The Devil Dogs
Through grain fields with bayonets fixed,
from Belleau Woods the Germans came.
The sixth Marines in shallow pits
unleashed a deadly metal rain.
The French collapsed upon the left
Their flank exposed by craven fear
The Marines held fast when urged to flee:
'Retreat? , Hell we just got here.'
By June the sixth, it fell to them
to take a Hill to save the French.
A German company with machine guns
waited for them well entrenched.
With tactics from another war
Audacious yes, but not too clever
'Come on, you bastards' Dan Daly roared,
'Do you really want to live forever'
With casualties high, so many dead
The Marine Corps held the hill by night.
Counter attacks were fended off
some times with fists and K bar knife.
Now the cannon of both sides
rained steel where the combatants stood:
A once beautiful preserve of princes
was turned into a shattered wood.
Through mustard gas and cannon fire
The Marines advanced into the Wood.
Silenced machine guns and cut bared wire
Till the enemy fled, this time for good.
Before the flag at Iwo flew,
Before the Canal's jungle squalor
Marines were nicknamed 'Devil Dogs'
by the Germans who admired valor.
poem by John F. McCullagh
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Marines are very good at fighting... And if Gen. Franks wants fighters on the ground and he puts Marines in, he'll have what he wants.
quote by Peter Pace
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Mayaguez Incident
Look and find our names upon The Wall,
Hargrove, Hall and Marshall were our names.
We were three men that were left behind,
three Marines still owed honorable graves.
Marines took back the hijacked Mayaguez
and recovered all her crewmen safe and well
But while our mission accomplished its objective
The Ninth Marines were ferried into hell.
The helicopters took us to the island,
Koh Tang, in the Southern China sea
The Khmer Rouge were dug in on the island
prepared for an assault from air or sea.
They say it was a failure of Intelligence-
The crew of The Mayaguez was moved before
The 2nd battalion forces first were landed
Upon that hostile beach, that deadly shore
Lieutenant Col. Randall Austin was commanding
Our perimeter was shrinking by the hour
Our landing force had taken heavy losses
Some died upon the beach, more drowned offshore.
It happened in perimeter reduction
we three men were forgotten in our hole.
When Helicopters flew the rest to safety
We were left behind on the atoll.
Some say we died that day, some say after
Reports are we were tortured and then killed.
Some claim we were forgotten by our nation.
But our names are on The Wall- you never will.
Look and find our names upon The Wall,
Hargrove, Hall and Marshall were our names.
We were three men that were left behind,
three Marines still owed honorable graves.
On May 15,1975, two weeks after the last Americans fled Saigon, the men of the fourth
and Ninth Marines were ordered to retake the U.S.S. Mayaguez and rescue her crew. The
ship had been seized by elements of the Khmer Rouge of Cambodia. It was mistakenly
believed that the crew were being held hostage on Koh Tang Island, Cambodia. While
the 4th Marines Delta Company successfully boarded and retook the Mayaguez, the ninth
Marines were landing on the beach at Koh Tang. Officially, the second battalion of the
Ninth Marine Regiment lost 18 dead,41 wounded and three MIA. In addition 7 of 8
assault helicopters that took part in the original assault were destroyed.
This last battle of the Vietnam War era was a tragedy of errors. The Marines were sent to
rescue crewmen who were no longer on the Island. The crew was rescued elsewhere. The
Khmer Rouge troops on the Island were expecting an attack by the Viet Cong as the
island was the subject of a territorial dispute. The marines were sent in, based on faulty
intelligence, against a force whose strength and dispositions had been badly
underestimated by our leaders. The fire fight on the Island was so fierce that the dead
had to be left where they had fallen.
Lance Corporal John N. Hargrove, PFC Gary L Hall and Danny G. Marshall’s names
appear on panel 1W lines 130-131 of the Vietnam memorial in Washington D.C. They
are the last combat fatalities of the Vietnam conflict. Not all heroes are buried in
Arlington Cemetery
poem by John F. McCullagh
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Grave
The grave that they dug him had flowers
Gathered from the hillsides in bright summer colors,
And the brown earth bleached white at the edge of his gravestone.
He's gone.
When the wars of our nation did beckon,
A man barely twenty did answer the calling.
