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War poetry

Posted By: Christian Stephe Fisher
Date: Tuesday, 28 September 2010, at 6:53 a.m.

Ode to Capt. Andrew Griffiths
The Duke of Lancaster’s Regiment

To the life of the Lion of England, whose life was sadly cut short
Your braveness in duty, you carried out; I read in the newspaper’s report
Your troops admired you greatly, you gave them courage and you gave them hope
A life in your father’s footsteps, you yearned for and in life you did devote
You passed out with flying colours from the Sandhurst Military Academy
It was too heart rendering for me to hear; you’re the son of my former O.C

Here’s to the Lion of England, Captain Andrew Griffiths, known as ‘Griff’
He was a valiant and courageous fellow; he’ll be forever mourned, sadly missed
How do you express words of sadness to parents at such a time?
To those at work in Westminster, take heed; his death by you is a crime.
The insincere politicians; all they can muster is a simple “sorry”
For me: Dulce et decorum est pro patria mori.

Months then years will gradually pass by, the anger will slowly subside
No words of remorse will ever heal the heartache left inside
I’ve heard ‘time is the greatest of healers’; we share on this mortal coil
War was our ultimate burden; it was this soldier’s concluding toil
Here’s to that Lion of England let all the church bells peel
You paid the ultimate sacrifice, the scars will never heal

An Ode to the men of 1 K.O.R.B.R

We were the men of the 1st Battalion
The King’s Own Royal Border Regiment
Arnhem, Burma, Chindit, Arroyo & Somme
Battle honours & campaign medals we all fought for and won
The Lions of England, bravest of the brave
Countless theatres of duty to free the enslaved

We celebrate our victories with each passing year
The anthem of John Peel, we sing with pride you’ll hear
The reunions at Weeton, Arroyo day at Carlisle
Smart, bristling Veterans gather and march, mile after mile
Remembrance Sunday; a solemn day of silence & thought
The Last Post is played out, a lifetime of peace which is sought

For now we gather and talk is idly passed around
Of which one of us is missing; at rest ‘neath the ground
I knew him, yes I knew him rather well
Did I tell you about the time? We had a laugh, I shall tell.
Clear your throats men and hoist up your glass
To fallen comrades, let the memories last

The memories of guard duties and parades that we done
The endless ‘bullshit’ and shouting, all now silent and gone
I’ll remember those times, especially those on Six & Ten
Down at the Guard room, bulling brasses, again & again
No more reading Part IV’s in Company H.Q
Or pressing the kit with Robin starch, it’s over for you

THE FALLEN

They were sent off to serve our country in a foreign war
Not knowing their enemy or what the Hell for
They gave a wave & said a final goodbye
All because of a Political, rhetorical lie
Warmongers & despots our politicians are
How dare they send our troops to desperate countries afar
First to Iraq & then to Afghanistan
In search of Al Qaeda & Osama Bin Laden
Strong words from an illiterate George W. Bush
Come & fight with me Tony Blair, it’s a big hush, hush
50/50 we’ll steal and split their oil
Our contractors they’ll need to rebuild from the soil

Months, then years have slowly dragged on
The mounting toll of our lads; that have fatally gone
Followed by dreaded news that we never wish to hear
Of a loved one, taken, who was so precious & dear
Taken by a bullet, an explosion or something unjust
Our soldiers will take revenge with military lust
For now the unfortunate are repatriated home
Draped in the Union Flag, their names being tapped onto stone
One by one, they are carried; to be laid at rest
Our country stands proud, that they done their best

Every 11th November we shall never forget
The fate & the pain that each troop met
Never forget the politicians with blood on their hands
Or in our country, why each war memorial stands
A solemn promise to our fallen men
Your lives given so bravely, you will never be forgotten
For now we wonder which country will be next
Or why the reason, don’t ignore me, I’m vexed
I’m a veteran & each life is sacred
Each family needs a father, to keep their children fed
So agree with the words that I say here today
War is not for us, not even for pay

BLIGHTY.

