Wednesday, September 27, 2006

The General

'Good morning, good morning!' the general said
When we met him last week on our way to the line.
Now the soldiers he smiled at are most of 'em dead,
And we were cursing his staff for incompetent swine.
'He's a cherry old card', grunted Harry to Jack
As they slogged up to Arras with rifle and pack.

But he did for them both by his plan of attack.


-Siegfried Sassoon
Written in April 1917

3 comments:

R said...

Suicide in the Trenches

I knew a simple soldier boy
Who grinned at life in empty joy,
Slept soundly through the lonesome dark,
And whistled early with the lark.

In winter trenches, cowed and glum,
With crumps and lice and lack of rum,
He put a bullet through his brain.
No one spoke of him again.

You smug-faced crowds with kindling eye
Who cheer when soldier lads march by,
Sneak home and pray you'll never know
The hell where youth and laughter go.

-Sassoon

thatsme said...

THE ODE







THEY SHALL GROW NOT OLD
AS WE THAT ARE LEFT GROW OLD
AGE SHALL NOT WEARY THEM
NOR THE YEARS CONDEMN
AT THE GOING DOWN OF THE SUN,
AND IN THE MORNING:
WE SHALL REMEMBER THEM.

By: Laurence Binyon

thatsme said...

VIETNAM’S FORGOTTEN ARMY
She went to Nam, very strong and bold.
She soon got tired and very old.
She had to become, callous and bitter.
As another man comes in on a litter.
She learns a lot, very quickly.
Sometimes in haste, it ended tragically.
Putting men behind a screen to die.
The Vietnam war was just a lie.
Evac was like a grotesque production line.
Another patient, found another mine.

Where to inject him, when he has no arm.
Try to keep cool. Try to stay calm.
After she’s done, he begs her not to leave.
Looking down at his shredded sleeve.
She promised she’ll be right back.
But he dies, right there on his rack.
Cutting off his clothes, taking off his boot.
His foot was still inside, poor young recruit.
A continuos flow of bodies come in.
All the blood, the gore and shredded skin.

The horror and the waste.
Leaves a bitter taste.
Young men, badly maimed.
She didn’t want to know their names.
Emotional numbing, putting up a wall.
As the patients lay dying, out in the hall.
People ask, how she feels inside.
She doesn’t know, it’s too hard to describe.
Working at a punishing pace.
Another bloodied soldier, another bloodied face.

Help without hassles, they used to say.
Maiming and death, day after day.
After a year of death and pain.
She never wanted to go there again.
After Evac’s emergency ward.
In a American hospital, she’d just be bored.
A horrible war, one will never forget it.
Up to her ankles, in blood, guts and shit.
The heavy guilt, leaving patients behind.
When going home, it screws up her mind.

Getting home, living alone.
Her future ahead, is still unknown.
Talking to no one, about her hurt and pain.
Trying very hard, to keep herself sane.
Not trusting people, only another Vietnam vet.
Riding so fast, in her red Corvette.
Sharing their memories and fears.
Shedding floods and floods of tears.
She hopes one day, she can come to terms with the war.
And forget all that death, blood and gore.

Go to Washington DC.
To the Nurses memorial, she must see.
On Vietnam Veterans day.
The last Bank holiday in May.
To see their monument and the wall.
A wounded soldier, and a nurse standing tall.
Looking up high, at the Medivac coming down.
Another nurse kneeling on the ground.
Trying to keep the soldier alive.
Until the help can arrive.
Many tears were shed that day.
On that May Vietnam Veterans Day.




BY: M. Stewart