In Barracks
The barrack-square, washed clean with rain,
Shines wet and wintry-grey and cold.
Young Fusiliers, strong-legged and bold,
March and wheel and march again.
The sun looks over the barrack gate,
Warm and white with glaring shine,
To watch the soldiers of the Line
That life has hired to fight with fate.
Fall out: the long parades are done.
Up comes the dark; down goes the sun.
The square is walled with windowed light.
Sleep well, you lusty Fusiliers;
Shut your brave eyes on sense and sight,
And banish from your dreamless ears
The bugle’s dying notes that say,
‘Another night; another day.’
poem by Siegfried Sassoon
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Related quotes
The Last Post
The bugler sent a call of high romance—
“Lights out! Lights out!” to the deserted square.
On the thin brazen notes he threw a prayer,
“God, if it’s this for me next time in France…
O spare the phantom bugle as I lie
Dead in the gas and smoke and roar of guns,
Dead in a row with the other broken ones
Lying so stiff and still under the sky,
Jolly young Fusiliers too good to die.”
poem by Robert Graves
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A war song!
I see the soldiers marching on
Singing a cold war song
On the road they hold onto their guns
As the fighting goes on all day long
Fight, March, and fight
Shoot, aim and shoot right
Whether the sun shines, this is war
This is war whether the rains pours
This is war where we kill
Our friends, sisters and brothers
For they are our enemies for real
If they choose against us for another
They go to war
Because of a handful of political men
Who stand alive; in erect offices still holding their pens
The soldiers fight until no one stands up anymore!
Fight, March, and fight
Shoot, aim and shoot right
Whether the sun shines, this is war
This is war whether the rains pours
www.sylviachidi.com
poem by Sylvia Chidi
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The Rain of March
The Fitful Showers of March
The rain of March, the rain of March
Came again
Came slanting down in full force
With pattering sound on the tin roof
Splashes of cold water wetted everything
The dry sand all around shone with a dazzle
The woodland paths softened with the tears
Of the blue sky.
For whom the sky wept?
The little leaves on the boughs
Quenched their thirst
Who washed all their heat and pain
The rain of March, the rain of March
Came again.
poem by Ratan Bhattacharjee
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March Horse Fair Day
The morning has a heavy winter chill
And dark rain clouds move over Clara hill
And the old man says that the rain will bucket down
As he stands holding his horse in the Square at Millstreet Town.
In Ireland on March the first the sun doesn't often shine
In fact the day is seldom ever fine
Old February till latter March remain
You take your hat and coat expecting rain.
Near 10 A.M. it makes a heavy shower
And it keeps on raining maybe for an hour
And horses and their owners soaked right to the skin
But rain doesn't worry tough horse loving men.
The deals were clinched with hand slap and hand shake
Your bond your word and your word you would not break
The Town Square packed with people young and old
And deals were done and many horses sold.
And people there from many walks of life
The travelling man with his children and wife,
And the man who owns forty acres of moor
By any standards he's considered poor.
And wealthy farmer down south for the day
To buy good horse and make the journey pay
And horses changed hands when the deals were made
And Uptown pubs were doing a roaring trade.
My thoughts return to happier days gone by
When I was younger and a school going boy
And March horse fair was always school free day
The better memories with us tend to stay.
And I too went to Millstreet old Town Square
For to watch the dealings and the barterings there,
The slap of hands, the handshakes deals were done
And old friendships renewed and new friendships were won.
A nip of winter in the morning air
As people made their way to the horse fair
A shame about the weather some did say
But rain or sleet did not keep them away.
A time of year between winter and spring
Too cold and early yet for birds to sing
Old February till latter March remain
And you take your hat and coat expecting rain.
The morning has a heavy winter chill
And dark rain clouds move over Clara hill
And the old man says that the rain will bucket down
As he stands holding his horse in the Square at Millstreet town.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Snow wonderland
Matching scratches
White square patterns, design by print feet.
Back and forward & square.
Walking straight to shine light & moving shadow
Reflect the way home
Cold needles are sewing the red faces looking around.
Everything is enchanted by light and mud.
Pine tree green cover in a sweet icing.
Drops, smoking, cold melting ice
On my hands warmed pocket.
Broken snow, walking on the front steps.
Inside the house, outside a paint window
Nature a great painter.
After the night.
Museum of white morning colours
Shouting scarf's and boots
Angels games.
Raining melting tree.
Warm grey sky.
White bushes with orange and red berry faces.
White pyramids of smoking chimney.