Post traumatic stress syndrome
Sent back to blighty, yes that’s home
Continuous nightmares, terrible bad dreams
Never ending white noise & horrible screams
We’re only young lads, some without limbs
Some of us deformed with burnt skin
Do not cry & hold your head in shame
I don’t ask for pity or ask for fame
Next time you are out, on the town
Just remember before you put your glass down
To raise it up and say to your mates
Here’s to our brave boys & those in bad states
I’ve done my duty & served my time
I can’t wait to see those white cliffs of lime

Back to blighty & watching Saturday football
Not cleaning my rifle or trenched up in a hole
Enjoying Sunday lunch with crispy Yorkshire Pud
Not eating cold rations with my best bud
Time with my girlfriend and lazy days in bed
Not looking for Taliban or ending up dead
Back to wearing blue jeans & designer shirts
Not sat in Afghanistan with the blood & the dirt
Just sat in the country with my feet in a stream
No more dust bogies or covered in cam cream
Back to enjoying Harvey Wall bangers until I can’t see
Not patrolling for 18 hours as you see on T.V
Laying on the beach and listening to the waves
Not searching for those rogues amongst the caves
It’s back to blighty & that’s where I’ll stay

Aftermath

Along come the visions of the Taliban I slew
No rules of engagement for the punches I threw
I can still smell & taste their foul acrid breath
Their dishevelled clothing now coated in death
The headaches now follow with nauseous pain
Endless screams of the enemy. I killed, yes, I slain

My hands now tremble, holding Bourbon & Dry
My torso soon follows as I begin to cry
No consoling hand can ease the anguish within
No medal is worth Political spin
I’m not just a number to do as you please
My sacrifice I’ve made, my tears you now tease

I yearn for alcohol, again & again
Don’t offer me Morphine, it won’t null the pain
Lithium and Prozac; for me they don’t work
My anger I vent frequently, you call me a jerk
Old soldiers don’t die, they just fade away
I’m now a wreck, no treatment, I’ll end it someday

In the beginning, the end.

As I feel the warmth of the summer’s breathe blow
Through the blue sky above, the parachutes do flow
Endlessly they fall, resembling Dandelion seeds
Or similar to a broken string of pear like beads
Falling to Earth the black leather boots do come
As they land, they drone, they beat akin to a drum
Pounding the ground reminiscent of artillery shells
They fall from the Heavens, to dispatch their enemy to Hell

We are the soldiers with time on our side
Up ahead in the distance the enemy do hide
Dug in five feet deep in unfathomable mud
Within the hour, they will be coated in blood
Those trenches make good graves for the ill trained
The wrath of our vengeance will leave them blinded & maimed
War is fatherless and has few to call friend
It has many victims and lives it doth end

ANOTHER DAY

Bomb disposal march out to clear, yet another trap
Beads of sweat trickle down his face, what a courageous chap
Only Angels fear to tread where they walk
Amongst the rotten corpses, bones show like sticks of chalk
Disseminated through the desert with the shrapnel & empty shells
No formal graves, just a scene from your nightmarish Hell
They all lie there catching the Suns constant beam
Like holiday makers, bathing, on the beach; eating ice-cream
Only rust grows on twisted, unused rifles in this arid landscape
No way home for the enemy who made a fatal mistake

Trip wires, pressure switches or remote control
Planted so deeply & coarsely in a desiccated, sandy hole
He softly brushes away the fine particles of dirt
To reveal the stealthy bomb, that could so easily hurt
Hands tremble, heart pounds as he unscrews the fuse
Slowly & steadily it turns in gut wrenching abuse
Abruptly he stops… as he hears a sound
A gradual ticking, rising from beneath the ground
He looks back to his team and he stands to his feet
Without looking back, he beats his retreat

A big sigh, his work done for yet another day
Kneeling down he brushes of the dust,
His silent gesture, as if meant to pray
Camp Bastion waits, for this soldier to arrive
To bring back his team, safe & alive
Some grub, a brew & a few hours of sleep
Before the next call out & to leave the fortress’ keep

Reality of war

The forecast is not good for this eve
Take cover our fellows, in you’re A.P.V’s
Rain is due and it comes forth
Pouring down on the Taliban from our lads in the North
From a steel pipe, spitting copper clad lead
I am hopeful it will shoot England’s enemy dead
The horizon is grey, filled with a black hue
Death is amongst us, especially for you
I smite thee, our “not so” sacred enemy
Feel thy might, of our country’s economy
From Pakistan, you may well come in many
In Afghanistan, you will certainly die, all and sundry
You have your roadside bombs & your I.E.D’s
You proliferate through that country like a sullied disease
Rampant and cancerous you must be cut out
No slap & tickle, but a serious clout
50 cal, 5.56 or 7.62
Indicate your poison; it’s locked & loaded, ready for you
You have a yellow streak of piss, that you call a spine
I’ve trained for years; this moment in battle is mine
Call yourself an enemy? You hide in caves
I thought you’d have known by now,
That Britannia shall never be slaved.

