Dulce et Decorum a rant
What of the dead, the glorious dead.
The heroes who of whom it’s said
Laid down their lives in freedoms cause.
The men who died in foreign wars…
Whose freedom were they fighting for?
Whose liberty did they restore?
The history books do not make clear.
What right we had to interfere?
In other countries home affairs
or is it true nobody cares
about the plight of the oppressed
in any country East or West.
Unless the threaten our supplies.
It seems to me one rule applies.
We are prepared to tolerate
the tyrants ruling any state.
That can supply something we need
despite their cruelty and greed
We have no right to intervene.
Or double standards are obscene.
We do not send our men to die
and justify our actions by.
Quoting international laws
nobody body bothers to enforce.
Though when it comes to oil supply
we intervene immediately.
A very different rule applies
and over comes morality.
Freedom is a commodity
which can be bartered bought and sold
and has been by humanity
Forever if the truth be told.
What of the dead the glorious dead
of whom in truth it could be said.
Unknowingly they paid the price
of other peoples avarice.
16-Sep-08
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Related quotes
Irrelevant
The history we learn at school.
Is mostly untrue as a rule.
A rather biased point of view.
Recorded by the victors who,
in an attempt to justify
their actions are prepared to lie.
The losers cannot air their views
and so we have no chance to choose.
Which version is more accurate.
Which gives me confidence to state.
The rubbish taught as history,
should not be taken seriously
Not only probably untrue
it is distinctly boring too.
26-Oct-08
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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What if it were true?
Hector, Ajax and Hercules
and other heroes such as these.
All suffered from the same disease.
They thought they were invincible.
Now every one of them is dead.
I know this from the books I’ve read.
Unlike my ancient Uncle Fred.
Who thought it might be possible.
To find a way to stay alive
a certain method to survive
Towards this end then he would strive
Although it seemed improbable.
A coward too afraid to die.
Although he was clever guy
well versed in ancient history.
He thought he could be comfortable.
If he could find a vampire who
he thought could be persuaded to
make him into a vampire too
and grant him immortality.
I half believed when I was small
My uncle often came to call
but always late after night fall.
Which made me feel uncomfortable.
But now I take a different view.
I don’t believe his tales were true
Nor do I think my siblings do.
I think it is impossible.
By bright sunlight I am certain
but after dark I think again.
What if my uncle Fred did gain
his wish for immortality.
I hoped that he was telling lies
and so it came as no surprise.
To find one single rule applies.
Vampires do not seek publicity.
Real vampires do not advertise
They consider it’s not wise.
Although my uncle really tries
his stories cannot convince me.
I know my uncle’s very old.
And that he cannot stand the cold.
From stories that my parents told
concerning his longevity.
My father says he will not die
My mother says that’s all my eye.
But still I wonder sometimes why.
He’s lived so long. It seems to me.
Just possible he’s told the truth.
The secret of eternal youth
springs from some ancient vampires tooth.
The bite of immortality.
I know that in reality
vampires are just a fantasy.
That people can live naturally.
Far longer than seems possible.
No body knows the reason why.
Examined scientifically.
It seems that everyone must die.
No one can live eternally.
But Uncle Fred refuses to.
I can’t believe his tales are true.
He sleeps all day as vampires do.
at his age it’s permissible.
I tell myself it makes no sense
for Fred to keep up this pretense.
I have to do in self defence.
I find it much preferable.
To believing Uncle Fred
Is exactly as he said
A member of the living dead.
That would be truly terrible.
18/08/2009
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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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
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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True Heroes
There at my feet my comrade lies
as though he were but fast asleep.
Death came and took him by surprise.
All soldiers know that life is cheap.
As does each politician.
Whose lies persuade young men to go
and sign on as a fighting man.
Because they are too young to know.
Their country’s leaders are not wise.
Although they all profess to be
They all refuse to recognise
in war there is no victory.
Except the claims which death will make.
That he has added to his score
the lives he’s taken and will take.
In this and any future war.
It has been so through history.
Old men send young men to die
and praise them for their bravery
Although they lie and know they lie.
