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Section J Row 4 Grave 25

Section J Row 4 Grave 25

Memorial Day,1945

With aching knees he climbed the steps
That ringed the bandstand round.
The Living sat on folding chairs
on consecrated ground.

The general turned and faced the dead,
His back was to the living.
He told his boys, dead heroes all,
He hoped they'd be forgiving.

The fight was hard at Anzio
The foe ringed them around.
Through desperate days in mad forays
They paid with blood for ground.

The cost proved high, so many dead
Still others maimed for life.
It is not sweet or glorious
to die in pain and strife..

If his mistakes had caused their deaths
He hoped they would forgive.
For only men prepared to die
Are men prepared to live.

And if some fool should ever speak
Of glorious death in battle
He’d set them straight, at any rate,
About such stupid prattle..

Jack Toffey in his coffin lies
Among eight Thousand others.
White Crosses mark the resting place
of Jack and all his brothers.

This is based on an actual Memorial Day speech given by General Lucian Truscott at the Nettino Military cemetery a few weeks after the victory in Europe. He served under General Mark Clark and commanded the salient at Anzio.
Lt. Col. John J. Toffey Jr, twice winner of the Silver Star, died in the fighting at the town of Palestrina, Italy, which is famous for its roses.

poem by John F. McCullagh
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The battle of Majuba Hill

With Major General Sir George Pomeroy in command
the Hussars, Gordon Highlanders,60th rifles
and a contingent of the naval brigade,
climbed Majuba hill
and was in battle forced down
the back again.

At dawn the British army
had taken the steep hill
and the Boer commando’s camp
laid on the plain below
and Major General Sir George Pomeroy,
was just a bit to comfortable
with their position on the summit
and the Boers were at their mercy,
or so they thought.

The Boers saw British soldiers
on top of Majuba hill
waving the Union Jack
and under cover,
they started to climb
the steep slopes.

On a February late summer day
the Boer commando
blended with their farming clothes
into the field, into the hill.

Every rock and crevice,
every redoubt and counterscarp
was a natural hiding place
to lay siege on that Majuba hill.

The British infantry wore red jackets
and blue trousers
and white pith helmets on their heads
and was a fine example,
of an invading Super power’s military might.

They thought what damage could a
citizen force militia in jackets,
trousers and slouch hats
with hunting rifles do,
against a empire’s
well trained soldiers?

What they did forget,
was they were facing
a nation of exceptional men
who fought savage men and cruel beasts
to make a living
and every one a great marksman.

In integrity the Boers prayed
and believing in God,
climbed that hill
in broad daylight.

George Pomeroy was dead
shot thought the head
and accurate shots rang out
while fire and movement tactics
turned that battlefield into a slaughtering
and British soldiers died one by one
and tried to flee
down the rear slope.

All of Great Britain’s victories before
never prepared that empire,
for the treatment that it got
from a bunch of hard-bitten farmers
that believed in the power of God
and brandished modern rifles.

[Reference: The battle of Majuba Hill. Battle between the Transvaal (ZAR) republic and Great Britain on 27 February 1881 in South Africa, which won the first Anglo-Boer war. “Three Boer groups were led by Field Cornet Stephanus Roos, Commandant D.J.K. Malan and Commandant Joachim Ferreira against Major General George Pomeroy.” It consisted of about 400-500 Boer farmers in a citizen force militia against 405 British infantry. On the side of the Boers 1 was dead and 5 wounded and of the British 92 were dead (including their General) ,134 wounded and 59 captured.]

poem by Gert Strydom
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Peace Proposal

