ten against one, and hope there is none,
Buck up, little soldier, and chortle:

Carry on! Carry on!
There isn't much punch in your blow.
You're glaring and staring and hitting out blind;
You're muddy and bloody, but never you mind.
Carry on! Carry on!
You haven't the ghost of a show.
It's looking like death, but while you've a breath,
Carry on, my son! Carry on!

And so in the strife of the battle of life
It's easy to fight when you're winning;
It's easy to slave, and starve and be brave,
When the dawn of success is beginning.
But the man who can meet despair and defeat
With a cheer, there's the man of God's choosing;
The man who can fight to Heaven's own height
Is the man who can fight when he's losing.

Carry on! Carry on!
Things never were looming so black.
But show that you haven't a cowardly streak,
And though you're unlucky you never are weak.
Carry on! Carry on!
Brace up for another attack.
It's looking like hell, but -- you never can tell:
Carry on, old man! Carry on!

There are some who drift out in the deserts of doubt,
And some who in brutishness wallow;
There are others, I know, who in piety go
Because of a Heaven to follow.
But to labour with zest, and to give of your best,
For the sweetness and joy of the giving;
To help folks along with a hand and a song;
Why, there's the real sunshine of living.

Carry on! Carry on!
Fight the good fight and true;
Believe in your mission, greet life with a cheer;
There's big work to do, and that's why you are here.
Carry on! Carry on!
Let the world be the better for you;
And at last when you die, let this be your cry:
Carry on, my soul! Carry on!

poem by Robert William Service
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The Stevedores

We are the army stevedores, lusty and virile and strong,
We are given the hardest work of the war, and the hours are long.
We handle the heavy boxes, and shovel the dirty coal;
While soldiers and sailors work in the light, we burrow below like a mole.
But somebody has to do this work, or the soldiers could not fight!
And whatever work is given a man, is good if he does it right.

We are the army stevedores, and we are volunteers.
We did not wait for the draft to come, to put aside our fears;
We flung them away on the winds of fate, at the very first call of our land,
And each of us offered a willing heart and the strength of a brawny hand.
We are the army stevedores, and work as we must and may,
The cross of honour will never be ours to proudly wear away.

But the men at the Front could never be there,
And the battles could not be won,
If the stevedores stopped in their dull routine
And left their work undone.
Somebody has to do this work, be glad that it isn't you!
We are the army stevedores-give us our due!

poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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I fought tall fighters, short fighters, strong fighters, slow fighters, sluggers and boxers. It was either learn or get knocked off.

quote by Sugar Ray Leonard
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Carry Me (a River)

carry me (a river)

carry me a river
take i there, by the river
let the cool breeze wash away the pain
from within me not in vain

carry me a river
where the sweet melodies of the birds reign
the birds in a singing mood so plain
wipe off my mind from the railing train
and carry me over yonder to clear my brain
as you carry me a river

carry me a river
by the river side
the pebbles and the bubbles
clear as water by the stream
as you carry me a river
told me the best poor surrogate of wisdom is pride
but intelligence and self trust will avoid troubles
not even in your dream

carry me a river
in touch with i roots
in my gideon boots
and some khaki suites

carry me a river
to dream a better me
and look back to see
the horizon by sundown
lost but not a clown
with my thinking crown
i stood up to go back-a town

next time
carry me a river on time
though you carry me there for some time
but next time
carry me a river on time

® ntema, o.p.
[email protected]
©25.08.2011
2133h rs

poem by Onalethuso Petruss Ntema
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The True Meaning Of Freedom

Many look on what constitutes freedom one might say differently
What seems free to you may not seem free to me
To be ruled by your own people to you as freedom does count
But in the true meaning of freedom that to little amount.

To be ruled by your own people may be seen as quite okay
But if you have to be careful with the words you do say
Then you are not a free person despite about it how you may feel
Your idea of freedom to me does not appeal.

Of love of Country you are one who brag
And your patriotism you carry in your National flag
But despite this your Government you seemingly fear
And they only tell you what you need to hear.