SURVIVING THE BATTLE

The sun rises over a foreign trench
Warming the dew & that putrid stench
Above the parapet,
The ground explodes with the enemy shells
Turning no-mans land into an unforgiving Hell
As I look at my watch,
My heart beats twice as fast as the second hand
H-Hour commeth, then the shouts of command;
“FIX…. BAYONETS”.
In the bottom of the trench we stand in a crowd
Suddenly, I hear the Captain’s whistle screeching out loud
Up the ladders & o’er the top
Dodging the bodies that never stop
Falling,
Falling
Slaughtered & slain
Twisting, contorting and writhing in pain
Limbs missing, blood flowing & masses of flesh
Braves Soldiers crying like babies in a crèche
Time to take cover before it’s too late
I don’t want to be banging on St Peter’s gate
Dash, down, crawl into cover, observe sights & then I return fire
As I search for my enemy amongst the mire
A flash, a hint of smoke then a rat-a-tat-tat
There you are my quarry; Get some! Take that!
A-team, give covering fire! B-team, let’s go!
Advancing in number, we put on a show
Smoke billows as our grenades burst into flame
Showering our enemy with splinters of pain
We jump into their fox-holes & spray them with lead
Finally, they lay their; extinguished, oozing death… DEAD.
Trials, tribulations & tears from the Sun
The War is not over… but the battle is won.

LEARN FROM THE PAST!

Civilisations have come & gone
In every generation, battles & wars have been won
Kings, Politicians & Religious leaders of men
Have sacrificed their strongest again & again
For land, for riches or hatred & greed
Is this what life is for, why do we trust those that do lead?

The soldiers of Christianity marched on their bloody crusade
Sweeping aside those who stand forth, with their sharp, steely blade
Ye though they walk through the valley of shadow of death
They shall fear no evil, just an icy wind of the Grim Reaper’s breath
A man who is hungry for war, his heart is surely empty of love
And a man who wants vengeance will never be free as a dove

Our lads are back home, you may say, ‘so what!
What has the war proved & what have we got?’
Higher taxes to pay for the cost of the bombs
Kids with poor parents living in slums
No more should we endure the pain and the cost
Of empty bank accounts & the troops that we lost

Enemy within

“Wars are futile”, said he, the pacifist
I’ll stay at home, I’ll not be missed
Just another A.W.O.L soldier added to the list
Only Commissioned Officers enjoy the war
Sat back in their office, they watch in safety from afar
“Like a game of chess”, the Major said
Sacrifice the pawn? Another private dead?
Protect the Queen with a white knight
Telegram for mother, not a nice sight
“What was his number?” the Major said
That’s all we are, once us soldiers are dead
No name, to those who do not care
Upper class twits, who end their sentences saying,
“Absolutely spiffing show old chap, rather”.
It reads, ‘Know your enemy and know him well’
He must have pips, silver spoon & a poncy smell
Do you know who your enemy is?
I certainly do, it’s the Major General

2nd Lieutenant “Rupert” 1 K.O.R.B.R

I stand outside the guard room, it’s almost 6 p.m.
Dressed in my combats on parade with my men
We wait for the inspection from the young duty Lieutenant
First will blow the Last Post then the descending pennant

Here he strolls, fresh out of the Sandhurst Academy
One pip on each shoulder, he’s known as “Rupert” to me
Born with a silver spoon in his well spoken mouth
He’s an educated, Oxbridge fellow; from way down South

At the stroke of six we’re brought up to attention
The Bugler sounds off, there’s no movement
Along comes “Rupert” with his feminine features
His girly smooth face, trawls over us creatures

He stops and asks, “Good Evening soldier, good bunch of men?”
I reply, “Sorry Sir, I’m not in YOUR club, I have a girlfriend.”
The laughs come loud but only to my demise
I’m prodded quite firmly with anger and despise

“Sergeant, I want you to beast this soldier right around camp.”
For thirty God Damn minutes, I blow and sweats like a tramp
No sense of humour, Army Officers don’t have

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