War poems

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>>34407469
1.

Half a league, half a league,
Half a league onward,
All in the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.
"Forward, the Light Brigade!
"Charge for the guns!" he said:
Into the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.

2.

"Forward, the Light Brigade!"
Was there a man dismay'd?
Not tho' the soldier knew
Someone had blunder'd:
Theirs not to make reply,
Theirs not to reason why,
Theirs but to do and die:
Into the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.

3.

Cannon to right of them,
Cannon to left of them,
Cannon in front of them
Volley'd and thunder'd;
Storm'd at with shot and shell,
Boldly they rode and well,
Into the jaws of Death,
Into the mouth of Hell
Rode the six hundred.

4.

Flash'd all their sabres bare,
Flash'd as they turn'd in air,
Sabring the gunners there,
Charging an army, while
All the world wonder'd:
Plunged in the battery-smoke
Right thro' the line they broke;
Cossack and Russian
Reel'd from the sabre stroke
Shatter'd and sunder'd.
Then they rode back, but not
Not the six hundred.

5.

Cannon to right of them,
Cannon to left of them,
Cannon behind them
Volley'd and thunder'd;
Storm'd at with shot and shell,
While horse and hero fell,
They that had fought so well
Came thro' the jaws of Death
Back from the mouth of Hell,
All that was left of them,
Left of six hundred.

6.

When can their glory fade?
O the wild charge they made!
All the world wondered.
Honor the charge they made,
Honor the Light Brigade,
Noble six hundred.

>>34407469
I believe Audie Murphy wrote a few

>>34407496
Care to post them?

Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more;
Or close the wall up with our English dead!
In peace there’s nothing so becomes a man,
As modest stillness and humility;
But when the blast of war blows in our ears,
Then imitate the action of the tiger:
Stiffen the sinews, conjure up the blood,
Disguise fair nature with hard-favoured rage:
Then lend the eye a terrible aspect;
Let it pry through the portage of the head,
Like the brass cannon; let the brow o’erwhelm it
As fearfully as doth a galled rock
O’erhang and jutty his confounded base,
Swill’d with the wild and wasteful ocean.
Now set the teeth and stretch the nostril wide;
Hold hard the breath and bend up every spirit
To his full height. On, on, you noblest English,
Whose blood is fet from fathers of war-proof!
Fathers that, like so many Alexanders,
Have in these parts from morn till even fought,
And sheathed their swords for lack of argument.
Dishonour not your mothers: now attest,
That those whom you call’d fathers did beget you.
Be copy now to men of grosser blood,
And teach them how to war. And you, good yeoman,
Whose limbs were made in England, show us here
The mettle of your pasture: let us swear
That you are worth your breeding; which I doubt not;
For there is none of you so mean and base,
That hath not noble lustre in your eyes.
I see you stand like greyhounds in the slips,
Straining upon the start. The game’s afoot:
Follow your spirit; and upon this charge,
Cry ‘God for Harry! England! and Saint George!'

This is probably a classic.

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>>34407495
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=X4bgXH3sJ2Q

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The German Guns

>Boom, Boom, Boom, Boom,
>Boom, Boom, Boom,
>Boom, Boom, Boom, Boom,
>Boom, Boom, Boom


Untitled Second Poem

>Hear the words I sing,
>War's a horrid thing,
>So I sing sing sing...ding-a-ling-a-ling.

>>34407469
Star Spangled Banner, need more be said?

Lyrics are welcome too, as long as they're tasteful and well done

You'll take my life but I'll take yours too
You'll fire your musket but I'll run you through
So when you're waiting for the next attack
You'd better stand there's no turning back.

The Bugle sounds and the charge begins
But on this battlefield no one wins
The smell of acrid smoke and horses breath
As I plunge on into certain death.

The horse he sweats with fear we break to run
The mighty roar of the Russian guns
And as we race towards the human wall
The screams of pain as my comrades fall.

We hurdle bodies that lay on the ground
And the Russians fire another round
We get so near yet so far away
We won't live to fight another day.

We get so close near enough to fight
When a Russian gets me in his sights
He pulls the trigger and I feel the blow
A burst of rounds take my horse below.