Keeping warm thrones.
poem by Luca Menin
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Square Peg, Round Hole
He's a square peg in a round hole
Misfit in a slick world
Don't play the game
Don't do what he's told
He's a square peg in a round hole
Square peg don't care
The bright lights he's not there
Catch the shadows see him slip away
Square peg that's what they say
Square peg, Suare peg
Square peg, you have got to be strong
Square peg, he's got his own song
Square peg, I'll see you around
Square peg, face down
Square peg, round hole
song performed by by Chris Rea
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Starlight Eyes
My star, sparkling shine, radial eye lost in dark blue night
Shooting sight, reflective bright, holy traces from pointless fight
Light of night, unholy plight, beautiful hope of sacred light
Hope in sky, obsesive lie, demise my song of what I thought was right
Pair of eyes, sparkling shines, stare and glare below to admire their might
In clean white sky, with pure atire, blacks the eyes until the ray of night
The birth of right, the birth of fight, anounced in shines within the hope of light
The holy birth, the birth of sins, ominious words of the chains of fright
poem by Erasmo Rayon
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Lonely Soldiers
Smiles willl begin to fade,
And tears will start to flow.
When your the last one there,
and this lonely feeling begins to grow.
Lonely skeltons with lonely smiles,
Forever they will march.
They walk on through this lonely world,
With only one thing to do,
To march.
You watch them with eyes so cold,
And hands cut raw.
You join them in the lonely parade,
and you march on forever more.
The flying souls and silent nights,
Reach on till lonely hours.
All alone these soldiers will march,
Because their the lonely soldiers.
poem by Stella Andrews
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(You're So Square) Baby I Don't Care
You're so square - baby
You're so square
Oh you don't like greasy diners
You don't like sleezy bands
You just want to go
To a movie show
And sit there holding hands
You're so square
Baby I don't care
You don't like going to parties
To toot and talk all night long
You just want to park
Where it's nice and dark
And kiss me, sweet and strong
You're so square
Baby, I don't care
You don't know any dance steps
That are new
But nobody else could love me
Like you do
I don't know why my heart flips
I only know it does
I wonder why
I love you baby
I guess it's just because
You're so square
darlin' I don't care
song performed by by Elvis Presley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Baby I Don't Care
You're so square--baby
You're so square . . .
Oh, you don't like greasy diners
You don't like sleazy bands
You just want to go
To a movie show
And sit there holding hands
You're so square
Baby i don't care
You don't like going to parties
To toot and talk all night long
You just want to park
Where it's nice and dark
And kiss me, sweet and strong
You're so square
Baby i don't care
You don't know any dance steps
That are new
But nobody else can love me
Like you do
I don't know why my heart flips
I only know it does
I wonder why
I love you baby
I guess it's just because
You're so square
Darlin' i don't care
Oh, i don't know why my heart flips
I only know it does
I wonder why
I love you baby
I guess it's just because
You're so square
I don't care
You're so square
song performed by by Joni Mitchell
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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March On Comrades, March On
Yonder in the East, our comrades are shouting,
Yonder in the East, our comrades are fighting,
Yonder in the East, our fate they are carving,
March on comrades, march on.
From the East, slogan is echoing,
Scrap automation, allow us due living,
It is bare minimum, is it much asking?
March on comrades, march on.
Make haste comrades, lest we be late,
The fight may be over and seal our fate,
Spurn the enemy with due hate,
March on comrades, march on.
The posterity will curse us if we linger,
Firmly in unison let us march thither,
Smother all those who our progress hinder,
March on comrades, march on.
Let us herald The New Era in,
Whence no one shall trade in empty sermons,
When khadi capped traders shall be banished,
When doing and not talking shall be the criterion,
March on comrades, march on.
What if we perish in the process,
We shall have lived with a purpose,
We shall have met an honoured death,
Our goal so humble, our cause is just;
March on comrades, march on.
(You're So Square) Baby, I Don't Care
You're so square--baby
You're so square . . .
Oh, you don't like greasy diners
You don't like sleazy bands
You just want to go
To a movie show
And sit there holding hands
You're so square
Baby I don't care
You don't like going to parties
To toot and talk all night long
You just want to park
Where it's nice and dark
And kiss me, sweet and strong
You're so square
Baby I don't care
You don't know any dance steps
That are new
But nobody else can love me
Like you do
I don't know why my heart flips
I only know it does
I wonder why
I love you baby
I guess it's just because
You're so square
Darlin' I don't care
Oh, I don't know why my heart flips
I only know it does
I wonder why
I love you baby
I guess it's just because
You're so square
I don't care
song performed by by Joni Mitchell
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Which is Hell?
Wise man, who first said life was hell-
He must have come from this barrack,
The desert of moustaches and uniforms
And parched skins of soldiers.
The Sahara of women-less.
Here the love rarely touches life.
When it ignites, we struggle
With surging melancholic romance.