Dead heroes are of little use.
Of course we praise their memory.
It takes a brave man to refuse
to go and face the enemy.
Though some accept they will not kill
but tend wounded where they can
They are prepared to use their skill
to help not harm their fellow man.
01/05/2009
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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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
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Whose Freedom?
Freedom, freedom, freedom!
Whose freedom?
My freedom, your freedom, our freedoms;
Like e thousand times of a cry in a land!
Yes, they rule with iron-hand but,
We have to obey always;
A rule with an iron fist but,
We have to be the subjects always;
Whose freedom?
Look around you,
It is full of colours;
My freedom, your freedom, their freedoms!
Freedom, freedom, freedom! ! !
We nedd freedom than these shackles.
Whose freedom?
Free-free-free! Freedom to my people! !
Which people?
My people, your people, our peoples;
Have mercy on them and rule them with care.
We need freedom around us,
Whose freedom?
See the type of governments around you;
The people's freedom with an iron fist!
Tell me if all is well.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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It could be for C.P Sharma
We search for truth but would we know
if our quest met with success
Perhaps truth changes as we grow.
We can’t be sure so we must guess.
Maybe there is no absolute
unchanging truth that’s permanent.
So we adopt beliefs to suit
whatever seems convenient
That’s fits in with what we think we know.
Because we fail to recognise
What we’ve been taught my not be so.
Though in due course we realise.
The quest fir truth which we pursue
would seem to be man’s destiny.
Its something we were born to do.
To search for truth continually
Although it seems illogical
I offer you this theory
The truth is something personal.
My truth only applies to me.
Your truth is only true for you.
It’s just another theory
I have no way to prove it true.
although it could be possibly.
26/04/2009
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Honor the Vets
I looked at the grave stones of the veteran dead
Tears filled my eyes as I bowed my head.
All of them had served their country proud
Now they lay in this ground.
They were sons and daughters, mothers and fathers
Sisters and brothers, uncles and aunts
And the list goes on and on.
But how many of them are honored
with a flower or two.
It’s really not hard to do.
They gave their lives so that we can be free
Don’t they deserve some dignity?
This country is standing on the lives of the dead
All of these have died, and many have bled.
Freedom isn’t really free
Other wise these grave stones you would not see.
Isn’t there someone in your family
Who died fighting for liberty?
Let us honor the dead
And thank the living for all that they have given.
poem by Louis Rams
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Confident Dissident for J.T.Early
t
I stand and gaze with wonderment.
The Gates of Gold and ivory
are slowly opening for me.
A rebel and a dissident.
What did I do that I deserve
admission to Valhallas halls?
What waits for me within those walls?
I only did my best to serve
my fellow men as best I could
I bore no sword only my pen.
Tried to defend my fellow men
from tyrants as a writer should.
Defied the men who censured me.
The men who sought to rule force.
Because I upheld freedoms cause
I risked my life and liberty.
They harried me by night and day
but still would not toe the line
I did my best to undermine
the lies they broadcast, in my way.
Although they could imprison me
and ban my words from being read
This action could not stop the spread
of my ideals of liberty.
Accused of treason by the state.
They made a martyr out of me.
They were so blind they could not see.
The slowly moving hand of fate.
Which would destroy eventually.
The stranglehold they sought to keep
The people would rise from their sleep
prepared to fight for liberty.
And so in time it proved to be
Their unjust rule was overturned.
A lesson that all tyrants learned.
Although it was too late for me.
Subjected to their cruelty
I had been starved and brutalised
Which left me partly paralysed.
Although I was at last set free.
I will not live long enough to see
my dreams of liberty come true
All that I have to leave to you,
My words my only legacy.
The gates of gold and ivory
are open wide and I pass through.
It’s some thing which I have to do.
For once I act obediently.
I need not fear the consequence
I cast my rebel role aside
For here I have nothing to hide
Rewarded for my eloquence.