And as I lay there gazing at the sky
My body's numb and my throat is dry
And as I lay forgotten and alone
Without a tear I draw my parting groan.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Mx3UPfzGeN4

In a foreign field he lay
Lonely soldier, unknown grave
On his dying words he prays
Tell the world of Paschendale

Relive all that he's been through
Last communion of his soul
Rust your bullets with his tears
Let me tell you 'bout his years

Laying low in a blood filled trench
Kill tim 'til my very own death
On my face I can feel the falling rain
Never see my friends again

In the smoke, in the mud and lead
Smell the fear and the feeling of dread
Soon be time to go over the wall
Rapid fire and the end of us all

Whistles, shouts and more gun fire
Lifeless bodies hang on barbed wire
Battlefield nothing but a bloody tomb
Be reunited with my dead friends soon

Many soldiers eighteen years
Drown in mud, no more tears
Surely a war no-one can win
Killing time about to begin

Home, far away
From the war, a chance to live again
Home, far away
But the war, no chance to live again

The bodies of ours and our foes
The sea of death it overflows
In no man's land, God only knows
Into jaws of death we go

Crucified as if on a cross
Allied troops they mourn their loss
German war propaganda machine
Such before has never been seen

Swear I heard the angels cry
Pray to god no more may die
So that people know the truth
Tell the tale of Paschendale

Cruelty has a human heart
Every man does play his part
Terror of the men we kill
The human heart is hungry still

I stand my ground for the very last time
Gun is ready as I stand in line
Nervous wait for the whistle to blow
Rush of blood and over we go

1/2

>>34407844
Blood is falling like the rain
Its crimson cloak unveils again
The sound of guns can't hide their shame
And so we die on Paschendale

Dodging shrapnel and barbed wire
Running straight at the cannon fire
Running blind as I hold my breath
Say a prayer symphony of death

As we charge the enemy lines
A burst of fire and we go down
I choke a cry but no-one hears
Fell the blood go down my throat

Home, far away
From the war, a chance to live again
Home, far away
But the war, no chance to live again

2/2

>>34407469
When you're wounded an' left on Afghanistan's plains
An' the women come out to cut up your remains
Jus' roll to your rifle an' blow out your brains
An' go to your Gawd like a soldier.

High Flight

Oh! I have slipped the surly bonds of earth
And danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings;
Sunward I've climbed, and joined the tumbling mirth
Of sun-split clouds - and done a hundred things
You have not dreamed of - wheeled and soared and swung
High in the sunlit silence. Hov'ring there,
I've chased the shouting wind along, and flung
My eager craft through footless halls of air...

Up, up the long delirious, burning blue,
I've topped the windswept heights with easy grace
Where never lark, or even eagle flew -
And, while with silent lifting mind I've trod
The high untrespassed sanctity of space,
Put out my hand and touched the face of God.


Pilot Officer Gillespie Magee
No 412 squadron,
RCAF

>>34407854
See my spirit on the wind
Across the lines, beyond the hill
Friend and foe will meet again
Those who died at Paschendale

Disposable heroes

Bodies fill the fields I see, hungry heroes end
No one to play soldier now, no one to pretend
Running blind through killing fields, bred to kill them all
Victim of what said should be
A servant 'til I fall

Soldier boy, made of clay
Now an empty shell
Twenty-one, only son
But he served us well
Bred to kill, not to care
Do just as we say
Finished here
Greetings, Death
He’s yours to take away

Back to the front
You will do what I say, when I say
Back to the front
You will die when I say, you must die
Back to the front
You coward
You servant
You blind man

Barking of machinegun fire does nothing to me now
Sounding of the clock that ticks, get used to it somehow
More a man, more stripes you bare, glory-seeker trends
Bodies fill the fields I see
The slaughter never ends

Soldier boy, made of clay
Now an empty shell
Twenty-one, only son
But he served us well
Bred to kill, not to care
Do just as we say
Finished here
Greetings, Death
He’s yours to take away

Back to the front
You will do what I say, when I say
Back to the front
You will die when I say, you must die
Back to the front
You coward
You servant
You blind man