Lust is the root of love.
With out woman where is love?
No woman in sight, we are in hell.
We dry. Glands dry. So does our heart.
Every where blossom-less faces.
A coal mine with dirt and dust,
Where creatures are the destitute,
Whose life and work is more than a hell.
It is hell where men live without women.
The barrack is the hell as wise men rightly said.
26.01.2001, Pmdi
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Jennifer’s Lad
SWEET Jennifer came calling me
Along the shining beach.
'There's green upon the hawthorn tree
There's bloom upon the peach.
O, April's found the upland larch,
The hazel in the hollow,'–
But louder was the snare-drum with it's 'March, march, march !'
And clearer called the bugle, 'Will you follow ?'
Young Jennifer came seeking me
With love upon her lips.
'O, all kind angels keep the sea
And fortune guard the ships.
The Autumn winds have rent the larch,
The south has won the swallow,'–
But clearer beat the snare-drum with it's 'March, march, march !'
And sweeter sang the bugle, 'Will you follow ?'
poem by Marjorie Lowry Christie Pickthall
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Big Square People
Another square day
And another square week
And another square year
And another square lifetime
If you turn me on like you turn it on
Big square people
If you look at me the way you watch tv
Big square people
Youre digging it round when it should be square
Big square people
When the screen is blank theres no-one there
Big square people
Ive seen you watching it day and night
You dont miss the big game or big fight
All those dimensions all those race (? )
Come in action (? )
The worlds full of greed and envy and lust
If they dont get you the (? ) must
Turn on at daybreak before youre awake
I turn it off now
Big square people
(repeat)
Turn of the brightness, the colour and sound
The big square people in sensorround
Before too long the damage is done
To big square people television is such fun
They come in action from every direction
With every booster and (? )
Theyre sending signals from satellite sky
Soon youre on tv and you dont know why
Hey, come on down, youre looking good
If they said jump I really think that you would
cause tv is God and heavens hollywood
Youre digging it round when it should be square
Big square people
When the screen is blank theres no-one there
Big square people
Get up from the chair you look like a slug (? )
Take the tip from the tv go and find a job
But there are no jobs, there is no pay
but thats not what the people on the tv say
They say to me Ill be what you wanna be,
Lets join the army maybe see the sea
Turn of the brightness, the colour and sound
Turn of the (? ) lets going around
Turn on at daybreak before youre awake
Lets turn it off now before its too late
(turn it off !)
song performed by by Heaven 17
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Maternity
There once was a Square, such a square little Square,
And he loved a trim Triangle;
But she was a flirt and around her skirt
Vainly she made him dangle.
Oh he wanted to wed and he had no dread
Of domestic woes and wrangles;
For he thought that his fate was to procreate
Cute little Squares and Triangles.
Now it happened one day on that geometric way
There swaggered a big bold Cube.
With a haughty stare and he made that Square
Have the air of a perfect boob;
To his solid spell the Triangle fell,
And she thrilled with love's sweet sickness,
For she took delight in his breadth and height -
But how she adored his thickness!
So that poor little Square just died of despair,
For his love he could not strangle;
While the bold Cube led to the bridal bed
That cute and acute Triangle.
The Square's sad lot she has long forgot,
And his passionate pretensions . . .
For she dotes on her kids-Oh such cute Pyramids
In a world of three dimensions.
poem by Robert William Service
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Grey Wolves Grey
The Russian march is soft and slow,
Through dust and heat, or slush and snow,
When the Russian skies hang grey and low
To the frontiers far where the Russians go;
And they march to-night and they march to-day
Like the grey wolves grey, like the grey wolves grey.
Nor song nor sound their track reveals,
Save the ceaseless “clock” of the waggon wheels;
But a rift in the mist shows a glint of sun
On the long, dark shape of a toiling gun;
And they strain by night and they drag by day
To a distant goal, like the grey wolves grey.
As the horses toil at the ends of trains,
And the ends of roads on the Blacksoil Plains.
And Ivan digs in the frozen clay,
And he rolls the logs a bed to lay
For a gun that’s five hundred miles away,
But as sure to come as the grey wolves grey.
He is marching on with a purpose grand,
For brother Slav in another land;
Whose tongue, perchance, he cannot understand.—
But he knows the cry from the far-away,
And he smells the blood like the grey wolves grey.
And Ivan’s wife in her den at home,
While hunger looms and his lean wolves come—
With her grey-black bread like the Darling mud,
And her tea-bricks bound with the bullock’s blood—
She shields her cubs by night and day
Like the crouching sluts of the grey wolves grey.
And I march with Ivan where’er he be,
With the foreign blood that is strong in me,
And the love and the hate that is fantasy,
Like the ghosts of a father’s memory.