Proud of the trust that he placed in our nation,
He's gone,
But Eternity knows him, and it knows what we've done.
And the rain fell like pearls on the leaves of the flowers
Leaving brown, muddy clay where the earth had been dry.
And deep in the trench he waited for hours,
As he held to his rifle and prayed not to die.
But the silence of night was shattered by fire
As guns and grenades blasted sharp through the air.
And one after another his comrades were slaughtered.
In morgue of Marines, alone standing there.
He crouched ever lower, ever lower with fear.
song performed by by George Michael
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Air/Sea Battle
War planes fly in the air
Raining bullets and machine gun fire
from the sky
Warships sail the sea
Firing missiles from their guns
While from below
It's an air/sea battle
And everyone's involved
It's every individual for themselves
Whether they like it or not
Pilots, soldiers, marines, and generals
They know what's at stake
They know what they must do
The skies aren't friendly
The sea isn't any kinder
But to anyone involved
They could care less about their surroundings
They're just wanting to survive
Throughout the day
Throughout the night
During this air/sea battle
poem by Justin Gildow
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I learned a great many things in the Marines that helped me as a football coach. The Marines train men hard and to do things the right way, just as a football team must train.
quote by Hayden Fry
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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We got lucky tonight
I'm standing still on my drive
I hear the crowd marching on
the road with their heads held high
holding the most love I've ever saw
all as one with signs saying stop the war.
Mothers who have lost their sons
claimed as heroes they are dead
due to oil and the bulls eye guns
you run from
propaganda, goverments and queens
as I follow the marines.
But now I watch my mother cry
marching with her sign held high.
So where are you?
where ever you are?
if you are at work?
or sat in your car?
if you are at home?
or when you get home
turn on your tv
watch the news
watch the news
if a soldier has not died
then we got lucky tonight.
My mother watches it
and she doesnt know I am by her side.
poem by Daniel McCann
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Charge of the Second Iowa Cavalry
Comrades, many a year and day
Have fled since that glorious 9th of May
When we made the charge at Farmington.
But until our days on earth are done
Our blood will burn and our hearts beat fast
As we tell of the glorious moments we passed,
When we rode on the guns with a mighty shout
And saved Paine’s army from utter rout;
And our children in years to come will tell
How the 2nd rose through the shot and shell
Rode with a cheer on that 9th of May
And held the whole rebel army at bay.
Behind lay the swamp, a dank morass.
A marsh - no horse nor man could pass
Save by one road, one narrow way.
But beyond that road our safety lay,
In front rose the hills which the rebels held
With his howling cannon that raked and shelled
Our troops.
We lay in the centre.
Paine,
Our general saw he must cross again
The narrow road, or his men were lost
The road was narrow. It must be crossed,
And crossed in haste, and the deadly rain
of the rebel guns 'Must be stopped!' said Paine.
Twenty-four cannon thundered and roared!
Twenty-four cannon into us poured.
Twenty-four cannon! A devil’s den
Backed by full fifteen thousand men.
Must be held at bay till our troops could pass
In order over the dank morass.
Up to where the cavalry stand,
Waiting in order the word of command,
Gallops Paine. And his mighty shout
Rings the daring order out -
'Take and hold that battery!
Take it! Whatever the hazards be!'
'Draw sabres!' They flash in the startled air.
'Forward! Gallop! March!' Away
We ride. We must show our steel today!
'Gallop! Charge!' On the rebels ears
Ring the thundering Yankee cheers!
And on, like a wave of maddened sea,
On - Dash the Iowa cavalry!
Into the torrents of shot and shell
That shrieks and screams like the fiends of hell!
Into the torrent of shot that kills!
Into the torrent of shell that stills
The cheer on many a lip, we ride
Like the onward rush of a whirling tide
Up to the cannon’s mouth,
Our cheers
Curdle the blood of the cannoneers
To right and left from his silenced guns
In wild retreat the rebel runs.
And the charge of the Iowa cavalry
Rushes on!
Can you stop the sea
When the storm waves break on the sandy shore
Driving the driftwood awrack? No more
Can the rebel resist the terrible charge
As we ride right up to their army’s marge -
They waver - the fifteen thousand men,
Waver and rally, and waver, and then
Our work is done.