Why, am I dying?
Kill, have no fear
Lie, live off lying
Hell, hell is here

I was born for dying

Life planned out before my birth, nothing could I say
Had no chance to see myself, molded day by day
Looking back I realize, nothing have I done
Left to die with only friend
Alone I clench my gun

Soldier boy, made of clay
Now an empty shell
Twenty-one, only son
But he served us well
Bred to kill, not to care
Do just as we say
Finished here
Greetings, Death
He’s yours to take away

Back to the front
You will do what I say, when I say
Back to the front
You will die when I say, you must die
Back to the front
You coward
You servant
You blind man

Back to the front

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>>34407469
Observe everything , admire nothing

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>>34407469
Come, stack arms, men. Pile on the rails,
Stir up the campfire bright;
No matter if the canteen fails,
We'll make a roaring night.
Here Shenandoah brawls along,
There burly Blue Ridge echoes strong
To swell the brigade's rousing song
Of "Stonewall Jackson's way."

We see him now, the old slouched hat
Cocked o'er his eye askew,
The shrewd, dry smile, the speech so pat,
So calm, so blunt, so true.
That "Blue-Light Elder" knows 'em well
Says he, "That's Banks; he's fond of shell
Lord save his soul! We'll give him"...well,
That's "Stonewall Jackson's way."

Silence! Ground arms! Kneel all! Caps off!
Old Blue Light's going to pray;
Strangle the fool that dares to scoff;
Attention; it's his way!
Appealing from his native sod,
In forma pauperis to God--
"Lay bare thine arm; stretch forth thy rod;
Amen." That's "Stonewall's way."

He's in the saddle now! Fall in!
Steady, the whole brigade!
Hill's at the ford, cut off! He'll win
His way out, ball and blade.
What matter if our shoes are worn?
What matter if our feet are torn?
"Quick step--we're with him ere the dawn!"
That's "Stonewall Jackson's way."

The sun's bright glances rout the mists
Of morning, and, by George!
There's Longstreet struggling in the lists,
Hemmed in an ugly gorge--
Pope and his Yankees whipped before
"Bayonet and grape!" hear Stonewall roar,
"Charge, Stuart! Pay off Ashby's score
In Stonewall Jackson's way."

Ah, maiden! wait and watch and yearn
For news of Stonewall's band!
Ah, widow! read with eyes that burn
That ring upon thy hand!
Ah, wife! sew on, pray on, hope on,
Thy life shall not be all forlorn
The foe had better ne'er been born,
That gets in Stonewall's way.

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>>34407973
1. Spur on! Spur on! We love the bounding
Of barbs that bear us to the fray.
The charge our bugles now are sounding
And our bold Stuart leads the way!

2. The path of honour lies before us.
Our hated foeman gathers fast.
At home, bright eyes are sparkling for us,
And we'll defend them to the last!

3. Spur on! Spur on! We love the rushing
Of steeds that spurn the turf they tread.
We'll through the northern ranks go crushing
With our proud battle flag o'erhead.

4. The path of honour lies before us.
Our hated foeman gathers fast.
At home, bright eyes are sparkling for us,
And we'll defend them to the last!

5. Spur on! Spur on! We love the flashing
Of blades that battle to be free.
'Tis for our sunny south they are clashing,
For household, God and liberty!

6. The path of honour lies before us.
Our hated foeman gathers fast.
At home, bright eyes are sparkling for us,
And we'll defend them to the last!

7. Spur on! Spur on! We love the bounding
Of barbs that bear us to the fray.
The charge our bugles now are sounding
And our bold Stuart leads the way!

>>34407469
In

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

Parable of the old man and the young.

So Abram rose, and clave the wood, and went,
And took the fire with him, and a knife.
And as they sojourned both of them together,
Isaac the first-born spake and said, My Father,
Behold the preparations, fire and iron,
But where the lamb for this burnt-offering?
Then Abram bound the youth with belts and straps,
and builded parapets and trenches there,
And stretchèd forth the knife to slay his son.
When lo! an angel called him out of heaven,
Saying, Lay not thy hand upon the lad,
Neither do anything to him. Behold,
A ram, caught in a thicket by its horns;
Offer the Ram of Pride instead of him.