Said General Clay to General Gore really must we fight this silly war
To kill and die in such a bore I quite agree said General Gore
Said General Gore to General Clay we could go to the beach today
And have some icecream on the way a grand idea said General Clay
Said General Clay to General Gore we'll build sand castles on the shore
Said General Gore we'll splash and play let's leave right now said General Clay
Said General Gore to General Clay but what if the sea's closed today
And what if the sand's been blown away the dreadful thought said General Clay
Said General Gore to General Clay I've always feared the ocean's spray
And we may drown it's true we may it chills my blood said General Clay
Said General Clay to General Gore my bathin' suit is slightly tore
We better go on with our war I quite agree said General Gore
The General Clay chanrged General Gore as bullets flew and cannons roared
And now at last there is no more of General Clay or General Gore

poem by Sheldon Allan Silverstein
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In War Winners Are Losers

The winners write the war history or so it has been said
And though they may have their celebrations they cannot bring back the dead
For the dead are gone forever in eternal rest they lay
And in war winners are losers despite what some do think or say,
In war the one winner is hatred and old hatreds linger on for years
And the mothers for their dead soldiers are left to shed their tears
The last post may be played for them on war memorial day
But they will not hear the bugler all is so quiet where they lay,
They went to the reaper early and they faced death without fear
And of stories of their bravery we do so often hear
But those who sent them off to war were those who stood to gain
And though the young heroes died bravely their premature deaths were in vain
For war it is still being waged and the huge sacrifice they made
Only rally the troops for war in another war parade.

poem by Francis Duggan
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The Generals

Said General Clay to General Gore,
'Oh must we fight this silly war?
To kill and die is such a bore.'
'I quite agree,' said General Gore.
Said General Gore to General Clay,
'We could go to the beach today
And have some ice cream on the way.'
'A grand idea,' said General Clay.
Said General Gore to General Clay,
'But what if the sea is closed today?
And what if the sand's been blown away?'
'A dreadful thought,' said General Clay.
Said General Gore to General Clay,
'I've always feared the ocean's spray,
And we may drown!' 'It's true, we may.
It chills my blood,' said General Clay.
Said General Clay to General Gore,
'My bathing suit is slightly tore.
We'd better go on with our war.'
'I quite agree,' said General Gore.
Then General Clay charged General Gore
As bullets flew and cannons roared.
And now, alas! there is no more
Of General Clay or General Gore.

poem by Sheldon Allan Silverstein
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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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Better Watch Your Back

Oh, living the life of a madmans wife, has got to be unreal
cause shes got to hold on to ground control
While jack does what he feels
Well he stays away, and then he comes home
And he never knows where hes been
Jack blasts downtown then hes over the line,
And then hes a kid again
Jack said its hard living in a dream, and its hard
Always giving in to me
*his wife saw jack in a crowd of boys and he was talking against
The man
She saw the guys getting dangerous eyes, and she knew it
Was never or then
So she ran on back an d said to jack jack, jack I wouldnt do that,
If youre gonna continue to give your opinion, youd better
Watch your back
Oh, jack said youd better watch your back
Said youd better watch your back
Said youd better watch your back
*said youd better watch your back, oh, jack
Had knock down dream, then he saw the man.
And thought hed save the day
Jack gave roar, made for the door, hed go to church and pray
Say jackie, religion and you, aint mixed well in the past
Remember when you smashed your fist on the eucharist,
Threw up in high mass?
Its hard always giving in to me
* repeat*
Oh, jack youd better watch your back, oh, jack, oh jack,
Oh, jack........

song performed by by Hall & Oates
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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John Mitchel

I.
DEAD, with his harness on him:
Rigid and cold and white,
Marking the place of the vanguard
Still in the ancient fight.

The climber dead on the hill-side,
Before the height is won:
The workman dead on the building,
Before the work is done!

O, for a tongue to utter
The words that should be said—
Of his worth that was silver, living,
That is gold and jasper, dead!

Dead—but the death was fitting:
His life, to the latest breath,
Was poured like wax on the chart of right,
And is sealed by the stamp of Death!

Dead—but the end was fitting:
First in the ranks he led;
And he marks the height of his nation's gain,
As he lies in his harness—dead!