Paine’s men had crossed
The swamp while our little band was lost
In the smoke and dust of the eager ride,
And are safe at last on the other side.
Then we ride back! We had saved the day
By holding the whole rebel army at bay,
While Paine made a hasty and safe retreat
Over the swamp.
We had conquered defeat!
Comrades, many a year and day
Have fled since that glorious 9th of May
When we made the charge at Farmington.
And our time on earth is almost run,
But when we are gone our children will tell
How we rode through rebel shots and shell.
How we rode on the guns with a mighty shout,
And saved Paine’s army from utter route.
And carved in the temple of glory will be
The roll of the 2nd Iowa Cavalry.
The brave old 2nd, that never knew
A deed too hard or rash to do.
The dear old 2nd, that would have spurred
Into Hell itself, if Hatch said the word.
poem by Ellis Parker Butler
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The Grave
The grave that they dug him had flowers
Gathered from the hillsides in bright summer colors,
And the brown earth bleached white at the edge of his gravestone.
Hes gone.
When the wars of our nation did beckon,
A man barely twenty did answer the calling.
Proud of the trust that he placed in our nation,
Hes gone,
But eternity knows him, and it knows what weve done.
And the rain fell like pearls on the leaves of the flowers
Leaving brown, muddy clay where the earth had been dry.
And deep in the trench he waited for hours,
As he held to his rifle and prayed not to die.
But the silence of night was shattered by fire
As guns and grenades blasted sharp through the air.
And one after another his comrades were slaughtered.
In morgue of marines, alone standing there.
He crouched ever lower, ever lower with fear.
They cant let me die! the cant let me die here!
Ill cover myself with the mud and the earth.
Ill cover myself! I know Im not brave!
The earth! the earth! the earth is my grave.
The grave that they dug him had flowers
Gathered from the hillsides in bright summer colors,
And the brown earth bleached white at the edge of his gravestone.
Hes gone.
song performed by by Don McLean
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Look, many of us here are regular marines... I will die as a marine because that is my dream.
quote by Jerry Jones
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Story Of White Man Leading Viet Cong Patrol
The Story of White Man Leading Viet Cong Patrol
-AP Dispatch, Des Moines Register, August 4, 1968
The slain enemy resembled
an American Marine
who was 18 years old
when he disappeared.
The violent episode
was one of the strangest
in this strange war.
*
For a moment
the two young men--
the American Marine
and the white man
in the uniform of the enemy--
stared at each other.
"He had an AK 47
automatic rifle
but he just looked at me."
Gordon fired
after a moment's hesitation.
*
Several of the Marines suspect
that the unknown white man
whom they call "the Caucasian"
could have shot first
but deliberately held fire.
At the debriefing
everyone was afraid
to say what they had seen.
Anonymous submission.
poem by Eric Torgersen
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Of the Marines on Iwo Jima, uncommon valor was a common virtue.
quote by Chester W. Nimitz
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Malvern Hill
Ye elms that wave on Malvern Hill
In prime of morn and May,
Recall ye how McClellan's men
Here stood at bay?
While deep within yon forest dim
Our rigid comrades lay -
Some with the cartridge in their mouth,
Others with fixed arms lifted South -
Invoking so
The cypress glades? Ah wilds of woe!
The spires of Richmond, late beheld
Through rifts in musket-haze,
Were closed from view in clouds of dust
On leaf-walled ways,
Where streamed our wagons in caravan;
And the Seven Nights and Days
Of march and fast, retreat and fight,
Pinched our grimed faces to ghastly plight -
Does the elm wood
Recall the haggard beards of blood?
The battle-smoked flag, with stars eclipsed,
We followed (it never fell!) -
In silence husbanded our strength -
Received their yell;
Till on this slope we patient turned
With cannon ordered well;
Reverse we proved was not defeat;
But ah, the sod what thousands meet! -
Does Malvern Wood
Bethink itself, and muse and brood?
We elms of Malvern Hill
Remember every thing;
But sap the twig will fill:
Wag the world how it will,
Leaves must be green in Spring.
poem by Herman Melville
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K-Car
To the memory of the Rhodesian Helicopter Pilots and
the 20mm cannon Gunner.Two men one helicopter;
known as K-car…..Killer-car.
