War Poetry

[behemoth]

I know some of you are in the service, or have family members in the service.

I need a poem, minimally 16 lines, that i have to memorize for class.

It must be about war.

I also must be able to identify the author, and give some details about the author.


I know some of you must know of something.

Army? Anyone?

[punkncat]

The Star Spangled banner is a war poem of sorts.....

[Rudz]

me

i can write one for you if you would like..its not a prob, let me know..

[SCpoloRicker]

lol.

behemoth, have you seen the fanboy Star Wars short called "Art of the Saber Mk:2"?

It begins with a voiceover of a letter written by a Civil War combatant to his wife. If you google the text, maybe even the title, you'll find your background info stuff.

/washes nerdiness off

[Recon by Fire]

Kind of reminds me of a Chaplains service before a mission:

"..now let's kill them bastards, HELL ON WHEELS!"


Brings a tear to my eyes ::sniff::

[Steelrat]

I know some of you are in the service, or have family members in the service.

I need a poem, minimally 16 lines, that i have to memorize for class.

It must be about war.

I also must be able to identify the author, and give some details about the author.


I know some of you must know of something.

Army? Anyone?

Last few lines of Tennyson's Ulysses, taken from the Odyssey by Homer:

Come, my friends,
'tis not too late to seek a newer world.
Push off, and sitting well in order smite
The sounding furrows; for my purpose holds
To sail beyond the sunset, and the baths
Of all the western stars, until I die.
It may be that the gulfs will wash us down:
It may be we shall touch the Happy Isles,
And see the great Achilles, whom we knew.
Though much is taken, much abides; and though
We are not now that strength which in old days
Moved earth and heaven; that which we are, we are;
One equal temper of heroic hearts,
Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will
To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.

Or, Charge of the Light Brigade, also by Tennyson, inspired by a battle in the Crimean War:

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.

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.

[Steelrat]

Also, the Second Coming by Yeats was inspired by the horror of WWI

The Second Coming



Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all convictions, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.

Surely some revelation is at hand;
Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out
When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi
Troubles my sight: somewhere in sands of the desert
A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
Is moving its slow thighs, while all around it
Reel shadows of the indignant desert birds.
The darkness drops again; but now I know
That twenty centuries of stony sleep
Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?

[behemoth]

I found a few 'nam era ones, that were pretty good.

However, i doubt the teacher would appreciate me dropping "M-Fers" in class

I found these 3 tho...


Two Sides of War (All Wars)

"All wars are planned by older men
In council rooms apart,
Who call for greater armament
And map the battle chart.

But out along the shattered field
Where golden dreams turn gray,
How very young the faces were
Where all the dead men lay.

Portly and solemn in their pride,
The elders cast their vote
For this or that, or something else,
That sounds the martial note.

But where their sightless eyes stare out
Beyond life's vanished toys,
I've noticed nearly all the dead
Were hardly more than boys."


The Guardians

God looked around his barracks;
and saw some empty spaces;
he looked down on ole hamburger hill;
and saw airbornes tired faces.

He put his arms around them;
and took them in his care;
god smiled and said,
"This platoon has done enough"
You see, he wanted them "up there"

I cried and cried,
when i heard they had gone;
but they did not go alone;
for most of me went with them;
the day 1st Platoon went home.

So beware American Enemys;
you are doomed wherever you go;
we got ariborne guarding heavens gates,
the 1st of Bravo

-'badger'

The Xmas War

On Christmas eve in '69
I watched our tracer bullets fly
And in their flight,
their bright red light
Lit up the earth and sky.

Then from the dark,
From guns unseen,
Their shots flew back at us,
Bright Green!

And back and forth,
Throughout the night,
We fought the Christmas colored fight...

(...back home, hapy children
Unwrapped gifts of toys,
Barbie dolls and toy cars...)

...while we killed our brothers,
In the christmas War

-James M. Hopkins

[SCpoloRicker]

Thought I'd contribute this as well:

Henry V, William Shakespeare

This day is called the feast of Crispian:
He that outlives this day, and comes safe home,
Will stand a tip-toe when the day is named,
And rouse him at the name of Crispian.
He that shall live this day, and see old age,
Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbours,
And say 'To-morrow is Saint Crispian:'
Then will he strip his sleeve and show his scars.
And say 'These wounds I had on Crispin's day.'
Old men forget: yet all shall be forgot,
But he'll remember with advantages
What feats he did that day: then shall our names.
Familiar in his mouth as household words
Harry the king, Bedford and Exeter,
Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloucester,
Be in their flowing cups freshly remember'd.
This story shall the good man teach his son;
And Crispin Crispian shall ne'er go by,
From this day to the ending of the world,
But we in it shall be remember'd;
We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;
For he to-day that sheds his blood with me
Shall be my brother; be he ne'er so vile,
This day shall gentle his condition:
And gentlemen in England now a-bed
Shall think themselves accursed they were not here,
And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks
That fought with us upon Saint Crispin's day.

[Steelrat]

Thought I'd contribute this as well:

Henry V, William Shakespeare

This day is called the feast of Crispian:
He that outlives this day, and comes safe home,
Will stand a tip-toe when the day is named,
And rouse him at the name of Crispian.
He that shall live this day, and see old age,
Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbours,
And say 'To-morrow is Saint Crispian:'
Then will he strip his sleeve and show his scars.
And say 'These wounds I had on Crispin's day.'
Old men forget: yet all shall be forgot,
But he'll remember with advantages
What feats he did that day: then shall our names.
Familiar in his mouth as household words
Harry the king, Bedford and Exeter,
Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloucester,
Be in their flowing cups freshly remember'd.
This story shall the good man teach his son;
And Crispin Crispian shall ne'er go by,
From this day to the ending of the world,
But we in it shall be remember'd;
We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;
For he to-day that sheds his blood with me
Shall be my brother; be he ne'er so vile,
This day shall gentle his condition:
And gentlemen in England now a-bed
Shall think themselves accursed they were not here,
And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks
That fought with us upon Saint Crispin's day.

Good one man, good one.

"We few, we happy few, we band of brothers." Awesome.

[Army]

Roses are red,
Violets are blue.
If you want to be a terrorist,
I will gladly shoot you.


By golly, does that not flow easily off the tongue?

[Steelrat]

Roses are red,
Violets are blue.
If you want to be a terrorist,
I will gladly shoot you.


By golly, does that not flow easily off the tongue?

Its not at least 16 lines.

You lose.

[Jeffy-CanCon]

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.

-----------

In Flanders Fields
By John McCrae

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.


...is only 15 lines, but a classic your teacher might let in. Unless the 16-line minimum was meant to exclude this most famous poem.

---------------

George Johnston

War On The Periphery

Around the battlements go by
Soldier men against the sky,
Violent lovers, husbands, sons,
Guarding my peaceful life with guns.

My pleasures, how discreet they are!
A little booze, a little car,
Two little children and a wife
Living a small suburban life.

My little children eat my heart;
At seven o'clock we kiss and part,
At seven o'clock we meet again;
They eat my heart and grow to men.

I watch their tenderness with fear
While on battlements I hear
The violent, obedient ones
Guarding my family with guns.

[behemoth]

we read dulce in class.