Patriotic songs and ballads many like to sing
And to their admiration of freedom fighters they fervently do cling
And if that's your idea of freedom well that suits me fine
Though your ideas on life are quite different to mine.

poem by Francis Duggan
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Remembrance Day

For our king and our country and the promise of glory
We came from kingston and brighton to fight on the front line
Just lads from the farms and boys from the cities
Not meant to be soldiers we lay in the trenches
Wed face the fighting with a smile - or so we said
If only we had known what danger lay ahead
The sky turned to grey as we went into battle
On the fields of europe young men were fallin
Ill be back for you someday - it wont be long
If I can just hold on til this bloody war is over
The guns will be silent on remembrance day
Therell be no more fighting on remembrance day
By october of 18 cambrai had fallen
Soon the war would be over and wed be returnin
Dont forget me while Im gone far away
Well it wont be long till Im back there in your arms again
One day soon - I dont know when
You know well all be free and the bells of peace will ring again
The time will come for you and me
Well be goin home when this bloody war is ended
The guns will be silent on remembrance day
Well all say a prayer on remembrance day
On remembrance day - say a little prayer
On remembrance day
Well the guns will be silent
Therell be no more fighting
Oh well lay down our weapons
On remembrance day

song performed by by Bryan Adams
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Reeves..the Phenix.

The crowd gather, soon there’s a mob
They say they’re poor and don’t have a job
No thought of struggling shop owners
They get heartened as they gather on the corner
Smoke billows from many sources, will any building get away?
Many will hang their heads and remember this day
The excitement of an impending battle looms
As witnesses from windows hide in their rooms
More fires are lit and the excitement grows
Where this will end no one knows
As local businesses go up in smoke
Silence here, tears there as they realise this is no joke
A bandana covers this guys face, he’s there with his chum
His only fear is being recognised by his mum

The engine arrives, ducking constantly they turn on the pump
The fire has taken hold and from a window a woman jumps
No point sifting through the debris of that formally longstanding store
Where you could buy furniture to fit your stature
We can mentally help them grieve
As they knuckle down and roll up their sleeves
Fighters of a different kind get to work
Moving and Sweeping the acrid dirt
As the Phenix was deemed to rise...so does REEVES right in front of your eyes.

poem by Brian Roy Skyers
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War Girls

'There's the girl who clips your ticket for the train,
And the girl who speeds the lift from floor to floor,
There's the girl who does a milk-round in the rain,
And the girl who calls for orders at your door.
Strong, sensible, and fit,
They're out to show their grit,
And tackle jobs with energy and knack.
No longer caged and penned up,
They're going to keep their end up
'Til the khaki soldier boys come marching back.

There's the motor girl who drives a heavy van,
There's the butcher girl who brings your joint of meat,
There's the girl who calls 'All fares please!' like a man,
And the girl who whistles taxi's up the street.
Beneath each uniform
Beats a heart that's soft and warm,
Though of canny mother-wit they show no lack;
But a solemn statement this is,
They've no time for love and kisses
Till the khaki soldier boys come marching back.

poem by Jessie Pope
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Ameria's Welcome Home

Oh, gallantly they fared forth in khaki and in blue,
America's crusading host of warriors bold and true;
They battled for the rights of man beside our brave Allies,
And now they're coming home to us with glory in their eyes.

Oh, it's home again, and home again, America for me!
Our hearts are turning home again and there we long to be,
In our beautiful big country beyond the ocean bars,
Where the air is full of sunlight and the flag is full of stars.

Our boys have seen the Old World as none have seen before.
They know the grisly horror of the German gods of war:
The noble faith of Britain and the hero-heart of France,
The soul of Belgium's fortitude and Italy's romance.

They bore our country's great word across the rolling sea,
'America swears brotherhood with all the just and free.'
They wrote that word victorious on fields of mortal strife,
And many a valiant lad was proud to seal it with his life.

Oh, welcome home in Heaven's peace, dear spirits of the dead!
And welcome home ye living sons America hath bred!
The lords of war are beaten down, your glorious task is done;
You fought to make the whole world free, and the victory is won.

