Disease War Endemic To Planet Earth?
Does not brave slain blood of Wilfred
Owen cry out from battlefield ground?
Testify his faith a pacifist is God’s way
They lie who claim say a coward’s way
Wilfred Owen British army enlisted
to prove false lie upon killing score
With grim realism deep ingrained
Owen testified truth murder is war
In 'Anthem for Doomed Youth' told
how men die as cattle slaughtered
listen to these words burn in mind
grim know war is murder legalized
“What passing-bells for those who die as cattle?
Only the monstrous anger of the guns
Only the stuttering rifles’ rapid rattle”
“ No mockeries now for them; no prayers nor bells
Nor any voice of mourning save the choirs
The shrill, demented choirs of wailing shells; ”
youth mothers’ sons
born to be slaughtered
in foreign wars?
If meant to be why did God
not create savage claws
for boy babies hands?
poem by Terence George Craddock
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Anthem For Doomed Youth
What passing-bells for these who die as cattle?
Only the monstrous anger of the guns.
Only the stuttering rifles' rapid rattle
Can patter out their hasty orisons.
No mockeries now for them; no prayers nor bells;
Nor any voice of mourning save the choirs,
The shrill, demented choirs of wailing shells;
And bugles calling for them from sad shires.
What candles may be held to speed them all?
Not in the hands of boys, but in their eyes
Shall shine the holy glimmers of good-byes.
The pallor of girls' brows shall be their pall;
Their flowers the tenderness of patient minds,
And each slow dusk a drawing-down of blinds.
poem by Wilfred Owen
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The Longest Night
What passing-bells for these who die as cattle?
- only the monstrous anger of the guns.
Only the stuttering rifles rapid rattle
Can patter out their hasty orisons.
No mockeries now for them; no prayers nor bells;
Nor any voice of mourning save the choirs, -
The shrill, demented choirs of wailing shells;
And bugles calling for them from sad shires.
(wilfred owen, 1918)
Now the day has run
When the cover comes
But any fool can see
Ahead
Silence is my friend
But it has to end
Any fool can see
Ahead
Its the longest night
Its the longest night
Cold winds may blow
On the longest night
So we write our letters
To those far away
Any fool can see
Ahead
The distant sound of thunder
A choir of wailing shells
Any fool can see
Ahead
Its the longest night
Its the longest night
Cold winds may blow
On the longest night
I dont want to fight
I dont know whos right
Cold winds they blow
On this longest night
Its the longest night
Its the longest night
Cold winds may blow
On this longest night
Music & lyrics by: geoff downes, john payne & ben woolfenden
song performed by by Asia
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Anthem For Doomed Youth
[ music: john lombardo/lyric: john lombardo adapts wilfred owen ]
For whom the bells toll
When sentenced to die
The stuttering rifles
Will stifle the cry
The monstrous anger
The fears rapid rattle
A desert inferno
Kids dying like cattle
Dont tell me
Were not prepared
Ive seen todays marine
Hes eighteen and hes eager
He can be quite mean
No mockries for them
No prayers or bells
The demented choirs
The wailing of shells
The boys holding candles
On untraveled roads
The fear spreads like fire
As shrapnel explodes
I think its wrong
To conscript our youth
Against their will
When plenty of our citizenry
Really like to kill
What sign posts will lead
To armageddons fires
What bugles will call them
From crowded grey shires
The women sit quiet
With death on their minds
A slow dusk descending
The drawing of blinds
Make the hunters all line up
Its their idea of fun
And let those be forgiven
Who never owned a gun
Was it him or me
Or the wailing of the dead
The laughing soldiers
Cast their lots
And you can cut the dread
song performed by by 10000 Maniacs
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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But I Was Looking at the Permanent Stars
Bugles sang, saddening the evening air,
And bugles answered, sorrowful to hear.
Voices of boys were by the river-side.
Sleep mothered them; and left the twilight sad.
The shadow of the morrow weighed on men.
Voices of old despondency resigned,
Bowed by the shadow of the morrow, slept.
( ) dying tone
Of receding voices that will not return.
The wailing of the high far-travelling shells
And the deep cursing of the provoking ( )
The monstrous anger of our taciturn guns.
The majesty of the insults of their mouths.
poem by Wilfred Owen
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Dulce Et Decorum Est Pro Patria Mori
In 'Dulce Decorum Est' grim realities has Owen told?
Images he witness bore cut into nerve retina of eyeballs?
“Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots.
But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame, all blind
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots
Of tired, outstripped Five Nines that dropped behind.”
Wilfred was a conscientious objector, who never believed
in war. Owen believed he had no right to protest against war,
if he had never fought in it. Wilfred wrote realistic anti-war
poems. “Dulce et Decorum Est” is a protest against war.
The lie “Dulce et Decorum Est pro patria mori” Owen denounces
declaring it is not sweet and honourable to die for your country.