15-Dec-08
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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West End Girls
(....forever)
Sometimes youre better off dead
Theres gun in your hand and its pointing at your head
You think youre mad, too unstable
Kicking in chairs and knocking down tables
In a restaurant in a west end town
Call the police, theres a madman around
Running down underground to a dive bar
In a west end town
In a west end town, a dead end world
The east end boys and west end girls
In a west end town, a dead end world
The east end boys and west end girls
West end girls
Too many shadows, whispering voices
Faces on posters, too many choices
If, when, why, what?
How much have you got?
Have you got it, do you get it, if so, how often?
And which do you choose, a hard or soft option?
(how much do you need? )
In a west end town, a dead end world
The east end boys and west end girls
In a west end town, a dead end world
The east end boys and west end girls
West end girls
West end girls
(how much do you need? )
In a west end town, a dead end world
The east end boys and west end girls
Oooh west end town, a dead end world
East end boys, west end girls
West end girls
Youve got a heart of glass or a heart of stone
Just you wait till I get you home
Weve got no future, weve got no past
Here today, built to last
In every city, in every nation
From lake geneva to the finland station
(how far have you been? )
In a west end town, a dead end world
The east end boys and west end girls
A west end town, a dead end world
East end boys, west end girls
West end girls
West end girls
West end girls
(how far have you been? )
Girls
East end boys
And west end girls
And west end girls
And west end girls
East end boys
The west end girls
The west end boys
And west end girls
The west end girls
The west end boys
The west end girls
song performed by by Pet Shop Boys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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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That Most Humans Crave For Glory
That most humans crave for glory is surely not a lie
And though you well may love your Country for your Country why should you die
Since dead heroes like dead cowards cannot help their Country in any way
Whilst alive you can help your Country even though you look old and gray
The dead hero cannot hear the bugler when the last post it is played
Though some may say his ghost is present at every war parade
The deserter is dishonoured from the fight he ran away
But to his Country he's of some use he's alive and well today
The dead hero he is honoured though to him that of no use
For to justify their recent war the war leaders use the war dead as an excuse
For another bloody battle a war they themselves will not fight in
Though in every war that ever was humanity did not win
You cannot serve your Country by dying for it so live for as long as you can
And die hopefully a painless death as a very old man.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Minding Our Own Business
The universal warrior.
The ordinary fighting man
existing since the world began
A doer not a worrier.
He does as he is ordered to.
Its not his place to question why
The many ordered by the few.
His duty is to do or die.
The politicians and the brass
issue commands which he obeys
Its always been this way alas
and will be ‘til we change our ways.
Why should they send young men to fight
and die in some far distant land.
To try and prove that might is right.
Why can’t our leaders understand.
Each country is entitled to
govern their land in their own way
There’s very little we can do
We cannot force them to obey.
However much we disagree,
we have no right we can’t dictate.
they must accept democracy.
Each is an independent state.
Our leaders ought to concentrate
on problems in our own countries
Address them now they cannot wait
Re stabilise economies.
It’s not our place to interfere
on other countries home affairs
Past history makes this quite clear.
We have our problems they have theirs.
The evidence is plain to see
.Each country gets the government
they will accept eventually
By trial and experiment.
Although we think our way the best
it will not do for everyone.
So in our own best interest
We must learn to leave things alone.
Democracy is not perfect
Although we may pretend it is.
It is the best we can expect
although it’s rather hit or miss.
It is the best we can devise
as long as human nature rules.
We lack the knowledge to be wise.
We are a race of clever fools.
27-Dec-08
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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When I Think Of Myself As Dead
WHEN I THINK OF MYSELF AS DEAD
When I think of myself as dead
I think of what it will mean for my loved ones
I pray they will not lose heart and hope because of it-
When my father died my brother lost hope-
When I think of myself dead
I wonder about God and God�s purpose
Is there really an afterlife?
What could it mean?
Will I meet again those who have gone before me?
When I think of myself dead
I think about a body in the ground
Worms eating it, cold paining it-
When I think of myself as dead
I think about never feeling anything again-
When I think about myself as dead
I think about the work I have left behind
And whether it will mean anything to anyone
And for how long-
When I think of myself as dead
I think of all the memories that will go with me
I think about nothing and more nothing and the end of the universe-
When I think of myself as dead
I think of life going on down below
Life with all its beauty and pain
And I pray and I pray again
My loved ones will be able to manage and make their own lives still happy
When I think of myself as dead
I pray to G-d
That somehow in some way
It will not be the end for me forever.