II.
Weep for him, Ireland—mother lonely;
Weep for the son w'ho died for thee.
Wayward he was, but he loved thee only,
Loyal and fearless as son could be.
Weep for him, Ireland—sorrowing nation
Faithful to all who are true to thee:
Never a son in thy desolation
Had holier love for thy cause than he.

Sons of the Old Land, mark the story—
Mother and son in the final test:
Weeping she sits in her darkened glory,
Holding her dead to her stricken breast.
Only the dead on her knees are lying—
Ah, poor mother beneath the cross!
Strength is won by the constant trying,
Crowns are gemmed by the tears of loss!

Sons of the Old Land, mark the story—
Mother and son to each other true:
She called, and he answered, old and hoary,
And gave her his life as a man should do.
She may weep—but for us no weeping:
Tears are vain till the work is done;
Tears for her—but for us the keeping
Our hearts as true as her faithful son.

poem by John Boyle O'Reilly
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Everything changed in Bosnia, when General Wesley Clark proved that you could fight a war with high- level precision air strikes and a bare minimum of ground action.

quote by Joe Bob Briggs
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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An Anthem To Freedom

Were you there when Jesus bled
Before the cross, in sins were dead
By your hand in Christ were led
On to victory

Now's the day and now's the hour
Stand with Christ and stand in power
He's our Rock and strong High Tower
We're free from slavery

So will you come and fight the fight
March in the day and not the night
We will send them all to flight
This will be our day

Free men march and free men die
And all proclaim our God on high
His glory fills the earth and sky
Come Lord soon we pray

In glorious majesty He reigns
He's broken all our wretched chains
On Calvary He took our pains
And death has lost its sting

Now Jesus come and take your place
We lift our eyes, we see your face
Our enemies we now give chase
We serve our glorious King

No longer slaves and dead in sin
New life arises from within
We sing to you a glorious hymn
Of joy and victory

We have arisen from the dead
And follow you who died and bled
And rose victoriously and said
No more slavery

Come now my children, come and see
You once were chained but now are free
Free to live and reign with me
Its time to wield the sword

Its the final day, the final hour
Rain down thy presence, a glorious shower
Its not by might nor any power
But by My Spirit says the Lord

poem by Frank McEleny
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Vision at Little Bighorn

I went to Little Bighorn
On a hot summer day,1987,
I wondered if the Seventh Cavalry
Was in hell or heaven -
Out there all alone
I came upon the old General's ghost wandering around,
He kept glancing far away
While staying close to the ground -
I'll never know for certain
If he saw me or not,
He just kept wringing his hands
As if he couldn't stop -
Upon the path where he paced
Blood dripped from his boots,
It soaked in deep and wide
Down to the prairie grass roots -
From way down in this hallowed ground
I heard the dead soldiers cries,
The agony of the lost
Who so long ago on this spot died -
No one else was there under the burning sun
This mysterious scene to see,
I observed it all
Alone, on the desolate, dry prairie -
I felt as if a visitor
Watching from another time,
Perhaps the heat had got to me
Or I'd simply lost my mind -
I tried
But I could not walk away,
I wanted to ask him 'Why? '...
Yet no words could I say -
I just stayed there
Hour upon hour,
Watching, listening... feeling it all...
As if in the grip of a strange power -
I swear I saw Sitting Bull
Riding swiftly toward me on a spotted horse,
I was knocked flat to the ground
By the passing force -
I looked up high
Into the blazing sun,
There I saw Warriors in victory dancing
Realizing full well their fight was done -

Still, I couldn't help to wonder
What of Custer? What was his fate?
Was he too far gone?
Was it, for him, way too late?

Suddenly I was brought back,
when out of nowhere an old medicine man appeared.
Looking into me, as if reading my thoughts, he said,
' Do not worry about Custer, he'll never speak another word.
Because out here all alone the General shall remain, forever dead. ' -
'As for the rest of us
We all must come to understand,
The time to live and work together
Is now at hand. '
Then he reached down and helped me up;
Together we walked the long path back;
Side by side, into the sunset,
We followed the same track. -

poem by Smoky Hoss
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Memorial Day For The War Dead

Memorial day for the war dead. Add now
the grief of all your losses to their grief,
even of a woman that has left you. Mix
sorrow with sorrow, like time-saving history,
which stacks holiday and sacrifice and mourning
on one day for easy, convenient memory.