A formidable force in the Rhodesian Bush War.
RHODESIAN K-CAR
‘Chopper’ pilot calmness,
Cannon gunner’s skill,
Two minds in perfect harmony,
Flew in now for the kill,
Ten comrades in arms,
Pinned down by enemy fire,
Ambushed and compromised,
Their backs now to the wire.
One pilot and one gunner,
Men who knew no fear,
S.O.S. came through to them,
Urgent… but so clear,
“K-car, Call sign Bravo, ”
“Contact, contact, contact”!
Pilot with nerves of steel,
And veraciously exact,
“We have you visual, four o’clock”,
Crackled in the pilot’s ear
He responded calmly “Roger
Call sign Bravo… illuminate a flare”
Flare lit up and in they flew,
Oblivious of the danger;
Twas deaths turn to roll the dice,
With life their coin of wager.
Two hands upon the cannon grips,
One finger on the trigger,
Gunner’s eye took a site,
Through peep site to the jigger;
Bullets ripped into the cockpit,
Of that killer-car machine,
Barely two year out of school,
K-car gunner… aged nineteen
Fire Force airborne pilot,
Turned cannon to the smoke,
Gunner pressed the trigger,
And the dragon now awoke;
Twenty millimeter cannon,
Boomed forth volcanic life
Spewing deadly rounds,
Of instant death and strife.
No place for enemy to hide,
From this matchless opponent;
Terrorists now in full flight,
Were gunned down in a moment.
The Kill-car hovered overhead,
Just six foot off the ground,
Two enemy lay screaming,
But from thirty dead…no sound.
Most men of war, whom I knew then,
Have turned now to the Lord,
They have turned into plow shears,
Their weapons and their sword.
Lord please teach us here in Africa,
Love for one another;
Take xenophobic intolerance from us,
Teach us to love our brother.
poem by Alf Hutchison
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But the Air Force was sort of a bastard child of the Army, much like the Marines with the Navy. Everything had to be done over by the Army after it had already been done by the Air Corps, a mess.
quote by Stuart Symington
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I'm relieved that the state of the Marines' readiness will remain high.
quote by Susan Davis
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Built To Last
There are times when you must beckon,
There are times when you must fall.
You can take a lot of wrecking,
But you cant take it all.
There are times when I can help you out,
And times when you must fall.
There are times when you must live in doubt,
And I cant help at all.
Two blue stars, shine oer the hill.
Plead no more, now just be still.
Through the night, now safely there.
Show me something built to last.
Been held by the fire,
Yes and im, held by the ring.
You can walk on balls of fire,
But sometimes you might bleed.
There are times when I have begged you
And you do the same to me.
If you cant or wont admit it,
At least we pulled you through.
Three blue stars, set oer the hill.
Call them back; you never will.
All these trials, soon be dead.
We all need something built to last.
Built to last till time of seven,
Falls tumbling from the sky.
Built to last till lightness fades,
And darkness falls on all.
Built to last till years roll back
Our couch perched in the sky
Show me something different,
Or something built to try.
There are times when you get hit up on,
Try hard but you cannot give.
Other times, youd gladly go
With what you need to give.
Dont be afraid to save your face,
When you have done your best
Now I wont forget,
Next day try the rest.
All the stars, are gone but one.
Morning dreams, we found the sun.
Show me something built to last
Two blue stones, shine oer the hill.
Call it back; you never will
All these trials, now are dead.
Show me something built to last.
All the stars, are gone but one.
Morning dreams. here comes the sun.
Through the night, now sinking fast.
Show me something built to last.
song performed by by Grateful Dead
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Salute You All
We Salute you all, the sons of Bangladesh,
You sang the Immortal song.
You roared, you growled against that
You thought was going wrong.
You knew your fate ahead and
You knew the Guns were raised,
You kept high the Flag of Honor,
To save your Mother Language.
They shed your blood, their bayonets spoke.
Still you held head High,
They couldn't sing the Last Song,
They couldn't close our eyes!
Thus you turned The Twenty-first,
A Memorable February Day,
Chhalam, Barkat, Shofique, Zabbar!
