"The Box".... The finest anti-war poem, ever

[TomInTib]

The Box
by Lascelles


Once upon a time in the land of Hush-a-bye
Around about the wondrous days of yore
They came across a sort of box
Bound up with chains and locked with locks
And labeled, “Kindly Do Not Touch - It’s War.”

Decree was issued round about
All with a flourish and a shout
And a gaily colored mascot tripping lightly on before
“Don’t fiddle with this deadly box
Or break the chains or pick the locks
And please don’t ever play about with war.”

Well the children understood
Children happen to be good
And they were just as good around the time of yore
They didn’t try to pick the locks
Or break into that deadly box
They never tried to play about with war.

Mommies didn’t either
Sisters, Aunts, or Grannies neither
Cause’ they were quiet and sweet and pretty
In those wondrous days of yore.

Well, very much the same as now
Not the ones to blame somehow
For opening up that deadly box of war.
But someone did
Someone battered in the lid
And spilled the insides out across the floor.

A sort of bouncy bumpy ball
Made up of flags and guns and all
The tears and horror and death
That goes with war.

It bounced right out
And went bashing all about
And bumping into every thing in store.
And what was sad and most unfair
Is that it really didn’t seem to care
Much who it bumped or why, or what, or for.

It bumped the children mainly
And I’ll tell you this quite plainly
It bumps them everyday
And more and more.
And leaves they dead and burned and dying
Thousands of them sick and crying
Cause’ when it bumps it’s really very sore.

Now there’s a way to stop the ball
It isn’t difficult at all
All it takes is wisdom
And I’m absolutely sure
That we could get it back into the box
And bind the chains and lock the locks
But no one seems to want to save the children anymore.

Well, that’s the way it all appears
Cause’ it’s been bouncing round for years and years
In spite of all that wisdom wiz’
Since those wondrous days of yore…
In the time they came upon a box
Bound up with chains and locked with locks
And labeled, “Kindly Do Not Touch - It’s War”

©1971 by Lascelles

[WinkyDink]

1. I'm kind of partial to "Dulce et Decorum Est", myself.

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.

[SheilaT]

2. My 18 year old son

read that poem in h.s. sophomore English, and was so impressed with it that he brought it home to me.

I was already somewhat familiar with it, but it's been more or less in the front of my mind ever since, and I think of it often. Thank you for posting it.

[TomInTib]

3. I cannot even imagine the horrors of WWI

but then again, I would have never imagined what is happening now.

[rwenos]

6. "How Sweet and Proper It Is . . .

. . . to die for One's country."

My vote goes for Dulce et Decorum Est.

Just wanted to be sure people knew what the Latin meant in the last stanza. (Apologies to ex-alter boys, whose Latin I'm sure surpasses my own rudiments.)

Those poor bastards did not know what hit them. They'd been told that if they studied Greek and Latin, and read Thucydides and the Annals of Caesar, they'd do just fine in the meat grinder in France.

Have we learned anything? How is The New Lie any different from The Old Lie?

[Taxloss]

4. I would realy say that Anthem for Doomed Youth is the finest.

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 goodbyes.
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.

William Plomer - a poet from South Africa - wrote fine war poetry from the Boer war, and this one is very apt for Iraq:

The whip-crack of a Union Jack
In a stiff breeze (the ship will roll),
Deft abracadabra drums
Enchant the patriotic soul-

A grandsire in St James's Street
Sat at the window of his club,
His second son, shot through the throat,
Slid backwards down a slope of scrub,

Gargled his last breaths, one by one by one,
In too much blood, too young to spill,
Died difficultly, drop by drop by drop-
'By your son's courage, sir, we took the hill.'

They took the hill (Whose hill? What for?)
But what a climb they left to do!
Out of that bungled, unwise war
An alp of unforgiveness grew.

Thanks for that Lascelles poem, I didn't know it and am pleased to be introduced to it. It reminds me of The Guardians, Martin Amis's essay about mutually assured destruction.

[go west young man]

5. I'm no where in the league of those guys but I am pretty proud of my

ant-war song/poem called "Here's To War". I wrote it on the day David Bloom died as the U.S. tanks were crossing the Iraqi desert on their way to Baghdad. It can be heard at www.myspace.com/tonedeafradio The words go like this.

Well here's to war. Can you tell me what it's for? Well if it's to make me free I guess thats good enough for me. You speak of freedom yet you blew off both my legs. Then you laid my soul to rest. Now I've got peace on earth instead.
How blind could I be? Well now I've got no eyes to see. I've no tongue with which to speak. I've no breath with which to breathe.
What was I thinking? I must of been completely stoned. I must have never really known. The trick of war is coming home.
I wanna thank the media for digging up the truth. For telling young boys their bulletproof and that war is good for you.
Well how strong could I be? Stronger than my enemy? Stronger than a falling leaf? Now I'm so quiet so at peace. Just kicking up daisy's from my bed beneath the stars. I wish you'd seen inside my heart. I wish you'd seen me blown apart.
Oh war I love you. I love the way you spun me round. Love the way you brought me down. The way you put me in the ground.


The songs a bit cryptic in some areas but I was hoping to make people think deeply about what war really is and how senseless all killing is.

[Voltaire99]

7. Look up Siegfried Sassoon.

He was a contemporary (and friend) of Wilfred Owen.

All his poems--bitterly ironic and unsparing towards those who lead us into war, including politicians, the press and "patriots"--are online at Bartleby.com.

[no_hypocrisy]

8. John Denver read this poem on the last cut of the second side of his

"Poems, Prayers, and Promises" album in 1971. Beautiful.

[Reader Rabbit]

9. "The War Prayer" by Mark Twain

It's timeless.

http://lexrex.com/informed/otherdocuments/warprayer.htm