For Veteran's Day: Flander's Field poem

[Sequoia]

Flander's Field

In Flanders Fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.
We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved, and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe;
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch, be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.

John McCrae 1872 - 1918

[Howardx]

1. ive always liked this one

Wilfred Owen
Dulce Et Decorum Est

Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,
Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs
And towards our distant rest began to trudge.
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 disappointed shells that dropped behind.

GAS! Gas! Quick, boys!-- An ecstasy of fumbling,
Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time;
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling
And floundering like a man in fire or lime.--
Dim, through the misty panes and thick green light
As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.

In all my dreams, before my helpless sight,
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.

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,
Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,--
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est
Pro patria mori.

[TreasonousBastard]

2. Ever heard of Dusty?

A nurse in Viet Nam who still feels the pain.

http://www.illyria.com/dustyhp.html

HELLO, DAVID

Hello David--my name is Dusty
I’m your night nurse. I will stay with you.
l will check your vitals every 15 minutes.
I will document inevitability.
I will hang more blood and give you something for your pain.
I will stay with you and I will touch your face.

Yes, of course, I will write your mother and tell her you were brave.
I will write your mother and tell her how much you loved her.
I will write your mother and tell her to give your bratty kid sister a big kiss and hug.
What I will not tell her is that you were wasted.

I will stay with you and I will hold your hand.
I will stay with you and watch your life flow through my fingers into my soul.
I will stay with you until you stay with me.

Goodbye, David---my name is Dusty.
I'm the last person you will see.
I'm the last person you will touch.
I'm the last person who will love you.

So long, David--my name is Dusty.
David--who will give me something for my pain?


http://www.illyria.com/emily.html

Emily, Donut Dollie

i flew to desolate fire bases
filled with the tools of war
and the men who used them
it was my job to perform the miracle
of making the war disappear
(however briefly)
for boys who had been trained to kill
it was my mission to raise the morale
of children who had grown old too soon
watching friends die
it was my calling
to take away fear and replace it with hope
to return sanity to a world gone insane
i was the mistress of illusion
as i pulled smiles from the dust and heat
the magical genie of "back-in-the-world"
as i created laughter in the mud
but when the show was over
i crawled back into my bottle
and pulled the cork in tightly behind me
© 1992

[TreasonousBastard]

3. And a couple more from "The Great War"

Men of Verdun

Laurence Binyon

There are five men in the moonlight
That by their shadows stand;
Three hobble humped on crutches,
And two lack each a hand.

Frogs somewhere near the roadside
Chorus their chant absorbed:
But a hush breathes out of the dream-light
That far in heaven is orbed.

It is gentle as sleep falling
And wide as thought can span,
The ancient peace and wonder
That brims in the heart of man.

Beyond the hills it shines now
On no peace but the dead,
On reek of trenches thunder-shocked,
Tense fury of wills in wrestle locked,
A chaos of crumbled red!

The five men in the moonlight
Chat, joke, or gaze apart.
They talk of days and comrades,
But each one hides his heart.

They wear clean cap and tunic,
As when they went to war;
A gleam comes where the medal's pinned:
But they will fight no more.

The shadows, maimed and antic,
Gesture and shape distort,
Like mockery of a demon dumb
Out of the hell-din whence they come
That dogs them for his sport:

But as if dead men were risen
And stood before me there
With a terrible fame about them blown
In beams of spectral air,

I see them, men transfigured
As in a dream, dilate
Fabulous with the Titan-throb
Of battling Europe's fate;

For history's hushed before them,
And legend flames afresh, --
Verdun, the name of thunder,
Is written on their flesh.

-------
Three Hills

Everard Owen
Harrow, December, 1915

There is a hill in England,
Green fields and a school I know,
Where the balls fly fast in summer,
And the whispering elm-trees grow,
A little hill, a dear hill,
And the playing fields below.

There is a hill in Flanders,
Heaped with a thousand slain,
Where the shells fly night and noontide
And the ghosts that died in vain, --
A little hill, a hard hill
To the souls that died in pain.

There is a hill in Jewry,
Three crosses pierce the sky,
On the midmost He is dying
To save all those who die, --
A little hill, a kind hill,
To souls in jeopardy.

[markses]

4. Propaganda Trash

"Take up our quarrel with the foe"? Sounds like the daily dose of trash propaganda they replayed endlessly in the Daily Mail.

Garbage.