When I think of myself as dead
I think of myself as living again somehow
In a way I cannot now know-
poem by Shalom Freedman
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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
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Legacy.
Legacy
Ghosts from the past, our ancestors.
Though long since dead are part of us.
WE must accept this truth of course.
Our forbears weren’t all glorious.
If you research your family tree
You’ll be surprised by what you find.
Most forbears were quite ordinary.
But some of them have left behind.
Abilities and qualities.
Which are passed down through their offspring
in varying quantities.
You can be sure of just one thing.
Today we are the latest batch
of evolutions mix and match.
Wednesday,29 December 2010
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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The Losers Never Write The War History
The losers never write the war history that's something we already know
Yet for the many wars fought through the ages we do not have the wisdom to show
That victory too comes at a huge cost for war the price is huge to pay
For families who grieve for their dead members their sense of loss with them will stay
Until they themselves go to the reaper the reaper who claims one and all
The loved one war had taken from them with great sadness they will recall
But the dead to life cannot be returned better to live as a coward than die brave
For none has yet come back for to tell us that there is a life beyond the grave,
They died for their God and their Country of dead war heroes some well may brag
Those who place too much worth on the unknowable and the colour of their Nation's flag
I for one find religion and patriotism confusing of god and war heroes hymns and songs are sung
But surely it is a misnomer that only the good do die young
And yet from war we have not learned young lives are lost for wars to be won
And if lasting peace ever does come it won't be through the barrel of a gun
poem by Francis Duggan
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When Women Will Rule The World
When women will rule the World sadly i won't be around
My bones will be resting forever in some quiet dead person's ground
But what a World 'twill be to live in the flower of peace will bloom again
And for as long as women do rule the World peace in the World will remain,
For as long as men rule the World terror and warring will live on
They have not learned from the mistakes of past male leaders with men as leaders all hope of peace gone
When women will rule the World the World will be a better place to live in
Mothers will not have to weep for their dead children there will not be wars for to win,
Women give birth to the soldiers mothers do not want their children to die
A dead hero is better than a living coward that is if you believe a lie,
Women do not want their children fighting in wars far away
There would be less wars in the World if women had a greater say
And when women will rule the World war will be a thing of the past
The flower of peace will be blooming and beautiful peace it will last.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Soldiers Dream. for Friend Thad
Across the bridge over the stream
then down the path to the sea shore.
Where I was wont to sit and dream.
When I was young before the war.
My country called and I obeyed.
I joined the ranks of fighting men.
Although I would have rather stayed.
I thought I’d soon be home again.
I did not know that I would die
along with many thousands more
Who lie beneath a foreign sky.
Far from their home for evermore.
I lay and bled amongst the dead
and as my life blood drained away
I wished that I could be instead
back home dreaming beside the bay.
The path way leading to the sea
The wooden bridge across the stream.
I seemed to see them vividly.
A dying soldier’s final dream.
Thursday,11 February 2010
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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The Retired Commander In Chief
For one who profess a strong belief in God
To say the least I found it rather odd
That he sent his Country's troops to fight in his uncalled for war
From their home shore to a Nation afar.
A war where hundreds of thousands of people have died
Their right to life by him has been denied
Yet for his crimes against Humanity he will never pay
An honourable life in retirement is his lot today.
For most of his war dead terrorists he does blame
Terrorists his war created for to commit acts of shame
He should have known that's what happens when other Countries you invade
For conflict the price in human blood is paid.
A hero to many but a major criminal to me
He gave rise to crimes against Humanity
As well as causing thousands of deaths he destroyed the archictecture of another Land
Many in positions of power history does not understand.
The mothers of his war dead grieving today
Leave him to Karma is all one can say
His life achievements hundreds of thousands of war dead
Perhaps the power at his disposal did go to his head.
poem by Francis Duggan
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