Oh, sweet world soaked, like bread,
in sweet milk for the terrible toothless God.
"Behind all this some great happiness is hiding."
No use to weep inside and to scream outside.
Behind all this perhaps some great happiness is hiding.

Memorial day. Bitter salt is dressed up
as a little girl with flowers.
The streets are cordoned off with ropes,
for the marching together of the living and the dead.
Children with a grief not their own march slowly,
like stepping over broken glass.

The flautist's mouth will stay like that for many days.
A dead soldier swims above little heads
with the swimming movements of the dead,
with the ancient error the dead have
about the place of the living water.

A flag loses contact with reality and flies off.
A shopwindow is decorated with
dresses of beautiful women, in blue and white.
And everything in three languages:
Hebrew, Arabic, and Death.

A great and royal animal is dying
all through the night under the jasmine
tree with a constant stare at the world.

A man whose son died in the war walks in the street
like a woman with a dead embryo in her womb.
"Behind all this some great happiness is hiding."

poem by Yehuda Amichai
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Running All Day

I see him on TV and everyday you can see me
getting more wound up by the fact that he's loved
You dont know who he is, I was once that kid
Fans screaming my name but now there not.
And I know who's to blame.
He took it all from me everything that I own
Left me with nothing broke and unknown
If theres one thing I know im gonna take it all back
The gloves are off and anyway that I can
rip him down from ontop of that thrown
Then we'll see whos really unknown
standing toe to toe he doesn; 't stand a chance
He's gonna learn the hard way what it means to be a man.

Running all day
Gunning all night
Be prepared to give your own life.
Running all day
Gunning all night
Be prepared to take another mans life.

Knocked down once, get up again
Knocked down twice see the other man dead.
Led to war by the skin of our teeth
Friends and enemies share the same seats.
They're sweet together cos they know what its like
To live this life that takes you by suprise.
Anytime, day or night, priority one just to stay alive.

And that's what you just cant see
The fact that your just not me
You cant ask questions bout living this life, only ones that know already those that died.

Running all day
Gunning all night
Be prepared to give your own life.
Running all day
Gunning all night
Be prepared to take another mans life.

But this is it no place left to go
your gonna hand it back everything that you stole
and now we're patiently gonna wait and see
what the world has to say bout you and me
If they'll take you side after all this time
and believe the lies that you drove inside
but I still have faith that its not a dead end race
and I place my life in the hands of the good lords grace

Running all day
Gunning all night
Be prepared to give your own life.
Running all day
Gunning all night
Be prepared to take another mans life.

poem by Paul Daniel
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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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A Mother Does Not

A mother does not raise her child for to fight and die in war
Or to kill another Human Being in a Country from home far
That her son or her daughter should at someone else shoot to kill
A person they have never known or who have never bore them ill.

Picasso's 'Screaming Woman' is for all woman kind
The mother weeps for her dead child with grief 'out of her mind'
Mothers do not raise their children for to be remembered on War Memorial Day
For to fight in war for war mongering non combatants and throw their lives away

A mother raises her son or daughter so her seed of life will live on
That her genes will still be around when she herself has gone
From the World of the living to be numbered amongst the dead
I wish for my children to outlive me that's what the mother said.

A mother does not raise her child for to meet with an early death
Not for her War Memorial Day or the words 'Lest we forget'
She wants her son and daughter for to grow old and gray
And she does not wish to hear of War and War Memorial Day.

poem by Francis Duggan
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The Dead Woman

If suddenly you do not exist,
if suddenly you are not living,
I shall go on living.

I do not dare,
I do not dare to write it,
if you die.