We salute you Everyday!
poem by Nilakshi Das
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The Battle of Waterloo
'Twas in the year 1815, and on the 18th day of June,
That British cannon, against the French army, loudly did boom,
Upon the ever memorable bloody field of Waterloo;
Which Napoleon remembered while in St. Helena, and bitterly did rue.
The morning of the 18th was gloomy and cheerless to behold,
But the British soon recovered from the severe cold
That they had endured the previous rainy night;
And each man prepared to burnish his arms for the coming fight.
Then the morning passed in mutual arrangements for battle,
And the French guns, at half-past eleven, loudly did rattle;
And immediately the order for attack was given,
Then the bullets flew like lightning till the Heaven's seemed riven.
The place from which Bonaparte viewed the bloody field
Was the farmhouse of La Belle Alliance, which some protection did yield;
And there he remained for the most part of the day,
Pacing to and fro with his hands behind him in doubtful dismay.
The Duke of Wellington stood upon a bridge behind La Haye,
And viewed the British army in all their grand array,
And where danger threatened most the noble Duke was found
In the midst of shot and shell on every side around.
Hougemont was the key of the Duke of Wellington's position,
A spot that was naturally very strong, and a great acqusition
To the Duke and his staff during the day,
Which the Coldstream Guards held to the last, without dismay.
The French 2nd Corps were principally directed during the day
To carry Hougemont farmhouse without delay;
So the farmhouse in quick succession they did attack,
But the British guns on the heights above soon drove them back.
But still the heavy shot and shells ploughed through the walls;
Yet the brave Guards resolved to hold the place no matter what befalls;
And they fought manfully to the last, with courage unshaken,
Until the tower of Hougemont was in a blaze but still it remained untaken.
By these desperate attacks Napoleon lost ten thousand men,
And left them weltering in their gore like sheep in a pen;
And the British lost one thousand men-- which wasn't very great,
Because the great Napoleon met with a crushing defeat.
The advance of Napoleon on the right was really very fine,
Which was followed by a general onset upon the British line,
In which three hundred pieces of artillery opened their cannonade;
But the British artillery played upon them, and great courage displayed.
For ten long hours it was a continued succession of attacks;
Whilst the British cavalry charged them in all their drawbacks;
And the courage of the British Army was great in square at Waterloo,
Because hour after hour they were mowed down in numbers not a few.
At times the temper of the troops had very nearly failed,
Especially amongst the Irish regiments who angry railed;
And they cried: " When will we get at them? Show us the way
That we may avenge the death of our comrades without delay"
"But be steady and cool, my brave lads," was their officers' command,
While each man was ready to charge with gun in hand;
Oh, Heaven! if was pitiful to see their comrades lying around,
Dead and weltering in their gore, and cumbering the ground.
It was a most dreadful sight to behold,
Heaps upon heaps of dead men lying stiff and cold;
While the cries of the dying was lamentable to hear;
And for the loss Of their comrades many a soldier shed a tear.
Men and horses fell on every aide around,
Whilst heavy cannon shot tore up the ground;
And musket balls in thousands flew,
And innocent blood bedewed the field of Waterloo.
Methinks I see the solid British square,
Whilst the shout of the French did rend the air,
As they rush against the square of steel.
Which forced them back and made them reel.
And when a gap was made in that square,
The cry of "Close up! Close up!" did rend the air,
"And charge them with your bayonets, and make them fly!
And Scotland for ever! be the cry."
The French and British closed in solid square,
While the smoke of the heavy cannonade darkened the air;
Then the noble Picton deployed his division into line,
And drove back the enemy in a very short time.
Then Lord Anglesey seized on the moment, and charging with the Greys,
Whilst the Inniskillings burst through everything, which they did always;
Then the French infantry fell in hundreds by the swords of the Dragoons;
Whilst the thundering of the cannonade loudly booms.
And the Eagles of the 45th and 105th were all captured that day,
And upwards of 2000 prisoners, all in grand array;
But, alas! at the head of his division, the noble Picton fell,
While the Highlanders played a lament for him they loved so well.
Then the French cavalry receded from the square they couldn't penetrate,
Still Napoleon thought to weary the British into defeat;
But when he saw his columns driven back in dismay,
He cried, "How beautifully these English fight, but they must give way."
