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
http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
Killers All?
Now bugle boy what do you blow
Your trumpet pressed to your dead lips
I sound recall to let them know
this is the end of their hardships
They came as boys but died like men
From factories farms and mean back streets
They will not see their homes again
The brave young men whom death defeats.
They answered to their country’s call
And donned their Khaki battle dress
And shipped to France where they would fall
by thousands in the wilderness.
Created by the shot and shell
turning the battlefield to mud.
Which drowned young soldiers where they fell
and drenched the earth with their hearts blood.
Now poppies blow in Flanders fields’
The soil enriched by dead men bones
which has increased the harvest yields.
The poppies act as their headstones.
So many died and were not found
their fate unknown, No man could say
Their bodies melded with the ground
but we remember still to day.
The slaughter and the sacrifice
The useless waste of human lives.
They were prepared to pay the price.
Though a small band of them survives.
Each passing year their numbers fall
Old age more sure than shot and shell.
Soon there will be none at all
who endured that living hell.
The war to end all wars they said
You will be home by Christmas tide
Instead of that most would be dead.
Involuntary suicide.
We honour those who bravely died
a generation of young men.
The best of breed on either side.
But still we go to war again.
The world has never been at peace
since the war to end all wars.
I don’t believe that wars will cease
as long as there are warriors.
Who think they can enforce their will
on other men by force of arms.
It seems that killing is a skill
Which can seduce men with its charms.
16-May-08
http: //blog.myspace.com./poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
I Wonder.
In Flanders Fields red poppies grow.
But long dead warriors lie below.
Their rotted bodies nourishing
The scarlet poppies flourishing..
As if to draw attention to.
The graves of men who never knew.
That they would not see their homes more
But here they lie for evermore.
In Flanders Fields lost heroes lie.
In unmarked graves beneath the sky.
Far from the which gave them birth
They add their substance to the earth.
Which Belgian farmers cultivate.
Selected randomly by fate.
There can be few survivors left
But those of us who choose to go
To Flanders where the poppies grow.
All make the trip to show respect
Numbers dwindling as you'd expect.
There's very few now left to go.
To see the scarlet poppies glow
The numbers grow less day by day.
When they are called they must obey.
Rejoining those who went before.
The men who fell in the Great War.
I wonder will poppies still grow
When there's no one left to go.
Monday,25 June 2012
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
At The Grave Of The Unknown Soldier
He was a brave soldier he died young and brave
And for more than six decades he lay in his grave
And still at the dawning of each war memorial day
At his grave site a young bugler the last post does play.
Known as the Unknown Soldier one without a name
Still he had a mum and a dad just the same
And when he did not return home when the fighting was done
They grieved at their loss and they wept for their son.
The war to end all wars of all wars 'tis said
But more wars are fought and we have more war dead
And at the grave of the unknown soldier the last post is played
And to honour the war dead another parade.
Old war men do tell us young soldiers fight and die
For freedom and liberty that is a lie
They went to war when young they are now old and gray
Some grow old not wiser some are known to say.
That they were fighting for freedom and justice they believed to be true
And they were quite gallant to give them their due
But many deprived of their human rights in the World of today
And that does seem a very sad thing for to say.
With heads bowed old men showing their years in gray
At the grave of the Unknown Soldier at the dawn of the day
In silence do listen as a young bugler the last post does play
For one who fought and died in a war far away.
poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Generally speaking
The guns fall silent and the dead
lie quietly they’ve played their part.
The night hour’s pass heavy with dread
at first light the big guns will start.
The sound of the artillery
will fill the silent skies again.
Eroding further bravery
of the war weary fighting men.
The brave young men on either side
are doomed to die face down in mud.
Nowhere to run, nowhere to hide.
Their dug outs do but little good.
A shell burst may not kill just maim
The lucky ones are those who die,
they are the winners in this game
when thick and fast the bullets fly.
Opposing sides move to and fro
to capture trenches they’ve just left.
For no good reason that they know
obeying orders quite bereft
of any sign of sanity.
The generals are safe behind the lines
Unlike the vast majority
who fight to fulfil their designs.
Lions by donkeys badly led
Young men by the thousand died.
A foreign field their final bed
because good sense was not applied.
In Flanders fields the poppies grow.
The soil enriched by their hearts blood
What have we learnt we did not know?
Nobody won Nobody could.
There are no winners none at all
except perhaps the carrion crows
They dine well when the soldiers fall
as mighty nations come to blows.