Stark grim dark is contrast between false lie and truth reality
powerfully in an account of friend dying soldier demonstrated
Symptoms of chlorine or phosgene gas are correctly described
The 'misty panes and thick green light, As under a green sea, I saw
him drowning' are accurate descriptions of poison gas covering battlefield Owen haunted by agony memory horrific deaths declares 'In all my dreams
before my helpless sight He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning' attests. Words 'gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs describes, gassed lungs filled with fluid, producing similar effects, as when a person drowns
in water. ‘Gas! Gas! Quick, boys! An ecstasy of fumbling’ intones
instant cinematic descriptive reality, suddenly reader you must bear witness, to secret scientific weapons research horrors humankinds worst deeds
“If in some smothering dreams, you too could pace
Behind the wagon that we flung him in
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
His hanging face, like a devil’s sick of sin,
If you could hear at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs (Owen declares)
My friend, you would not tell with such zest
The old lie: Dulce et Decorum Est pro patria mori”
because it is not sweet nor honourable to die such deaths
poem by Terence George Craddock
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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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National Anthem For A Doomed Nation
With passing years for the nation that dies without battle;
Only the artificial fire of the rusted guns,
Only the faltering and false words’ rapid rattle,
Can nurse out only false and unachievable illusions.
All laugh at, for her; no neither love nor holy bells;
Nor any loyal voice of mourners for martyrs,
The cry, pain and demented elegy of empty shells;
And leaders laughing at, from corrupted sad shires.
O God! Lit the lamps to flee the evil roll,
Not in the hands of traitors, but in their heart and eyes;
Must flow the bright glimmers of good ties,
The joy of masses’ brows ought to be their call;
The flowers of sweetness and joy set in minds,
And each sick vibes flee down of finds.
poem by Dr. Yogesh Sharma
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Do you know what would hold me together on a battlefield? The sense that I was perpetuating the language in which Keats and the rest of them wrote!
quote by Wilfred Owen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Young Soldier
It is not death
Without hereafter
To one in dearth
Of life and its laughter,
Nor the sweet murder
Dealt slow and even
Unto the martyr
Smiling at heaven:
It is the smile
Faint as a (waning) myth,
Faint, and exceeding small
On a boy's murdered mouth.
poem by Wilfred Owen
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She is elegant rather than belle.
quote by Wilfred Owen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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All I ask is to be held above the barren wastes of want.
quote by Wilfred Owen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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If I have got to be a soldier, I must be a good one, anything else is unthinkable.
quote by Wilfred Owen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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All a poet can do today is warn.
quote by Wilfred Owen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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All theological lore is becoming distasteful to me.
quote by Wilfred Owen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Has Your Soul Sipped?
Has your soul sipped
Of the sweetness of all sweets?
Has it well supped
But yet hungers and sweats?
I have been witness
Of a strange sweetness,
All fancy surpassing
Past all supposing.
Passing the rays
Of the rubies of morning,
Or the soft rise
Of the moon; or the meaning
Known to the rose
Of her mystery and mourning.
Sweeter than nocturnes
Of the wild nightingale
Or than love's nectar
After life's gall.
Sweeter than odours
Of living leaves,
Sweeter than ardours
Of dying loves.
Sweeter than death
And dreams hereafter
To one in dearth
Or life and its laughter.
Or the proud wound
The victor wears
Or the last end
Of all wars.
Or the sweet murder
After long guard
Unto the martyr
Smiling at God;
To me was that smile,
Faint as a wan, worn myth,
Faint and exceeding small,
On a boy's murdered mouth.
Though from his throat
The life-tide leaps
There was no threat
On his lips.
But with the bitter blood
And the death-smell
All his life's sweetness bled
Into a smile.
poem by Wilfred Owen
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Never fear: Thank Home, and Poetry, and the Force behind both.
quote by Wilfred Owen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Those who have no hope pass their old age shrouded with an inward gloom.
quote by Wilfred Owen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Numbers of the old people cannot read. Those who can seldom do.
quote by Wilfred Owen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Be bullied, be outraged, by killed, but do not kill.
quote by Wilfred Owen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Dead-beat
He dropped, - more sullenly than wearily,
Lay stupid like a cod, heavy like meat,
And none of us could kick him to his feet;
-just blinked at my revolver, blearily;
- Didn't appear to know a war was on,
Or see the blasted trench at which he stared.
'I'll do 'em in,' he whined. 'If this hand's spared,
I'll murder them, I will.'
A low voice said,
'It's Blighty, p'raps, he sees; his pluck's all gone,
Dreaming of all the valiant, that aren't dead:
Bold uncles, smiling ministerially;
Maybe his brave young wife, getting her fun
In some new home, improved materially.
It's not these stiffs have crazed him; nor the Hun.'
We sent him down at last, out of the way.
Unwounded; - stout lad, too, before that strafe.
Malingering? Stretcher-bearers winked, 'Not half!'
Next day I heard the Doc's well-whiskied laugh:
'That scum you sent last night soon died. Hooray!'
poem by Wilfred Owen
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