And well did British bravery deserve the proud encomium,
Which their enduring courage drew from the brave Napoleon;
And when the close column of infantry came on the British square,
Then the British gave one loud cheer which did rend the air.
Then the French army pressed forward at Napoleon's command,
Determined, no doubt, to make a bold stand;
Then Wellington cried, " Up Guards and break their ranks through,
And chase the French invaders from off the field of Waterloo!"
Then, in a moment, they were all on their feet,
And they met the French, sword in hand, and made them retreat;
Then Wellington in person directed the attack,
And at every point and turning the French were beaten back.
And the road was choked and encumbered with the dead;
And, unable to stand the charge, the French instantly fled,
And Napoleon's army of yesterday was now a total wreck,
Which the British manfully for ten long hours held in check.
Then, panic-struck, the French were forced to yield,
And Napoleon turned his charger's head, and fled from the field,
With his heart full of woe, no doubt
Exclaiming, "Oh, Heaven! my noble army has met with a total rout!"
poem by William Topaz McGonagall
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Angel of Mons
He called for me from his hospital bed,
He needed a priest, and soon,
The old man lay in his disarray
In the cool of the afternoon,
I started to read the Viaticum,
His face was turned to the wall,
But then he stirred, and muttered one word
From the depths of his troubled soul.
'Mons', he muttered, and I was still
While he raised his gaze to mine,
I saw the struggle he fought within
Then I noticed his eyes a-shine,
'I was an Old Contemptible, '
He said with a trembling voice,
'I've been to the shores of Hell, old son,
If you thought you could give me a choice.'
'Now, I've never spoken of this before,
War is a terrible thing,
The Devil rides in the enemies eyes
While the bullets just rattle and zing.
I've walked through rivers of blood, ' he said,
'I've lain in acres of pain,
At Mons, outnumbered by three to one
In the mist and the cleansing rain.'
'I killed so many, I must confess,
A rifleman born and bred
Full fifteen rounds each minute I loosed
At the sight of a bobbing head
Their field grey uniforms swarmed across,
We cut them off at the feet,
But then their artillery started up
And we knew we'd have to retreat.'
'Death was having a field day, son,
Taking us, one by one,
I didn't believe I was going to live
No more than my mates had done,
They lay in pools on the muddy ground
Their eyes a-stare, amazed,
The bullets that took them arrived unsung,
To herald an early grave.'
I patted his hand to quieten him,
I saw that the end was near,
The war he spoke of was over and done
But for him it was crystal clear,
I tried absolving his early sin
I held his trembling hands,
'I need to tell you the rest, ' he croaked,
'The awe-ful Angel of Mons.'
'The Germans had us, the end was nigh,
We turned to defend at the last,
When up above us a shape was formed
With wings that glowed like glass,
A glowing angel with luminous wings
And it turned to the enemy,
The guns were silenced, the air was still
And the Germans turned to flee.'
Sweat broke out on the old man's brow,
He shivered and let out a sigh,
He'd told no-one of the things he'd seen
At Mons, in that August sky,
The lights were suddenly dimmed in there
Like a shadow of former wrongs,
And graceful wings folded over his head
As he died… the Angel of Mons.
25 February 2008
poem by David Lewis Paget
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Dark Victory 11/11/18
The Bells ring out great Peals of joy.
The war is won, Great Albion.
It merely cost a million dead,
a generation lost and done.
To you, fate tendered victory sweet,
to the Germans, a bitter peace.
There, fatherless boys, abed, asleep,
plot revenge for their deceased.
In the Wilfred Owen house;
no alloyed joy to meld with sorrow:
That day they learned their son had died
They'll dress the house in Black tomorrow.
His mother knew before word came,
she had a sense her son was gone.
That he'd be among the last to fall
for the glory of Great Albion
He fought almost unto the end,
dying in the war's last week.
When Mortal flesh and bullets meet
Poets are silenced when machine guns speak..
There is a pathos in his fate,
dying in the last week of war
Like the man who sailed the Ocean deep,
only to drown in sight of shore.
The poet Wilfred Owen, died in an attack on a German Machine gun nest on 11/04/1918, one week before the Germans sued for peace. His parents received word that their only son had died just as the Church bells were rung to celebrate the Armistice. Albion is a archaic name for Great Britain
poem by John F. McCullagh
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