Now it's home again, and home again, our hearts are turning west,
Of all the lands beneath the sun America is best.
We're going home to our own folks, beyond the ocean bars,
Where the air is full of sunlight and the flag is full of stars.

poem by Henry Van Dyke
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Of Your Mind

(gill/johnson/nash/o'toole)
From diamond mine to the factory
Everybody's doing what you've got to keep on doing for society
Make this world a good place to be
Let livin' be but don't work for free
Playing isn't paying so worx is what i'm saying
Working for the world go round
The battle cry don't mess with me
I've travelled the world for eternity
Warriors of the wasteland
Sailboats of ice on desert sands
Warriors of the wasteland
It seems to be that the powers that be
Keep themselves in splendour and security
Armoured cars for megastars
No streets, no bars, yours wealth is ours
They make the masses, kiss their asse(t)s
Lower class jackass, pay me tax take out the trash
Working for the world go round
Your job is gold, do as you're told
The pay you less the run for congress
Warriors of the wasteland
Sailboats of ice on desert sands
Warriors of the wasteland
I'm working for the world go round, go round
Diamond mind to the factory, yeah
Make this a world, a good place to be
Warriors what a waste, man
Warriors
We're rats in a cage
Suicide a go go

song performed by by Frankie Goes To Hollywood
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Song of Failure

HERE is my hand to you, brother,
You of the ruck who have failed
I, too, am only another
Fighter who faltered and quailed.
Now with my courage for token
Here to grim Fate I give tithe;
I, too, am beaten and broken,
Lying, the swath of the scythe!
We to the conquerors' seeming
Crouch, an incongruous horde—
Fighters, enmeshed in their dreaming,
Dreamers who girl on the sword,
Weaklings with splendid ambitions,
Heroes who learnt to succumb,
Poets a-swoon in their visions,
Singers with ecstasy dumb.
Failed! So we cast off our burden,
Done with our doubts and our fears:
These we have won for our guerdon—
Pity and tears—women's tears!
You with your conquests unending
Dwell from a woman apart;
Only the humble and bending
Learn the low door to her heart.
We that lie dumb in your scorning
Made you the heroes you are,

Built you a road to the morning,
Taught you to reach for a star:
We have had sight of the glory,
Pointed it clear to the blind;
Yours is the conquerors' story,
Ours is the vision you find.
Here is no dread and no grieving;
Over us hurtles the fray,
Is yours a Heav'n worth achieving,
If it be stormed in a day?
Here is this world we must live in—
Little to lose or to gain;
More is it worth to have striven
Than in the end to attain.

poem by Arthur Henry Adams
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Sade Hawkins Dance

All the girls in the bathroom talkin
who they gonna take to the Sadie Hawkins
My ears are burnin but I kept on walkin
smile on my face and an air guitar rockin
The Sadie Hawkins Dance
in my khaki pants
There's nothin better
oh oh oh
The girls ask the guys
it's always a surprise
There's nothin better
baby do you like my sweater?
Sittin in the back of my next class nappin
gotta give a speech then bow to the clappin
Told a funny joke got the whole class laughin
think I got a tan from the light which I was baskin
The Sadie Hawkins Dance
in my khaki pants
There's nothin better
oh oh oh
The girls ask the guys
it's always a surprise
There's nothin better
baby do you like my sweater?
Scan the cafeteria for some good seating
I found a good spot by the cheerleaders eating
The quarterback asked me if I'd like a beating
I said that's one thing I won't be needing
And since I'm rather smart and cunning
I took off down the next hall running
Only to get stopped by a girl so stunning
only to get stopped by a girl so stunning?
She said, "You're smooth, and good with talkin.
You go with me to the Sadie Hawkins"
The Sadie Hawkins Dance
in my khaki pants
There's nothin better
oh oh oh
The girls ask the guys
it's always a surprise
There's nothin better
baby do you like my sweater?
The Sadie Hawkins Dance
in my khaki pants
There's nothin better
oh oh oh
The girls ask the guys
it's always a surprise
There's nothin better
baby do you like my sweater

song performed by by Relient K
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Will You Be There - Michael Jackson

Hold me
Like the River Jordan
And I will then say to Thee
You are my friend
Carry me
Like you are my brother
Love me like a mother
Will you be there?
Weary
Tell me will you hold me?
When wrong, will you scold me?
When lost will you find me?
But they told me
A man should be faithful
And walk when not able
And fight till the end
But I'm only human
Everyone's taking control of me
Seems that the world's
Got a role for me
I'm so confused
Will you show to me
You'll be there for me
And care enough to bare me?
(Hold me)
(Lay your head lowly)
(Softly then boldly)
(Carry me there)
(Lead me)
(Love me and feed me)
(Kiss me and free me)
(I will feel blessed)
(Carry)
(Carry me boldly)
(Lift me up slowly)
(Carry me there)
(Save me)
(Heal me and bathe me)
(Softly you say to me)
(I will be there)
(Lift me)
(Lift me up slowly)
(Carry me boldly)
(Show me you care)
(Hold me)
(Lay your head lowly)
(Softly then boldly)
(Carry me there)
(Need me)
(Love me and feed me)
(Kiss me and free me)
(I will feel blessed)
......
RIP, MJ

poem by Rebecca Ryan
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Warriors