Survivors return home broken men
with small support and little praise.
Until they’re needed once again
when countries their new armies raise.
Another war to end all wars.
We do not learn from history
For men can always find a cause.
Why this should be a mystery.
18-Feb-08
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
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
http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Honour The Good Living
Honour the good living and respect the dead
And learn from the past as a wise one once said
Though many leaders never learn from history
Wise people do not become political leaders it does seem to me,
The war supposed to end all wars was fought decades ago
and still the numbers of the war dead does grow
The war like leaders war before peace do choose
But of war it is said that even winners do lose
Of love of their Country some are known to brag
Though such people carry their pride in a flag
Patriotic fervour the path to war lead
And less of Nationalism in the World we do need
We should learn from the past and then look ahead
And honour the good living and respect the dead.
poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Misplaced Trust symmetrical verse.
Symmetrical verse
Misplaced trust
.
I lost my way
Was led astray
By those I thought I could believe
But were not what they seemed to be
Because I was young and naïve
I trusted them too easily
Their confidence was all pretence.
I should have used my common sense.
Gone my own way
Without delay.
But I did not I thought they knew
Which way to go which wasn’t true.
They lied to me
As liars do.
Saturday,29 October 2011
Http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Stupidity.
Stupidity.
We celebrate our dead heroes.
Their white headstones arranged in rows.
To mark where soldiers bodies lie.
They are no longer friends and foes
War cemeteries are tended well
in honour of the men who fell
It is the least that we can do
for men who died by shot and shell.
Each single death a tragedy,
each one recorded carefully.
To satisfy the bureaucrats
who collate deaths statistically.
I wonder why we cannot see.
That death alone claims victory.
Each new war adds to the score
of people dying uselessly.
Though we remember them with pride.
The countless men who sadly died.
Each thinking that their cause was just.
Involuntary suicide.
We celebrate our dead heroes
with white headstones arranged in rows.
Yet we still send young men to die
And always will do I suppose.
We do not learn from history
For no good reason I can see.
That wars prove nothing in the end
Except how stupid we can be.
Wednesday,30 December 2009
http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
I am still me.
I’m not the man I used to be
When in the first bloom of my youth.
Who had abundant energy
I must accept the awful truth.
As I grow old I realise.
I’m not the man I used to be
I have no choice but recognise.
I must conserve my energy.
It’s for the best quite probably.
I have to think before I act.
I’m not the man I used to be.
I can’t deny that simple fact.
I can do what I need to do
Though I must plan it carefully.
I am quite sure you feel it too.
I’m not the man I used to be.
Saturday,15 May 2010
http: //blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Fidelity Personified for M'lady Ernestine.
Fidelity personified
Though he was old he was still spry
enough to manage on his own.
Although he’d had a family.
They were grown up and long since gone.
The kept in touch spasmodically
by letter and by telephone.
But very seldom came to see
him in the home they’d known.
Throughout their happy childhood days
But times moves on and so did they
They chose to go their different ways
and one by one they moved away.
Dad would remain until he died
and would be laid to rest beside.
The woman he had loved the best
to join her in eternal rest.
He tends her grave with loving pride
He brought her here his blushing bride.
Together always til she died.
She’s waiting on the other side.
He’s sure he will rejoin her soon
beyond the mountains of the moon.
Still faithful to her memory
he waits to join her patiently.
Sunday,29 August 2010
http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Farmers Complaint
The frosted fields are lying fallow.
The frozen ground will not allow
free passage to the farmers plough
Though things will change they always do
Then is the time he must review
the wisest course he can pursue.
He needs to plough then he must sow
the kind of crops he wants to grow
he can’t afford to be too slow.
When spring sunshine ignites the fuse.
A farmer has no time to lose.
Excuses are of little use.
Spring is the time of life’s rebirth.
He must prepare the fertile earth
and labour hard to prove his worth
.
The seasons cycle in their turn
as every farmer has to learn
If you don’t work you cannot earn.
A farmer only prospers when
he works harder than other men
or so they say time and again.
I do not know it may be true
That farmers have too much to do.
I don’t believe it though. Do you?
11-Jan-09
http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Along The War Avenue Of honour
Along the war Avenue of Honour a plaque to a dead soldier nailed to every tree
Brave young men who died in battle their reward for their bravery
They died in the war said to end all wars in the killing fields of World war one
But many wars since and far too many bloody battles and peace in the World not yet won.