I shall go on living.

Because where a man has no voice,
there, my voice

Where blacks are beaten,
I can not be dead.
When my brothers go to jail
I shall go with them.

When victory,
not my victory,
but the great victory
arrives,
even though I am mute I must speak:
I shall see it come even though I am blind.

No, forgive me,
if you are not living,
ifd you, beloved, my love,
if you
have died.

poem by Pablo Neruda
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Final solution

The countless dead unburied lay beneath a covering of clay.
The good earth turned to dark red mud mixed with the best of soldier’s blood.
It mattered not how many died for death could not be satisfied.
Brave men who fought for their country. Death chose amongst them randomly.
I lived although my comrades died. Death often took them from my side.
Why did I live? So I can tell the world about the living hell
wich we endured knee deep in mud. I think it fitting that I should.
So many died on either side. Involuntary suicide
To fight a war they could not win, to no more see their kith and kin
Like every war it proved to be a total waste, a mockery
The cream of Europe’s fighting mem would never see their homes again.
What did it prove the First World War? Nothing we had not known before!
Though we remember those who died. The lessons learned are not applied
for men still battle constantly to prove superiority.
It seems mankind can’t live in peace, that wanton killing will not cease
Until death has added to his score the last man and there are no more.
I think that then and only then the world will be at peace again.

16/04/2009
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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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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A Wise One We Need

In a World where many see human life as cheap
The mothers of the war dead for their dead offsprings weep
Car and suicide bombers and bombs dropped from the sky
The victims of war by the hour multiply.

Though wars of the past with sadness we may recall
From the lessons of war we've not learned at all
We still give power to those who see war as okay
Who sends the troops to battle in Lands far away.

The latest declared war was based on a lie
How many more people in war zones must die?
The price of every war victory and war memorial parade
In human blood and loss of human life paid.

Due to Religion and Culture and National Pride
In terrorism and war far too many have died
We give power to idiots a wise one we need
A wise one to war us never would lead.

poem by Francis Duggan
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All Dead, All Dead

Memories, my memories
How long can you stay
To haunt my days
She came without a farthing
A babe without a name
So much ado about nothing
Is what shed try to say
So much ado my lover
So many games we played
Through every fleeted summer
Through every precious day
All dead all dead
All the dreams we had
And I wonder why I still live on
All dead all dead
And alone Im spared
My sweeter half instead
All dead
And gone
All dead...
All dead all dead
At the rainbows end
And still I hear her own sweet song
All dead all dead
Take me back again
You know my little friends
All dead
And gone
All dead and gone
Her ways are always with me
I wander all the while
But please you must forgive me
I am old but still a child
All dead all dead
But I should not grieve
In time it comes to everyone
All dead all dead
But in hope I breathe
Of course I dont believe
Youre dead
And gone
All dead
And gone

song performed by by Queen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Red Is The Blood We Bleed

It is a very natural thing for one to love their Land of birth
And think that their Homeland Country is the finest Land on Earth
In his Lay of the last Minstrel Walter Scott said it all
Often with tears the migrant the old Homeland recall.

But when we feel that our race is superior it is there the wrong come in
Though we never hear of a war on racism a war we well might win
As racism can lead to war it is a moral sin
For those who feel that they have the right to judge you by the colour of your skin.

The National flags in the wind on the flag posts wave on War Memorial day
As we remember those who fought and died in past wars fought far away
Of war heroes and war victories we may feel proud to brag
But is it the war dead we respect or the colour of our National flag?

The war dead we commemorate died for justice, peace and liberty
But many in the World of today know of oppression and live in abject poverty
If the war dead could only speak many of them well might say
We would not fight a war again were we living today?

It is a very natural thing for to love one's own Homeland
And the nostalgic tears of ageing migrants are not hard to understand
But feelings of superiority of race to war can often lead
And we may be black or brown or white but red is the blood we bleed.

poem by Francis Duggan
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