Warriors
Horses and warriors
Shields and amour
Fighting for a cause
Avoiding as much loss

Shedding blood is a must
Battles must be fought and won on the battlefield
How many men will be killed?
For a country
For a nation
For self belief

Spears and shields
Tools of war
Making history
Alliance and victory

A treasured sword
Held by a courageous man
Known by his name as warrior
Failure is not an option
A countries pride is at stake

Bows and arrows
Fighting for a name
Decorated with strings of fame
A man must do what he must
Even if it is for a mediocre cause

Now wars are won and fought with guns
The true warriors are the thinkers and not the fighters
The true warrior is not the man who dies
But the one who stays alive
The one who can plan and strategise
Analyse and fantasies a vision which is bound to come true

© Sylvia Chidi- 17 October 2005

poem by Sylvia Chidi
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Out Of Khaki

I slung me khaki suit to-day.
Civilian now front heel to chin
I 'op round on a single shin;
At home in peace I'm bound to stay.
'N' so they've took me duds away.
It 'urt like strippin' off me skin!

I put it on three years ago,
The ole brown rig. There wasn't then
A prouder chicken in the pen.
Jist twenty turned, me nibs you'd know
For how I give me chest a throw,
A man among the best of men.

Me little no the touch I give,
Me chin's ez solid ez a rock,
'N' level with the Town 'All clock,
A five-inch grin across me chiv.
“Lor' love us, this is how to live,”
Sez I, 'n' felt I owned the Block.

Glad eyes was ever on the lurk,
'N' little 'earts was thumpin' warm
For nippers trainin' with the swarm
To swat ole Kaiser Bill, or work
A toe-hold on the heathen Turk.
Fair dink, I loved the uniform!

I soused mine in the brine that day
When Tophet spilt, 'n' in the roar
Of shells that split the sea 'n' tore
Our boats to chips, we broke any
Up through the pelt of leaden spray,
'N' got our first real taste of war.

They shot me tunic all to rags;
Then in the perpendic'lar spree
Me trousers wore off to the knee.
The right-abouts of many bags
Was ground off in the dust 'n' crags
A-sittin' in Gallipoli.

I wore the khaki on the Somme-
Most time 'twas jist a coat of mud;
I once come through the battle scud
Stripped mother-naked by a bomb;
'N' once it' took its color from
Me own 'n' one good cobber's blood.

They cheered the khaki through the street
When we come home with pipers gay,
But now I'm jist a bloke in grey.
Harf-lost, lob-sided, incomplete,
It's nothin' but me spook you'll meet,
Ghost-walkin' in the light o' day.

poem by Edward George Dyson
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Shes Got Medals

Shed walk through the door and shed set up the drinks on the house
She played a good game of darts, and the men slapped her back
And never took her out
She wore a trenchcoat khaki
Her hobnail boots were full of holes
Shes got medals
Her mother called her mary, but she changed her name to tommy, shes a one, oh
She went and joined the army, passed the medical
Dont ask me how its done
They sent her to the front line
Fighting for her countrys name
Shes got medals
She got very tired of picking up girls
Cleaning her gun and shaving her curls
Then the enemy dropped a bomb
Survivors there were none
People say that when the moon is full and all the stars have gone to bed
You can see her ghost but thats a lie because the naughty woman isnt dead
She deserted on the previous morning
Replaced her uniform with dresses silk and green
Called herself eileen
Came to london town
Now shes settled down
Shes got medals

song performed by by David Bowie
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Warriors Of The Wasteland