But the old man would not so, but slew his son,
And half the seed of Europe, one by one.

>>34408024

Au champ d'honneur, les coquelicots
Sont parsemés de lot en lot
Auprès des croix; et dans l'espace
Les alouettes devenues lasses
Mêlent leurs chants au sifflement
Des obusiers.

Nous sommes morts
Nous qui songions la veille encor'
À nos parents, à nos amis,
C'est nous qui reposons ici
Au champ d'honneur.

À vous jeunes désabusés
À vous de porter l'oriflamme
Et de garder au fond de l'âme
Le goût de vivre en liberté.
Acceptez le défi, sinon
Les coquelicots se faneront
Au champ d'honneur.

The french version of "In Flanders Fields" called "Au champ d"honneur"

>>34407968
that's not a poem you muppet.

>>34408060
still good do

dont let your dingle dangle dangle in the dirt
pick up your dingle dangle put it in your shirt
dont let your dingle dangle dangle in the mud
pick up your dingle dangle hand it to your bud
dont let your dingle dangle dangle in the snow
pick up your dingle dangle tie it in a bow

>>34407495
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=M1r9xljkCg0

>>34407469
>Arithmetic on the Frontier

A GREAT and glorious thing it is
To learn, for seven years or so,
The Lord knows what of that and this,
Ere reckoned fit to face the foe -
The flying bullet down the Pass,
That whistles clear: "All flesh is grass."

Three hundred pounds per annum spent
On making brain and body meeter
For all the murderous intent
Comprised in "villainous saltpetre".
And after?- Ask the Yusufzaies
What comes of all our 'ologies.

A scrimmage in a Border Station-
A canter down some dark defile
Two thousand pounds of education
Drops to a ten-rupee jezail.
The Crammer's boast, the Squadron's pride,
Shot like a rabbit in a ride!

No proposition Euclid wrote
No formulae the text-books know,
Will turn the bullet from your coat,
Or ward the tulwar's downward blow.
Strike hard who cares - shoot straight who can
The odds are on the cheaper man.

One sword-knot stolen from the camp
Will pay for all the school expenses
Of any Kurrum Valley scamp
Who knows no word of moods and tenses,
But, being blessed with perfect sight,
Picks off our messmates left and right.

With home-bred hordes the hillsides teem.
The troopships bring us one by one,
At vast expense of time and steam,
To slay Afridis where they run.
The "captives of our bow and spear"
Are cheap, alas! as we are dear.

Danny Deever

ByRudyard Kipling

‘What are the bugles blowin’ for?' said Files-on-Parade.

‘To turn you out, to turn you out,’ the Colour-Sergeant said.

‘What makes you look so white, so white?’ said Files-on-Parade.

‘I’m dreadin’ what I’ve got to watch,’ the Colour-Sergeant said.

For they’re hangin’ Danny Deever, you can hear the Dead March play,

The Regiment’s in ’ollow square—they’re hangin’ him to-day;

They’ve taken of his buttons off an’ cut his stripes away,

An’ they're hangin’ Danny Deever in the mornin’.


‘What makes the rear-rank breathe so ’ard?’ said Files-on-Parade.

‘It’s bitter cold, it's bitter cold,’ the Colour-Sergeant said.

‘What makes that front-rank man fall down?’ said Files-on-Parade.

‘A touch o’ sun, a touch o’ sun,’ the Colour-Sergeant said.

They are hangin’ Danny Deever, they are marchin’ of ’im round,

They ’ave ’alted Danny Deever by ’is coffin on the ground;

An’ ’e’ll swing in ’arf a minute for a sneakin’ shootin’ hound—

O they’re hangin’ Danny Deever in the mornin!’


‘’Is cot was right-’and cot to mine,’ said Files-on-Parade.

‘’E’s sleepin’ out an’ far to-night,’ the Colour-Sergeant said.

‘I’ve drunk ’is beer a score o’ times,’ said Files-on-Parade.

‘’E’s drinkin’ bitter beer alone,’ the Colour-Sergeant said.