With the blood that is strange to us to-day
As the strange wild blood of the grey wolves grey.
Grey wolves,
Grey wolves—
The strange wild blood of the grey wolves grey.
poem by Henry Lawson
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Midnight And Moonlight
AS one singled out from his fellows,
Enchanted I roam
Through night with its music and moonlight,
And sea-sheen and foam.
'Twas Beauty herself that awoke me
And whispered 'Arise,
I have lit all the lamps of my palace
To gladden your eyes!'
I rose at her bidding, and surely
'Tis just as she said —
The moon, spilling splendour around me,
Brimfull overhead;
Rich perfumes from garden and garden
Rare blossoms outpour;
The sea, broad and bright to the skyline,
Sings low to the shore.
The beach, a brave riband of silver,
All radiant shines,
'Twixt the white of the surf on its sea edge
And the dark of the pines.
And the white of the surf on its sea-edge
A wonder-light gives,
And the dark of the pines is the darkness
Where mystery lives.
Can it be that this scene goes unwitnessed
Except by my eyes —
These splendours that start from the ocean
And rain from the skies?
Unaware of the light and the wonder,
In slumber sunk deep,
Young and old, they lie blind on their couches.
Eyes lidded in sleep.
Though pearl-tinted breakers be falling,
Unvisioned they fall —
Oh Sleep! art thou jealous of Beauty
To hold them in thrall?
How I long for a magical bugle,
Sweet-throated and clear,
To sound through their slumbers and wake them,
And summon them here!
Then old men and young men forth-coming
Would sigh their delight;
And maidens, white-throated, barefooted,
In garments of white;
And all would speak well of the bugle,
And praise its sweet sound
That made them the guest-folk of Beauty
In radiance gowned.
Spell-bound they would stand in her presence,
Souls steeped in amaze,
The thrill of her magic upon them —
Sea-sheen and moonrays —
Spell-bound with the mystic enchantment,
Till one in that throng,
With a rapture exceeding all raptures
Of passion and song,
Would beget of his musing a vision
As wondrous as she
Who was fashioned of dream-stuff and moonlight
And foam of the sea.
poem by Roderic Quinn
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March
Were I young again
and the month of March
were upon me
I'd skip down the road,
do a march to March,
sing a tune to March
dance a dance to March,
risk a prance to March,
strut and grind and do
a break dance to March.
Hop, skip and jump to March,
just like a the girl I used to be,
once upon a time in March,
when my cheeks had high colour
and my hopes were high.
poem by Ruth Walters
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Birds Of Prey March
March! The mud is cakin' good about our trousies.
Front! -- eyes front, an' watch the Colour-casin's drip.
Front! The faces of the women in the 'ouses
Ain't the kind o' things to take aboard the ship.
Cheer! An' we'll never march to victory.
Cheer! An' we'll never live to 'ear the cannon roar!
The Large Birds o' Prey
They will carry us away,
An' you'll never see your soldiers any more!
Wheel! Oh, keep your touch; we're goin' round a corner.
Time! -- mark time, an' let the men be'ind us close.
Lord! the transport's full, an' 'alf our lot not on 'er --
Cheer, O cheer! We're going off where no one knows.
March! The Devil's none so black as 'e is painted!
Cheer! We'll 'ave some fun before we're put away.
'Alt, an' 'and 'er out -- a woman's gone and fainted!
Cheer! Get on -- Gawd 'elp the married men to-day!
Hoi! Come up, you 'ungry beggars, to yer sorrow.
('Ear them say they want their tea, an' want it quick!)
You won't have no mind for slingers, not to-morrow --
No; you'll put the 'tween-decks stove out, bein' sick!
'Alt! The married kit 'as all to go before us!
'Course it's blocked the bloomin' gangway up again!
Cheer, O cheer the 'Orse Guards watchin' tender o'er us,
Keepin' us since eight this mornin' in the rain!
Stuck in 'eavy marchin'-order, sopped and wringin' --
Sick, before our time to watch 'er 'eave an' fall,
'Ere's your 'appy 'ome at last, an' stop your singin'.
'Alt! Fall in along the troop-deck! Silence all!
Cheer! For we'll never live to see no bloomin' victory!
Cheer! An' we'll never live to 'ear the cannon roar! (One cheer more!)
The jackal an' the kite
'Ave an 'ealthy appetite,
An' you'll never see your soldiers any more! ('Ip! Urroar!)
The eagle an' the crow
They are waitin' ever so,
An' you'll never see your soldiers any more! ('Ip! Urroar!)
Yes, the Large Birds o' Prey
They will carry us away,
An' you'll never see your soldiers any more!
poem by Rudyard Kipling
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