(gill/johnson/nash/otoole)
From diamond mine to the factory
Everybodys doing what youve got to keep on doing for society
Make this world a good place to be
Let livin be but dont work for free
Playing isnt paying so worx is what Im saying
Working for the world go round
The battle cry dont mess with me
Ive travelled the world for eternity
Warriors of the wasteland
Sailboats of ice on desert sands
Warriors of the wasteland
It seems to be that the powers that be
Keep themselves in splendour and security
Armoured cars for megastars
No streets, no bars, yours wealth is ours
They make the masses, kiss their asse(t)s
Lower class jackass, pay me tax take out the trash
Working for the world go round
Your job is gold, do as youre told
The pay you less the run for congress
Warriors of the wasteland
Sailboats of ice on desert sands
Warriors of the wasteland
Im working for the world go round, go round
Diamond mind to the factory, yeah
Make this a world, a good place to be
Warriors what a waste, man
Warriors
Were rats in a cage
Suicide a go go

song performed by by Frankie Goes To Hollywood
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Her Photograph from Violence Scene Unfolds Her Tale

Strands in mud in her flight away,
As problem wasps gathered around.
On khaki emotions rebound;
A lamb lost its way.

Harsh orders: cracks on character;
Divorce: her small hump;
Two little stomachs: hump on hump;
Her police uniform: wanted unwanted shelter.

Storm of khaki police;
Uprooted sense violently.
Camera mouths gobbled voraciously,
And vomited on front of dailies.

Sudden kick on abdomen did land;
Pain flowers scattered on visage hers.
Oh! that haunting photograph hers!
‘Mrs.Apanna, what a tragic strand! ’

poem by Fabiyas M V
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Worthy The Name of Sir Knight

I

Sir Knight of the world's oldest order,
Sir Knight of the Army of God,
You have crossed the strange mystical border,
The ground floor of truth you have trod;
You have entered the sanctum sanctorum,
Which leads to the temple above,
Where you come as a stone, and a Christ-chosen one,
In the kingdom of Friendship and Love.

II

As you stand in this new realm of beauty,
Where each man you meet is your friend,
Think not that your promise of duty
In hall, or asylum, shall end;
Outside, in the great world of pleasure,
Beyond, in the clamor of trade,
In the battle of life and its coarse daily strife
Remember the vows you have made.

III

Your service, majestic and solemn,
Your symbols, suggestive and sweet,
Your uniformed phalanx in column
On gala days marching the street;
Your sword and your plume and your helmet,
Your 'secrets' hid from the world's sight;
These things are the small, lesser parts of the all
Which are needed to form the true Knight.

IV

The martyrs who perished rejoicing
In Templary's glorious laws,
Who died 'midst the fagots while voicing
The glory and worth of their cause-
They honored the title of 'Templar'
No more than the Knight of to-day
Who mars not the name with one blemish of shame,
But carries it clean through life's fray.

V

To live for a cause, to endeavor
To make your deeds grace it, to try
And uphold its precepts forever,
Is harder by far than to die.
For the battle of life is unending,
The enemy, Self, never tires,
And the true Knight must slay that sly foe every day
Ere he reaches the heights he desires.

VI

Sir Knight, have you pondered the meaning
Of all you have heard and been told?
Have you strengthened your heart for its weaning
From vices and faults loved of old?
Will you honor, in hours of temptation,
Your promises noble and grand?
Will your spirit be strong to do battle with wrong,
'And having done all, to stand?'

VII

Will you ever be true to a brother
In actions as well as in creed?
Will you stand by his side as no other
Could stand in the hour of his need?
Will you boldly defend him from peril,
And lift him from poverty's curse-
Will the promise of aid which you willingly made,
Reach down from your lips to your purse?

VIII

The world's battle field is before you!
Let Wisdom walk close by your side,
Let Faith spread her snowy wings o'er you,
Let Truth be your comrade and guide;
Let Fortitude, Justice and Mercy
Direct all your conduct aright,
And let each word and act tell to men the proud fact,
You are worthy the name of 'Sir Knight'.

poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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The Masters

OH, who is the Lord of the land of life,
When hotly goes the fray?
When, fierce we smile in the midst of strife
Then whom shall we obey?
Oh, Love is the Lord of the land of life
Who holds a monarch's sway;
He wends with wish of maid and wife,
And him you must obey.
Then who is the Lord of the land of life,
At setting of the sun?
Whose word shall sway when Peace is rife
And all the fray is done?
Then Death is the Lord of the land of life,
When your hot race is run.
Meet then his scythe and pruning-knife
When the fray is lost or won.

poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
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