They are hangin’ Danny Deever, you must mark ’im to ’is place,

For ’e shot a comrade sleepin’—you must look ’im in the face;

Nine ’undred of ’is county an’ the Regiment’s disgrace,

While they’re hangin’ Danny Deever in the mornin’.


‘What’s that so black agin the sun?’ said Files-on-Parade.

Hark! I hear the foe advancing,
Barbed steeds are proudly prancing,
Helmets in the sunbeams glancing
Glitter through the trees.
Men of Harlech, lie ye dreaming?
See ye not their falchions gleaming,
While their pennons gaily streaming
Flutter in the breeze?
From the rocks rebounding,
Let the war cry sounding
Summon all at Cambria's call,
The haughty foe surrounding,
Men of Harlech, on to glory!
See, your banner famed in story
Waves these burning words before ye
"Britain scorns to yield!"

'Mid the fray, see dead and dying,
Friend and foe together lying;
All around, the arrows flying,
Scatter sudden death!
Frighten'd steeds are wildly neighing,
Brazen trumpets hoarsely braying,
Wounded men for mercy praying
With their parting breath!
See! they're in disorder!
Comrades, keep close order!
Ever they shall rue the day
They ventured o'er the border!
Now the Saxon flies before us!
Vict'ry's banner floateth o'er us!
Raise the loud exulting chorus
"Britain wins the field,"

>>34408423

‘It’s Danny fightin’ ’ard for life,’ the Colour-Sergeant said.

‘What’s that that whimpers over’ead?’ said Files-on-Parade.

‘It’s Danny’s soul that’s passin’ now,’ the Colour-Sergeant said.

For they’re done with Danny Deever, you can ’ear the quickstep play,

The Regiment’s in column, an’ they’re marchin’ us away;

Ho! the young recruits are shakin’, an’ they’ll want their beer to-day,

After hangin’ Danny Deever in the mornin’!

>>34407469
Theodor Körner

Lützows wilde verwegene Jagd

Was glänzt dort vom Walde im Sonnenschein,
Hör’s näher und näher brausen;
Es zieht sich herunter in düsteren Reih’n
Und gellende Hörner, sie schmettern drein,
Und erfüllen die Seele mit Graußen.
Und wenn ihr die schwarzen Gesellen fragt:
Es ist Lützows wilde verwegene Jagd

Was streift dort rasch durch den finstern Wald,
Was jaget von Bergen zu Bergen.
Es legt sich in nächtlichen Hinterhalt,
Das Hurrah jauchzet. Die Büchse knallt.
Es stürzen die fränkischen Schergen.
Und wenn ihr die schwarzen Jäger fragt:
Es ist Lützows wilde verwegene Jagd.

Wo die Reben dort glühen, dort braußt der Rhein,
der … [Wütrich] geborgen sich meinte.
Was naht aber dort im Gewitterschein,
Und stürzt sich mit kräftigem Arm hinein,
Und springet ans Ufer der Feinde?
Und wenn ihr die schwarzen Schwimmer fragt
Es ist Lützows wilde verwegene Jagd.

Was tobt dort im Thale die laute Schlacht,
Was schlagen die Schwerter zusammen!
Die schwarzen Kämpen schlagen die Schlacht
Und der Funke der Freiheit ist glühend erwacht,
Und lodert in blutigen Flammen.
Und wenn ihr die schwarzen Kämpen fragt:
Es ist Lützows wilde verwegene Jagd.

Was scheidet dort röchelnd vom Sonnenlicht,
Unter tausend Feinde gebettet.
Es zuckt der Tod auf dem Angesicht,
Doch die muthigen Herzen erzittern nicht,
Das Vaterland ist ja gerettet!
Und wenn Ihr die schwarzen Gefallenen fragt:
Es ist Lützows wilde verwegene Jagd.

Die wilde Jagd und die deutsche Jagd
auf … [Henkers]blut und Tyrannen.
Drum die Ihr uns liebt, nicht geweint und geklagt!
Das Land ist ja frei und der Morgen tagt,
Wenn wir’s auch erst sterbend gewannen!
Und von Enkeln zu Enkeln sey’s nachgesagt:
Das war Lützows wilde verwegene Jagd.

>>34407469
The Iliad by Homer