Wars started by silly ageing men who send the young for them to die
Ageing men who themselves will die of old age and their twilight years they will enjoy,
ageing males heroes of their people we honour cowards as heroes one might say
The young men will go to war for them and the young men with their young lives pay.
The war supposed to end all wars long over almost nine decades since have gone by
But many wars have been fought since then and war pilots dropp their big bombs from the night sky
But suppose that's what will always happen when we give all of our power away
To silly and ageing male war men who with hair dyes cover their gray.
Along the war avenue of honour long dead soldiers names on every tree
Young noble men who died in battle far from homeland and family
In what was to be the war to end all wars yet we don't have much wisdom to show
For the loss of so many fine young men well over eight decades ago.
poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Smokin' 45
Yeah, hey, I've seen the Bad Lands, I've held awhirlwind in my hand
Slept in the centre, Whiskey has washed away the sand, yeah
Gamblers who cheated, And
Sheriffs who lied, The last thing
they saw, From the death that they died, Was my Smokin' 45, my
smokin' 45
Ten thousand dollars, That's what I'm worth dead or alive, Six loaded chambers, Ten men rode up not
one survived, They got my name
on the telegraph wire, Dead men's faces and a gun that's for hire,
Gamblers who cheated
And Sheriffs who lied
The last thing they saw,
From the death that they died
Was my smokin' 45, my smokin'
45, yeah
I'm riding south to the Mexico line
Posse behind me
And they're making good time
Men with vendetta's,
Who shouldn't have tried,
To reach for quick fame,
With a gun at their side
Against my smokin' 45,
My smokin' 45,
My smokin' 45,
I'm talking about my smokin' 45
My smokin' 45
Smokin' 45
Smokin' 45
Gonna get you, can depend my friend
Gonna get you, dead or alive
My smokin', smokin', smokin' 45, yeah
song performed by by Bad Company
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
We Are Told
We are told that we have got freedom yet not freedom to do as we like
There are places we are not allowed to walk in or where we cannot ride a push bike
Which means that our freedom is so called since we cannot even walk where we please
Ours is such a limited freedom we are not as free as a breeze.
Without a passport we cannot travel to another Country and that is for a limited time
And if we overstay our visa that is a deportable crime
By the Immigration Department of Government by a Government not blessed with a soul
There is a name for such a practice 'tis known as population control.
Young men in wars fought and died for freedom but was it for freedom they died?
When their Government leader told them they were fighting for freedom to the young and naive troops he lied
They fought for the glory of their leader and risked their lives on a foreign shore
They were used as pawns in a deadly power game just that sad to say nothing more.
We are told that we have got freedom though we have to be careful with the words we say
And if our speech on it has got restrictions then what is freedom anyway?
Young men fought and even died for freedom at least that's what we are made to believe
By so called patriotic politicians people who are known to deceive.
poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Am I? for friend Thad.
I think therefore I am but I
can only be aware of me.
If I should ask could you reply
with well considered honesty.
I am as I appear to be
to myself with my inner eye
Or do you see me differently
and if so can you tell me why.
Or will you simply lie to me
and tell me what I want to hear.
Because you think that you can see
the truth might be too much to bear.
I think therefore I am but I
Cannot claim true validity
There’s no real way to verify.
The simple fact that I am me.
Monday,25 January 2010
http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
In Flanders Field
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.
poem by John McCrae
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Forbidden for JT Ellison
I sometimes wonder when you die.
Are you aware that you are dead?
And do you know the reason why
And can you see the way ahead.
Or are you frightened and alone
And do not know what you should do
When you are faced with the unknown.
Does someone come to comfort you?
Some sort of spirit rescue team
who are prepared and on stand by.
Who will explain this is no dream.
A different reality.
Your body died but you live on
Immortal spirits cannot die.
Although you’re sad and woebegone,
you must accept reluctantly.
You can’t go back; impossible.
You must move on to the next stage.
Although it’s highly probable
you will refuse to in your rage.
You were not ready yet to die
and miss all that you left behind.
You cannot see a reason why
fate should choose you. That you can find.
Eventually you realise
this is your new reality.
Death comes to all as a surprise
because that’s how it is meant to be.
All people know that they must die
but may not know the where or when
Though we may ask, there’s no reply.
Some knowledge is forbidden men.
10-Sep-08
http; //blog.myspace.com/poetic piers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!